Amy--the long version

Ever since the seizure of January 24 that revealed the existence of a tumor growing inside her brain, the unfolding saga of Amy's health and continued survival has been building toward a pivotal if not final moment. May 2, 2007—The MRI. I've likened this progression to a season of really cool television building toward a shocking, cliffhanger finale. Of course, my example of choice would be Lost. The MRI would be The Hatch. May 2 would be the day we open it up. The final shot would be of Amy and I with torches and flashlights in hand, peering inside, hoping for wonder, yet girding for horror, and then… fade out until next season.

Fortunately, we won't make you wait three months for the resolution.

Were we nervous going into the appointment? No. Or at least, I didn't think so. The night before, Amy and I were treated to dinner by the staff at Entertainment Weekly at a real swanky place in Long Beach—"The Last Supper," I joked (it was hilarious, trust me!)—and we discussed our respective dread quotients and discovered they were relatively low. Maybe we were kidding ourselves. But we just felt… confident. I'd like to think we were buoyed by all of your prayers. Maybe we were in denial. It just seemed impossible to either of us that we were standing at the beginning of the end. But I also felt that whatever was waiting for us at 11:15 AM the next morning, I would be ready for it.

Boy, was I wrong! When the nurse called us into the doctor's office to discuss the results of the MRI, I stood up and felt a little wobble in my knees. It hit me like a ton of bedrock that in the next 10 minutes, I could be hearing the words, "Amy, the tumors have come back. You have one year to live. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a noon tee time at the country club."

But our amazing neurosurgeon, who to my knowledge does not play golf, did not say what I feared he would say. He said what I hoped he would say. He said, "I am very, very pleased." And then he complimented Amy's "pimped out" purse. Yes, he used the words "pimped out." It was that kind of day--an exciting, faith-affirming, prayer-answering day, and yes, totally pimped-out day. (He also quoted from a rap song by Tupac Shakur-or 2Pac, if you prefer--to characterize the way cancer cells replicate. Times, they are a-changing.)

Of course, one month from now, I could be telling you something completely different. See, there's one glitch—"the only bit of rain on an otherwise glorious parade," in the words of the hip doctor. The MRI detected a very small circle-shaped… "something," located on the periphery of where Amy's tumor was removed. He called this something "very strange." But we think this is a good kind of "very strange." He says it's unlikely that it's a tumor. Not impossible, but unlikely. More likely, he says, is that it's just swollen brain tissue caused by the radiation, which will heal over time, no worries. Just to make sure, we're going back in one month for another MRI. And even if it's still there, it probably won't require major surgery—maybe just a biopsy, maybe more radiation.

 So please, keep praying for Amy, and pray that this strange little thing is just some harmless swollen radioactive brain  tissue. And pray that the tumor cells that remain in her brain which the MRI can't see will never grow again. If the MRI can't detect them, that means they're not big enough to do any damage.

That's the full update for now. Amy remains a little tired—a side effect of the radiation that will stay with her for a couple more months. There will be one year of chemo, but she'll only have to take the pills five times a month. We feel very anchored by our family and friends. I can't imagine what it would be like to make it through all this without you. Thank you to our parents, who sacrificed time and resources to help us and come down and take care of us. Thank you to all our extended family of relatives and friends for the care packages filled with love. Thank you to my brother, Mike, for checking up on us and posting the updates on the blog. Thank you to all those who are reading this that we actually don't know personally, but have somehow heard about our story, and felt compelled to pray for us and even reach out to us in the form of payers, emails and letters filled with encouragement. Thank you to our church family and our community of friends, who have taken care of us and our kids with food, transportation, child care, fellowship and faithfulness; your love has changed our lives. Thank you to my good friend and colleague Dan Snierson and the entire staff at Entertainment Weekly for their unwavering support. And thank you to our pastor, Lou Huesmann, and my good friends Steve, Dennis and Dana, who earlier this week offered some sage spiritual counsel as Amy and I struggled with some anxiety about the news to come, especially if we found out that the news was not good. Happily, the news is good, but I'd like to hope the lessons we have learned would have been just the same. This has been a life-changing, orientation-shifting experience, one that has taught us much about trust, about community, about the everyday blessings we take for granted. Our pastor forwarded us some words of wisdom from someone who had lost a battle with cancer, and they resonate with us now: "We live and pray one day at a time.  We pray each day and say, 'Thank you God for the healing you gave me today.  Please heal me tomorrow.' [I]f we were truly spiritually sensitive, we would have prayed that way all of our lives but it took the threat of imminent death to bring us to this point." And then, he quotes an anonymous author:  "Our favorite distinction between the spiritual life and the practical life is false.  We cannot divide them.  One affects the other all the time; for we are creatures of sense and of spirit, and must live an amphibious life." I guess you could say the last few months have been lessons in swimming for us.

The story is not over. There may be trials to come. Regardless, we face the future with renewed hope and with the confidence that we are not alone.

Thank you, and much love,

Jeff, Amy, Ben and Lauren



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