Update

When Mom was diagnosed just over six months ago, I knew the odds that I would at some point have to write this update. Unfortunately, “at some point” has come faster than any of us thought it would.

Many of you read Adam’s last blog post describing Mom’s progress and improvement. The new treatment was effective for some time, and we’re very grateful for each quality day it gave us. However, as is the case with this type of cancer, the tumor has found a way to work around the medicine. Her condition has rapidly deteriorated over the last three weeks, and an MRI Monday morning confirmed what we had all suspected, and has forced us to recognize that treatment is no longer effective.

We have no idea what kind of time we have left. Hospice came to the house today, which helps guarantee her comfort, and allows us to stop being caregivers and just be her family.

As I mentioned, we’ve all heard a lot about odds over the last six months. I think of how rare this disease really is – I looked it up not long ago. The chance of a woman being diagnosed with a brain tumor (regardless of type) is .005%. Looking at that number, I can’t help but wonder why she had to fall into such an incredible minority?

But if we’re going to talk about odds, I have to acknowledge one that is simply unquantifiable. The odds that Luke, Mark, Adam and I would end up her children are four in … what? Those odds don’t exist. We’ve spent the last 26, 28, 30 and 32 years wandering around with winning lottery tickets in our back pockets. So please know that as horrible as this situation is, we still think of ourselves as incredibly lucky.

I write this note for a few reasons – but mostly because I know word will start to spread, and, as with her diagnosis, I want as much information to come from us as possible. At the same time, I’ve had this conversation with a few of my closest friends over the last couple of days, and I really don’t know how many times I can repeat it. I’m prepared for what’s coming, but I will never be ready.

All of that said, I still begin and end every day praying for a miracle. Whether your prayers are for that – or merely peace for her and for our family, I ask you to keep offering them up. Also, for those who will see or speak to her in the coming days, I make this request: please leave your tears at the door. I know that’s a tall order. We can’t escape the fact that this is devastatingly sad for her friends as well as for us – but she worked so hard to make our house a happy place. I feel she’s owed as many smiles as is humanly possible in the days ahead.