CHASE AWAY CANCER

Sir Chase and Lord Stanley

During Chase’s chemo stay this week, the Stanley Cup visited the hospital!

Two years ago, Coach Quenneville brought the Cup to the old hospital and vowed that he would bring it back again, and on Tuesday, he did just that.

It was an honor to be part of such a special promise-keeping as the coach and other significant members of the Blackhawks’ organization poured 219 small pieces of paper, for the 219 children staying in the hospital that day, into the Cup to make the kids part of the win.

We were allowed to have a picture with the Cup, but after a long night of chemo, Chase lay exhausted in his stroller. Undaunted by the surgery scar, the white skin or the IVs protruding from his tiny body, Coach Q hoisted the cup and brought it down to Chase, all the while, talking kindly and softly to him and encouraging him that it was okay to touch the trophy. Chase doesn’t always respond well to strangers and especially not in a crowd (and this crowd had a lot of flashing cameras too), but he responded to the Coach and touched the Cup…and then, even though he didn’t take his thumb out of his mouth, he gave a big smile.

[We later learned that Chase thought he had been going to view the “Piston Cup” from the Cars movie…which also explains some of his initial hesitation.]

As we thanked the Coach and moved to make room for the next family, he stopped us and asked how Chase was doing in his fight against cancer. He absolutely didn’t have to do that, and yet, he took the time. In that moment, we caught a glimpse of the humble leader. No wonder these guys brought the Cup home again.

Thank you, Chicago Blackhawks!

–MbM–

[for more pictures of Chase and the Stanley Cup’s visit to the hospital, please visit Chase Away Cancer, Chicago Blackhawks, or Ann and Robert H. Lurie Children’s Hospital of Chicago on Facebook]

Sir Chase meets Lord Stanley and Coach Q

Of Blood and Baseballs and Bubble Wrap

It’s been a while since I wrote!

Because of Chase’s second line infection, “the powers that be” decided to hold all chemo until the antibiotic finished, thereby giving Chase his largest break from chemo since March. Almost four whole weeks in-between cycles!

We were able to do some fun things with him and we also had a new experience: his blood counts dropped significantly after he’d recovered from chemo. They bumped back to “normal” after a transfusion, but it made us realize that our dream -that he will finish his chemo, grow his hair back, pink his skin up, and never again be in the hospital except for scans- may be slightly…okay, very flawed. Having his counts drop was just a momentary reiteration that Chase is sick and he’s been through hell and back in treatments and that is not going to go away overnight…and possibly not ever. God, give us strength to handle that time when we get there.

Playing with Grandma during the transfusion - before meeting "Girl" — Playing with Grandma during the transfusion – before meeting “Girl”

A comical sidenote from his transfusion: I am becoming more and more convinced that central line pieces were not designed for active three-year olds. In typical Chase fashion, he was so active as he was receiving his packed red blood cells that the pressure cap on the end of his line loosened, dousing his shirt, shorts, and the bed in bright red blood. He saw it and started screaming “Blood! Blood!” which, of course, brought almost every nurse in the infusion center running into his room. He was completely fine. In fact, he went on to make friends with a little girl in the playroom who he named “Girl“, and when he was discharged, he went to find her, crossed his ankles, put his hands on his hips and said: “Girl? Girl! I have a problem. I have to go home now, but you will be alright. Okay?” Just a couple of the many, many moments in which we find ourselves shrugging, smiling, and saying “It’s Chase” when we’re at the hospital.

Playing with his friend Lucas (also on chemo for Leukemia) in the inpatient playroom

With his counts finally recovered and antibiotics complete, he restarted chemo on Monday and was in the hospital for three days, in which time, he managed to stay central line issue-free, but felt the need to allocate world-class neuro specialists for things other than cancer…like taking a header out of the hospital bed. He was deemed “stable” enough to be brought home, but he has a large “squishy” section to his head (he calls it his “squishy baseball“) and we are to call his doctors immediately if there is the slightest change to his condition. So, we watch, above and beyond, almost bordering on stalking him, and actively resist the urge to bubble wrap him as he attempts to play with his siblings in the backyard.

The "squishy baseball" - the view hardly does justice to his bruised cranium appearing to blow a large bubble, but it's the general idea — The “squishy baseball” – the view hardly does justice to his bruised cranium appearing to blow a large bubble, but it’s the general idea

At this moment, our hope and prayer is to get him through the weekend without needing to run to the ER for any reason. And as these stories show, we often go from weeping to laughing to feeling overwhelmed and back again…sometimes all three at once, which is why we are taking the days…

Moment by moment.

Rockin’ With the Sox

Chase’s next chemo treatment has been delayed due to a staph infection (which he’s being treated for at home, and he feels fine), so his blood counts are GREAT, and he feels really good, so this break is allowing us to do some cool things, like GO TO A SOX GAME!

A few months back, someone called the White Sox and suggested that they might help our family out in some way, and the White Sox were SO generous to give us a suite in this last Saturday’s game against the Cleveland Indians.

Chase was so excited to go…

We had some church friends that were visiting from Delaware, so they were able to join us, too, as well as some other old (and new) friends who were at the game, too:

Our family had a great time (and the kids got a cool hat and shirt, too)… thank you, White Sox!

UPDATE

We got the news this morning that yesterday’s blood cultures were negative! (in this scenario, “negative” is good and “positive” is bad) This is an early indication that all the antibiotics are working and for now, Chase can keep his port.

So, in this moment, we are home!

Chase still has 21 days of an IV antibiotic…which needs to be given every 8 hours…around the clock… (picture me frantically searching for a nurse call button at 2:00AM)… But, this we can do because we’re HOME.

Tomorrow, we will hear from his doctors whether he is healthy enough to start chemo again on Thursday. Which is why we will take it…

Moment by moment.

Our hospital visitors...because sometimes you need a lot of family support to lay in bed and watch Tangled :) — Our hospital visitors…because sometimes you need a lot of family support to lay in bed and watch Tangled 🙂

Passing Through

One of Chase’s favorite things to do is to dance around the hospital room while listening to music. Even with his IV pole, chords, and tubes following him, it doesn’t matter, he loves music.

Yesterday, he had to take an antibiotic that gives him something called “red man’s syndrome” (he turns red and itchy) and Benadryl makes him better…and sleepy. So, after having Benadryl every 6 hours all day, it was 9:00pm and we were having a “dance party” in the middle of the Hematology/Oncology floor.

Sometimes, in moments like that, the cancer-ness of it all strikes me fresh. …I’m dancing…in a hospital room…with a radius of 2 feet because any further and a child’s arterial line is pulled…and he has the line because he has cancer…deadly, deadly cancer.

Then the words of the song we were listening to crept through my thoughts… (Chase was listening to “O Holy Night“)

And in His name all oppression shall cease…

As silly as it sounds, it brought tears to my eyes. Even though the verse refers to human oppression; as I held Chase is one hand and his IV tubes in the other, I thought of the oppressive nature of Chase’s cancer. More than just Chase’s cancer…of all cancer and all sickness and pain and all that is wrong and oppressive in this world.

As of this moment, the cancer has not stopped. For us, it has not ceased. In fact, quite the opposite… It is an intense, all-consuming thing with what seems like endless complications.

So what then? If, in this painful, broken life, the oppression never seems to end, there must be something other than the removal of the circumstance that brings peace!

There is. Of this, I am sure. We are not alone in our pain.

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior…

In this moment, we await a single lab…one single test tomorrow morning which will inform the decision to send us home or keep us here for what will most likely be another central line surgery. When I dwell on the implication, after months of treatment and too many surgeries, it feels like the water, river, fire and flame rolled into one.

But…

We will pass through because an all-knowing, loving God has promised to be with us.

Moment by moment.