There's a rustling in the virtual air: I think it's working, that we're having a profound effect in this battle we're fighting. I was feeling a little sad, a little stressed, a little hopeless, and then Adam called to tell me two things: 1) He was heading home from Oakland to do some work, and 2) Logan's ANC (Neutrophil Count) this morning? 10,000. TEN THOUSAND! Just to refresh your memory a little, that's the one that needs to be at 200 (two hundred) to go home, and at 1,000 (ONE thousand) to begin the next round of chemo. Yesterday morning it was at 1,100. The doctor (not Dr. T., rather another oncology doc who I internally call The Fonz because, well, he reminds me of Arthur Fonzarelli) called the number great and said that he'd take Logan off of the count boosting drugs to see how he does entirely on his own. So please pray that the number stays UP UP UP.
Now I'll back up and be a little mundane. As I posted in an earlier status update, I made the difficult decision to stay home from the hospital today; Adam's mom took my place for the afternoon. I didn't sleep well yet again overnight and my body just screamed NO! when I got up and dressed. I'm sad to not be there with my sunshine, but I do need to take care of me and of #4 (who has been aggressively kicking me all week; future soccer player, methinks). I've been feeling incredibly run-down and needed to spend a day on the couch (with or without a remote control and bon bons). So here I am.
A few little anecdotes from my morning to share with you before I sign off, both centered on letting go and letting God. I've been thinking a great deal about Carrie Underwood's upcoming concernt in San Jose, wishing it were in Oakland. At some point this morning, I thought of it again, and the song Jesus, Take the Wheel came to mind. I know the lyrics by heart so my mind pressed its mental play button and I listened along. And for the first time, it carried enormous significance: I'd always realized it wasn't a purely literal song, but I really internalized the true meaning and it was just so salient, so clear: Jesus, take the wheel because I really and truly have no control here. Like a car careening toward a wall on a sheet of ice, I can't control where this situation is taking me.
Just in case I didn't get the message the first time, it was repeated again about 45 minutes later via Sesame Street. I was sitting on the couch, click clacking on my keyboard. Isaac and Becky's daughter Whitney were watching TV, but I was oblivious to the storyline until I heard Ernie moan 'but I don't want to let go'. THAT got my attention and I turned to watch as Ernie struggled with the decision to hand over his broken rubber ducky to an adult who could fix its defunct squeaker. He hemmed and hawed and bemoaned his fears before finally deciding to trust the adult and let him fix it. When it was returned to his anxious hands, he nervously paused before checking to see if his precious toy had been restored... and it had. It may be a show for preschoolers, but let me tell you: It was touching in not only its simplicity, but in its personal relevancy. It reminded me that *I* am still a recently infantile child of God, and that only *God* can fix certain things, so I need to offer them up, even if doing so is scary and hard and not my preference. It served as a gentle nudge, from God to me, His child, reminding me that I need to let go of the worry, the pain, the fear, and in a sense, Logan -- my personal rubber ducky -- in order to allow space for healing. Whomever thought Sesame Street could be so profound? I didn't. It just goes to show that God can -- and does -- speak to us in a multitude of ways. Don't miss out on what He has to say to you today.
Bless you all and thank you THANK YOU for your prayers.
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