The life and stories of a cancer ninja
He woke before 6:00 -gunning for the day in general and the race tonight- prepared for occupational therapy at 9:00. He picked his own shirt (“I fight cancer – what’s your super power?“), packed his own backpack (trains, cars, and 7 pairs of hospital socks – because you never know when you might need them), and absolutely insisted that Mickey Mouse not only accompany him to therapy, but that he should most definitely be buckled into the front seat.
And why not?
It’s Chase.
~MbM~
One of the things that our family loves to do is promote the work of Chase’s hospital, Lurie Children’s Hospital of Chicago. The treatment that Chase had there saved his life, and the doctors, nurses and staff of the hospital are the top in the world.
Because of this, we try to help the hospital in any way that we can. This year, that includes dusting off my running shoes, training for several weeks using the aptly-named “Couch to 5K” app, and running in the Run for Gus, an annual fun run along the shore of Lake Michigan in Chicago.
The run was started by the family of Gus Evangelides, who lost his battle with brain cancer in 1995, just three months shy of his second birthday. Today, his family, and dozens of other families from Lurie, run to help raise money to fund brain cancer research at the hospital. Over the years that the Run for Gus has been going on, it’s raised millions of dollars to fund brain cancer research at Lurie.
This run has been a tremendous opportunity for our family to give back a little to Lurie Children’s. Brain cancer is one of the leading causes of cancer deaths among children, and fatal for almost half of the kids diagnosed, but there is painfully little research being funded to help stop it.
With some exciting new developments in cancer research on the horizon (see here and here), Lurie researchers could be just a short time away from making significant discoveries toward finding life-saving treatments for kids like Chase.
I hope that some of you might be able to join us in the run on July 24 (even to cheer us on), or help me raise money for the hospital by donating toward my run. You can do either by visiting my personal page at the Run for Gus website: http://foundation.luriechildrens.org/goto/ewoldt2014
I hope you’ll join me in supporting this worthy organization!
He climbed onto his brother’s bike, said he could do it without help, and rode away down the sidewalk. Chase –once watched anxiously to see if he’d ever walk and talk after major brain surgery– rode a big kid bike today!
The determination of this child never ceases to amaze me.
Moment by moment.
Monday morning~
On our way to Chase’s 18-month post-radiation appointment. 18 whole months since he last whispered “I’m so brave…” and we wondered if this treatment would work and if the cancer would ever clear from his spine.
As we drove, he stared out the car window into the cloudy morning and said: “Mom, one day, I’ll be as tall and strong as the trees.“
We had a precious morning with these people who were only meant to oversee his care, but became dear friends instead. Rejoicing in the life given…
…moment by moment.
It’s so beautiful how the small mercies are everywhere.
Chase had an incredibly early surgery time which allowed us to avoid traffic (as much as you ever can avoid traffic in Chicago…on a Friday…during construction season…)
The anesthesiologist on duty today has worked with Chase multiple times and knows his preferences well. In fact, this doctor was the same doctor who administered anesthesia on Chase’s final day of radiation (December 12, 2012) and he still remembered Chase and the party at the radiation center. This doctor always carries a mini iPad with him to distract children going into the OR which meant Chase was so busy playing “Fruit Niinja” that he barely noticed us as we parted. (This is what we want, right?)
The surgeon assigned to Chase was actually one of the few at Lurie who hasn’t placed a central line for Chase. Okay, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration, but when the doctor walked into the room and said “I see that several of my colleagues have worked with Chase…”, suffice to say Chase’s central line history preceded him. He told us that there can be complications to removing a port – like the tube being stuck in the muscle – but today, there were none.
Chase’s oxygen saturation levels dropped slightly after surgery, but he remained stable (with a little help from the oxygen mask) and awoke well.
The peripheral IV (which has always been placed in his thin-skinned, often bruised arms) was placed in his foot – making it that much easier to remove and giving his arms a break.
And when he sat up to leave in recovery, he placed a hand across his chest -as if to both protect and feel the change-, looked at Bob and me, and said: “I’m free!”
At last.
Goodbye, dear port. We’ll miss you, but not really…
![The port itself [photo credit: Dr. Anthony Chin]](http://efamily.brevis.me/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/IMG_2906.jpg)
Moment by moment.
