We finally talked to our doctor today and learned that the Harvard doctor was unable to determine what type of cancer Chris has. Apparently the tissue sample wasn’t large enough to determine anything definitive. So we are where we were 10 days ago. Lord willing (cheers, Moomers), we will get another, somewhat more invasive biopsy scheduled for early this next week. Doctor Windsor said that with a larger tissue sample, they shouldn’t need to send it back to Harvard; it should be clearer to the staff here. We will see.
I am exhausted. I’m exhausted from waiting. I feel spent. Although I keep thinking about labor and how spent I thought I was before learning I was only three centimeters. Regardless, I am struggling to keep above water sometimes. I can spin out into anxiety, fearing what could be happening in Chris’s body as all these many days pass with no treatment (Chris is often physically fatigued and somewhat uncomfortable, but he is more patient, less anxious, more grounded than I have been of late). I know my anchor holds within the veil. I know it truly. But the waves still toss at the surface, and I feel them.
There is also the Body. The very real Body of Christ in this world, and we are carried by it. Just yesterday when I sat on the bleachers at the park for the kids’ running club, I was literally surrounded by the Body of Christ—hearts so open to listen and just let me be where I was, loving me so well, praying with me. And people creating that space for me all the while by keeping eyes on little Marebee. I felt seen and held. By the Lord, by his people.
The park was one example. A poignant one on such a difficult afternoon. But this seeing and holding is happening all the time to us. We are thankful for so much.