Ethan's bloodwork tests from the day before had come back showing some abnormalities. She didn't even have the complete results in front of her but the lab had called their office and she needed to speak with a hematologist at the hospital on what to do next. I remember how specific she was - she was going to talk with the pediatrician and he would call the hematologist and we would be called back in about an hour. And because she didn't elaborate, I asked the question "What could this mean?" And again, very careful, but specific, she said: Abnormalities could still point to an infection but could also be something more serious like a malignancy, or leukemia.
By the time I got off the phone with her, we were in the REI parking lot, and I thought, what do we do now? Go home? The kids were already excited to shop for Pete's present, and really, what else was there to do at that point? So, I texted Pete an update and we went into the store.
An hour later, at home and the nurse practitioner called again with our instructions: We were to immediately go to the ER at Children's, and be sure to pack a bag in case we needed to stay overnight. And so we flew around, calling who we could, packing bags, trying not to totally panic, and got to the ER as quickly as we could.
We weren't in the ER more than 10 to 15 minutes before the talk of Leukemia began. I remember Ethan was playing with a maze board on the wall and the doctor sitting on the bed, wondering what we had been told. She laid out the plan very clearly (why was it all so matter of fact? She was compassionate and yet so matter of fact) - repeat bloodwork to confirm the blasts in his blood, a chest x-ray to see if a leukemic mass had grown, and if it was all confirmed we were to be admitted, and Ethan would have a port-a-cath placed in his chest so that chemotherapy could be administered. I remember Pete asking several times if it was treatable. I remember calling my mom, asking if she was coming. And I remember just staring at Ethan, shocked that all of this was happening to my precious, exuberant son.
The day from there was one long blur. His chest x-ray showed a leukemic mass on 3 major areas - his pulmonary vein, trachea and aorta. His blood work confirmed blasts in his blood. We texted and called who we could, when we could. A new life had begun.
In the blur of that first day, there are a few moments that stand out. Once we got settled into our room up on the HemOnc floor, the hematologist came in and was just the most calm, reassuring presence. She sat there for probably an hour with us - answering every single question we had. I remember asking her what I had missed, why didn't I notice this sooner? And she told me that I had done exactly what I should have done, because he was here. We were exactly where we needed to be. And he was in great shape to start chemo. And that this was a very treatable illness. In the midst of a freefall, the time she spent with us and her demeanor and presence was a true God-send.
And then there was a text from my friend Evie. I had sort of desperately texted her to pray for me, because I didn't think I could do this. How could I do this? And her reply will stay with me probably for the rest of my life. I'm re-reading it now to share with y'all, and it still encourages me just the same: "Friend, you can't do this. I've been praying that his power would be your power. Jesus is going to be your source in this, and he is going to get you through this... Ethan is HIS. He created him and he will protect him."
And my mom. Grandma Sheila. The next morning I woke up in our hospital room, pretty near despair and I called her so that she could just talk. Say something, anything. And as we (she) chatted and I calmed down, she said "Melissa, we aren't going to look at the whole thing right now, we are going to just take this one step at a time, and focus on that. Because that is all we can do." Again, a lifeline.
You guys, one year ago today, we had no idea what had just happened. We were in a shock zone, and the pieces began to fall and settle and little by little, we did get through it. We're still getting through it. But the reminder that I can't do any of this without Jesus, has been a lifeline in the dark days, the joyful days, the good and the ugly. And all we could do this year is take things one step at a time. This year, this life that has been so stormy, would have been impossible without Jesus. He has sustained us and has remained our anchor. He has remained our hope.
And it also would have been impossible without all of you who have been such a strong support system of prayer and care and love. You cannot know how loved we have felt, how you have helped to get us through with your care packages and gifts and texts and meals and care. I could probably go week by week throughout this entire year and share different unexpected help or texts and care that has been given --- truly, you all have meant the world to us and we are so incredibly thankful. Really, thank you doesn't even begin to cover the depth of our gratitude - please just know that you have truly blessed us.
And so, today, here we are: one year later. I didn't know how I was going to feel today, this first "anniversary" of sorts regarding Ethan's diagnosis and treatment. And thankfully, you guys, more than anything, I'm feeling incredibly thankful. Thankful for what God has done this year. Grateful for his care and protection over our Ethan and all of us. Thankful that He has met us where we are, that He has been near.
Tonight we get to celebrate and gather with dear friends who have prepared a special dinner, for a time to reflect and pray and remember the year. And when they asked for feedback on what we'd want and how to pray, it became abundantly clear that one thing I wanted to do was to sing together. Singing has gotten us through much of this year. When there haven't been words, we've turned on a good hymn. In the happy and hard days, singing has been a way for us to cope, and to be renewed.
So in closing, I'll leave you with one of my favorites from this year - Cornerstone by Hillsong. It's a song that has been a theme for me this year. I know I've posted it before, but it's so good. Click the link below, if you want, and sing with us. We sure do love you all.
My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus' blood and righteousness
I dare not trust the sweetest frame
But wholly trust in Jesus' Name
Christ alone
Cornerstone
Weak made strong
In the Saviour's love
Through the storm
He is Lord
Lord of all
When darkness seems to hide His face
I rest on His unchanging grace
In every high and stormy gale
My anchor holds within the veil
My anchor holds within the veil
When He shall come with trumpet sound
Oh may I then in Him be found
Dressed in His righteousness alone
Faultless stand before the throne
Your lives have been and continue to be an example of how God can take the dark times and use them to shine light on His faithfulness. Always faithful. I have been blessed and encouraged by your journey. Love, Barb
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