Summer should be around here somewhere

Posted by wendy on June 2, 2011

Every good summer break starts with a trip to the hospital….

no, that’s not it.

I was hoping to start off the summer with a romantic getaway for 2 to VUMC….

nope, hmm… not that either.

Oy.

So we came in yesterday for chemo, the non-eventful round where we just come in, smile pretty at the doc, and get the drugs. But Emmett’s blood counts were way off, so off in fact that they ran his bloodwork again to make sure they had done it properly. The first thing out of whack was his red blood count, so he needed a couple units of blood. No biggie, we thought. We’d get blood yesterday and then do chemo today. Then the chemistries came back with super low potassium, magnesium, and pretty much everything else good for you and elevated white cells and bilirubin and other liver markers that are suspicious. So off we go to admission for a night of fluids, and vitamins, and x-rays, and CT scans, and EKGs.

Much to our surprise, everything ran very smoothly, so thank you for your prayers. We got a double room, but they closed off the other side, so I got to lie in a bed instead of one of those catapulting chairs! They finished up the tests by midnight and left us alone, so Emmett got a long stretch of uninterrupted sleep because the nurses were awesome and left us alone once they hooked up Emmett’s vitamin cocktail. So, all in all it was probably the best possible visit to the hospital to date.

Unfortunately, it looks like of all the possible scenarios, the reason for the elevated liver counts is significant disease progression. This means we will be reassessing our options sooner than we thought. So pray for us as we sift through our options today and this weekend. First, pray that our hearts would find peace and joy in Christ no matter what. Then pray that we would have options. Emmett is so fragile right now, that I’m worried there may not be many choices for us to move forward.

A Very Sad Day

Posted by wendy on June 3, 2011

In short, it doesn’t look like Emt will be able to proceed with chemo. His liver numbers are elevated, and rising so fast, that it has become too dangerous to do chemo. If those numbers go down, we could move ahead, but that kind of thing “just doesn’t really happen.” So we’re processing. Emmett is going home with an oxygen tank, and hospice has already been suggested. So pray for us as we transition. We still hope beyond reasonableness for a miracle, but sometimes that hope is hard to find. Considering how far downhill he has gone just in the past few weeks, I would not delay in sending your words of love and encouragement to Emmett as soon as possible.

Wheezing elephants and quiet grace

Posted by wendy on June 3, 2011

My heart is full tonight as I listen to Emmett’s soft snores beside me in the bed. They’re almost completely masked by the oxygen machine that sounds a bit like a wheezing elephant in the room, but Emt’s snores are sweet to hear and I am very thankful for them.

It was a long, slow day at the hospital trying to wrap up details before heading home. I learned to operate catheters and oxygen tanks. I made countless phone calls and emails and tried to rest during the lulls. Once home, there was a bustle of activity. The church elders and their wives came for a time of sweet prayer, and then we got some time with dear friends before settling in for the night. Emmett’s spirits seemed to rise a bit and he was even somewhat perky.

Since this chemo did little to help Emt, the cancer has been wreaking havoc on his body. There is a lot of discomfort for Emmett, and though I will not go into detail, we would appreciate your prayers for minimal complications as we try to control the most unpleasant symptoms.

There is a quiet grace in the house tonight, no doubt the result of being bathed in prayer. We are thankful for the notes, messages, and comments. I will read them to Emt as his time and energy allows. Thank you again for you prayers. They are much appreciated.

Project E4 - E5

Posted by teamcaptain on June 5, 2011

Hello friends,

The blog has been temporarily hijacked again, this time to ask a favor of you.

We’d like to initiate a little project and ask for all of you who know Emmett to send in notes, photos, anything that may serve as a memory – these items will be gathered into a collection to share with Quinn when he’s a bit older, to help him know his dad. Memories, attributes, funny quirky moments that involve Emmett #4 that can be shared with Emmett #5 (Quinn).

There are 2 ways you can send in your items – by mail or email:

Snail Mail option:

Team Emmett / Project E4-E5

P.O. Box 3241

Brentwood, TN 37024

If you send photos, we’re going to keep them, just FYI. :)

Email Option:

nicki@teamemmett.com and please include in Subject line: Project E4 -E5

Please don’t hesitate to send in your notes, we’d like to collect them ASAP.

Thank you for your continued prayers for Emmett, Wendy, Quinn, and the Stallings family as a whole. They are coveted and felt.

Another Day

Posted by wendy on June 5, 2011

Emmett got to spend a really good morning yesterday with friends and family, and he was sitting up in bed laughing for a good part of it. But after a long nap, he woke up feeling really gross and uncomfortable, and we were up until about 4 am trying to get him comfortable. You can imagine that with cancer in his GI tract and liver that none of his body systems work right anymore. So, although not what you might call pain, Emmett does have continual discomfort and controlling it has been challenging. Finally about 4 am I gave him some more medicines and he pretty much passed out from exhaustion. So most of today was spent sleeping and recovering as we all took turns napping at some point today.

It has been sweet to have friends come by and sit with Emmett. He isn’t strong enough to “entertain”, as he calls it, but he’s still present and alert to listen when he is not napping. Many friends have been present in very tangible ways, from cooking meals and grocery shopping to arranging places for visitors to stay and collecting gas cards for family members. We were even prayed over by our pastor, who called us all the way from India to check in. We are continually blessed by the body of Christ and are grateful to be loved so well during this time.

If you have grown up with Emmett in any capacity, like OM, band, boy scouts, or school, then please make a note of the previous blog post. I have heard so many wonderful stories about Emmett from so many different parts of his life, that I long to be able to share those stories with Quinn some day. So please help me remember them by putting them down on paper for Quinn when he is a bit older. Thank you so much for your continual outpouring of love.

Bound at the Altar

Posted by wendy on June 5, 2011

For so long we were looking at every step as forward progress in a fight. Every obstacle was a challenge to overcome, and every bad day was something to get through in hopes of another good day. And now that forward progress is no longer an option, every steps sends us racing, ever more quickly to an end we do not want. We can now look back at the last few months and see that what we hoped had been progress in one direction was really movement in another. You get this handy little blue book when you enter hospice about the stages of dying, and we can see clearly how Emmett has passed through some of them, giving up his desire for solid food, withdrawing from social situations, sleeping more. What were once defined as chemo side effects have, in light of the doctor’s meeting, become redefined as stages in the dying process.

So I spend the day watching Emmett breathe as he sleeps, medicating him when needed, getting him drinks or helping him to the bathroom when he is awake. And I wonder things like, did I need to get that medicine refilled or what am I going to do with ten sleeves of gauze? When we got home from the hospital, Emmett saw the cases of medical food he had ordered about two weeks ago, and he apologized because, he said, “it looks like we’re not going to need that.” It breaks my heart that everything in our lives, is a deafening reminder of impending change.

One of my favorite books is Hinds Feet on High Places by Hannah Hurnard. I usually keep several copies on hand, but I seem to have given them all away or buried them under Quinn’s bed, so I will have to paraphrase instead of of quote. The book is a parable of faith about a girl named Much Afraid. The Shepherd plants the seed of love in her heart and she journeys to the high places and true love. Through her journeys, the seed grows and blooms, but the end of her journey, she comes to an altar where she is commanded to cut out the flower of love and sacrifice it on the altar. And she goes through a desperate internal struggle. To sacrifice the very gift the Shepherd promised her makes her feel as if He had lied to her. And yet, she commands the priest of the altar to bind her tightly so that she would not be tempted to resist her savior’s orders. I feel that is where I am right now, bound in such a way that I am completely incapable of resisting the Lord’s will, even as he cuts out what I think are the best parts of my own life.

You’ll have to read the book to see what happens next, but I suppose that sometimes, like with Abraham, God commands us to return the very gifts he has promised us. If I could also find my copy of These Strange Ashes by Elisabeth Elliot (we have a serious overload of books at our house in case you didn’t notice), then I would insert here one of my favorite quotes of all time. But alas, I again have to paraphrase. She says that when we find our hands emptied by grief, with nothing left to offer our savior, that the Lord, in some mysterious exchange, takes our empty hands and gives himself to us.

All this sounds nice until it is my hands that are emptied. And then I find myself swallowed up by rivers of grief, squirming in the ropes that bind me to the altar, desperately wishing that God would provide another lamb, as he did for Abraham. Yet I don’t see one. Instead I see my best friend suffering just to take another breath, held captive by pain, and slipping away from me faster than I could have imagined.

God is good. He will redeem all things for his good. We have faith, but we do not yet have the hindsight of heaven to heal our suffering. So pray for us. You have prayed so much already, but please continue to do so.

The Third Watch

Posted by wendy on June 8, 2011

It’s 3:30 am, and I’ve been up for a while with Emmett. He continues to have trouble breathing, so we’ve upgraded him to a nebulizer and given him some anxiety medicine. He finally seems to be resting well again. And I’m finally wide awake. The last two days have been quiet and uneventful. Emmett rests well during the day, even with the loads of activity in our house, but nights are rough for him. His anxiety increases, like he is afraid to rest if I am sleeping or worried he might not make it to another day. Yet he keeps moving forward like a champ. The stream of people in and out of our house has been refreshing, and we’ve been blessed to be surrounded by such a lovely group of friends and family. Thank you so much for your sweet love.

The Saddest News of All

Posted by wendy on June 9, 2011

On Thursday, June 9th around 3:30 am, Emmett James Stallings IV went home to the arms of his Savior.

Broken

Posted by wendy on June 9, 2011

Monday night, Emmett and I had a few minutes alone and he whispered to me, "I wish I could explain how much I love you." Tuesday night was a rough, rough night, but he reached out and held my hand for a while as we lay there together.

About 11 am Wednesday morning, as I was giving Emmett meds, he whispered to me, "so I guess I really have cancer, huh?" That was the last coherent thing I heard from him.  As the day wore on Wednesday, Emmett grew more agitated, his breathing became labored, and what little he said did not make much sense. When I gave him meds shortly before midnight, I knew something was wrong. We tried to calm him down, but ended up calling the hospice nurse. She helped us calm him down about 2 am, and as soon as he was calm, he started to slip away from us. Even though the nurse said he could hang on for a day or two, he was ready to go.

So we all cried together. I got Quinn up and gave him the chance to say goodbye. We took some alone time with Emmett's body and both kissed him. I knew then that I had to get out of that bed or I would stay there forever, so I did the hardest thing I've ever done, and I carried Quinn out of that room, knowing that hardest part of Emmett's journey was over while my hardest part was just beginning.  I explained to Emmett that Daddy had gone to Jesus, and we would not see him again until heaven.  As we walked down the hall, Quinn whispered in my ear, "How do we get to heaven?" We cried and roamed about the house. I took Quinn for a short walk, and then after they removed Emmett's body, I showered and napped for a short time in our bed. Quinn came running in shortly after 7 asking where daddy was, and I explained again that Daddy had to go away, and Quinn got sad, saying, "But I like being with Daddy!"

So pray for us as we grieve and move forward. I will post service details when we have them. Thank you for walking with us in our journey.

Grief

Posted by wendy on June 9, 2011

I do not want to go to bed tonight. Because if I go to bed, then I get a day further away from Emt, a day further away form remembering his touch, being able to hear his laugh, or picture his smile. If I go to bed, then I move on.  But more than moving on, I enter our room, our personal retreat and he is present everywhere, pressing in on me until the grief gushes out in torrents. And I'm afraid, not of being alone, but of being swallowed up by a limitless grief and losing myself in its tide.  Perhaps that is why we so often choose to love weakly.  Because weak love spares us the kind of soul-crushing grief that drags us into these depths. But unrestricted love, unashamed love (and I'm not just speaking of the love between a man and wife, though that happens to be my particular case) leaves us vulnerable to this suffocating kind of grief. And I prayed over these things in my heart as I lay sobbing in our bed earlier today. But I have a savior whose unashamed love for us drove him to the cross. His desire to rescue us from our slavery was consuming in its focus to reach Jerusalem to the exclusion of all temptations for self and power. What kind of grief must he have born on that cross?  He who opened himself without reservation to love the people who despised and scorned him must have known waves of grief beyond what I can even imagine. And this is who holds me, Jesus Christ himself. Nevertheless, I am tossed about by these waves of grief in a way that renders me completely at their mercy. Were it not for the loving hand of God, who holds me fast in his love, then I would not even be able to stand, much less walk forward, or go to bed tonight, which happens to be my version. So I am comforted by Psalm 42 tonight and praying tonight for the Lord's song to be with me. Much love, and I hope to see many of you in the coming days.

Psalm 42
As the deer pants for streams of water,
so my soul pants for you, my God.
2 My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.
When can I go and meet with God?
3 My tears have been my food
day and night,
while people say to me all day long,
"Where is your God?"
4 These things I remember
as I pour out my soul:
how I used to go to the house of God
under the protection of the Mighty One[d]
with shouts of joy and praise
among the festive throng.
5 Why, my soul, are you downcast?
Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
for I will yet praise him,
my Savior and my God.
6 My soul is downcast within me;
therefore I will remember you
from the land of the Jordan,
the heights of Hermon—from Mount Mizar.
7 Deep calls to deep
in the roar of your waterfalls;
all your waves and breakers
have swept over me.
8 By day the LORD directs his love,
at night his song is with me-
a prayer to the God of my life.
9 I say to God my Rock,
"Why have you forgotten me?
Why must I go about mourning,
oppressed by the enemy?"
10 My bones suffer mortal agony
as my foes taunt me,
saying to me all day long,
"Where is your God?"
11 Why, my soul, are you downcast?
Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
for I will yet praise him,
my Savior and my God.

Held

Posted by wendy on June 11, 2011

This morning I was looking through Emmett's night stand, and I cam across two short notes Emmett had written down for Quinn. He happened to walk in the room at that moment and asked me to read the notes to him, refusing to take no for an answer. So we snuggled in my bed and read the notes, often losing ourselves in huge gulping sobs for quite some time. The ache is so raw and deep for both of us, and times of grieving are often unexpected and overwhelming. But then we went to Emmett's first celebration service. I had cried all my huge gulping tears for the day, so I was able to let the music and words soak into my soul, to remember Emmett without a complete meltdown, and to let myself be held up by the love of God expressed through so many wonderful people. So thank you. To those of you who came, those of you who watched from hundreds or thousands of miles away, or those who couldn't make it but sent sweet notes of love - thank you. We love you, and we need you so very much. Thank you.

It is finished

Posted by wendy on June 13, 2011

I'm sitting here alone next to a freshly turned pile of earth topped with flowers. A tent shades me from the sun and a lovely breeze stirs my hair and dries my tears. I could stay here forever, and I suppose parts of me will always be here, the best parts of me that only Emmett knew how to draw out. I can finally grieve as a wife. Having left Quinn and my parental responsibilities behind at the farm. I'm free to just be. And so I write. Because Emt loved my writing and it makes me feel close to him. Because there aren't any words left to say between two people who loved each other so deeply. In The Valley Song, one of Emt's favorites, there is a verse that says:
Though the pain is an ocean, tossingus around, around, around. You have calmed greater waters. Higher mountains have come down. I will sing of your mercy. That leads me through valleys of sorrow To rivers of joy.

In my grief, I am indeed tossed like a raft on open waters, but I am held by the mercy of the Lord who will keep his promise to redeem all things. And there is peace in greater abundance than grief. Even though the peace is often more quiet than the grief, it is far more patient and tender, so there is great hope that peace will win in the end. I will need so many of you in the days and months to come. Thank you so much for your presence and faithful, quiet service when I could do nothing. Thank you for your love when I could not reach out. If you know me well, then you know that I need you to pursue me, to remind me of the promises of the gospel, and to help me heal even when it hurts.  If you do not know me well, then I pray that you would pour the same energy into the lives of people you know that are hurting. People who grieve do not know how to ask for help, so do not wait for them to ask.

My prayer for all of us is that we will learn to meet suffering with mercy, despair with hope, and fear with truth. I pray that we would dwell in the mysteries and paradoxes of suffering with a realness that despises trite answers, embraces sorrow, and plants hope. In other words, may we be people who trust and love, even when it is difficult. It is strangely fitting that Emt's memorial service began with Be Thou My Vision. That was the bridal march at our wedding, so it is with that song that I can release him into heaven. He finished his story well, and he often urged me to continue mine, even going so far as to set up a blog for me. So now that I have buried my soul mate and best friend, I will close this blog. My story will continue as Emmett wished at http://thesacrificeofabrokenspirit.blogspot.com/.

There is nothing posted there now, as I have been so focused on telling our story, but I hope to post in the near future, so check back if you're interested. Or not. The Lord will do with it what he wills. As for me, I will keep my promise to Emt because he always knew what was best for me. This website will officially transition into the Team Emmett NPO website sometime this summer. Emmett worked hard on laying out the plan, and the designers are hard at work to make it happen. Keep checking back for updates as we strategize practical ways to alleviate a small part of the suffering in our world. We encourage you to join our team in raising money for esophageal cancer research, but whether or not you choose to join our team, I would encourage you to find a team you can join. Goodbye, my love. We fought well, but my greatest joy is that we fought together. I wouldn't trade our journey for anything. Though, as you would wish it, I will learn to laugh and live again, I will grieve you every day we are apart. May the Lord bring me home quickly, in his time. Amen. Come Lord Jesus.