Come celebrate with treats and fun for Justin’s last chemo!
Saturday, April 27th, 1-4pm at James Atkinson Memorial Park. 138 Bethel Mill Road Sewell, NJ. Look for us in pavilion next to the playground.
Anyone is welcome. Hope to see you there!
Come celebrate with treats and fun for Justin’s last chemo!
Saturday, April 27th, 1-4pm at James Atkinson Memorial Park. 138 Bethel Mill Road Sewell, NJ. Look for us in pavilion next to the playground.
Anyone is welcome. Hope to see you there!
Tomorrow I will hold Justin’s hands and play his favorite song and rub his back while they place an IV and inject chemotherapy drugs into his little veins for the last time (barring relapse).
The drug he will be given causes heart inflammation, so he will, subsequently, take another round of steroids for the last time.
Justin’s body is tired, out of shape and swollen with extra weight due to the effects of steroids and chemo-mouth-induced salt cravings.
He does not remember what a “normal” life is like, and, now, he is expected to live one.
But, we will take it one step at a time, and we will get there. Justin is a survivor. The rest can be slowly fixed. He is here. He is a survivor.
I have never been so grateful.
I have not been a perfect cancer mom. I have made mistakes and I have failed. I am tired, burnt out, down twenty pounds and still vomiting a good amount of my daily food intake. But I am still getting up. I am still doing the best I can. And I think maybe that’s enough. Maybe it’s enough that I am still standing by his side.
God gave us a 9 lb. 13 oz. baby Justin on August 26, 2010. He was strong, funny, smart and loved to play with his Little Tykes t-ball set.
And then he left us for a while. He was here, physically, but too traumatized by pain and strung out on toxic drugs to be recognized.
Now God is giving him back to us. Scarred and changed, but the light has returned to his blue eyes and he is able to be funny again. Really funny, actually. He makes me laugh every day. And he knows things that other kids don’t know. He understands things about people and life and God that are well beyond his years.
May we never, ever get over this miracle. To God alone be all the glory and praise.
Stick around for pictures of Justin’s last chemo coming soon!
Why do people say “I know it like the back of my hand”? Do some people sit around staring at their hands? Not sure I even know what my hands look like, really.
Anyway.
Justin is having his usual ups and downs this chemo cycle. He has marked the twenty-fifth of March as “last cemo” on our over-loaded family calendar. Didn’t have the heart to correct his spelling. Who cares how to spell that word anyway.
Thank you for continued support and prayer.
I am physically here taking care of Justin’s many needs, driving Michael to baseball practice, helping Nicky with his homework.
But my mind has wandered off to a deserted island. And I won’t be spelling “help” in seashells on the beach because I don’t want to be found.
Justin’s end of treatment celebration will be…
Saturday, April 27th in the pavilion and playground of James G. Atkinson Memorial Park at 138 Bethel Mill Rd., Sewell, NJ.
Come anytime from 1-4pm for snacks, fun and a big game of kickball at Justin’s request. Yes, even I will play!
I will sing the Lord’s praise, for He has been good to me. Psalm 13:6
March 25, 2019.
Justin will receive his last infusion of chemotherapy on this day.
We are planning an open house-type celebration at a local park this Spring. More details on this to come…
We are coming up on a MAJOR hurdle but this is not, in fact, the finish line. As of the end of March, Justin will no longer receive treatment, but he will still be seen in clinic every month for a physical exam and CBC. The following year, fifth and final, we will make the trip to clinic once every other month. Medical exams, heart monitoring and needle sticks will still very much be a part of his life until Justin is declared completely cancer-free.
Justin must remain in remission for a total of five years to be considered cured.
We are staying ever-positive and hopeful, but, of course, without the regular infusions of cancer-suppressing drugs, concern over relapse becomes far greater.
I am elated and I am terrified. Our hope is in the Lord.
Tomorrow. Justin’s last spinal tap, also known as a lumbar puncture. He has had twenty-seven.
Tomorrow. For the last time, we will drug him with Ativan for his copious needle anxiety, refuse him food (because he has to fast), support him while they place an IV, then sit close to his face while they prep and sedate him. A large needle will then be injected into his spine, withdrawing fluid and inserting methotrexate (a highly toxic drug, but one which, thankfully, kills cancer cells) directly into his central nervous system. His little spine and developing brain. He will be conscious. He will feel the pain of the needle. But, too loopy to cry out, a single, large tear will run down his face. Then, mercifully, Justin will fall asleep for a bit, only to wake up to his favorite foods.
That last part isn’t so bad.
Tomorrow. For the last time, we will schedule another round of chemo. Tomorrow, we will have a date ready to announce for his last treatment!
If Justin does not relapse, that is. He will not be considered cured until March 2021. But we have to believe he will make it. We have to believe he will survive.
Tonight, Justin and I talked about what we think a “superhero” actually looks like. And we agree on this. A hero isn’t the strongest or the smartest or the fastest. A hero is one who gets knocked down and KEEPS GETTING UP.
We talked about how God has allowed and helped Justin to keep getting up.
We are endlessly grateful.
Thank you for continued prayer and support. Don’t miss the exciting series finale coming soon!
Please give! (Graphic by Joe Baber, childhood cancer advocate)
Blood transfusions saved Justin’s life several times. So get your chocolates, roses and cards then give blood!
