There are some things you just don't understand until you're a cancer…

There are some things you just don't understand until you're a cancer parent.

Like knowing your child's hemoglobin is low before you ever see their labs because you can tell by the color of their lips.

You learn that a fever isn't “give them some Tylenol and see how they feel tomorrow.”

You know exactly how much your child weighs because every medication depends on it.

You learn how to maneuver an IV pole through a bathroom with a toddler attached to it...I became a pro at covering Lukes central line- which was no easy feat. Pro trip to others going through it- use the aqua guard AND press and seal. I promise. Nothing is more frustrating than your kid having to be reaccessed because water got under it.

You can sleep through people walking into the room at 4 a.m. — but one slightly different beep from a machine will have you wide awake... I could have slept through, but Chung never let me. Between the hours of 11p at 6a.... the nurses weren't allowed to touch them... Chungs rule. They would try and he would tell them, "No..Ma do it" lol. I miss hearing that. I became a pro at vitals!

You become weirdly excited when counts finally start climbing. It literally feels as exciting as your kid taking their first steps.

You learn which hospital elevators are fastest, where the good vending machines are, which cafeteria meals to avoid, and exactly how long you can stretch “I'll shower tomorrow.” 😂

You learn to pack a hospital bag without knowing whether you're staying six hours or six weeks... it's always 6 weeks. Just plan on 6 weeks.

You figure out how to make a hospital room feel like a bedroom. We did all kinds of crafts, and would decorate our room with it. Picasso had nothing on a Chung painting.

You celebrate things nobody else would ever think to celebrate.

ANC 500?! LET'S GOOOOO. 😂🙌

And somewhere along the way, things that once would have terrified you just become… normal.

That's one of the weirdest parts of childhood cancer.

You're still Mom or Dad.

Except now you're also keeping track of medications, flushing lines, watching temperatures, reading lab results and learning an entirely new language you never asked to speak.

And your kid?

They're still worried about snacks, cartoons, toys and whether they can go play. For me- that was the biggest blessing. I hated that Luke thought what was going on was normal, but he never knew any but it, but he did and it made coping a lot easier.

There were some incredibly dark days during Luke's treatment.

But there was also laughter.

A LOT of laughter.

Because that's what families do. And thats what the nurses do. I remember one time during treatment we all had contest going. We had to monitor Lukes intake and output, and weigh all of his diapers. The were massive because this kid drank no less than 100oz of water a day. The nurses started a contest to see if they could guess the weight. We had a winner and Matt Green printed them a poop trophy. I'll never forget that. The nurse who won said she was going to put it next to her Daisy Award!

We adapted.
We found joy wherever we could.
We celebrated every tiny win.
And somehow, we made a life inside something that never should have been our life at all.

That's the childhood cancer experience I want people to understand this month.

Not just the numbers.

The people living inside them. 💛