Walking Each Step

For those waiting to hear... and propping their eyes open... I will give the executive summary before the expanded edition. Biopsy has shown that Andrew has neuroblastoma (as suspected). The initial pathology shows that it isn't very aggressive (favorable histology) which is very good news. The surgeon put in a central line (more permanent IV that comes from the chest) which has allowed his other IV's to be removed. He also has a chest tube that will take a couple of days to heal. He is on some pain medication to take care of the pain from surgery. Right now he is sleeping soundly. MRI was pushed to tomorrow along with a bone scan, full staging will need to wait until after the MRI and the path reports return. Now, on to the more annotated version.

One of my favorite Christmas time stories growing up was Dickens' A Christmas Carol. I would love to say I had some deep spiritual appreciation for the story of redemption but in reality I loved the ghosts and the picture of the snowy streets of England. Central to the story is of course the fact that Scrooge needed to be led through the different facets of his story, or rather his impact on the story of others, by three different ghosts. The journey Scrooge went on needed three different guides to take him through each crucial step towards redemption. Today we found ourselves guided in a similar way.

We woke this morning from a pretty good night's sleep. Andrew slept through all but the attaching of the IV... and then he fell back to sleep quickly. Truth be told, we seem to wake up later here than at home where Madi opens her door on the left side of 6 a.m. most days. Our spirits were pretty good and we were ready for, what we thought, would be a fairly routine day. Around 9:30 a member of the oncology team came by to talk us through the day and to sign the legion of forms for the surgery. Her words were helpful, but brought with them a heavy dose of reality again. There were many unknowns still present, many possible outcomes to the day. Our confidence was beginning to shake. No sooner had she left that two good friends from church arrived. Their presence, just their presence, was enough to keep our chins up; that is of course until they called us to go down to surgery.

We left for surgery with Andrew with emotions swirling. We left our friends back in our hospital room and traveled to the 2nd floor. By the time we reached Surgery Admitting panic began setting in; I became ambivalence personified. I wanted to begin this process and start down the road that would end with my son running and jumping, pursuing his dreams and growing old, but I also didn't want to put my now drugged little boy into the arms of this stranger who would take him to the OR. Before we had to do that however another stranger appeared dressed in scrubs like so many others, all others really, on this floor. She was the daughter of one of our members who was told that we would be coming and came by to visit with us. She stayed, talked, listened, and then prayed. Her prayer was not full of eloquence but it sang with conviction and the melody of the Spirit. It was a prayer that made putting my dear sweet boy into the arms of another man not easy, but bearable.

We left the second floor shaken. We were preparing for at least 2 1/2 hours of waiting but had already received word that more friends were awaiting us in the cafeteria. We entered the cafeteria to find four people waiting for us, friends that had made the drive over the mountain to sit with us as we waited to hear about our boy. Before the end of our waiting another would arrive as well. We sat and ate, talked and laughed, chatted about Andrew and about nothing; it was marvelous. The call came at about 4pm that we could come get sit with him as he slowly woke up. I'm not sure what we would have done if we had been left for 3 hours to sit by ourselves with our fears and uncertainties.

Andrew awoke slowly as we sat by his bedside in pain and pretty disoriented. Neither of us were prepared for the number of tubes that seemed to be coming from every part of our boy. It is a strange thing when you drop off a child who was rambunctious and difficult to contain to those sworn to heal and you receive him back wounded and sluggish. The oncologist came and talked through the results with us. The news that it was malignant was tempered only by the news that the histology was favorable (apparently meaning that it wasn't aggressive). The long road ahead began to open out in front of us as we transported our crying boy back to our room. As we got off the elevator a familiar sight greeted us, friends waiting outside the elevator as they did the first night we brought Andrew here. Once again we would not be alone in our chaos.

We entered the room and began to get to work setting things up for our boy who was still upset and probably in pain. In the midst of all this Jess left the room and reentered with a couple I had never seen before. Her face was overwritten with the language of relief as if these two whom I had never seen before were a gift unlooked for but much welcomed. As it would happen these two were neighbors, neighbors who lost their two year old son to a rare form of brain cancer, neighbors who labor in the ministry, neighbors who could give some light to the dark road we had been cast onto. As the couple who greeted us at the elevator prayed with us and headed home our neighbors remained. We shared stories, we shared emotions, we shared our lives. I do not have the skill with words to adequately communicate the power of their presence with us, especially tonight.

Every step of our journey today we were provided others who would journey with us. Every one of them was important, every one invaluable. This to me is a wonderful picture of the gospel. I didn't know that today I would need the presence of others, I didn't realize I would need company along my journey. Yet, before I even knew what my need would be God provided for it, and not in some existential sense, but in real flesh and blood, hands to hold, voices to hear, tears to see. "All I have needed Thy hand has provided" is how the song goes and tonight, as I reflect on His grace to the Gilmartins today, I join with those lyrics (and I invite you to as well) to say
 Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.