Holly McRae's daughter Kate has an MRI scheduled for Tuesday. Tomorrow.
Kate has what her mother once described as a "very malignant, aggressive brain tumor called a supratentorial primitive neuroectodermal tumor or sPNET." She's undergone every treatment available. Her parents and doctors have culled through protocols, and they know they are navigating uncharted waters now that there are new tumor spots.
Still, first grade is just around the corner, and life goes on adding sweet to the bitter.
Theirs is a Christ-centered home and family -- Holly's husband, Aaron, is a pastor and she is clearly faith-driven. They believe that God can and will cure their daughter.
Every MRI has become critically important, sometimes for all that the scan does not show as much as for what it illuminates. Holly and Aaron have always been wonderfully explicit in their requests for prayers -- a characteristic of real believers. (I've been advised many times that God can handle my own pitiful minutiae --from disintegrating thumbnails to an overflowing appreciation for the awesome GirlPower of the FIFA World Cup finalists...)
I've learned that God is tapping me on the shoulder every time one of these real believer types stands in my path and refuses to get out of the way. (They're incorrigible.) I would translate that annoying
tap::tap::tap into words but this is a G-rated blog, so just imagine God mildly cursing. I don't mean plagues in Old Testament Egypt or Eve's subjugation, although I suspect that while God has authored a good many such curses, there is no intent to stifle the human response to fight, argue, and revolt. Indeed, sometimes the divine hand fans those flames.
Oh, hush. Yes, I had another "D'oh" moment and didn't delete it.
Here is the beginning of Holly McRae's latest journal entry over at
Caring Bridge. If you are new to Kate's story, you'll find the two years of journaling insightful, challenging, and -- definitely -- inspiring. You will pray for Kate, her parents, her brother Will and her sister Olivia; You will come to care, and very much.
In the post prior to this one, Holly wrote:
We have many prayer requests. Many. So tonight I will name a few pressing ones.
~that the original tumor area on the MRI will show NO change (this is hugely important)
~that the two new tumors would be gone on the upcoming MRI
~that Kate's abdominal pain would subside as she has been barely eating
~that her energy would increase in the next few weeks, so she would be able to start first grade
~that God would miraculously touch Kate's body, eradicate the cancer, heal the damaged areas of her brain, protect her vital structures that are at risk and preserve her vivacious spirit.
Whether you are a seasoned Prayer Warrior, or, like me, a clueless recruit in Intercessionary Boot Camp, that should keep you busy.
MRI on Tuesday....
We always tend to get reflective right before a major MRI. I clean and do my usual organizing. I wonder if it comes from the fact that the day Kate was initially diagnosed I left things in chaos at home. Bowls of cereal half eaten, laundry everywhere, we just dropped everything to go for the CT scan. I didn't step foot in our house again for almost 2 months. Now I always feel the impending desire to have everything in order, just in case we wouldn't come home. I truly don't believe that will be the case, but wonder if experience has dictated these new instincts in me.
The other day we were driving somewhere, it was probably 130 degrees out (slight exaggeration, but only slight) and the kids were giggling about something in the back. I quietly asked Aaron if he could imagine life without the impending thoughts of cancer, without the constant thought if Kate would be with us the following year, without death being a very real and talked about topic. Some are healthy changes. Healthy changes amidst a very gruesome disease. And yet we are still mourning other life changes. Bittersweet. Only occasionally do I let myself even wonder what life would have been like. What sweet Kate's life would be like had cancer never come knocking. I can't let myself stay there. It did happen, and life is different. It will always be different now. I just pray different will become sweeter over the days ahead. Less of the bitter, more of the sweet.
Kate's hair is starting to grow back some. It's interesting so far. Darker in spots. Thicker in others. We still can't tell if it will all come back yet. I get nervous for her some days. The thought of potentially having some permanent hair loss at the tender age of 7. It would be just one more battle to face. I love however that Kate rarely cares, of course she is sure her hair will come back at some point. And of course there is the occasional day that someone stares too long, or turns around to take a second glance, causing her to rethink letting others see beneath her hat. And then of course the fierce mother instinct comes out and my eyes say a million words to them that my mouth cannot. And yet, the other day she offhandedly said she wants to work on being more brave. Where she can take off her hat more readily in public around people she doesn't know. And I tell her she is incredibly brave already. She is forgiving of peoples unashamed stares and rarely complains about not having hair, when most are never thankful for the simple fact that they do have hair. I love that she has a new found confidence in the face of a physically altering illness. That speaks volumes. She is crazy beautiful anyways. [READ THE REST HERE]
That's for sure.
TUESDAY UPDATE: Holly writes (and Aaron tweets) --
"We have very few details at this time but simply heard there has been 'no change' since last scan! Everything is stable! We praise God for this and are incredibly thankful for every single prayer offered on Kate's behalf."
