see you in 6 months

Yes. I realize I haven't blogged in a long time. Truth is, I've been a bit stressed. That sounds ridiculous. Stressed? I'm a stay-at-home-momma. What could I possibly be stressed about? Well, see there is this thing that happens every 6 months or so in our home. It's called: load-up-the-mini-and-drive-a-bajillion-miles-and-dylan-gets-an-mri-then-drive-a-bajillion-miles-home-roadtrip! And I stress about it. Oh? You get it now. No, see you really don't totally get it. I obviously stress about the MRI...is the tumor growing? has it changed? maybe it's still shrinking? more chemotherapy? should we just blast it again to be safe? when will we do chemotherapy again? will we ever have to do chemotherapy again? and on and on and on....That's just how my brain goes. And it went like that from the time I made the appointment {6 weeks ago} until we actually got through the blasted MRI. But then there is the added stress of gas money, eating out {which I absolutely despise doing}, barging in on relatives for a few nights, knowing that Sam will only be so good in the mini, and on and on and on.

Truth of the matter is...when I allowed myself time to think about the MRI, like really sit down and meditate about it, something happened. An overwhelming sense of peace filled my whole soul. Really. The week prior to Dylan's MRI I took the time to find peace. It came in various ways, from praying to just sitting on the couch listening to my kids play and laugh and interact together. I allowed myself to feel. Peaceful. I was in a position to take whatever the oncologist told me and know--really know--that everything would be alright.
It's never fun, and it certainly doesn't get any easier, having to go through the process of Dylan getting an IV, being sedated and strapped to a bed, then rolled into a ginormous machine--and then waiting. Waiting is the worst part. But when he is awake, my heart skips a beat with excitement. Seeing his big blue eyes slowly open and take in the hospital surroundings of busy nurses, a big blue wall (seriously, the wall in the recovery room is bright blue!), and finally mom and dad. I know he is so happy to see us. Always a crooked drunk-like smile. Finally with a popsicle, a few crackers, a small pack of Oreos, and some apple juice, we load up the big wagon (his request) and wave to the fish tank as we load the elevator to the fourth floor.

Our visit in oncology is always met with a mix of emotions. Bald children, face masks, pale faces, talk of back pokes, transfusions and transplants--yet the children in that office are happy. They are fighting, just like our Dilly-dawg fought. And that gives me hope for them--and our son. No matter what, we are going to be alright!

Photo taken November 27, 2011