Thursday, 23 February 2006
Ian's pathology came back, and instead of a 1 or 2 tumor, it appears to be a 3 (that's out of 4). What this means is that he will undergo chemo and radiation, and that any treatment is "not curative"; meaning it will be merely treating and hopefully preventing any further growth. The translation there is that ... I don't know.
Basically we don't know how long we have. That's the easiest way I can type it.
As always, keep us in your prayers.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Saturday, 25 February 2006
Things here are going as well as to be expected. Ian has still not written "the email" detailing the last round of news. I imagine after that the calls and letters will start up again... which isn't a bad thing. Just... I feel for people who don't know what to say, 'cause there isn't much to say. And that's ok. Sometimes just calling to not say anything works just as well as having the golden words flow.
Did we live today fully loving one another? If tomorrow is our last, am I pleased with the way we spent our day today? Such things to ponder. I know the answer can't always be yes, but it sure can get closer to more yes's. Priorities resort themselves, emotions rise and fall, and we love one another unconditionally. The challenge is SHOWING that love, in heart-felt, tangible ways.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, 28 February 2006
Huh. I have my own case manager now. I have my very own social worker to hug and squeeze and call... Marge.
From my mom's motto calendar this am: "Needing someone is like needing a parachute. If he isn't there the first time you need him, chances are you won't need him again."
Pondering the amazing network of friends and family we have been blessed with. Far away, "I know I'm all the way up/down/over here, but if there is ANYTHING I can do..." and close by, "call me ANYTIME, I'm serious, even if you just need to get out and leave Audrey with someone..."
If you're far away, here's what you can do for me:
1. Get to know the God of the Universe, who will carry you through times like these.
2. Get your will, advanced directives, and power of attorneys taken care of. It's NEVER TOO EARLY. And you don't want to be in some dire circumstance, where you're hanging on to hope and joy, and going to some laywer's office to fill out who will take care of the kids if you both die. Just do it now. I can't stress this enough. Mark it on your calendar each year to review it, just in case things have changed.
3. Keep us in your thoughts and prayers. While this initial news hitting part is difficult, I imagine the weariness of treatments will take a greater toll on all of us. Maybe mark your calendar several months from now to send a card, flowers, give a call, whatever. Just check in.
4. Don't worry about knowing what to say. "Get well" cards are perfectly acceptable for someone recovering from brain surgery, getting cancer treatments, etc. Find a funny cartoon? clip it. Have a favorite book, one that's changed your life? Or one that just rocks? Send it along or send the reccommendation (check out half.com). Remember Rachel, Audrey and baby... we'll be struggling, too. "Hey, how are you guys," is better than silence. Even when I'm overwhelmed with calls and company, I still greatly appreciate the support and tangible demonstration of God's love through our network.
Today is MOPS, our meeting with the oncologist (I thought only old people saw those), then Bible study tonight. Sometimes it IS a blessing to be busy.
