Tag: waiting

Not where we thought we’d be and that’s ok

Posted on by Wendi Thacker

One month ago today, our family got packed up and headed home from St.Jude. We thought we were going home to LIVE. That Judah was only going to improve and that we would be back in a month for an MRI and to start Judah’s experimental MEK inhibitor treatment. But we were wrong.

When we came here on July 25th, we thought we’d be here for 3 days and stayed 10 weeks. We were wrong then too.

I am a hopeful person. I am optimistic. In fact, I would say I’m drawn to look for the positive in bad situations. I find myself saying, “well at least…” more often than, “of course…”. And I do not like situations where I can’t find the ‘good’ part.

So when Judah started getting minor headaches 3 weeks ago, I chose to look for a less tragic reason than the obvious one: that his tumor was growing again. Were we worried, of course. But we tried not to.

My philosophy is, worrying means you suffer twice. ~Newt Scamander

But after days of minor headaches, he got an terrible one. And it would not go away. We called his Drs at St Jude, who initiated a pain management protocol. We tried all the pain medicines, migraine medicines, fluids, steroids, and nothing touched his pain. After 48hrs, we were told to take him to ETCH for an MRI.

What we learned from that was that Judah’s brain swelling was out of control. On the MRI, we saw NO space. The swelling was pushing on his spinal cord, brain stem, cerebellum, and nerves. The only reason he didn’t have hydrocephalus was because he has a shunt. High dose steroids were administered and Dilaudid was given, which miraculously took his pain away with no other weird side effects!

Matthew was leaving 2 days later for a very important work trip. St Jude decided that since his pain was under control and the steroids were helping, we didn’t need to come right then. But they did want us back as soon as Matthew got home.

We adore his 2 Neuro Oncologists. But more importantly, we trust them. So with frightened hearts, Matthew left for Atlanta and I stayed home, praying nothing happened while he was gone.

And nothing did. And I praised Him for this small mercy. But I also cursed. I screamed and cried. I didn’t sleep. I was so very confused and angry. I still am.

Matthew’s work trip went better than he could have hoped for and he got home a day early, so we contacted Judah’s Drs and headed to Memphis for an undisclosed amount of time. Thankfully, the home we had used before was still open and the family graciously let us move back in.

Our first day back at St Jude, Judah had a St Jude MRI. We waited until the end of the day to find out the results. This time, as soon as the Dr walked in the room he told us the news,  the steroids were working. The swelling was going down. This was encouraging. But Judah had been on steroids for too long already. We needed a new plan. And Judah’s team had 1!

Avastin, the chemo drug Judah had been on before we found out his tumor had transformed, is also used to reduce swelling. It does this by shrinking the vessels in the brain. The Drs tell us they want to start it immediately. When Judah heard, he started to cry. He wanted to go home. And amazingly, the Drs said that was just fine. St Jude is a magical place.

The next day Judah got his first dose of Avastin through his port. The only real concern was his blood pressure. Steroids + Vasoconstrictor = high blood pressure. And Judah’s didn’t disappoint. The next day his blood pressure was 127/91. They redid it. It went up. It was now time to speed taper off the steroids! If his blood pressure continued to stay high, he’d have to go on blood pressure medication. And God knows we don’t need anymore medicines in Judah’s daily regimen.The Drs said they were ok with us checking it and waiting to see how he did once we got him off the steroids.

At our next appt, I asked about the MEK inhibitor. The Drs said they would have it soon but Judah couldn’t start it yet.

WHAT?!?

I started to cry (just a little). I said, but you said it takes 3 months to start working. If we wait until Judah gets off the Avastin (end of December) the MEK won’t start working until March. And that’s the median range for when kids tumor start growing after radiation. They nodded. They knew my fears. They see if everyday.

For those of you with kids with cancer, you will understand the fierce desire to keep your kid on treatment. As long as they are on treatment, you are ‘fighting’. And I did not want to not fight. I told them so. His Drs were so patient. They explained that if Judah has a reaction to the MEK inhibitor, they won’t know if it’s a drug interaction with the Avastin, or the MEK inhibitor itself. And they will have to take him off of the MEK inhibitor. And we really need the MEK inhibitor.

I slouched. Defeated. The worries I try not to let in, crowded my mind. The ‘what ifs’.

While we waited to see how Judah would do tapering off the steroids, we celebrated Halloween at St Jude. Guys, it was more than I could have imagined. Every department dressed up in a theme. And when I say dressed up, these were professional costumes with fully decorated booths. The kids line up and walk (or roll) all over the hospital collecting mountains of candy. And every single one smiled. Magical.

Camilla Kate and Emmett Trick o’ Treated with Rere and Jim, Mikey, Mimi and Papaw. They had a blast.

We found out the next day that the Drs were ok with us going home. We could finish the Avastin at home. As long as all goes well.

And thus far, he has done well. He is off the steroids and has had a second dose of Avastin. His third dose is the Monday before Thanksgiving. He’ll get it every other week for at least 6 wks. And then, fingers crossed, we can start the MEK inhibitor.

Matthew and I are fighting fear with faith. We are surrounding ourselves with the love and support of our family, friends, and community. We are doing the best we can. Struggling. But making it.

PS: it’s very difficult for me to remember to post. I’m sorry.

 

 

Shore me up

Posted on by Wendi Thacker

I have been kind of in shock at the way God is confirming that He, in fact, does hear me. I want to clarify up front that God has NOT healed Judah. He has not made his belly pain go away. He has not even consistently deployed His Spirit to speak into the dark, sad, broken places in my heart and comfort me. What He has done is help shore up and mend my questioning and doubtful heart.

It all started two Friday mornings ago. I was doing my quiet time and the verse that went along with the day was Psalm 61:1-2 

Hear my cry, O God; attend to my prayer. From the end of the earth I will cry to You, when my heart is overwhelmed; lead me to the rock that is higher than I.

We had been admitted the day before for possible pancreatitis. Then Friday, Judah had a massive headache after radiation that turned into a Rapid Response scare. Matthew and I were terrified. We kept looking at each other and then Judah, wondering if this was somehow the beginning of the end, already. The drs didn’t help our anxiety because it was obvious they were all very concerned. After 2 hours of multiple drs and teams and tests and checking on Judah’s state, it was agreed that Judah had a bad reaction to a new pain medication they were trying. The reversal agent would cause him more pain so we had to just wait 6 hours for it to wear off and for Judah to stop suffering. I forgot mention, Camilla Kate was with us at the hospital visiting. It was hell. I was overwhelmed with an intense need to be two places at once. I wanted to be holding both my babies, comforting them both for very different reasons. As I prayed for Judah to be ok, I prayed for Camilla Kate to be comforted and protected. And as I was praying, I felt myself sinking into that dark place where I am faced with grieving and comforting at once. I was sinking quickly, listening to Judah scream and watching Cricket hide.Then a prayer came to my mind from that morning. 

Help me release the burdens that preoccupy my mind and keep You at bay. Come near to me!

I repeated it over and over. I started to see. Return to the present. It wasn’t easy and the pain in the room didn’t disappear but I was ok. I prayed that Judah’s pain wouldn’t be more than he could bear. That the pain would would drag us closer to Him. That we could have more understanding and compassion for Judah. That if there was joy to been seen from this, we would have eyes to see it. Then Saturday morning a friend texted me a picture of 2 pages from a book. She told me God had brought the book to her mind and when she pulled it out, the pages were already bookmarked. It talked of pain, disease, prayer, miracles, and joy. A few excerpts spliced together: 

“We prayed that she would not have more pain than she could endure…the prayers never stopped, and the pain never got too bad to be relieved. As far as I am concerned, that is a miracle, corroborated by the doctors. Bethie wasn’t cured. She died. But she was healed. There’s a lot about this kind of healing that I don’t understand…And it helps, when we are praying for others, if we have some understanding of what we are praying about. I can pray better about pain, because I have had severe pain. Whether this my ill fortune or my good, it does help enlarge my capacity for compassion for those in pain…and out of the event in life which seem most negative, positive joys are born.”      

-Madeleine L’Engle, The Irrational Season

I read that text and wept. There are words from that excerpt that were almost exactly in my prayer the night before. God pulling at my heart, whispering “I see you”.

Monday morning’s quiet time started on Isaiah 60:20 

Your sun shall no longer go down, nor shall your moon withdraw itself; for the Lord will be your everlasting life, and the days of mourning shall come to an end.

The prayer that went along with that verse was so timely. 

Help me to see the light at the end of my tunnel. Sometimes I can barely remember what light looks like or what it feels like to have simple joy. Help me focus on You even in the darkness.

Judah was doing much better that evening so Matthew and I took the opportunity to go out to dinner while my Mom hung out with him at the hospital. We talked a lot about having/not having hope for the future. I was leaning in the direction of “preparing myself”. Matthew was incredibly gentle and patient, listening and comforting me, while also laying out where he landed on the idea of hope. Which happened to be wildly different than me. He explained that if we believed that he was going to die sooner rather than later, we would spend the rest of our time left with him, in early mourning. And if we believed he would definitely be healed, we were being purposefully naive and run the risk of minimizing the pain and fear associated with a terminal cancer diagnosis. He proposed that we sit somewhere in the middle. As I cried, he shared the concept of both grieving and being present. That crying and feeling deep sadness for what is happening now and what may happen is normal and good. But sitting in it, living in it, refusing to fight to get out of it, is unhealthy and unhelpful. That if we don’t look for things to be grateful for, little joys, we will miss ALL of it. He reassured me that the way I felt wasn’t wrong. That the suffocating feeling of his ‘last birthday’ approaching was right to feel. And also, that we have to give ourselves time to feel those feelings and then CHOOSE to come back to now. 

This man, that God gave me, knows me so well. Knows how to help and how to pull the yucky stuff out of me. Knows when to push and when to leave me be. And if I’m looking for something to be grateful for right now, he is it! And God used my prayer time that morning and our conversation that evening to nudge my wounded heart toward Him some more.

Wednesday, Judah had radiation and a g-tube replacement procedure. While Judah was down in radiation therapy, our Chaplain came by the visit. He didn’t stay long but the time he spent with me was reassuring and encouraging. I told him that even though Judah’s diagnosis was terminal, we hadn’t given up hope and were still praying for a cure/healing. He nodded and smiled. Then began to tell me about the Parable of the Unjust Judge, which I somehow had NEVER heard or read. And just in case some of you haven’t heard it either, here it is: 

Now Jesus was telling the disciples a parable to make the point that at all times they ought to pray and not give up or lose heart saying, “In a certain city there was a judge who did not fear God or respect man. There was a desperate widow in that city and she kept coming to him saying, ‘Give me justice and legal protection from my adversary.’ For a time, he would not; but later he said to himself, ‘Even though I do not fear God or respect man, yet because this widow continues to bother me, I will give her justice and legal protection otherwise by continually coming she will be an intolerable annoyance and she will wear me out’.
-Luke 18:1-5

This parable struck a chord in me. It is so easy for me to fall into despair when my prayers go unanswered. I don’t want to hope and have faith. I want the miracle and I want it now! But the Bible is clear on this topic. We are told to pray anyway! Matt 6:9-23, 1 Thes 5:16-18, Eph 6:18, Col 1:9, Heb 4:16, 1 John 5:14, Matt 18:20, Acts 2:42, Romans 8:25, Phil 4:6-7, James 5:16 all (and many more) give guidance on how to pray. And so we will continue to pray regardless of the outcome, clinging to the hope that God has unfulfilled promises for us.

A little later, I was perusing Twitter, which is usually not a good idea as it is filled with vitriol, and noticed my sister (twitter.com/expandyourus) had alerted me to a thread. I excitedly navigated there and began immediately to see God’s care for me. The thread was about lament, struggle, and pain. And it was a direct connection to the Chaplain’s words earlier today! 

Just because God never promised us the miracle baby, the anonymous check that magically cover all the expenses, or the physical healing on this side of eternity – It doesn’t mean I’m not still called to ask for them, again and again, humbling myself into what feels like outright naiveté and choosing the terrifying vulnerability of believing He just might do it – all the while submitting wholly to His will and acceptance that He may say no once again.
– Stephanie Tait (twitter.com/joyparadeblog)

God wasn’t whispering or nudging me this time. He was jumping up and down, shouting, “I’m here, see me? It’s me! I see you!” I have spent the last week reflecting on these three very poignant moments. I have talked about them and prayed about them. I have thanked God for His very real presence. His answer to my daily prayer that He would come near to me. And in these moments, day-to-day, woven together in a way that makes it impossible for me chalk them up to coincidence or love of friends, God shows me His hand. His care. God has not answered our prayers for a cure. For healing. He hasn’t said no either. And as a wise man told me last week, God’s will is at work in the 1st hour and in the 11th hour and all the hours in between. We will keep praying for healing. And we will keep submitting to God’s will, while hoping that God’s will aligns with our dreams for Judah!

Just keep swimming

Posted on by Wendi Thacker

So when I don’t have words, or my prayers feel inadequate, I know God knows the groanings of my heart. He knows my deepest longing — for the Miracle Maker to perform a miracle right here and now, in Judah. That His glory be shown through Judah’s living. Not in his dying. And also that I know, though it hurts, that God’s way are higher than my ways. His thoughts, higher than my thoughts. And it will be His will, not mine, that wins out.

Yesterday was Judah’s day 1 of Radiation Therapy (RT) and he was very nervous. So was I, even though I knew nothing would be different when he came out. Right before they injected the anesthesia, Judah looked at me, with tears prickling in his eyes, and said “Momma I’m really scared”. I asked if I could pray over him and he nodded. I prayed supernatural peace over him. Unconditional love. Safety only God can provide. And then the put in the medicine and he fell asleep. I went out to the waiting room, put on my sunglasses, and wept. 

The thing is, this whole situation is impossible.  Even the bravest, most incredible kid gets scared and wants to run away. To be held and told everything is going to be ok. And I do my best. But it’s not enough. So I went through my list of prayers for Judah.

I hate that he has to go through all this. That those who love him do too. That there is no “everything will be ok” because it won’t. Unless God works a miracle. 

Judah coughed and cried last night. He was in pain. And I didn’t sleep. Mommas don’t sleep when their babies hurt. I’m bone tired. But today is day 2 of radiation therapy and my littles are going to their 1st day of school, in Memphis.

So I got myself up. I helped Cricket get dressed and fixed her hair, like I did every day last school year. Made them breakfast, got their bags and drove then over to Aunt E’s. We scootered/walked to their school. I wanted them to feel loved and seen. My youngest, his 1st ever class, ran to his room and was, as always, ready for whatever! Big smile. My middle, not so much. She cried. She didn’t want “this” school. She misses her home. Her friends. Her school. I did the brave thing and told her it was going to be great. That she would have a blast. That I would see her after school and that I was proud of her. But I knew she wanted Judah. Because her school experiences have been WITH him. Her big brother. Little sister being forced into Big sister role. It’s not right. 

I got back to my car and fought tears. Lost. But not for the reason I should have been crying; my baby going to school for the 1st time. But because of what isn’t happening. And honestly, I’m struggling to find the fiber of hope I clung to yesterday. It comes and goes, my faith – my hope – my strength. And at times it doesn’t feel like the Spirit is interceding for me. It feels like I’m shouting into the void. And I want to turn my back and do it all on my own. But I know I’ll fail. My kids deserve better than that. So I turned on a worship playlist and drove back to our Home Away From Home. I forced myself to do a short quiet time but it felt fruitless. I was distracted. Heart sick.

So today, as Judah gets radiation for a terminal brain tumor, all I can do is ask God to grant us mercy. To heal Judah. To bless us. To be present. To show us His glory. And then keep asking. 

Praise him anyway

Posted on by Wendi Thacker
God I look to you
I won’t be overwhelmed
Give me vision
To see things like you do
God I look to you
You’re where my help comes from
Give me wisdom
You know just what to do
I will love you Lord my strength
I will love you Lord my shield
And I will love you Lord my rock
Forever all my days, I will love you God
Hallelujah our God reigns
Hallelujah our God reigns
Hallelujah our God reigns
Forever all my days,
Hallelujah
-God I Look to You, Bethel Church

A week ago today, Matthew and I waited with equal parts fear and hope, for news about Judah’s tumor pathology. The next day, our world was shattered and I told God I hated Him.

Over the last week, I have wrestled with my longing for the comfort only Jesus can offer, and my crisis of faith and trust in His goodness and love for me. I have asked myself what it means to trust in God.

Trust is a firm belief in the reliability, truth, ability, or strength of someone or something. To set one’s hope and confidence upon, to be secure fearing nothing.

These definitions don’t lend themselves to trusting halfway. One either has a firm belief or they do not. When we set minds to something, that brings to mind a stubbornness, right? If I set my hope and confidence in God, then that shouldn’t waiver. Does that indicate that I didn’t trust God completely before? I cannot answer that. I can say that in 2013, I trusted God with Judah completely. I believed in His goodness and His vision. I believed He was working to complete a good work in us and everyone that knew Judah. Maybe that was because the Drs told us Judah had an 80% survivor rate. Maybe it was because his diagnosis came at a point in my life where I was diligent with my quiet time, verse memorization, and journaling. Maybe it was because I saw our faith and Judah’s fight bringing people closer to God. I watched my nephews ask hard questions and wrestle with what they knew of the Lord and what was going on with Judah. And they turned to the Lord. I saw God’s glory being magnified. The pain Judah was experiencing, the heart-hurt Matthew and I were living with, seemed to be ‘ok’ because we knew Judah would live and God’s kingdom was growing.

But Judah doesn’t have a life expectancy this time. People all around us are losing their faith in God’s goodness. Matthew and I are clawing to hold on to the belief that God is reliable. Loving. Powerful. We see many accounts in the Bible of God displaying His power and mercy so His glory would be known.

Psalm 106:7-12
7 When our fathers were in Egypt, they gave no thought to your miracles; they did not remember your many kindnesses and they rebelled by the sea, the Red Sea. 8 Yet He saved them for His name’s sake, to make His mighty power known. 9 He rebuked the Red Sea, and it dried up; he led them through the depths as through a desert. 10 He saved them from the hand of the foe; from the hand of the enemy he redeemed them. 11 The waters covered their adversaries; not one of them survived. 12 Then they believed His promises and sang His praises.
Habakkuk 2:14
14 For the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the glory of God, as the waters cover the sea.
Psalm 25:4-7
4 Show me Your ways, O Lord, teach me Your paths; 5 guide me in Your truth and teach me, for Your are God my Savior, and my hope is in You all day long. 6 Remember, O Lord, Your great mercy and love, for they are from of old. 7 Remember not the sins of my youth and my rebellious ways; according to Your love remember me, for Your are good, O Lord.

We are searching the expanse for a hint of God’s glory in all this pain. Every time I take Judah to an appointment, I say ‘Even now Lord. Even now You can show us Your great power and glory. Please. Show us Your glory.’ And then when nothing happens, ‘God, what are you waiting for? I do not understand. Help me understand.’ But I don’t understand. I want to see. But honestly, what could God show me that would make my son’s life a suitable price?

I have begun to talk to God again. I turned on  praise and worship music yesterday. I have opened my bible. I have even read some of it. I am still very angry. Still very sad. Very scared. And I don’t have unshakeable trust in God on Judah’s behalf.

But I am begging, on my face, at the throne of grace that God will spare Judah. That He will grant us mercy. That He will remind us of His love and presence. That He will hear the prayers of His children and grant our request. And I will keep doing that. Every day. Because, to paraphrase my sisters, whatever anger and disbelief there is, in the end, Jesus is the only way out of despair and hopelessness.

Everything is the same. Everything is different

Posted on by Wendi Thacker

Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in.
Are you aware the shape I’m in?
My hands they shake my head it spins.
Ah Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me me in.
Dumbed down and numbed by time and age.
Your dreams they catch the world the cage.
The highway sets the traveler’s stage
All the exits look the same.

To be honest, I never got on the Avett Brothers train. I don’t NOT like them. Just never sought them out. So I have no idea what this song is supposed to be about. But as I was listening to a Prime Station, the above song came on. And some of the words struck a chord. 

I wonder if Jesus sees the shape we are in down here? 

When we got invited to St. Jude we were filled with a renewed hope. And then Friday happened. Judah had a MRI and the news was not what we were expecting. His new tumor is continuing to grow. It has taken up the entire 4th ventricle. The original mass from 5 years ago is also growing. Chemo isn’t working. The neuro oncologist didn’t know if surgery would be an option. Surgery? Biopsy? Radiation? Inhibitors? All were mentioned. 

An appointment with a pediatric neuro surgeon was made. He told us that surgery wasn’t an option. That Judah’s tumor is diffusing and that makes differentiating between healthy brain tissue and excising tumor tissue impossible. He did say he wanted to do a biopsy. That a biopsy would allow St. Jude to sequence his tumor, look for markers and find a more targeted treatment. But what does no surgery mean? It means our options for treatment just got smaller. And the truth is, we never wanted Judah to have to go through surgery again because of how incredibly hard and heart wrenching it was to watch him relearn shaping and speaking his words, taking steps, concentrating on getting basic things down that no kid should have to do twice. But we would do surgery again if it meant he had to option to fight for ‘himself’ back.

 

Radiation oncology consult was yesterday. We went into that meeting feeling so vulnerable and frightened. Lack of factual information can do that to a person. What we had always heard was that because of where Judah’s tumor is (brain stem), radiation would be the last choice. That it was dangerous. That it could cause cognitive deficits. Physical deficits. New cancer later in life. 

I wish I could say that all our fears were assuaged. They were not. If anything, the hypotheticals made sitting in this awful waiting cycle worse. Because now we know, if the biopsy comes back 1 way, those hypotheticals all of a sudden become reality. We are doing our best to set all the information we learned aside. Store it away with all the other information we have learned over the last 10 days. It will still be there when we need it.

Today we were admitted to Le Bonheur Children’s Hospital. Judah will have a CT scan and MRI for precision measuring to prepare for his biopsy surgery tomorrow. While we are here, the Tumor Board at St. Jude is happening. All of their best and brightest minds will be together to review Judah’s case to try to come up with the best course of action to stop Judah’s tumor from growing more. 

The biopsy will happen tomorrow and is scheduled for 7:30 AM. We have been told that this is will not be traumatizing for him. That the surgery will take ~2 hours and that if all goes well, Judah will be off the vent and in his normal room right away. He will have normal recovery from anesthesia; groggy, grumpy, sore throat, and that his head will hurt. But it already hurts more than it should. The surgeon said he should wake up talking and walking etc. And that is such a relief to all of us! Before the biopsy, we decided it would be a good idea to cut Judah’s much loved long hair. Surgeons are not barbers. We know this from last time! Judah was very unhappy about having to have his hair cut off but we gave him the coolest hair cut we could think of, considering her had to have the whole back of his head shaved!

The biopsy results will take about a week. And Judah will be in the hospital for the same amount of time. We spend that time trying to be present and also distract ourselves. Food. Conversations. Movies. Switch playing. Snuggles. Kids being kids.

But we are going into this biopsy already wounded. We aren’t in the best shape…dumbed down and numbed. All the options in front us feel like bad ones. We covet prayers. Over the last 6 months, it has become immensely difficult to find words, any words, to pray. We cannot keep asking for God to show us He cares. Asking Him if He sees our suffering. Asking Him to give us a glimpse of His goodness. Because we’ve been begging. We believe that God is providing for us through our family and community. Moving their hearts to love us. Meals. Finances. Encouragement. And it has been more than we could ever say thank you for. Then we wake at 3AM to Judah screaming in pain. And we go to another Dr and they tell us more and more bad news. And then our 3 year old asks his big brother if he is better yet. Our 5 year old asks when we get to go home so she can see her friends and go to Kindergarten. It is all we can do to keep moving forward. We do our best. Smile and squeeze all our kids and say yes as often as is possible. And then hide when the wracking sobs come. The moment passes. We breathe. Matthew looks at me. There is an understanding and “here-ness” shared between us and we collect ourselves and start over. And I think it’s that “here-ness” that I miss from God. I used to feel His presence so keenly. I could feel his heart for me. For Judah. And could see His love for us in the little everyday things. Even when things were bad with Judah (or anything else), He was with me. But that’s gone. In it’s place is a wretched, broken, emptiness. A constant reminder of just how small and alone we are on this Earth. And I want so badly to keep believing that He isn’t finished with this story. That I can trust Him with my heart. With our son, his future, his life. It feels like too far to go. And it’s not because God hasn’t miraculously healed Judah, though that’s what we long for. It is because we feel abandoned and isolated from our Maker. And we don’t know why?

Where is the God who tells us he loves us and has plans for us? The Good Father, our creator. The mountain mover. The raiser of Lazarus. The silencer of storms. The healer of many. 

I don’t know. I wish I did.

St.Jude journey beings today

Posted on by Wendi Thacker

We are pulling out of the driveway, headed to St. Jude for Judah’s patient evaluation. We will be there through Monday so we had to pack like we are going on a week long vacation. 

Toys and books for the kids, books and technology for parents, clothes, sleep friends, toiletries, medicines, chargers, waters, snacks, wallets, phones, glasses, hair ties, swim stuff, and then all of Judah’s oncology stuff! And it it just a lot. Even with packing most of the stuff yesterday, we still ran around for 2 hours trying to check every box. 

But we are on the way now. We are so very thankful. And also incredibly anxious. So many unknowns and hopes. St. Jude has pursued us over the last month. Seeking out all of Judah’s medical records from his various providers, connecting with us several times a week with questions and encouragement. They made it abundantly clear that they wanted Judah at St. Jude. That they had plans, ideas. That they were moving pieces to get Judah a spot. 

Last Thursday, while I was enjoying a birthday evening at the Spa with my best friend, St. Jude called with 3 days of scheduled appts for Judah! I missed the call but surprisingly, the number in my ‘Missed Calls’ was a direct line. Matthew and I could hardly believe our luck. When we miss a call from any non-person, it is always a switchboard. I then spend 10 mins trying to ask for the right place/person, hold for awhile, and then leave a message, only to wait 8-24 hrs to hear back from a nurse. Not at St. Jude. 

Today is New Patient Registration. Thursday will be a full day of Drs, consults, and labs. Friday is more consults and the MRI. We aren’t sure when or how we will get the results. We are planning to stay in Memphis over the weekend to spend time with my brother and his family. That way if St. Jude wants to see us Monday, we will be there.

We are in need of prayer and encouragement. We are not sure what St. Jude is going to want to do but we are assuming it will be different than Judah’s current course of treatment. And that is both exciting and scary. The last thing we want is to walk down the road we walked 5 yrs ago. Surgery. But we also want Judah to have the best quality of life. So we are praying that whatever course of treatment he ends up on, where ever he ends up being cared for, gives him just that. And that Matthew and I are able to hear, process, and make adequate decisions for Judah. That we will be strong enough to delay our immediate responses to think, pray, talk, gather information BEFORE making any decisions. That Judah’s tumor will be stable enough to allow us that time.

School is about to start. And it’s Cricket’s Kindergarten year. And I don’t want her to miss that with her friends. I don’t want Judah to miss 4th grade either!We don’t want to spend a long chunk of time away from Knoxville. Our friends, church, school. And we are struggling with the idea of moving Judah’s current care to somewhere other than Nashville. Really because the Kellett’s have been with us since day one 5 yrs ago. Caring, laughing, feeding, distracting us. Talking things out with us, pushing us individually and as a couple to be better. Being our inner circle and safe place to share or not; cry or not; be. And that’s not easy to give up. 

But I’m borrowing troubles from tomorrow. We don’t not know what is in store for us. What we do know is that Judah is suffering and we need answers. We have given Vanderbilt and ETCH a shot and now we are trying something different. 

We love receiving texts and emails from you guys. Encouragement helps so much. Thank you!

don’t stop advocating

Posted on by Wendi Thacker

Last Thursday was a rough day. The fever at 5am. The ER visit. The CBC normal, again. But there was a change in our visit. Matthew requested a CT and the ER Dr agreed to do it! Fortunately/Unfortunately, it was normal too. The ER released us to Clinic for chemo. The Dr had results from all the tests she ordered, and again, they were mostly within normal ranges. His results did show there was inflammation somewhere. But no clue where.

We spent the weekend relaxing and resting. We played video games, watched movies, and enjoyed some much needed snuggle time! We also started the conversation with St. Jude. We gave the ok for them to request and receive all of Judah’s medical records. Vanderbilt sent records Tuesday (faxed and mailed). ETCH hasn’t sent anything yet, but our St. Jude coordinator assured us that they are the best at getting what they need. So we are leaving it to them!

And with that ball rolling, Vanderbilt is moving in the direction of more aggressive diagnosis and hopefully, in conjunction with St.Jude and ETCH, we will get to the bottom of what is causing Judah’s fevers and headaches. We are of the opinion that the more eyes and brains looking at Judah’s records, the better! And we are so lucky to have so many Drs that care. Sometimes, it just takes a fierce advocate to get everyone on the same page and Matthew and I are happy to be that if it means Judah gets what he needs. We will keep on them. We will not stop. It is our job to fight for those that can’t fight for themselves. In our case, it’s Judah.

Who could you be fighting for today?

Nothing pretty to see here.

Posted on by Wendi Thacker

Since the last post, Judah has been to the ER 2x’s and had fevers 4x’s. 2x’s we chose not to take him.

This morning, at 5am, when Judah came in with a headache and fever, Matthew and I discussed going or not going. We said, this is nothing new. And the ER would do nothing new. But we want an MRI or CT of his head while he has a fever. So we decided to go. I called the on-call oncologist and went through the same story I always tell. Because it’s always the same. I listened to his story (we just need to check his counts and make sure he’s safe) and tried not to interrupt him because I know this speech. It’s also always the same. When he told me we needed to take Judah to the ER, I asked him if he would order a CT or an MRI.

Dr: On Saturday. No probably not. If he is admitted, maybe.

Me: I know it’s super inconvenient that Judah always gets sick on the weekends and holidays. But he’s had these fevers and headaches for 2yrs and no one has done anything but blood work. If that’s all they are going to do, why should we go?

Dr: (say it with me) We need to make sure Judah is safe.

So Matthew is at the ER with Judah as I write this.  And they are doing blood work.

I cannot speak for Matthew. I can say, for myself, I’m losing my faith. I feel it slipping. My hope trading for cynicism. I don’t believe in Judah’s Drs but I have said before that God can work through anyone. But He’s not. Judah is sick and he keeps getting sick and NO ONE WILL HELP HIM! Unless there is a Dr, like Phil Noe, the guy who found Judah’s tumor almost 6 yrs ago, that WANTS to figure this out, do different testing, while he’s running the fever, they won’t figure it out. They will keep pretending like they are keeping him safe when really they are playing it safe. Everyone thinks it’s the tumor. And they won’t look anywhere else. And maybe it is the tumor. Maybe it isn’t. But we won’t know if they won’t look at his head while he’s running a fever!

We are sad. We are angry. We are utterly exhausted. It sure would be nice if the Creator of the world, would give us just a little leg up. Until then, we are trying to figure out where to take Judah next. To find someone interested in the Judah puzzle.

~Wendi

Feeling is exhausting

Posted on by Wendi Thacker

It’s 7:15AM and I’m, yet again, sitting in the ER with our Bug. We have been here since 5.

When we woke to Judah crying out for help, I assumed it was that he needed help with the feeding bag. I groggily got up and walked into his room. He was moaning and said he needed help with the bag so he could pee  I reached down to help him up and his hand was on fire. Thermometer read 104.4.

I am great under pressure. I’m wonderful at comforting and helping. I laugh and cry easily and embrace ‘all the feels’! My 2-ness with a 1 wing makes me great at these middle of the night, sick, moments. When things get stressful and 8-ness takes over I can become a machine. I get things done, making sure everyone knows what they need to know. Inefficiency drives me mad. And usually, the tears are turned off. You get ‘business Wendi’.

Tonight I cried to the ER Dr. I do not do that. I was telling her how frustrated I was that we keep showing up here and no one can figure out what is causing Judah’s fevers. And I started to cry. In trying to stop myself, I made things worse and started breathing unevenly. And I was morbidly embarrassed. The voices in my head telling me that I should be.

“What a ridiculous way, for a seasoned mom of a kid with cancer, to act. This Dr now no longer takes you seriously because you are falling apart over nothing. Suck it up. There is a time and place for those tears and now is not that time.”

Thankfully, Judah slept through my blubbering and the Dr left shortly after.I sat on that uncomfortable chair, watching my boy sleep, thinking about all the things I was beginning to believe about myself. None of it was true I knew that. And yet, I felt as though I was being weighed down by all my inabilities. Matthew texted me:

“The Bible apps verse of the day was no weapon that is fashioned against you shall succeed, and you shall refute every tongue that rises against you in judgment. This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord and their vindication from me, declares the Lord.
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭54:17. So I’m praying over that.”

Jesus is good and His love for us is real and tangible guys. While my soul was being crushed by judgement and I was failing to see my worth or abilities, my husband sent me a bible verse that addressed those very things. Jesus has shown me over and over that He wants to and will show me His love and care for me in little ways. I just have to ask, look, and see.

We are getting admitted. The Drs say there are too many unknowns what with Judah’s, chemo, surgery, port, and these unexplained fevers. They don’t want to send us home in case they’ve missed something. We are still waiting for a room but we’ll be somewhere on the 2nd floor/North Tower.

Pray with us that the drs/tests will reveal something that is causing these fevers. That Judah will not be broken-hearted over getting admitted again. That he will continue to heal. That spiritual warfare will have no foothold here.

Thanks

Uncommon

Posted on by Wendi Thacker

 

 

 

Almost 5 years ago, Matthew and I brought Judah to East Tennessee Children’s Hospital for an MRI. The drs wre looking for what is called a chiari malformation. But they found a brain tumor.

Today, Judah went to surgery to place a peg line and the endoscope revealed acute erosive esophagitis.

It hasn’t escaped me that this discovery is eerily similar to the discovery of his tumor 5 years ago. While Matthew and I desperately searched for a Dr who could to figure out what was causing all of Judah’s problems, a puzzle-loving Nurse Practioner decided to look in an uncommon place. And in looking for the uncommon, discovered the answers. The common answer to Judah’s weight/nutrition problem was to put in an ng-tube. But we were lucky enough to have an oncologist who had our back and heard our concerns. We wouldn’t have discovered his esophagitis if we had agreed to the ng-tube. Uncommon.

I’m not sure why things have never been ‘straight forward’ with Judah. I am learning to trust the holy spirit, and my momma gut, over the ‘common’ list drs give us though.

Because in all honesty, Judah has never fallen into the common category! When he was 2 and could see, say, and pick out all his letters in any order he wasn’t common. When he was solving puzzle for 5-8 yr olds at 3 he wasn’t common. When he was pronoucing 9 syllable dinosaur names at 4 he wasn’t common. So when he started having medical issues and none of his symptoms fit in any box, we shouldn’t have been surprised. His sleep apnea was central not obstructive. During his brainstem tumor resection his 9 and 12 nerves (tongue movement a and swallowing) were irritated and never recovered, uncommon. Once he started chemo, he had an allergic reaction and though it was working well at stopping the growth, he had to switch to a chemo with a massive pill regimen. At 5, he had no trouble swallowing capsules without water. I know adults who cannot do that. And then he stopped growing. Through all that, he never complained. Was compliant and sweet.

Fast forward almost 5 years to these mysterious headaches and fevers, which still haven’t been solved and never respond to medication. Failure to thrive at almost 10 years old. Severe diarrhea with the chemo, which is listed as a possible but uncommon side effect. And now acute erosive esophagitis, which the chemo ‘can” cause, but our oncologist has never seen in all her years giving this regimen. And through his pain, Judah continues to say he’s good. Not because he’s a liar but because he doesn’t want to worry anyone. He doesn’t want to put anyone out. He sweet and compliant, still. A silent warrior.

So here is the question that’s been floating around in my head all day: if the kid who has been through and is going through all that can be kind, selfless, brave (at least more than most in the same situation) why can’t I find a bit of that for others? Why, if Judah can think about how others may respond to his pain BEFORE he will even admit he has any, can’t I think about how my words will effect others before I open my mouth? The take away for me is this, I don’t know why Judah is so good at ‘being’ but I do know that I want to be more like him. Quick to hear, slow to speak. Maybe we can all take a cue from him and be a little more uncommon?

For now, the lights are out in this hospital room. I have prayed over my son and hope with all the steadfastness I can muster, that Jesus will continue to go before us and protect us.