Earthside

Silas was born last Saturday on January 22nd. We really wanted that 22nd number for a birthday, and we thought it would be easy to get since it was a planned induction. But as the hours ticked by and the progression that normally happens in labor for me did not, we thought we might actually end up with a baby born on the 23rd instead of the 22nd (which, I'll admit, was a hugely disappointing thought for me). However, Silas pulled through and made it happen--in the 22nd hour, no less! 

I will of course be sharing more about the actual details of his birth in a future post. Those are probably my most treasured pieces I've ever written, and I return to them often--on birthdays or before births, as the case may be. They always bring back the sweetest feelings and make me weep. I love my kids so much.

Speaking of tears, there have been a lot of them this week--some from Silas, but mostly from me. I keep telling myself this is normal (because I know it is), but it's still a little unnerving to feel like I have no control. They just turn on with the least provocation, and I think my older kids (and even Mike) have been a little dismayed by their frequency. I just assure them that everything is fine and try to smile even as the tears flow without stopping. 

Some of those tears came because I fell headlong into thinking about Silas' journey through the veil from pre-mortal to mortal life. The first week in all of my boys' lives have been treasured, joyful times for me where heaven has felt so near. And it has been the same with Silas, except that I've also examined it from his (possible) perspective. And when I look at it through his eyes, earth looks kind of harsh and cold and painful. I have cried as I've considered what an adjustment this must be for him.

We're all over here totally smitten by him, our hearts almost bursting because of the increase in love (Maxwell said, "I just want to hug him so tightly, it scares me"), and little Silas is trying to figure out why there are little hands all over his head (Ian's) and why the car seat always leads to pain (first a circumcision, then multiple bilirubin checks) and why there was not enough milk at first and now there's too much and why a diaper change is so darn cold. 

I think his first few minutes of life are haunting me. I felt such a rush of joy; I couldn't stop beaming and smiling. Silas, on the other hand, whimpered and repeatedly stuck out his bottom lip in a gesture of confusion and grief. There was no joy on his countenance. 

One of my favorite essays on birth is called "Two Veils." In it, Heather Farrell discusses the first veil into mortality (birth) and the second veil into immortality (death). She says that women have stewardship over this first veil: "The only gateway into this mortal world is through the strait and narrow way of a woman's body and the shedding of her blood. There is no other way." 

She also paints a picture of the time leading up to birth: "If we could only glimpse into the premortal world and see the other side of the veil, might we see a world that is very female centered because the focus is on preparing children to go through the first veil?" Whether this is true or not, I pondered this scene a lot in the weeks leading up to Silas' birth. I thought about who might be on the other side helping him to get ready to join our family. 

I remember reading another description of birth and death that really resonated with me, which was that these two transitions are often like an hourglass where the sand gradually shifts from one realm to the other rather than a single, sudden event (although it can certainly happen that way). Death is one of those things that we dread when we are here on earth but which must be so incredibly joyful for the person when it actually happens. I actually think birth might be the opposite: it is perhaps one of the things that we joyfully anticipate on the other side, knowing that it is a key part of the plan of salvation, but once we actually cross the line, might we not want to turn right around and go back? 

I kind of think that might be what Silas was thinking as his bottom lip trembled while the nurses forcefully suctioned out his mouth and nose: This is not what I thought earth would be like . . . 

But we are doing our very best to smooth out earth's rough patches and show him there's actually a lot to love about being here:

There are brothers who have to take a peek at him before school and who argue for holding rights when they get home. There are cooing words, soft kisses, gentle pats on the back, sweet caresses, nuzzles, and snuggles.  There are secure swaddles and warm milk and a plethora of smiling faces to slowly examine. There is an abundance of love that saturates the air and follows him around no matter which room he is in. 

As he has become more alert, his bottom lip no longer quivers and his eyes have an undeniable spark. Sometimes he looks at us, and there is just a hint of a smile, almost like he is saying, "I've given you all a chance, and you're not so bad after all."

Welcome to the world, sweet Silas. 

A Little of This and That in July

July was hot and dry . . . and hot and dry again. I am a big fan of summer, but it got a little stifling, even for me. There was still plenty of fun to be had though. I have a feeling that the transition to school is going to be hard this year for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is that we've grown quite accustomed to a lazy, very open schedule, and I think we're going to miss that. This month found us . . . 

Kayaking . . . on my mom's birthday. We woke up very early so that we could get to the little pond by my parent's house before sunrise. My parents brought over their kayaks, and we spent a delightful hour paddling around. The water was still and peaceful. There were a few people fishing along the sides, but we had the water to ourselves. Afterwards, we went to my parents' backyard for a birthday breakfast.

Watching . . . Hamilton. Although Mike and I have tried to get tickets to Hamilton twice (once here in Utah and the other time in NYC), we've never been successful. So we were thrilled when a recording of the production was released on Disney+. It wasn't the same as watching a live performance (not even close), but since there was no hope of seeing it in the near, or even distant, future, I was grateful for the chance to see it. And I really, really loved it. The music is absolutely genius, and I feel like there are more layers that unfold every time you listen to it.

Sitting . . . on the sidelines of a parade. I thought we were going to miss out on a parade this year due to the virus. But then our old neighborhood organized a little bike parade that was just perfect. The route was circular, so you could start and end at any place on it. We chose to watch it from the grass rather than ride or walk, and it was so delightful to see all of our friends. And bonus for Clark: a few people even threw candy.

Admiring . . . fireworks from afar. We discovered that our house was perfectly situated to give us a great view of all of the fireworks going off in the neighborhood and across the valley. On the Fourth of July, we sat outside on our balcony and watched as fireworks lit up the dark sky. It didn't seem to matter where we looked because they were going off all around us. It was one of the most pleasant Independence Days we've ever had because we just enjoyed other people's shows instead of lighting them off ourselves. (To be honest, the boys would have preferred our own fireworks (we only did a few smoke bombs and flowers), but fireworks make me more nervous every year, so I was quite content to watch them with a little more distance.)

Getting . . . blinds. When we moved into our home, there were no window coverings at all on the second floor. So the very first thing we did when we moved in was order blinds for every room. Unfortunately, they didn't arrive for six weeks. So every night, I felt like we were on display for the entire neighborhood as it got dark and we turned on the lights. Mike's and my bedroom has five windows in it, which is great for natural light, but not so awesome if you want some privacy. When the blinds finally arrived, it was so nice to be able to shut out the hot afternoon sun and then go about our evening without an audience.

Chatting . . . with friends from a distance. Mike's and my weekly dates have not stopped during the pandemic, but many of our dates have been slightly modified. With the weather being nice, we've been enjoying backyard dates with other couples wherein we each get takeout, sit apart from each other, and spend the evening eating and chatting. It's really been quite enjoyable.

Having . . . an unfortunate accident. Maxwell has continued to have his weekly porch dates with his friend. A couple of weeks ago, they decided to do a little whittling with their pocket knives. The night before his friend came over, Mike reviewed all of the safety rules with Max (this wasn't the first time), but after he was done, he made the prediction (to me, not to Max), "He's going to cut himself." I'm sure you know where this is going. About thirty minutes into their porch date, Max decided to try to hollow out the stick in a way that was definitely counter to the instruction he received the night before. The knife slipped and sliced open his hand between his thumb and index finger. Clark rushed in to tell me that Max had cut himself. When I came out, I found Max cradling his hand as blood streamed onto the grass. It was a fairly gruesome sight, and I was glad Mike was home to come to the rescue. One look at the deep cut, and it was obvious he needed stitches. Mike and Max drove away, leaving the other boys to entertain Max's poor friend. Mike decided to stop in at our pediatrician's on their way to the instacare, just to see if he might be available to do the stitches. The waiting room was empty, and the doctor was actually just in the front office. He said he would be happy to sew Max up. Six stitches and less than an hour later, Max was as good as new. In fact, he got back home before his friend had left! (And this experience taught him a valuable lesson. Sometimes you can go over the rules a dozen times, but they just don't stick until you actually have to put them into practice.)

Going . . . back to work. After more than four months of working exclusively from home, Mike finally stepped across the threshold of his building once more. It was only for one day for a few hours, but he was still glad to be able to be back with his coworkers and actually work with his hands instead of just sit at a computer. His company doesn't want more than 20 percent of the employees there at any one time, so Mike will still be primarily working from home for the next while, but it was still a nice change of pace.

Building . . . Rameumptoms. Although our ward started going back to church at the end of June and now meets once every three weeks, we still haven't gone, which means that home church is still going strong. One Sunday, Bradley gave the lesson about the Zoramites praying on top of the Rameumptom. He brought out all of our building blocks and told us to build our own representations of the tower. I was impressed with the wide range of designs. Even though I have missed the fellowship that happens at church, I'm grateful for the time I've had to study with Gospel with my family.  

Teaching . . . Max and Bradley to sew. At the beginning of the summer, they both expressed an interest in learning how to sew. I checked out the book, Creative Kids Complete Photo Guide from the library and used it as a starting point. We selected three projects that looked fun and simple: a drawstring bag, a pieced together picture frame, and a pair of shorts. So far, it has been a lot of fun. I think I mentioned before that there is a little dressing room off of Mike's and my bedroom that I turned into a sewing room. This has made all of the difference in the success of these sewing lessons. At our old house, I would have had to set up everything in the kitchen, and all of the other kids would have been in and out the whole time we were trying to work. But now, the room is tucked far away from everything else in the house. I can give all of my concentration to the project at hand. And if we don't finish in one afternoon, it's not a big deal at all. Both Max and Bradley have improved so much already, and their projects have been turning out so great.

Making . . . it to the pool--finally! It took us over a month to get there, but we finally went to our little neighborhood pool. It made us all so happy. The thought of going had been stressing me out because we wanted to go when it wasn't crowded. The pool management capped the number of people allowed at fifty, but we wanted to go when there were far fewer than that. We had asked Aaron's doctors if he could go to the pool, and they said that they weren't worried about the pool itself at all, just the people in it. So anyway, we tried to strategically plan a time when there have traditionally not been very many people, and it worked! We had the pool mostly to ourselves, and it felt like summer. We've been a few more times since then.

Decorating . . . the front room. Our house basically has two living rooms: If you turn to the right from the entryway, you get to one, and if you turn left, you go to the other. I spent a good part of the month mulling over what to do with the one to the left (I decided in order to save my sanity I had to focus on one, and only one, room at a time). I was unhappy with the dining room, which was at the back of the house and felt isolated and cut off from the kitchen and the rest of the house. I wondered if the front room (which had great access to the kitchen) could be turned into a dual purpose dining/sitting room. I had a completely blank slate to work with, which might be exciting for some people but struck me with fear. I didn't have a single piece of furniture for that room--not even our dining table because, since we had benches at our old house, we only had four matching chairs for it. I consulted with friends and family members about the best arrangement for the room and finally decided on a mid-century modern style; I knew the furniture needed to be sleek and minimalist so that the room wouldn't feel overwhelmed by having so much going on in it. It was stressful to buy things for it. I'm an underbuyer to begin with, but then we were also working with a pretty tight budget because there was so much we had to get for the house (not just this room). I am not ready to reveal the room yet, but I'm getting close, so hopefully next month. It is coming together, and overall, I'm quite pleased with the result. 

Discovering . . . one of the best hikes we've ever been on. I was talking to the mom of one of Max's friends a few weeks ago, and she mentioned a hike that their family had recently enjoyed. She said that partway through the hike, you crossed a suspension bridge. Those types of hikes might be common in other parts of the country, but not here in Utah, so I was intrigued. Plus, she said that it was a fairly easy hike and not overly crowded if you went early. We decided to go on a Thursday morning to hopefully minimize the people even more and also avoid the heat since it was not a shaded trail. It ended up being absolutely delightful. We got to the trailhead by 7:30 am. The majority of the trail was flat and easy to navigate. In fact, Ian ended up walking the entire 2.2 mile loop by himself. The boys and I played a rhyming game for almost the entire time, which meant there was no fighting or complaining. We were all surprised when the bridge came into view; it was longer than we expected, and it was quite fun to cross. The sun stayed behind the mountain until the last ten minutes of our hike, and it was just such a pleasant way to spend a morning. 

Thinking . . . constantly about the start of school. Isn't everybody? Our district has decided to only give two options: in-person or online. I've discussed many other options with my friends, but there isn't a single one that stands out as being the "perfect" choice to me. Aaron's doctors gave him the green light to start school face-to-face, so we'll see if that actually gets to happen in a few weeks. It seems like information (and my personal feelings) change daily. 

Cutting . . .  down an apple tree and setting up the trampoline. I've mentioned before the small size of our backyard. We didn't have room for our trampoline without cutting down one of the apple trees. The tree was in bad shape anyway with many dead and dying branches, so I didn't feel bad about letting it go. We ordered a natural waste dumpster, and Mike spent a weekend taking the whole thing down (plus removing a bunch of other bushes and plants around the house). The weekend after, he went back over to the old house and disassembled the tramp and brought it over to the new house. The boys all helped put it together, and they have been so thrilled to have it again. There have been many hours of happy jumping (including a raucous game of Duck, Duck, Goose that involved the whole family).

Enjoying . . . a water fight and a bike ride on Pioneer Day. We went to my parents to celebrate the holiday. The kids ran around with squirt guns and buckets, except for Ian who played in the wading pool as if there wasn't any chaos going on around him. In the afternoon, my mom and I went on a bike ride. I am so jealous of all of the bike trails that are accessible from my parents' house, so I have to take advantage of them when we're there for the day.

Spending . . . summer evenings reading to the boys on the front porch. This has been one of my favorite parts of this summer. Aaron and Bradley take a football to the front yard, Max looks for bugs or rides a scooter up and down the sidewalk, and I read to them. Right now, we're reading Moon Over Manifest, which is a perfect book for summer, in case you were wondering.  

Celebrating . . . Aaron's twelfth birthday. This birthday felt especially tender since it was just two days after his eleventh birthday that we found out his bone marrow had stopped working. With his birthday this year, it seemed like things had come full circle. Here he was vibrant and healthy, active and busy, with a full head of hair and a dashing smile. And we celebrated to the max. Mike bought two dozen doughnuts for breakfast (overkill for a family of seven, but the boys were happy to get to keep munching on them throughout the day). Aaron received a bunch of presents that he loved, including an electric scooter, which he helped pay for with his own money since it was out of our normal budget for birthday presents. We went to the cabin and spent the day with Mike's parents. About halfway through the day, he said, "This is the best birthday I've ever had." In true Aaron-form, he was easy to please and just so grateful for everything. We finished off the day with peach cobbler instead of birthday cake, and I had to agree with Aaron: it was a pretty magical day.

Having . . . family over for lunch. We invited my brother and his family over for lunch one Saturday. Aside from a few backyard get-togethers, this was the first time we'd had anyone over and inside our house since March. It felt both strange and wonderful. Our kids didn't quite know what to do with themselves having other kids to play with. Gordy and Mike made chicken wings while Brooke and I kept them company and chatted. One thing I've realized with this pandemic is that everything is a risk on some level, and you have to decide when the benefit outweighs the risk. On this Saturday, we took the risk of spending some in-person time with my brother's family, and it fed our souls. 

Knitting . . . at a steady pace. I finished another sweater and a hat in July, but it was just too hot to take any photos of either item, so the only thing I can show is this little floppy-eared bunny that I made for my friend's new baby.

Spending . . . time at the cabin. I think one of the things my kids will remember the most from this summer is how much time we spent at the cabin. We did two day trips in July, and the boys filled up those days with all sorts of activities. Mike's parents were there both times, and that only added to the fun. Among other things, they shot BB guns and bows and arrows, played card games and horseshoes, made paper boats and crafts, swung in hammocks and giant swings and zip lines, went on hikes and walks, ate s'mores and ice cream, played in the water and trees, and caught snakes, butterflies, and grasshoppers. This is the stuff of memories, and I hope they get to keep and hold every pleasant feeling.

Holding . . . family book club. I'm going to save details about this for a future post, but it happened, and it was our best one yet!

That's about it for this month. How is your summer going? What are the things you'll remember most? 

Let God Show His Hand

When your pediatrician calls you at 7:15 in the morning and the first words out of his mouth are, "Is your husband at home?" you know he is not calling just to tell you that your son's blood tests came back normal.

That phone call came on Wednesday this week, and it's been quite the whirlwind of questions and emotions and fears ever since.

Over these past few days as we've told family and a few friends what has been going on, I realized that I needed to record all of the information in one place. It's just so easy for misinformation to spread or things to be exaggerated (all with good intentions, of course), so here are the facts: how it happened, what we know, what we don't know, what we're hoping for. (Mike told me I should give a little summary paragraph here at the beginning, but I think I'd rather take you on this roller coaster ride with us.)

But first, I'm going to give a little bit of background before the pediatrician's phone call.

On Monday, Aaron celebrated his 11th birthday. We had just returned from a family vacation to Lake Tahoe, so it was fairly low-key as far as birthdays are concerned, but he received presents and ate birthday pie, so it was a good day.

The next day, Tuesday, I took him to his annual checkup with our pediatrician, Dr. V. During the course of the appointment, I pointed out several bruises on Aaron's arms and legs and mentioned that he had been getting a lot of those this summer. That's not necessarily abnormal for an active boy who is spending a lot of time playing outside, but the concerning part to me was that he never could identify a cause. There was no, "Oh yeah, I fell off my ripstick" or "I whacked my arm coming up the stairs." They just kind of seemed to be appearing. Dr. V. looked at the bruises and then pointed out that Aaron also had some tiny red spots under his skin (called petechiae), which neither of us had even noticed.

Then the doctor abruptly left the topic and continued the rest of the exam. I thought that was a little odd but just figured it wasn't something he was concerned about. But then, as he was finishing things up, he said, "I'd like to do a few blood tests just as a precaution. He's probably just an active 11-year-old boy, but I'd like to be sure. And I also think it's best if we don't do any vaccines today."

Maybe I should have picked up on his tone and mannerism a little more, but I honestly didn't give it much thought beyond telling Mike that it had happened.

So now we're back up to the phone call. My phone started ringing; I didn't recognize the number, so I decided not to answer it because I couldn't think of anyone except a telemarketer who would be calling so early in the morning. But I still checked the voice mail, and when I heard the doctor's voice, I have to admit that I started to feel sick. Mike had already left for work, and I wondered if I should have him come home before I called the doctor back. But a part of me just needed to know right then.

So I called him, and that's when he said, "Is your husband home?" And I knew it had to be very bad news. He quickly told me, "Aaron's blood tests came back, and they don't look particularly good. We have an idea of what it might be. It looks like leukemia. I'm so sorry."

As the news hit my heart, it shattered.

I hung up the phone and immediately called Mike (it took five tries before he picked up), and then all I could get out was, "You need to come home. Right now."

Dr. V. mentioned that he had received the lab report the night before around 11:30pm and had spoken with an oncologist then, but he decided it would be best to wait until morning before calling me. I went back to the night before in my head, and I knew exactly what I was doing at 11:30pm. Mike had been working late and had just texted to say he wouldn't be done for at least another hour, so I texted back that I was going to go to bed. I had this strange out-of-body moment where I pictured the doctor talking on the phone with the oncologist at the same time I was texting Mike good night. It was somewhat surreal.

I think one of the hardest moments from the past week happened right then, as I sat in my bedroom waiting for Mike to get home. I suddenly thought of Aaron, peacefully sleeping in the bedroom right below me, not having any inkling of how his life was about to change. The tears streamed down as I pictured his sweet, sleeping face. I dreaded the moment when he would wake up, and we would have to tell him.

As it happened, Mike was blunt and to the point: "Well, Aaron, your life is about to get exciting." To which I quickly added, "But not in a good way." He took it as he takes most things--quietly, with a smile (although an apprehensive one this time), no questions.

I have to tell you that as we entered the hospital, a sense of dread pressed in heavy on me. I had the thought, I am probably going to get to know this place really well, followed closely with, I don't want to know anything about it. And then, a thought that came mere seconds after the doctor's phone call and which has continued to come in the days since: Let God show His hand.

That thought put itself on repeat as we navigated the halls and went into the Cancer and Blood Clinic. Actually, it went something like this: I hate this place. Let God show His hand. I don't want Aaron to have to be here. Let God show His hand. I want to leave. Let God show His hand.

I can't speak for Aaron or Mike, but this was the roller coaster of emotions I was riding that day.

Aaron's initial exam was done by a resident who showed us his lab reports. I wish I had written down all of the numbers, but the only one I remember was his platelet count. They like to see it around 150,000. Aaron's was at 4,000. The resident, almost soothingly, said, "It's a little low." Aaron later pointed out that that number had also had an exclamation point after it.

When the attending physician came in, she said that after looking at the blood tests, they thought it was one of three things: acute lymphoblastic leukemia, acute myelogenous leukemia, or aplastic anemia. She wanted to run a few more blood tests, which she hoped would give a more conclusive diagnosis.

So they put in an IV (quite traumatic as it turned out; Aaron wanted to watch, but he started to hyperventilate, and I thought he was going to faint before they got all the blood they needed). Then they sent us away for a couple of hours while they waited for results. We went to grab some lunch. We were all quiet and somber, and my appetite was completely gone.

When we got back to the hospital, the doctor told us the blood tests pointed to leukemia but they would need to do a bone marrow biopsy to determine which type. They gave Aaron a platelet transfusion and did a chest x-ray, and then we went home for the night (one of the many times I felt so grateful for our close proximity to the hospital).

That first night, just before I attempted to go to sleep, I read this scripture in the book of Psalms: "The Lord is nigh unto them of a broken heart" (Psalms 34:18). My heart truly did feel broken, and I held those words close as I wept in the dark.

The next morning, we arrived at the hospital early. They did another blood draw, decided that Aaron needed more platelets, and then prepared for the bone marrow biopsy. It was a short procedure, but they put Aaron under general anesthesia to do it.

Once it was done, Aaron was admitted to Primary Children's hospital, and we waited for results. He got an echocardiogram in the meantime. They wanted him to have one to use as a baseline for the future.

The oncologist and the resident returned mid-afternoon to say that they had done a flow cytometry test on the bone marrow, but they weren't seeing the cell types they were expecting. So they still couldn't determine which type of leukemia Aaron probably had. Instead, they were going to have to look directly at the bone, and they wouldn't have that pathology report for another few hours.

Even with inconclusive results, they still laid out a plan for the next day: Aaron would begin fasting at midnight and then the next morning, he would have a central line put in (either a port or a broviac, depending on which type of leukemia it was). During the surgery, they would also do a lumbar tap to check for cancer in the spinal fluid. And then, after all of that, Aaron would get his first dose of chemo.

But the next day did not go according to plan at all.

Mike stayed with Aaron overnight, and when I got there the next morning (after having to pry Ian away from me because he was determined not to be left for the third day in a row), the resident was just leaving. She didn't have much information, but they still didn't have the clear diagnosis they wanted, so they were putting off the surgery for the day. It looked like it was going to be a long day of waiting, so Mike decided to go to work for a few hours (he works five minutes from the hospital--another blessing).

A few hours later, the oncologist and resident were back, and this time, they sat down and said, "We have some good news and some bad news. The good news is, Aaron does not have leukemia. The bad news is, he has aplastic anemia."

The news sent us reeling. At first, there was sweet relief. On the surface, something with "anemia" in the name sounded a lot less scary than cancer, and I couldn't help but latch onto the words, "We have to do some more tests, so we won't be able to start treatment right away, so Aaron can go home tonight." That sounded great to us.

But after the doctor dumped all of this new information on us and left, I did the thing you're never supposed to do: I looked up aplastic anemia on the internet. And then I got scared again.

Aplastic anemia is a condition where the body's bone marrow stops making blood cells. As Mike has explained it to people, "It's kind of like the opposite of leukemia. Instead of your body going crazy and making too many white blood cells, it just shuts down and stops making blood cells completely." And blood, as you know, is kind of important.

The doctor returned a few hours later and basically went over everything again a second time (Mike had actually been gone when they came in earlier), and I was a little better prepared to take in information that time.

Here's what she told us: they don't know what caused Aaron to develop this condition. There is a slight chance it could be hereditary (but she doesn't think so because Aaron does not have any of the  physical abnormalities that are usually a sign of this). More likely, it was brought on by a recent infection or may have even resulted from some sort of chemical exposure (although I have no idea what this would be).

They decided to run some more tests to look for a cause (they must be checking for a lot of things because they took a lot of blood). It will take 3-4 weeks for all of these to come back. There are really only two types of treatment for AA. Either Aaron needs a bone marrow transplant (which is their first choice for treatment) or he will have to do immunotherapy. They will only do the transplant if he has a perfectly matched sibling to be a donor. If none of our kids end up being a match, then they will put him on immunosuppressant drugs. Either way, it is going to be a lot of time at the hospital.

As for right now, we are on hold for a little bit while we wait for all of the results to come back. Before they discharged Aaron, they gave him a blood transfusion because his hemoglobin was low (normal levels are around 12; his was 7). Now he will begin weekly blood draws to check his levels, and if they are too low, he will get transfusions. We will also have all of our other kids tested to see if any of them are a bone marrow match for Aaron (we are praying so much that one of them is!).

So that's the news for right now. The doctor did give us a very thin slice of hope that Aaron might heal on his own. This occasionally happens (although in the research I've done, this usually only happens with moderate, not severe, cases). Luckily since he can't begin treatment for a month, we have time to see if his body starts making blood cells again.

Although this is rather devastating news, aplastic anemia has a very good overall prognosis. It definitely feels less jolting than leukemia. We can kind of ease into the diagnosis a bit since we can't start anything yet. Aaron gets to be home (although he has been banned from the tramp, his bike, his ripstick, and any other potentially hazardous activity until he has a normal platelet count again), and he will probably even get to start school.

People have asked how Aaron is doing, and the answer is, it's difficult to tell. He has always been a fairly quiet kid who doesn't show a ton of emotion and rarely complains. Over the last week, he had a ton of people constantly asking him, "Do you have any questions? How do you feel? Is there anything I can do for you?" and he rarely had any information to give them. Besides the IV incident, the only other time I saw him react was when a nurse was flushing his IV (that darn IV!). He suddenly put out his other hand and said, "That actually really hurts." Just like that, calm as could be, but I could tell it must have been really painful to have him ask for her to stop. Even the nurse was like, "I have never seen a kid react so calmly when they're in pain." But from then on, anytime they needed to flush his IV, he was quick to ask, "And can you please do it slowly?"

During his three days at the hospital, he felt the love and support of so many (and we were so impressed with all of the doctors, nurses, and staff--that hospital was definitely designed with kids in mind). He had quite the parade of visitors, and they all helped boost his spirits so much. He loved passing away an hour playing a game or talking. All of his brothers even came by for a visit, and I think they all felt slightly jealous with all of the attention he was receiving. It's easy to see the gifts and treats and fun instead of the boredom and pain and fear.

I think the most difficult part for me right now is I kind of feel like we're in this state of uncertainty: we really don't know what the next few weeks will hold as we gather more information, and I don't know how much to plan or if I just need to stay completely flexible. And I also feel a certain amount of distrust. I know a misdiagnosis is quite common (and after reading more about AA, it sounds like many people were originally diagnosed with leukemia), but it makes me a little bit wary of this diagnosis as well. Are they going to come back and tell me Aaron actually has something else?

But through it all, I just keep thinking, Let God show His hand. For me, that simply means giving God the opportunity to perform miracles and provide tender mercies. It means saying, "Okay, Heavenly Father, this is what we've got going on. What can You do with it?" Aaron doesn't have to bear this alone. We don't have to navigate this new situation alone. We have many hands to hold us up, but especially the hands of the One who created all things and knows the end from the beginning.

We would be so grateful if you would keep Aaron and our family in your prayers.