Detour

detour n. A roundabout way or course, especially a road used temporarily instead of a main route.

A DETOUR sign is never good. My own definition would add a line about a detour adding on incremental time to the journey.

They're repairing the sidewalks on N. Monroe Street and routing traffic through our quiet neighborhood. It's disconcerting seeing so many cars, like a funeral processional, slowly weaving through our streets.

Michael hates detours. He detests them, as if the orange signs are just for him. For the 15 months of so of driving to Dr. Rosen's old office in Old Tappan, we'd have to weave through detoured streets having no idea where we were going. We were ecstatic when he opened The Whole Child in nearby Oradell. And when the town had another detour on Monroe near Hillcrest, he gladly drove out of the way through Ho-Ho-Kus to avoid the orange sign.

We too experienced a detour of sorts today.

I had just returned to my desk from a meeting and was returing calls when my cell phone rang from an unknown New Jersey number. I always answer New Jersey calls because I am so scatterbrained. It might be someone I called for an estimate here and there. Or a friend. Or Tree removal. Reupholstery. Hello Kitty stickers on eBay. Or the hospital. It's always a surprise!

Today, it was Dr. Harris, Sylvie's oncologist who is also the head of pediatric oncology and hematology at HUMC. He was calling because he had the results of Sylvie's AFP level (Alpha-fetoprotein). Sylvie's last AFP was 17. Yesterday's test: 26.5. This is not good. This means there is presence of cancer still in Sylvie's body. (When Sylvie was first diagnosed, it was over 500,000.

Dr. Harris had already spoken to Dr. Valda who recommended doing an MRI with sedation immediately and scheduling another surgical procedure to remove the small mass from the remaining part of Sylvie's right liver lobe. I was sobbing in my crappy cubicle, trying not to draw attention. My friends Josh and Lorne sit adjacent to me and they are both parents to toddlers, too. He said after the MRI, we'd sit down like we did before. That was NOT a fun meeting and my mind drifted to the double-whammy shitstorm in the 'Family Lounge' with me and Michael hysterically sobbing into each other's shoulders. So naturally, I immediately asked if he was going to *surprise* Michael and me and say that Sylvie needed a liver transplant and he said NOT AT ALL. Dr. Harris said he was disappointed but "VERY HOPEFUL" and had a "TREMENDOUS AMOUNT OF HOPE." I asked if she needed more chemo. He said probably not, that the protocol for recurring hepatoblastoma is surgery. And technically this surgery would be less invasive than her previous one. (Dr. Rosen suggested this might not be 'recurring' afterall).

Michael talked to Dr. Harris who said he would have biopsied Sylvie's liver if her AFP level was 12 because he's not taking any chances. He saw it trending higher and was already tracking it. He said they need to see the MRI but right now, it seems very resectable. He said he talked to Dr. Valda three times today about it and is calling the Pediatric Oncology Cooperative tonight to hear what they have to say, too. He and Michael both commented on how healthy Sylvie is right this very second.

I went into my friend Beka's office because she's out on maternity leave and I could have privacy. From there I called Michael. Next stop was my my boss's office and proceeded to completely break down and sob. She's known me for all of 6 weeks so I was a little embarrassed. I can't quite wrap my head around work until I know more about Sylvie's condition. That being said, the executives at my company continue to be incredible and supportive; I just don't want to be a burden on them. In the immediate future (i.e. tomorrow), I'm putting all my ducks in a row, as they say, in case I have to be out again.

I know there is a catty undercurrent of gossip in my office from some of the 20-somethings who think us moms who 'work home on Fridays' are having double martini lunches and that it discriminates against them! Maybe they can walk in my shoes for a minute, try a flex schedule for a decrease in pay and balance conference calls with nap time and at least in my case, at least 3 trips a week to the hospital and another 3 to the different pharmacies not to mention the administering of medicine and so forth. Work/Life wasn't a walk in the park before Sylvie got sick, either. Sisters, unite I say, we've come a long way!!! They're lucky to work at an entertainment company with so many female executives! If they were at my former employer, they might be fetching Starbucks and calling in blind items to the New York Post for the next five years, wink wink.

Michael met me at the office and we caught the next train home. Sylvie and Sibel were walking up the driveway to go to Samantha's house. We were equally ecstatic to see each other and I couldn't help but cry. Sibel saw my tears and knew. I saw tears well up in her eyes too. I followed them over to Sammy's and told Sibel while we pushed Sylvie on a swing. I cruised home. Michael later stopped by Sammy's with flowers and stickers for the girls. They were very excited.

We are so overwrought with sadness, confusion and anger. Why can't Sylvie just get better and be like a normal 3-year-old?
We are so grateful to our friends and families for all of their help, love and support. No one wants to look cancer in the eye, let alone the eyelashless blue eyes of our bald-is-the-new-beautiful toddler but YOU DO. And you do it with love and affection and the occasional welling up of tears in your eyes. We are forever grateful to you. We will fight cancer once again. One cell at a time.

Fuck cancer. Fuck fuck fuck cancer. My kid has a hell of a lot of living to do so go the fuck away.

From now on, if it takes me an extra three minutes to get to my destination because of a traffic detour and I get to spend it with Sylvie while she sings in the backseat, that's okay by me.

So yes, our detour sucks more than your detour.