Stable

Tuesday was Jake's 2 month follow up MRI and everything looked stable. No new growths. Minimal swelling. Just a brain with two tumor cavities.

Stable is our new favorite word in the English language.

I can say that yesterday, and basically the whole last weekend was a grueling emotional experience for me. (And if it was that rough for me, think of how Jake felt.) After the second surgery and radiation, we had more than a month of normal life. Taking trips. Dropping kids at school. Going to soccer practice.

And then it came time for the day of reckoning. I am grateful for MRIs. Without them I hate to think where Jake would be. But they are also a dreaded instrument because they let you know what is really going on and with that knowledge comes an upheaval of life as you know it.

Last Saturday we were able to keep really busy and not think too much about it. Sunday was uplifting as we fasted and attended church, but by Sunday night I was starting to freak out.  The "what ifs" started to haunt my mind and I was sick with the thought of hearing bad news. Thinking of going back to the hospital was torture. I felt like a kid bucking and screaming being dragged somewhere they don't want to go. The thought of being back in the doctor's office evoked feelings of torture. Let's just say it was R-O-U-G-H and all my talk of perspective seemed to just fly out the window.

Monday I was in a tough spot, and as Jake sat me down and hugged me I just lost it in heaving sobs. And then he came to my rescue.

He gave me the day off, told me to just go and come back whenever I was ready. He would take care of everything and everyone so I didn't have to.

So, unexpectedly, I had several hours to myself to collect my thoughts and find some peace. My first thought was to go to the temple, but it is closed on Monday so that wasn't an option. Eventually, I found a nice secluded spot and for the next several hours was able to have time to ponder, read, pray, and commune with the Lord. I received some very needed and immediate answers to urgent prayer and was able to collect myself enough to return home and feel like I could face Jake's appointments the next day.

I had no idea that MRI day could be so hard. By the time we got into the doctor's office we were both ready to lose our lunch, our hearts were pounding, our mouths were dry and we were just sick with worry. Especially because the last MRI surprised us so much without warning. Jake had been water skiing one day and then... BAM ... there was a new growth the next.

It made it hard to judge or know what to expect.

After waiting in the room for more than 30 minutes we were feeling very apprehensive. The doctor opened the door, walked in, and started to ask, "How are you doing?" when I blurted out, "Just tell us right now. We can't stand it anymore." He immediately said, "The scan is good," and then proceeded to tell us about the images, show them on the screen, and go through the standard questions as to Jake's functioning. We got the schedule for his next round of chemo pills and were told to get on the MRI schedule in two more months.

Two months. It feels like forever.

I can say that I was not ecstatic, jumping for joy, or even really happy. The immediate feeling I felt when the doctor gave the report was R-E-L-I-E-F.  Extreme, overwhelming, welcome, grateful relief. Jake says he felt the same thing too. It's like a giant exhale after holding your breath to your body's limit.

Someone asked me if we were going to get a steak dinner to celebrate. Really, the thing I wanted to do the most was come home, take care of our kids, make dinner, put them to bed, snuggle up with Jake, and know that I could repeat it again the next day. All day, as I've done laundry, gone to the grocery store, changed diapers, picked up kids, and made dinner I've been grateful. So very grateful.

Doing these everyday things is such a blessing. I never though so before, as a stay at home busy mom, but now I relish the chance to just take care of our home, our children, and my husband. Because it means that life as we know it goes on. It means things are normal.