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Fig Jam and Lime Cordial

Living well in the urban village

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Old Medicine Bottles

May 24, 2018 by Celia @ Fig Jam and Lime Cordial

I was tidying up our medicine cabinet recently and found these. And even though they’re nearly 20 years old and very out of date, I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out.

As many of you know, when Small Man was three months old, he was diagnosed with Neuroblastoma 4S cancer. He had a golf ball size primary tumour on his adrenal gland which had metastasized into hundreds of smaller tumours in his liver, causing it to swell to over three times its normal size.  Emergency surgery removed the primary, after which the doctors adopted a wait and see approach, as this particularly rare form of cancer was known to “self-resolve”. We were told that the “4S” stood for “Stage 4, Special”.

Thankfully, blessedly, Small Man didn’t need chemotherapy, but he had to undergo a brutal but essential testing protocol over the following four years to ensure the cancer didn’t spread any further. Initially, we spent a fortnight in hospital every six weeks (by the end, we only had to go in once a quarter), and it took its toll on all of us. By the time he was one, Small Man would start crying when we turned onto the motorway entrance towards Westmead Children’s Hospital. In later years, at the end of each round of tests, he would stop talking completely for a week.

The only effective way to track what was happening inside his tiny body was through nuclear imaging scans, so our son was injected with radioactive isotopes and strapped down to a scanning bed. Apparently neuroblastoma kids are notoriously difficult to sedate, and Small Man used to put up an admirable fight. It wasn’t until he was old enough to be hypnotised by the Wiggles that the process finally got easier. Prior to that, the only thing that would settle him even slightly was an elephantine dose of chloryl hydrate – the doctors used to tell us that the dose could knock him out for up to 12 hours, but we were lucky to get 45 minutes. He also needed iodine to protect his thyroid during the scanning process, but he was allergic to the formulation that the hospital used. In the end we had to crush up iodine tablets usually dispensed for nuclear emergencies and feed them to him in a sugar syrup through a syringe.

It was all so long ago but I treasure these old bottles, because I don’t want to forget. They remind me to always be grateful for everything. They remind me how lucky we are to still have our strong, strapping 21 year old son.  And they remind me that as individuals, Pete and I are powerful, but as a team, we’re unstoppable.

Sometimes, life can feel very tough. In those moments, it’s good to remember that we’ve been tested before, and we survived. Yep, I think I’ll keep those bottles. 

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Posted in Musings | 28 Comments

28 Responses

  1. on May 24, 2018 at 1:36 pm marilynscottwaters

    “As a team we are more powerful” = what being married really means. Hugs and love to you, Maz


  2. on May 24, 2018 at 2:59 pm Miranda

    Love to you and your family Celia


  3. on May 24, 2018 at 3:37 pm Helen

    This brought (happy) tears to my eyes. Yes indeed we should all count our blessings no matter how small. And I’m a sentimentalist but I say keep the bottles for sure! Helen


  4. on May 24, 2018 at 3:48 pm Amanda (@lambsearsandhoney)

    Indeed – there are situations that really do call for gritting the teeth and powering through. I know my two kids who had health problems as infants are much more resilient than their older, healthier sister. I can only imagine what a resilient young man yours has become.


  5. on May 24, 2018 at 3:54 pm Anna Rowland

    Thank you for this post Celia. Isn’t it wonderful to have a positive outcome from cancer.


  6. on May 24, 2018 at 4:01 pm Cath

    I just want to give you a big hug 💞💞💞
    You are such wonderful parents xo


  7. on May 24, 2018 at 4:17 pm Sue R

    Thank you for sharing that Celia. I can understand why you wouldn’t throw those bottles away. You are all still here loving life to the full and are a strong loving family. How wonderful that is.


  8. on May 24, 2018 at 4:24 pm tialys

    I can’t even fully imagine what you must all have gone through. To have a dangerously ill child has to be right up there with the worse things that can happen in life. Best wishes to you all.


  9. on May 24, 2018 at 4:30 pm Glenda

    Keep them forever Celia. They are special.


  10. on May 24, 2018 at 4:54 pm thecompletebook

    <3


  11. on May 24, 2018 at 5:07 pm katechiconi

    Not only should you not throw them out, you should frame them, with a label saying something like ‘Fear Conquered’. I have a little shadow box with relics of my own battle, and a label that says ‘Reasons to be Cheerful’. It helps a lot on days when I start to feel sorry for myself about nothing much.


  12. on May 24, 2018 at 6:33 pm Carol

    You have such a wonderful family bond through what seems like at least 3 generations. Love is so powerful. x


  13. on May 24, 2018 at 6:51 pm Alison

    Celia, this is so well written and really resonates with me. Thank you.


  14. on May 24, 2018 at 7:50 pm Chica Andaluza

    What an emotional read, testing times for you all. We don’t realise how strong we can be, and the fact that you all pulled (and stayed) together, rather than apart shows that wonderful things can come from sadness and pain. You and your family are inspirational and we thank you for all the support you have given and continue to give us with your friendship xxx


  15. on May 24, 2018 at 9:06 pm daleleelife101.blog

    Once upon a time, there was this family… and they lived happily ever after ♡


  16. on May 24, 2018 at 9:57 pm johanna @ green gourmet giraffe

    wow I did not know that story – it must have been so hard to see your son going through such a difficult time but it is lovely that you treasure knowing you got him through. It is funny the small things we hang onto as a little link to our past and our links to our past makes the present so much more precious!


  17. on May 24, 2018 at 10:54 pm Laurie Graves

    What a story! And, yes, it brought tears to my eyes, too. So very very glad that Small Man made it through the cancer and is now 21. Bravo to Small Man! Bravo to all of you!


  18. on May 25, 2018 at 1:31 am Susan

    Oh, Celia, what a story and yes, i too had emotional tears for you and your family. UNSTOPPABLE!!! Cheers. Love from here.


  19. on May 25, 2018 at 7:08 am equipsblog

    Powerful post. Thanks for sharing. What a family. Glad you all still have each other.


  20. on May 25, 2018 at 10:59 pm Mysa

    It’s sad to hear what you had to go through, it surely is difficult for parents when they have to have to see their child suffering, but glad to know that all is well now


  21. on May 26, 2018 at 5:52 pm Glamorous Glutton

    How special and magical those bottles must seem. Your story brought tears to my eyes, happy tears. GG


  22. on May 26, 2018 at 6:54 pm Jeannette

    XXX


  23. on May 27, 2018 at 12:14 am Janet

    Hi Celia – I had dinner last night with a friend who almost died but pulled through. Life is precious so must be lived to the full. Your blog helps to show us all how! All the best.


  24. on May 27, 2018 at 6:43 am L

    Wow, came here to get some Sunday bread inspo and now hugging my baby a whole lot tighter xxxx


  25. on May 27, 2018 at 6:08 pm Sally

    Oh Celia – how you find something positive out of such hardship, worry and pain is an inspiration to us all. Virtual hugs and it’s made small things I was worrying about fly out of the window.


  26. on May 28, 2018 at 4:31 pm Santwona

    Celia, you give me such hope and joy with every one of your life stories. Keep on going!


  27. on May 29, 2018 at 11:53 am Jan

    I’ve only just read this post- sitting here in our hotel room, our in-between-home, and feeling lost without a home and a kitchen – this post caused me to stare out into the trees and listen to the birds and feel immense gratitude not just for all that i have, but for being able to call you ‘friend’.


  28. on June 26, 2018 at 2:25 pm Lynn

    Our youngest was born with a heart defect and subsequently had two major respiratory infections. We spent months having to use breathing treatments on him every four hours round the clock. He had open heart surgery when he was 4 and he is now 24 years old, successfully “adulting” in San Diego (not at home in Seattle) and I still have two small vials of his medication saved in my memory box on my desk. I totally understand that. So glad you can see those and have the memory but still have Small Man.



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