I won’t lie, today was tough. I hated every second of packing her bag to go back to the hospital, and watching Nathan wheel her out to the car to leave. I went back inside and cried. I cried while I made her bed, I cried while I put away her neubulizer, I cried while I picked up her little palet off the living room floor, I cried when I picked up her socks from where I tossed them on the floor last night. I held Averic and cried, I talked to myself and tried to keep busy with cleaning up. I hate cancer.

Then Nathan called from the hospital: she was in a good mood, she said “hi” to everyone as she was wheeled down to her room on the oncology floor, she seemed okay with being there. Her heart rate was in the 180’s, not acceptable. Her Oxygen saturation dipped repeatedly down into the 80’s, not acceptable. And her chest x-ray showed a little spot on her lung that could be pneumonia, not acceptable. I felt relived. Not that she was sick, but that we did the right thing for her and brought her back.

They commented that they were glad we brought her in because she only has 2 days until her chemo begins and she needs antibiotics in her system for 48 hours at least before being able to start that up. The Oncologists are uncomfortable waiting any longer to start round 3  because AT/RT is so agressive, so it is important that we nip any type of infection in the bud NOW and get started.  They will of course, wait until she is in a good, stable place before starting her chemotherapy, lest we have a repeat of her sepsis situation.

When I arrived at the hospital she was in good spirits, coloring and playing with playdough. She sat in her stroller for a while and watched cartoons and played ball and then she drifted off to sleep in bed. The antibiotics have been started and hopefully we can get that junk out of her lungs. I am sad that my girl is no longer  in the next room, and sad that our four days didn’t go as planned. And I am thankful for the magical time we had with her yesterday here at home. I look forward to the day we can take her to the zoo again and go places as a complete family.

It’s so easy to see clearly now, to be present in each moment of my life fully cognizant of what is happening, what miracles are passing before my eyes. Strange, I know, but I can look at each person in a room now, or even just my children and understand that in order for them to be there, laughing, interacting, living, going about the day, a million little miracles are happening in their body each second. The last 2 days Nathan and I have juggled the administering of seventeen medicines for Phoebe just to make her body work the way ours work. The human body testifies to His magnificence. I am in awe of the beautiful and intricate way He has woven us together and purpose to thank Him more for the delicate balance that He orchestrates in my body (and everyone’s) each day.

Phoebe is a miracle indeed and she has helped me to see that we all are. Living, breathing, co-creating, made-in-the-image of God, miracles. Let us not waste the gift or ignore the Giver who is worthy of our lives. Phoebe fights on for what we already posess.

“And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into His nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living being.”  Genesis 2:7