Category: Uncategorized

I still remember the final push and the rush of pain and relief as the doctor held up the tiny, red child and proclaimed him a boy…and then, as they laid him on my chest, he marveled aloud to the room that the seconds-old child was holding his head by himself.  Strength.

In that moment, I held my Chase Stratton Elliot for the first time.  Named after his grandmothers, his great-uncle Jim, and the burden prayer that he would run after God, this child of great struggle and the unexpected came; the news of his life shocking us only three months after Aidan.

I still remember walking down the hall of the radiation center and stepping into the room on that last day, my arms full with a too white child too light for his long bones.  The anesthesiologist stepped to my side and as the milky syringe emptied into the central line, my baby chanted “I’m so brave, I’m so brave, I’m so brave…” until he sighed and collapsed in a deep sleep on my shoulder.  Strength.

In that moment, I held my Chase Stratton Elliot for yet another time – still my child of great struggle and the unexpected.  I held him and wondered if this would be the last December 12th that he’d be in my arms.

Now it’s December 12th again and my darling child of struggle is still in my arms!  Joy.

He struggles with the world even now, but his stubborn, tenacious, beat-the-odds, stare-it-down, never-say-die, don’t-mess, you-and-what-army spirit is what makes him our precious Chase.

The first time we sat across the table and heard the awfulness of this disease, I asked the doctors what was ahead and one smiled with great sympathy and said: “Let’s just start this fight, and then we’ll get him through radiation, and then we’ll hopefully get him to age three, and then four, and then…”

He saw age three, he conquered age three, and now he’s FOUR.

Moment by moment.

I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living! Psalm 27:13

 

Because Chase’s cancer was in his brain, he goes through a series of “games” with almost every doctor he sees…
“Touch your nose”…
“Touch my finger”…
“Squeeze my hands”…
“Push me as hard as you can”…
All small exercises in game form to help understand his cognitive function.
Yesterday, Chase had an appointment with his neurosurgeon and it was apparent from the first moments of interaction that Chase was in rare form (even for Chase).
He solidly refused to even think about playing any games until the doctor -an amazingly sweet man who seems to understand Chase’s energy- said “I bet you can’t…”. Ah, Chase’s motivational love-language: The Dare.
When asked to play “Touch my finger“, he insisted on alternating his hands so that he’d touch his nose with his left hand and the doctor’s finger with his right hand (foiling the attempted exam intent of using the same hand for both nose and finger). When his doctor kindly suggested that he switch hands (thereby participating in the one handed goal of the game), Chase simply switched hands and the right hand went to the nose while the left went to the finger.
(How I wish I had a video of the entire exchange… It was hysterical!)
That any cognitive neurological conclusions were reached yesterday is a miracle to me, but it was apparent that Chase had no lack of stubborn ingenuity and the doctor, no lack of humor. One needs that sort of perspective when confronted with a bald three year old who, when asked to touch his own nose, calmly retorts: “No, you touch your nose!”

The final word on the MRI continues to be good. We did discuss some spots on the images which are small leaks – another side effect of Chase’s many treatments. If the veins continue to leak and bleed in his brain, there may someday be complications (more seizures, surgery to remove), but for now, Chase is fine and his doctors will just continue to watch the areas in question.

Never a dull… Moment by moment.

Tonight, in the feast light, he eats…really, really eats!
They said his blood chemistries came back within normal limits, which means his body remembers how to use food after 15 months of mostly not.
The newest thing in a year of endless things for which we give thanks.
Moment by moment.