Last week we were blessed to go on a vacation that we didn't plan to have this summer. Once Katie got her little self out of the hospital, she really wanted to get her toes in the sand! Thanks to some friends and a big thumbs up from her oncologist, we spent a week in Florida and really enjoyed our time together. We even sat back and listened to some of the fussing between kids with a little appreciation.
Just before we left, Chad spoke at River Ridge Church for the first time since before Easter. He shared some of the struggles we have had and things we have learned. If you have half an hour one day, you can listen in on that below. We will head back to Cincinnati later this week as Katie has a CT and PET scan on Thursday. This will be her first set of diagnostic scans since she started immunotherapy about 7-8 weeks ago. We will meet with her oncologist on Friday to discuss results and she will receive her next immunotherapy infusion. To look at Katie, she looks incredible! We want to be hopeful that the internal images will match her external appearance, but we have this fear that we carry around with us. Scan anxiety we call it. It's hard to live with some days. Please pray this week - for a smooth IV insertion, labs, scan and infusion - for results that show the cancer is responding to this treatment - for clarity regarding next steps in the treatment plan - for peace Blessings, Chad and Sarah and the Cobb 7 http://riverridge.org/tv/sermon/the-dreamer-the-waiting-room/#play-audio
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There is this place between fear and hope. We have all been there at times, even if we are unaware, either leaning toward hope or toward fear.
I live here now. In this place, acutely aware of each day, each opportunity, each interaction. While 'normal' swirls around me, I stand frozen in this space. Do I move into the next day, next week, next month, as if Katie is cured just because her hair is growing again and she can walk around the street? Or do I put an anchor in today, indulging my kids' every request because I don't know what tomorrow will bring? If you want the answer, you can stop reading. I have no idea how to do this. I am figuring this out as we go along. For today, that means taking my kids on an amazing vacation and enjoying every minute with just the Cobb 7. We move forward each day. We can't see the future but, the truth is, neither can you. We are just maybe a little more aware of the space we live in now. Katie had appointments in Cincinnati twice this week. It is a drive we know well by now, but I enjoy it more with her in the car beside me (even if she wears her Beats the entire time). She had another infusion of Keytruda, her immunotherapy medication. The one that was approved for children less than a month before her relapse. Her oncologist is thrilled with everything she sees clinically. In a couple weeks, she will get her first diagnostic scans since starting immunotherapy and finishing radiation. For now, the plan is to continue these infusions every three weeks with labs, check ups, physical therapy and good days in between. We are hopeful. And fearful. We do our best to lean toward hope. But when I am afraid, I will put my trust in you. Psalm 56:3 Blessings, Sarah and Chad and the Cobb 7 After 80 days away, Katie arrived home last Thursday evening to a large group of friends, family and community lining our street to wave, smile and cheer as we drove in. It was certainly a very sweet homecoming! After a few minutes in the driveway reciprocating the smiles, we retreated into our house and, basically, locked the door to anyone else. Just as it is hard to find words to describe the difficulty of being separated for several months, it is also impossible to render a picture of the delight of being together! For the past week, we have enjoyed the normalcy of cookouts on our patio, trips to Aldi, neighborly drop-ins, favorite meals, and kids fussing at each other. Like waking up from a nightmare, it all seems a little surreal. Oddly enough, we had begun to think of the hospital as "home." This was our room . . . our kitchen . . . our laundry facilities . . . our quiet place. The staff became our friends. The constant activity . . . procedures . . . interruptions became our way of life. The pain and hurt and dreadfulness became all we knew, day in and day out. I know it sounds weird, but in some small way, it was sad to leave. And yet, it was GLORIOUS to come home! Our real home - where the tea is sweeter, the beds are softer, the hugs are stronger, and there is carpet! Where people smile and wave and welcome us with sincere joy. Where the love is deep and real. I am struck by how much the hospital resembles this world, full of brokenness and pain, yet still all we know. We become so accustomed to the people, places, and goings on of this world that we call it "home" and we don't desire Heaven. We read about how glorious it will be to live in the presence of God, yet we struggle to imagine life outside of these walls. I read recently that the blessings of this world are meant to point us toward eternal blessings, which makes me think that an earthly homecoming must be a rudimentary representation of a heavenly homecoming. As hard as it is to think about not being present in this world, imagine the excitement, sweetness, and joy of going Home! We traveled back to Cincinnati on Thursday for a clinic visit. We happened upon one of the Child Life Specialists and her therapy dog, Chevy, who was an important friend to us, and it was so nice to talk with her while Chevy curled up next to Katie. We spent time with our social worker, care manager, fellow, and oncologist, all of whom smiled and loved on us a little. Even one of the cafeteria workers waved at us, remembering. I was sad that there wasn't enough time to walk to the secret Starbucks with a friend who is still living there with her child, but we were happy to drive back to WV after a full afternoon of labs and meeting with Katie's team. The plan from here is to continue with weekly clinic visits, some of which may be able to take place in Charleston. Immunotherapy infusions will occur in Cincinnati every three weeks for an indefinite period of time. For now, she does not have either a port or a picc line in place. This is great for summer as it allows for swimming and tank tops, but it means that almost all of her visits will include sticks for labs or an iv, which she utterly hates. She will also be doing physical therapy to build up her strength. Her next scans are being planned for early August. If you see Katie around, she looks a whole lot like the Katie we all love. She may be a little thinner and has transitioned to a ball cap instead of a winter hat, but her smile is back - along with the sparkle in her blue eyes. It's really good to see that. As you pray . . .
We have a long and arduous battle ahead of us, but we are so thankful that we finally got a major victory! We are happy to be "home." Blessings, Sarah, Chad and the rest of Cobb 7 |
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