‘The hole that cannot be filled’
Grieving mum speaks of the cancer ordeal that took her daughter in a matter of months
Next week will mark two months since Lena Schroeter’s toddler died, a tragedy that struck suddenly, leaving only grief and pain.
“Everyone carries on with their lives as normal but all I wanted to do was sit and remember her,” she said.
“The pain without her is indescribable and I miss her immensely.”
Her child, Amelia, was killed by neuroblastoma — a child cancer branded “the silent tumour” that affected 6 per cent of all child cancer patients between 2000 and 2019.
It’s the fourth most common childhood cancer, accounting for a quarter of all cancers diagnosed in the first year of life. Yet Schroeter never knew her daughter had it because the symptoms were so concealed.
Schroeter’s journey as a mother had started well.
Her daughter arrived in a “textbook” birth in August 2021.
In November last year, she found Amelia sporting a prominent black eye, which she tied to a small tumble at the bottom step of the house.
A doctor’s check-up didn’t reveal anything serious, but she was back two weeks later with a swollen eye.
“We thought she might have an infection,” said Schroeter.
“They thought it could be conjunctivitis so we were sent home with cream — but the swelling got worse.”
Over the weeks, Amelia had shown odd changes in behaviour. Her usually energetic nature had turned to fatigue. She’d stopped eating her favourite foods and was struggling to sleep.
Her abdomen began to swell. Schroeter didn’t think much of it until her doctor referred the case to a paediatrician — they were keen to get Amelia scanned at Nelson Hospital.
A 10-hour wait in the emergency department led to blood tests and scans, revealing “something there”.
Staying overnight in the paediatric ward, Schroeter was brought into a room and given worrying news — a mass was found behind her daughter’s eye and she would need to be airlifted to Christchurch that day.
“That was pretty much how the whirlwind journey began.
“It was just full on — from one thing to the next, our lives were turned upside down and you’ve got this massive battle in front of you.”
Eight days and numerous tests later, Amelia was officially diagnosed with neuroblastoma.
Schroeter experienced what she described as “information overload” as her daughter began intensive chemotherapy. The treatment was expected to last 18 months.
“You’re just thinking, ‘How am I supposed to go through that?’. You have no idea how to comprehend cancer treatments for your 15-monthold.”
Amelia’s cancer was aggressive and at stage 4, her survival odds were
50 per cent over five years.
Away from home and living in a Christchurch cancer ward, Schroeter watched her toddler endure numerous injections and surgeries in an attempt to beat the cancer.
Moments of hope, when scans showed the chemotherapy wiping away toxic cells, turned into discouragement as Amelia’s body became overloaded with fluid.
She was flown to Starship children’s hospital in Auckland with breathing problems and treated in the Paediatric Intensive Care Unit (Picu).
The rollercoaster continued, with the child “yo-yo’d” between Picu and the cancer ward. Some days a hopeful message suggested she would recover, but other days saw Amelia’s condition rapidly decrease.
“We got taken into a room and told that she wasn’t doing too well, that they were quite concerned,” Schroeter said.
“As a parent, you just hope with all your might there’s something you can do and hope for a medical miracle.”
The miracle never arrived, her condition continued to drop and Amelia died on July 28.
Schroeter was told if she’d brought her daughter into the hospital two months earlier than she had, it was still unlikely the outcome would have been any different.
“It’s an aggressive cancer but I read that some call it the silent tumour, the symptoms are so subtle. “You don’t tie what she had to the worst thing possible, nobody would. And that’s the horrible thing — you don’t expect a fresh, new child to get cancer.”
Schroeter returned from her daughter’s funeral carrying the weight of what she’d journeyed for nine months, reflecting on the “biggest blessing of my life” to be Amelia’s mum.
“I would give anything to cuddle her and see her beautiful smile again,” she said.
“It’s an immense sadness, a huge hole that cannot be filled.
“But I am also finding great comfort and smiles in all the memories I made with her in her short time with us.”
September is Childhood Cancer Awareness Month, Schroeter paid tribute to the families in Christchurch who were also journeying neuroblastoma treatments, they helped her along the process.
She was thankful to have organisations such as Ronald McDonald House provide practical help, from free groceries and counselling to heavy contributions towards funeral costs.
Even her workplace stepped up to help when times got particularly difficult, Schroeter said..
“You’re thrown into this world outside of normal life, I’m blown away by those there to support you.
“Without them you’d be so lost, the generosity to listen and to be a shoulder to cry on.
“Having support and not being afraid to ask for help is a big thing for something like that,” Schroeter said.