On the eve of an extremely stressful MRI, I find myself both struggling to stay sane yet remarkably capable of forgetting the possible ramifications of a scan that reveals devastating results. Why? Because I am at home. The phrase we all know so well – “home is where the heart is” – is one that has so many different and amazing feelings attached to it. For me, it is my safe zone. It is a place where I can walk through the door and instantly feel better; no matter the day I just had.
It has been almost two years since I have been able to be at home in the comfort of my wife and children during a scan. Fortunately, I am at home for this one. Brain tumors are devastating, even more so, I assume, if it is from metastatic disease. They take many treatments off the table including clinical trials. They mess with everything that is you. I mean, it’s your brain. It is what makes you, you. It controls everything you do and is suppose to be heavily protected through a barrier. If this lesion is in fact disease, my barrier has been compromised. Let’s pray it is no longer there coupled with no new findings.
I don’t wish this upon anybody. This August it will be 5 years of fighting and trying to make sense of everything. It still feels like the first day. It still feels like a balancing act of fear and joy; of pain and comfort; of life and death. I have lost so many beautiful people to disease over my journey. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t on the verge of tears every time I laugh and play with the kids, or every time I spend time with Andrea. We are stuck in a perpetual roller-coaster of emotions that will never let up. It will always follow us.
It hurts a lot. Really bad sometimes. But you pull through. You literally convince yourself that everything will be okay, and that God will take care of you. In all honesty, He has. Some days are a nightmare, but through prayer and God’s mercy, we have pulled through. Some days you don’t want to get out of bed due to pain or emotion or fatigue, but you pull through. God has given us an amazing marriage and two beautiful boys – the very reasons I am able to put one foot in front of the other and the sources of strength for this fight.
Tomorrow is a big day; one of the biggest to date. It will determine the very course of action we do next and the extent of this disease. We pray for an isolated incident of unknown cause. An abnormality that we will never know the etiology of, but we can live with that – literally and figuratively.
Please pray for an unremarkable MRI tomorrow. Please pray for comfort, peace, and understanding toward whatever tomorrow brings. Please, God, let my family and I be a living testimony of your grace, of your healing hand, and of your mercy.
MRI checkin is at 745am tomorrow morning. Scan to follow shortly after that. I should know by late afternoon what the results are. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow. Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers.
We love you.