They said his often-exclaimed, loud and exuberant “Wow!” brought smiles to many a stranger’s face…
Dear ones, you will quickly learn that video editing is not my first or best skill, and if you’re on social media, you’ve probably already seen a few of these pictures, but grab a minute (or three), a chair, and click the play button to join Chase on his Atlanta Super Bowl journey.
All the love in the world to Robbie and Lauren Gould and the San Francisco 49ers for making these memories possible (and Topgolf and Delta Air Lines for helping) – and to our Ann & Robert H. Lurie Children’s Hospital of Chicago for making sure Chase was alive and well to enjoy it. ❤️
It’s cancer… And the total mind-twisting news is that it’s actually a good cancer. (Yes, the term “good cancer” exists.)
The diagnosis could have been so much worse, but it’s still another cancer and it’s somehow inconceivable to Bob and me that in nine short years, our sweet boy is facing a second battle.
In this wind-knocked-out-of-us moment, there is so much to weigh us down and break us, but there is so much to be thankful for – so much blessing too.
So, we choose thankfulness…and throw ourselves into the cancerous moment by moment again.
Please pray for our family, that we would bend and not break; that if…scratch that…when we fall, we will always fall toward each other and the still-good God who made us.
And finally, please pray for Chase. He’s so much older this time, he understands so much more. While this particular cancer is nowhere near as intense as his original diagnosis, I do believe this will play out so much more traumatically in his heart and mind because he knows cancer now, he understands the ramifications of this ludicrous, hateful disease. He’s grown so much in knowledge and our prayer is that he would grow in faith too. He will have so many choice moments ahead of him and our prayer is that he will always and forever choose to hope.
Cancer does not have the last word.
Ever.
…moment by moment.
“In the dark of night, before the dawn, my soul, be not afraid for the promised morning, oh how long? Oh God of Jacob, be my strength. We will feast in the house of Zion, we will sing with our hearts restored. He has done great things, we will say together; we will feast and weep no more.” -Sandra McCracken
He lay there silent, head tilted back to the ceiling with the near cerulean wall behind him reflecting a comforting light over the space.
“See, Mom? I’m just going rest here now. I can do this,” he says quietly while the tech’s hand jiggles at the movement his words cause and she asks him not to speak for a while.
He sighs and gets quiet and brave; ever the conundrum. His bones are young, his brain is possibly younger, but his heart is oh, so old.
And when it’s over and quiet in the space, he clutches his brand new pillow – the softest – and snuggles it close. “Maybe I will name him Nemo,” he tells my heart friend and hospital help as she huddles close.
Hours later, we sit in the soaring pavilion, the awful, long day done with more peace than we expected; perhaps even more than we deserved. And while he sits close and tight, I talk to him about things that shouldn’t be. Cancer things. He listens and he asks, his damaged body growing tight in my lap as I hug him close to me, and then he relaxes into the hug, looking lost as he lay his stubbly, baby soft head against me. “It’ll be okay. I’ll be okay.”
On the floor of the pavilion with Lurie Foundation familyWith the head of Lurie Neuro-Oncology
He slept and when he woke, he tightened his hold on the plush orange pillow, the day’s symbol of soft rest in a harsh reality, and he spoke wisdom older than his bones. “I think his name should be ‘lost-and-found’. Because Nemo was lost and then he was found and sometimes that happens in the hospital too.”
“For the Lord your God is living among you. He is a mighty savior. He will take delight in you with gladness. With his love, he will calm all your fears. He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.” Zephaniah 3:17 (NLT)
Sometimes we get lost when the world tips a bit. But then we find and are found once again – because the axis and anchor never really moved beneath us. And the knowledge that the anchor of Jesus never changes or leaves us lost means that pain will not define us. It can draw us, but it cannot shape us. It can make us, but it cannot break us – because pain is never the whole story, but only just a part.
Please sing over us, Abba, that we might never be lost, but always found…in you.
So, it might still be nothing, but it looks like it’s something…
As some of you are already aware, while the MRI found no cancer recurrence in Chase’s brain or spine, there was a growth detected in his thyroid. At the time, we were told that it was most likely a nodule and not something to worry about, but today, somewhere during his seven appointments (handled in total beast mode), we learned that the thyroid spot doesn’t look good.
And while we don’t know the end of the story, we know the first steps… On Monday, Chase will be having a needle biopsy under sedation to determine whether the growth is indeed cancer, as is feared.
And after that, regardless of the biopsy results, Chase will be having a surgery to remove his entire thyroid – because you don’t leave something that grows other things in a kid like Chase – and pray like crazy that it’s just the thyroid and nothing is in the lungs or lymph nodes.
If it isn’t cancer, we keep breathing.
And if it is, we keep breathing with some treatment.
As always, the only thing we can do is buckle up and cling even more to hope in the moment by moment.
“Yet I am confident that I will see the Lord’s goodness while I am here in the land of the living.” Psalm 27:14
By now, many of you know that Chase is headed to the Super Bowl in a few weeks, but there was a part two that unfolded even as Chase was in the hospital for his tests this week.
I don’t know how many of you know this, but Chase’s grandparents (Ellie’s parents) took on our entire family, round-the-clock childcare and so much more when Chase was diagnosed with cancer. They gave up an empty nest to house a displaced, confused, way-too-loud family of six and all that entailed.
We can never give them back all the time, but with Robbie Gould’s help, on the eve of Grandpa Poole’s 71st birthday, we were able to pull off the most amazing surprise.
This one goes out to all the caregivers caring for other caregivers. For every soul with a ripped heart who ever comforted their child as they watched a suffering grandchild.
We see you.
We know you’re out there.
THANK YOU.
And y’all – Chase really needs people on Twitter today using the hashtag “WPMOYChallengeGould” – find “ChaseAwayCancer” on Twitter now and retweet this video or one of the other Robbie-related tweets. If Robbie’s name is the most mentioned on Twitter, then Nationwide Insurance will donate $25,000 to Ann & Robert H. Lurie Children’s Hospital of Chicago.
