Thursday, September 29, 2016

Diagnosis Road: McKenzie's Story (Kerato-irido-lenticular dysgenesis)

 
The diagnosed: McKenzie, 2
The ones who love and care for her: Vanessa and Michael (her parents) and big brother Cameron, 5 


Name the diagnosis
Kerato-irido-lenticular dysgenesis - this means that McKenzie's lenses and corneas were fused together at birth. During development of the eyes there comes a time when the layer of cornea and layer of lens separates and creates the anterior chamber of the eye. This step did not happen for McKenzie.

In addition to the original diagnosis, McKenzie has suffered repeated scar tissue growth and multiple retinal detachments in both eyes. She also had glaucoma (increased pressure inside the eye) at birth.

The day of McKenzie's birth was both the happiest and worst day of my life. No one here could tell us what was wrong with her eyes. At birth they projected out in a cone-like shape and there were white flecks over the front. You could not see the whites of her eyes. Local doctors gave us several options for further evaluation - we were assured these were the "top eye institutes in the US". We chose John Hopkins since it was the closest at over 5 hours away. (Others included Wills in Philadelphia, Loma Linda in California, Bascom Palmer in Miami). We left for Hopkins the day after we were discharged from St. Mary's.

Our experience at Hopkins was the worst. The doctor there diagnosed McKenzie with Aphakia (congenital absence of the lenses) and glaucoma. A very rare diagnosis. She had multiple exams and an ultrasound. The doctor gave us very little hope. She wanted an emergent MRI of McKenzie's brain and sent us to the ER to get it done. That was a nightmare! They ended up admitting us, not letting McKenzie eat for hours and hours, and kept postponing the MRI. When we finally got it done they initially said it looked normal, but later told us her optic nerves appeared small. I was devastated!

The only good thing to come out of our visit to Hopkins was the misdiagnosis of Aphakia. After she was diagnosed I let the world of Facebook know. Many people started researching. A co-worker and fellow PA (Physician Assistant) thought that if this were her child, what would she want to find? The answer was other families with the same type of child, so she began searching the Internet. She found a blog post from a woman in Canada from 2007. This woman's daughter had been diagnosed with Aphakia and she was seeking other parents of children with the same diagnosis. 

Even though the post was 7 years old, I emailed the woman. She replied, and gave me hope (her daughter could now recognize all her colors and read extremely large print). She told me I needed to take McKenzie to see Dr. Nischal at University of Pittsburgh Children's Hospital. I immediately searched for Dr. Nischal's information and found his email on the UPMC website. I emailed him all the information I had so far on McKenzie and asked if he could see her. I gave him my email and phone number.

This was on a Sunday afternoon....HE CALLED ME BACK WITHIN AN HOUR! He had a delightful British accent and said that he would see her on Tuesday. He told me "don't despair, I'm sure something can be done". It was the first bit of positive news we had been given since McKenzie's birth. 

She was 9 days old.

I forgot to mention that in the midst of us being at Hopkins and living out of a hotel on minimal sleep and a roller coaster of emotions, my husband's oldest brother and our sister-in-law decided they needed to come to us for support....they lived in Pittsburgh at the time. My sister-in-law is from Pittsburgh and had researched the children's hospital there and had suggested we look into it. She knew nothing about Dr. Nischal at the time. All things added up, and I felt God leading us to Pittsburgh.

At this point we still had a meeting on Monday morning with the Dr. at Hopkins and a neurologist to discuss what, if anything, could be done. And this entire time I was very concerned about the glaucoma, but the Dr at Hopkins said she couldn't do anything for it because the procedure to correct it required normal eye structures, which McKenzie did not have. I asked several times about medications, and again she said it wouldn't work because they needed normal eye structures. She also said it was not urgent to control the glaucoma since McKenzie had likely had it all along in the womb. Everything I knew from my medical training was the opposite, and I knew that there was a short time to control it or risk permanent damage. Dr. Nischal was concerned that McKenzie was not on any medications for the glaucoma as well. 

Skip to Monday and we met with the doctors at Hopkins. I had mostly made up my mind that we were going to Pittsburgh, but needed to see what they could offer McKenzie. We were presented with the option of a cryolaser procedure to control the glaucoma (which, knowing what we know now, would have permanently blinded her). I explained we had spoken to another doctor and we planned on taking her for a second opinion. Incredibly the Dr at Hopkins knew of Dr. Nischal--had trained at Wills with him during residency--and she never mentioned him. At the time, Dr Nischal had treated the most cases of Aphakia in the US, which is saying a lot considering how rare the diagnosis is. I never felt confident with the doctor at Hopkins and I felt that she had never seen a child like McKenzie herself. At this point Dr. Nischal spoke to the doctor at Hopkins and instructed her on what medications to start McKenzie on.

On Tuesday we went to UPMC for the appointment with Dr. Nischal. When he walked in, he was a burst of light and joy for us. He examined her for less than 5 minutes, did an in office ultrasound and declared that she did not have Aphakia, that she had lenses they were simply embedded in her corneas. He was leaving the country the next morning for 10 days and he had procedures scheduled for the afternoon. He called surgery, moved all of his cases back to put McKenzie on 1st to do a thermal laser procedure on her eyes to temporarily control the glaucoma.

After that I stayed in Pittsburgh with McKenzie and followed up with Dr. Nischal's fellows, and my husband went home to be with our son (we'd been away from him basically since I had McKenzie.) She later underwent procedures to place a plate and drain tube in each eye to control the glaucoma (a procedure the doctor at Hopkins said could not be done) and multiple corneal transplants.

The past 2 years have held major ups and major downs for us. McKenzie has had 21 surgeries to date and only the left eye is open now (the right eye is closed off with scar tissue and has been for the past year). We still do not know how much vision we can achieve for McKenzie, but her doctor is confident that there are amazing therapies coming with stem cell research. Our goal currently is to keep the eye open and keep getting light to the retina. Currently I do not see any response to light from her, but the scar tissue has not come back aggressively since the last surgery in August, and the retina is attached.

Our life has changed immensely. Our son has dealt with a lot. For the first year and a half of McKenzie's life I was gone at least once a week to Pittsburgh, many times for several days at a time. His routine was extremely disrupted, being picked up by grandparents and family members, dealing with mommy being gone so much and with his sister getting so much attention. We do not go out much anymore because McKenzie is on cellcept (an immunosuppressant) and she has not had all her vaccines due to her multiple surgeries. She must have in-home care while we are working. My life revolves around going to work, taking McKenzie to doctor appointments and trying to keep some sense of normalcy for Cam. We are all exhausted.

I have mourned the life she would have lived without this diagnosis hundreds of times over. I am heartbroken and mad and depressed. Most tell me how strong I am, but I feel weak. I cry many days, too overwhelmed with what the future holds. I try not to think about it and try just to focus on the now. But the reality is that without some miraculous breakthrough we will be dealing with braille, seeing eye dogs, and the heartbreak that she cannot do things a "normal" child/teenager can do over and over again. But through all of this, McKenzie is a shining light. She is always happy, smiling, and singing. She is determined and fierce! She does not know any different, and although she will have many obstacles in this life I think that she will tackle them brilliantly.


How does it affect your relationships?
Many relationships have suffered due to McKenzie's issues. My husband and I are always tired and stretched too thin. We argue a lot. Cam acts out, likely just looking for attention, and in turn we get frustrated and yell at him too often. I rarely go to church, afraid to expose McKenzie to any illness or because I'm working or just because we are just so, so exhausted. But other relationships have strengthened. Many family members have stepped up to help us. My mother is ALWAYS going with me to Pittsburgh. My father picks Cam up from school and keeps him until the evening when Michael is done with work. My mother-in-law and Michael's sister have stepped in to travel with me and McKenzie at times. And even my cousin Brad has stepped in, often traveling from Lexington with us to Pittsburgh and he even kept Cam for several days himself during McKenzie's last surgery.  My aunt has helped with Cam as well, staying with him for several days when there was no one else.  Other family members have offered moral and monetary support. In the beginning, Michael's oldest brother and his wife opened their house to us weekly, kept Cam at their house during appointments and surgeries, cooked for us, and helped lighten the mood many times during dark moments. My co-workers have been AMAZING! They are all mostly willing to switch or cover shifts whenever I need to be off for an appointment or surgery.


What is the hardest part?
Not having vision has restricted McKenzie in several ways. Although there is nothing wrong with her brain and she is very smart, she is extremely sensitive to new textures and environments. At one point when she was younger I could not take her to church because she would become very upset due to the loud noise and multiple people coming to see and touch her. She was especially afraid when hearing unfamiliar male voices. She will not eat any solid table foods. She does not know how to chew (and how do you teach a 2 year old who cannot see to chew something?) She will not even allow me to put anything in her mouth with my fingers, or brush her teeth for that matter. She still uses a bottle (several attempts at giving her a sippy have been unsuccessful) and she will only drink toddler formula and milk. 

She still cannot walk and has very little balance. We have also had a lot of trouble regulating her sleep. She doesn't differentiate night from day because she can't see. We went through a six month period where she would sleep for 2-3 hours, then be up all night and sleep during the day. My husband and I were zombies during this time and took turns staying up with her. I researched and researched and learned that she was likely deficient in melatonin, which helps induce sleep and regulates the sleep-wake cycle. Melatonin is normally secreted during darkness, in response to the release of norepinephrine from retinal photoreceptors and the resulting activation of the retino-hypothalamic-pineal system.  McKenzie was not getting much light to her retinas, so this entire process was deficient in her.  I also learned that blind children need a much more rigid bedtime routine, which is very hard for us!   

What is an unexpectedly good part?
McKenzie is a bright spot in my life, despite her issues. She can bring a smile to your face in an instant, and she is mostly so so happy! I have learned over and over again that God's timing is perfect - if we'd had McKenzie several years ago she would have most certainly become permanently blind - Dr Nischal only came to the states in 2011. He is one of only 2 doctors in the entire US performing surgeries on children like McKenzie. He is a world renowned ophthalmologist with clinics in London and India. Several times we have had surgeries moved up because of concerns he had in waiting. One time, the eye was just about to perforate from the pressure; had we waited a day longer the eye would have been lost. Once, a retinal detachment not seen on ultrasound was found and corrected. It is only by God's grace that we were directed to him.

When people try to comfort you, what is the least comforting thing you hear (even though it may come from a good, kind place)? 

People say all the time, "well, she doesn't know any different," meaning she doesn't know what it's like have normal vision. I know they mean to be comforting, but it doesn't change the fact that she will never be able to do many "normal" things. 

Are there certain places you just can’t go and do you have any advice for how the world can be more inclusive?
I have not encountered any issues so far with regards to taking McKenzie places. I'm sure we will run across things in the future that she is unable to do.


What do you want others to know about parenting/living with this diagnosis? 
Parenting is hard under "normal" circumstances, but with a child with a disability it becomes 10 times harder and it truly takes a village of support! I am trying to give McKenzie the best chance possible at a "normal" life, but it's hard to pour all of myself into her and then have anything left for Cam...and then my husband. It is so so hard! I am guilty of neglecting different aspects of my life and different relationships, but I don't know how to balance it all. 


Most of the time I'm just surviving. I pray that the stress will ease in the future and that we can just hold it together until then. My hope in people reading this is that you understand how extremely hard it is for parents like us and possibly give others a helping hand or a shoulder or an ear-just any form of support, because we need it.



Resources/sites/support groups you'd like to share? 


An article on the use of melatonin for blind children:
http://www.medscape.com/viewarticle/464854  

A site for facilitated guide dogs. Children younger than middle school age cannot have a "guide dog" and control the dog themselves, but you can get a Facilitated guide dog that the parent controls to help the child with mobility.
http://4pawsforability.org/facilitated-guide-dog/


Saturday, September 24, 2016

Bravado vs. Brave: How I feel during Asher's seizures

I don't know how this is going to come off sounding, but when I first realize that Asher is having a seizure, I don't feel helpless. Blood rushes through my veins and I feel the most empowered and filled with purpose I've ever felt.  I know exactly what to do and in what order. I am not nervous.  I OWN THE SEIZURE.

(all of the following happens unless Isaac is working midnights and then add in "run around like a chicken with its head cut off while calling mom) 

*Make sure his surroundings are safe (he can't fall off where he's sleeping, there aren't blankets around him, no toys are near him, etc). Try to get him to lie flat and turn him on his left side.  Often times this doesn't happen immediately and if not, just let him be. 

*Turn on the video camera on my phone while turning on all lights, immediately begin videoing even if it's not steady yet or he's in full focus because it also works to time the seizure. 

*Yell for Zoe to wake up and grab his rescue meds if they aren't next to where he is sleeping and Isaac isn't home

*Video the seizure while reassuring Asher that I'm here and that his body is doing all the right things and to just rest in it. (you don't remember at this point that in the coming days, numerous medical professionals will be watching this video and what you say THEY WILL ALL HEAR)

*Follow the doctor's instructions and ask Asher if he can lift his arms (he can't) and ask him to answer basic questions (he can't). 

*Rescue meds (rectal gel) are used if the seizure goes over 5 minutes, but now our rule is at the beginning of the seizure because we know his last at least 5 minutes. I remember how hard it is to get his body to bend to administer the gel and start testing out how stiff his hips are.

*If rescue meds are used, call 911 for an ambulance immediately. 

*Put on the bra that I sleep next to in case this happens. 

*Call mom to get the other kids while making sure I grab the phone charger and iPad, if handy. 

*When the seizure ends, ask the questions the doctor asked you to video.  Can you lift both of your arms in front of you? Hold your arms out to your side, now can you touch your nose with your left hand?  Right hand? What is your name? Do you remember what happened? 

*When the seizure is over or we are back from the ER, I take a deep breath. 

*I lose it.


My body unclenches for the first time in hours and it hurts. All of the purpose is gone and i'm left in the aftermath. I don't have anything else to do, but think. I think about all the things that could have gone wrong.  I could have missed seeing it. It could have been a big one that resulted in trauma to his head from hitting it. He could have stopped breathing. He could have died. 

And my body aches and screams out rejecting those things and I let it. I get a headache and panic consumes me. I can't sleep even though I'm exhausted and I can't even explain my feelings. I use Facebook as an outlet and it helps even as I feel stupid about spewing it all there. 

I wake up the next morning and I make my little man breakfast and listen to him talk about Minecraft and I wonder...I wonder how many seizures are coming and I want the answer to be zero so much I feel like I can will it to happen by sheer mother-strength.  I can't. 

Yes, I own the seizure because I have to pretend to when I know it's nothing I can handle.  I don't own it.  I can't even see it. I don't even know it. No one even knows for sure the type yet or where it's coming from in his brain. We don't yet know if we've controlled them and we don't know if we are using the correct medication or dose. After the seizure I feel less in control, less confident.  Weaker. 

I'll tell you another place I don't feel helpless and blood rushes through my veins as I feel the most empowered and filled with purpose I've ever felt. Doctor's appointments.  I have my list of observations and questions I've been compiling, I have all of my videos, I've printed off the research I've done and it is more organized than my house ever THOUGHT about being. 

But walking out of that same appointment? Texting people what she said and processing it at the same time? I feel like a different person than when I walked in. Less in control, less confident. Weaker.

Which is exactly where God wants me. 

Bravado is not brave. Not really. 
My strength is not strong. 

God says: 



The place God's very own power is perfected is within your weakness. So be weak. 

Be weak, Courtney.

I want to end with saying that my bravado (show of boldness and courage) during times of stress serves a purpose.  It gets me through the hard times and it enables me to do the next best thing over and over. And that's ok as long as I don't depend on my bravado as my bravery.  Because it NEVER lasts.  My body only believes that show for so long before it see it for what it is and I fall into my Father's arms. 

Standing on a ladder doesn't make you tall.  
Bravado doesn't make you brave. 
Remember where your bravery comes from 
and always fall back on Him. 
My weakness = God's strength. 


Thursday, September 22, 2016

It's Easier to Accept than to Expect

(you will most likely learn nothing from this blog, it is complete and utter gibberish and it's probably even hard to follow so good luck! k bye)

After a couple of days in the hospital with Asher, I was texting a friend and I said:

I think what I’m feeling about Asher’s future...his new medications and what that means for epilepsy and asthma is: incredible fear but I’m completely numb. It’s creating the weirdest feelings within me and I can’t explain it.  Is this peace?  It doesn't feel like it; it's something else. It's numb fear.

She replied: 

Courtney, I have to say this.  PRAY WITH EXPECTANCY. Pray for what you WANT to see then hold fast, expect!  PRAY AND EXPECT IT. 

expect: 
to consider probable or certain 

It was a text that I could tell was placed into her from God and it got me thinking.  I woke up the next morning to an article in Relevant called Why Your Prayers Aren’t 'Working.' You can read it here. I hated the title, so I clicked on it (most likely to judge it). Guess what it talked about?  Prayer and expectancy.  I got served.

Ok God…I’m listening. While I watched Asher nap in a huge hospital bed, I texted the article to my pastor with this:

The only difference between the author of this article and myself is that I don’t see prayer as a Christian check list, even though that can be common.  I pray and talk to God every hour of my life that I’m awake.  I just really suck at the big, focused prayers for big, important things. (btw, this is how I am with people, too. I can talk and talk to you forever but the big stuff...the emotions...I'm just not good at it)

In the big stuff, I just don’t expect Him to do what I’m asking so I don’t even ask. I’m good at asking Him to be with me and then trusting that He is. But I feel like I learn more in suffering so I assume that’s what He wants for me anyway, why even ask for anything else? Maybe He only wants me to find joy in pain? It’s been the pattern so far. 

Also, I don’t want to be disappointed anymore. I ask and it’s never what I think it will be. And that’s ok!  Really! I’m ok with whatever answer He gives me but while I know that He wants me to ask…invites me…I just can’t anymore. 

I don’t know how to get back to it.  I feel fake or something asking for big healings and really I don’t think it would happen anyway.  It’s so rare. It’s easier to just find joy in pain, to say that God is good no matter what and figure that this is my road. 

As my pastor prays for me in this and thinks it over, he gave me the scripture that I pray more than any other found in Mark 9:24 "Lord I believe; help my unbelief."  

Don't get me wrong.  I know He CAN.  But WILL He?  

So that’s where I am.  I don’t know how to expect anymore. It’s not even my instinct to pray for healing first.  If I’m in pain, I’ll pray for relief but I don’t think I even expect it to come, I think I just expect Jesus to come (and He does, every time).  When it comes to the big things like Asher’s medical issues, I allow other people to pray for his healing but I don’t.  I’ve tried to, it just seems better (easier) to accept them than to expect the miraculous. 

It's easier to accept than to expect 

I think one reason is that I used to think that God owed me healing. Almost that it was a trick He used to get me to believe more.  That it had to be a big production at the altar with fog machines, lots of shouting and people running; that healing could not come quietly with no fanfare.

I stopped believing that but then I went in the complete opposite direction. I stopped expecting it at all! But the Bible tells me that He is a healer. And because I know that, I still pray in the best way I can, which sometimes is just saying His name and uttering "help me." 

sometimes (often) I pray with babies hanging off of me at the altar

So what is the truth?  I don't think it's anything I've mentioned so far. God's healing won't ever look the same because then we could just check off some things "to do" and we'd see healing.  We'd start craving the healing more than the Healer.  We'd leave Him out of it. One time, I started writing and this came out: 

maybe God doesn't always heal us because 
we want the healing more than the Healer

I don’t have an answer. I’m just going to seek expectancy I suppose; I'm going to pray for God to show me what that looks like.  It is almost shocking to me that I didn't even realize that I'd dropped expectancy from my prayers. When did that happen? I'm married to a man who expects literally ANYTHING and EVERYTHING from God and I'm over here like "sustain me IN it, and I'll just stay in it forever; it's good enough." 

And it IS good IF that is His will.  HE IS ALWAYS GOOD ENOUGH-MORE THAN GOOD ENOUGH-FOR ME. But He is a God who has shown us in His word that He heals. 

I’ve become good at “if not, He is still good” but I’m not so good at "I will pray until something happens, unceasing." I'm not so good at witnessing healing and saying "God is good," because I feel like that in itself is saying He's NOT good when healing doesn't come.  (Which isn't true, but I can't help but feel that that would be what I was expressing).

There's something in my idea of healing that needs...a healing. 

When I'm confused about something, I try to go back to what I know that I know that I know.  Here is what I KNOW about healing: We can say "Your will be done, Lord" while simultaneously and continually praying like crazy for the healing we want. We can supernaturally live on both sides of that prayer for healing. Until the day we die. We can accept that our healing may come on earth and it may not come until heaven. 

It takes too much effort to keep yourself from hoping in order to protect your heart from disappointment. 
It's exhausting when He has invited us to rest in Him.  

I don't want to be disappointed in God.  I want to be ok with whatever, so it's easier to just accept things as they are. I think He wants more for me, though.  


I read a Psalm yesterday that, for whatever reason felt connected to these thoughts.  I think my thinking needs rewired or rewritten.  I think I need to get back to the facts. So I'm going to start over. 
(parentheses are mine, everything else is scripture) 

My soul melts away for sorrow;
(life is hard)
strengthen me according to your word!

(your word restores me)
29 
Put false ways far from me
(whatever I've learned about You that is wrong, correct it)
    and graciously teach me your law!
(and by grace teach me TRUTH)
30 
I have chosen the way of faithfulness;
(I don't want to be faithful, it isn't instinct.  So I'll make it a conscious decision; I'll choose) 
    set your rules before me.
(Your words I must KNOW, I must look at them and contemplate them daily)
31 
I cling to your testimonies, O Lord;
(Looking is not enough.  I must cling to them, be intimate)
    let me not be put to shame!
32 
I will run in the way of your commandments
(I will run FROM false things I've learned and run TO the truth which never ever changes) 
    when you enlarge my heart!
(enlarge my heart to accept the things that are too big to fit)


Psalm 119:28-32

Mountain Mama: At The Base of an Unexpected Mountain

*guys, I don't know why the font/size is so messed up in this blog, it WILL NOT fix and I'm getting so aggravated that I'm just leaving it.  Bam.*



I wrote the following Facebook status sitting in the waiting room of Asher's neurologist's office, expecting bad news after yet another seizure:

Today is one of those days I'm tempted to say, "this day can go to hell."
But then I remember, "this is the day that the Lord has made" and I can't say it. Instead I have to choose to rejoice and be glad in it. In spite of it. In the midst of it. 
I can't, in my human aggravation, be so quick to say something that God made isn't good. It may not FEEL good, but my feelings don't dictate the truth.
Until my feelings line back up with the truth, I'll ride on the waves of His grace.

And then...the really terrible thing happened and my world just exploded and I internally lost it. It didn't even have to do with Asher, it had to do with my youngest and really it didn't even have to do with her. We had traveled to Cincinnati for a week of appointments for Willow who has some developmental delays. The last appointment was for genetics and it was the first appointment we left feeling a lot of hope. We got blood work done and drove the three hours home to wait 4-6 weeks for results. I was so prepared to wait. 

Days later, as I was waiting for Asher's neurologist to come into the room to discuss his treatment plan, Cincinnati Children's called and said unfortunately our insurance didn't cover the micro array test we wanted so desperately for Willow. I didn't realize until he said that how much of my hopes were pinned on that test.  I cried to the nurse in the neurologist's office who happened to walk in.  Then I dried my eyes and talked to the neurologist about how scary Asher's prognosis was.  I went home a different woman.  Something had shifted. I felt hope sucked out of my soul and it didn't make sense. Nothing made sense suddenly. 

What was the point of all of this?

A couple of days later, my friend Jen who felt my hopelessness asked, "you've hit a road block, right?" Those words felt right.  But I couldn’t understand WHY. She said saw me resting there in front of the road block waiting, but all I saw was a confused girl who stood still. I didn't WANT to rest! I was prepared to run.

Then, He gave me a vision 

I was running in the middle of a two lane road and keeping a good pace. The world was wide open and silent around me.

The road sort of looked like this

I was wearing running clothes and I really looked the part. I was running and breathing correctly and enjoying the scenery. I felt fit and ready to run forever. I wasn’t winded, things were going well and then: 




It came after a bend in the road so I didn’t see it coming.  I stopped, put my hands on my knees and couldn’t breathe. It spanned across the entire road and stopped me from going further. Face red, sweat falling to the asphalt, I was heaving out breaths and had to lay on my back with my knees bent.  I was so winded and hot and exhausted suddenly.  That mountain came out of nowhere so I went from breathing easily while moving... to a full stop with no rhythm. 



When I was stopped I realized that I hadn’t been doing any of it in God’s strength.  I just talked about doing it that way and that wasn’t enough to sustain me for the long haul.  

He needed me to stop and rest at the base of the mountain and wait.  Not wait on Him to catch up, but wait on my breathing to settle so that I could see clearly.  (Hint: it took awhile). 

Jen said she felt like He was doing something on the other side of the mountainous road block and I just had to wait. Even though it hurt, it made sense. And in a strange way, giving myself permission to stop and wait was the beginning of catching my proverbial breath. It took the pressure for answers away.  *I* was deciding to wait. You might be thinking, but you didn't have a choice. To that I say, OF COURSE I DID! I could have-completely unequipped-tried to scale that mountain or start kicking it to knock it down or some other insane thing.  I could have fought and fought and fought with the insurance companies even more than I had or tried to raise the ridiculous amount of money for a blood test that maybe wouldn't tell us anything.  There are lots of things you can do to keep moving even when it doesn't make sense.  Because movement makes you feel productive and it makes you forget for just a minute how completely chaotic things feel.  But God wanted me to feel it for a minute so that I could let it go. 


I lay there and waited for the rest of the road to be ready. It's not that it was broken and God forgot to fix it.  More like I was broken so He needed to slow me down, stop me, make me wait and heal me. I visualized Him building things on the other side, fixing the road, making the broken places even, filling in pot holes...but really He was doing all of that within me as I rested at the base of the mountain. 


Flat on my back looking at the sky, I thought about Mount Moriah (where we got Zoe's middle name, which means "God is my teacher"). That's where God told Abraham to sacrifice his child; to give his long-awaited child back to His creator.  Abraham didn't understand,  none of it made sense, but he obeyed anyway.  Mount Moriah represents trust, obedience, sacrifice, and faith. Exactly what I needed in order to hand my children and their test results back over to our Creator. 





I had this instinct that he wasn't going to have me climb this mountain; I felt like He would obliterate it. He was preparing me and preparing the other side of the road and I just had to wait. The Courtney on this side of the road wasn't ready to be the Courtney on the other side of the road. Waiting was the tool God was using to prepare me. 

Over the coming days, suddenly I just didn't care about test results anymore.  In fact, I couldn't make myself care. It was freeing and it was wild. I spent the whole summer driving to hospitals seeking out answers and instead of giving me answers, God did the unexpected and removed the need to have them. He gave me peace that existed outside of those answers. I didn't even know to pray for that


And then...he started giving me answers. Ha! One of the tests (not the micro array) that insurance didn't cover was suddenly covered without anyone requesting it. Not only that (get ready for this) but unbeknownst to the genetics department, Willow's blood was sent out and tested so by the time they called to tell me that it was covered, they also had the results.  The test was negative. I laughed into the phone. 


Then we had a worship service at church that I walked into telling God, "I am not praying to receive anything, ALL I am focused on tonight is singing praises to you and worshiping your name." Two people prayed over my children--specifically Willow-- by name.  She started making some small visible progress the very next day. THE VERY NEXT DAY!


You may remember that I wrote a blog this summer called Walking with Willow on Diagnosis Road. Here is a small excerpt:


Every now and then The Lord gives me a phrase or a line.  Eventually it turns into a status or a blog or a poem. He gave me "Diagnosis Road" and I tucked it away in the note pad on my phone until I knew what it meant. After this day of staying away from the internet, He told me what it was.  He said:
"diagnosis road doesn't lead to a diagnosis, it leads to Me." 


Diagnosis Road was such an oft repeated phrase this summer for our family and then it hit me. 

Where is the mountain that stopped me?
ON A ROAD 
On...Diagnosis Road?
What?
That's the road I'm running on
I've been running on Diagnosis Road this whole time!!!!

Maybe God had to put the mountain right smack in the middle of Diagnosis Road so that I would stop and remember. Him. It's not about diagnosis, it's about Him. I marathon with Him I don't sprint ahead to diagnosis (or answers).


I knew then. God wasn't going to move this mountain, I was. 
In His strength. 

"Move," I commanded, and it did. I saw the road ahead and it looked just like the road behind. Only I was different.  I jogged up to Jesus, asked Him to order my steps and we took off, side by side. 

Then I learned why it was there in the first place.