Owen had his 3 yr. checkup at 8am this morning. Wow am I glad that I took Reuel up on the offer to stay home with Asher. I thought it could work, but it would have been impossible!! Asher is way too wiggly and Owen needed some mommy-support to get through the appointment.
I prepped him quite a bit in advance. We headed into the office with his arms full of stuffed pig from grandpa and his bag of toy doctor tools. I told him that he could listen to Dr. Hoder's heart with his stethoscope, and that seemed to perk him up about the whole affair. The promise of a chocolate donut (with sprinkles of course) if he behaved well had also been spoken, which didn't hurt.
He performed and followed directions just perfectly, and then Mrs. Marie the medical assistant (who Owen loves) told us that there would be no shots! Yippee! Owen was very happy to hear that, as he was aware this could be part of the morning.
He is just over 3 feet, maybe 37 inches (~35%ile), 30.5lbs (25%ile), and ~15.5BMI (25%ile). Relatively, he lost a lot of weight vs. last year, but has kept his length growing the same. Hence, the currently wiry boy who can hardly hold size 3 pants on his waist.
After today, Owen is officially never going to trust me or a doctor again! At the last 2 appointments we've all gone to for Asher, Owen has had to get a shot too, since the flu shots he was overdue on became available. Today, he was told there were no shots, and then, OOPS!! Dr. Hoder decided he needed 2. And his last round of routine bloodwork. Owen was NOT happy, but really he didn't completely freak out like I thought he would and he did OK. I warned him about the shots, and then we got those done. I did not warn him about the bloodwork :} He figured out what was going on as soon as the nurse said, 'Honey, we are going to get some of your muscle juice and send it to Superman to see how strong you are!' Yeah, right. 3 year olds are seriously not that fool-able. But to the nurses' credit, they did their job so quickly he hardly had time to panic, he mostly just looked like a deer in headlights as he watched his blood poured into a vial...I think that kind of creeped him out. He absolutely will not let me take off the gauze and tape on his arm now.
So, we headed over to the donut shop 2 doors down from the doctor's office (on the far side of the Chuck E. Cheese between them...so mean to put a kiddie casino next to a pediatrician's office!!). I paged through the handouts they gave me as we walked. And I quote, "Ideally, by this age she no longer uses eating--or not eating--to demonstrate defiance, nor does she confuse food with love or affection." Oops, probably donut rewards don't help with that one!! So Owen passed with flying colors, but I still have a few things to fix.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Home
The kids and I arrived home this afternoon, after 2 weeks in NC. Dad's memorial service went really well (still so weird to type that). The kids have grown and changed quite immensely, and I think I've missed a hundred little stories about them I would have wanted to record...and that is what this blog was intended for...but it just feels wrong to write about little laughs and seem like things are back to normal, because they aren't. We are all doing really well considering, but it is a strange road to be on. I think for a bit of blog closure I will copy what I said at the service, and then eventually get back to the kid moments and save most of the processing for phone calls. :)
It is so strange to be here together without my Dad. Staying for the past week in his home has also been emotional, with everything around us pointing so clearly to the one guy who’s not there. How common death is, but how uncommon to say goodbye to *my* Dad! A friend of mine said it well: ‘Death is conquered, but grief is yet our companion while waiting for the Lord and missing those who have gone ahead.’ We do--and will--miss him so much.
I know my Dad just a little bit, and I know that he wouldn’t have wanted too much attention today. He’d want to know that today’s celebration of his life was primarily pointing our thoughts toward heaven, celebrating Christ and the hope He gives. But we girls in his life were never completely compliant, so I want to tell you about my Dad, just a little bit. Can I share a few memories and stories with you?
I remember as a little one when I got into the parts that came with some appliance my Dad was installing and screwed a nut and washer onto every bolt in the bag—so that he had to unscrew each one in order to use it—and I remember Dad making me feel like a million bucks that I’d helped him out. That little moment was formative for me, and now that I have my own 3 year old, I know how much patience that kind of moment can take.
I remember the look in my Dad’s eye when he was proud of me or Deb. He always let us know, and a normally not-too-emotional guy always made it clear how he felt about us.
I have such a strong memory of my Dad faithfully going to work without complaining, insanely early every morning, to pay the bills, provide for us, complete what was expected of him, and probably more. As I got older I got the distinct impression that there were many days he’d be happier doing anything but his job, but he never complained, and never gave up. Only now do I realize that I never had a moment’s insecurity about being taken care of, because my Dad always put us first.
I remember the day Mom, Deb and I were away at a music camp one summer and Mom was informed over a pay phone in a college dorm hallway that Dad had taken a transfer to South Africa. Talk about proof of the strength of their commitment to each other. Dad got teased about that over the years, but we all later realized that his leadership and willingness to jump in resulted in one of the most significant and fun family experiences and set of memories that we have together.
I remember how the things that excited my Dad most were visiting a friend, making a trip to see one of us, opening his home to others, and giving. He was so quick to step up to a need and to care for a friend. He gave of himself eagerly on many levels. We would sometimes learn from sources other than my parents about their lavish generosity and gift of giving…help with house payments, donated cars and computers, and an always-open home…these were just the tip of the iceberg with my Dad.
I remember the first time I read the set of letters that my Dad wrote home to his family during his time in Vietnam in the Army. I quickly realized how little I really knew about him. Just this week I learned another new thing from my Uncle John…that Dad not only saw combat, but was a forward observer who snuck ahead, scouted out targets, helped direct artillery, and whose life was at especially high risk. Learning this opens my eyes and makes me so grateful for the time we had.
I remember how much my Dad loved us and continued to put us first, even during the last few months while he lived with us in Massachusetts, suffering often silently and not wanting to be a burden, as if he could have been. He would thank us for opening our home, but we were just thankful to have him. What a privilege to care for Dad and just be with him.
I remember that my Dad had a hard time being less than 20-30 minutes early for anything, and that he was absolutely, end-of-story, reliable. He picked up my family from the airport in Boston and drove us home less than an hour before his first seizure just a few weeks ago, and somehow it just doesn’t surprise me…I think he was incapable of missing that appointment! (Sort of a joke, sort of not…)
I remember how *tremendously* Dad wanted to be home. The day he originally thought treatment was done and he was headed home…he was suffering that week, but the excitement peeked through. He wanted to golf. He wanted to spend time with his North Carolina family, and wanted to be of service here at Cross Creek. He thought very highly of this place. Thank you for loving him and welcoming him and my mom when they moved to town and for your wonderful support these past weeks. We are so grateful.
I remember how, from the first day of his diagnosis, Dad wanted to move forward boldly, and without pity. He wanted to let everyone know that his life was in God’s hands, and he wanted to live by faith. What a gift to all of us, to have let us know that he had God’s peace, and to have encouraged our own faith in the process. As always, I feel that he provided for us now by how he handled his journey then. I’m so thankful for God’s work in him.
Finally, I remember that my Dad was not perfect, that we frustrated each other plenty, and each made more than our share of mistakes…I don’t mean to paint a strictly rosy life. But by God’s grace in his life, I must say that my Dad always forgave me in the same way he’d been forgiven, and kept on loving through *my* faults…an example I will continue to learn from for a long time to come.
It is so strange to be here together without my Dad. Staying for the past week in his home has also been emotional, with everything around us pointing so clearly to the one guy who’s not there. How common death is, but how uncommon to say goodbye to *my* Dad! A friend of mine said it well: ‘Death is conquered, but grief is yet our companion while waiting for the Lord and missing those who have gone ahead.’ We do--and will--miss him so much.
I know my Dad just a little bit, and I know that he wouldn’t have wanted too much attention today. He’d want to know that today’s celebration of his life was primarily pointing our thoughts toward heaven, celebrating Christ and the hope He gives. But we girls in his life were never completely compliant, so I want to tell you about my Dad, just a little bit. Can I share a few memories and stories with you?
I remember as a little one when I got into the parts that came with some appliance my Dad was installing and screwed a nut and washer onto every bolt in the bag—so that he had to unscrew each one in order to use it—and I remember Dad making me feel like a million bucks that I’d helped him out. That little moment was formative for me, and now that I have my own 3 year old, I know how much patience that kind of moment can take.
I remember the look in my Dad’s eye when he was proud of me or Deb. He always let us know, and a normally not-too-emotional guy always made it clear how he felt about us.
I have such a strong memory of my Dad faithfully going to work without complaining, insanely early every morning, to pay the bills, provide for us, complete what was expected of him, and probably more. As I got older I got the distinct impression that there were many days he’d be happier doing anything but his job, but he never complained, and never gave up. Only now do I realize that I never had a moment’s insecurity about being taken care of, because my Dad always put us first.
I remember the day Mom, Deb and I were away at a music camp one summer and Mom was informed over a pay phone in a college dorm hallway that Dad had taken a transfer to South Africa. Talk about proof of the strength of their commitment to each other. Dad got teased about that over the years, but we all later realized that his leadership and willingness to jump in resulted in one of the most significant and fun family experiences and set of memories that we have together.
I remember how the things that excited my Dad most were visiting a friend, making a trip to see one of us, opening his home to others, and giving. He was so quick to step up to a need and to care for a friend. He gave of himself eagerly on many levels. We would sometimes learn from sources other than my parents about their lavish generosity and gift of giving…help with house payments, donated cars and computers, and an always-open home…these were just the tip of the iceberg with my Dad.
I remember the first time I read the set of letters that my Dad wrote home to his family during his time in Vietnam in the Army. I quickly realized how little I really knew about him. Just this week I learned another new thing from my Uncle John…that Dad not only saw combat, but was a forward observer who snuck ahead, scouted out targets, helped direct artillery, and whose life was at especially high risk. Learning this opens my eyes and makes me so grateful for the time we had.
I remember how much my Dad loved us and continued to put us first, even during the last few months while he lived with us in Massachusetts, suffering often silently and not wanting to be a burden, as if he could have been. He would thank us for opening our home, but we were just thankful to have him. What a privilege to care for Dad and just be with him.
I remember that my Dad had a hard time being less than 20-30 minutes early for anything, and that he was absolutely, end-of-story, reliable. He picked up my family from the airport in Boston and drove us home less than an hour before his first seizure just a few weeks ago, and somehow it just doesn’t surprise me…I think he was incapable of missing that appointment! (Sort of a joke, sort of not…)
I remember how *tremendously* Dad wanted to be home. The day he originally thought treatment was done and he was headed home…he was suffering that week, but the excitement peeked through. He wanted to golf. He wanted to spend time with his North Carolina family, and wanted to be of service here at Cross Creek. He thought very highly of this place. Thank you for loving him and welcoming him and my mom when they moved to town and for your wonderful support these past weeks. We are so grateful.
I remember how, from the first day of his diagnosis, Dad wanted to move forward boldly, and without pity. He wanted to let everyone know that his life was in God’s hands, and he wanted to live by faith. What a gift to all of us, to have let us know that he had God’s peace, and to have encouraged our own faith in the process. As always, I feel that he provided for us now by how he handled his journey then. I’m so thankful for God’s work in him.
Finally, I remember that my Dad was not perfect, that we frustrated each other plenty, and each made more than our share of mistakes…I don’t mean to paint a strictly rosy life. But by God’s grace in his life, I must say that my Dad always forgave me in the same way he’d been forgiven, and kept on loving through *my* faults…an example I will continue to learn from for a long time to come.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
goodbye
Dear all,
After a very meaningful and comforting visit from my parents' pastor from North Carolina today, and after a day of sitting together, some praying, some singing, some remembering and some agonizing over the process, my Dad slipped from this life to the next at about 5:30 this evening. It doesn't feel real yet...what a strange mixture of having had time to see this coming with the reality of cancer, while feeling completely taken off guard. I'm sure many of you have also been through this!
I had brought the grandsons along for our visit this afternoon, and Mom went out to play with them while I said goodbye to Dad. I talked to him and sang...in so much silence while his breaths were getting far apart:
Turn your eyes upon Jesus
Look full in His wonderful face
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim
In the light of His glory and grace.
Then, just barely after having left the parking lot, Mom called that he had gone.
Oh, it is hard to say goodbye, and we are very sad. But we do not mourn as those without hope...because of Jesus, there is a place prepared for my Dad, and better a day in His house than a thousand elsewhere. Comforting religious notions at times like these, or a certain reality? I urge you, as my Dad would have, to seek that answer!
'Death is swallowed up in victory.
O death, where is your victory?
O death, where is your sting?
The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.' I Corinthians 15:55-
'For all have sinned and and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, whom God put forward as a propitiation by his blood, to be received by faith.' Romans 3:23-
There will be a memorial service in North Carolina, and my sister and I and the boys will be traveling there soon. Our plans are not ironed out just yet, but my mom or I or Deb will be sending notice of the service as that rolls into place. I'll wrap up the 'updates' now...after saying a final THANK YOU for your prayers, your love and concern, acts of service, and continued prayer especially for my Mom as she adjusts to changes.
With much fondness,
Amy
After a very meaningful and comforting visit from my parents' pastor from North Carolina today, and after a day of sitting together, some praying, some singing, some remembering and some agonizing over the process, my Dad slipped from this life to the next at about 5:30 this evening. It doesn't feel real yet...what a strange mixture of having had time to see this coming with the reality of cancer, while feeling completely taken off guard. I'm sure many of you have also been through this!
I had brought the grandsons along for our visit this afternoon, and Mom went out to play with them while I said goodbye to Dad. I talked to him and sang...in so much silence while his breaths were getting far apart:
Turn your eyes upon Jesus
Look full in His wonderful face
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim
In the light of His glory and grace.
Then, just barely after having left the parking lot, Mom called that he had gone.
Oh, it is hard to say goodbye, and we are very sad. But we do not mourn as those without hope...because of Jesus, there is a place prepared for my Dad, and better a day in His house than a thousand elsewhere. Comforting religious notions at times like these, or a certain reality? I urge you, as my Dad would have, to seek that answer!
'Death is swallowed up in victory.
O death, where is your victory?
O death, where is your sting?
The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.' I Corinthians 15:55-
'For all have sinned and and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, whom God put forward as a propitiation by his blood, to be received by faith.' Romans 3:23-
There will be a memorial service in North Carolina, and my sister and I and the boys will be traveling there soon. Our plans are not ironed out just yet, but my mom or I or Deb will be sending notice of the service as that rolls into place. I'll wrap up the 'updates' now...after saying a final THANK YOU for your prayers, your love and concern, acts of service, and continued prayer especially for my Mom as she adjusts to changes.
With much fondness,
Amy
Monday, May 17, 2010
brief update
As if things weren't a bit chaotic around here at the moment, Owen and I came down with a stomach bug starting on Saturday afternoon/evening. So far, Owen has gone the fever, malaise, lethargy, tummy upset route, and I have gone the fever, malaise, lethargy, exploding out all ends route (disgusting but true). Actually, throwing up was the best thing all night, I could finally rest after that. Right now I'm trying to repeat the sequence of events to achieve the same outcome earlier in the night. We'll see.
Mind you, I am REALLY not complaining. This could be worse. Owen has done no exploding. Reuel and Asher are clear so far. There are extra people at my house to help out. But all the same, it has been a challenge. Two kids who've seen less of mommy than usual, one sick and one separation-anxiety-ridden, and a mommy who barely feels like getting off the couch...Reuel took the afternoon off, and I owe him BIG! Speaking of, Reuel has been a model husband during everything my family's dealing with. We are all blessed by his unflappability, eagerness to do extra chores and childcare (don't get the impression the house is clean...I'm talking bare bones making sure there aren't aging diapers in the corner of the room sort of chores), and his listening ear when three emotional women get going. Thank you Lord for Reuel, a real gift right now.
An update on my Dad...
I have stayed away from the hospital of course, to my frustration, because my Dad does not need a stomach bug. But Deb, Mom and Reuel report that he wasn't quite up to his previous standard of the last few days. Moving slower, still in charge of the mental faculties, but the speed turned down. He was staring off and falling asleep a lot. Now, he was also given drug adjustments (changed seizure med. and added morphine), so only time will tell if these new effects are here to stay or not. His oncologist said it could really go either way. He also said that usually when a patient in his situation is given steroids to reduce brain swelling, they often pop back strong, right away, which hasn't happened with my Dad. So the bottom line is that no one has any idea how this will go...it's a day by day journey, and it's challenging to not be able to 'know' more than that. Yesterday, he seemed like he was on a trajectory to possibly be able to make a trip home. But today, not ready at all. There are 6 more radiation treatments, and 6+ days is a long way off in terms of knowing where he'll be. Please pray for my Dad's pain to be well-managed. Please pray that the Lord would smooth the path ahead so that it is clear what needs to happen at each step...what can we do but leave it in His able hands. I still pray for healing. I know my Dad would like to jump back into life and at the least be home again. But he has always affirmed that He is at peace with how things will unfold.
Now, here's a risk. If my Dad is headed soon for heaven, I don't think he'll be upset that I'm posting this picture. If he's not, and there are more days for him here, I may get scolded or a serious eye roll. But it's a risk I am more than willing to take because getting the scolding means he held on!
I love you Dad. Thanks for being such a loving and devoted father, loving me through my faults all these years, loving me more than I know.
Mind you, I am REALLY not complaining. This could be worse. Owen has done no exploding. Reuel and Asher are clear so far. There are extra people at my house to help out. But all the same, it has been a challenge. Two kids who've seen less of mommy than usual, one sick and one separation-anxiety-ridden, and a mommy who barely feels like getting off the couch...Reuel took the afternoon off, and I owe him BIG! Speaking of, Reuel has been a model husband during everything my family's dealing with. We are all blessed by his unflappability, eagerness to do extra chores and childcare (don't get the impression the house is clean...I'm talking bare bones making sure there aren't aging diapers in the corner of the room sort of chores), and his listening ear when three emotional women get going. Thank you Lord for Reuel, a real gift right now.
An update on my Dad...
I have stayed away from the hospital of course, to my frustration, because my Dad does not need a stomach bug. But Deb, Mom and Reuel report that he wasn't quite up to his previous standard of the last few days. Moving slower, still in charge of the mental faculties, but the speed turned down. He was staring off and falling asleep a lot. Now, he was also given drug adjustments (changed seizure med. and added morphine), so only time will tell if these new effects are here to stay or not. His oncologist said it could really go either way. He also said that usually when a patient in his situation is given steroids to reduce brain swelling, they often pop back strong, right away, which hasn't happened with my Dad. So the bottom line is that no one has any idea how this will go...it's a day by day journey, and it's challenging to not be able to 'know' more than that. Yesterday, he seemed like he was on a trajectory to possibly be able to make a trip home. But today, not ready at all. There are 6 more radiation treatments, and 6+ days is a long way off in terms of knowing where he'll be. Please pray for my Dad's pain to be well-managed. Please pray that the Lord would smooth the path ahead so that it is clear what needs to happen at each step...what can we do but leave it in His able hands. I still pray for healing. I know my Dad would like to jump back into life and at the least be home again. But he has always affirmed that He is at peace with how things will unfold.
Now, here's a risk. If my Dad is headed soon for heaven, I don't think he'll be upset that I'm posting this picture. If he's not, and there are more days for him here, I may get scolded or a serious eye roll. But it's a risk I am more than willing to take because getting the scolding means he held on!
I love you Dad. Thanks for being such a loving and devoted father, loving me through my faults all these years, loving me more than I know.
Friday, May 14, 2010
shock
I'm up after everyone else is in bed tonight just for a little while because we decided to have a birthday party for Owen's 3rd at the hospital tomorrow with Dad. We had suspended getting anything together for it temporarily, but then Dad was asking about Owen's birthday and what was going on, so we are doing something since tomorrow is the first day we will be able to take the kids for a visit (out of ICU onto a 'normal' floor at Mass General finally)! I told Dad I was going to bring a cake and have a little party for Owen there, and Dad's response? 'Bring enough for the the whole floor. That's how you make friends in a place like this!' So, my Dad is still exercising his hospitality gift, right from a hospital bed. I love it. From about 8:30p til now I cranked out a big chocolate cake in a pan, a cake to decorate quickly for Owen, and a cherry pie that I already had in the works (a Dad favorite). So, we might not catch the whole floor, but there will be plenty to share. We the parents have no gift for Owen, but between all of the gifts we've been handed by relatives, he's got a respectable pile waiting for him. Owen has no idea his birthday is going to be tomorrow, since this was all decided tonight, and will be very excited when he finds out.
Working in the kitchen tonight, in quiet solitude, gets the mind going. Thinking about my Dad and what he's going through is like a tide...I stop processing for a while, think on other things, block it out temporarily, especially when there's a positive development here or there. But after a while of that, it all comes roaring back and freshly steamrolls me again. Right now, I can hardly believe that Dad isn't sleeping in the guest room, but in a hospital tonight. I can't stand that he has to sleep alone there and we are all sleeping at home and separated; it doesn't seem like a time to spend even a moment apart, but it doesn't help the situation to get exhausted, and a hospital is not a great place to sleep (ask my Dad). Then, I can't even yet grasp that we may have to say goodbye at some point way sooner than we all ever anticipated. I'm wrapping up cake in plastic wrap and just realizing that these days feel so surreal, bizarre, not our lives. I'm just shocked. You can know abstractly that these things happen, but oh, it is so much different when it's *my* Dad. And what gets to me more than how I feel about the goodbye, is imagining what my Dad is feeling and thinking...I know he has sought purposefully and faithfully to trust God with whatever happens and to train his mind on what is true. But there is so much emotion even while trusting, and it is a lot to be going through.
1 God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
2 Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
3 though its waters roar and foam
and the mountains quake with their surging.
God, please be ever-present with us, we ask you for peace that moves from head to heart.
Dad got a first session of radiation today, of 10 days total, designed to shrink the brain tumors and decrease swelling. God-willing, my parents would like to go back to NC after that. I'm not sure of many other details of this palliative treatment as I wasn't able to be at the hospital for many of those discussions today. Looking forward to good visiting time tomorrow. I love you, Dad!
Working in the kitchen tonight, in quiet solitude, gets the mind going. Thinking about my Dad and what he's going through is like a tide...I stop processing for a while, think on other things, block it out temporarily, especially when there's a positive development here or there. But after a while of that, it all comes roaring back and freshly steamrolls me again. Right now, I can hardly believe that Dad isn't sleeping in the guest room, but in a hospital tonight. I can't stand that he has to sleep alone there and we are all sleeping at home and separated; it doesn't seem like a time to spend even a moment apart, but it doesn't help the situation to get exhausted, and a hospital is not a great place to sleep (ask my Dad). Then, I can't even yet grasp that we may have to say goodbye at some point way sooner than we all ever anticipated. I'm wrapping up cake in plastic wrap and just realizing that these days feel so surreal, bizarre, not our lives. I'm just shocked. You can know abstractly that these things happen, but oh, it is so much different when it's *my* Dad. And what gets to me more than how I feel about the goodbye, is imagining what my Dad is feeling and thinking...I know he has sought purposefully and faithfully to trust God with whatever happens and to train his mind on what is true. But there is so much emotion even while trusting, and it is a lot to be going through.
1 God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
2 Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
3 though its waters roar and foam
and the mountains quake with their surging.
God, please be ever-present with us, we ask you for peace that moves from head to heart.
Dad got a first session of radiation today, of 10 days total, designed to shrink the brain tumors and decrease swelling. God-willing, my parents would like to go back to NC after that. I'm not sure of many other details of this palliative treatment as I wasn't able to be at the hospital for many of those discussions today. Looking forward to good visiting time tomorrow. I love you, Dad!
Thursday, May 13, 2010
update
A quick update on my Dad...
This morning when I arrived to see Dad, he was sitting up in a chair and is off of IV meds! He is not quite his full self...he is suffering with pain, fatigue and no doubt the emotions induced by going through all of this and the news of extensive cancer. But still, he has come a long way in a handful of days, and we received word that he's headed to Mass General sometime today...HUGE thanks for your prayers, and praise God for this move. Now he will be evaluated by his oncologists, and there will be discussion of what comes next. It won't be easy, as some tough choices may need to be made, but better than sitting idle in a room with the feeling of no progress (if you know my Dad, you know he likes to make progress and get the info he needs to make decisions!). He reluctantly polished off a plate of breakfast to get all of the family and hospital staff nags off of his back (not much appetite), and seemed more conversational and perked up after some calories.
Yesterday, two of my Dad's friends from his former church in Illinois FLEW IN for a visit! It was fantastic. My Dad, and the rest of us, benefited from their kindness and love immensely. They even brought chocolate chip cookies :) The whole event was full of God's love for my Dad, and it was wonderful to hear of their respect for my Dad in the role he played at the church, and the times they had enjoyed with him. How fantastic to hear about how well he had served there from his peers. Thank you.
Please pray for...
...healing
...the move to MGH this afternoon
...meetings and evaluations with his Dr.'s ASAP
...wisdom and clarity with decision-making
...the possibility of palliative treatment in NC
...adequate health to potentially return home
...that with all hospital transfers and possible treatments, the red tape would be dispensed with quickly so that he could get started sooner than later if that is what is to happen.
...for alleviation of his discomfort...head, eye pain, incessant hiccups, still some minimal confusion
...for meaningful conversations between all of us and God's comfort and peace during a tough emotional time.
...strength and endurance for my mom, too.
With love and gratitude for your support,
Amy
This morning when I arrived to see Dad, he was sitting up in a chair and is off of IV meds! He is not quite his full self...he is suffering with pain, fatigue and no doubt the emotions induced by going through all of this and the news of extensive cancer. But still, he has come a long way in a handful of days, and we received word that he's headed to Mass General sometime today...HUGE thanks for your prayers, and praise God for this move. Now he will be evaluated by his oncologists, and there will be discussion of what comes next. It won't be easy, as some tough choices may need to be made, but better than sitting idle in a room with the feeling of no progress (if you know my Dad, you know he likes to make progress and get the info he needs to make decisions!). He reluctantly polished off a plate of breakfast to get all of the family and hospital staff nags off of his back (not much appetite), and seemed more conversational and perked up after some calories.
Yesterday, two of my Dad's friends from his former church in Illinois FLEW IN for a visit! It was fantastic. My Dad, and the rest of us, benefited from their kindness and love immensely. They even brought chocolate chip cookies :) The whole event was full of God's love for my Dad, and it was wonderful to hear of their respect for my Dad in the role he played at the church, and the times they had enjoyed with him. How fantastic to hear about how well he had served there from his peers. Thank you.
Please pray for...
...healing
...the move to MGH this afternoon
...meetings and evaluations with his Dr.'s ASAP
...wisdom and clarity with decision-making
...the possibility of palliative treatment in NC
...adequate health to potentially return home
...that with all hospital transfers and possible treatments, the red tape would be dispensed with quickly so that he could get started sooner than later if that is what is to happen.
...for alleviation of his discomfort...head, eye pain, incessant hiccups, still some minimal confusion
...for meaningful conversations between all of us and God's comfort and peace during a tough emotional time.
...strength and endurance for my mom, too.
With love and gratitude for your support,
Amy
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