The oncology number flashed up and I almost dropped my phone trying to answer it.
“Hello…hello?” I said.
“Hi, Mrs. Dempsey, this is Katie from Nemours. I’m calling with test results.”
“Yes, yes. Go ahead.”
“Dr. Sandler reviewed Marjorie’s ultrasound and said everything looks good.”
I exhaled, taking my first breath since answering the phone.
“Thank you so much. Blood, urine…everything okay? You’re sure? Everything is normal? Good?”
“Yes m’am,” the nurse kindly replied.
“Okay, thank you so much,” I said and she replied the same and wished me a wonderful day.
My girl did it!! My baby girl BEAT CANCER!
My heart felt similar to Marjorie’s face below when she finally got Chick-fil-a after having to fast for her ultrasound on Monday.
I’m still numb while I type. Is this really it? Is it all behind us now? No more scans? Just an oncology clinic visit here and there to give blood.
To be perfectly honest, it doesn’t seem real. Marjorie kicked her way into this world three months early and it has been a whirlwind of hospitals and doctors appointments since. I am pretty sure we have seen just about every speciality Nemour’s hospital has to offer.
So could this be *it*?
I realize kids come with illness and God forbid broken bones. But could we, for the first time in Marjorie’s short life, be done for a while?
I knew deep down the scan results were going to be fine. My momma gut told me so. Marjorie is a HEALTHY and thriving (and sassy) four year old. But cancer puts that dent in your soul that leaves a constant fear of ‘What it?’
The fear will remain with me, but will not rule my life. These last few days were an unwelcome reminder of the nightmare we have lived through. I pray to never return.
While I can’t plan or detour tragedy, I can live my life in the present. I can look ahead without cancer looming in every corner.
Even four years later, I still wonder what my belly bump would have looked like. I wonder what the experience of Manning meeting his little sister in the hospital would have been like had my water not broke at 25-weeks. I wonder what would it have felt like to leave the hospital with my baby.
I wonder how different experiences would have been without Marjorie’s tumultuous first year of life. And on the other side of the coin, I wonder what our life would be like if we had not gone through pProm, the NICU and cancer.
How would we know what it feels like to have thousands of prayer warriors across the globe praying for you? We would have never seen the proof that angels exist here on earth. We would’ve never met the incredible people, doctors and nurses whom we now call friends (and angels). This ride has had plenty of dark moments, but each and every one were filled with people who became our light. You all lifted us up, laughed with us, prayed with us and cried with us. We are forever grateful to each of you.
So now what to do?
Well, I’m going to pick up my girl from school and squeeze her tight. I’m going to pick up big brother and tell him how proud I am of him. I am going to do homework, practice for spelling tests, watch Marjorie perform “Let It Go’ for the 45,689 time, make noodles with my tiny chef and later fuss at her to go to bed at a decent hour.
I plan to live out today, tomorrow and every day thereafter with as much extraordinary normalcy as possible. The past is the past. I am beyond grateful and proud of my Miraculous Marjorie and our family’s story, but our story is FAR from over.
So stay tuned…the best is yet to come. But for now, this is cancer’s LAST chapter. Cancer messed with the wrong family!
From the bottom of my heart, thank you. Thank you for the endless love, prayers and support you’ve given my family and me these last four years. We remember them daily and I vow to continue to pay and pray it forward. This part of our journey comes to a beautiful close because of you. God is so very good and we are blessed beyond measure.