There is a pressure that resides in my chest. Regardless of time and circumstance, it will not go away. Sometimes the pressure is unbearable. I cannot breathe. Think. Move. Be comforted. More often than not, though, the pressure is like a droning...the way my ears feel at the end of a long, loud concert.
It began on July 3rd, 2013 when Phil Noe asked us to sit down because he had bad news about Judah's MRI. He said, "It's a tumor" and just like that, I couldn't breathe. PRESSURE.
The following days, over the 4th of July weekend, the pressure intensified as we prayed and sought wise counsel and tried to figure out what to do. We would take our boy to Vanderbilt. We would see him undergo brain surgery and fight to recover.
So we did. And on July 11th, 1 yr ago today, Judah had brain surgery at Monroe Carroll Jr Children's Hospital at Vanderbilt. We were surrounded by family, friends (and friends of friends), co-workers, and pastors. And the pressure and fear and dread almost consumed us. But it didn't. We ate food prepared for us, we walked the campus of Vanderbilt, we talked, prayed, hoped. 6 hrs later, the nurse called us back. Judah was out of surgery. The resection of the non-brainstem tumor was a success. He did wonderfully. A long bumpy road was ahead of us. And so we road the elevator, with pressure building, to his room on the 5th floor to see our boy.
Oh how it hurt to see him like that. We had unrealistic hopes that he would defy the odds, wake up and talk to us. He didn't, for weeks. And the droning pressure made itself known. It wasn't crushing pressure. It was just unavoidable, as we waited for Judah to improve. To come back to himself. It took so long. But then, he smiled!
It's been a yr. He can run and laugh and play and swim and be a kid. And he has to fight hard for all of it. Because he has brain cancer. But this kid is a warrior. So we fight along side him, with him, for him.