Doug Clark: Cancer treatment brings mixed news for little Cevanah Williams and her family

She’s still cuter than a bunny on Easter. But on this day in her Spokane Valley home, Cevanah Williams is so much more animated and full of fun than the little girl I remember from four months ago.

Which is understandable.

Back then the 2 1/2-year-old tyke was fresh out of her second brain cancer surgery. She sported a partially shaved head and a shocking C-shaped scar on the right side of her scalp as proof.

“C” for Cevanah. “C” for cancer. It was impossible to not connect the dots.

But now?

“She’s doing great,” says Cevanah’s mother, Michelle. “She’s doing really great. She’s starting to put words together.

“She’s a spitfire, I tell ya.”

That she is.

Cevanah is decked out in a bright green sweater, a white top, black pants and flashy sequined sandals. Curls now hide that telltale scar. A curlicue barrette sprouts with a carnival of colors from the top of her head.

She’s in constant motion, going up and down the stairs to return each time with a new stuffed animal to show me.

A unicorn. An owl. Another owl.

But looks are often deceiving. A cancer like Cevanah’s is an unpredictable journey.

The girl’s condition, which was diagnosed last summer, is called NF1, or neurofibromatosis. It’s a genetic abnormality that can cause both cancerous and benign tumors.

Michelle and Cevanah have just returned from a checkup trip with the miracle workers at Seattle’s famed Children’s Hospital.

An MRI was performed along with a vision test that allowed a specialist to see what is going on behind Cevanah’s eyes.

The results were a mixed bag.

The tumor taken out in February appears to be gone. Another MRI will be performed in September just to be certain.

There is, notes Mom, a tiny lesion and jellybean-size tumor in the “optic chiasm” behind Cevanah’s eyes. It’s a precarious spot for a surgeon to venture without affecting vision.

If the need arises, Michelle says, chemotherapy and radiation can be called into the battle. But there’s no need to worry prematurely about that.

“It’s scary. Just the anticipation of what they’re going to find.”

The stress for this average working family must be palpable at times.

David, the father, is a plumber. He operates his own company, Kodiak Plumbing, with Michelle helping with bookkeeping and billing. It’s a family of five with Cody, 6, and Cierra, 10, filling the roster.

And if the emotional toll isn’t enough, there is the potentially devastating financial aspect.

The benefit held last March by goodhearted members of AR Tools & Machinery, Michelle’s former employer, raised some $13,000.

“It was wonderful,” Michelle says. “We’ve used half of it to pay off bills with the other half as a travel account.

“I just want to thank everyone who came and donated items to be auctioned off.”

Still, expenses mount. This family needs help.

A better minivan for travel would be a godsend, says Lori Bohr, a close family friend.

Donations can still be made to the “Cevanah Williams Hope for Savi Fund” at any Banner Bank branch.

Cevanah seems to have adopted me. Or maybe it’s just the iPad I use to take notes.

Fascinated by it, she pulls a chair up next to where I’m seated, grabs my stylus and starts drawing random lines and squiggles that, to be completely honest, don’t look all that different from my own sloppy handwriting.

I tickle her nose while she’s concentrating. She squeals and giggles with glee.

What a funny kid.

Even with the medication she takes, Cevanah still has frequent seizures. Michelle says it’s common for the girl to drift off into a “spacey la-la land.”

Last Memorial Day, for example, Cevanah spent the entire holiday in the hospital battling seizures.

She’s a lot more mobile although she “still has trouble with her balance,” adds Michelle.

This entire situation appears to be a complex balancing act.

There will be more doctor visits in July and then on again to Seattle come September.

But with this sort of thing, it’s enjoy what you have day by day and keep your fingers crossed because, well, you just never know.

“Unfortunately, this is a sit and wait situation, and then jump when something happens,” Michelle says with a look of concern. “Tumors have a mind of their own.”

Time to go. I stand up and my little friend stretches out her arms for a hug. I pick her up and she gives me a smooch, to boot.

No doubt about it. Cevanah’s taken a shine to me.

Doug Clark is a columnist for The Spokesman-Review. He can be reached at (509) 459-5432 or by email at dougc@spokesman.com.