Fourteen chemo cycles is an aggressive treatment plan. Especially with chemo drugs that are classified as “high risk”.

When we started back in December it felt like we were looking at a mountain in front of us we had to climb. It didn’t feel possible.

But the only way out is through.

So we took one step at a time. And the first five cycles were rough. Really rough. Increasingly rough. Fevers and added hospitalizations. Mouth sores. Vomiting. Bone pain. Blood transfusions.

By the time we reached the fifth cycle and things were progressively worsening, with growing evidence of her liver being damaged and on the precipice of adding 33 radiation treatments to her face to the mix, it seemed more and more like this wasn’t sustainable. We weren’t going to make it up the mountain.

When I think about “rock bottom” of the last nine months I picture the emergency room at St Mary’s hospital in Rochester, Minnesota. We went in for yet another fever. In the small, freezing ER room she cried when they came to access her port, which made her nose bleed and bleed. And then she started throwing up. They gave us a little padded blue clip to try and stop her nose. When they took her temperature the thermometer read over 104. Her platelets came back dangerously low and it took multiple transfusions to get them back up to a reasonable level.

That was the first of seven days in the hospital. Seven days of watching her temp spike over and over, of suctioning bloody mucous out of her mouth at night, of watching her stats on the monitor all night while her body struggled and her heart raced, of her laying there so sad and miserable she didn’t even watch a show or listen or music or do anything for seven days.

On the seventh day they ordered a CT scan to try and find the source of the fever. It was that CT scan that gave the doctor the final piece of information to diagnose her liver condition, a rare complication of one of her chemo drugs. If we hadn’t caught it, things would have gotten worse very quickly.

After that CT scan her fever went away. It was like it was trying to tell us something and we finally figured it out.

I remember how it felt, walking out of the hospital into the fresh air and sunshine. We didn’t know that was a turning point in that moment, but looking back now it was.

Switching chemo protocols is nerve wracking. A whole new set of scary drugs with scary side effects. We were half way through when we made the change.

And thank goodness we did. The new protocol was a night and day difference from the old. No more fevers and unexpected hospitalizations. No more mouth sores. No more bone pain. Minimal nausea.

She started regaining weight. Had enough energy to go on walks and clean her room. Started working on school work. Somehow seven more cycles passed.

Yesterday she received her last high dose chemo infusion. Fourteen cycles: complete.

It feels like a marathon. It feels like a miracle. There were so many moments when I wasn’t sure we would make it here.

And now here we are.

We can’t really ever know when or how the tide will turn. But I’m really glad it turned when it did.