I will give thanks to you, Lord, with all my heart;
    I will tell of all your wonderful deeds.
 I will be glad and rejoice in you;
    I will sing the praises of your name, O Most High.

The cancer is rapidly growing.  Life looks much shorter than we had ever prepared, but my Peace is greater. I want that out there for you, because I want you to know. I want all of you to be thankful for the peace that surrounds me and I want it to begin to penetrate you.

I arrived back from my trip with Audrey and Ethan knew immediately that we had to call the doctor. My trips, the things that were so important, literally came in under the wire. The next morning, we had a procedure for a PleurX drain that will stay in permanently and allow me to drain the fluid from my lungs at home. I was down to a tangerine size area in my lung that was letting me breath. My oxygen stat was below 90 and I was just struggling, but didn’t really realize how bad it was. We went to the hospital for day surgery (hahaha), but because of an infection, I was admitted for 5 days. Ethan will admit that he thought I may not come home, ever. The lungs and breathing began to do better, but my abdomen and pain level were unbearable. A CT was done and the result was that the cancer on my liver is growing rapidly. Two weeks ago, I felt fine. The liver seemed to functioning and it was the lungs that looked more like the main thing to keep our eyes on. Two weeks forward, my liver is enlarged stretching way further across my abdomen than normal. The scare last week was that if it has grown that fast in a few weeks, be prepared for what the next few weeks could look like. We were finally able to get the pain under control and for about a week, I have felt more my normal self. I am on oxygen around the clock which keeps my O2 stats up and my heart rate down. There is a large pump in the corner of the house with a long, annoying tube that follows me everywhere I go. Actually, if it followed me, that would be nice. I have to coil it up and bring it along.

But we have called Hospice. It was more of admin move, get established, meet the nurse. But it is admitting that this is terminal. Admitting that the conversation changes. With friends, with family, with kids, with each other. This is not “if”. This is “when”. Honestly, the “when” looked different last week than it does to me today.  We are preparing for reality. We are talking through things that you never, ever want to even let your mind wander to, much less discuss enough to make real decisions. But everyday that I am up. Everyday that I am driving. Everyday that I am making a lunch, visiting with friends, sweeping the floor (ok, I can’t really do that one anymore), brushing hair, reading books and rubbing feet at night, I thank God. I praise Him for time. I try to consciously remind the girls that we are to recognize this day. For this energy. For this time. And when the time comes that it looks different, He will still be my presence, my peace and I will still stand and praise Him. My heart’s desire is that you will too. Through the grief. Through the disbelief. Through the unthinkable. That you will be filled with His love, know that His love is good and He will be enough.