A Brief History Of A Long Road

DO YOU EVER WONDER HOW IT ALL STARTED…??

On Sunday, Chase’s marks ten years of cancer fighting. TEN YEARS is quite the journey, dear ones, isn’t it? In case you’ve joined us more recently, or in case you’re curious or it’s been a while… here’s what brought us to this place:

Just before dawn on Tuesday, July 31, 2012, a six-year-old Darcy woke us to complain that Chase – only two and still in his crib – was “moving around and won’t stop”. 

“El…! You need to come here! Chase is having a seizure!” The mix of deadly calm and worry in Bob’s words propelled me from the bed before my eyes were fully open, heart racing. 

And just like that, we woke to the first day of a completely different life, never to return to the one we had known ’til then.

Within hours, we would learn that there was “a large mass” shoving one half of his brain into the other (causing the seizure) and that the hospital we had been taken to by the ambulance wasn’t equipped to deal with cases on this level.

By noon, Chase had been transferred downtown to the brand new Ann & Robert H. Lurie Children’s Hospital of Chicago facility. 

Within hours of the transfer, we had learned that he was having near constant invisible seizures and he was moved to the intensive care unit. 

By early Thursday morning, 48 hours later, we had signed papers, said goodbye, and handed our little boy to a team of neurosurgeons.

The surgery was mercifully short as brain surgeries go (under four hours), but the news was a worst case scenario: While the initial tumor had been successfully removed, Chase’s lead neurosurgeon gently explained that the pathology was not only deeply malignant, but also highly aggressive, and that he had actually visualized cancer cells all over the top of his brain…too numerous to be removed. The scans backed up the doctor’s assessment. There was cancer all over the brain, in the spinal fluid, and lining the spinal column. 

The plans were placed, the words were guarded, and nobody expected Chase to survive his third birthday. 

But he would…

The next nearly two years brought seemingly endless complications, procedures, and days spent living in the hospital. We moved in with my parents, who cared for our other three children. Chase went through so much chemo, so many days of radiation, and bag after bag of transfusions – so many interventions that Bob and I l have since lost count.

He finished treatment sixteen months to the day after starting and immediately began extensive therapies to improve his quality of life. 

He could speak, but he didn’t understand what words meant. 

He wasn’t growing.

He couldn’t hear well.

He couldn’t see well. 

He had almost no short term memory.

And we were informed that these would most likely be just the beginning of side effects. 

There were routine scans every few months.

A year later, the MRI picked up a small growth and we battled relapse fear – another MRI after six of the longest weeks of our lives showing what was most likely a radiation damage and he was diagnosed with benign tumors/cavernous malformations.

The next summer, he was officially diagnosed with significant hearing loss.

The following spring, he had two separate surgeries to remove cataracts and try to improve his vision. 

Three weeks after the first cataract surgery occurred in 2016, Tyndale House Publishers published my labor of love – “Chase Away Cancer” – the story of those first six years and some of the lessons we’d learned along the way.

We settled into post cancer complications and life.

A little over two years later (after the longest season of only routine appointments and few emergencies) an MRI pick up strange thyroid growths and in the last week of January, 2019, Chase was diagnosed with thyroid cancer and had his entire thyroid removed. 

A few months later, Chase had his first visible seizure in seven years. 

Only weeks later, his thyroid site showed cancer in a couple of surrounding lymph nodes and despite a full body scan showing the spread to be contained to the thyroid area, Chase was scheduled for radioactive iodine therapy two weeks before Thanksgiving. 

Since that time, despite frequent health anomalies that seem to require lots of appointments, tests, and even occasional surgeries and procedures, Chase continues with his two-cancer diagnosis – the primary never having relapsed, the secondary having been stopped from spreading. 

We have no idea what comes next. Although we will be meeting with a genetic specialist in September to try and better understand why Chase’s body succumbs to proliferating cells the way it does and if we can possibly protect him from ever having another diagnosis.

His story has been shared from teary hospital rooms to history-packed halls of the White House. And if we’ve learned one thing in ten years, it’s that Chase is a precious law unto himself, a broken, beautiful story that only God himself knows completely.

As always, thank you for coming on this journey with us. 

Moment by moment. 

[Chase’s family includes Dad (Bob), Mom (Ellie – who is the primary writer on CAC), older sister Darcy (16), older brother Aidan (13), and younger brother Karsten (10)] 

THANK YOU

See us running and hugging and freaking out a little? …crazy joy smiles on our faces?

Today, that’s what we’re doing because 1) our miracle boy turned 12 years old yesterday, and 2) because you put together the MOST AMAZING action in the last two days.

In less than 48 hours, the Chase Away Cancer community and friends gathered OVER $13,000 for Lurie Children’s Hospital and the Anthony Rizzo Family Foundation in honor of Chase’s 12 years!

You guys!

YOU DID IT!!!!!

I wish you could have heard the gasp Chase let out when I told him the news.

Dear ones… this was a VERY GOOD THING that happened this weekend.

From the bottom of our hearts –

THANK YOU

Moment by moment

[all photos: Margaret Henry Photography]

He’s 12 Today

Last night, I was reflecting on the start of Chase’s life. Perhaps some of you have seen this before, but this (above) is the first photo I have of Chase and with Chase. This picture never stops being amazing to me because he came so fast and was placed on my chest so fast with such a deep scream that I actually watched life flow into him, turning him pink.

Can you see it?

Can you see who he is today in this tiny scrap of human in my arms?

Another reason I never stop being amazed at this picture is because I had absolutely no idea what lay ahead of us and how many miracles lay in store for this sweet, unexpected life. I had no idea how much I’d cry… or laugh…

Did you know that Chase was born 12 months and 5 days after his older brother? To say he was a surprise to us would be an understatement, and yet, it underscores something I know with my whole heart… Chase was meant to be on this earth.

He followed fast on brother’s heals.

He came fast and screaming into the world.

He hasn’t stopped fighting since.

And this is one of his personal favorite pictures because I’m in a hospital bed with nurses and gloves and masks around me…and there was an IV in my hand. And so I reflected on these picture things last night, as I wrapped presents and prepared for now – this day.

Twelve… It’s so insane to me! I remember the day the doctors told us “Don’t think too far ahead… let’s just try and get him to age three.”

Isn’t life amazing? …and so are you! Yesterday alone, the day before alone, you raised over $7,000 in Chase’s “12 For 12″ fundraiser.

Dear ones, my heart is so full. These dollars will do so much good. Think about this: somewhere this day, a woman like me is holding her baby – like Chase – in her arms for the first time, having no idea how much she’s going to need Lurie Children’s and foundations like ARFF someday. And when she wakes up one day and realizes the need… we will have already been there – doing our best – because Chase turned 12.

Life is precious.

Moment by moment.

[To donate in celebration of Chase or to share with a friend, click THE LINK – thank you!]

Weeds and Worry

There is a patch of dirt that lies under the front windows of our little blue and brick house. It borders the sidewalk that runs from the door to the driveway and in this place, beneath the shallow layer of dirt lies very old concrete. And on top of the concrete are small landscaping stones long buried. Very little grows in this small place besides weeds. The weeds come every year no matter what I do, and they drive me a little crazy, because I like things clean and neat and orderly – especially when life feels anything but… 

So each summer, sooner or later, I can be found on my hands and knees on the front walk, shoveling mulch and declaring war against new weeds. 

This summer, not so very long ago, I was in the middle of my little war, hands stiff and crusting with that dried dirt feeling, when Chase came over to me.

He was out of breath from riding his bike and he doubled over next to where I crouched, his hands on his knees, arms stiff. 

“Why are you worrying about this, Mom?”

I was not into this parenting moment, my voice pulling short like the torn roots in my hands. “Because, Chase.” 

I reached for another weed, trying not to think about how tired he sounded from a normal activity, how white his skin looked despite the warm sun that should make it rosy from exertion.

“Mom…” His small hand landed on my shoulder then. His voice too old for his body. “Mom, don’t worry about the weeds.”

I can never resist his heart to reassure, my own melting at his words even as I stubbornly fought to explain. “Chase, this is part of my job…part of how I care for our house and our family.” 

Could he not see how much I needed just one thing to be right, to go right, to line up in that moment?

He shook his head. “But Mom, sometimes there are weeds in life and it’s okay. Don’t worry about them. Just take a deep breath. It’ll be okay. Don’t worry about the weeds, Mom.”

Sometimes things aren’t the way we want them to be. The dirt patches of life feel too small, too clogged, too messy.

We toil and weep and things still crop up over …and over again.

Like weeds…

Like fear… 

Like doubt…

It’s easy to get on our hands and knees over these places; to obsess. 

But as Chase said… it’s okay, dear ones. At the end of the day, these weeds are a futility and not the ultimate focus. So weep, but don’t obsess, because there is a better rest to be had. Get up off your hands and knees and give the uprooted pieces to the One who can handle them better, best and forever …and take a deep breath. 

Do you feel His hand on your shoulder?

Moment by moment. 

“But when I am afraid, I will put my trust in You.”

Psalm 56:3 (NLT)

**On Wednesday, October 14th, Chase will be undergoing a bone marrow biopsy. Thank you for your prayers, dear ones. MbM.**

Eight Years

Ever since 2012, July 31st has been the hardest of lovely days to us because it ripped us apart and then stands to remind us every year that we are all still breathing. Because eight years ago, on July 31st, an emergency room doctor was walking into Chase’s room with tears in his eyes, speaking the words over us that changed everything:

“There’s a large mass.”

Tuesday, July 31, 2012

A few days before this strange anniversary day, Darcy and I were walking, trying to carve out a minute to ourselves, talking through the date, the memories, and how it still – even these eight years later – carves us open. [She, this sister girl child that we -perhaps foolishly in our own fear- told to stay in her bed in the dark, is a fourteen year old high school freshman and the sight of flashing lights outside her bedroom window as she curled powerless and scared still hold a vivid place in her mind.] But as Darcy and I walked, talked and processed again, Margaret pulled alongside us. She literally pulled alongside us in her car as we walked and she drove by and as we talked, friend Margaret, a wonderfully gifted photographer, smiled and said lovingly:

“We should take pictures. Eight years is a big deal and we should make it special this way.”

And so, a day later, we gathered at the local park, just Margaret, the kids, and me, and she walked them through a few minutes of life, with her words giving them grace and her camera catching them as they moved. 
There were no showers, no hair cuts, no scrubbing up and making beautiful. Chase insisted it be “Cubs theme” and we just grabbed (hopefully clean) clothes out of drawers and went with it. 

And suddenly, the shadow of late July lifted for a moment. We put aside the awful memories we experienced those eight years ago, and lived in the joy that is having eight whole years when you didn’t think you’d have any. 
The perspective changed through the lens of a camera and a moment of stolen time.

We see the heartbreak, yes. Always.
But we choose joy

And sometimes it takes someone pulling alongside you to catch the light a certain way and hand it to you when you need it most. 

So here’s to eight years.
I will never stop being both horrified and amazed at this life of grace we’ve been given.

“Whatever may pass and whatever lies before me… let me be singing when the evening comes.”

10,000 Reasons (Bless The Lord), Matt Redman

Thank you for walking alongside us, dear ones. 
Moment by moment. 

[Please enjoy these beautiful, candid gifts that Margaret Henry Photography gave us this week ]