HOPE - Friday, March 23, 2012

Sometimes it hits me, the reality of the place we are in.  The roommate who, a week ago received the same medication as Derek received on Monday, frequently throws up.  The sounds of his discomfort come unhindered through the curtain that separates us.  Nothing seems to help him. The new family next door discusses their daughter’s CT scan and learns the seriousness of her case, their lives forever changed in moments.  They reel from the shock of being thrust upon this unexpected and un-chosen journey so many of us on the unit share and wish we didn’t.  As I return from the restroom at 4 a.m., a mother turns to hide her sobs as her son moans just inside the slightly open door. I pause and put my hand gently on her shoulder. I’ve been there, too.  As she turns toward me, I tell her I’m so sorry.  Through her tears, she tells me she is sorry for me, too.  I return to Derek’s room in tears myself. 

The people on this unit live with more pain than I have personally ever seen in my life. And yet, just as the power of growth pushes a small plant slowly to the light through layers of asphalt, a power stronger than death steals its way into the precious hearts around me.  It is HOPE.  The courage, faith, and HOPE I see here are as staggering as the pain. I talk with another mother of an adorable three-year-old with a metastasized brain tumor that is not responding well to treatment.  She tells me how, on a recent visit to the chapel downstairs, he yelled at the top of his lungs, “I LOVE YOU GOD!” He told his mom God was going to make him well.  She asked him how he knew, and the little boy replied, “He told me!”  There it is: HOPE.  The nurses and doctors on this unit deal with sickness, pain, and death on a regular basis, and yet they continue, working intently for their patients, the power of HOPE compelling them. 

None of us knows what a day will bring.  We do not know how, when, or even if our hopes will be realized. But it really doesn’t matter. The Author of hope would not give it were it not a valuable asset for the journey on which He accompanies us. He has promised us a future and a hope (Jer. 29:11) I do not know what that future will look like, but I still cling to HOPE.

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Derek is still in the hospital tonight. He is much slower this time in clearing the chemo from his system.  It seems like it is catching up with him.  This morning his chemo level was .29.  It must be less than .1 before they will release him.  It has also dropped his blood counts this time.  His ANC is 400, his WBC is .78, and his hemoglobin is dropping.  The mouth sores showed up again today.  So far they are not too bad, and we are doing everything we can to prevent them from getting bad. I don't think we will be getting out tomorrow. 

March 20, 2012

Derek was admitted Sunday night for his last dose of high-dose methotrexate.  After hydrating him all night, they started the chemo mid-day yesterday. Now he is finished, but we have to wait for it to clear his system.  Tomorrow they will start the leucovorin treatment to rescue his healthy cells.  From looking at his treatment plan (called his road map) it looks like this is his last scheduled in-patient treatment. The rest can be done on an outpatient basis.  Phase 4 of his treatment, called Delayed Intensification, will begin in two weeks.

Six Months

Last week marked six months since we began this leukemia journey.  In some ways, it seems like it has been an eternity, but mostly I can't believe it has been HALF A YEAR!!  We still have about three months until we are finished with the worst part of his treatment and almost three years until all his treatment is completed.

In many ways, I feel like we were dumped on another planet. There is very little about our lives that is the same as it was before Derek's diagnosis. We have been forced to accept uncertainty, to live each day with the realization that something unexpected could happen, to walk on, though we frequently do not know how to do it or where we the path will lead next. What makes the journey bearable is the knowledge that nothing takes God by surprise and the assurance that He is with us always.

Things I am learning: (Some of them are much easier said than done.)

• When Jesus said we should be like little children, I think He said "little" on purpose.  Little children do not worry about the future. They live for now.  If they feel good, they play; if they don't, they take a nap. I can take one step at a time, and I do not have to worry about the future.  I don't know what will happen tomorrow anyway.
• Anything can happen, and something probably will. I can keep going.
• Not all promises in the Bible are for now. They are still the promises of God, even if they don't happen just when I would like them.  An ultimate fulfillment is even better than getting it right now.  I can claim them still.
• There are Bible promises for now. I can trust God to keep them.
• Though my road has been rough and filled with heartache, there are many others with far rockier journeys than mine and with far more heartache. I look forward to the end of these journeys, and I am thankful this world is not our home.  
• I have more friends than I can count, some of whom I have never met. I look forward to heaven.

Round Three of High-dose Methotrexate

Last Sunday, March 4, proved to be a very full day.  Kristen had been preparing for the California Piano Certificate of Merit exam which took place on Sunday.  The examination included sight reading, technique, performance of two pieces she had practiced, and a written theory test. As this was her first time sitting for this exam, she was very nervous.  Because of our crazy lack of schedule, she has had a hard time getting in regular practice times, but she has worked hard on all the components. I took her for the exam at 11:30 a.m. Parents were not allowed into the examination room, which added to her anxiety.  But she did just fine. We found out Tuesday at her piano lesson that she did an excellent job and passed with honors. Great work, Kristen!

Following the exam, my family had a mini family reunion with my mom, two of her brothers, and a couple of my cousins.  It was good to see them again.

Derek was also scheduled to be admitted to the hospital Sunday evening for round three of high-dose methotrexate.  I took him in at 8 p.m. and we settled in for the night after a busy day.

Monday morning he was sedated for intrathecal chemo in his spinal fluid and then was hooked up to a large bag of methotrexate which flowed slowly into his veins for 24 hours.  This time time around, I did not push fluids the first two days, as I had done before. Derek's chemo levels in his blood came down a little more slowly, and it did not qualify him for early release, which was a good thing. This meant that he got more leucovorin to put folic acid back in his healthy cells. It also meant that he was in the hospital for six days.  Once I knew he had to clear the methotrexate to 0.1 before being sent home, I started pushing him to drink more fluids.  He has gotten three small mouth sores, but they have not prevented his eating and drinking as they did before.  I am convinced now, that he needs the extra leucovorin.

When Derek saw me writing this blog entry, he wanted me to write this for him. "I just had my high-dose methotrexate. If I don't get enough leucovorin I get mouth sores."

Derek's energy level has not dropped at all.  By Friday, it was all I could do to keep him contained.  Friday afternoon, the nurse disconnected his port from the IV pole, and I took him down to a floor that has a long hallway connecting the children's hospital with the main hospital.  It has windows that look out the front of the hospital.  Because that floor is mainly used for outpatient procedures, there are very few people around in the late afternoons, evenings, and weekends.  He could run up and down the carpeted hallway to his hearts content.

Sabbath morning, Derek's methotrexate level finally reached .08 and he was released from the hospital about noon.  It was great to get home.  Friends brought lunch over, and we hiked up the hill behind our house in the afternoon.

Three rounds of high-dose methotrexate down. One more to go.  He is supposed to be home this week and go in next Monday for his last dose.  Then he moves on to Phase 4.

Mouth Sores - February 27, 2012

 

I have been so slow in updating my blog.  My last post perhaps made it sound like I have everything under control.  Let me assure you I do not.  I guess I just don’t feel as overwhelmed about being out of control as I did those first few months.  Anyway, here is an update.

The hospital stay for Derek’s fever ended abruptly two days later when the results of his lab work showed he had RSV, a respiratory virus.  His fever was down by then and they sent us home to recover since there is no medication to cure it.  In all, it delayed his chemo treatments two weeks.  He recovered from the RSV with no further complications.

On Friday, February 17, we went to the clinic for labs to see if his counts were good enough for chemo over the weekend.  His ANC had to be at least 750, and it was 1300, well enough for admission.  We had to wait several hours for a bed to become available.  Again, he had a large bag of Methotrexate flow into him over 24 hours.  It made him a little bit unresponsive and he lost his appetite.  Other than that, he had no major side effects at the time.  His levels came down much more quickly because I was trying to get him to drink lots of extra fluids to clear it from his system quickly.  It worked, a little too well, as I discovered a little too late. 

After getting high dose Methotrexate (MTX) they give him a medication called leucovorin to put folic acid (that had been forced out by the MTX) back in the healthy cells.  This medication has to be given at precise intervals following treatment.  The number of times leucovorin is given is determined by blood tests that show how much MTX is still in his system.  If the MTX stays in at higher levels, it requires additional doses of leucorvorin. They had told us that his level of MTX had to be .1 or less before they could release him the first time, and I assumed that would be the case the second time as well.

By Monday morning his level was down significantly, and when they did rounds and looked at his protocol, they discovered that because his levels had been well below the minimum for the first several checks that he would not need additional leucovorin and that he did not need to reach the .1 level before going home.  So they sent him home with only three leucovorin treatments. We rejoiced that we could go home early.

However, on Wednesday morning, Derek started complaining his throat hurt.  I looked in and didn’t really see anything.  By lunch, he said his mouth hurt at the back on one side.  I look again and saw a huge sore right next to one of his new molars that have just emerged.  By supper he didn’t want to eat anything, even though he was hungry. 

Mouth sores can be a side effect of high-dose MTX. The first time around he had no problems, but I suspect now that because he did not get additional leucovorin, he got a really bad case of them this time. It is just hard to watch my little one in so much pain and not be able to do anything about it.

First thing Thursday morning I called the clinic. Derek would hardly eat or drink anything. He had sores on both sides and at the back as well.  They prescribed a mouthwash using baking soda and salt dissolved in water.  That helped a little, but not much. They also prescribed a mouthwash called Pink Lady that includes a topical anesthetic.  With that I was at least able to keep him better hydrated.  Friday we went to the clinic and they found more sores under his tongue also.  The poor boy had them everywhere.  He was only able to eat soft foods and liquids and only for a short time following rinsing his mouth with Pink Lady.  They said the sores should start going away by today (Monday.) 

Yesterday, his mouth was much improved, and he ate and ate, still mostly soft foods.  Today, he didn’t need any Pink Lady and was eating normally again.  They seem to have disappeared, thankfully.

He is scheduled to go back into the hospital for his next MTX treatment this Friday.  I don’t think I’m going to push the liquids as much as I did last time.  Maybe additional leucovorin will help prevent him getting mouth sores this time.  Even if it means extra time in the hospital, it may be worth it to avoid the pain, hunger, and thirst he experienced this last time.

A New Normal

When we first embarked on this journey, we were operating in crisis mode.  With the help of God, family, friends, and church family, we managed to survive those first months.  If something was not about our immediate survival or the wellbeing or comfort of my children, I did not do it.  Only the most pressing matters were attended to and everything else was put off until later.  If I had not had so much help, I really do not know how we would have survived.  As I have said before, we were carried along on a tidal wave of love and support. 

A couple of people who KNEW told me to hang in there, that we would get to a new normal.  A new normal?  There was nothing happening that I WANTED to become normal.  I did not even want this new existence in the first place, and I certainly didn’t want it to become normal.  But one cannot survive forever in crisis mode.  Resilience eventually takes over.

When Derek got out of the hospital the second time, my parents, who had stayed for seven weeks, went home. While I still had a lot of help from friends, I was forced to figure out how to fit in some things I had put off or let my mom do for me.  Now some things were added to my must-do list.  I had to do my own laundry, prepare food, and clean up the resulting messes.  Daily or almost daily visits to the clinic took up massive amounts of time.  It was during this time that I began to figure out a routine even in the midst of constant change, never knowing how long something would take, or when we would have to go back to the hospital at a moment’s notice.  While I didn’t dare bring it to conscious thought, I was figuring out how to survive in my new reality.  I was reaching a new normal. 

I am no longer operating in crisis mode.  I am walking one step at a time, able to take what comes with what God provides for me.  He has supplied abundant help from friends and family.  Dear friends watch Kristen when she cannot be with me.  More friends and church family bring meals each day we are in the hospital.  Other friends and family support in other ways.  I still don’t know what I would do without them.  I am even learning to ask for help when I need it because I admit I can not survive this by myself.  It is all part of my new normal.

A couple of weeks ago, Kristen said, “Mommy, what did we do before we had to go to the clinic all the time?”  She has reached a new normal, too.  Most of the children we see regularly are also operating in our new normal as well.   Doesn’t everyone spend hours at clinics with unexpected or planned visits to the hospital?  Doesn’t every child make realistic Lego clinics, complete with procedure rooms, playrooms, and nurses’ desks?  What was life like before this?

Even Derek himself has reached a new normal.  He is so used to feeling as he is that he does not see himself as sick.  Friday, when he just had a cold, we received a sweet card in the mail from a child friend.  Inside, it said, “From ___, To Derek, Get well.”  Derek looked at me and said, “Get well?  From what?  My cold?”  Doesn’t every child take half a dozen medications morning and night? Isn’t every child sedated for lumbar punctures and bone marrow tests?  Doesn’t every child spend weeks in the hospital?  In his mind, he is not sick. This is normal.

Today marks five months since we began this journey.  God has been with us at every step and every turn. I am so thankful for the resilience He has put in the human spirit; the ability to survive, to keep walking one step at a time through unknown territory, the ability to reach a new normal.

Update February 6, 2012

Derek handled the high-dose methotrexate treatment quite well. The only hitch was that it took a little more time than expected for it to clear out of his system. We ended up being in the hospital for six days. Toward the end of the hospital stay, I started feeling like I was fighting a cold. I wore a mask and washed hands frequently, but I had no one to stay with him during the day. Vince stayed with him for three nights in a row, just to reduce the exposure a little. He didn’t get my cold and I was able to fight it off for the most part. But Kristen got it, and she got a bad case of it just after Derek came home. I had both of them wear masks and limit contact with each other, but it is practically impossible to keep colds from spreading. Last Thursday, the day Derek was to be re-admitted for the next dose of methotrexate, he woke with a sore throat and runny nose. We went to the clinic, but they decided they didn’t want to knock out his immune system with chemo while he was trying to fight a bug, so we went home.

We enjoyed a quiet weekend at home. Sabbath evening we had the first fire in our fireplace we have had since moving to this house nine years ago. We roasted hotdogs and really enjoyed the evening. Sunday, we worked some more on the camera for the barn owl box we are installing in a palm tree in our yard. Sunday evening the kids wanted to repeat the fire, so we did.

This morning (Monday) I called the clinic to tell them Derek still had his cold. His sniffles were getting worse and he had a cough. The nurse said to check in again Wednesday. About 11:30 while I was doing home school with Kristen, Derek lay down on the couch for a nap. About 1:00 he roused and I went over to him. His cheeks were red, and I felt his forehead. It was warm. I got the thermometer and took his temperature. It was 101. The doctors have told us to call if his temperature goes over 100.4. We have never exceeded this before, thankfully, but I called the clinic immediately. When I couldn’t reach anyone there, I called the oncology unit at the hospital. They paged the doctor. An hour later I still hadn’t heard anything. Derek was now awake from his nap so I took his temperature again. It was 101.9. I called the hospital again. They said to bring him in. So as of 4:00 this afternoon, Derek is back in the hospital in isolation once again. They drew five vials for various lab tests and cultures, did two nasal swabs, and took a urine sample. Now they have him on two antibiotics, an anti-viral med, as well as his usual meds. His blood counts came back pretty good. His ANC is 1300, so he has a little bit with which to fight this bug, whatever it is. I hope it is just the cold, but the labs will tell.

Sabbath, January 21, 2012

On Monday when we went to the clinic, Derek’s ANC had risen to 600.  That is still low, but it was high enough that I was quite sure that by the end of the week he would begin phase 3 called Interim Maintenance.  They wanted to admit him Wednesday evening so they could hydrate him and give him a bone marrow and spinal chemo Thursday morning before giving him the high-dose methotrexate.  The high-dose methotrexate is part of the experimental drug protocol he is on as part of the study.  It is the second “big gun” that is pointed at him.

Wednesday when we went to the clinic to check his ANC, we were fully prepared to head to the hospital following the clinic visit.  It felt very strange planning a hospital stay, knowing it was going to happen.  The house was even clean and the laundry done. I was ready.

Back before Christmas when we were in the hospital, Derek and Vince were in the playroom when a generous donor who calls himself the “Toy Fairy” called to ask if there was anything in particular he could get for the cancer unit playroom.  The girl in charge of the playroom turned to Derek and asked if there was any toy he particularly wanted.  We avoid the video games and television that entertain so many kids, and Derek had about played himself out with most of the other toys, so it was really nice of them to ask Derek for his advice.  Vince and Derek suggested getting some Snap Circuits. We have a set at home that my family gave him a couple years ago, and he loves following the directions to make something electronic or designing something of his own. It allows for a lot of creativity while learning about electrical circuits, electronic parts, and what they do.  Just after Christmas, we heard at the clinic that they had received three sets from the “Toy Fairy” and that everyone at the hospital playroom was really enjoying them.  They thanked Derek for suggesting a great toy.  Now Derek was excited to see what they got and filled with anticipation of something new and interesting to play with at the hospital.  He was ready to go.

Derek’s ANC was 1600, well over the 750 required to start the next chemo round.  But there was one hitch: there were no beds available on the unit.  They sent us home.  It was almost a let-down. I could hear disappointment in Derek’s voice. It was almost as if we were expecting a baby on a particular day, and it didn’t arrive. (That is another story from when Derek was born.) Both kids were a bit fussy that evening. I could understand, because even I felt a little letdown.  Even though I have reservations about the next phase, I know it has to happen, and I guess I was ready to get it over with.  They said that after rounds Thursday afternoon, they would know whether there would be a bed on Thursday. 

All day Thursday we waited for the phone call.  Finally at 3:30, I called them.  Yes there would be a room, but the child had to be discharged (which is a lengthy process,) and the room needed to be cleaned.  They would call when they had a time it would be available.  At 6 p.m. I still hadn’t heard from them and called again. The unit secretary said they were cleaning it right then and told me to come.   I fed the kids a quick supper and got in the car.  When we arrived at the hospital, the room was still not ready. We waited.  Finally at 7:30 we were able to settle into his room.

Friday morning, Derek was sedated for a bone marrow sample and a spinal with intrathecal chemo.  Then a few hours later they gave him the VinCRIstine and started the high-dose methotrexate.  They hung a large bag of the chemo that will drip into his veins over the next 24 hours.  Because the medication is sensitive to light and will take so long to administer, it is covered with a brown plastic bag, and the nurse covered the IV lines with tape.

Derek was very active and energetic yesterday afternoon. He did not want to settle down and sit anywhere, especially in his bed. We got one of the Snap Circuit sets from the playroom. Derek was very happy to find it is a much bigger set than the one we have. He happily made a siren using instructions and then designed a fan on his own using a meter to compare one battery pack to two.  He also made a music player that played “Happy Birthday.” 

So far, he has had few side effects that we can tell.  His appetite has dropped and he feels some nausea, but that is all so far.  Once the medication is in his system, they will have to use another medication called leucovorin to rescue the healthy cells. This medication has to be administered at precise times following the chemo.  We will be able to leave the hospital when blood and urine samples show the methotrexate is out of his system.  Possible side effects besides nausea include mouth sores, vomiting, and diarrhea. He will repeat this cycle approximately every two weeks for a total of four treatments.

Thank you for your prayers on Derek’s behalf as he begins this next two-month phase of treatment.

Monday, January 16, 2012

Wednesday, January 11, Derek had his last chemo treatment of Phase 2 (Consolidation.) Now we have to wait until his blood counts come back up before we start Phase 3 (Interim Maintenance = IM.)  Wednesday, his blood tests showed he is extremely low with an ANC of only 100.  They cannot give him neupogen this time because his counts need to come up on their own before beginning IM.  So we will have to be extremely careful that he does not get sick. 

As a precaution, the doctor prescribed azithromycin to help prevent any bacterial infections.  When I picked up the medication, I was dismayed to find I had to give him two very large tablets once a day. Derek can swallow small pills pretty well, but he had never swallowed anything this large.  When I gave the tablets to him, I had to cut them in half, but still he had a very hard time swallowing them.  Because they were cut, they tasted horrible.  Even with applesauce and yogurt they did not go down, and when he took a drink, half a tablet fell into his water bottle and quickly disintegrated. I was frustrated.  I didn’t want to give him two cups of water at bedtime.  I decided to try again the next day. 

Thursday, I cut the tablets and put them in a tiny bit of water to disintegrate. We have heard that chocolate can sometimes mask medicinal flavors, so I added some chocolate syrup and drew it up into a syringe. Apparently, the taste of azithromycin is not masked well even by chocolate. When I shot it into his mouth, he sputtered and gagged. One mouthful ended up on the floor. Now I was really frustrated.  I could not get this medicine down him. Surely there must be an oral suspension they could give him instead. I called the pharmacy to ask them what I could do.  They said they could exchange it for a flavored liquid.  Since I was going to Loma Linda anyway for a Bible study/prayer group that evening, I could stop by to pick it up afterwards.  While I was in the study, Vince called me to say the doctor had called him to tell us that Derek had mistakenly been given 10 times the dose of azithromycin he was supposed to get.  Instead of 100 mg, he was getting 1000 mg from those two tablets. WHAT????!!!! How could that happen?? They only caught the error because I called them about changing it to a liquid.  All of a sudden, I was glad he had spit half a tablet into his water bottle and the mouthful on the floor. At least that reduced the overdose a little bit. And it had been the motivation for me to call.

But what would be the side effects of that large a dose in such a little body? The pharmacy apologized profusely and told me that stomach pain (which he was already having) and diarrhea were likely the worst side effects. I was relieved because I know some antibiotics can cause hearing loss.  Fortunately this is not one of them. Other than the stomach ache Thursday night, he has had no other adverse side effects. He did not even have diarrhea.  Thank you, Jesus!

This week, Derek will have a bone marrow test to check for any residual cancerous blast cells.  If his counts rise enough, we may start the next phase later this week.  Interim Maintenance will consist of four in-patient treatments spread about two weeks apart.  He will likely be in the hospital three to four days each time. His protocol will include high-dose Methotrexate with Leucovorin rescue, VinCRIStine, and intrathecal Methotrexate. He will also get Mercaptopurine for 56 days in a row. Phase 3 here we come.

I Am a Cancer Mom

I am not a soccer mom or a hockey mom, though I dare say I am as tough as any of them, maybe even tougher.  But I am not bragging.  Although I spend hours on the road transporting my children to events, I do not take them to practice or games. The events my children participate in are more of the life-or-death nature. The competition is fierce. There is no practice for the contest we are involved in.  We have been thrust into the fight without practice and without warning, and even without our permission.  We meet with our team and coaches on a regular basis, sometimes as much as five days a week and for hours at a time, sometimes all day. Sometimes we must live at the facility where we have around-the-clock assistance from our team and access to specialized competition methods.  I cheer them on, but not from the sidelines. I get right in there and fight, too. Sometimes I have to wield the instruments of conquest.  It is all blood, sweat, and tears; my child’s blood, my sweat, and all of our tears. So far, we are winning, but the fight is far from over, and the tide could turn at any time.  Vigilance is vital.  To let up, even for a day, could be the difference between victory and defeat.  We are in hand-to-hand combat, so to speak; my hand tightly holding those of my children and husband, and I’m not letting go. I am a cancer mom.

© Heather Page 2012

January 9, 2012

Christmas Eve Sabbath, Derek’s blood counts were quite good and we decided to go to church. It was the first time since September 3 that we have gone as a family of four. Derek was armed with a mask and I had bottles of hand sanitizer in my purse. It felt so wonderful to celebrate the special Sabbath with our church family who has done so much to support us on this journey.

Christmas day was relatively quiet spent with a few friends and family. The weather was unseasonably warm, and the kids played outside much of the afternoon. The next week was spent at the clinic as Derek had chemo each day. Derek’s counts were dropping and he required blood and platelet transfusions on Tuesday. Wednesday he had spinal chemo for which he was sedated. New Year’s weekend was very quiet as we sequestered ourselves away to avoid getting any bugs. Last week we again went to the clinic two days, one for chemo and the next for another blood and platelet transfusion. Thursday we went to the hospital for sedation and spinal chemo.

Other than falling blood counts, Derek has taken it all quite well. His appetite has been pretty good, and he has been able to go outside to enjoy the warm weather. We have taken several short walks, and his energy is coming back. His resilience amazes me. This Wednesday, he has the last chemo for phase two (Consolidation) of his treatment. Then we will have about two weeks off for his blood counts to come back up before starting phase three (Interim Maintenance.)  We are now half way through the most intense treatment.

New Year

What will you do that is new in this New Year? This was the question posted by a friend on Facebook. It is a good question. It implies activity and purpose rather than just hoping things will happen or change. Sometimes lasting newness doesn’t just happen. It is planned for carefully and worked toward diligently.

There are some things I hope for this New Year, things I intend to work toward with purpose, activity and choice. I hope:

• That I will figure out how to fit in house cleaning, cooking, laundry, and home schooling with all the hospital stays and clinic visits.
• That I will take advantage of each day granted me to laugh, play, and read with my children.
• That I will be a reflection of Jesus to those around me, lightening loads, bringing peace, hope, and smiles.
• That I will have peace, hope, and smiles.

Unfortunately, some newness does just happen, unexpectedly, without warning. I probably don’t really want to know all the new things I will do this coming year that I will have no control over; things I do not wish for or plan for, but are developing a new me, nonetheless. Here are a few new things I will do, though I don’t want to. I will watch my son finally lose all his hair. I will watch him go through new chemotherapy treatments and cranial radiation. I will learn the side effects of those treatments by watching Derek experience them. I will watch and listen to my daughter learn more about Leukemia than I knew even five months ago. I think in this aspect, I will need to take it a day at a time instead of thinking of the whole year ahead.

I have a few things I hope for this year, but for which I have little control over. I hope:

• That Derek’s leukemia will stay in remission.
• That Kristen’s rheumatoid arthritis will enter remission.
• That by the end of the year, I will have seen once again that God is always faithful.

Fortunately, the latter I am assured of because God has that as His plan for this year as well, something He will work toward diligently with activity and purpose. His goal is a new me. What will He do that is new this New Year?