Today marks a year since I was told my daughter, Georgia (then 2, almost 3), had cancer. Juvenile myleomonocytic leukemia - a cancer that pretty much only strikes toddlers and carried a 50% survival rate.A week ago, we were told her bone marrow transplant (her only chance) didn’t take. I can’t even remember the exact words said to me.... I just blanked out. We’re currently debating whether we should take her home on hospice or try and put her through another highly toxic, unpleasant, and painful round of treatment to see if another BMT will take. We’ve got 3 outcomes here: either she dies of cancer, dies of the treatment, or she lives through this and later goes on to suffer from heart, lung, bone, and fertility issues that might end up killing her.A parent should never have to gamble between these options.September is childhood cancer awareness month and I’ve always found it funny (not haha funny, but you understand me) It seems like such a dumb thing to remember, but I’ll never forget seeing an Alex’s Lemonade stand sign on my Mike and Ike’s package, just days before she was diagnosed and thinking “Well that’s sad. I pray that’s never my child.” And it was my child. My Georgia.And now, a year later, we’re talking about how to throw a funeral for a little girl who might not get to see 4.I beg you to donate. Not just to cancer. Not just with money. Spend some time at hospice facilities, donate an hour to cook for a family with a sick child. If you can’t even afford to do that, donate your thoughts; vaccinate your children (another child on the onc unit died after contracting meningitis, I believe it was, from an unvaccinated classmate), teach your kids to be tolerant and kind (who the hell makes fun of a sick child? Plenary of other kids, that’s who), and most of all, acknowledge our struggles for what they are (Georgia isn’t wasting in a bed all day, be she isn’t always bubbly and bright eyed).I love my girl so much. via /r/Parenting https://ift.tt/2MTqqVH
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