Of Blood and Hearts and Snowflakes

In the hours following Chase’s surgery, scans showed that there were some areas of fluid around his brains – pockets, if you will. I regularly flash back to those uncertain hours and the sick, tight feeling in my stomach as we waited and wondered if he would need to go back into surgery.
Those hours resolved in the same day with a second scan that showed no change and it was determined that the fluid could be watched and waited on as Chase moved forward in stable condition.
Chase -as we well know- continues in stable condition, but the January scans (when we received such good news) revealed that these pockets of fluid have changed: now, there is blood in them.
I won’t even begin to write on a technical level about things like “hematoma” that I don’t even completely understand, but I will reiterate this: Chase is stable. If there was an immediate or emergent quality to this issue, we would see marked changes in him.
Chase will, however, be having a repeat scan in a couple of weeks and will be meeting with his neurosurgeon to determine a plan of action. …a plan that I pray will in no way involve booking an operating room.
The wondering and the waiting. The watching anxiously and exchanging worried looks over his head any time he slurs a word or loses his balance. All of it tempts me to despair and curse the cancer…to throw up my hands and scream “This will never be done! This will never be better! There is no end to this awful disease!”
And yet…
In the middle of this past week, we learned that a little girl who shares our hospital lost her battle with cancer. Her name is Anna. She was 11. Somewhere, her family sits forever changed – doubtlessly reliving the awful moments when they were told that the chemo had done irreparable damage and the very hours were numbered.
I grieve for Anna’s family, yet I am truly thankful for her life’s reminder that I still hold a living and breathing child in my arms and that each second of life is a precious gift.
The day Anna died, I stood looking out the window over the bleak landscape and as I stood, snow began to fall. As I watched the flakes in the air, I was reminded that there is a sovereign God who crafted and knows each design of each flake that touches the earth and he knows Anna’s heart and Chase’s brain and all the whys and wherefores that I don’t and may never know or understand.
I want to tie this all together neatly… The blood pockets in a damaged brain, the chemo-ridden heart that stopped a too short life, the snow that fell and the insight with it. I don’t believe there is a neat or tidy way to wrap these hideous and beautiful things, but this …

“Oh, how great are God’s riches and wisdom and knowledge! How impossible it is for us to understand his decisions and his ways! For who can know the Lord’s thoughts? Who knows enough to give him advice? And who has given him so much that he needs to pay it back? For everything comes from him and exists by his power and is intended for his glory. All glory to him forever! Amen.” Romans 11:33-36 (New Living Translation)

Moment by moment.

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Answering Questions

Since Chase’s most recent evaluation, we have received quite a few inquiries which have led us to compile a list of frequently asked questions.  Feel free to tack on other questions in the comment section at the end of this post.  Our hope is that this assists in both the understanding of Chase’s treatment and gives a small window into the life of a pediatric cancer patient (a world in which Chase is one of way too many).

1. Why does Chase still need chemo if the cancer is gone?
This is probably the question we hear most often, and here’s the answer.  The scans showed that the tumor deposits are gone and while they don’t see any more tumor or cancer cells, he isn’t considered “cancer free” because there could be more cancer cells free-floating that just haven’t manifested themselves at this time.  And even if his body was completely cancer-free at the moment, this is a vicious, virulent cancer known to recur in the first 18-20 weeks after diagnosis.  Think of it like a weed in your garden or yard: not only would you pull out the weed that you see, but you would also desire to make the ground (via a weed killer or the like) as inhospitable an environment as possible for the growth of any further weeds.  Think of this stage of chemo as both an errant weed killer and a future weed deterrent.

2. How much more chemo does Chase need?
The chemo schedule (or “protocol“) that Chase is on calls for a total of 51-54 weeks of chemo.  At this point, he has completed 17 weeks or cycles (it’s actually been closer to 20 actual weeks that have passed as his earlier chemo dates were often slightly delayed by his fevers and low counts).  He will probably complete his chemo regimen around the first anniversary of his surgery and diagnosis.

3. Why does Chase still get fevers and need blood and platelets if the cancer is potentially gone?
Chase still gets fevers and needs transfusions because those are side effects from the chemo, not the cancer.  And yes, it is harsh… but dying of brain cancer would be more harsh.

4. Can this kind of cancer spread?
In a manner of speaking, yes.  For more technical information on this, I’d highly recommend checking Wikipedia’s AT/RT link.  In laymen’s terms, I can tell you that AT/RT has rarely been seen to spread beyond the brain and spine.  On occasion, it does move to the kidneys, but that usually only occurs with the genetic form of the disease.  Hence our flying Chase’s tumor to Boston to be studied by a geneticist and having his kidneys checked (it was concluded that Chase does NOT have the genetic form of AT/RT).  Could he possibly be at a heightened risk for more cancer and other cancers in his lifetime because of his AT/RT?  Very probably.  But it’s not happening today, so we’re not going there today.

5. Chemotherapy vs. Radiation?
In Chase’s case, he needed both.  His protocol calls for a chemo induction, then a reduced chemo schedule during radiation, and pending a good evaluation, a slightly reduced chemo schedule for the duration of the 51-54 weeks.  Evidence suggests that they have not had success curing AT/RT without some form of radiation.

6. Does Chase understand cancer and his diagnosis?
Chase understands that he doesn’t feel well and that there are all sorts of things that have to happen to him, but he has no paradigm for words like “terminal” and “malignant.”  Not only is he just three, but he’s probably suffered some memory damage, so it’s actually a little unclear on how much of his life he even recalls before his diagnosis.  To him, being in and out of hospitals is just a way of life.  In fact, he loves his hospital because he’s a bit of a big deal. 🙂

7. What does Chase eat?
Nothing.  Many of the chemo drugs give him nausea and a couple of them give him painful sores that can go anywhere from his mouth to his esophagus and even intestines.  Early on in his treatment, Chase was put on an IV nutrition system to ensure that his body maintained nutrition, weight, electrolytes, sugars… all the essentials needed to survive.  As of today, Chase is attached to a bag for 16 hours of every day.  He does at times put a bite of food in his mouth, but usually spits it back out. 

**Sidenote: Chase “attaches” to the bag through his central line – what is basically a surgically inserted tube into an arterial vein in his chest.  The tube splits on the outside of his skin so that there are two lumen (or small hoses) through which he can be “accessed.”  When he is not accessed (meaning the tubes are not in use), they fold up neatly into an ace wrap that covers his chest.  This is the site that needs the dressing change every week.  Because of this, Chase is at increased risk for things like infection and pulmonary embolism.  However, the benefit is that he is virtually “needle free.”  All labs, chemo infusions, and most medications can be administered in his line which is such a blessing!  For this, we are more than happy to figure out the no swimming, no bathing, “carry a crash kit everywhere you go” lifestyle of a small child with (in his own word) “tubies.

8. Does Chase sleep?
The answer to this question is multi-faceted and best-answered “at times.”  The chemo and (especially) radiation have highly affected his sleep patterns so he suffers from disturbed sleep.  Every night is not created equal.  Some nights, he’s up only a couple of times, and others, it’s every 20-30 minutes all night long.  For now, there are two things we know about this issue: it’s almost guaranteed to happen every night and, per a word with his attending oncologist, doctors have seen sleep improve greatly when chemo is done. 

9. What are the long-term effects of this cancer and the treatment on Chase?
This is a question we don’t have verbalized to us very often, but I think it’s one that everybody considers, so I’d like to try and address it a little even though it’s hard to define at this particular moment.  We know that due to the tumor placement and size, there was most likely some brain damage, especially in his memory center.  Not so much like amnesia; more as in damage that will cause him to struggle to make memories in the future.  We also know that a couple of the chemo drugs Chase is taking could likely damage his heart and his hearing.  This is why he gets (and will get for the rest of his life) scheduled EKGs and hearing tests.  In fact, we have already seen small evidences that his hearing is changing.  Lastly, we know that the radiation (even proton radiation) is known to cause brain damage and stunted spinal growth (not in all cases, but Chase had his whole brain and whole spine radiated).  This is at times hard to discuss because many of these potential difficulties to overcome are based on our treatment decisions and are (at this moment) hypothetical.  What we know right now regarding Chase’s future is what we’ve always known to be true: our hope and joy come from God alone.  I so love the phrase coined by the mother of another brain cancer patient: “Defined by God, not by cancer.”  So we will meet and undertake each new facet of Chase as it becomes apparent… moment by moment.

I believe that it is very easy to get overwhelmed by all these definitions and descriptions.  In fact, I get a tightness in my chest every time I list all these things we do in a single day and all the life-time implications they hold.  With this in mind, let me end these questions and answers with a reminder–to myself and to any and all who read: Chase was designed this way by God.  God has–in His all-knowing, perfect and loving mind–designated cancer as the awful yet awesome refining for Chase and, by extension, our family.  We will consider it joy then, because we will someday see Jesus, and be perfect and complete (James 1).  And in whatever life God has for Chase, we see promise because we know that he has been fearfully and wonderfully created by a God who loves him more than we can fathom (Psalm 139).

Moment by moment.

A Very Special Day

Today we received news… news that we have on some level been anticipating since this all began.

The MRI scan was completed and the cancer cells in every area–the tumor site, the brain as a whole, and the spine–all appear to be clear.

We are cautiously joyful.  Joy-filled because we never expected to hear this news, yet cautious because this is a viscious cancer that doesn’t give in easily.

Despite what looks like a cancer-free body, Chase is only 16 weeks into his 54-week chemo protocol, so while we revel in this moment, we do not rest for long.

I’m wrestling as I write and erase, and write and erase again.  I don’t think I’ve ever written such exciting and positive news in such a tentative way.

This day is funny and strange, because happy news doesn’t erase Chase’s pain and suffering, even as it potentially extends his life.  There will still be fevers and transfusions and frequent hospital stays.

Many things ahead will be subject to constant change, but there are some things that will be as they have always been: God’s incredible grace to us, our complete need for Him to rescue us, and the never-ending necessity of living in a moment-by-moment existence.

As Bob and I prayerfully thanked God over Chase’s hospital bed in that first breath of knowledge, we were released from the cancer burden to exult.  And now, we turn towards what is yet to come, acknowledging that it is all–the good and the difficult–a precious gift.

Today was a very special day.

Moment by moment.

Our soul waits for The Lord; he is our help and our shield.  For our heart is glad in him, because we trust in his holy name.  Let your steadfast love, O Lord, be upon us, even as we hope in you.  Psalm 33:20-22

Pounding on the Door

Last week, I had lunch with a former professor of mine at Moody Bible Institute, and as we ate lunch, he would introduce me to people that came by our table.

One of the people that he introduced me to was a sweet woman from Ghana named Alice.

When Alice heard about our family’s struggle with cancer, she said, “I will keep you in my prayers.  We know the great Kingdom Healer!”

Then she said something that has stuck with me since then, as a great word picture of prayer:

“We’ll just keep pounding on His door!”

Everyone has been so gracious to keep our family in your prayers.  Please keep pounding on His door for us.

Dinosaur Poop And Life Lessons

This morning, a couple volunteers stopped by our room to check in. One volunteer brought blocks for the bed-bound, wiggly Chase, and the other volunteer brought a chunk of poop.
Yes, it’s true! This volunteer is a retired archeologist from The Field Museum who brought a chunk of fossilized dinosaur excrement for the kids to see and touch.
As I held the brownish rock in my hands, I turned it upside down to view the smooth, polished surface of a man-made cut. Imagine my surprise at seeing what looked like a beautiful crystal inside!
Given time and refining elements, something that was complete excrement is now a thing of beauty.
Call me crazy, but I suddenly felt like I was holding cancer in my hands… This life season that feels like nothing but poop, will in time, polished by the elements and circumstances, become beautiful.
I laugh at myself gathering deep insights from waste, but I am in awe of the timely reminder over the hospital bed.
Moment by moment.

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