In which I fall apart.

I’m at my parents house, sitting on the back porch listening to the loudest woodpecker I have ever heard. Mark and I and the kids stayed the night here last night, after watching movies and talking. It was really nice to be here.

I spent alot of time yesterday researching again. It prepares me for what to ask, but sometimes it scares me to death too. There are so many things running through my mind right now- but the one thing I kept coming back to while reading stories and medical journal entries is this.

I want quality of life- not just quantity.

Its a weird feeling, knowing that I just wrote that. Its a feeling I still have a hard time wrapping my brain around and probably will for quite some time. I am realizing that this is going to be the fight of my life. Not “merely for my life” but for the life of my entire family – its going to be a rough rough road.

That is starting to hit me.

Last night mom and I were looking at my MRI’s trying to get a better understanding of where the tumor is, and how large it is. We researched where it is sitting, and what it effects. I want to go into this meeting with all the knowledge I can cram into my head, so that I can make the best informed decision with the best desired outcome. The tumor is sitting in my left frontal lobe, right next to the falx (the middle divider portion of my brain). It is in the very front and although it isn’t very wide, it is quite deep and long. Last night we (again, my mom and I) made a clay model, so that I could visualize what was really going on- and how much was really there. I wish I could say my first reaction was “wow, that really isn’t that big” but I can say that my first reaction was “It could be alot worse”. And it could. I then colored around the tumor portion of a picture of my MRI so that I could get an understanding of the location with the size.

That made it real, in so many ways.

I am not sure where I am emotionally right now. I know that part of me is ready to just start this process, and get moving on my treatment-whatever that might be. The other part of me wants the next 48 hours to go on and on and on.

I think about my life, and the precious people in it and it reminds me that I can do this. But I will be completely honest, there is not one part of me that wants to do this. There is not one part of me that understands this. There is not one part of me that can rationalize the meaning behind this – at least not today.

I keep thinking that at some point I am going to wake up and that ball in the pit of my stomach is going to be gone, and I am going to find the strength to beat this. I look at the MRI pictures and just shake my head in amazement. That is my head- that is the tumor in my brain. This is my life.

I look at my precious children and crazy, yet very natural thoughts run through my mind. Will I see Easton get married? Will I meet the amazing girl that will fall in love with my son? Will I be here for Emma Grace, and then my heart breaks all over again.
This is not “merely” my life. This is the life of precious precious people who’s hearts and lives are being affected in such real ways, and I am trying to understand why.

Here is the reality of where I am. I am okay if this kills me. I know that my eternity will be spent with an amazing and wonderful savior. My heart breaks when I realize how much this could impact and hurt those that I love. If I stood on medical statistics alone, my husband will be a widower by the time is 50, possibly sooner.

But then I pull my self together and I draw on the knowledge that Only God knows the number of my days. I know that, I believe that, but it doesn’t erase the very real reality that this is going to change our lives in ways we have yet to comprehend. It doesn’t change the fact that I am having quite a few very weak moments right now, and that I am terrified.

Terrified.

There is a very high likelihood that someone will be touching my brain within the next 7 days. There is a possibility that I could die during that procedure. There is a high likelihood that I could never speak again, walk again, remember my children or husband. These issues, even though they aren’t upbeat and inspirational- are very real.

And they are weighing heavy on my heart. The faces of my family are weighing heavy on my heart. The lives of my children are weighing heavy on my heart.

Yet I know that I know that I know that my savior loves me. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am His, and I am resting firmly in the palms of his hands. I know that there are going to be days like this- days when I don’t feel like I can do this- but I know He can.

I know that I am not alone, and that even though today my heart breaks- there are so many people there to help me pick the pieces up and who would do anything to put me back together again. Those are the things that get me through this. Those are the things that I am clinging to right now.

I pray that you,
being rooted and established in love,
may have power, together with all the saints
to grasp how wide and long and high and deep
is the love of Christ,
and to know this love that surpasses knowledge-
that you may be filled to the measure
of all the fullness of God
-Eph 3:17-19