Everything Changes

Thanks for visiting. This is a tool to provide a window into our family's journey through our son Andrew's cancer. This first post is a repost of something I posted onto my facebook page on December 23rd, the day after we were rushed to the hospital with our son...

Two days ago at this time I was thinking about how I was going to get to the church to work on music for Christmas eve. I was wrestling through some significant shepherding issues in the congregation. I was finishing my shopping for my wife's Christmas presents. Tonight I am listening to the steady sound of my son's breathing as he sleeps in the bed next to me in a room that is hard and cold, a room made for utility not comfort; but then what should I expect from a hospital. I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me back up.

"It's a cough," I thought, "what's the big deal." At worst we're looking at pneumonia and after a brief dose of antibiotics we'll move on. The holidays are coming and these nights awake aren't helping us get ready. We took Andrew for a chest x-ray... sure enough, pneumonia. Glad to have that cleared up let's get to the meds and everything will be fine.

"His cough is gone why do we need a follow up x-ray?" Those are the words I thought but never said. I generally take the advise of those trained in their fields; I appreciate it when others do that with me. the second x-ray showed further lung damage... strange that he isn't coughing. At this point it looks as if maybe he aspirated something. Not surprising, the boy has eaten half the sand box and hasn't quite mastered the fine art of not talking when his mouth is full. Looks like now its time for a CT scan.

"No problem, I'll take him. You'd have a hard time with the IV." That's what I told Jess when the scan was scheduled. Ever since I have known her needles and tubes have tended to bring on a case of the "I'm about to pass out"s or the "uugghh I don't feel so good"s. Four kids and she'd tell you today that the worst part of labor was getting the IV. CT was scheduled for 8am so I wouldn't lose much office time, no big deal. From what I hear the scans don't take long anyway; the biggest part is getting the IV in for the contrast. That part did take some time but we were still out and at McDonalds getting breakfast by 9:45.

"It could be anything, let's not get ahead of ourselves." Those words left my lips as soon as Jess put down the phone. The doctor wants to see us at 2pm to go over the CT scan. I was a little nervous but I saw doubt and fear begin to dance in the eyes of my wife and, to be fair, it really could be anything. Maybe he's got something sharp in his lung and we need to talk about where we're going from here. Other thoughts were creeping at the edges of my mind, wanting to intrude into the more tame and calm areas that were focused on playing the role of stability.

"I'll be home in a minute!" I said that as I closed my cell and headed for the door of my office. Jess had gotten another call from the doctor's office telling us to bring Andrew with us when we came at 2 and bring a packed bag for him since he was going to be admitted to the hospital. As I got into the car I wasn't trying any more to hold the tears... I couldn't. Those thoughts were done playing the margins and had ripped through my stable facade and were screaming so loud I could hardly hear myself pray.

"Thanks again for doing this." I said to Ash when she arrived to watch the kids. I think I was pretty calm but it is hard to remember... even though it was yesterday. So much is already running together. Over the last year or so Ash has always seemed to be there when we needed someone last minute to care for some number of our crazy clan. I'm not sure we've ever needed her the way we did yesterday but she was there and that kept my precious girls from realizing much of what was happening.

"Are you ok?" I could see Mandy mouth those words to Jess at the window of the pediatrician's office. We were so excited when our neighbor got the job at our ped's office, now it was almost painful to see her, more so because she clearly had no idea why we were there. We only waited probably a couple of minutes but I couldn't stop hugging my son. I just didn't want to hear those words.

"...tumor..." I don't remember what came before and I don't remember what came after. All I heard was that word, that word I didn't want to hear, that word I was so scared of. My little boy has cancer. Why? Is it possible it's benign? He's only two. What does this mean? Is he going to die? He's only TWO! So many thoughts and questions were running through my head. Jess was asking questions but I'm not sure what exactly she was saying. The fog lifted and I began my questions. I looked into Dr Mumbauer's eyes... grief... pain... compassion. His composure was not a distant one.

"I don't want to lose my boy!" These words were barely recognizable through my tears. Tears are not foreign to me but this is something new. I don't think I've ever been this scared before. I don't remember much of the drive to UVA except that I was trying to focus on driving. The wait in admitting was awful. i wanted to scream, "Don't you realize my kid has cancer?! Screw the paperwork where is our room!!" Who knows what stories were represented in that room. When you're scared the first casualty is perspective, the second is restraint... so far only one casualty in this war.

Tonight I sit in this dark room listening to the sound of Andrew's breathing as he sleeps. Jess went home tonight to give some normalcy to the other three kids. She will second guess that decision for a week... but it was the right one. It has taken me the better part of two hours to write this with frequent pauses for sobbing, phone calls, and just to go look at him while he sleeps. He is still clueless about what is coming. In this war we are still gathering intel, still seeing how strong the enemy is. We are not even at the stage where we determine the plan of attack. If you had asked me two days ago what my chief worries were, the things that were at the forefront of my mind, the possibility of a malignant tumor in my two year old son was not even close. Yesterday everything changed. We're now that family that you read about, that you hear about and feel sad for. We're now the family that, after reading the update, you go and hug your kids a little tighter. Yesterday everything changed and there's no going back. I have never been more aware of my own limitations, I am not strong enough for this. I have never been more aware of more conscious of my own powerlessness, I cannot change this situation. I have never been more aware of my need for a powerful love outside of myself to carry me, I'm not sure I dare walk this path. In short I've never been more aware of the beauty of the Christian Gospel and the glory of the season that we'll celebrate tomorrow. There in that cave in Bethlehem God showed that he would draw near to the brokenness of the world and not just experience it, but bear it.

Tonight I long for the day when everything changes again, when the brokenness that I feel so profoundly tonight, the brokenness in my body and my son's is done away with. I long tonight for advent. That isn't the pastor in me saying it, its the father. Let everything change again... tomorrow.