This post is #109 in a year-long series ... Through this series of posts I plan to share our family's experiences during our 17-year-old daughter's year-long battle with brain cancer, which began in February of 2008. My desire is to process through the events of that year from the perspective that a decade of time has brought ... for myself, really. But if you'd like to follow along, you're welcome to join me.
October 3, 2008
Since the recurrence of Hannah's cancer, she had not returned to school, and I had not returned to work. We pretty much stayed holed up in our house, only venturing out for doctors' appointments and radiation treatments. And she and I were fine with that, honestly ... as homebodies we both enjoyed that time together at home.
Eventually you have to come out, though, and about a week after we learned that Hannah's cancer had returned, I attended a homecoming pep rally at the high school. I had not been out in public in our little community since Hannah's doctor had informed us that she had basically no chance of survival, and I was extremely fragile emotionally. I would never have even gone to this pep rally, except for the fact that Bethany was cheering and I felt that I needed to be there to support her. I had already missed so many of her activities due to Hannah's illness.
I entered the gym alone, without the slightest idea how I was going to sit there and watch all of Hannah's classmates celebrating homecoming and enjoying their lives, while Hannah was at home recovering from her radiation treatment that day. How would I possibly be able to hold it together? I did not want to talk to anyone or answer prying questions, and I didn't know how I could avoid that as I walked into that crowded arena.
About that time, one of the high school teachers approached me, walked me to a seat, sat down beside me, leaned in, and began talking in my ear. She babbled on and on about the decorations, the girls' dresses, the upcoming dance, everything under the sun. I didn't have to do anything, not even formulate a reply to her comments ... but her chatter kept my mind distracted and protected me from the curious. When it was over, she accompanied me to the exit, talking all the way, and it was almost as if the Red Sea parted ahead of us as we made our way through the crowd. Looking back, it probably was like that ... I'm sure people were as uncomfortable about seeing as I was about seeing them. Once I was outside, she disappeared into the crowd.
To this day, I don't know if she has any idea what she did for me that afternoon. She may not even remember it. But I've always been grateful to her for getting me through what could have been a very difficult situation.
Hannah's facebook status from ten years ago today -- "Hannah feels much better today than the horrible day yesterday! Keep prayin'!!"
And my email ...
Just a quick update tonight....I am thankful to say that Hannah had a much better day today! She had her second radiation treatment this morning at 11:00, and has felt fine ever since. The steroids seem to be working to reduce swelling, which has really decreased the nausea and headaches. We are looking forward to a treatment-free weekend, and then starting back up on Monday--only 18 more to go!
Thank you again for all the prayers. We definitely feel the comfort and strength that God is providing. He is good, all the time!
Jill and Brad
1 comment:
I understand this feeling. All too well. Homecoming. Questions. Dread. Relief for understanding without knowing and not questioning how God played out in this role, but still parting the sea was a great analogy for the feeling you must have felt of overwhelming gratitude for not having to face difficult questions and even harder avoidances. Thanks for sharing these blog posts. They mean so much for me to read.
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