Where to begin… The best place I can think of is the over 500 thank you’s I need to say. In the last two weeks we have had well over 500 people help us in material ways. The blog post “Stage 4” showed over 16,000 unique visitors read the post (I’m a number nerd). I am going to assume more than half of those said a prayer for us. We’ll call it 10,000 for good measure. That is the same as a whole Army Division. I know, I know, I can’t prove that many people prayed, but I can feel it.
When it comes to how the heck to process an event like this emotionally, it is best done in stories to let you attempt to feel a bit of it yourself. I could just list the emotional key words but that wouldn’t quite do the situation justice. Right now I am sitting the waiting room as Elizabeth is getting a tumor cut out of her liver. I’ll finish with the emotions of that, but I’ll start at the beginning.
On Wednesday, January 18th we had an appointment with the oncologist. We had already gotten the results from the MRI but were waiting on direction from him of what next steps would be, which turned out to be surgery. That day the boys had to miss a fun event because of her appointment and were bumming pretty hard. So I told them I would make it up to them with a surprise. The surprise was me screwing giant hooks into three corners of our living room and hooking up a tarp that was larger than the room… best. fort. ever.
Here come the feels: During the fort night (not to be confused with the video game) we set up the computer and watched the first Harry Potter movie. Jonathan (3 yrs old) wasn’t too into the movie but was snuggling up to Elizabeth. Part way through he leans over to her, grabs her by the cheeks and says,
“God is going to bless you Mommy”
While I like to think my kids are intellectuals and future theologians, my three-year-old doesn’t say stuff like that unprompted. If that wasn’t enough to make us both turn into a pile of goo, a few moments later he leans over again with another cheek grab and says,
“Don’t be afraid, I am with you”
Chills. Every time I remember that night my shoulders loosen a bit and I sit in awe of God. No one is required to have faith. But having experiences like that during this chaos make it impossible for me not to. The hardest thing to convey to the people in our lives is how we have peace, joy, mourning and sadness in the same breath. While it is much more common for those things to exist in different arenas, they can and often exist together. Like an hour ago when in pre-op we were giggling about some comment I made of how sexy she looked in that hospital gown. Moments before and moments after we were sitting in somber silence waiting for them to roll her back to remove a tumor. It is the beauty of a snow-scape in the harshness of winter.
I won’t hide from explaining the pain. I don’t recommend it, but if you do any web search about outlook for patients with similar diagnosis as Elizabeth, it is enough to make this grown man cry. Again, trying to face a loved ones (or your own) mortality is not for the feint of heart. It can wreck you real quick.
Side note: did you know you can get a sinus infection from crying too much in the wrong environment? Yep, I learned that last week. I sat around a campfire with a dozen awesome men who prayed with me. I knew we were going to be outside so I didn’t bring tissue… big mistake. And I didn’t even jump in the creek for the baptism like a few of the other guys. Between the snot flow and smoke from the fire, I’m still congested over a week later. #worthit
Something Elizabeth and I have talked a lot about in this season is sympathy vs empathy. It is in moments of empathy that we have felt the most powerful combination of strength AND sorrow. Sympathy is a one way street. The other person feels bad or sad that you are in that situation. Empathy is a two way street, where they can feel themselves in your shoes in a power and emotional way, while you are sad they are partially experiencing your pain, you gain strength by momentarily sharing the load. At least I do.
I can’t explain it in any other way than I can see it in their eyes. Seeing some studly, mans man brothers and strong sisters look me in the eye and peer into my soul, then have their eyes well up or look broken for me. Their life flashed into my scenario, and they hurt. It hurts. Yet, it gives me strength. It is a spiritual bond.
24 hours after we had the fort movie night we posted the fundraiser hoping money wouldn’t be a stress while making decisions on treatment options. Then, God blessed mommy. Within a week we had enough funds for the initial treatment and 6-12 months of runway for aftercare costs (pending specific treatment recommendations). Over that weekend after the post we had friends basically having a watch party for us, checking the funds amount periodically and bubbling with excitement for us. We are so blessed. Thank you. No no no, look at me in the figurative eyes… THANK YOU.
Prayers mean more than you think. Elizabeth has once again stated how calm she has felt through these last couple weeks. There were plenty of tears and mourning. She cried a little too. But overall, when people ask me how she is doing, I can truthfully say, really well (all things considered). We trade off day to day on who is strong that day and who just needs to mourn. There are so many questions, unknowns, and variables to the coming days. But your prayers carry weight.
Here are specifics on prayer if you would:
For Elizabeth to be healed of cancer.
Liver surgery to heal up quickly.
Logistics to be smooth for treatment in Mexico. There are many, between keeping the coffee shop running smoothly and getting adult supervision of the boys for three weeks, and fulfilling roasting orders that seem to be growing rapidly (which is awesome)… whoa.
Peace of mind and body for Elizabeth and me. My shoulders seem to be stuck near my ears often.
Wisdom in parenting under high stress. Those boys barely understand what is going on. Pray we will exemplify Christ in suffering.
A couple of parting notes: First- we have our foreseeable treatment future laid out for us. No further suggestions of what to do next are needed. We’ll circle back up if we want to crowd source options down the road. As convinced as you may be of your solution, that ship has sailed. Second- tumor removal does not equal cancer free. It is simply “patching the hole the rodent ate through the roof”, but doesn’t mean the rodent isn’t still in the house. The treatment she will be doing in Mexico is like fumigating the house, to stick with that analogy.
We are joyously overwhelmed by the love, support, and generosity of so many people. It would be difficult, but I’d hug all y’all if I could. I’ve ambush hugged a couple people already. “I don’t know if you are a hugger, but you’re getting one” has come out of my mouth a couple times so far… sorry not sorry. As I finish this post I am home with Elizabeth from surgery. She is uncomfortable but glad to be home. No more beeping machines.
With Love, hope, and more crying than I’d like to admit,
Duncan