O Holy Night

On this Georgia Christmas morning we woke to find ourselves shrouded in fog.  It blanketed our world with a solemn, dreamlike quality.  It is our national day set aside to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ, the Savior.

“O holy night! The stars are brightly shining;
It is the night of the dear Savior's birth.”

Christmas is nearly often a bittersweet time as there always seems to be tragedies occurring during this season.  Most heavily on the nation’s mind are the murdered children and female staff and teachers at the elementary school in Newtown, Connecticut along with their grieving families.  The world is in pain, and that is why a Savior came. 

“Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the Spirit felt its worth.”

 

Mass murders have been occurring for centuries.  In an attempt to kill Jesus, King Herod gave orders to kill all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity who were two years old and under, but Joseph and Mary had escaped to Egypt with baby Jesus.  The birth of Jesus and the slaughter of these male children had been predicted long before in the biblical books of Jeremiah and Matthew.

 

“She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.  All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet: The virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel – which means, God with us.” – Matthew 1:21-23.

“Then what was said through the prophet Jeremiah was fulfilled: A voice is heard in Ramah, weeping and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, because they are no more.” – Matthew 2:17-18.

Perhaps the children in and around Bethlehem were killed by swords and knives since guns had not yet been invented.  The availability or unavailability of guns and other weaponry does not change the intent of a killer’s heart.  A killer will use any means to end lives.

 

Because of sin and evil abounding in the world, a Savior was born and came to redeem the sinners. 

“A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.”

 

The birth of the Immanuel is the true meaning of Christmas, and this is how G and I celebrate Christmas with gratitude to our Savior.

“Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!
O night divine, the night when Christ was born;
O night, O holy night, O night divine!
O night, O holy night, O night divine!”

 

We celebrated with our only Georgia family, G’s son Peter, wife Ali and baby daughter Maelyn.  Ali’s kin are good southern folk, and after a prayer of blessing, we enjoyed a feast of sumptuous foods including southern staples such as sweet tea, sweet potato soufflé and collard greens.

 

 

 

 

"Led by the light of faith serenely beaming,
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand.
O'er the world a star is sweetly gleaming,
Now come the wisemen from out of the Orient land.
The King of kings lay thus lowly manger;
In all our trials born to be our friends.
He knows our need, our weakness is no stranger,
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!" 

"Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
With all our hearts we praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we,
His power and glory ever more proclaim!
His power and glory ever more proclaim!"

Give Thanks

"Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good;

his love endures forever."

~ Psalm 107:1

 

Though we are still grounded in Georgia, we moved from a campground to a private site on our church-owned farm at the invitation of our church board.  Relocation has been a real blessing bringing privacy, space, plenty of sunshine and rustic scenery.  Duncan the Westie is insanely happy with his freedom to bounce around the property without restriction.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After so many intense months of doctors and hospitals we decided to break away from it all for a bit.  We drove up to New York to spend Thanksgiving week in Whitney Point with my son and daughter’s families. 

It was good to go back home to reconnect with the kids and grandkids.  We had such a nice summer with them that it was hard for me to leave. 

So, it was great to be back amongst them. 

Thanksgiving Day was extra meaningful this year because of G’s diagnosis of MDS.  The kid's love and concern meant more than we can say.

 

 

 

 

 

 

We are so thankful to have so many caring friends and a loving family. 

We are abundantly blessed.

Living With MDS

 

We met with Dr. Solomon at the Blood and Bone Marrow Transplant Center. After reviewing all of G’s medical records he told us that G’s prognosis is very good. Since G’s IPSS (International Prognosis Scoring System) score is zero, Dr. Solomon estimates that left untreated G’s MDS (myelodysplastic syndrome or bone marrow failure) could progress to AML (acute myelogenous leukemia) in 5-6 years. This is an increase from G’s oncologist’s estimate of 3.5 years.

We discussed a bone marrow transplant and the risks. We learned that on average siblings are a 25% donor match, and children are a 1/2 match. If G’s brother isn’t a match then they would look for a donor match in the national bone marrow donor data base. He told us that as long as G has no chromosomal changes and no blasts there will be no progression to AML. At present G has neither of these.

The physician also explained the reality of the risks involved in a bone marrow transplant. There is a fifteen to twenty percent risk of death in the first year of a transplant from infection or graft vs. host disease (GVDD) where the new bone marrow attacks the host’s organs because it does not recognize the host. A bone marrow recipient must endure long periods of isolation before and after the transplant and remain on immunosuppressant drugs for a period of six months post transplant in an effort to protect the immune system against illness and/or infection.

Dr. Solomon did not recommend a transplant at this time as he feels the risks outweigh the benefits. He said, “I could possibly kill you in a year or you could live six plus years, probably more while being treated with the monthly cycles of Vidaza. You’ll probably die of some other disease before the MDS progresses to AML.”

He also told us that G’s MDS could possibly go into remission. With a recommendation for a bone marrow biopsy every 3-6 months to ensure there are no chromosomal changes or development of blasts and three books about MDS and bone marrow transplants, we were sent on our way with peace of mind that G’s MDS is no emergency.

G has completed his first cycle of Vidaza (chemotherapy). G had to be watched closely, and subsequently we had to report to the oncologist’s office twice a week for blood draws for G’s counts to be monitored. The month of October saw his RBCs (red blood cells) dropping to levels which required two more blood transfusions and several Neupogen injections to increase his WBCs (white blood cells). The last two weeks of October were recovery weeks with G’s counts rising. His hemoglobin rose from a low of 6.8 to 11.1, slowly creeping toward a normal level. 

G has begun his second cycle of chemo. By now we know all the names and personalities of the nurses at the oncologist’s office and the hospital infusion center, all dedicated and caring individuals. We are to expect that G’s counts will dip again from the chemo, but during the recovery weeks his counts should rise to even higher levels than last month. Our greatest hope is that the treatment will bring the MDS into remission.

 

Grounded

Treatment for G’s MDS began on October 5th.  Every morning at 10:00 we arrive at the hospital Infusion Center, and G receives three injections of Vidaza after icing the intended injection site.  The injections are given subcutaneously into fatty tissue.  The nurses wear a surgical mask, gown and thick gloves while handling the toxic chemo drug.  They rotate sites using the back of G’s arms and abdomen.  The sites turn red and hot within a few hours.

The chemo is playing havoc with G’s digestive system causing constipation.  He was embarrassed to discuss this with anyone except out of necessity.  Nurse Susie recommended MiraLAX.  G mixes a little of the tasteless powder into juice, and he’s good to go.  (No pun intended.)  Within a couple of hours the magical powder does its thing.  Problem solved.  Other than that and some soreness at the injection sites G is tolerating the Vidaza.

Today was the last day of his 7-day injections for this month, but G still has to report to the doctor’s office every Friday for a blood draw so his counts can be monitored.  We also have an October 23rd consultation with the bone marrow transplant center in Atlanta.

At first, we thought we could continue travel.  But moving will be complicated by the need to transfer care to other physicians, start the new patient process again, get insurance approval for drugs at each new physician’s office to continue treatment, etc.  We can no longer just choose a destination, pick a campsite and hit the road.  Plans to winter in Florida are on hold.

Slowly we have realized that we have been lassoed and tethered.  We’ve been grounded.  It’s as though the wheels have been stolen off our fifth-wheel.  The gypsy lifestyle that we’ve enjoyed has abruptly ended.  We no longer have the freedom to hitch-up whenever we like and take off on another adventure.  Our lives are now controlled by the need for constant medical attention in order to manage the G’s MDS.  Part of me wants to throw an immature temper tantrum as I view this as a negative.  The other half of me remembers that God orders our steps.

“A man’s steps are directed by the Lord.”
~ Proverbs 20:24

“In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps.” ~ Proverbs 16:9

 “I know, O Lord, that a man’s life is not his own; it is not for man to direct his steps.” ~ Jeremiah 10:23

But we’re also grounded in a positive way.  As Believers in Christ, we are grounded in our faith because of the love of God.  By now, we know that resistance is futile when God “meddles” in our lives.  I know that the best things to do are: 1) Thank God for the situation because He knows all about it, 2) Trust Him while going through it and remember that He will never forsake us.  Over time I have discovered that following this formula leads to the path of peace and joy.

“I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith.  And I pray that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge – that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.” ~ Ephesians 3:16-19

Extremely Foul and Incredibly Close

We wake to a horrible lung-searing, nose-hair-singeing stench.  G groans in abject misery and claws the CPAP mask off his face.  He has sleep apnea and uses a CPAP machine nightly.  The malodorous odor has permeated his mask and is trapped within.  I grimace and dive beneath the covers.  Huck Finn has dutifully made his daily predawn deposit in the litter box that now sits literally two feet from our bed.

Since his return we have struggled to integrate Huck Finn back into our family.  However, living in a fifth-wheel with a cat has created a major problem.  Our prodigal son is recovering from his year of riotous living, so we don’t dare let him outside yet, and we no longer own a house with a yard; we park in campgrounds.  A litter box sits in our walk-through bathroom in front of the door to the tiny laundry closet which is right next to our bedroom.  In these close quarters there is nowhere else to put it.

“Do you want me to get it or will you?” I mumble from beneath the quilt.

“I’ll get it.” G replies swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Feline waste has to be one of the most wretched smells in the entire world!  This is one of the reasons that G and I are not cat lovers. 

G quickly scoops out the offensive mass and whisks it away – far away – outdoors.  I stay beneath the covers.  It isn’t safe to stick my head out yet.  The air still reeks with a noxious odor.  I hear the whir of ceiling fans working frantically to suck out the foul air.  A few minutes later the fans cease, and I cautiously poke my head out from underneath the quilt.

“That’s no way to wake up in the morning,” G grumbles.

“We need to rethink this,” I agree.

Each morning since Huck Finn’s return we are awakened by the vile smell and unwittingly tread barefoot across unseen Tidy Cat granules that he has tracked across the bathroom floor.   

So, G and I put our heads together and came up with a new plan.  Before bedtime we’ll move the litter box out to the kitchen and place it in front of the door – well away from our bedroom.  The added bonus is that it will also protect us against home invasions.  Intruders will be stopped in their tracks, die from the miserable, concentrated stench and fall backward out the door.  We won’t even have to shoot them.  We’ll sleep better and be protected at the same time; a win-win situation.

Lately, we have been pondering the question of how many of his nine lives Huck Finn has used up, and we are secretly wondering how soon he will be leaving on his next adventure.

The Adventures Of Huckleberry Finn

Huck Finn on the farm.

"Hello, ma'am.  I have your cat," the male voice said on the voicemail message.

My phone was on speaker.  G and I exchanged startled looks and burst out laughing in unbelief.  Huck Finn was alive and well!  With all the intense medical stuff going on lately this piece of news sent our hearts soaring.  What a wonderfully startling, unexpected, uplifting event this was!

Let me start at the beginning.  Huckleberry Finn and his brother Tom Sawyer were our barn cats on our horse farm in Georgia.  Now, G and I are not cat lovers, but we needed a couple of hunting cats to keep the varmints out of our horse barn, so that's how we ended up with two cats.  Somehow or other Tom and Huck got under our skin, and we ended up being quite fond of them.

They were half grown, scrappy kittens when we got them.  They each managed to get torn up a few times from tangling with critters a bit too large for their size learning the lesson the hard way.  Life was good on the farm and eventually they became a good hunting team and best companions.  They were the friendliest, most comical and loving, farm-smart pair of barn cats we'd ever met.

In preparation to sell the farm we found homes for our remaining horses.  We were down to Gus the Golden, Duncan the Westie and Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn.  Sadly, Tom Sawyer was snatched one night by a coyote. 

The rest of us moved into a rental home for a year, and out of necessity we turned Huck Finn into a house cat.  He was smart and caught on fast to proper house manners and used a litter box in the garage, but he never lost his wanderlust.  He would often jump the seven foot yard fence and disappear for a day of adventure, but he always returned.

Then Gus developed cancer and only Duncan and Huck Finn remained.  Once we bought the fifth-wheel we realized that RV life would never suit Huck Finn, so he went to live with G's son Pete and wife Ali.  After only three days at the new place Huck the renegade gave Ali the slip and disappeared into the woods never to return.

We were all really crushed and distressed that eleven-year-old Huck Finn's fate might be to live out the end of his life as a stray.  Ali set out a live trap in her yard and managed to catch every stray cat in the area except Huck Finn.

Huck Finn escaped wearing a green collar with brown polka dots and a tag bearing his name and my cell phone number.  I knew he was skittish of strangers, but I hoped one day out of necessity he would befriend strangers who would call me with news of his location.

The call came thirteen months later.  We hopped into the truck and drove one hour and 45 minutes to Carrollton, GA to see if we could retrieve our rascal.  We figured he'd be half wild, ragged and skinny, flea and worm infested and hard to get our hands on.

We arrived at the location which turned out to be some sort of half-way house.  A bunch of young men lived there together, and they had all been very kind to Huck Finn taking turns feeding him table scraps for the past 2-3 weeks.  One of the guys (Casey) who'd finally noticed the tag dangling from Huck's collar was the one who'd left the voicemail.

Huck was sitting on the picnic table in the back yard as big as life not a bit afraid of the guys milling around.  His once green collar was now faded out to a white.  One of the half-way house guys simply picked him up and placed him in G's arms.

Huck Finn didn't look too bad.  In fact, aside from being skinny he looked darned good and seemed pretty tame...until G tried to stuff him in the cat carrier.  Off into the woods he fled.

My heart sank.  "Lord," I thought, "Did you bring Huck Finn back into our lives to temporarily cheer our hearts just to dash them again?"

We waited.  I sat down at the picnic table and talked to Huck Finn as he skulked around the perimeter where woods met yard.  I was hoping he recognized my voice and remembered us.  Huck edged toward me.  I kept coaxing him.

"Nobody moves," I warned.

Huck rubbed up against my leg.  I slowly reached down to pet him and worked my hand toward his neck.  In a moment I had him by the nape of his neck.  We used a butt-first tactic this time to stuff him into the crate and succeeded.

Huck Finn is now an RV cat.  He seems to like his new digs.  Duncan the Westie and Huck Finn recognized each other straight off.  Huck has managed to retain his proper house manners, seems remarkably tame, is clean and uninjured, and I can't find a flea on him!  We're fattening him up, and next week the vet will check him over.

Now that we're all back together it's as though time and distance never happened.  Huck definitely knows us and is happy to be back in the bosom of our family.  It's as though he never left.

If Huck Finn could talk I wonder what sort of adventures he'd tell.  I guess he was tired of living on the lam and just decided to surrender.

Twelve-year-old Huck Finn cuddling with G.

Welcome home Huck Finn!

A Life Of Value

We went to the hospital Infusion Center at 9:00 am for G’s blood transfusion.  He was placed in a comfortable, reclining chair in an alcove, and blood was drawn in order to be “typed.”  We were advised that the entire process would take about six hours.  Fortunately, this same facility had matching blood for G, and by 10:30 he was receiving his first unit of blood.

I had plenty of time to observe the staff and activity in the Infusion Center.  The different alcoves housed mostly cancer patients receiving chemo infusions.  An Asian woman across the unit was napping during the procedure.  Her tiny frame was snugly wrapped in a white hospital blanket up to her chin.  She was all tucked up into the recliner wearing a warm knit hat with the soft brim pulled low over her brow to keep her head warm and hide loss of hair.  Her dark eyes were visible above the surgical mask worn to protect from infection.  She appeared tired and sad, and I noted that no one was sitting with her.

The staff was skilled and efficient, but beyond that they were personal and empathetic.  They wore their care and concern like they wore their skin.  It came natural to them.  Here finally were humans who recognized that bodies were individuals, personalities and lives of value.  They understood that it is important for patients to be seen and heard and to be treated as valued living souls with a purpose. 

Nurse Dena teased and cajoled G about being a Georgia Bulldog fan.  It didn’t help that G was wearing shorts and a hat with his favorite college football team’s emblem and colors loudly proclaiming his loyalty.  She was a Georgia Tech fan, and she was mercilessly threatening and humorous.

While checking G’s vitals she placed a digital thermometer in his mouth.  “Do you know the difference between an oral and a rectal thermometer,” she asked.  “Taste,” she informed him before he could form a reply.  “How does that taste?” she asked with a sly grin.

Throughout the day she brought him ice water and a hospital “happy meal.”  The box consisted of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, chips and ginger ale.  She offered him coffee, a blanket, a kick in the butt.

By the end of the first unit of blood G’s color had returned and he was having no adverse reactions.  The hours swept by nearly unnoticed as G’s buddy Kirk sat with us and “shot the breeze.”  We made a run to the cafeteria for food and shared stir fry and a roast beef sandwich, tried to solve all the world’s problems and watched the life blood drip into G’s vein.

A Second Opinion

We went to see an oncologist for a second opinion.  It wasn’t because we doubted the hematologist’s initial diagnosis or ability to treat G.  It was because we had difficulty understanding her accent and were not satisfied with the trail of stingy crumbs of information she was dropping.  She left us mostly in the dark.  There was more we needed to know.  For the love of God; we are adults!  We needed the whole picture presented to us!

Perhaps it was her culture that shaped her to be emotionless and robotic or the fact that English is not her first language.  Maybe the emotional disconnect comes with the territory when dealing with nothing but blood and bone marrow disorders and cancer.  Perhaps it’s all of these.

When G asked her about a bone marrow transplant (the only cure for myelodysplastic syndrome) she said it was "a bad idea because of his age;" no more explanation than that.  It appeared she was willing to write G off at age 68. 

We needed something more.  We needed her to recognize G as a valued life, as a living soul with a purpose.  God values all life, and so do we.  No life is expendable; not the unborn via abortion or the neglect of aging senior citizens.

“Are not two sparrows sold for a penny?  Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father.  And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.  So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.” ~ Matthew 10:29-31

Armed with medical records, test results and a list of questions we met with the oncologist for a second opinion.  He reviewed G’s recent medical history.  With the investigation already complete he just had to devise a treatment plan.  I had a list of questions which I meant to ask – questions that the hematologist left unanswered.  I never had to present them because the oncologist covered every one during the consultation.

He was full of helpful information.  We even learned about the International Prognostic Scoring System (IPSS) which helps oncologists predict a patient’s prognosis.  Using all of G’s data from his blood tests the oncologist determined that G’s score is 0.5.  This represents Intermediate-Risk associated with a median survival of 3.5 years.  In this subgroup of patients, 1/4 will undergo evolution to myeloid leukemia (AML) within 3.3 years.  With treatment G’s life could possibly be extended beyond this number.

The oncologist’s Plan A would have been to first treat G with erythropoietin (EPO) shots.  Erythropoietin or EPO is a hormone produced by the kidneys that controls red blood cell production. It is a protein signaling molecule for red blood cell precursors in the bone marrow.  Even though G’s kidneys are already producing EPO well above the normal range, the oncologist believes EPO shots would have helped.  However, our insurance denied approval for EPO shots.

Plan B is to treat with Vidaza, an anti-cancer chemotherapy drug.  In simple terms, Vidaza will interfere with the chemistry of G’s DNA and allow his red blood cells to mature.  If G is responsive to this drug it will manage the MDS and prevent evolution to AML for as long as his DNA remains responsive to it.  However, at some point we were warned that G’s DNA will figure out it is being tricked and will begin to resist the drug.

The oncologist’s first order of business was to schedule a blood transfusion since G already has cardiac issues.  G’s hemoglobin has dropped to 7.2 and should be 14.  The oncologist said, “We don’t want you having a heart attack while waiting for treatment.”  Finally G is going to be transfused!

Near the end of the consult the oncologist called the bone marrow donor center and asked them to schedule an appointment for G.  They will be calling us with an appointment date and time.

By the end of our consult with the oncologist we both felt that we preferred him and decided the hematologist needed to be “kicked to the curb.”

"Keep me as the apple of your eye; hide me in the shadow of your wings."

~ Psalm 17:8

"He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart."

~ Psalm 91:4

The Unexpected

When the hard thing comes we still must trust God. Once again the unexpected has happened.  G has been diagnosed with low grade myelodysplastic syndrome (MDS) ~ bone marrow failure.

Myelodysplastic syndromes are a group of diseases that affect the bone marrow and blood.  Some types of MDS are mild and easily managed, while other types are severe and life-threatening.  Mild MDS can grow more severe over time.  It can also develop into fast-growing, severe leukemia called acute myelogenous leukemia (AML).

It has caused refractory anemia with ringed sideroblasts which we are told has the best prognosis of all the subcatagories of MDS.  G’s bone marrow is hypercellular making too many red blood cells (RBC) which are all immature/defective.  Red blood cells deliver oxygen to the body.  G’s hemoglobin is 7.3 and should be at 14.  He’s not getting enough oxygen, yet his body has learned to compensate and function on less.  Besides the anemia, his only outward symptom is fatigue and shortness of breath when climbing stairs.  However, he is slowly approaching the need for a blood transfusion.

This explains everything – the fatigue, the sluggish thought process, delayed reflexes and occasional confusion.  It wasn’t my imagination after all!  I knew he wasn’t functioning up to par while he was driving us around the USA this past year.  When I expressed my concern G and others thought I was being hard on him.  I feared that he was showing signs of Alzheimers.  Something just wasn’t right.

Our chuckwagon adventure has taken us down a bumpy side road; an unexpected detour leading us into the valley of the shadow of death.  Suddenly, we’ve gone from anticipating G’s knee replacement and dreams of future hiking adventures to consults with hematologists and oncologists.  How did we get here?

At the end of August, we traveled down to Georgia so G could have his total knee replacement.  We went to the hospital for preoperative bloodwork and attended Joint Class.  The following week we met with G’s orthopedic surgeon to discuss the upcoming surgery.  The preop bloodwork revealed low blood counts.  The knee surgery was canceled, and the surgeon sent G to see his primary care physician (PCP).  A complete blood workup revealed even lower counts, and the PCP referred us to a hematologist (physician who studies blood).

Once G was turned over to a hematologist at the cancer specialists, the needle on our fear meter rose.  When the hematologist scheduled G for a bone marrow biopsy the needle on my fear meter rose even more and began quivering.  I started doing research.  The waiting was the hardest; waiting for laboratory results, waiting for the bone marrow biopsy, waiting for the biopsy results and diagnosis.

Early on, before the scheduled bone marrow biopsy I had a brief meltdown.  I was alone driving around doing errands.  Panic overwhelmed me as I tried to imagine my life without G.  What would I do?  How could I support myself?  Where would I go?  I’ve had so little experience towing our 37-foot fifth wheel; how could I hitch up and tow it anywhere by myself?  I started to cry and told God I did not possess the confidence to carry on without G.

God and I had a little talk.  My thoughts were racing too far ahead.  I needed to take one day at a time.  God would give me the grace and peace to live one day at a time if I would just trust Him.  I’ve not had any more meltdowns. 

G is the picture of a heart experiencing perfect peace; the peace that passes all understanding spoken of in the Bible.  I’ve seen a few silent tears slide down G’s cheeks from time to time, but he is calmly trusting God hour by hour.

When friends and family contact us and express their concern, this is how G responds.  “I truly am in God’s hands and will be throughout eternity.  He orders my steps and directs my paths and He loves me and does nothing wrong.  I rest in Him.”

 “You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in you.  Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord, the Lord, is the Rock eternal.” ~ Isaiah 26:3-4 (NIV)

We have another consult with the hematologist this week regarding treatment, and we have an upcoming appointment to see an oncologist for a second opinion.  Meanwhile, we will live one day at a time trusting in God who knows all our needs.

 “Rejoice in the Lord always.  I will say it again: Rejoice!  Let your gentleness be evident to all.  The Lord is near.  Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” ~ Philippians 4:4-7 (NIV)

~~~~~

 “Celebrate God all day, every day.  I mean, revel in him!  Make it clear as you can to all you meet that you’re on their side, working with them and not against them.  Help them see that the Master is about to arrive.  He could show up any minute!  Don’t fret or worry.  Instead of worrying, pray.  Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns.  Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down.  It’s wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.” ~ Phil 4:4-7 (The Message)

~~~~~

“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.  My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body.  All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” ~ Psalms 139: 13-16 (NIV)

~~~~~

"Don't be afraid, I've redeemed you.

I've called your name.

You're mine.

When you're in over your head, I'll be there with you.

When you're in rough waters, you will not go down.

When you're between a rock and a hard place, it won't be a dead end — Because I am God, your personal God, The Holy of Israel, your Savior.

I paid a huge price for you: all of Egypt, with rich Cush and Seba thrown in! That's how much you mean to me!

That's how much I love you! I'd sell off the whole world to get you back, trade the creation just for you."

~ Isaiah 43:1b-4 (The Message)