Last night, I caught Justin in the tub with Gizmo, the cat, perched on the side patiently withstanding water being dribbled onto his head. His fur was wet and spiky-looking. Justin had been at this for a while.

“I’m giving him a mohawk, Mom!” Justin was smiling so huge, and the scene was so ridiculous. I had to crack up. It was such a typical, funny, little boy thing to do.

In these moments, I am reminded that, although we are going through some kind of layer of hell, and today he will be tortured and pumped full of poison, he is currently still full of life and mischief and possibilities.

I thank you, Lord, with all my heart;
I sing praise to you before the gods.
I face your holy Temple, bow down, and praise your name because of your constant love and faithfulness, because you have shown that your name and your commands are supreme. You answered me when I called to you; with your strength you strengthened me. Psalm 138:1-3

I asked Justin if he is having a good time. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but I was able to capture this image.

We are heading home sometime today, and will start another intense cycle of chemotherapy on Wednesday. After this next round, we have just about exactly one year of treatment to go.

A very special thank you to Mike and Rachel for keeping our puppy. I’ve received detailed updates, with pictures, on Buddy’s activities. Rach is trying to convert me into one of THOSE kind of pet owners.

Meanwhile, I’m just trying to keep the thing alive for my boys. Grace be with you, my friends.

We are on mini holiday in the Pocono Mountains. Now most of the time I post our fun, pretty pictures.

But today it’s an exclusive behind the scenes peek.

Pictured left to right: Jeff pretends to be asleep in hopes of somehow avoiding hotel room parenting (very possibly the worst kind), warning graphic image: this is what I look like in the morning, Nicky takes our coffee order, Jeff checks into work, Jeff breaks up a fist fight, the kids rest out Justin’s morning sickness with him and my economical mom hack breakfast buffet.

See you later.

Time. OUT.

Justin still sleeps with me every night.

“Mommy, can you please leave the light on for me? If I wake up in the night, I am afraid of the dark.”

”Okay, sure.”

”Someday when I die, I will go to heaven with God. And He has unlimited light!”

”That’s right, baby, that’s right.”

Someday when I am already gone, please.

I love you, O Lord, my strength. Psalm 18:1 

Justin is feeling his usual ups and downs since the start of another round of chemo. One minute he’s a normal kid; the next minute he is nauseous, wiped out on the couch or having a steroid-induced rager.

Recently I have been asked this question several times: why is Justin’s treatment so LONG? Leukemia is called a “liquid tumor” because it’s not localized and less complicated to pinpoint. Even after many rounds of chemo, tiny leukemia cells hide undetectable in the blood, bone marrow, spinal fluid and testicles. Long-term chemotherapy is a “mopping up” of these cells, while also acting as a preventative for new and more aggressive cells to form. This is my understanding based on discussions with Justin’s oncology team as well as my own research. If all goes according to plan, we have 13 months of treatment to go.

Here in the photos, we are making time for Nicky and Michael, which is always a challenge to find. Jeff and Michael are in Philadelphia for the Eagles parade while I crash Nicky’s recess.

Justin tries a Big Mac for the first time to satisfy a steroid craving and TV-commercial-induced-curiosity. Buddy loves to play with the boys, and has turned out to be a good fit for us. Even though we should probably now replace the living room carpet.

Thank you for continued support and prayer. God is taking good care of us.

“Mommy, what does it feel like to die?”

Despite attempts to drown it out by mentally quoting as many scripture verses and song lyrics I could think of, I didn’t sleep much last night because of this haunting question. And when sleep finally came, I was stuck in a place where Justin was lost. I kept looking and looking, but could not find him.

“Um. Well. I don’t know. No one really knows. But I don’t think it matters very much if you are a child of God because He will handle it.”

This answer seemed to satisfy him.

I didn’t ask Justin why he was asking. I know why. He’s brought it up before. Experiencing a life-threatening illness has given him some kind of curiosity or sensitivity or heightened awareness of his own mortality. Something like that.

So I don’t freak out or give false guarantees. I just try to validate his questions by answering them the best I can.

And the dream? Well, experiencing your child going through a life-threatening illness, I think, can definitely mess with the subconscious. I try not to give it too much credit. It’s just a dream. It doesn’t need to be any bigger than that.

Things always seem worse at night. But in the light of a new day, everything seems…better. More manageable. Less scary. Definitely less muddled by fatigue. Clearer. Less complicated.

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. Lamentations 3:22-23

The reality is that Justin is feeling sick today, and, in pain as well, but he is here next to me explaining a video game that I totally don’t get. And I am drinking Diet Coke and pretending to listen.

We are okay. God is with us.

Thank you for continued support, encouraging comments and prayers. Grace be with you, my friends.

A day at clinic in photos: Another round of chemo. Justin’s support team. A playroom with IV poles and bags of poison. Me trying to make it all fun or, at least, just more tolerable. A look at Justin the day after clinic. And Buddy being a faithful nap friend.

Not pictured: me and two nurses holding Justin down as he was repeatedly stuck with a needle for his IV placement. Also not pictured: me sending Luke and Michael out of the room to save them from being potentially traumatized; then pleading with God for help while we took a necessary break. Also not pictured: the Holy Spirit, who, indeed, calmed Justin and worked through myself and Justin’s nurse to get the job done.

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Psalm 46:1

We have managed to keep Buddy alive and well. Also we kind of like him.

Tonight it’s brownie sundaes with a friend  and tomorrow it’s another round of chemo, a physical exam, blood counts and liver screening as well as enough steroids to take down a large horse.

Yesterday, I re-read the story of Jacob wrestling with God (Genesis 32). I always thought this took major guts on Jacob’s part even though God was clearly allowing him to even come close to being a worthy opponent. In the end, Jacob said he wouldn’t let go until he was blessed. Of course, God could have just flicked him off like a bug, but He did, in fact, bless Jacob.

Now I am no theologian, but I tend to think it was Jacob’s tenacity which prevailed and not his wrestling skills. God blessed Jacob because he PERSEVERED.

Again I saw that under the sun the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, nor bread to the wise, nor riches to the intelligent, nor favor to those with knowledge, but time and chance happen to them all. Ecclesiastes 9:11

Thank you for continued support and prayer.

Okay, last night was far better than my poopy-scrubbing-wind-chime-busting nervous breakdown. Buddy stayed in his crate without messing from about 10pm to 5am. Yay!

There was definitely this crying, howling, barking combo going on. But we rode it out equipped with fans, headphones and ear plugs.

He saw a puppy doctor yesterday who says he’s very healthy. No parasites or fleas (gross). And he’s big. Twenty-one pounds – yikes!

All the boys love Buddy. But, Nicky, in particular, has been amazingly helpful with walking him and taking him to the vet.

Justin and I are reading the classic story “Ribsy” together so it’s doggies all day over here.

Justin will begin a new round of chemo early next week. Thank you for continued prayer. All glory to God for His grace and caring about the details of our lives; for giving us exactly what we need and, indeed, even more.