Isabel is four feet six inches and weighs seventy three pounds. She will be nine in five weeks. She is healthy and cancer free and takes no medications. Her hair is at the "it's too long" point and I need to take her for a hair cut this weekend.
Normal.
I still have a dozen pages of the road map outlining the clinical trial Isabel was on, tucked away alongside drawings and school work. Each time Alan and I would meet with the oncologist, we'd form a sort of huddle, all sitting close together, knees almost touching, discussing the next phase of treatment while chemotherapy dripped into Isabel's chest port one chair over.
It's been over a year and I'm still marveling that we're done.















