And So It Begins

In case you've ever wondered what chemo looks like - here it is.  So inconspicuous in a setting full of IV fluids, and so toxic that even a small bag is labeled "high alert".

So begins maintenance therapy.  We don't expect Jonah will make rehabilitative strides during this period, but we're working hard to maintain.  Note the calendar in the background to help us all keep track of the days, above it is a daily "to do" list so that even on the crumbiest of days we don't forget to brush teeth and get clean sheets.

In stem cell lingo, today is day negative 5.  You count down until transplant day (day 0, 2/9) and then up from there.  As far as I'm concerned, today is day 4.  Four days into this new part of the journey.  It's funny how familiarity breeds comfort, how scary and hard things seem comforting in the face of something unknown.  The first 5 cycles of chemo were no cakewalk, but we roughly knew what to expect and there was weird comfort in that.  Now, we are 4 days into journeys unknown.  Jonah will never go back to his previous chemo protocol, ever.  Either things are successful and it's irrelevant, or he relapses and it's ineffective.  We're now learning new chemo drugs, new doses (one drug is repeat from the previous cycles, but is 4 times the original dose), facing the unknown of how the stem cell transplant will impact his body, we're looking at radiation - all of the sudden, the first 5 cycles, scary as they were seem comfortable.

If you think of life as a story, we are turning a page, and as we do, I suddenly find myself continuously bumping up against 2 verses everywhere I go: 2 Corinthians 4:16-18

Therefore we do not lose heart.  Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.  For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.  So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

And Lamentations 3:22-24

Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.  They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.  I say to myself, "The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him."

Cancer doesn't feel like a light and momentary trouble, and yet we are not consumed.  Yesterday in my devotional reading it said, "I will get you safely through this day and all your days.  But you can find Me only in the present.  Each day is a precious gift from My Father.  How ridiculous to grasp for future gifts when today's is set before you!"

It's easy to want to "read ahead" to borrow great worry from tomorrow about how the coming weeks will go and about radiation and about what comes after that - but today is a gift.  Today maybe filled with light and momentary challenges that threaten to take our eyes off the unseen, but God is compassionate and faithful, and today is a gift.  To love more, to laugh more, to be a light in a dark world in a dark place - because of God's great love we move forward into today, grateful for the gift.  We will learn the ups and downs of this next journey and even in the hard of it all, we will be grateful for the gift of today.