Fluids

Posted by wendy on March 1, 2010

We are in the hospital tonight again. After being unable to keep anything down for three days, we decided it was wise to come get some fluids. After the stent procedure Friday, Emmett essentially slept until Saturday afternoon. Yesterday Emmett was able to take in about 4 cups of fluids, all of which he ended up throwing up before bedtime. We thought perhaps it was because he had exerted himself too much that evening, so we were hopeful that today would be different.

Today he could not really function at all before about 4 pm, and what little fluids he took after that were thrown up almost immediately. We made the decision, with the help of the doctor, to come in and get some IV fluids. He is in too much of a hole right now to dig himself out on what he can consume orally, so this is just to give him a boost. We hope to be home after our oncology appointment tomorrow.

Being here is different this time, less scary and more hopeful. We are not here to get cured, but we also know why we are here and what we need. It is not a step backwards this time as much as it is a step forwards. Get fluids so that Emmett can get enough energy back to keep going. Although we really don’t want to be here, this may not be the last time in the hospital for such a purpose. It’s part of the game plan now – keep Emmett strong enough to keep going.

We appreciate your prayers and love tonight. It will be a long journey and we hope you will continue walking with us.

love to all
-w-

Game On

Posted by wendy on March 1, 2010

I am a completely lousy person. I just want all of you to be fully aware of that.

Yesterday (Saturday) I watched Emmett struggle not only to battle his cancer, but also to tolerate the lunch sack bag of medications he’s taking to control his symptoms enough to eat. As he started to come back to life, I started to completely break down. I found myself walking in circles, accomplishing nothing, but managing to be irritated by everything. I was even annoyed with myself because I was so crabby, and I’m not even the one who is sick. Emmett very wisely kicked me out of the house for a couple hours. I came back a different person, and I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with the flip flops I bought at Target.

You see, somewhere in the hazy last few days after the stent procedure didn’t make things better, I remember asking God, “how many buckets of water are you going to pour on this altar before you light it on fire?” I have no idea where that question came from, but I distinctly remember asking it. I love the story of Elijah in 1st Kings Chapter 18 where Elijah is facing off with the prophets of Baal and has the servants pour buckets of water on top of the sacrifice to prove that the God of Israel is the on true God, but I love even more in chapter 19 where Elijah is hiding in a cave moping and God comes to meet him in the gentle breeze. I’ve mostly been vacillating between not being able to accept what is happening and moping about it. But something about that question wouldn’t let me go, so tonight as we sat in the hospital again, I read that story. Maybe I’m doing things a bit backwards, but I’m out of the cave and waiting for the servants to finish pouring on the water because God will consume the sacrifice. Whether it’s four hundred prophets we’re up against or four million cancer cells, doesn’t much matter to a big God I suppose. What matters is that we show up.

It took me a while, but now I’m here waiting, watching, and praying.

So game on.

News

Posted by wendy on March 2, 2010

Job 1:20

“Naked I came from my mother’s womb,
and naked I will depart.
The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away;
may the name of the LORD be praised.”

Sorry for the delay in getting news out. We wanted time to process and part of that time was simply spending sweet moments with family and visitors. Emmett was too tired to write his post tonight, but he is planning on writing one tomorrow so you can hear it straight from him too. In the mean time we didn’t want to leave anyone hanging (if anyone is still up at this crazy time of night).

In short, when oncologists talk about cancers like Emmett’s, they don’t talk about healing, they talk about managing the cancer. Average life span is 1-2 years if chemotherapy goes well. The 5 year survival rate is less than 5%. Usually these types of tumors initially respond well to certain types of chemotherapy. We can reasonably hope that the cancer will shrink for a while and that Emmett’s quality of life will improve for a time, but usually these types of tumors eventually stop responding to therapy and start growing again.

I suppose I was more prepared than Emmett because I had heard a little more from doctors and others than Emmett had, and I have already dealt with the reality that I may very well lose the one part about life I love most, being married to Emmett. But there was mostly quiet acceptance of the odds. In a strange way there is peace and freedom in knowing how little hope you have in medicine.

Don’t get me wrong, we are totally jazzed for the fight. We’re ready to pour our hearts into praying and living and hoping and fighting. But there is a comfort in knowing how fully you rest in the hands of God. He has already redeemed our souls through Christ’s death on the cross, so redeeming Emmett’s body is a small thing to him. We pray with every breath that he will choose to glorify himself through Emmett’s healing, and we plan to pursue that in our lives. But even if God doesn’t heal Emmett, even if God chooses to take Emmett sooner than I want him to, he is still a wonderful and merciful God. I am reminded of the words of three young men in the Bible who were faced with death:

Daniel 3: 16-18

Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego replied to the king, “O Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter. If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it, and he will rescue us from your hand, O king. But even if he does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.”

Our God is a compassionate and loving God who does not want to see his children suffer, but we do suffer because we live in a world of people who choose to sin and turn their backs on God. So we will fight, but in the end, we know our hope lies with God, and we are content to love each other well for the time we have left, fully praying for that to mean another 60 years together on this earth.

What do we need from you? Be our friends. Laugh with us, cry with us, play scrabble with us. Don’t be weird. Don’t expect us to be extra holy. Don’t send us your miracle cures or diets. God’s love for us despite our sinful nature is miracle enough for us. His grace will guide us through the rest of this.

much love tonight.
-w-

Anger

Posted by wendy on March 3, 2010

I have a problem with my temper. I’ve already admitted I’m a completely lousy person, so I might as well come clean on all fronts. Sometimes I get really really angry about things that don’t matter. I keep myself up half the night stewing over the finer points of what I would really like to say to that person who made me mad or plotting ways of revenge that can be enacted without me looking like I was out for revenge. The one saving grace is that I am a terrible plotter. My revenge usually amounts to a “yeah, well…. i don’t like you either” type of comeback, so I’m rarely tempted to actually enact my lame revenge.

Today I was really angry. The GI doctors went in to take the stent out of Emmett’s stomach. They found that the stent was about 75% in the stomach, but the remaining 25% was still in the esophagus. The wall of the esophagus had started to encroach around the top of the stent, so they couldn’t remove it without serious damage to the esophagus. The good news is that the stent won’t migrate to the intestines, which was the main worry. The bad news is that there is more pain than before, just as much nausea as before, and now they’re telling us he won’t be able to eat solids at all. Today it feels like every time we come to the hospital that Emmett takes a step backwards.

Needless to say, we were deflated after the procedure and angry. The past two weeks have been a whirlwind of procedures and tests. Each one turning up bad news or going wrong. The volume of information has been overwhelming, and our first GI doctor was somewhat less than endearing. Another doctor though would have made the same decisions with the same risks, we just seem to always fall into that “very small risk of … category” every time. We wanted to be mad at that doctor, though, and we tried. Our friends have been drawing straws for who gets to kick him first, but really there is no blame here. It’s just another setback, another jar of water on the altar.

How do you process that kind of anger in a godly way? Or even can you? I feel like an olympic wrestler with the amount of self-control I’ve had to exert just to refrain from ripping someone’s head off. It sort of helped that we had meditated on Ephesians 4 two days ago in church. Part of the sermon last week was verses 26-27:

“In your anger do not sin”: Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold.

A lot of good words were said about those verses, but I think they bounced right off my thick skull. I still don’t get it. Today’s anger was not righteous anger, it was selfish anger over the consequences of a fallen world. But processing and letting go of something so utterly disappointing without letting the devil run wild with my emotions has been the biggest challenge of today. Ultimately it reveals yet another layer of unbelief in my own heart, that God is not somehow in control of things if they don’t go the way I want them to. You would have thought I should be past that hang up by now given that Emmett has cancer and all, but it’s strange how the little setbacks derail me more effectively than the big picture.

In a fit of self-pity it occurred to me that today might be a good day to ask the why us question, but that is such a lame question that I wasn’t even slightly tempted to dwell there. I just rolled my eyes at myself. It struck me, though, that it would be interesting to ask how will God redeem the 7 inches of very small metal chicken wire hanging out in Emmett’s stomach. I bet there’s a funny answer to that question.

So we’re moving on and focusing on what lies ahead. Wednesday Emmett gets a port placed so that he will be ready to start chemotherapy next week. Then he just needs to recover from all the procedures because they won’t give him chemotherapy if he can’t walk into the clinic. That is going to be a huge hurtle for Emmett, so we’d appreciate specific prayers for him to be able to hold down food, regain strength, and stop losing weight. We’re going to get a second opinion because the doctor encouraged us to, but from what we understand most therapies available are just variations of the one we would get here, and this combination is the most widely used and accepted. The research to tell which variation of the therapy is best for certain patients is only in its infancy, so no one can determine what particular variation would be best for us.

We have one more small procedure and then we’re ready to jump in and fight. Right now that means getting food into Emmett one smoothie at a time. So here’s to another sip. Cheers!

Next Step

Posted by wendy on March 5, 2010

Just a short informational update:

Emmett and I have decided to go with a minor surgery to remove the stent and place a feeding tube. We feel this best prepares his body to deal with the chemo and only postpones the chemo a few more days if all goes well. We’re going ahead with that decision today, so pray that all goes well. Emmett has had a very rough morning. We’re all nervous, but his anxiety level is maxed out. Today needs to go well. Please pray.

oh- and Emmett has wanted to write, but the IV in his hand aggravates him too much to type. He hopes to post something himself soon.

-w-

Moving on

Posted by wendy on March 5, 2010

Wow,

First off, I know you want to hear directly from the man himself, but he’s had a rough couple days. There’s an IV in his right hand, so the most he’s been able to do is post a few tweets with his iphone in using his left hand. He promises to write in a few days when he’s recovered and the IV is out.

So… the last couple days…

Tuesday, the GI docs went in through Emmett’s mouth to remove the stent but did not feel confident doing so through his esophagus. Although it was mostly in his stomach, they didn’t feel confident that they could remove it through his esophagus without causing more damage. They decided to postpone any more stent procedures until the tumor board met Thursday.

Wednesday, Emmett had a port put in. The chemotherapy will require frequent IV access and the port should minimize the needle poking and confine it to one place. The port looks like a little cowboy hat shaped device under the skin in his right shoulder. It was painful, and Emmett couldn’t move his head, talk, or chew much since then, although it was starting to feel better this morning.

Thursday the tumor board met, and we were informed last night of their discussion. We knew Emmett’s case was unusual, but this particular mix of circumstances has never been seen before. We all know that statistically speaking, Emmett shouldn’t have this cancer this bad at this age, but he does. Furthermore, stents rarely move, and when they do, they usually move completely into the stomach, they don’t get stuck on tumors. The procedure that should have made his life easier has essentially beaten him up and made him terrified of every medical procedure. Since the stent is partially in the esophagus, there is no immediate danger of it moving to the intestines or perforating the stomach lining, but it is causing discomfort and a lot of anxiety.

So we had two options, and the doctors wanted Emmett to choose because basically we’re in uncharted territory. First, since there is only a small chance of damage from the stent, we could proceed with chemo and attack the cancer, addressing the stent again when it becomes a problem. Second, we could do a “minor” surgery to remove the stent and then hopefully proceed with chemo in about 7-10 days. As our physician wisely quips, minor surgery is surgery performed on someone else. Despite great fear and anxiety, Emmett decided on the surgery so that he would be free to attack the cancer without any more anxiety from the stent. This morning as they were preparing to draw blood to run some tests before the surgery, Emmett became so anxious that he began vomiting blood and had to be given sedatives before we could even draw blood. I apologize for being graphic, but I hope to give you an idea of the anguish he is in and our desperate need for your prayers. Emmett has never had so much as a mole removed, and his introduction to various medical procedures has thus far continued to make his anxiety worse.

Ideally, Emmett will come out of this surgery with the stent removed and a feeding tube in his stomach. I’ve basically been watching him starve the past two weeks. He’s been given no nutrition because they keep expecting him to be able to eat and things keep not working. He should start getting IV nutrition tomorrow, but that’s a lot more complicated than you’d expect. We should be able to give him nutrients through the feeding tube sometime next week. Once we perfect the technique then I’m sure it will be a great party trick.

In short, Emmett needs this stent out and we need this operation to go smoothly. We are both crushed with the way things have gone, and we aren’t even addressing the real problem. As Emmett put it last night, “it’s like i can’t even get out of the gate to start the race because the gate is glued shut.” The cancer continues to attack his body, which has been vastly weakened by the last two weeks. He has to get stronger before he can do the chemo. He needs to get nutrients back into his body and keep them down. He needs the chance to fight, and so we need your prayers.

Don’t feel obligated to respond in any way but prayer. We are vastly encouraged by the notes, letters, phone calls, texts, tweets, visits, and all the other things you have thought of to encourage us. Your creativity is amazing as you create art, songs, and so many other things as a result of Emmett’s fight. In small ways, God has already begun redeeming Emmett’s cancer for good, and these small things continue to give us hope. It reminds me of Matthew 24:12 where Jesus is talking about the end times, “Because of the increase of wickedness, the love of most will grow cold.” Without the hope of God, suffering and sin lead us into a deeper spiral of sin and despair. May our suffering serve as a reminder that the people around you suffer in all kinds of ways, and none of them are small when you are going through them. The only remedy to suffering and evil is love, the kind of love that would cause God to send his only son to die on the cross in order to redeem us from our sin. Our prayer for you is that you would live in such a way that other people are drawn to the love of God by the way you live.

Okay – I’m off my soap box and on to find other ways of distracting myself. Love to you all.

Thank you.
-w-

Out of Surgery

Posted by wendy on March 5, 2010

Emmett is out of surgery and all went well. Now it’s on to recovery, getting nutrition, and building strength for chemo.

Healing

Posted by wendy on March 9, 2010

Wow,

Where did the weekend go?

Emmett came out of a flawless surgery on Friday sans stent and plus a feeding tube. He was surprisingly conscious all afternoon and late into the evening. Despite the disbelief of the doctors and nurses, he continued to complain of pain late into the night, sitting almost immobile. Finally, around 3 a.m. after more pestering from us, our night nurse discovered that Emmett’s pain pump was leaking medicine, so he wasn’t getting much, if any, pain meds. She switched it out, and he was happily passed out by 4 a.m. But alas, the nurses and doctors were upon us by 6 a.m., so most of Saturday passed in a haze of napping. After much threatening form doctors and nurses (for things I will not mention here), he forced himself to use the bathroom in an amazing two hour ordeal that left us both exhausted.

Sunday Emmett was able to get to the chair by his bed and sit for a short time, and today he made two laps around the round wing and sat in a chair for four to five hours. Such exertions are generally followed by a lengthy nap and recovery period. They finally put him on IV nutrition Saturday night, and they’ve tried to begin using his feeding tube today. There was actually a blush tint to his cheek when I returned to the hospital tonight. That was an awesome sight to see.

It continues to surprise me that the healing process can be such a roller coaster ride. In many ways it was a good day because Emmett was able to get out of bed so much, yet he’s also paying dearly for it tonight. While making a couple laps around the hallway is definitely an accomplishment, it also accentuates how far we still have to go. He needs to be completely better for chemo to begin, and that day still feels a long ways away. Tonight, as he lingered over the ever-anticipated red jello, it was obvious that Emmett was physically and emotionally spent. The valium that usually helps him rest has sent his over active brain into hallucinations, and he is currently dozing fitfully and keeps waking up confused, thinking he was just in the middle of a conversation. This is a hard, hard fight for Emmett, so keep him in your prayers. In some ways each ounce of joy we experience is purchased with three times the amount of sorrow and weariness. Your prayers hold us up during these times, so thank you for saturating us in them.

Home Again

Posted by wendy on March 11, 2010

Emmett’s dozing this morning while we wait for the painfully slow hospital gears to finish all the last minute details. We should be home for dinner. There is both great joy and great anxiety in going home.

The past couple days have been very encouraging. Emmett is able to get out of bed now without help. He can walk small distances with help and is weaning himself off some of the pain medications. When he’s doped up, he’s either funny or sleepy. When he’s not doped up, though, you can see the old Emmett shining through. Last night when I came back to the hospital, I felt like I was doing a little happy dance all night.

As excited as we are, though, there is also significant apprehension. We have now left the hospital three times only to return again in a few days when things are much worse. He is definitely more stable now, and we have a home health organization involved to make sure we can stabilize him at home with fluids if needed. All in all, there should be very little chance that we will be back here, but then again, we’ve heard that three times now, so the fear is still present.

Chemo is scheduled to begin Monday the 22nd, so he has another 10 days or so to heal and get back to his old self before we start blasting away at the cancer. Pray that his body has a chance to heal and get strong. Pray that the tumors shrink and disappear. Pray that we can keep him hydrated and stable at home. Pray for laughter. Pray for little Quinn, to be obedient and loving despite the massive changes he’s been through in the past month. Pray for my sanity and patience as I learn to be a nurse and mother at the same time.

Thank you for your prayers. They are felt and heard.

Resting

Posted by wendy on March 12, 2010

Just a quick update from a very tired Wendy, so I hope this makes sense.

Emmett is home and resting in bed finally. He has to stay propped up, which is actually much less comfortable in our bed than in the hospital, but at least we don’t have constant beeping and nurses hovering like vultures.

After having the staples removed from his abdomen this morning, one began bleeding just before we left the hospital. The nurse said it looked okay, but we have to keep gauze on it and keep an eye on how much it bleeds. We may have to go in and get it looked at if it gets worse. This incident only magnified Emmett’s anxiety. The process of going home was tough on him, and the bleeding incident wasn’t helpful to Emmett’s morale. The more he moves, the more the incision site bleeds, so there is a tension between wanting to get up and push himself to get stronger, and not wanting to damage the incision site. Pray for swift healing for this site, for Emmett’s anxiety about being home, and for sweet rest in his uncomfortable position.

Tube feedings are going well, though they are still a bit uncomfortable and stressful. Pray that Emmett’s body would absorb the food and that he would get used to this strange new form of eating.

signing off from home,
w

Grace Like Rain

Posted by wendy on March 14, 2010

One of Emmett’s goal upon leaving the hospital was to have a bowel movement. After much pain and laboring we finally accomplished that goal today. I will not go into details, but suffice it to say that it has been a rough journey, and I am officially the best wife ever. If there were ever a doubt, today sealed the deal, so someone get me a blue ribbon.

As Emmett was getting out of the shower, the prayer and worship group was just cranking up in our living room. Tonight the first worship music Emmett has heard since the beginning of February, and he was overwhelmed. He laid on the bed weeping as I sat by the bed in tears. After such a rough day, hearing our friends worship the Lord and knowing they were praying for us was like feeling the grace of the Lord wash over us like rain. Eventually we made it into the living room and got to share the blessing of worship and prayer with our friends.

I’m so tried I can’t even think to write another sentence. There’s a lot on my heart, but currently sleep is my first priority. love to all.

Walking

Posted by wendy on March 15, 2010

I can’t seem to sleep tonight yet, though I have to be up terribly early in the morning. Perhaps it was my nap this afternoon, or maybe daylight savings is catching up with me… Whatever the reason, I’m once again sitting here wide awake listening to Emmett snore.

A month or so ago, I remember seeing two kids getting drinks at a restaurant. They were making suicides (though there are many other fine names for this concoction), and I was immediately transported back to my past. For those of you who aren’t aware of the finer points of mixed beverages, to make a suicide, you fill your cup with a little bit of everything form the soda fountain. Sounds lovely, doesn’t it? I think there’s some kind of hormone that kicks in around the age of 8 and disengages your taste buds until about the age of 16 that makes this kind of beverage appealing. I remember smiling though at the moment.

In the past weeks, so many different waves of emotions have swept over me, and I feel like my head is that cup in the hands of a ten-year old at the soda fountain going nuts. People feel compelled to continually ask me how I’m doing, and that’s the only question that I have no idea how to answer. In many ways life is hard. I have to feed Emmett every couple hours, and he doesn’t feel comfortable letting anyone else help yet. I’m only going to be able to go back and finish one of my five classes at school, which means I’m missing some of the most fun students I’ve taught in years and the routine that work gives me. I’m learning how to log every medicine, receipt, bowel movement, and thought for later reference. I’m constantly faced with the trade offs between doing the right thing as a mother or being a good wife.

And yet, I’m not sure I can say that I suffer. Children are being made into soldiers in Africa, sold as slaves to the sex trade in southeast Asia, or being abused or neglected around the world. There are people in this world who do not have anyone to love or care for them like we do, and I can’t imagine what it would be like to live in a country where health care doesn’t exist. Thanks to the love and support of amazing people, we are helped beyond belief.

I was reminded in church this morning of Ephesians 5:8

For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light.

I was also reminded of something Emmett said in a Sunday school class we took years ago. We were talking about becoming like Christ, and Emmett pointed out how children learn by imitation, and that imitation is the highest form of praise. Quinn is currently a walking example to me now of how children imitate their parents, but I have forgotten to imitate my own father in heaven. I was struck with an overwhelming desire to imitate my savior, but not in the swashbuckling, gospel-slinging kind of way we first think about. I want to be able to see other people, really see them and care about them, even when I’m tired and thirsty and they’re not very appealing to me – like Jesus was at the well when he talked with the samaritan woman. Or to be able live outside of the moment, unlike Peter who cut off a soldier’s ear, but like Christ who saw the bigger picture and healed the man’s ear. Or be able to sleep when my boat is sinking or not fall asleep praying.

Instead, I was subsequently inundated by the vast amounts of selfishness, greed, unforgiveness, thoughtlessness, and self-pity that have sloshed around in my head. I know I’m forgiven, so I’m not wallowing in guilt, that’s never been a habit of mine, but I do grieve deeply that I’m not a better person. (And don’t you go leaving a comment about how I’m really one of those pearl-wearing, perfect hair, 50′s moms who vacuums in heels while secretly plotting how to save the world kind of super women. I’m not, so don’t waste your breath trying to convince me I am because then I just won’t like you very much.) It was a good kind of grief, cleansing and hopeful, reminding me that I am okay. In some ways, I’m much better than I have been in a long time because I’m facing the right direction, and I have my priorities in order. Life is hard, but I am attempting to drink deeply of the grace of God while I walk through it. I mess up a lot, but I’m at least walking.

So thank you for asking how I am. We still need your prayers, hugs, notes, phone calls, visits, friendship. We need you to walk with us and love us. A friend/mentor gave me a book this morning by an author that I love, Henri Nouwen, and we had a brief discussion about how we, as the body of Christ, find it so difficult to walk with one another during times of suffering. So thank you for walking with us through this painful time. We are humbled by your love for us and moved to pray that God would remind us, as a body of believers, how to carry each others’ burdens.

I’ll close with the words to one of my favorite songs that we sang this morning in church. I let the words roll over me this morning like a blessing.

“O great God of highest heaven
Occupy my lowly heart
Own it all and reign supreme
Conquer every rebel power
Let no vice or sin remain
That resists Your holy war
You have loved and purchased me
Make me Yours forevermore

I was blinded by my sin
Had no ears to hear Your voice
Did not know Your love within
Had no taste for heaven’s joys
Then Your Spirit gave me life
Opened up Your Word to me
Through the gospel of Your Son
Gave me endless hope and peace

Help me now to live a life
That’s dependent on Your grace
Keep my heart and guard my soul
From the evils that I face
You are worthy to be praised
With my every thought and deed
O great God of highest heaven
Glorify Your Name through me”

May the Spirit of God give you life and hope and peace as you learn to walk this week.

much love
-w-
Oh – and I think Emmett was working on a blog post today, so maybe he will post one soon.

Catching Up

Posted by Emmett on March 16, 2010

It has been quite some time since my hands have been able to type. I have had iv’s in my hands, and when one came out, another would go in the other. It feels good to be back and writing again, not to mention, sharing a little more of what has been going on. Thankfully, my wonderful wife has kept things running while I have been hooked up to things, or have been under anesthesia and trying to break free of it. It’s been a crazy couple of weeks, to say the least.

I’ll try to recap a little bit for starters.

The end of my hospital stay ended with two big procedures for me.

1) Surgically implanting a port into the front of my shoulder, for more direct access for the soon coming chemo, and for drawing blood/et. al.

2) Surgically removing the stint that had been placed, and then slipped, and was making things miserable for me.

The Port procedure went fine. They installed it without a hitch and within 2 – 3 days, it was actually being used to get some nutrition in me, since I had basically been on nothing more than clear liquids or IV fluids for several weeks. It’s kind of weird though, having something non-me inside me. The stint is out, though, which is such a relief. I was worried about the complications that may have arisen from that slipped stint, and it made me worry a LOT. And, as much as I can “feel better”, or “feel normal” right now, having that stint gone makes me feel like a new person, ready to take on whatever is about to start coming around the corner.

Right now, my biggest worry, or my biggest concern is healing. In one week, I start Chemo (at last check with my doctors). I so want most of this abdominal surgery area to be cleaned up, healed, and as close to normal as can be before I start berating my body with a bevy of drugs and whatever else is necessary to take care of knocking this cancer back on it’s butt (and then of course, while it’s down, kicking it for good measure).

That’s the short of things as of lately.

This past saturday evening (March 13) My home played host to a worship gathering, lovingly put together by my friends. I had had a long day battling some colon junk, and literally, it was cleared up right before people showed up. I took a shoer for the first time in weeks, and then, post shower, I laid on the bed, resting from what had seemed like a marathon event, and listening to the sounds of the body of Christ echoing down the hall in song. It broke my heart.

I shattered.

I had not been to a worship gathering in over a month due to this junk going on, and to hear the body of Christ, with voices raised, praising and singing just mere paces from bedroom door, washed over me in mighty waves, and I wept. not like fake guy crying, but like full out Emmy ward winning tears. I was reminded of who was in charge, and who was the one who is directing my steps, and is coordinating the people, the events, the places, lining up all the small details . . . I was reminded that this is so much bigger than me, and that there are things that Christ is accomplishing through this. What that is, I don’t know. For me it was remembering the sweet truths of the gospel. At least for now, that has been a strong and steady reminder in the forefront of my thinking.

I eventually got up enough strength to go and sit with my friends, and to sing along, and to pray, and to worship. It was a real treat, and my soul delighted in it. Thank you to all, who worked so hard to put that night together. It was so sweet – and so needed, more than I can put into words on this page.

Thank you -

Clarity

Posted by Emmett on March 16, 2010

It is hard for me to write these days. Why? well, I think it’s the med’s (groan, did I REALLY just play that card?). Perhaps it’s the last traces of anesthesia from the hospital, since in a two week span I was put under five times (not something I am bragging about, trust me). I long to write, and to explain things, but there are days, where if I can just focus on a conversation, then I am doing good, and that doesn’t require small motor finger skills at the same time.

At some points though, my brain is clear, the words and things I want to say flow fairly fluently out of my fingers. It’s a relief, a blessing, a gift. At the same time, I am made aware of the path I am about to head down. I can see some of the steps clearly, as if some one suddenly flipped a switch, or swung their flashlight just a little higher for a moment. I can see things like Chemo, small things to do here around the house, things I want to teach Quinn, thoughts I want to jot down in a notebook for him, should our great and awesome Father decide to take me home sooner than I am wanting. There are just these extremely clear moments, and I relish in them. so there you go, a short note on things I am enjoying post hospital, that I pray will only become clearer and clearer.

God bless, and peace be with you -

Physical therapy

Posted by Emmett on March 18, 2010

So yesterday was my first day with my physical therapist. She gave me a bunch of leg exercises to start getting my tail back into shape post surgery. She is coming again tomorrow (thursday) to do it again, and to work on the upper half of my body, which we lightly touched on yesterday. I am surprised by just how weak I have become from the battery of tests/procedures/surgeries/etc. I am surprised by just how much strength and control I have lost. It clicked at some point this afternoon, when I actually felt decent, and so I started walking laps in my house, pausing, like on some sort of outside middle school track, to do little exercises by the sink, or in that chair over there, or at this wall. I came to my senses today, at least for now anyways, and got tired of being beat down, and left to atrophy in bed rest on IV fluids. so watch out floor, I am about to wear a path in you every day, circles in the living room, complete with a path heading out of the bedroom and wearing that hallway hardwood floor thinner and thinner.

Yesterday was also the day the wristbands came in, so we got to unwrap a bunch of those and wear them all together. Quinn got one too, which he wore to bed and fell asleep with on his arm (I know, cute right?) I put a picture here of our friends, who helped design the logo, the website, order the wristbands, etc. etc. It was a sweet time, to catch up with everyone, and if nothing else, take a fun picture of us with our snazzy wristbands!! I love them super tons!! So check them out and grab your own!

Things are starting to sink in for me a little bit more, that I have cancer. The more I recuperate from surgery, the more real it becomes that monday, I go in for my first Chemo appointment. I won’t lie. I’m still scared. I’m still worried about what the future holds regarding Chemo, and to what extent it has an effect on the tumors in my esophagus. I am sipping on soups once more, and even sneaking the occasional popsicle. So if nothing else, I am stating to feel a little more normal, by eating the way I have for the last 30 years ! I still have longings to crunch a french fry, grab a burger, go have mexican at some joint around the corner. . . I am so looking forward to that day, Lord willing, that I can have solids again.

For now though, I must get up off my tush once more, start some more laps and exercises, and see what I can do before I totally give out for the day. Thanks so much for your continued prayers, for your notes to me via email, Facebook, Twitter, or even just commenting on the blog. It is a source of encouragement for when things get a little rougher than normal, and it reminds me that I am so not alone in this journey.

Thank you again, so so so much.

Spring time outings

Posted by Emmett on March 19, 2010

So today was the great experiment day. I went on an outing, one close to home (less than a mile and a half door to door), and short. There were also wheelchair carts, so when I was feeling low on energy, I could still participate, albeit from a seated vantage point. We went to Lowe’s, and picked up plenty of needed items. We got a replacement faucet for the front bathroom (which has leaked ever since we moved in here almost 6 years ago), a medicine cabinet for the small pharmacy that we now are in possession of, and then lots of fun things

In the super fun category, we picked up a hose splitter (so that we can actually use the second hose as intended), new spray nozzles (since the extremely cold winter killed one of ours), Dahlia bulbs for around the mailbox, and an early mothers day present for wendy, which was a little dwarf sour cherry tree. We have been trying to get one for about 3 years now, but either Lowe’s doesn’t have them, or when mother’s day rolls around, I realize that they are out of season for planting, and thus, can’t buy one. We found one today, exactly what she has been looking for, and we snagged it. so today we are adjusting hoses, planting bulbs, planting a tree, using our yummy compost soil to help this little plants, and then using the hose deals to get everything watered.

So that brings me to say what...exactly.

It feels so normal, minus the sitting in the wheelchair buggy, and the walking slow for as much as I could endure before I opted for the “assisted shopping” angle. For a little window of time, even during lunch, which I ate, and wasn’t “fed”, things feel normal. except for this pesky feeding tube and incision which is still healing, it just felt like a normal afternoon. Lots of sun, a breeze, birds chirping out our window. Quinn running around in the grass and in general just oozing cuteness . . . I forget that I have cancer. I forget that, for all intents and purposes, I have a word, that is associated with death sentences more than not. I forget that I start chemo soon, I forget that I have to take drugs to feel normal . . . It’s odd . . .

but it is a blessing nonetheless.

I am eating up today, with both my parents here, with Quinn here, with wendy home, just enjoying each others company, and proceeding about the day as if everything was normal. I’ll take it, knowing soon enough, it won’t feel normal anymore. I’ll be sacked out with a nauseated feeling, or have to go squeeze in a feeding to get the right amount of nutrients and calories for the day. I’ll start chemo, and have my body pumped full of poisonous chemicals to combat this invasive disease.

Thank you father for this peace. for the calming and soothing of the soul today. Thank you for Grace, and Mercy which is in abundance today, and thank you for small miracles, for feeling normal, for having a loving family to gather with, and for still being able to eat like anyone else. Thank you for your comforting rod and staff – amen

Something Old, Something New, and the Beautiful Mystery of Prayer

Posted by wendy on March 20, 2010

Today was a beautiful day in many ways. The weather brought us our first taste of spring, as we missed so many other nice days while in the hospital. Emmett was also here and present, both mentally and physically. Emmett has been fighting his pain and nausea, trying not to take the medications that leave him groggy and lethargic. I cannot imagine what he has to endure just so that he can be mentally and physically present in life right now. He fights the cancer to keep living, but he also fights the medications to be able to live right now as the Emmett we all have known and loved. I am looking forward to chemo starting, hopeful that some relief from the cancer will be forthcoming.

As we planted a sour cherry tree today (an early mother’s day gift), we joked that it would be another 10 years before I had enough cherries to make a pie. Emmett said he planned to be around to eat a lot of those pies, and I smiled to have a small part of my Emmett (as opposed to Emmett the druggie – his alter ego) back, to see the fight in him coming out in ways that look small, but are actually huge.

Matthew 15: 21-28 has been bouncing around in my head along with an old devotional I wrote one morning (see the bottom of this post – some have read this before).

So has this passage from Turn My Mourning Into Dancing by Henri Nouwen:

But suffering frequently teaches us a lesson about the incomprehensibility of God. Says God through Isaiah: “For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts” (Isa 55:9).

This is ultimately a freeing word. It invites us not to make God conform to our desires, not to try to fix the rules. For we cannot, even should we try, get God into our grip and think, Finally, now I understand. Rather, after all the turmoil or the long night is over, we come with an empty hand, one we stretch out to God.

A long time ago in a sunday school class that will intentionally remain vague, I remember getting into a heated discussion with the teacher. The lesson was on prayer, and the teacher put forth the idea that the purpose of prayer is to change our hearts. While I certainly agree that the largest part of my prayer time is spent attempting to align my will with that of the Holy Spirit, this teacher put forth that this is now the only purpose of prayer, that we are incapable of changing God’s mind. I have no desire to get into the finer points of seminary semantics, because they only all eventually lead to an admission that we really have merely an infantile grasp of the beautiful mystery that is prayer. However, I am continually struck by the mysterious dance that balances persistently pursuing a specific request with complete trust in God’s will. Somehow, incomprehensibly, our role in prayer is part of some wild dance with our savior.

For the moment, I am content to enter into this dance, in which I somehow mysteriously take part while the Spirit of God intercedes for us with groans beyond words. I am content with the mystery. It’s beautiful and so much more full of life and truth than our pat theological answers. I will boldly ask each day for more of my Emmett back, yet simultaneously allow the arms of our Lord to guide me through these trials. So many of you have entered this dance with us, and we are heartened every day by countless friends and strangers who let us know they’re praying for us. Our God is a living, dancing, God and may we all enter into that experience of him today.

The old devotional:

So this is the old note I’m referring to. Some may have read this in other places, but I copied it here for those who haven’t.

Matthew 15:21-28 (New International Version)

21Leaving that place, Jesus withdrew to the region of Tyre and Sidon. 22A Canaanite woman from that vicinity came to him, crying out, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on me! My daughter is suffering terribly from demon-possession.”

23Jesus did not answer a word. So his disciples came to him and urged him, “Send her away, for she keeps crying out after us.”

24He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.”

25The woman came and knelt before him. “Lord, help me!” she said.

26He replied, “It is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to their dogs.”

27″Yes, Lord,” she said, “but even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”

28Then Jesus answered, “Woman, you have great faith! Your request is granted.” And her daughter was healed from that very hour.

—

Why did Jesus not answer right off? What is the tone of this exchange? This is such a strange dialogue to our ears. As a teacher I know that in any conversation where a request for help is addressed, the method of answering the question is sometime more important than the answer itself. What may first appear as a refusal is often an attempt to guide the questioner through some sort of learning process. Is that what Christ is doing here? Why did not Jesus immediately answer? Who needed that pause? The woman, to realize her need? Or the audience, including the disciples, who did not want to be bothered with this woman because she was an annoyance?

Christ’s first answer is not a rejection; in fact, it sounds more like a question. In either case, he replies in such a way to cause her to draw close and kneel, eliciting a greater expression of faith, most likely to an astonished group of onlookers. Who of us would give such a response in front of a crowd? She responds in faith by drawing close and repeating her request, with no guarantee other than hope and trust, gleaned from what little he has spoken. Again, Jesus offers a vague quasi rejection, and again she responds in faith. It is this persistent application of her faith that pleases Jesus and causes him to praise her faith. Imagine how those words sounded to Peter’s ears, who just days before had been rebuked for his lack of faith (see Matthew 14:31).

Notice Jesus replies in such a way to draw out from this woman an astonishing humility of spirit and a simple but powerful demonstration of complete dependence. His purposeful postponing of the blessing by just a few minutes extends that blessing to the crowd watching (including his disciples) and even to us today. The question for us: in what areas of our lives is God answering our requests in such a way that draws out a greater articulation of our faith? In what ways is he deliberately postponing his answers that we might have the opportunity to demonstrate deeper faith, not only for our own good, but also as a witness to those who are spectators of our lives? Are we allowing others to watch us respond to uncertainty in faith or are we hiding away in fear that God might not answer us at all? May the Lord multiply our faith in times of uncertainty that others may see our humble trust and be drawn to the goodness of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

Getting started, for real this time...

Posted by Emmett on March 22, 2010

Tomorrow. Monday morning. 11:05 AM, Lord Willing, I will be starting the regime known as Chemo. They’ll draw blood, run labs, I’ll meet with the oncologist, and they’ll start dumping stuff into my system to kill and to destroy this cancer. Am I nervous? Am I apprehensive? yes and yes. I am nervous about the whole process, how will it work, what exactly is going to happen, will it hurt? how will the four day cycle flesh out? and by that I mean . . . the first day you go to the doc for Chemo, the second you are at home but with the pump running or something (hazy on that detail) and the next two days you are supposed to feel awful. I don’t know . . .

I’m nervous, and anxious . . . I am ready to be proactive with my fight on this thing. I am ready to start dealing Arnie(my nickname for the cancer) some physical blows. I’m also ready for it to be behind me, with a stronger faith, and nothing but scars to show for what was here. I break down into tears sometime when I think of what I have, and how close some of the docs say I am to the end.

but we do serve the GREAT physician. He is ultimately the one who will heal me, through these chemo sessions, or in some other miraculous way, using common medicine or not. I still weep when I think about the possibilities of not being around to love on my wife and my little boy. maybe that’s why I am not sleeping at night much, who knows.

well . . Christ does know. He does know what tomorrow holds, he does know how this will turn out, and he does know how to provide for my wife, and for my son, and I pray that I am able to be a part of that provision for many years to come.

so if you think about it tonight, pray for me, and for wendy who is going with me tomorrow, for a deep, refreshing sleep. We are planning to be up at 7:00 AM, to feed, and make preparations, and then leave about 10:00 am, and the appointment starts at 11:05 am. One of us will be updating twitter/facebook all day, and hopefully one of us will post tomorrow night on all the dealings of the day.

Thank you for walking alongside me in this battle. This is one of those times that the Lord is providing me with strength to carry on through prayer, and the support of so many of you. Thank you again -

sweet dreams.

Chemo Fail

Posted by wendy on March 22, 2010

Really? Again?

So we’re back in the ER. Yeah, ER, not infusion clinic getting chemotherapy, but ER. So here’s the full story…

It was an okay morning. We headed for Vanderbilt with some apprehension but also excitement, eager to be moving forward. We registered okay, and Emmett went in for his blood work. Amazingly, he was pretty calm the first time they stuck him and it didn’t work, he didn’t even freak out the second time they stuck him and missed (already amazing for Emmett). When they finally accessed the port the third time, they ended up drawing the blood work three times (yeah – three times) to check the numbers. Then they made him stand up immediately and walked us down the hall around the corner and through another office to get where we were going. It’s not surprising that he passed out a few minutes into the meeting.

They called in the emergency response team and insisted on taking him to the emergency room, even though he immediately came to. We were very upset because we felt the passing out was due to the combination of drawing so much blood and then making him immediately stand up and walk. After escorting Emmett to the emergency room, I returned to the clinic. We were angry because we felt the call was made prematurely and not in our best interest since Emmett was completely coherent and able to move and walk in the ER. I wanted to make sure that we didn’t get lost in the hectic afternoon, since things keep getting postponed. Turns out that it was more of a miscommunication. Apparently Emmett’s red blood count had come back borderline, so they also decided to give him a blood transfusion before doing chemotherapy. I don’t know if this decision was made before or after he came to the ER, but it looks like we wouldn’t have had chemotherapy today regardless of the passing out incident.

So in short, we’re here for the night because the blood transfusion will take a few hours. They’re also investigating possible reasons that his red blood cells might be dropping. They did a couple x rays, and the GI team is going to decide about another possible endoscopy, which we’re hoping
to avoid at all costs. We’ll keep you posted as we know things. Thanks for your prayers and love and support

-w-

The day after

Posted by emmett on March 23, 2010

For starters, this is Emmett posting on wendy’s ID. We ust brought one computer, and in the interest of not logging off and logging on and then logging off and relogging on, i’m just going to post as her :)

Today looks a little brighter, I feel like a million bucks, lord willing it will stay that way for some time. The blood transfusion last night did wonders for me. Today, they are going to transfuse an additional unit of blood, and while they do that, wendy and I will be doing feedings, and normal hydration/regulating med stuff. so as long as everything gos as planned, (which I am praying for hard core right now) we will go home late afternoon, and then be back here tomorrow at noon, to try swinging at this Chemo appointment one more time.

So specific prayers would be, that the Lord will continue to hold us in his hand, and direct our steps. That we would be able to follow through with Chemo tomorrow (wednesday) and that there would be no other roadblocks in the way for us trying to start kicking arnie back out of the picture. Thank you again so much for your prayers, and for walking alongside us as we go from one thing to another to another.

Being Humbled

Posted by emmett on March 23, 2010

So we’re home now. and it feels good, albeit it also feels like I never left, since It was one of the shortest hospital stays ever. geesh. However, on the ride home, I was trying to think through the expereince, trying to find the “silver lining” if you will, since it was fairly devestating to sideline chemo treatment. And the funny thing is, that on the ride home wendy and both came to the same conclusion seperately, and were able to talk about it more.

I think what the take away is, is that we were both relying on Chemo SO much, to be a silver bullet, to be a fix for so many things (nausea, etc.) that we were not relying on God to see us through the journey. Ouch. I know right? solid smack in the face almost, but done ever so lovingly and gently. We were both kind of intruiged by seeing this, we have just put so much stock in chemo, that we forget that God is in control. The entire deal is in his hands. He may choose to heal me hrough Chemo, he may choose to heal me with no Chemo, he may choose some other method, and even though it is a possibility I try to push far away from, he may choose not to heal me. who knows. Only one name comes to mind, and that is Christ.

I am doing some serious soul searching tonight, some serious praying and re-evaluating of where my trust is placed, and in WHOM it is being placed. I am hoping that this lesson is not repeated tomorrow honestly though, cause I am still hoping to move forwad in the big picture. I thank you for your prayers, for your comments, your words of encouragement. Wendy and I are humbled so much by the strenngth and the overwheleming compassion and mercy that is pouring froth from every where. It is so humbling to be the receiver, and we are trying to do so gratefully, and gracefully. We’re used to being givers, so it’s an adjustment for us.

Please continue to pray for us that we would place our hopes, and our trust in Christ, as he IS eternal, and everything else is temporal. That we would see chemo as possible tool to what God is doing, but it is by no means the only way He can work. Thank you again so mch for walking with us. There are days where I need strong arms to hold me up, and with so many around, it is a blessing to know that I can count on a million people showing up to help outl Thank you again -

Sincerely humbled,

emmett

Chemo - Day 1

Posted by emmett on March 25, 2010

So this will be a short post tonight, as I am headed to bed, worn out from a long day at the clinic.

We went in around 11:45, got my blood work started, then headed to an oncologists consult about an hour later, then went to a third room to start chemo, and thus the starting gates felt like they were finally opened. I don’t feel any different really, except maybe an increased sense of nausea. but it’s not like I am jumping up and down all of the sudden, or feeling super gross and rotten all of the sudden, both of which I am grateful for.

I am hooked up to a small infusion pump, that is tucked away into a fanny pack, and hangs out with me for the next 46 hours . . . well, less now, but friday late afternoon, that will come out even, and we’ll be done with session #1 of Chemo. Then i start the really feeling bad days for a day or two . . . and then i should plateau out to “normal” status for a week, week and a half until I go back in for chemo again, which will be 2 weeks from today.

I still appreciate our prayers, especially over the next few days, that nothing would go “wrong”, and that I would be able to endure the ‘projected’ intensified nausea, etc. etc. I also welcome prayers that I would continue to Cling to and place my Trust in Christ, and not the chemo. He may use Chemo to do some wonderful things, but it is ultimately He who deserves the thanks, no matter what winds up happening . . . that said, I am still praying for a full recovery !

alright, it’s late, I need to make my nest of pillows, work out temperature stuff, and sleep so I can wake up and start this all again tomorrow.

Thank you for your prayers, and your continued encouragement through lets, emails, notes, messages, etc. etc. good night all!

Chemo - Day 2

Posted by wendy on March 26, 2010

There’s something strange about voluntarily pumping poisons into your bloodstream. Knowing the little whoosh sound made by the pump is sending more toxins into Emmett’s body makes me want to rip it out of his shoulder, but that’s the irony of getting better, I suppose

Today was a little rougher than normal for Emmett, but still tolerable. A round of nausea this morning led to some vomiting that made us both panic. Since the beginning of this ordeal, Emmett has been unable to control his vomiting once it starts. This morning however, after a couple intense rounds, we were able to get some more meds into him and he stopped. The anxiety caused by the vomiting lingered for most of the day, though. Emmett handled his anxiety by sleeping. I bleached the grout in our bathroom and the kitchen for the first time in 5 years. (So if you’re planning on visiting you should also plan to compliment them profusely.)

The feeding tube has turned out to be a huge blessing. Emmett tried to take some Gatorade and water by mouth, but that only increased his nausea. He was able to handle his tube feedings well, so I simply added some extra liquids. Thus far, we are hopeful about maintaining his nutrition and hydration with the help of the feeding tube.

The first cycle of chemo is a challenge mentally because we have no benchmarks to measure our progress. In theory, tomorrow should be the worst day, so Friday still looms before us as the scary unknown. Because the chemo works by attacking the fastest growing cells in the body, there are all sorts of possible side effects. Some of them you can anticipate and ward off, but no two people react quite the same. Some wonderful nurse friends have given us advice and prepared some essentials for us, but we still feel like we’re diving off a cliff with a very tiny parachute.

On Friday, pray for Emmett’s nausea to be controlled. Pray for the toxins to find the cancer cells and not the healthy cells. Pray for minimal and controllable side effects. Pray for us to have peace as we walk this new path. Around 4 pm, I will disconnect the pump and de-access the port for Emmett. It’s normal for cancer patients or their caregivers to do this small task, but it makes us both nervous, so please pray that it goes well.

Thank you for your prayers, notes, messages, emails, and the thousand different ways you think of to love us and encourage us. We are humbled beyond belief by how well you love us, and we are spurred on to love others as we have been loved.

Prayer Request

Posted by Adam on March 26, 2010

Hey everyone. I just got a call from Wendy asking for us to pray for Emmett today. They are preparing to take him back into the Emergency Room at Vanderbilt. He has had some trouble with nausea and vomiting this morning due to the chemo, and his temperature is up over the allowed 100.5 so they are taking him in.

We are really hoping they’ll be able to keep the treatment going as he has about 2 hours left on that before the first treatment is officially over. So pray that he can keep the treatment going and that they are able to combat his nausea and vomiting so he’ll be able to return back home very quickly. I don’t have a whole lot more information than that at this point, and Wendy and Emmett will update on here as well as on their Facebook pages as soon as there is further information.

Thanks so much for your continued prayers. I know Emmett and Wendy really feel them coming, so let’s keep it up. Much love to all!

Adam Silverman

Headless Barbies, Snakes, and Sanctification

Posted by wendy on March 28, 2010

Hymn by Jars of Clay

Oh refuge of my hardened heart
Oh fast pursuing lover come
As angels dance ’round Your throne
My life by captured fare You own

Not silhouette of trodden faith
Nor death shall not my steps be guide
I’ll pirouette upon mine grave
For in Your path I’ll run and hide

Oh gaze of love so melt my pride
That I may in Your house but kneel
And in my brokenness to cry
Spring worship unto Thee

When beauty breaks the spell of pain
The bludgeoned heart shall burst in vain
But not when love be pointed king
And truth shall Thee forever reign

Oh gaze of love so melt my pride
That I may in Your house but kneel
And in my brokenness to cry
Spring worship unto Thee

Sweet Jesus carry me away
From cold of night, and dust of day
In ragged hour or salt worn eye
Be my desire, my well sprung lye

I hated Barbie dolls when I was little. I had a Barbie and a Ken, and their demise was most unfortunate. I found Barbie dolls extremely annoying for a couple reasons. First, they couldn’t stand up, and that detail seemed absurd if I wanted to play with more than one doll at a time. In this respect, I found my brother’s He-man action figures much more satisfying. Second, Barbie dolls only move at the hips and shoulders. Major fail, Mattel, major fail. Consequently, my Barbie lost her head when I tried to make her look some direction other than forwards, and Ken lost his legs in a similarly unfortunate accident. Contrast your typical Barbie, though, with those wooden toy snakes made of slivers of wood held together. Quinn has one, and their bodies slither almost eerily like real snakes even though made of wood. The range of movement is so much more satisfying because there are so many more joints. Yet it’s a snake, which makes it much lass satisfying when playing house.

Keep those two images juxtaposed in your mind.

I had been a believer about a year when I spent a summer in college doing some mission work. Being new to the faith and not raised a Christian, I was really good a judging other believers (note the wry sarcasm there). As a body of believers working together that summer, I felt that sin and not the spirit, was the driving force behind our work. I was angry and tired, so I laid face down on my apartment floor one afternoon utterly exhausted and discouraged. At the time, I knew nothing of the disciplines of meditation or contemplation, nor had I read the great contemplatives or mystics. I was simply very annoyed with God for not making me perfect the minute I became a believer. As a side note, I had also put Hymn, by Jars of Clay on repeat (lyrics above) for no special reason other than it happens to be a particularly pretty song about God.

At the time, my heart was overflowing, not so much with a specific accusation, but with a complete groaning for our new selves. I was exhausted with the struggle to live like Christ because it is so amazingly hard to even know what that kind of life looks like in the myriad of peculiar situations I find myself in on a daily basis. Jesus always answered so well, loved so completely, and really aimed at the hearts of people, whereas I always seemed to miss the whole point. Time and again I still come to that place in my life where I am utterly disgusted with myself for just missing the point.

So there I was face down on the floor of an apartment in the projects, when God showed me a Barbie doll. Odd, I know, I thought so too at the time. And the Barbie doll was trying to dance; but, just like other Barbies, this one moved so awfully to the music that it was painfully embarrassing to watch. And then I saw that the leg of this Barbie was being broken, or sliced, into these paper thin layers, much much thinner than the layers on Quinn’s snake, so that the legs would move like water to the music. And the Holy Spirit pressed on my heart that I am that Barbie doll. The work it would take in my heart to make me like Christ would annihilate me if it came instantly. Yet the Lord is patiently carving away at my hard heart with hands infinitely more gentle than a surgeon, painstakingly breaking me in just the right ways. If I respond in faith, I will be able to dance to the music of his spirit. But if I refuse him, then the scar tissue that forms will harden my heart forever, and I will remain bitter and unsanctified. What scares me about this vision is that my response to God is so often not a conscious response. I often lash out in anger or self-pity, layering on the scar tissue before I ever realize what I’ve done. For someone who feigns to love rationalism, I am a terribly instinctual creature when I feel threatened or hurt.

Fast forward a decade or so to last night in the ER. We stayed in the ER all night. Emmett was in the hospital bed, and I was sitting in one of those butt-numbing excuses for a recliner that snaps upright the minute you try to relax your muscles. Think Seinfeld episode waiting to happen. And in my heart I am cursing everything while simultaneously begging God to throw me a freaking bone (I think I may have actually used that phrase in my head, much to my chagrin). Formerly, I would have given sway to these emotions, but the astounding evidence of God’s work in my life is that I’ve graduated to at least being able to keep my mouth clamped shut (usually) while my soul wrestles with my own ugliness. Still, I would like to say I don’t even feel those emotions, but I’m also learning not to manipulate the facts to make myself look better, so it’s best to get all the ugliness out there at once and be done with it.

I haven’t been able to get the image of the Barbie doll out of my head recently. Instead of neatly slicing away my imagined faults, I feel like the Lord has pulverized me to dust because I was such a mess that He has to start over from the ashes. I am reminded again and again that my real fight is to embrace the work of God in my heart to make me into the new person he created me to be. I cannot kill the cancer cells with all my wishful thinking. Only the mercy of God can accomplish that miracle. My job is to submit to God’s sanctification in my heart as I wait and pray. My work is here and now, every second.

I am reminded of a passage I came across years ago in a book by Elizabeth Elliot, These Strange Ashes:

It was my first experience of having to bow down before that which I could not possibly explain. Usually we need not bow. We can simply ignore the unexplainable because we have other things to occupy our minds. We sweep it under the rug. We evade the questions.

Faith’s most severe tests come not when we see nothing, but when we see a stunning array of evidence that seems to prove our faith vain. If God were God, if He were omnipotent, if He cared, would this have happened? Is this that I face now the ratification of my calling, the reward of obedience? One turns in disbelief again from the circumstances and looks into the abyss. But in the abyss there is only blackness, no glimmer of light, no answering echo…

…It was a long time before I came to the realization that it is in our acceptance of what is given that God gives himself. Even the Son of God had to learn obedience by the things that he suffered…. His reward was desolation and crucifixion….

Each separate experience of individual stripping we may learn to accept as a fragment of the suffering Christ bore when He took it all. “Surely he has born our griefs and carried our sorrows.” This grief, this sorrow, this total loss that empties my hands and breaks my heart, I may, if I will, accept, and by accepting it, I find in my hands something to offer. And so I give it back to Him, who in mysterious exchange gives Himself to me.

I’m deeply humbled to realize that when God strips away everything in me, he finds not the secret super woman I’ve always wished was hiding down there, but a miserable, wretched, mess of sinfulness. Praise the Lord that He is passionate in his pursuit and patient during our sanctification.

Back Home

Posted by wendy on March 28, 2010

We went to the ER yesterday because of vomiting and a fever, and we ended up staying the night. Emmett got some fluids, and felt well enough to come home this morning. It looks like nausea is going to be one of the biggest ordeals. Over time, the chemo may decrease his overall nausea if the tumor shrinks, but this may not be our last trip to the ER. Pray for us as we manage side effects, maintain Emmet’s hydration, and simultaneously push him to regain some physical strength. It’s a delicate balance, and we’re not very good at it yet.

FYI

Posted by wendy on March 29, 2010

Some amazing students have organized an awesome fundraiser for us if you live in the Nashville area. Remember that all funds not needed will be donated to cancer research. Thanks to Kristin Adams and the senior class at Brentwood Academy. I love you and miss you all.

If you live in the greater Nashville TN area – a new smoothie place has opened recently in Cool Springs, near the Thoroughbread Theaters called 9 Fruits. This coming week, this location has graciously committed to giving $1 of every smoothie purchase to the Stallings Fund if you mention you are associated with Emmett/Wendy Stallings. So go grab yourself a fresh fruit smoothie this week, Monday-Friday the 29th – April 2nd, and tell the cashier you know Emmett and Wendy Stallings!

http://ninefruits.com/locations/

It takes this long...

Posted by emmett on March 30, 2010

So remember when I wondered how long it would take for it to sink in that I have cancer. It sank in today, at home. Wendy and I held each other and wept for at least n hour. Th possibility that I could be another statistic is a real one, but the possibility of healing is also very real. We talked a lot, cried mainly, scared of losing each other, scared of what the future may hold for us, for my family, and wondering what that dynamic might look like. we went through a LOT of tissues, I’ll say that much.

It’s hard to have faith in the midst of it all. it is hard to trust the God is working, when I can’t get out of bed because I am so nauseated. it is hard to think of God working when I am dry heaving over a trash can. It is hard to think of God working when I am in the ER, getting fluids, and hearing talks of perhaps another blood transfusion. IT’s hard to think of God working when I keep passing out at the hospital, right when I don’t need to pass out. IT’s just hard. end of story.

SO what do we do? how do we continue to push forward? how do we continue to fight and to make a strong front against this disease together? ESPECIALLY knowing that in a week, I am going to have to become subject to the same poisons to be pumped into my body, and possibly the same turn of events, I might end up in the ER again due to temperature and vomiting. Only to leave 12 hours or so later with no more real answers then when I came in the first place.

We are praying, daily, hourly, by the minute. I am repeating prayers over and over, and wondering sometimes if they are heard. I am praying things so similarly as to what I prayed before that I wonder if it is even worth praying, and then to top it off, I am trying to have faith that what I am praying is not falling on deaf ears, that the Lord our God is hearing my pleas, and is answering my prayers. That He is still working all things together for my good. The He is still in control, and that there is a higher purpose than what I see. I sometimes ask myself if I am willing to give my life for this higher purpose, because what if that’s what happens? that what if’s are staggering over here, trust me.

Today has been hard, with the nausea, with dry heaving, but i got to walk to the mail box, sit outside for 15 minutes, eat some pudding, drink some broth, and spend some very sweet times today with friends in prayer, as well as with my wife this afternoon, joined together in our tears. I have friends offering condos on exotic lakes in the states, friends offering their houses in Switzerland, all for when I am better. so there are glimmers of hope. I just hope I can reach them. They almost seem fleeting at times.

So pray for us. That we would have faith, and that our faith would abound in Christ. That we would operate as one family, and that we would be able to share our burdens more equally among on another as much as we can. Pray that we would find strength where no strength seems to be found. Pray that we would hear His still small voice comforting us in the night watches.

I won’t lie, and say that I’m not scared, but I also wont lie and say that I’m not working it out with the Lord, and seeking his direction and fellowship. To God be the Glory, Amen.

Emmett Wear Update

Posted by wendy on March 30, 2010

So the last wristbands have been sent out from this shipment. Another shipment will arrive late next week, so if you’ve ordered some, they are either in the mail or will be mailed as soon as they arrive. The t-shirt page will be up soon, hopefully tonight. They’re awesome.

Thank you so much to the Silvermans and Smiths who put this together before we even knew what was happening.

Thank you to those of you sporting the Team Emmett wear as a reminder to continue lifting us up in prayer. We are truly amazed by how well we are loved by so many gracious and awesome people.