Adam cried tonight.
I try hard to keep this blog upbeat and positive. I try to focus on the good days and the good news and the good parts of this journey. But the truth is, sometimes it is hard.
It is effing hard.
If you don't know my husband, Adam is a man's man in every way. He builds things from scratch. He fixes things that break. He is strong and rough around the edges. These are some of the things I love most about him. But you know what is tougher than Adam? Pushing a loaded syringe into your baby's thigh every night.
Wrestling her to stay still while your hand shakes at the thought of what you have to do. She has watched you do it enough times that she knows it's coming. It is enough to break anyone. Tonight, after upwards of 70 shots of the same drug over the past 5 months, Adam broke.
I thought maybe he missed his mark or it bled (he is really good at giving the shots, but every once in awhile, they bleed). I asked him what happened, as I held her head while she cried after it was over, and he replied through tears,"that one was hard for me." I forget sometimes how hard it must be to have it together all the time. Maybe because I have felt so "apart" most of the past 5 months. Adam's reserve always reminds me to hold it together and be strong. Not just for myself, but for our girls. For our families. For the families that we know are fighting the same battle we are.
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| Waiting for lab results |
Nora's treatment was cancelled for the second week in a row. We are trying not to get discouraged, but it is hard to turn off your wandering mind, especially when you are faced with 3 days of nothing to do but think. Her ANC level was once again too low to begin another round. Her doctor would like it to be at 750, and it is in the 600's, for the second week in a row. It is likely due to the lingering effects of a possible virus she picked up sometime in the past 2 weeks that we never even knew about. But there is no way to know for sure at this point.
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| With big sister, Heidi on the back deck |
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| On the front porch |
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| Driving through Home Depot |
But there is always that chance. It is hard to not go there, no matter how hard I try. It makes the weeks between treatments difficult. It makes her occasional crankiness worrisome. It makes falling asleep, no matter how lightly, nearly
impossible most nights. It just makes this all so much harder. I know that sounds selfish. This is not, nor has it ever been about me, and it is no one's job to make any of it easier on me. But when things are going according to the plan of your new normal, it is easy to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Sure, there are times when you lose sight of it. There are times you find yourself crying in the middle of dinner or in your office at work, or after you say nighttime prayers with your 3 year old, or after giving your angel a sub Q injection. But those times come and go, and they remind you that you are human, but you can quickly find your way back to that light. You can refocus on it and you can keep going without much thought otherwise.
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| Zoo Trip |
I have been trying so hard to stay positive at each and every turn. And to be honest, given her original diagnosis, there have been plenty of reasons to be positive. She has been incredibly tolerant of her chemotherapy treatments and her body and the tumor itself have responded near perfectly to the drugs administered. But there is always that chance, isn't there? Why is there
always that chance? It lingers there, working tirelessly to take the small joys out of decent everyday moments.
I hate thinking about it. I hate admitting that I will never stop worrying about it. I hate those weak moments where I let it get the best of me. I am only human, but my faith is stronger than this. I truly believe that Jesus has a plan for my girl and for our family. I know better than to believe it is exactly as I would hope it to be. I know that it is greater than me and it is the perfect plan. Just as the Lord knew that Nora was perfect for us when He brought her into this world, created in His image, with each hair numbered on her head, He knows her future and she is safe with Him. Always.
As I am enveloped in sadness almost daily with the mass destruction of humanity around the world, I take comfort in knowing that the plan is in place. It always has been in place, and each of us has numbered days here on earth. As depressing a message as that sounds, it really isn't meant to be depressing at all. I am so ecstatic for the life I will have to live beyond this world. I am so grateful for the hope that Heidi and Nora have in both this world and the next. It is so easy to get discouraged. Adam and I are living proof of that. Each day is a challenge, and some days prove more difficult than others. But, at the end of the day, we have our girls. We have each other. We have a beautiful life filled with love and strength and friendship and faith.
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| Nora @ 9 months |
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| Heidi @ 9 months |
If our faith never got tested, it wouldn't be so alive. It is living and breathing, and it reminds us that we are not steering the ship alone. If keeping the faith was easy, it wouldn't be so worth it in the end. We are keeping the faith. We
so appreciate the faith you have kept in us also. Please keep Nora in your prayers this week, as she fights to get strong enough to start round 7.
