MRI Eve

As Jenny posted on facebook just a few short moments ago, we celebrate the end of induction this week.  Induction marked the most intense portion of Ari's chemo protocol, and also serves as a good indicator for how well the chemotherapy is "inducing" a remission of the cancer.  We celebrate that our son continues to make developmental progress in the midst of feeling awful all the time.  We celebrate a pediatrician who exhibited amazing intuition and clinical reasoning skills to directly admit us to Riverbend Hospital on February 25th on suspicion that something was going on in Ari's brain.  We celebrate a neurosurgeon who is one of the most kind, skillful surgeons we have ever met.  We celebrate community surrounding us and making us feel loved and cared for during this stressful, lonely season.  We celebrate a God who has remained faithful in providing peace, transformation, and a closeness during this season.  And, we celebrate our son.  He's is the toughest 13-month old that I have ever met.

I start with the celebration mainly for myself.  I have to be intentional and disciplined to celebrate these things on the eve of the MRI.  Our friends in Chicago call this feeling "scanxiety" (thanks Ewoldts).  I think that is appropriately termed!  You see, tomorrow marks the end-of-induction-evaluation.  That evaluation comes in the form of a complete set of images of Ari's brain and spine to make sure the chemotherapy is keeping the cancer away.  And, quite frankly, it scares the crap out of me.  My being is in complete turmoil.  My mind does not turn off.  When I wake at 3:30 a.m. to give Ari his IV benadryl, I think of what is drawing near.  When we take an evening walk, we think and talk of what is drawing near.  It is everywhere.  But, it is imperative.  It is that thumbs up that we can continue as scheduled, and Ari can continue to heal.  So, we pray for that and hope for that.  And, we ask for you to do the same.  Two friends, who are men that I look up to, separately posted a verse from 1 Peter this week that has stuck in my mind.

And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast.

Our suffering will not last forever.  When it ceases, we will be restored and made stronger than before.  But, we don't wait stagnantly waiting for that day; no, we share our story as we journey through it.  And, since Ari cannot talk yet, we share his story as he suffers through this battle with cancer.  Another great friend of mine who lives in Kentucky reminded me that Ari's testimony is NOW, not just when the treatment is over and he is cancer-free.  So, we rejoice in all the things from the first paragraph, and we petition and plead to God for healing and restoration.  Until that point of full restoration, we actively share Ari's story for the sake of Christ and the effect that it can have on others' lives. 

Ari's MRI will begin at 11:00 a.m. tomorrow morning and will last about two and a half hours.  We should know the results by late afternoon or early evening.  Yes, we have anxiety, and, yes, the uncertainty rips our hearts apart every minute we think of it; however, we hope in a God that is eternal and is the God of all grace.  We hope in a God that is writing Ari's story for us to share.  As always, thank you all for continuing to pray for our family and offer gracious gifts in this season.