by Jenny Wilkins

Created on: August 17, 2007

Our daughter has cancer. Medulloblastoma, an ugly kind of cancer that has forced her to fight far harder than any four year old should. Hospital stays are never easy, but this time she is really sick. She's not so sick that she's not excited about her new sibling, due to arrive in two weeks, but she is very, very ill.

We keep pictures on Catie's hospital door... pictures of good days and fun times and pictures that make us smile. It helps when she's so sick to see those pictures... to remind ourselves that we're doing all this in hopes that there will be many, many more smiling, happy pictures... for many, many years to come. They are a reminder when she is so sick that she is still in there though she's hidden behind the drugs and the yuck right now... she is in there. Sometimes the hardest part of all of this - actually some nights it's hard to pick a "hardest" part - but tonight, the hardest part is missing Catie. Yes, she's lying right here next to me, but I miss her sweet smile and funny, teasing personality when she feels this badly for this long. I miss our conversations and her observations about life. I miss her spunk, and I can't wait till it's back.

When you spend so much time in the hospital, there is a time when that becomes your "normal." You know it's not, but it's what you do... and then there are moments, usually late at night when it's just Catie and me that it hits me how absolutely NOT normal this is. Then occasionally, there is the urge to unhook her from her IVs, grab her, and run... run to Disney World or someplace, anyplace, where she could just be a kid. Then the rational side of your brain reminds you that right now, she feels bad, and even Disney World wouldn't be that fun for her today.

So you tuck her in, you give her kisses, you whisper that you love her... you crawl in and snuggle with her or if she prefers, you crawl into the recliner next to her bed, and you pray. You pray with all your might that what your doing to her brings good results in the end, that it's worth it and not fruitless... that this will finally be the path that God uses to take her to health and a long full life where she can share her story of God's miraculous work in her life. You pray that somehow, someway, God sees fit to answer your desperate pleas for healing and peace and happiness... your longing to just be a "normal" family...

So while there are so many petitions I could bring to the throne... tonight, I just ask for God to heal our baby here, for her to be happy, and for us to get to just be a family... cooking dinner at home (or let's be honest ordering takeout a good bit)... enjoying the maddening morning rush to get to preschool and run errands and go to the grocery store... the chance to go to church on Sundays without worrying about low blood counts and germs... smiles from a girl on a swingset out back (b/c she feels well enough to play on it) as I stand and watch with a baby on my hip... sibling fights in the future as well as sweet, tender moments between them... oh how I pray our future holds this for our family... for our Catie and little Chip or Izzy (or whatever we end up naming this sweet child we get to meet in 2 weeks). Oh how I pray for things I fear I would have taken for granted had it not been for our journey the last 3 years.

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