March 7, 2014

Before you read any further, be aware that this is not an inspirational post. I, Jordan, am writing and the feelings expressed are mine alone. Jacob and I both process this in different ways and at different times and I can only speak from my own recent experience.

We arrived at the hospital on Monday and Jake had a successful surgery. He woke up, remembered me, was able to speak and move all of his body parts, and was for all intents and purposes doing well.

And then in came the parade of doctors. Through the next 2 days we met with at least 8 different doctors, specialist, residents, and therapists.  Each one would come into the room, look at us with “the look,” ask Jake if he’d spoken with the surgeon and if he knew about his condition.

His condition of grade 4 glioblastoma primary brain cancer, which has a terrible prognosis, an almost sure chance of recurrence, and no known cure. Google it if you want your stomach to turn and your blood to run cold.

Yes, we are aware of his condition. Thanks for the reminder.

I must say that I am grateful for every medical professional that has and will work with Jake. They have committed their lives to a practice that will extend his days and I cannot but feel gratitude for their expertise. But they have a sucky job. Telling people the news that they delivered to us has to be completely horrible.

By the time we met with the palliative care doctor who talked to us about hospice I was at the end of my rope.  It was as if all the hope in my soul was sucked up in a vacuum and I left the hospital with a dark cloud hanging over my head.

The next two days were not much better.

I felt an overwhelming sense of despair, sadness, and anger. These feelings threatened to consume me. I was able to meet with some of our church leaders and lay some of this burden at their feet. I also spoke with some family members and told them about the dark roads my mind and heart were walking. Jacob received a beautiful blessing from his father which brought a measure of peace to my tortured soul.

The hardest realization I’ve come to in these days has been that my life, as I knew it, is over. I’ve always wanted this crazy train to stop and things to get back to normal. But they never will. All of the choices that I made to get me to this point, the sacrifices, the effort and hard work seem to be in vain as the life Jacob and I have been building together for almost 10 years has been ripped out from under us.  I am 33 years old, a wife with 4 young children and my future looks so bleak.

I always thought I had an understanding of what Jesus Christ suffered for me. But I actually had no idea. In the Doctrine and Covenants, the Savior describes his suffering as sore- how sore you know not, how exquisite you know not, yea, how hard to bear you know not. If what I have felt in the last few days has opened my eyes to the sore, exquisite, and hard to bear suffering that He went through for me, not to mention the rest of humankind, I stand at the precipice and marvel at the sheer agony of His experience. No wonder He says 

"Which ^asuffering caused myself, even God, the greatest of all, to tremble because of pain, and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer both body and spirit—and would that I might ^bnot drink the bitter cup, and shrink—"

I can relate to His feeling. I would that I might not drink this bitter cup. I feel that I might shrink before the task in front of me.

However, Christ finishes relating His experience by saying

 

"Nevertheless, glory be to the Father, and I partook and ^afinished my preparations unto the children of men."

I only hope that someday I can be ready, and willing, to say the same.