Nightfall

It's been a difficult evening for me. As darkness fell, I had the strange sensation that I was being enveloped by the same night that would see us back to the hospital, back to "the jaws of the monster" as I described it to CJ today. The coming day will be one of uncertainty, of decisions, and perhaps of more pain. So this afternoon I distracted myself by diving into several hours' worth of school work and other chores, trying to forestall facing the coming night. Oddly, it didn't work.

So, at 7:15 in the morning CJ will undergo a cisternogram to try to find the location of her CSF leak. The risks of the actual test are not much greater than with any other lumbar puncture, but the two that CJ has already had brought on huge amounts of pain, and so it's very hard for me to give my assent to another. The alternative, though, is a continuation of the current pain and other symptoms, and possibly months or even years of keeping her life "on hold." She doesn't want that, and neither do I. . .so she's willing to risk this diagnostic procedure in the hope that it will lead to a permanent fix.

Good thing we're on personal terms with the only One who can "fix" her. Tonight, we place our faith in His goodness, in the fact that He loves her like none of us could ever hope to. His hands hold her and protect her in ways that surpass our understanding. They hold us, too. . . .He sustains us with new mercies every morning and with an army of family and friends who support and pray and walk with us through these days; we are grateful.

My cousin and forever-friend, who has walked much farther down this road than I hope I ever have to, reminded me tonight that "there are no words that describe the uncertainty, the hope a mother's heart holds for her child, the absolute reality that we would trade places if we could but God didn't set life up that way..."

She's right, there are no words.