prayer – CHASE AWAY CANCER

Sufficient Grace

I sat on the floor, the exhaustion depressing like a physical weight on my heart and shoulders alike.

Chase curled close, sniffing and crying, “Mom, I’m ready to make it right. I’m so sorry for getting angry. I promise to never, ever do it again.”

My heart screamed but my eyes were blessedly calm despite the pressure of overwhelmed tears. “It’s okay, sweet boy. I forgave you even before you asked. Hey…look at me…look at my eyes. Do you know how much I love you?”

He nods, sniffs, and runs away, heart light once again. The anger leaves as quickly as it comes.

No matter what happens, he needs to understand grace at my hands. If I fail all else, please God, let me be your hands to him.

But oh, my hands…how they hurt. Before the peace comes, there’s often scratching and biting. For, in this outside-the-box life, this is emotion to Chase. And the primary thing is to keep him and everyone else in his direct vicinity safe. So sometimes that means taking one for the team; for the family…literally.

As I sat on the floor, I wanted to let loose ugly, deep tears, but there are some things that seem too heavy and weary.

“God. I’m tired of the struggle. I can’t do this. I mean, I did it, and I’ll do it again, but years and years of this? I can’t, I can’t, I. CAN’T…”

And then, in the desperate stillness, I -who rarely ever “hear”- I heard. Oh, I heard as clearly as if someone stood in the cloudy room with me:

“My grace is sufficient for you.”

That was it. No answers, no fixes, but one thing that transcends the hurt that’s been and all the hurts that are yet to come.

Even as I prayed to be grace to Chase, my Abba became the grace answer to me.

The road is not easy, but I know I will have what I need.

Moment by moment.

“…I begged the Lord to take it away. Each time he said, “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me.” 2 Corinthians 12:8-9 (NLT)

Note: This picture story was published with Chase’s knowledge and permission and he even volunteered to take the picture. He is not proud or hurt, but understands that we share wisely to encourage others they are not alone. Please know that we do not take this particular challenge lightly, and that Chase’s case is lovingly monitored by social workers, neuro-psychologists, neurologists, neuro-oncologists, neurosurgeons, and behavior therapists. I hope this bit of raw openness on survivor challenges encourages you that you are not alone in your struggle. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me privately at ellieewoldt@gmail.com. Blessings.

Surgery Update

It’s been a long day.

Surgery went very well and Chase went into it with Lucas’ name still written on his arm. He was a complete boss and even his Panda Bear (who, according to Chase, is really a dog named “Panda Bear” who can bark and is prone to getting in doctors and nurses’ faces and screaming) behaved himself admirably.

But since waking, he has been in a lot more pain than he was last time, his anesthesia “detox” has seemed a lot more difficult, and his right eye is quite weak, so with the left eye patched, he’s been navigating like he’s blind…when he walks at all. He’s miserable, but it’s over and done now, and for that, we are very thankful.

This is the hard season — the time when we try and comfort in the middle of the damage that we ourselves have allowed. It’s guilt-producing and humbling and would break us if not for the grace of God.

We are so thankful for your prayers and encouragement!

Bob was actually able to be off for the entire day (a minor miracle), we had a dear friend show up in pre-op to encourage us, Chase’s teacher and her family sent wonderful Spider-Man gifts, his class recorded a special video for him, Tyndale staff brought us dinner, and all the doctors and nurses have become good friends in the last month. So in truth, even though it was a hard day and will probably be a rough night, we are incredibly blessed.
And I’ve been getting texts of people with their books today – my heart is full.

Moment by moment.

Chase On His MRI [VIDEO]

The sun is only hinting pink when I feel another presence on the edge of the living room. This is what he does, my early-rising boy… He wakes before it’s light, tip-toes out to wherever a parent can be found, and stands quietly, thumb in mouth, waiting for someone to see him and call him into the light.

Still rumpled and rosy from sleep, mismatched in his Lightning McQueen bottoms and a shirt that announces “I fight cancer. What’s your superpower?”, he jumps onto the couch and snuggles close. His talk turns to the subject that has been plaguing him for about a week now: the upcoming MRI.

The questions come as they do every day; several times a day: …When is my MRI? Will there be ‘beeping’? Will I have a needle? Can I eat? Who will go with me? Will you come back to me?… They come with heartbreaking regularity and the answers are always the same. In a life that’s anything but predictable, he can at least rely on the same answers to these small questions that are so very big to him.

In a day, he’ll wait in pre-op for almost two hours after having gone nearly half a day without food or drink. They’ll lull him and then hold a mask over his face while he lays on the threshold of the machine with no parents in sight to say “It’s okay, sweet boy.” And while he sleeps, they’ll put a needle in his arm to keep him hydrated and inject dyes and he’ll be in the machine for nearly two hours – the only blessing: he’ll be mercifully unconscious.

You hear from me on this subject early and often, and in the last part of the last year, it was often-er than not. My words hardly change…we can’t, we must, we wonder, we shouldn’t, God is good. Always.

So today, hear Chase. He’s about 24 hours away from a big MRI and he’s scared. He also wasn’t sold on the idea of a video until I promised him that he could hold his father’s tape measure. This is what the early morning and late nights look like…the twisting mouth, the working to remember words, the thinking about mosquito bite scars on top of his skin rather than the potential of cancer growing under it. He’s part boy, part wise far beyond his years, part broken by his treatment and tumor…and he’s all Chase.

Moment by moment.

*Note: His last words are “I want Mrs. Schneider to pray for me.” That is the name of a dear friend who -because Bob needs to work tomorrow- will be accompanying us to the hospital so that I don’t have to be alone on MRI day. Chase knows that while we can’t be with him, Janet and I will be praying for him in the waiting room while he’s in the MRI.

Three Days And Back

We’re home again!! …after our shortest hospital stay yet!! (only three days!)

Thank you for praying! Chase had a successful central line surgery on Thursday and his Friday and Saturday chemo passed without any excitement (adverse reactions, weird vitals, etc, just the usual “excitement” involved in AT/RT chemo…)

A couple updates on the specifics for which I’d asked prayer:

So far, the central line is holding and has not infected!
The cancer is still in his spinal fluid, but that we entrust (as always) to the One who made him.

Our next scheduled chemo clinic is Thursday and we have high hopes that Chase’s white blood count will still be high enough that we won’t be admitted at that time.

I will leave you with a small picture of my Saturday hospital experience… Chase, with his track pants and light-up Spiderman shoes, sans shirt, chest wrapped in an ace bandage, stomp-running down a hospital hallway (while trailing a large IV pole) pointing at medical staff and growling “No smiling in the hospital!” …

Never a dull part of our moment by moment … 🙂

Chase Central Line — Chase rockin’ his new central line!

Nuts and Bolts

Thursday morning, from the surgery floor

I just passed my nearly unconscious son into the arms of the medical team. Have I ever mentioned that this is my least favorite part of procedure days? They give Chase a small drug to relieve “separation anxiety” before they take him back to the OR and he immediately relaxes, but I still hate watching them wheel him away from me. I just do.

After almost two weeks, Chase is back in the hospital today. Right now, he is in the OR to get a new central line, remove the picc line in his arm, get a spinal tap, and receive his spinal chemo. After post-op recovery, he will be admitted for about four days of chemo infusions.

Many times, my thoughts and prayers are more general in nature, but today I have a couple specific requests: Please pray that this new central line does not infect (as his first one did) and please pray that the cancer is no longer present in his spinal fluid.

Thank you.

Hoping and believing outside the OR room…

Tag: prayer