It's All Good (Post-Surgery Appt)

Great news today.  Despite another awful drive to the U of Chicago (rain, accidents, ugh), Dr. Frim and his colleagues thought things were great and that Molly's few remaining issues were normal. 

Actually, the only issue that really concerned us was lightheadedness when Molly stands up.  Dr. Frim told us that lightheadedness is not only not a bad thing, it's actually a good thing.  Now that the brain/brain stem area is decompressed her CSF (cerebrospinal fluid) just falls out of her head, so to speak, making her lightheaded.  To have this problem at times post-surgery means the area is sufficiently decompressed.  And eventually her body will compensate and this issue should go away.  Awesome.

So, yeah, really good news.  We are very, very thankful to God for his many blessings in recovery, but also for the peace we have had throughout these two scary months. 

Things are going so well we are beginning to plan a train trip into Chicago with the kids in a couple of weeks (or so), a trip to see my family soon, and more.  Trust me, Molly is still taking it slow.  It's still months before she can lift anything of any weight at all and she is being extra cautious.  But things like walking, driving, and doing most other normal life activities are based on how she feels.  And she feels great.

Thanks yet again for praying for my wife, for me and for our kids.

Comments

[Rodney & D'Shon McCarty]

That's good news Steve..... We've been praying and are glad to see how He has been orchestrating everything. Thanks for letting us be a part of what's been happening.

[Brian in Fresno]

That is such awesome news Steve! Praise God! Thanks for the update.

[jason smith]

Very good news. I'm watching/reading from afar. Putting myself in your shoes scares the daylights out of me. Praying for strength for you and deep/quick healing for your wife.

[Elda Coleman]

So very glad to hear the post op news!! I have been praying for you all. Have not been able to log on for a couple of days. Been busy welcoming my first grandchild into the world!!! After my daughter's amazingly easy pregnancy, the labor and delivery proved more challenging than her petite frame could bear. One looong day of labor and an emergency c-section later, we welcomed Maseo Joseph into the world at 6:26PM, weighing in at 9lb, 1oz; 21 1/2 in. long. Probably why she needed the c-section. Mom and son and dad are doing great. Grandma is ecstatic!! Good news all around!! God is good!!!
e ( thanks for letting me share the news!!:) )

[Chase]

And all the people want to know...how was the P.F. Chang's?

[Steve McCoy]

Chase, it's P.F. Freaking Chang's. Awesome, of course. ;)

[Michael Foster]

Excellent news! Praise God for his mercy!

[Alan Hirsch]

Steve, this is good news. I have been thinking of you regularly since you told me of Molly's illness. hope it continues to go well.

[Mark Moore]

Great news! Steve, you've handled this situation in a way that has been beautiful for the rest of us to watch.

[Matt Welch]

Thought I'd post an email from a lady in my church going through cancer.

From: Laura Black
Date: August 24, 2007 3:12:21 AM CDT
To: Bill Black
Subject: August 24th - full update

It’s now the wee hours of the morning, and I can’t sleep so I’m up writing. One of my friends said that she, too, could never sleep the night after chemo. You just lie in bed exhausted, but sleep is elusive. It was during that enigma, she discovered a beautiful mockingbird that lived outside her window. He would sing to her during those hours of sleeplessness and she considered it a sign of God’s comfort. The only thing I’ve heard outside tonight is a screeching, disgruntled cat. I’m not exactly sure what it means that she got a mockingbird and I got a lunatic cat.

I think I allowed my mind to get a little ahead of my body. I felt like once I got the cancer free diagnosis, all things would be back to normal. I somehow forgot about the fact that the cancer never made me feel sick - the treatments made me feel sick. I’m still taking the treatments so I’m still not back to my old self. That’s a little disappointing, but I’m trying to just take this time to rest and be still.

Over the past three months, I’ve established a nice little head of thick, dark, one-inch long hair. Because of the new treatments, it’s now falling out again. You wouldn’t think that would be a big deal. It is. They said this treatment would only thin my hair, not make it completely fall out. I’m hoping they’re right.

Three weeks ago I received a report that said my CT scan was cancer free. Yesterday I found out the CT scan only covered the base of my neck, not the entire neck. So here I am today, in this all too familiar waiting place (literally and figuratively), to hear if the cancer is indeed gone or if the first test results were not accurate.

Although the setting is familiar, my feelings are different. I’m awed by the absolute peace I have this time. I’ve learned a lot by being on both sides of cancer, and I’m going to reveal to you a truth that shocked me. The cancer free diagnosis didn’t completely change my life. Now don’t get me wrong – when I found out the cancer was gone I was absolutely delighted. Cancer free certainly is the outcome I prefer. For the first time in months, I feel like I have a future. I’ve begun dreaming and hoping again. And it certainly is a praiseworthy event. So at one level, cancer vs. cancer free is completely different. However, in the ordinary, mundane, day-to-day life (which somehow translates into one extraordinary journey), being cancer free didn’t change things that much. After all, it was cancer that taught me to treasure each day; not the cancer free diagnosis. Cancer taught me to smile more; not the cancer free diagnosis. Cancer taught me that rather ordinary is quite extraordinary; not the cancer free diagnosis. Cancer taught me that life is really, really good; not the cancer free diagnosis. Cancer taught me to love completely even if it means getting hurt; not the cancer free diagnosis. Cancer taught me that God is always, always near; not the cancer free diagnosis. So whatever the new CT scan reveals, I’m going to be just fine.

This summer I lost two friends from high school. They were both 33 years old. One died from an extended illness, one from an unexpected car wreck. They both were beautiful people. People that made you say, “My life is better because I knew that person -- if only for a while.” Their deaths have reminded me of both the preciousness and unpredictability of life. Today might be my last day on earth, or I could live longer than anyone reading this email. Cancer is a diagnosis, not a prognosis. Likewise, life is an uncertainty, not a guarantee. Cancer has taught me that life is defined by your days lived, not the date you die. It has taught me that all of life is a continuous journey across a rough terrain. As soon as you get to the top of the mountain peak, you start descending back into the valley. As soon as you reach the depths of the valley, you start ascending towards the mountain top. But through it all, I’ve found one common denominator – for those that love the Lord, all of life brings you closer to Christ. When I stay on the mountain top, I’m not moving closer to Christ. When I wallow in the depths of the valley, I’m not moving closer to Christ. It’s only when I keep going that I move closer to Christ. And all along the journey I find myself crying out, “Father I’ve given you my life! I want to believe! But I’m tired, and weary, and heavy-laden. How much more is this going to cost me?” And through searching His Word, the answer I consistently get is simple: “Cost you? Nothing. That price has been paid. This journey is your gift from Me. It is designed to move you closer to Me. But the journey towards Me isn’t walked down a smooth path with well-shod feet, the journey is through unbearable heat, barren desserts, and thorny fields, and it is covered one tear at a time.” And it’s then that I realize I simply can’t move closer to God on my own accord. The only way for me to get closer to God is to just fall down on my face crying and wait for Jesus to come along and scoop me up. Unfortunately, Jesus is not a bus driver. I can’t say, “Jesus! I’ve got the schedule. You were supposed to here 15 minutes ago. You’re late! Where are you?!?” Oh, no. Jesus is more like a Daddy. I’m the kid in the back seat whining, “How much looooooooooonger?” and Jesus just answers, “We’ll get there when we get there!”

Before cancer, when a crisis came into my life, my standard modus operandi was “Kill the Crisis Quickly.” I thought the best thing to do with a crisis was to get rid of it. I’ve changed my mind. Cancer has changed my mind. God has changed my mind. You see, cancer has given me tears, but God has held me. Cancer has given me anxiety, but God has calmed me. Cancer has given me fear, but God has given me peace. Cancer has made me weak, but God has given me strength. Cancer has confused my mind, but God has given me clarity. Cancer has made me feel foolish, but God has given me wisdom. Cancer has given me doubt, but God has given me hope. Cancer has made me tired, but God has given me help. Cancer has made me sad, but God has given me joy. Cancer has broken my heart, but God has forged a new heart. So the next time a crisis comes my way, instead of trying to kill it, I’m going to care for it, cradle it, comfort it, and most importantly, carry it to the Cross. I know now that my crises are worthy of this treatment, because I’ve learned that my greatest crisis just might evolve into my greatest blessing.

Oh, how I covet your prayers. My joy flows only because Christ graciously continues to intercede on my behalf. Thank you for keeping me before the Throne of Grace.
Love,
Laura

[Amy Layfield]

I am so thankful with you guys! I have thought of you both often and prayed when you came to my mind. Molly is just beautiful...she always has been. I miss seeing her. Give her a hug from Georgia.