Cancer – Page 35 – CHASE AWAY CANCER

He Is Enough

Finally, a Christmas season with no new. No new babies that leave you lucky to get completely dressed each day, let alone decorate a house for Christmas. No new and scary cancer diagnosis that sends you reeling so that you can hardly think straight, let alone prepare for the holidays.

This. This would be the year we would do. Do lights and trees and the Christmas market and start new traditions. Each day would be beautiful and weighed down and slowed down in some way to specially mark the Advent and keep the Heart of our celebration at the front of our minds. …and our adventures and travels would all look so pretty under the light of an Instagram filter.

And then everybody got sick.

And Chase’s counts dropped for two weeks in a row with no explanation.

And I found myself lying face in the snow as my bruised brain reminded me that what I’d set out to do hadn’t been a good idea.

And then came the CT scan and the ER conversation about how to treat concussions.

And then I watched the Christmas season pass me by.

The cards only half done, the Christmas market abandoned, the traditions would have to wait.

Lying flat on the couch by the tree, tears streamed down my face as I struggled to let it go. I had attached my heart to these things we would do. I would be a good parent for them; a good Christian for them. These things are what would make this time special and holy. Because we need special. You see, for any of us, healthy or not, this could be our last Christmas, but somehow, with the cancer, the dark cloud of “the last” looms greater and closer. This Christmas must count because it could be the last one we’re all here together. What if…

I have continued to wrestle against this concussion, pushing for health because we’re losing precious days.

It wasn’t until yesterday, eight days into the wrestle, as I sat under the tree, feeling bitterly disappointed to miss another Advent Sunday, that the still of my heart was stirred.

God is enough.

My worship doesn’t need anything, not even the beauty and pageantry of Christmas in my beloved church. My ability to guide my children through this season is not based on events and outings. No, He who took on our broken, wretched skin, He and He alone is enough.

This does not come easily to me. I so often want to dress Him up and observe Him in a way that makes me feel special. How silly and foolish a thing to do – and it took a concussion to strip it away and show it up.

So the Christmas cards may not get sent, but He is enough.

The new traditions may not get made, but He is enough.

The old traditions may not be kept, but He is enough.

This may well be the last Christmas…but HE IS ENOUGH.

I don’t need anything else.

Moment by moment.

Do You Hear What I Hear?

I’ve written about Chase’s lack of hearing before.

The tiny room…

The sounds I can hear that he doesn’t…

The frustration in our home as he calls and calls desperately across the house, never once hearing us answer…

Since his doctors surgically cleaned out his ears, the intense frustration has seemed to improve a little. Now, he seems to be able to hear a voice from across the room, but perhaps that’s just wishful thinking on our parts. After all, we know the collateral damage we signed on for when we started this journey.

Stimulating his hearing through his skull - fearful and wonderful — Stimulating his hearing through his skull – fearful and wonderful

And yet…

Today, as we wrapped up the audiology exam, she sat down and smiled: “I don’t usually get to tell people this, as it often goes in the other direction, but…his hearing has actually improved!” The procedure performed in November (when he was under anesthesia for his MRI) was successful and his hearing is within normal ranges in several areas. His high frequency hearing is still classified as “poor“, but even that has improved from the “unresponsive” conclusion on his last test.

Even as we both celebrate these results and wonder about the results in six months time, I am reminded again of these words…

Chase doesn’t need perfect hearing to hear the voice of God.

Thankful.

Moment by moment.

He feared the giant headphones and we told him that he looked like an airplane pilot :) — He feared the giant headphones and we told him that he looked like an airplane pilot 🙂

Deaccessed

Today was our second day of post-chemo follow up. Chase has made a lot of progress and today turned into a very big day when his neuro-oncologist suggested that Chase may have “weaned” far enough off of his IV nutrition (down to 10 hours) and may actually be eating enough to stop using the IV bag altogether.

So today, for the very first time ever, Chase was “deaccessed” (the needle and dressing were removed from the port in his chest) while in the hospital and he walked away a free man! He has not been without visible “hardware” in either his chest, arm, or hand since August of 2012 (other than a very brief 24 hours in July when he got to go swimming). This is a big step and he is very excited! Without the bag, he won’t have a needle taped to his chest and he will be able to swim, or take a bath, or go places without a “crash kit” on hand. Please pray for Chase as his body transitions back to sustaining itself without assistance. He will continue to have weekly labs taken to monitor his progress for at least the first few weeks. And so, we move forward…

Moment by moment.

A needle-free chest pockmarked with central line scars. Beautiful battle wounds.

Clear

Clear. Clear! The MRI was clear!!

Brain…clear. Spine…clear. And the areas of fluid they’ve been watching? …smaller!

Chase’s doctor said that the images were perfect and exactly what they’d hoped for.

It’s official. Chase has finished his chemo therapy with no signs of cancer.

How I wish his scans would stay like this forever! They may, and they may not… but either way, they are clear right now and in that we have so much joy.

Last night, I wrote about a second day of testing. This has now been moved to next week due to some scheduling issues and the post-procedure counsel of the ENT.

We’d so appreciate continued prayer for Chase, especially tonight as it’s been a long day and the anesthesia was rough. He’s having significant ear pain – a common side effect of the procedure – which has him screaming at anything pitched over a whisper in the house right now. We have been told that it will pass in the next 24 hours and we pray that’s true.

Thank you for coming on this amazing journey with us. God is good.

Moment by moment.

I couldn't resist adding this picture as well. It takes a pretty amazing dad to escort his child into the OR *and* rock the outfit while doing it. :) — I couldn’t resist adding this picture as well. It takes a pretty amazing dad to escort his child into the OR *and* rock the outfit while doing it. 🙂

Of Tests, Hot Chocolate, and Blessings

My apologies for the recent lack of blog updates. I will get to the last few weeks another time. For now I’d like to update on this week alone.

In the morning, Chase begins the first of two full days of tests and appointments with his doctors for post-chemo evaluation. We’d greatly appreciate prayer, especially in regards to the full brain and spine MRI and the potential ear surgery which will collectively have him under anesthesia for 2-3 hours tomorrow afternoon.

We consider ourselves incredibly blessed to have made it to this point… to even be discussing a “post chemo” life… what a gift!

Right now, the snow is falling outside and because many aspects of Chase’s traumatized brain are still breathtakingly sharp, he reminded me that I promised -last year- hot chocolate and “The Polar Express” when the first snow fell. So the siblings lie snuggled on couches in the dark, gleefully starting the holiday season too early. But really? Can one ever start too early? It’s the time that we set aside to be thankful…for Jesus, for love, for life. There is no time limit on those things. And while a hot drink and Christmas movie hardly seem focused on such great themes, the very opening sounds and smells threw me back in time a year and the radiation burns and the cancerous spinal taps and the crushing knowledge that the season of 2012 might be the last.

There will never not be apprehension about all the tests and what we’ll hear on days like tomorrow, but right now, in this moment, I’m reminded that we’re incredibly blessed.

Moment by moment.

In the dark, a bald head snuggles in front of "The Polar Express" — In the dark, a bald head snuggles in front of “The Polar Express”