Thank you

Posted by emmett on September 1, 2010

It is super late, I just got Quinn into bed, and can still hear veggie tales CD music coming from his room as he falls asleep. Wendy is sacked out, already resting before she heads into work early tomorrow morning, and I am sitting with a very full heart. Full of gratitude for all those who came out tonight, grateful for the artists who played, for the volunteers who helped everything come off super smoothly, for the people who donated items for the Silent auction, for those that donated time and resources, for the countless people whom I had the opportunity to chat with, and how much they encouraged me . . . Wendy and I were talking on the ride home tonight, and we found that we both were leaving the venue tonight with grateful hearts, and with an amazing peace in our hearts.

It is rare, these days, that we both have an incredible sense of peace, and rest, settle upon us as it did tonight. It is also rare that we find that peace to run so deep, that it is restful. Usually one of us will be more ‘level headed’ than the other, or more peaceful about a turn of events, and thus able to help the other on through whatever is going on at the time. Tonight, we both were blessed beyond measure. We found our spirits restored by the community of believers who rallied around us tonight. I found myself with tears in my eyes several times, just amazed at how many people had traveled for the event, had taken time out of their week to be there, and how many were loving on us just by being present. We are so, so grateful . . . yet I feel I am failing at trying to convey how deep, how wide, how immense our gratitude is . . .

Tomorrow morning, we head into Vanderbilt for another round of Chemotherapy. It is daunting, every time. I know that I have several days ahead of me that are going to be incredibly challenging, and incredibly rough, but I am encouraged beyond measure, and I will have tonight to carry with me through these next few days. I will have so many conversations to look back on, so many encouraging remarks to remember, so many memories to help sustain my spirits. God has used tonight to strengthen me for another bout with the drugs this week, and for that, there are no words to explain how incredible it is to be heading into this armed with positive experiences to combat depression, and loneliness.

Thank you again, for your prayers, for being Christ to me and my family, to extending his Grace and Mercy to us by being the body of Christ. Thank you for walking with us. There is nothing sweeter, than having countless brothers and sisters in Christ to walk with you through dark trials – thank you, thank you , thank you . . .

The First No Go on Chemo Since Round 1

Posted by emmett on September 2, 2010

SO, in case you haven’t been following our tweets, or facebook status updates, Yesterday we went to Vanderbilt for Chemo Round # 12. However, once the blood work came back, and we met with our oncologist, we were told that they could not administer chemotherapy to me due to low platelet counts. I have to admit that I was in shock when I heard that. Part of my mind started thinking that this was the beginning of a slow end . . . that by missing chemotherapy rounds, and having to delay it a week means that the cancer would be able to grab a foothold and start to push back. Part of me wanted to burst into tears, part of me wanted to throw a chair across the room and demand chemo anyways (even though it would have been stupid to proceed, as it drummed up a whole other list of medical issues). It was one of the most mixed bags of emotions i have had in a while. I even started to be depressed, and scared, and worried . . .

For now, we are delaying treatment just one week, so next wednesday, we will proceed with Chemotherapy Round #12, and then a CT scan just shy of two weeks later. My stomach is in knots as I type this out, already worried of what the outcome might be on that CT scan due to having to delay treatment . . .

However there is a little silver lining to the whole issue at hand. For starters, most patients on this kind of chemo have to start delaying treatment around round 5 or 6, due to increased neuropathy (sp?) in their hands and feet (which is a tingling sensation that basically feels like your extremities are always asleep. If not kept in check, it can lead to permanent nerve damage in the long run). The fact that I was able to go as long as I have, without having to take a forced break, is truly a blessing, as it has kept hammering away at the cancer. They are going to make a small change to the dosage of one of my drugs, decreasing it by 20% (which freaks me out) so that hopefully we won’t have to skip any more weeks, and there is a good chance that we will not lose any effectiveness of the drugs working together overall. That’s the medical silver lining . . . there’s still hope, even though i feel a gnawing in my stomach that thinks otherwise -

This also means that I have an extra week of “good” feeling family time, and in addition to that, I have picked up some session work for tomorrow (friday), which has me thrilled to no end. There’s a slim possibility of maybe some more work coming in early next week, which if that is the case, I will have lots to keep busy with, and most of all, I get the chance to play again and hang out with some people whom I have not been able to hang out with in a long time. It is a blessing, and it brings an aspect of joy to some otherwise disappointing news.

That being said, please pray for us, for me, that I would not worry so much about missing a week of treatment, that I would trust God implicitly in His plan with all of this (much easier said than done for me right now). Pray that I would also make sure to take advantage of the time this week to spend with wendy and Quinn, and that I wouldn’t try to cram it so full of work and lunch appointments, that I miss out on some amazingly critical family bonding. Thank you so much in advance for your prayers, and for walking with us, especially over the next few weeks with delayed treatment schedules and CT scans just around the corner. Thank you -

A Session and a Story.

Posted by emmett on September 3, 2010

I’ll open first with my story, and yes, it’s about my little boy !

Last night, as I was charting tunes, I heard Quinn out in the hallway, pseudo mumbling/babbling. I went to check on him, and he was telling me about his broken CD case, and that he needed some help fixing it. So I told him I would take care of it and then I went to take him to his room and that’s when I noticed he had his bedside touch lamp on, and a book spread on his bed. I asked him why his light was on, and he told me (matter of factly) that he needed to turn on his light so he could read his bible. It was super cute, that he turned on his light and was reading, instead of going to bed. An hour or so later, I walked by his room, and saw his light was still on, so I went in. He was passed out, light on, and half lying on his big picture bible. I cherished the opportunity to pull the bible from underneath him, close it, set it aside, and turn his light off. It was so, so cute. . . and that has nothing to do with anything, other than just being a sweet moment with him :)

Today, I had the opportunity to lay some percussion tracks down at a friend’s studio. I was so excited, to get the chance to chart tunes, load up my gear, and head to music row once again. The last time I had done that was in early february just before I was admitted to the hospital. There’s something extremely refreshing about being able to play again, being able to work, being able to create. When I get the chance to play, like today, I honestly feel like I am beating this thing, and really winning the fight. I feel more normal than almost any other day. I feel alive and vibrant.

Music, playing drums and percussion, are so essential to who I am, are such an integral part of me, that when I can’t do that, It becomes harder to be optimistic, harder to think that I’ll ever be able to do what I was once able to do. When I play, I feel a renewed sense of energy, a renewed sense of courage . . . So to say that today was a blessing, is a gross understatement. It was a breath of fresh air to the soul.

Round 12...Take Two.

Posted by emmett on September 7, 2010

So this wednesday we are going to take a second swing at round 12. Last time, we were denied treatment because of my platelets being low. It was disheartening. I felt like I was immediately losing ground the second they told me that. This past week has been good, since it has been a total of two weeks off, I have had more energy to do things, I have been able to pick up some session work, play percussion a good deal, practice drum set, and in general, live life more normally. There are still moments when I am reminded that I have cancer, when I get super tired, or feel nauseous. There are times when I find myself weeping, thinking of what could be. Those moments come fairly often, especially after spending some quality time with my son, or with Wendy.

It’s still tough to deal with. This week it felt a bit tougher than other times, mainly because I wasn’t receiving treatment, and so I felt like I was losing precious ground. Somewhere in my head, I know that God is working still, that despite what the doctors do, or don’t do, He is still in control of it all, He is still able to heal me. He is able to do miraculous things. But sometimes making that 6 inch transfer from my head, to my heart, is tougher than it seems it should be. I know these things, but sometimes trusting, leaning entirely on His word, is hard.

I won’t lie, I am ready for this to be over. I am ready to be done with this cancer and everything it has brought with it; the side effects, the tears, the tension, the stress, the heartache, the sleepless nights . . . It’s tough. Now, I’m not whining, I’m just expressing what’s on my heart. I’m still in the fight, I’m still planning on showing up Wednesday at the Vanderbilt Clinic, still planning on doing blood work, meeting with our Oncologist, and hopefully, oh how much I am hoping and praying, still planning on receiving treatment. I’m not out of the fight, not by a long shot. But I cant say that I wouldn’t be super happy to find out on the next CT scan that it was almost completely gone!

Thank you again for praying for us, and for loving on us, and for sharing a little bit of your lives with us. We are extremely grateful. Thank you for posting comments on the blog, for sending me facebook messages, for mailing us letters, emailing us . . . it lifts our spirits to read them, and to drink from the encouragement that you give us. Thank you so much . . .

Now, let’s get pumped up about Round 12 This week, and break out your TeamEmmett Gear! If you’re still in need of a shirt, a wristband, Then hop on the Team EmtWear part of the site and order you one! If your bummed because you have a strict dress code at work and they won’t let you wear anything extra, then grab a reusable water bottle! They are SUPER cool, and we’re big fans of them here at our house. Bright yellow with the TE Logo and the courage to conquer tag line. Thanks so much for your support, we couldn’t make it through this without you -

Here we go (again . . hopefully)

Posted by emmett on September 8, 2010

It’s incredibly late tuesday night, well, early wednesday morning I guess now . . . Today, Quinn and I ran errands, just the two of us, in the truck. IT was a blessing . . . you might ask why, and I’ll tell you! I haven’t been able to withstand the heat or humidity this summer, at all, and my truck doesn’t have air conditioning. So if I wanted to run errands, I had to wait for the car, and that meant wendy was home, so usually, either I ran solo errands, or, we all went as a family. It has been an incredibly long time since just Quinn and I could run errands, in the truck (like we normally do) and pal around nashville for a little bit. There’s some real boy bonding when you get to drive around in a truck together, a bright yellow one at that ! It was like a glimpse into what I almost refer to now as, the ‘old life’. Which to me is anything prior to February of this year. It was fun, to taste a little slice of that version of normalcy again.

Today, I also crossed off another little checkpoint in my head. I made pasta, from scratch. We started, roughly around august of last year, with a tradition I dubbed, The Year of the Italian! which boiled down to this. Every week, usually a monday or sunday, I would make pasta from scratch. I would try some new recipe every week. So, I either would make a different kind of noodle, or a different kind of sauce, or perhaps a different kind of ravioli filling. I was working my way through a cookbook about pasta. and it was all about making pasta from scratch. I made linguini, spaghetti, ravioli, gnocchi and tagilitelle noodles. I made pesto, sun dried tomato pesto, alfredo, a fast red sauce, a spicy red sauce, a meaty red sauce, a meatball red sauce, red sauce that had to cook all day, red sauce that you cook the day before and reheat . . . I worked my way through TONS of pasta recipes. I tried different types of flour, different eggs, different olive oils, anything that might alter the taste. We would have someone over for dinner every week as well, because we made so much pasta, that we could never eat it all, and we would send all the leftovers home, especially since we were making more pasta in just a few days. We even died the pasta red and green for christmas pasta!

I say all this, to illustrate how much I was into making pasta. I haven’t made any since perhaps the first week in february. Today, we made it again (with green pesto, and a yummy red sauce from a friend we had saved). It was nice, to be in the kitchen, cooking, creating, and watching things come together into a yummy yummy meal, which we shared with The Silvermans, The Wolfes, and our special out of town guests, The Kennedys.

In about 12 hours or so from the writing of this blog post, I’ll be hooking up to Chemotherapy, Lord Willing. I am praying, and hoping that It happens. If for some reason it doesn’t, then I am going to have a rough week ahead of me mentally, and emotionally. Please pray with us that we will be able to receive treatment this week. I so want to get back on top of clobbering this cancer the heck out of my body!

I’ll be donning me Team Emmett shirt tomorrow, along with my wristbands, and I know my Wife will be wearing her shirt, wristbands, necklace, button, and whatever else she has acquired as well. So Join us once again, as we head in to the Vanderbilt Clinic for treatment, and pray for us over these next few days as the chemo lays me out flat for a little while.

Thank you, so much . . .

Following orders

Posted by wendy on September 8, 2010

Emmett ordered me to write a blog post a couple nights ago.

I stuck out my tongue and told him the only reason I write is to fill up space between his posts, and, as he was feeling pretty good, he could write one himself.

He won. So now I’m writing a blog post.

School started a few weeks ago, so I apologize if this post is a bit muddled. My eyes and brain are both fuzzy from grading lab reports, and I am doing good to remember where I’m supposed to be and what I am supposed to be doing these days. Even this blog is actually the product of several days, snatching five minutes here and there to work on it, so I apologize if it is fragmented or incoherent. My crowning glory this week is successfully buying milk before the gallon in the refrigerator goes bad or gets used and not three days after we needed it.

We’re settling into a new routine at the house. While I’m at work, Emmett, with the help of some awesome friends, takes care of Quinn. During chemotherapy his mom or a friend comes to help with Quinn and give Emmett meds. Then we start the cycle all over again.

At first coming back to work was really hard. I hadn’t been to work since February, so returning was another reminder that cancer is our new normal. It was hard to make it through faculty meetings and get things ready, but since the students have arrived, going to work has been such a blessing. I love teenagers because they are pleasantly narcissistic. While they will pray for you and ask you how things are going, the next minute they’re consumed by their own lives. I laugh a lot in class, and that is refreshing. Last Thursday I woke up in such a bad mood that if anyone had looked at me cross-eyed, they might not have survived the experience. Being with my students Thursday and Friday morning, though, was such an unexpected source of joy, that the Lord delivered me from sin’s foothold on my heart, and innocent bystanders (i.e. Quinn and Emmett) were spared from any explosions.

While I was wrestling last week with a bout of unexpected anger, I was surprised at how easily sin gains a foothold in my heart and then tries to run wild. I know all the circumstances in my life that weaken my resistance; lack of good sleep, the chemo setback, extra Quinn and house duty because Emmett was working, but I was still surprised at the forcefulness with which my sinful nature was strangling me. Don’t get me wrong, I sin every day, both actively and passively, but in these times of intense struggle I am always overwhelmed by my utter helplessness to resist sin without the Holy Spirit. Every time I experience this sort of helplessness I become a little more compassionate in my heart towards those who don’t know Christ as I learn the real differences between freedom and bondage.

Tonight I am thankful that the Lord has kept me in his grace another day, and I pray he will continue to do so. I’m listening to Emmett snore, which is bittersweet for me. Sweet because he is resting deeply, and he does not do that often these days, but also bitter because it reminds me that I will not be resting deeply these next few days. So continue to pray for us, as I will be particularly weak these next few days, that sin would not gain a foothold in my heart again. Pray for Emmett to rest spiritually as well as physically. He spends a lot of time alone with his thoughts when he is on chemo, so I continually pray for a peaceful spirit to rest on him

Thank you for walking with us.

a late night post

Posted by emmett on September 11, 2010

It’s late friday night, and I am just beginning the recovery of this last round of chemotherapy. It’ll take me a few days to recover, and then hopefully I will be able to enjoy a week of living life with wendy and Quinn before we hit the next CT scan, and round #13 . . .

This round has felt a bit harder on me, perhaps because I had two weeks off, and the second week, I was able to go to the zoo, run extra errands, eat out at a restaurant or two that I haven’t been able to do since this all started. It feels like I took a huge step backwards when this chemo hit, mainly because I became used to life without feeling too gross, and worn out. I am still constantly praying that this would all go away, that the Lord would take this from me. I am so enjoying life with Wendy, and with Quinn right now, that I can’t imagine not having that. These next few days, I will be battling thoughts like those, and worse. My mind will have time to chase thoughts that lead to dismal ends. I pray, and ask you to pray for me, and with me, that I would seek Christ’s face, and His goodness. That I would not despair, but that I would rejoice that I am still able to do what I can. and as always, to pray against the cancer that is still present in me. I hope and pray that this next CT scan is just as promising as the last few.

please, please . . . pray for my cup to be filled, overflowing . . . and that I would continue to see His mercy and grace at work in our lives.

thank you -

A Post in Two Parts. Part I

Posted by emmett on September 14, 2010

So I normally don’t write a blog post that spans more than one entry. granted, you could say that everything in posted here builds on what we’ve already posted, based on information, tests results, prayer requests, praises, prayers answered, needs, etc. etc. However, My brain is fairly full right now, and I thought it easier to split the writing into two posts that hopefully will be easier to grasp apart from each other, even though they are somewhat related (and by somewhat, I mean that more than the fact that they both are coming out of the same brain).

Today was the first day since this last round of chemo, that I was able to actually do anything significant. So, I decided to work in the yard, and the task of choice, Over seeding the front yard with a good healthy blend of grass. You might be asking yourself the same question I was earlier, why grass? Well, the answer is simple: Target has put their grass seed and grass seed fertilizer up for clearance, which means I could finally do something to my yard, at a price cheaper than it would cost normally, and that just so happens to fit into our humble budget as well.

I have done my yard in two main sections right now, the first, I was able to get the seed and fertilizer down, and started before this last round of chemo, which was nice, because a bulk of the germination time took place while I was laid out, and being one who can’t wait to see things poking above the soil, it was like things transformed overnight! I finished prepping the second section today, and got the seed down, et al, and by the time the next round of chemo rolls around, it’ll be well on its way to a nice new little piece of sod.

Now, here’s where I’m going to get a bit technical, so bear with me, I promise there is a point coming, and these little details help.

In order to over seed my lawn (which lets be honest, needs to be scrapped and started over from nothing) there is a lot of work that I have to put into it, much of it I can do while on my chemo regime, because it is more time consuming, and not super strenuous. First, I have to take a metal rake, and scratch up the ground, at the same time, removing a lot of dead grass and whatnot that has made a thick kind of ‘thatch’. This takes a lot of time (couple of hours for a small piece of yard) and produces a lot of ‘yard waste’ from the dead stuff that is being pulled out, and even some of the weeds that get pulled out along with the thatch. This is also the most exhausting part. After the ground has little furrows in it (much like a farmers field awaiting corn to grow) then I walk back over the ground, spreading grass seed. Then, I pass over it once again, spreading a special starter fertilizer (thank you target for putting both of these things on clearance at the same time!). Next, I scratch back over the soil, trying to cover the seed and fertilizer that has just been laid. I then go back again a fourth time over the area, spreading some extra rich topsoil, to help fill in where the ground is not so friendly, or is rather bare. After all of this is done, I finally set up my sprinkler to cover the entire area I just planted, and then turn it on for a good soak.

Now here’s where I normally mess up over seeding my yard. you have to keep the soil moist until the grass reaches at least two inches tall. This means I have to give my yard a decent soak about three times a day with the heat, and the sun. Once the grass has reached it’s two inches, then you scale back the watering from three times a day, to one or two really long, deep soaks, encouraging the roots to dig deep, and establish a good system to stay watered when it gets a little dried out. On top of this, you’re supposed to stay off of the area for at least three weeks, perhaps more, before you even give it it’s first cutting. Then, when you cut it, you have to make sure your mower blade is sharp, otherwise, you could damage the new little sprouts. On top of all of this, for taking care of the lawn in the future, I have to go back and over seed yearly . . . why you ask? Because if I am correct, the type of grass I chose (which I love for several reasons) doesn’t ever really ‘go to seed’. You are supposed to manually reinvigorate your lawn with new seed in the spring/fall.

So are you bored senseless yet?

I write this, and am explaining it in detail, to make a point. I find myself struggling with trying to nurture my relationship with Christ a LOT during this season of life. I find it hard to relate sometimes, I find it hard to be thankful, I find it hard to trust, I find it hard to lose my life, I find a lot of things very very hard. I realized, as I was tending to something as seemingly foolish as my front lawn, that I don’t devote near the time, nor discipline that it takes to cultivate such a relationship. I always think that if I could have just one really good quiet time, or one really good prayer session, that I would be able to get on top of this thing, and then things would really thrive. However, those things come and go, much like the fresh new patches of grass spring up in my lawn, and then wither because I don’t follow through all the way.

I realized that my relationship is going to take lots of work, lots of toiling in some rough patches of soil, and lots of tending to . . . ridding it of weeds that crop up in areas that I don’t visit as much, over seeding it, because it won’t just take care of itself on auto pilot. I realize that there is grace, and mercy, and that it is by these things being present in who Christ is, that I am able to have traveled as far as I have. That I am not condemned for my lack of tending, that I am still loved, and cared for greatly.

Now, knowing these things doesn’t mean they come any easier in application, or in resting on these truths. Because like I said, a lot of things right now are just hard, and this is just the beginning of a long, long, list...

A brief view of our week

Posted by wendy on September 20, 2010

So it’s Monday and we’ll be leaving in about two hours for Emmett’s next CT scan. On Wednesday, we’ll get the results. We’d appreciate prayers for good news that God is continuing to heal Emmett and for the strength, peace, and wisdom to accept whatever news we get. I apologize for not updating more thoroughly, but we’ll do that soon. For now, we’re decked out in our Team Emmett wear and praying. Thank you so much for praying with us!

Life vests, 3 am, and the progression of time

Posted by wendy on September 22, 2010

When Quinn goes to the pool, he wears this little vest that helps him float because he hasn’t yet mastered the art of swimming. Sometimes, though, even with the life vest, Quinn will do some peculiar gyrations and end up face first in the water sucking in giant mouthfuls because he can’t get his limbs to do what he wants.

I feel like Emmett and I are in this giant pool called life with cancer, and we’re held up by the encouragement and prayers of our friends and family, but we still don’t know how to live without feeling like we’re drowning. So we haven’t written in a while because lately we’ve been feeling a lot like we don’t know which way is up. There is unmistakable angst over the CT scan results we will get this afternoon, but more importantly, we’ve both been worn down by the weight of our failures recently: failures to love and serve one another, failure to spend meaningful time with all the people we love, failure to simply focus on enjoying each other and the time we have. We have trouble finding balance in our lives because there is no predictability to our days, and so we often end our days weary. I can remember several days I spent staring at this blog trying to think of something meaningful to say, and I don’t even know what’s on my own heart.

I’ve been reading through Genesis and Proverbs in my personal time (which sounds impressive, but turns out to be woefully short most days). This time through, though, I have been struck over and over by the overarching hand of God who orchestrates all things for his good plan. Not that all things are good, but that all things, good or bad, are redeemed by God. But I’ve also been struck by the progression of time. It’s easy to read the story of Abraham or Jacob or Joseph and think, “yes, but in the end this or that happened.” But if you look at the progression of time, Jacob worked as a shepherd for more than 20 years for his uncle who cheated him, Abraham and Sarah waited decades to get pregnant even AFTER God’s promise for a child, Joseph was forgotten in prison for years. And you know what? They made mistakes, did things that revealed a lack of faith, and were not always nice people, but God still loved them.

So in may ways we are a mess and continue to need your prayers, but we are also blessed to be a part of this amazing journey God has us on, knowing that living in the moment is much more difficult when you don’t know the end. However, we are confident that we will see the goodness of the Lord

Today the doctor will give us an update, and there is immense pressure to base our attitude on her report. So pray that we would have a deep and abiding sense of peace and joy, no matter what she has to say. Pray also for us to sleep, as we have struggled to live on very little or very poor sleep these past weeks. Finally, I have been praying for Emmett to find rest in God. His struggle with anxiety is understandably more intense than mine. The side effects of chemo are often as severe mentally as physically, so pray for an enduring peace to settle in his heart

Much love to all. We will update as soon as we can this afternoon.

Delayed

Posted by emmett on September 22, 2010

We knew today would come at some point. When the Docs first told us about the treatment, they told us the following:
This cancer will respond to Chemotherapy, then it will plateau, then it will start growing again.
They were not too optimistic about anything at all. There is so little research for this kind of cancer, there are so few treatments, there are so few survivors, there is so little data, there are so few clinical trials . . . there’s just not a lot of anything associated with this cancer, unless you look at the mortality rate: and then there’s more than plenty.

We thought that we would see the tumors plateau, hold steady at some point . . . but it looks like we blew past that phase, and the results of the CT scan this week were not good, and I quote the doctor here, she said ” Your CT scans don’t look good this round.” Usually we discuss the CT scans in length, go through each part of the body that has a tumor and discuss it shrinking, or staying the same, etc. We got the cliff notes version today. The tumors on the liver and the lymph-nodes had started growing again. done. end of story. We didn’t reference the CT scan anymore after that.

So what now? where do we go from here?
Again, there aren’t many options. period. They have two other drugs, two other different types of chemo that they can rotate into the current treatment, rotating one of the main ones out (so perhaps replacing one would be a better description here). Those were our options. The doctor is looking into national clinical trials that “may” be available (which is fairly unlikely for this cancer). She is checking with another local cancer treatment center to see what they might be able to offer. The doctor is also checking with the clinical trial team at Vanderbilt to see if there is anything else they might know of. Past that? We have no other options right now.

We are scheduled to go in next week and tentatively start on one of the two different chemo options. We’ll discuss research/clinical trials at that point and see what they have found out as well as what we have found out on the research we can do between now and then. But there’s not much else, and we’re not really expecting to find much else, to be honest.

This news can be extremely devastating, can be, maybe should be, life altering. This news could cause our whole perspective on things to come crashing down. This news could be, and will be to some degree, supremely depressing. Wendy has cried tons today, and I know it’s only a matter of time before I start crying, again. But as we were leaving Vanderbilt medical center today, and were talking things out, trying to let it sink in a little more, I made the following case for my approach to things right now -

Early on during Chemo, Wendy prayed, a lot (not that she prays any less now!), that God would heal me, and the He would give her a peace about it, some sort of surreal peace about me being healed. At some point, she received an incredible peace about everything, and she told me, God is going to heal you. I believe that, and since He has pressed that onto her heart, a lot of her worrying has gone away, and she has Hope, Hope enough for both of us sometimes. Sure, its still hard to go through Chemo with me, to watch me get laid out and be reduced to a sleeping form in the bed for several days, but she hasn’t lost that Hope, because it was as if God was making her a promise.

As we were talking today, I mentioned that based on her last blog post (life vest, 3am, and the progression of time) it caused me to look at things differently. God made a promise to Abraham, and there was a long passing of years before he answered it, or take Jacob or Joseph, with whom God made equally as important promises. They waited a long time, and in the midst of that long time, they had lots of turns for the worst. Joseph was thrown into a pit and sold into slavery, a depressing turn based on his dreams, but then he was put in charge over all Potiphar’s house, (i.e., this chemo is finally working!). Then he was cast back into the dungeons (this chemo is not working . . .) and spent a long time there before he was finally was brought out and made second in command of all Egypt. He had a long road, full of disappointment, small victories, depression, and times when he could lose Hope, times when despair probably gripped him much as it grips me. But God doesn’t stop working in those circumstances, he is continuing to work. He has made a promise and is faithful to fulfill those promises, and in the end, there is Hope.

As we talked about this, I remarked that I am choosing faith. I am choosing to rest in what God has planned, trusting that the peace he gave Wendy about healing me is truth, and I am leaning on His faithfulness, and His track record of making good on His promises, and His words. To choose anything but faith in light of this news, would be truly and utterly devastating. How could I stand against it? How could I function otherwise? How could I approach the next round of treatments? How could I even hope to keep going forward, if not in faith? Everything would come crashing down, everything would be as if it was founded on the very sands of the beach. All would be washed out from underneath us, and we would be left with empty hands, wondering what next. Whereas now, through faith, and with hope, we can press forward; we can stand surefooted on his truths, on His words, on His promises. We can find rest, and solace in Him.

Now, does that mean that this news is easy to swallow? Does it mean that I am carefree and skipping around our driveway in happy circles laughing and carrying on as if nothing was the matter? no. This news is still hard. Fear still knocks at the door of our hearts. Despair, worry, sadness, grief . . . all of these things are present, awaiting the chance to move in and to take control of the situation. There are tears being shed. It is out of love that we weep, love for one another, for Quinn, that causes us to be red eyed and weepy eyed. We care so deeply for one another that it still cuts us to the core. We still feel the dagger of mortality, pressing in on us, and we want so badly to be able to push it far, far from our minds. We ache for one another, for how this news, how this sickness has already changed our lives and changed how we relate to one another. We ache for one another when we loose sleep because our minds are whirring over endless details and issues and options, or lack thereof. We ache for one another when we are weary at the end of the day, or at the start of the day. At the same time, we rejoice that we still have each other, that we still have another day of life breathed into us to love, to be merciful, to be gracious, to be forgiving. We rejoice that we get to forge another day of memories together, and that God has held us in his hand yet another day, watching over us, and carrying us through it all.

We rejoice, and we weep, knowing that there are so many people praying for us, praying with us, walking alongside of us, and at times carrying us. Our hearts are full of thankfulness for all those who have done so much, for those who continue to do so much, and for those who will do so much for us. You bless us and remind us that we are in the midst of a great host, that we are made new and are a part of a great body of believers. Only God could orchestrate the body’s movements perfectly, timing everything to encourage us when we need it most.

Thank you dear, dear friends, and take heart, know that we are still fighting, that there is yet a long road to travel, and it is not yet over. We pray, as wearying as it is, that our roads will be long and our journeys many.

Peace and blessings to you all...

Looking forward

Posted by wendy on September 24, 2010

There is a strange symmetry to our life. Shortly after we lost Mallory in 2006, we had a meeting with the doctor to discuss the reasons behind what happened and whether or not we should attempt to have more kids. Then, like now, there were few answers and many questions about the future. After that meeting, we sat at the Chili’s in Brentwood sipping cokes and trying to find words. Wednesday, after our disappointing doctors appointment, we once again ended up at the Chili’s in Brentwood. By the way, we don’t have a particular love of Chili’s, but we’ve discovered that around 3 in the afternoon on a hot summer day that Chili’s happens to be a great air conditioned location where you can be left alone. Ironically, but thankfully, the service is awful when you’re the only people there. But I digress…. So we sat with our drinks and didn’t talk about cancer, or treatments, or medicine, or the future.

But now we have to look forward. We have known all along that the doctors consider Emmett’s cancer incurable. For a number of reasons there has been very little research done on esophageal cancer, and many of the treatments that Emmett is receiving are actually for other types of GI cancers. As they told us in the initial meeting, the doctors will be happy if Emmett lives 18-24 months past diagnosis. We’re just launching into month 8, so as far as the doctors are concerned, we are right on schedule.

Taking Emmett to chemo these last six months has been like watching him die over and over. He goes into chemo light hearted, walking on his own, hopeful, and very much like his normal self. On the way there he drives because I don’t particularly like driving. He makes me laugh a lot because that is one of his favorite things to do, and at first it feels like we’re going on a date. By the end of chemo though, Emmett is usually in a wheel chair. In the car he flinches every time we hit a rough spot in the road or winces when we take a turn too fast, and he sleeps, or at least pretends to sleep, for the next 48 hours. So we go into chemo light hearted, and when we leave chemo, I try to maintain the light hearted atmosphere while trying not to let him see me tear up or cry. Back in June, one particularly dreary day at chemo, both of us were feeling worn down and hopeless. Just pushing Emmett out of the hospital in the wheel chair was enough to start the flow of tears, and I cried out in my heart to God. I don’t feel the need to state the specifics here, but the Lord answered me specifically and sweetly, in such a way to give us great hope for the miracle we have prayed for. The result was a deep and lasting peace that has settled into and taken up residence in my heart. I share this with you because of Emmett’s last post, in which he shared something about the hope we found that afternoon.

You see, if you read the Bible as I do, from the slightly cynical angle of someone who started walking with God later in life, then quite often Jesus answers questions in a way people vastly misunderstand. Pretty much every conversation he has makes sense in light of the cross, but if you think about the context, then people’s perplexed reactions make perfect sense to me. I am completely and perfectly aware that I may have misunderstood the Lord’s answer to my prayer that day because I want to believe Emmett will get well. I completely understand that I cannot see beyond my circumstances and ten years from now I may understand that prayer differently than I do now. But for now, we’ve made the choice to take him at his word, which is very difficult for me. Because you see, as I write this, thousands of women are being or have been raped in the Congo by rebel and government soldiers, with no one to turn to for safety. Children in southeast Asia are being sold as slaves into the sex trade, and thousands of people around the world are going without food, medicine, or clean water. So why would God have mercy on us? There is absolutely no reason he would. Suffering of all kinds exists because there is sin in the world, and sin multiplies just like the aggressive cancer in Emmett’s body. And the love of Christ, which he has chosen for now to demonstrate through his church, seems as impotent as the chemotherapies used to fight Emmett’s advanced cancer. The beautiful mystery is that God’s love will triumph over evil on this earth, and millions of people throughout history who don’t deserve the love of God will find true healing in the blood of Christ. So we’ve chose to believe in physical healing because that’s the only way we can find the courage to face each morning. We weep often because we find it difficult to balance apparent reality with a hopeful faith.

So what does the road ahead look like? We fully understand that healing will come only from the Lord, however we know that medicine is part of the common grace God has given to us to use wisely. We are not chasing false hope in medicine because we know that it can promise us nothing. Consequently, we also do not want your suggestions for liquid asparagus diets, miracle pills, or “how to kill cancer with your diet” books. We are grateful that you care about us, but please turn that concern to prayer, not searching the internet for false hope. That being said, there are a couple other chemotherapy options to, as the doctor says, “buy us a little more time,” or we can pursue clinical trials. As I’ve already mentioned, clinical trials for esophageal cancer are few, and the ones available to Emmett are very rare, most likely requiring us to travel. In choosing a clinical trial, we have to decide whether it is worth uprooting our family to another state for a few months while Emmett receives treatment. These decisions need to be made quickly, and choosing one option may close the door to other options in the future. Oddly, we do not feel overwhelmed. I am doing as much research as possible because it is too difficult for Emmett. The doctors are wool gathering as well, and we will meet next Wednesday to discuss more options. At that time I expect that we will either forge ahead with another chemo at Vanderbilt or make some quick travel plans and doctors appointments somewhere else.

So pray for us. We will update next Wednesday with our decisions. We may not update much until then because there simply is not much to say right now. We are patiently waiting and trusting and enjoying the time we have together. Pray for healing, wisdom, hope, joy, peace, provision, rest, and perseverance. Thank you for praying with us and waiting to see what the Lord will do.

Decisions, Doctors and Details.

Posted by emmett on September 27, 2010

So tonight, monday night to be specific, we had another short over the phone consult with a doctor up in Pennsylvania (thanks to our family, who is spread out everywhere). The news we got from him changed our entire outlook on this cancer deal. There are strong possibilities that we are going to be changing doctors, and treatment centers. This came from some pretty condensed information tonight. The plus side is it would open up a few possibilities here in town, thus we might not need to travel to a different state, but, the treatment center we would be going to is outside our insurance network, so that brings a whole other slew of problems, or details, to sort through.

Needless to say, we are trying to setup additional appointments with another local doctor, and still make a good solid, informed decision, quickly, so that we can stop this cancer thing, and stomp it out for good. Please be in prayer for us, and with us, as we sort through a seemingly large pile of details and make decisions that can have a life long impact.

Thank you so much –

More waiting

Posted by wendy on September 29, 2010

I’m writing this as I sit in another Vanderbilt doctor’s office awaiting a strep test. Emmett and I are both exhausted beyond imagining. He has slept since we got home from the doctor’s office, and I managed a quick nap between phone calls and more research. After my strep test, I’m heading back home to sleep again. Pray for us. We are worn thin.

We had a really productive visit with our doctor this morning. So here are the basics. Our options diverge from here. We can continue with traditional lines of treatment or pursue clinical trials. Often, clinical trials will only accept you with limited number of previous treatments. If we continue with traditional lines of treatments, we close the door to some clinical trials that are very interesting and relevant. Pursuing clinical trials take time, though, and it is always discouraging to postpone treatment, even just a couple weeks. So we’re meeting next week with doctors at the other cancer clinic in town where there is a trial that might be right for Emmett. We also are attempting to meet with a doctor in Boston that has another possible trial for which Emmett it eligible. Our current thought is to pursue a clinical trial for now and then return to traditional therapies when we’ve exhausted or trial options.

In all our reading and studying and talking with brilliant people, it has become clear to us that research for esophageal cancer is still very much in its infancy. Even with traditional courses of chemotherapy, there is a wide arrange of opinions about whether to do single drugs in successive chemo regimens or multiple drugs concurrently. One doctor will feel very strongly that multiple drugs should be used during a course of chemo because it seems more aggressive, but another doctor will prefer single drugs given in succession because the side effects are minimized without any apparent decrease in effectiveness. Even within a single study of a particular chemo regimen there are a wide variety of patient responses, from strong tumor shrinkage to continued tumor growth. Ironically, though, strong tumor shrinkage doesn’t even guarantee increased longevity or improved quality of life. Essentially everything is inconclusive. From here on out, it’s a crap shoot, as our doctor so aptly summed up our options.

So pray for the dice to land in our favor, for miracles to happen, and for both of us to hang in there.