And they're off...

So, with no prior training and having met our jockey (oncologist) just days ago, we are now standing in the paddock. And tomorrow, the gates will fly open, and it will be the longest (and most important) "two minutes" of Harper's life. A Derby/horse racing reference seems pretty accurate here, but with obviously higher stakes.

Tomorrow, after a bone scan, we will initiate chemotherapy. The drugs will start with the same ones we started discussing last night: vincristine, doxorubicin and cyclophosphamide. The risks are the same. The rewards are priceless. There will also be etoposide and carboplatonin used as well, often alternating "cocktails."

It's scary, of course, but 24 hours has brought a lot of acceptance and we're beginning to brace for the next phase. We expect vomiting, hair loss, constipation or diarrhea (or both), and obviously weakness. We hope we don't see seizures, heart damage, and kidney damage (her healthy one).

We'll also be expecting another major surgery at week 6 or so, where they will remove her left kidney. And we'll be doing some stem cell harvesting to prepare for a (unfortunately relatively likely) recurrence which will probably require high dose chemo with stem cell rescue.

With her immune system basically under attack beginning tomorrow, for the very first time, Melissa and I made the decision to restrict visitors this weekend. Several family members had hoped to come visit this weekend, but we have to put Harper first, and this is one of the ways we want to do it. Based upon the possible/likely effects of the chemo, it will probably not be a particularly cheery time for her anyways.

Today, she showed more signs of life, though she is not the Harper we all knew before this. She was awake most of the day, and did get up a few times to go potty. However, she is still in pain, with multiple meds on board to help make her comfortable. Plus her BP meds are still making her zombie-like at times. Her central line and abdominal incision are healing nicely, and she has already admitted the central line is much better than being stuck multiple times a day. The doctor asked her if she wanted to name it, but she doesn't like it that much yet.

I want to again thank everyone who has called, written, emailed, mailed packages, brought food, shared our posts/statuses or just plain prayed for us. We are so blessed by you all, and can feel your prayers lifting us up. I am convinced that our spirits would be in a very different place (and our outcome less hopeful) if we did not have the incredible network of friends and family that have so immediately stepped up and offered us assistance. I am humbled and literally in tears thinking of the outpouring of support we have received.

One I'll share is a little banner a friend at work put together. I teared up when I saw it.





It's quiet here now. Harper is sleeping (though apparently having some vivid dreams from the pain meds) and we have a couple hours until they come in to take her vitals and deliver more meds, so the gates haven't flung open yet.

I can almost here the call to the post. I can visualize the finish line. Lets jump out strong, hold close to the rail... I can smell the roses from here.