Cancer, Coping, and the Every-Day Maces

Hyrum's brain cancer is a diffuse intrinsic pontine glioma (DIPG). There is no known treatment that can cure it. With radiation and a clinical trial, we may have another 9 months with him. Anything more is a miracle. When I found out about Hyrum's diagnosis, it leveled me. I asked the nurses to find me an empty room, and I sobbed on the tiny bed. If you ever wondered why movies pan away and insert emotive music when a character cries like that, it's because it does NOT sound good.  I couldn't stand. I couldn't feel my fingers, toes, or ears. The information that I had about his diagnosis, coupled with Hyrum's unprompted comments about returning to God, left me struggling with what to pray for. I knew in my heart that I couldn't ask God to give Hyrum a long life.  The next two days were full of doctor visits and hospital life. As I entered and exited elevators, shuttling between the hospital and home, there was a literal, physical force carrying me. I know ho...

 Some of you know that Caleb got RSV when he was a newborn- it was life changing for me, and I refer to the experience frequently. He suddenly stopped breathing, turned gray, was rushed in an ambulance to the hospital, and spent 10 days in Primary Children's hospital on a breathing machine.  I can't help but reflect on that experience as we once again walk hospital halls. Obviously, our feelings change from hour to hour, and there's not just one comparison to be made. However, there's a really insistent metaphor that keeps coming to mind, and it might provide a general answer to the question, "How are you doing?" Here are two of my most used kitchen bowls: my beautiful wooden fruit bowl and my sturdy soup pot. I love them both. When Caleb stopped breathing, I was that wooden bowl. You know that "refiner's fire" that the scriptures sometimes mention? Suffering, the unknown, loneliness, pain... That 10-day refining fire burned me. It took months fo...