All I can say is that something else came along.
Something along the vein of a very good friend, some very good Thai take away, and some very good alcohol.
So, anyway... back to the story at hand.
Yesterday we got some answers.
We still don't have full answers, but we at least know some basics.
It is definitely, absolutely, 110% certainly cancer. It is from the rhabdomyosarcoma family, which we expected. They are fairly certain that it is an embryonal but they won't know that for sure until the tests come back, which should be early next week.
The answers were enough for them to be able to start chemotherapy yesterday.
I really have to say, after all the build up and intense emotions in the lead up, actually starting chemo was somewhat anti-climactic!
The first treatment was over within a matter of minutes. It was a simple injection through her porta cath.
So that is where we are.
We have just started week 0 of a 42 week chemotherapy treatment regime.
So now, it's all purple. All her lines are stickered purple for cytotoxic waste. Her nappies and waste all go into purple bags for cytotoxic waste. The first 10 days after each chemo treatment she is cytotoxic. From day 8 to day 15 she needs to be wrapped in a bubble and protected from the world as her platelets, bloods and white cells crash spectacularly, and then we get a few days of grace and freedom before we start the whole process again.
Through all of yesterday, through talking to the surgeons and discovering the extent of the cancer spread in her abdomen, having a brutally frank discussion with the oncologists about her chances, even through her first round of chemo being administered I held it together. Then the ward receptionist brought me in Nicola's bravery beads, and I fell apart. A few cheap stupid plastic beads and I totally lose it.
So that's where we are. We have some answers, but we're still just really holding. We spend one day a week doing chemo and the other 6 days a week trying to find the strength to keep hoping and praying that she will get through this.
We are hoping that at some point we may be able to start sneaking home to north Queensland between major treatments, so that means that out of every three weeks, I will only have to spend 3 days out of town and away from my family.
At least that will give us some basic comforts, like food that doesn't come from a box or gets zapped in a microwave... like beds that don't feel like you're sleeping on a plastic sack of broken concrete... and most importantly, the comfort of home, of safety, of security, of family, and of our familiar environment.
Until then, we maintain status quo. We pass each day hour by hour, just watching and waiting.