Pile Of Stones

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Walking a few steps in somebody else’s shoes changes how you see their life.  It just does.  If I could have a “redo” option on anything in this life, I think one of the top things I’d want to do is go back and re-respond to everyone I’ve known who heard the words “You have cancer”.

I’ve prayed for them, sometimes helped in some small way, and when the surgery has removed tumor or the chemo has eradicated cells; I’ve praised God with them and been thankful with them and then I’ve mentally checked them off my list and moved on to the next issue.

Does that sound harsh?  It is.  I’m a selfish, fallen person who runs to where a fire needs to be quenched and is easily distracted by tragedy and shiny objects.  This is the hard in life: it’s not the sprint.  …it’s the marathon.  Not growing weary when the road is really long.

I guess I never realized that once you have had most forms of cancer, you’re marked for life.  Your risk for so many things -the primary cancer, a secondary cancer, a secondary illness of another form- are anywhere from heightened to completely assured.  And even if you bear no physical scars of your fight, and the risks remain low, there will always be another reminder: scans.  For some, it may be only once a year (or less), for others, like Chase, it’s every three months.

How long is three months?  Just long enough to forget the last anesthesia, the last image, the last consult and round of follow ups and clinic and everything that binds him so strongly to the hospital and that treatment season.  And just when we forget, we go back and do it again.

I wish I could go back to every person that I mentally, callously dismissed and say that I’m sorry.  I wish that I could call them up every few months and see how the latest scan looked and ask how they’re doing with walking back into that world and pray for them to have strength to face the monster again.  But I can’t.  All that’s left is what’s ahead and the severe mercy in the life lesson taught that we get no “redo” and must make the most of our today.

Why do I share these thoughts now?  Because Chase has another MRI tomorrow.

Two weeks ago, my heart jumped because I couldn’t believe how fast three months had gone.  One week ago, a darkness came -like the darkness of a week before three months ago- a darkness that whispers “What if?” and other terrifying uncertainties.  And now the calm; part accepting, part resigned.  It is what it is.  The only way out is through.  My Anglo roots show through in the “keep calm” and “stiff upper lip” thoughts that lull my heart into a near catatonic state.  Is this peace?  Unlikely.  I’ve accepted what can’t be changed.  There’s an MRI tomorrow.  …and in three months: another.

Where does the peace come in?

The peace comes in walking back through the door we dread.  Back in the hospital, back in the moment of anesthesia and parting from our son, back in the anxious waiting for the phone to ring with news.  I think about how God asked His people to put piles of stones and name the land again and again to remember…so that when they saw it, they’d remember that, even though life was complicated and hard, that He’d been good to them and He’d go on honoring His promises.  This is when the peace comes in.  The hospital is our pile of stones.  Some days, it hurts to look at it because it hurt to be there.  When I walk through the sliding doors, I feel the fear and the pain and the sadness in my home away from home…but I feel God too.  I remember all the times and places when we couldn’t go on and He carried us through.

Sometimes facing the hard is good because it forces you to remember the times you were carried.

Because, at the end of the day, I’m a selfish, fallen person who gets distracted by tragedy and shiny objects.  I hate the MRIs and the apprehension that comes with them, but I need to go back and stand in front of the pile of stones and remember again that He will see us through…

Moment by moment.

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The Second Year

Tuesday, July 31, 2012…

Two Years… Two whole years since the early morning panic gave way to a living nightmare on the day Chase was diagnosed.

What struck me most as I looked through the pictures and memories is that life can feel complicated now, and yet, as I look back over the last year and see such crazy hard times, I realize that I’m apt to forget what it looked like in the shadow of whatever the here and now happens to hold.  I can tend to see Chase’s deficits and struggles and not realize how healthy and robust he is now compared to the emaciated waif that was.   The truth is that much has changed.  The truth is also that there are many uncertainties ahead.  The truth is that God’s goodness and faithfulness to us have never and will never change.  And Chase is still living and breathing with us two whole years later.

We’ve spent many days listening to Rend Collective’s newest album.  Our family’s favorite song is “My Lighthouse” and I truly can’t think of better words to sum the year…the two years…or, the lifetime:

In my wrestling and in my doubts
In my failures You won’t walk out
Your great love will lead me through
You are the peace in my troubled sea

In the silence, You won’t let go
In my questions, Your truth will hold
Your great love will lead me through
You are the peace in my troubled sea

My Lighthouse, my lighthouse
Shining in the darkness, I will follow You
My Lighthouse, my Lighthouse
I will trust the promise, 
You will carry me safe to shore 
Safe to shore

I won’t fear what tomorrow brings
With each morning I’ll rise and sing
My God’s love will lead me through
You are the peace in my troubled sea

Fire before us, You’re the brightest
You will lead us through the storm

Even if we know nothing of what lies before us (and we don’t), we can look back and see the joy in so many ways.

Trusting He will lead us through the storm… moment by moment.

**Look back with us and find joy…**

Hey Fish!

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This one.

He waits until after his St. Baldrick’s work this weekend, after four and a half full years of life, two years of cancer and post-cancer fight…to try and break his first bone. 
After two hours in urgent care, we found out it was (thankfully) only a bad sprain.
Undoubtedly, the best part of the entire two hours was watching him chase the fish around the large wall aquarium, yelling: “Fish! Hey, Fish!!”

Never a dull minute with this one.

-MbM-

Seven Pairs of Hospital Socks

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~

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Running for Gus…

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!

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