Then and Now

Last Friday (just hours before Brendan was re-admitted), Brendan and I stopped in at the ICS unit at Primary's to visit my sister-in-law's brother's  5-year-old son.  He was newly diagnosed with a neuroblastoma in his stomach.  They were still waiting for the final pathology results and had just received their "roadmap" -- the treatment plan. 

 It was a difficult thing to see this family try to absorb all this life shattering news and take in everything that was swirling around them.  They face a year long treatment plan and long distance traveling.  To say that their story hasn't phased me would be a lie.  I've spent many hours with my heart hurting and I've shed many tears as I see them and hear their story.  But, there are three things I know -- 1) what they are going through, 2) some of what lies ahead, and  3) how much stronger they are than they now know.

 Seeing them at the beginning of their journey, and seeing where we are now, has caused me to reflect on the then and now.

 THEN:  (last October), we were just swept along in the tsunami of a new cancer diagnosis.  Fortunately, we were held above the waves by the prayers and faith of friends, family, strangers, and strengthened through the Atonement of Christ.  

NOW:   I feel we have been set back on our feet.  We know a little of where we are going and what lies ahead, but not all.  We see glimpses, at times, of the end of the tunnel.  Making it through treatment is like walking through a swamp.  We are tired, and everything seems difficult and slow.  Instead of feeling the constant lift of the Savior's presence, I have to have the faith to remember He is always there and to ask for and rely on His helping hands to keep me moving forward.

The daily life of treatment is much more routine and less scary than it used to be.  The tasks are more mundane, but familiar.  Our new life is obvious in just a walk through the house.  Life is not what it used to be . . .

The thermometers are always out. . .

 . . .everywhere.

The fridge is full of medicine bottles of sodium solution.  

The bathroom too. . .(Zofran for nausea, Septra for central line infections, cotton balls with lavender and peppermint for post chemo nausea and headache, biotine rinse for dry mouth).

The dosing and flushing syringes for the feeding tube are kept close and available.

 And the hats. . .

 The cases of feeding supplies. . .  (We're on a first name basis with the nursing service feeding supply manager.)

 The bags of medical and port supplies. . .

 The "extras" . . .

As well as the feeding pump and pole, packed bags by the door, a borrowed wheelchair, and boxes of kleenexes everywhere.

If you had told me five months ago what was ahead, I'm sure I would have said we couldn't do it. It's a good thing I didn't know what all was ahead.  (Like the time I said,  "I think I can handle anything but a seizure."  Then Brendan had a seizure.)  Now I know I can handle whatever we are handed.  But it scares me to think about it. That's when I have to go back to the greatest lesson we've all learned:  Just take one day at a time.  (Thanks, Adrienne Alvey)

With the help of the Savior, I can always handle today.