Man Crush

For those of you unfamiliar with the term "man crush," let me explain. A man crush is when a perfectly straight man (the Crushee) develops such admiration, respect and esteem for another man (the Crush) that it borders on enfatuation. This new and exciting feeling may result from a number of admirable qualities of the Crush - athletic skills, professional achievement, personal charisma, or just plain awesomeness.

Like a teenage girl, unable to contain himself, the Crushee feels compelled to extol the virtues of the Crush to all he knows. The Crushee is often oblivious to his feelings, and only those that hang around him can identify that he is, indeed, suffering from a man crush. They know because, regardless of the topic of conversation, the Crushee finds a way to bring up the Crush and reiterate, over and over, why he finds him so compelling. Phrases that are indicative of a man crush include, "he's the man," "I love that guy," and "that guy is awesome," repeated over and over.

For example, my Dad had a man crush on Tiger Woods (pre sex scandal). My brother has a man crush on Mitt Romney. All men have a man crush on Chuck Norris.

I've always considered myself impervious to the man crush, namely because I'm the ultimate skeptic. No man is as good as he seems. Think Tiger Woods and Brett Favre. These fallen heroes were once the objects of many a man crush...lots of good men fell for them, but not me. Tim Tebow will be next.

Enter Dr. Michael Dorsen. He's the man!...and I'm smitten.

Dr. Dorsen is the lead neurosurgeon who's been operating on Keith's brain over the last couple of weeks, and let me just say...that guy is awesome. He's Australian and he definitely reinforces some of the Australian stereotypes. He's direct and to the point. He doesn't beat around the bush with bad news or good. He tells it like it is, without sugar coating and without a lot of emotion. While these are admirable qualities in and of themselves, they pale in comparison to his real talent - he has mad surgical skills.

Dr. Dorsen and his team have taken great care of Keith over the last couple of weeks and have managed to completely remove a tumor that Dr. Dorsen once characterized as "huge, ugly, malignant, and invasive." I know, he's a real charmer, but you gotta appreciate his candidness.

Dr. Dorsen was assisted by Dr. Wheby, a pediatric neurosurgeon here at Emanuel. I have a serious crush on Dr. Wheby as well. Not only is she a wicked-good brain surgeon, she's warm, affectionate, and talks with a southern drawl that soothes even the most troubled soul. The contrast between these two is evidenced in their post-surgical visits to Keith. When Dr. Wheby checks him out, she comes in, sits on his bed, rubs his back, gently lifts his head to look at the incisions and talks warmly to him and us about how good he looks. When Dr. Dorsen comes in, he bypasses Darcee and I, lifts Keith head, says "looks good," and then turns to leave. Put these two together and you have a serious Dream Team.

Those of you who know me, know that, with the exception of my wife and kids, I'm not the most affectionate guy. I'm a hand shaker, not a hugger. I don't know why, but I just don't like touching people and I don't like people touching me. Darc has asked me to accompany her on a couples massage some time, but that's never going to happen. She says it will be "relaxing." The thought of lying naked under a towel while some stranger puts their hands on me doesn't sound relaxing at all, in fact, it makes me queasy. Despite my phobia, I've had to physically restrain myself from hugging Dr. Dorsen over the last two days. Given the news that Dr. Dorsen has shared with us following the surgery and the MRI, my desire to embrace has been palpable, as evidenced by a recent conversation with Darc:

Darc: "Easy tiger."
Me: "What do you mean."
Darc: "I think this is the only time I've ever seen you want to hug a man more than he wants to hug you."
Me: "Is it that obvious?"
Darc: "Yeah...but I respect your restraint."

I've settled for handshakes on both occasions. To be fair, he's probably the one guy who's less affectionate than me. I've had to wrestle even a handshake out of him. But that's okay, I respect that.

What do you say to a guy who's saved your sons life? "Thank you?" That hardly seems sufficient. I mean, I say "thank you" to someone for putting a little extra meat on my burrito or for complimenting my recent self-done haircut. "Thank you" seems like a drastic understatement in this case. Regardless, the best I could do was to shake his hand and say "thank you."

Now that the surgery part of Keith's treatment is over, we won't be seeing much of Dr. Dorsen anymore. Keith will now be under the primary care of oncologists. Though I'm sure I'll meet many other impressive physicians throughout this journey, Dr. Dorsen will always hold a special place in my heart. He's the man and I love that guy. So, consider yourself warned, though we may be talking about football, dirt bikes, or something completely unrelated, I may find a way to bring up Dr. Dorsen and his awesomeness.

In all seriousness, we know, without a doubt, that the outcomes of Keith's surgeries are directly attributable to the blessing of a loving Father in Heaven. He has intervened on Keith's behalf to effectuate results that were simply unachievable when the doctors first looked at this tumor just 2 weeks ago. We know this is the case, and we are forever indebted to Him for the miracle that He has worked with Keith. He has answered our prayers and the prayers of so many family members and friends. Keith still has a long road ahead of him but we are so grateful for men and women like Dr. Dorsen and Dr. Wheby, whose dedication to their profession of healing allows the Lord to use their talents as a means to bring about His miracles.

Pleasant Surprises

It's been a long, good day. I'm tired, so this will be quick. Keith is doing excellent. Surgery went very well. The neurosurgeon believes he got all of the tumor except for some remnants near the cranial nerves next to the brain stem. (Obviously he didn't want to touch those. That would affect Keith's ability to swallow and affect function and feature in his facial nerves.)
The neurosurgeon is pretty confident that with radiation and chemo those residual tumor cells can be "mopped up" quite well. We certainly hope so. We'll know after the MRI tomorrow exactly where we stand, but he called it a "gross tumor resection" which are the exact words we needed to hear for the best outcome for Keith.
The pediatric anesthesiologist was impressed at the resilience of Keith and his ability to come out of anesthesia so quickly. He called him "an amazing kid" especially considering how small he is for a 3 year old.
Keith is doing so much better after this surgery than the last resection surgery. It probably has to do with the fact that he didn't need a blood transfusion this time and that the tumor was not so deep. It was also nice that he didn't have to remain sedated for a day and a half. They were able to wake him right away. He was talking to us within 30 minutes of surgery and begging for popcicles immediately. (At one point, he tore the stick out of my hand and shoved it into his mouth--showing extraordinary strength and coordination post-surgery. I was cracking up. Only happy tears today.)
He even looks great. The swelling is minimal and he is able to move and speak remarkably well. I can't express how grateful we feel for that.
His scar is unforgettable. It is exactly in the shape of a number "7" on the back of his head. I'll try to remember to take a picture tomorrow. I suppose he'll never need to wear a sports jersey, as long as his coaches allow him to be number 7 for the rest of his life.

Anyway, we are deeply humbled by the support of so many and by Heavenly Father's answer to our prayers. Considering the news that kept getting worse and worse the first few days of this month, we are truly amazed and grateful for where we stand today. We know our prayers have been heard and answered. We appreciate the physicians, nurses and other medical staff who have used their talents to bless the lives of others. We are humbled by the bravery and resilience of a special little boy and are grateful for more time we get to spend with him. Keith isn't finished teaching us yet and we still have a lot more to learn.

Waiting...again

Brent's side of our bathroom vanity is plastered with inspirational quotes. The quote wall is something I often openly mock but secretly love. The contributors run the gamut from Gordon B. Hinckley to Jack Black. Somewhere along Brent's spectrum of brilliant minds sits Winston Churchill. One quote from him caught my eye before bed last night and has been burning in my mind ever since.

"I am an optimist. It does not seem too much use being anything else."

This is my motto for today. What good does it do any of us to be anything but optimistic?

I might have wavered a bit after meeting with the pediatric anesthesiologist who went over the dangers of brain surgery and ran down a laundry list of possible outcomes including stroke, nerve damage, etc. He did call us "veterans" at this whole brain surgery thing. I'm not quite sure yet how I feel about that comment, so we'll just leave it at that.
I also might have started shaking when the neurosurgeon reminded us that "this is a big deal". "We're going to be aggressive." "This is his one shot." (Gesturing to Keith). Basically, if we don't resect a very good portion of this tumor, therapy is not going to do much good.

Brent and I told ourselves that as medical professionals the physicians are obligated to explain all the risks. And despite those risks we still feel very optimistic. Remember it doesn't do any good to be anything else.

I also feel gratitude today. While we were in the pre-surgery area, there was a young mother and a beautiful baby boy headed for a second heart surgery. The mother had a laptop in her son's crib where her husband was available via Skype since he is currently serving in Iraq. Our hearts went out to her. She did have a friend and her pastor with her but that is not nearly the same as having a spouse's hand to hold or having a spouse give reassurance like only he or she can. Sometimes we think we have it the worst but in reality, we never do. Brent and I reminded each other of that and were even more grateful for each other. I said a silent prayer for that baby, his family and his medical team.

Currently, we are waiting out another surgery. This one is not as technical as the last one but every bit as important. In order for Keith's treatment plan to remain in the "Standard risk" category as opposed to the "Moderate or High risk" category, we need to remove close to all of this tumor. The pathology results show that this is not a classic medulloblastoma but shows signs of a slightly more aggressive type of medulloblastoma. Since at 3 years and 3 months, he barely exceeds the radiation age minimum of 3 years old, we would obviously like to keep his young brain at the lowest radiation rate as possible. If the surgeons can remove enough, Keith won't have to receive those stronger amounts of radiation and chemotherapy used for cases in the "moderate to high risk" category but can remain in the "Standard risk" category.

So, we are waiting. But we are hopeful and faithful and optimistic. Thank you again to countless people out there who are praying and fasting for us and simply keeping us in your thoughts. We've received many words of encouragement from many people and in many forms. Thank you. Please know how much it means to us.

Love At Home

The Spike and the Shunt

It almost sounds like the title of a fable. (Emphasis on "almost".)

First, the spike.
Well, we didn't get Keith home today, after all. He spiked a fever this morning and it's now just hanging around in the low-grade range so we'll be here until at least tomorrow. Obviously, we are bummed but we'll get him home before surgery at some point, so that will be good. He's been pretty ornery today but I think it's a good sign. At least he's feeling well enough to show annoyance at being here. The feeding tube hasn't helped his mood, either, but I think he's slowly getting used to it. We've been up reading lots of stories and doing lots of activities today. (I can't tell who's having more fun with the new toys, Keith or his dad.) Anyway, we've made the most of a bummer deal. Our hopes are high for tomorrow.



Second, the shunt.
Keith had another surgery last weekend while I was taking a hiatus from blogging. I thought I should record it before I forget. It's not likely that I would, but here goes.

Technically this was his third surgery of the week since his first was the emergency surgery on February 1 to place the EVD tube and allow the extra Cerebrospinal fluid (CSF) in his brain to drain outside his body. After the tumor resection surgery, the neurosurgeon determined that the CSF in Keith's brain was still not absorbing properly into his spine and therefore scheduled shunt surgery for the following Monday morning. This surgery would insert a shunt into Keith's head with an internal tube that runs down his neck and into his stomach. The excess CSF from Keith's brain would then either be absorbed or urinated out.


So, anyway, when Keith was extremely uncomfortable and very swollen late Sunday night, the ICU Pediatrician decided to call our neurosurgeon at home and get Keith into surgery right away. By this time, Brent had affectionately named him the "Lemonhead baby". While some swelling was expected post-tumor resection surgery, he was swollen enough to raise the concern that his CSF was draining into his facial tissue. After surgery, the neurosurgeon said this was not the case and Keith could have waited until his originally scheduled surgery time the next morning, but at least it helped make Keith more comfortable. There was a minor complication in surgery where Keith's bowel was "nicked" with the tube. (They make a small incision in his stomach to attach it.) They had to call in a general surgeon to patch it up with a few stitches, but it barely grazed the outside of his bowel and shouldn't cause any trouble. So, if you see a large incision on top of Keith's head, that's from the shunt in his head. Luckily he has nice hair that should cover it up once it grows in after chemo. He'll still be as handsome as ever; especially when he is out of the hospital and smiling.

Super Keith

It's been a busy day for our Superhero. He's seen more therapists and specialists than I've seen in a lifetime.

First, he had to have an audiogram that they can use as a baseline before he starts chemotherapy. Apparently, hearing loss is one of the first side-effects of treatment. Keith was not super happy about it but they got mostly what they needed. They will get the rest after his next surgery. Everyone makes a real effort to make things fun, but Keith has their number. He knows they are really after performance on his part and sometimes he just doesn't want to play. I don't blame him one bit.

We also spent quite a bit of time with the occupational therapist, the physical therapist and the speech pathologist. The O.T. and P.T. were blown away by Keith's progress from yesterday. I was fighting back tears while cheering him on during therapy yesterday as I watched him struggle to do simple tasks. The frustration on his face said it all. On our way back to his room, I quietly asked the O.T. how long it usually takes kids to walk again after a surgery like Keith's and she wouldn't give me a straight answer. Finally, I said, "like a month?" All she replied was, "Or longer." Wow. Well, at least I got an answer out of her.

But after today, I'm confident we can get him walking before that, assuming the next surgery goes well. He was standing a little on his own and took a few steps with some help. He was also standing at a play-table and holding his weight with one arm while playing with the other. I was spotting him, but that was it. He wanted to keep playing but his head was hurting and we had to get him back for some more Tylenol.

I was so proud of him. I feel much more encouraged today about how things will go after surgery next week. At least I have a better idea of what to expect. The O.T. said today that if he does this well next week, he won't even need in-patient rehab which would be fantastic. Then we could get him home sooner.

The one drawback to his progress is his nutrition. Anyone who knows Keith knows that he doesn't have much of an appetite. (He didn't inherit that from us!) We've been working with the nutritionist the past few days but his caloric intake is about 1/3 what it needs to be. He'd have to eat a lot more cheetos and popcicles to reach 1100 calories! So, the nurse is going to put a feeding tube in him tonight. He will have it until he goes in for surgery again. Basically it's a tube that goes through his nose and into his stomach. During the night we'll hook him up to a machine that will feed him formula. They tape the tube on his cheek to keep it out of his way. Keith is no stranger to a feeding tube. He had one for a few weeks in the NICU, too. Even at 3 pounds he was pulling that tube out of his nose so we'll see how this goes. We'll continue to encourage him to eat real food during the day. Supposedly, it's fairly common for oncology patients his age to have a feeding tube.

We do have some excellent news to share. The oncologist has decided to send Keith home tomorrow! Even though it is only for a few days, we are very excited. We feel Keith will perk up if he is able to be at home with Cole and Ally. He will especially appreciate a break from all the poking and touching from complete strangers. Our biggest concern is how we are going to get him back to the hospital for surgery next Wednesday. I can't think of a bribe big enough! He hates this place. Today he kept hiding behind his pillows whenever anyone walked through his door. Now that his strength is starting to come back, we could have a pretty big fight on our hands next week. I'm okay with that though. I love to see him show his personality again and see him have the strength, energy and coordination to fight.

So, we're looking forward to some family time at home before his next big surgery. (A polite translation: no visitors please.) Keith needs to regain some strength and we are desperate for some family time together at home.

We are more than grateful for the cards, letters, balloons, activities and posters that have been sent for Keith that are currently decorating his hospital room. We can't wait to redecorate them on his walls at home! (even if it's just for a few days). It's my turn at home tonight and my head is spinning with ideas to welcome Keith home. Yay for good days.

Credit

I went running this morning for the first time in 8 days. It was great to feel a hint of normalcy. I felt weak running but I feel really good now. It helped clear my head a bit and after re-reading my post from last night, I realize that I should not blog at night when I am tired. The post made it sound like I'm a single parent in this whole ordeal and I most definitely am not. Brent is back working and still spending every other night at the hospital. Fortunately, his job is such that he is able to work remotely right now. That is a huge blessing. I keep trying to talk Brent into letting me take all the night shifts during the week and he can have the weekends but of course he won't. I couldn't even get him out of Keith's room for the first 4 days in the hospital.
Anyway, we are both here all day every day and one of us heads home around dinner to spend time with Cole and Ally before bed. We are so grateful to our parents for all their hard work to keep things running at home. I haven't worried about cooking, cleaning, shopping or laundry since I've been at the hospital.
Brent's dad and brother have just about finished our master bathroom remodel that was abruptly interrupted last week. Thankfully, our toilet is out of our closet and back in working order. The walls have been rolled with fresh paint where I had only completed all the edge work last Monday. We now have new faucet fixtures and soon a new light. It looks much better installed than sitting on our garage floor. (Brent's tile job on the floor and in the shower is impressive. I'll post pictures once we are home.)
My dad performed his own miracle in our yard. I'm embarrassed to admit that I still had scarecrows and a hay bale in our walkway. (One friend kindly joked that I was ahead of schedule for Fall 2011.) My dad transformed our walkway with a bench, with some new planted pots and with a few small trees while clearing out an entire truckbed of debris from around our yard.

Basically, our house looks way better than before all this happened, thanks to our dedicated families. They claim it is therapy for them but I can handle being a mercy-case for now.

Torn

I have purposely avoided blogging the past few days because I refuse to be depressing. Who wants to read a blog that leaves you feeling down?
Basically, my expectations for post-brain surgery were completely unrealistic and naive. It's going to be awhile before I get my Keith back. The surgeons had to remove part of the brain matter to get to the tumor, which throws off his coordination and balance temporarily. (We knew this would be the case.) Thankfully, his brain will learn to compensate, eventually. Isn't the human body amazing?

I've decided that the absolute worst experience in the world is watching your child suffer pain. When his distress has been at it's worst, the only way I've been able to cope is to imagine what physical torment I would rather endure than watch his current torture. I've come up with some pretty harrowing scenarios, including sawing off my appendages with a plastic knife and allowing a rat pack to gnaw off my face. I hope you are laughing because that is seriously the sickening way in which I am dealing. I would rather suffer any amount of physical pain myself than powerlessly watch him wince and have him wonder why I'm not doing anything to help. He doesn't understand that the pain is temporary or that it is for his good eventually. I just hope and pray that my presence alone is giving him some source of comfort.
OK. I know. I promised I wouldn't be depressing, so I'm going to share some good news. Keith sat upright with me in his bed so we could read stories. Physical therapists showed us some exercises to work with him on each day so he can regain some strength and coordination and I felt so grateful to sit with him and do something he really loves doing. He was the most animated he's been since before surgery. It was great!
He also started protesting again when anyone wearing scrubs or a badge walks through the door. I love to see a little fight back in him!
We took him for a little wagon ride around the floor today with Cole and Ally. Ally is a little out of sorts so it ended rather abruptly, but it was good to get Keith out of his room for awhile. Cole is struggling. He just keeps repeating, "I don't feel very good." And if you ask him what hurts he says, "My feelings." Poor kid. He has temporarily lost his best buddy. We all have. But we'll get him back.
There are going to be good days and rough days. That's just the nature of this whole experience. I really am trying to be optimistic even though I think I just depressed myself putting some of this into words. Trust me, I spared you the worst stuff. I learned my lesson last time.
I guess I'm just trying to be real. I don't want everyone out there to think I'm tough as nails and I'm just keeping it all together perfectly, because I'm not. I have a huge support system and the strength of the Spirit and that's the only way I'm making it. It's Keith that I ache for. I would do anything to help him better understand his situation and anything to relieve his pain.
Another piece that weighs on me today is knowing that we are going to start all over again next week. Keith's second tumor removal surgery is scheduled for next Wednesday morning. We will relive this recovery process again very soon. I know it is a blessing that we have another shot at removing the tumor. I keep reminding myself of that and it helps keep each of these days in perspective.
For now, it's off to bed with Cole. Brent and I swap every other night: one night at the hospital helping Keith and the next night snuggling in our bed with Cole.
One night at a time.

Miracles

The MRI results from yesterday's surgery show that the surgeons extracted more of the tumor than they thought. The goal was 90%. We were told that anything less than 90% leaves us with "dismal" results. It looks as if the surgeons were able to remove close to that golden 90%--right where we need to be in order for radiation to be successful. It could be more than that but we are at least close.

The other good news is that the remaining tumor has shifted away from the brain stem. When going over the first MRI scan, our neurosurgeon with over 40 years experience said that he had "never seen a brain stem so distorted" by a tumor that is "as big as it gets". It now looks like the remaining tumor has moved into the empty space created from yesterday's surgery. Another miracle.

This news explains the feelings of peace Brent and I felt yesterday afternoon and evening, even when we heard that only 50% was removed. We just kept saying to each other how surprised we were at how good we felt. Now we know why.

This news changes our plans for the near future. We should know the exact plan tomorrow, but we believe the plan will be to operate again within a week. Now that the tumor is in a safer spot, it should be easier and faster to remove. After this next surgery, we would evaluate how much is left, and decide on a treatment plan from there.
One unknown right now is the part of the original tumor that had surrounded the major artery supplying blood to the brain. That was deemed "untouchable by surgery". We don't know if that has shifted at all but we assume and are hopeful that it would respond well to radiation.
We should know more tomorrow.

For now, we are in awe at the the power of prayer and the hand of God in our lives. We feel like the whole world is praying for us. We feel that strength and cannot tell you how grateful we are for it. We know Heavenly Father loves us and is mindful of our needs and wants.

Clearly, we still have a long stretch ahead of us but this is a HUGE step in the right direction on that long road. We have witnessed a miracle. There may be people out there who will call it coincidence or luck, but knowing how the odds were absolutely stacked against us going in to surgery yesterday and knowing how the surgeons honestly felt surgery went afterward, I know we have witnessed a miracle. A miracle that can only happen through faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and in the supreme power of humble prayer.

"We'll live to fight another day"

These are the first words that registered from the neurosurgeon late this afternoon. They got as much of the tumor as possible before they had to stop because of the amount of blood loss. The surgeons believe they were able to remove about half of the tumor. We were hoping for more but right now we are just so grateful that Keith is stable and that the surgeons are confident they didn't hurt him. (With the tumor threatening and even encasing some vital functions, this part of the surgery caused me the most anxiety.)
We'll hit it hard with radiation and chemo and go in for another surgery on hopefully a much smaller tumor. If it's the type of tumor they believe it is, a medulloblastoma, it responds very well to radiation. They definitely didn't get enough of the tumor out for radiation and chemo to do the job completely. Therefore, surgery will be needed again. That's the plan that will unfold in the next few weeks and months.
Right now Keith is still sedated and will be until another MRI is done in the morning. This will allow us to get a look at the remaining tumor.
I am anxious for him to wake up tomorrow and hear his sweet voice and see those beautiful eyes. I hope for now he can feel me sleeping close to him tonight.
He's lightly sedated so the nurses don't want voice or touch to cause him to fight the anesthesia. But I'm here. Brent has been in the room every night while I've been down the hall. Tonight is my turn.
I'm tired but that's a good sign. It means I've relaxed after this first of many hurdles. The magnitude of this journey has really hit me today. This is the marathon of all marathons. We have a very long road ahead but I still feel optimistic and hopeful. I'm even surprised at how good I feel tonight. Thanks again to you all.
I was at home for a couple hours this evening to shower and see Cole and Ally and there were cards and flowers and food. We are in good hands. Thank you.

Waiting

This morning started off very well. We learned that another specialist will be on hand for Keith's surgery, a well-known pediatric neurosurgeon. We also learned that his spinal fluid is clear: a good sign that nothing has spread down the spine. We've all felt good today: strong and optimistic.

I sat down to post a couple hours ago in hopes that it would help me like it did yesterday. I also wanted to help pass the time as we await this 6 hour surgery. As I attempted to give the play by play of yesterday leading up until the moment, I found myself in a very bad place--reliving things that do not need to be revisited. My deeply devoted and in-tune husband literally saved me. He pulled me away from the computer and helped me back to a better place. I've spent the last 2 hours waging an internal war of emotions that I literally never imagined possible. Only through the strength of a higher power have I been able to climb out of somewhere I never want to return. Fear does not come from diety. Faith does. Faith precedes the miracle. I keep repeating this to myself over and over again. I know miracles happen. If ever I need a miracle it is right now.
My father blessed me last night with "the courage of lions and the strength of many". In order for me to have that strength, there must be "many" with whom to share this burden. For every comment I see, every text I read and every email I receive, I know that there is one more individual or family taking a portion of this burden for yourselves and relieving a weight that would crush me to pieces were I holding it on my own. Please know how much your thoughts and prayers mean to us at this time. I read them over and over again to remind me of all the prayers going up to heaven on our behalf.
It gives me so much hope. I am hopeful. I am faithful. I think I just need to write this, to say it so that I can remind myself of my true feelings. If I can post this and re-read it and draw from the strength of so many of you out there, I know that good things can happen--even a miracle.
For now we are waiting. Thank you for waiting and hoping and praying with us.

A nurse just walked in and told us everything is going well. The tumor is still being extracted and Keith is stable. More good news.

Keith: Small but mighty

The nurse who handed Keith to Brent after he was born called him "small but mighty". At 3 lbs 2 oz he was small and he's proving now like he proved then that he is as mighty as they come. He fought for life in the womb and he won and we know he can do it again.
For anyone who does not know, Keith was diagnosed with a brain tumor yesterday. The neurosurgeon has not done a complete MRI reading, but his initial words to us yesterday were that this tumor is "enormous", "ugly", "definitely malignant" and "invasive" (meaning it's in the brain stem). We'll know more details this afternoon and certainly much more once we receive the pathology reports from the actual tumor. Surgery is scheduled for tomorrow morning. We know the neurosurgeon will remove as much of the tumor as he can without disturbing the portion in the brain stem. We do not know how small or large of a portion that is yet. Beyond that, we aren't speculating much about the future. We are taking this one day at a time.

Keith is doing well. We are watching Beauty and the Beast in the Pediatric ICU. He will be here until the excess fluid in his brain is drained. (There has been spinal fluid build-up due to the tumor blocking his brain's ability to re-absorb the fluid.) Fortunately, the major pressure is off and we're just waiting for the fluid to drain. The medical team is unsure how long that will take, likely anywhere from 1 to 10 days.
Keith is in good spirits today. He keeps asking to go home and obviously at 3 years old, he does not understand why he is here. But he's anxiously awaiting a visit from Cole and Ally this morning which will be great for all of them.

Life is full of surprises, mostly good and some not so good. To think that Tuesday morning my main focus was training for the Boston Marathon and a few hours later, I was intensely focused on a much different, much harder and much more important kind of endurance test. Fortunately, Brent and I have a very strong relationship. We continue to love and support each other. We have family support that is second to nobody else I know. We have friends who love us. And most importantly, we feel the love and support of a Savior who has suffered all and knows how to best succor us at this time. In the strength of the Lord we can do all things. If anyone can overcome this it is us. It is Keith.
Thank you all for your prayers and support. We can do this.