The last “before” day

 

I came across this post recently, and it really resonated with me. I made a couple edits, and then have been sitting with it and contemplating its meaning. At first glance, it seems really harsh. Like, “You don’t *know* me!” But the more I’ve wrestled with it, the more I realize that isn’t the tone at all. The pandemic had all of us in isolation (some longer than others), and we all returned to our “real lives,” changed. Some of us, ever so slightly. Some of us, in drastic ways. And I think we all expected for things to go right back to normal.

Our family endured the hardest parts of Adeline’s journey while still in isolation. I was out of the classroom for 17 months. And although we did share her story, I don’t think it reflected how much I was changing. I don’t even think I realized how much I was changing until trying to go back into the “real world.” I tried to do things like the old Katie, and I just couldn’t. And I struggled with that a lot. Especially feeling the weight of the pressure to live up to the old me. But the truth is, I’m completely different. There is still some of the “before” me there, and maybe some more will re-emerge as time goes on. I’m still determined (stubborn), loyal, considerate of others. But I’m different. My priorities, my focus, even the way my trauma brain works. All different. And that’s okay. 

I knew that D-day (diagnosis day) was Sunday. My body has felt it all week. But I somehow lost track of the days and was taken aback by this picture on TimeHop today. Literally took my breath away. I had to double check that the date today was indeed the 16th- the last “before” day. I took this picture and knew that something was wrong. Of course, I couldn’t have imagined what it was. But I just knew. 

Tomorrow it will be two years since receiving Adeline’s diagnosis. 730 days of battling with leukemia. We are so grateful for where she is now. Back at school, still in remission, living as close to a normal life as she can. But her journey isn’t over (just this week she’s neutropenic again and missed a whole week of school), the threat of relapse still looms, and tomorrow still brings heaviness. It marks the day that started the “after.” I have two pictures of me from that day, one before and one after. And that’s how I see them in my mind. I want to go hug the before Katie and tell her to hold tight, but also to embrace the change because it means she’s stepping into the moment and adapting to meet her needs and the needs of her family.  

 The last “before” picture 

4/17 in the Emergency Department 

I asked Adeline if there was anything she wanted to do to mark her cancerversary. She said, “Get Chuy’s” which seems to be her answer to everything. So we’ll get takeout and embrace the heaviness of the day while reflecting on how far she, and we have come as well.