In His Own Words

Our education about the "Cancer" world is a crash course to say the least. Like I mentioned before, Matt is taking the reins with the details, and I'm soooo thankful for his insight and perspective. After an hour of grueling questioning between Matt and one attending physician yesterday, the doctor complimented Matt on his attention to detail. He actually asked, "Are you an accountant?" We laughed. Matt said, "I'm a construction worker."

About our treatment, we have learned that the first month of Chemo is intense. A series of meds (chems) will be given to Jace over a period of 29 days, called the induction period. Dependent upon his reaction to the Chemo, we are hopeful that he will be able to receive some days of this treatment in Rexburg with Dr. Hancock, our local but acclaimed Pediatric Oncologist. Of course, this is all dependent on how things go. After 29 days, we will receive 7-10 more months of Chemotherapy. If everything goes well we will finish a maintenance period after 2 1/2 - 3 years. I am going to add a disclaimer here that I may be mistaken on some of this. My eyes are puffy, and my attention span is null and void... when the last nurse came to tell us she needed to teach us about Vincristine and other therapy treatments., I found myself asking if we were going to get hand-outs or if I needed to take notes. Then I laughed outloud, because I sounded like my students...(Hi everyone at MHS...I miss you!)

On a more personal note, Jace said our family prayer this morning. Matt and I found ourselves too choked up to say "Amen" because the entire prayer was devoted to Jace's big brother in Idaho. "Please bless that Hayden will be safe. Please bless that Hayden will be happy. Please bless that Hayden will have fun in school. Please bless Hayden to not miss us. Please bless Hayden to come back soon." Jace is so ill, and he's worrying about "his" hero, Hayden.

Also, everyone says I've been making them cry with my blog, so I'm going to end this one on a happy note. Yesterday after we had company, I breezed through the room rubbing anti-bacterial gel on everything. I even took Jace's X-Box controller from him to disinfect it. He raised his hands in a questioning manner and said, "Oh, come on!" (If you know Jace, you can hear him say it, right?) I explained, "Honey, if I don't disinfect it, you might get sick."

He put his hands out, palms up and motioned to himself and said, "Helloooo???"

The Mom

First, let me say thanks again. I'm overwhelmed by how many of you are reading the blog. My heart is full of gratitude for your support. As we had much company today and Jace was awake most of the day, I've neglected the computer. Needless to say I was shocked to see the Visitor Counter at almost 1800 in one day! (I added that counter with the post this morning).

We've had a good day over-all. The doctors actually decided to start the chemotherapy tomorrow, as Jace was in quite a bit of pain and shock from his surgery. He gradually improved, and he just fell asleep (11:48 PM). We enjoyed those of you who came to our rescue today with treats of support, hugs, M&Ms, magazines, SoBes, slippers, a blanket, Red Robin food, an air matress for the floor...and again so many messages.

I feel your strength. I was actually able to carry on a few conversations today, and although they inevitably contained a few strained, ugly crying faces, you'll be proud to know I kept the mascara on my top eyelashes all day. For a long time in my life I wondered if people really knew how to take care of people. I no longer wonder. I know. You are incredible people, and you are taking care of us. We are so blessed.

A few people asked me today, "Does he understand what is happening?" Hmmm. Good question. He's 6. I'm not even sure what is happening, and a really dark, ugly reality keeps throwing the facts in my face. While I was blogging early this morning, Matt tackled the stacks of information about treatment and Chemotherapy we've been given by the doctors and nurses. He read and highlighted and highlighted and read. At one point he started to read to me the side-effects of Chemo which my Jace might experience. I started crying, so Matt stopped. He knew I wasn't there yet. Not our baby. Not Jace.

So, Matt diligently proceeded reading without me, and when Randal and Wayne (our fathers, who we adore) arrived, the three counseled together. As so many times before, these men rescued me and allowed me to just be the mom-- to kiss Jace's forehead and tell him how amazing he is-- to whisper in his ear that the pain is going to go away, to rub his feet with lotion and ignore the stack of papers, and the signatures, and consents for treatment.


Even though I don't know it yet, many of you tell me it is going to be ok. When I look at this incredible little boy on a hospital bed and know that he is fevering again...and see the tubes and the monitors... and hear the beeps of a heartrate that is too low and then too high...and watch the pain filled eyes of the hairless children in our halls, I don't know.

Being the mom really, really hurts today...but I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.