Ellie

Nuts and Bolts

Thursday morning, from the surgery floor

I just passed my nearly unconscious son into the arms of the medical team. Have I ever mentioned that this is my least favorite part of procedure days? They give Chase a small drug to relieve “separation anxiety” before they take him back to the OR and he immediately relaxes, but I still hate watching them wheel him away from me. I just do.

After almost two weeks, Chase is back in the hospital today. Right now, he is in the OR to get a new central line, remove the picc line in his arm, get a spinal tap, and receive his spinal chemo. After post-op recovery, he will be admitted for about four days of chemo infusions.

Many times, my thoughts and prayers are more general in nature, but today I have a couple specific requests: Please pray that this new central line does not infect (as his first one did) and please pray that the cancer is no longer present in his spinal fluid.

Thank you.

Hoping and believing outside the OR room…

First Year

Happy first year to our precocious, unflappable boy. We love your smile and your cackle-laugh. We love your rambling toddles and your grunting attempts to speak.

We are so excited to see who and what you become as you grow, and we are so thankful that you came into our lives. Happy Birthday, Karsten!

Impossible Question

“There has been no success in curing this cancer without radiation, but we know that there are long term neural and even physical effects from this course of treatment. What do you, as Chase’s parents, think?”

The impossible scenario with the impossible question.

What do we think?

In that moment, I think I wish I’d never walked into the room and never heard of cancer, and brain tumors, and chemo, and…

The reality is that Chase (barring the miracle we never cease to hope for) will begin radiation in a few short weeks. He is an excellent candidate for proton radiation (a “better” type) and our preliminary meetings and planning sessions with the doctors have been very encouraging.

It’s taken me a long time to blog about this scenario and its because I have found it almost impossible to write through being in a room and discussing the crushing reality of your child’s impending mental and physical changes …all the while knowing that these changes are still a lesser damage to him than his cancer.

Then, we leave the room and he’s still our Chase. In many ways, we said goodbye to who and what Chase was the minute we drove into the ambulance bay on that epic Tuesday in July. And at the end of my every thought and emotion on this, I have to come back to this promise…

“For you [God] formed Chase’s inward parts; you knitted him together in his mother’s womb. I praise you, for he is fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; and my soul knows it very well. Chase’s frame was not hidden from you, when he was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw his unformed substance; and in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for him, when as yet there were none of them.” Psalm 139:13-16 ( personalization added)

Our decision is big, but Jesus is bigger.

Moment by moment…

Chemo Duck

Tonight I realized that it was probably time to introduce “Chemo Duck” to EFAMILY.
Yes, I said “Chemo Duck”…

The “Chemo Duck” is a stuffed duck whose name is “Duck” (a little like Chase’s panda bear named “Panda Bear”), and he’s Chase’s new friend.

He was given to Chase by the hospital as a “role play” toy. He (the duck, not Chase) comes complete with a central access port that can be flushed so that Chase can do to “Duck” what we do to Chase. Although, come to think of it, Chase currently comes with an access port too…

He is a fuzzy yellow number (again, the duck, not Chase) with striped pajamas and a scarf to cover his head… a nod to the common chemo symptom of hair loss. At what point ducks ever had hair to lose is currently still a mystery to me…

Picture my sitting on the floor next to Chase, sterile and gloved, trying to perilously clean and “flush” (inject) medicines into small plastic tubes surgically inserted into his arm… all while he sits perfectly still and neither of us do anything to break the sterility of the environment (you know, like, dropping things on the floor). Did I use the word “sterile” a lot? That was intentional.

Enter “Duck”: who is regularly instructed to “sit still” and “be quiet” because “Jesus loves him” (Sometimes I really wish I knew what was going on in Chase’s head).

Presently, Chasey and his “Duck” are sleeping… all sterilized, flushed, and ready for another day.

Here’s hoping all the people and water fowl get plenty of sleep tonight.

Six Week Joy

Chase’s cancer treatment calls for a sixth week evaluation.

It’s hard to wrap my head around having had six straight weeks of chemo already.
We spoke with the research fellow on Chase’s team yesterday and the preliminary look at his 6 week MRI showed no new cancer growth (a very real concern with an aggressive, malignant cancer) and the existing areas of cancer to be slightly decreased.

JOY.

We won’t know the full impact of these findings until after they are reviewed (probably next week) by all the relevant specialties (oncology, radiology, neurology, etc), but we are so encouraged even by what we have already heard… The chemo is working.

JOY.

I often close my thoughts with this, as it never ceases to be less true to us:

We don’t know what lies ahead, but we continue as we have…

MOMENT BY MOMENT.