I Think We Have Already Had Our Miracles

I was asked last week if I thought a miracle could save Conan. I gently answered no.

The more I thought on it however, I wondered if we haven't already had our miracle, or maybe more than one.

In 2008 a stage 2/3 tumor was growing and it was large. At one appointment I went to with him, I saw the scans; the oncologist in Moline had a long face and kept wringing her hands. And I didn't understand how he was able to walk or talk; the tumor was so large it had to be blocking brain function. Conan didn't carry a picture of that scan with him and I don't think there were many people that ever saw it. Gretta's sister Jennifer helped him get to Iowa City and the team there said we can do something with this. It was close to home, and offered hope where there had been little.

How many miracles did that year take? What if Conan had never met Gretta? She has a great job with good insurance benefits. She is a wonderful caregiver. The surgeon that operated in Rock Island had a steady hand. Gretta has a sister in Iowa City who was able to help them find a path. During Conan's month of radiation, terrible floods ravaged Iowa City and the surrounding area. Was it the hand of God that kept Conan and his drivers on the road and out of the floodwaters?

In 2010, Gretta and Conan were blessed with the birth of a son. Many of us considered Henry's life a miracle. Henry may have been the spark that helped Conan the next year.

In 2011, there was new growth on the dead marble that was left from three years before. This time, it was considered a stage 4 tumor. It took longer to recovery from surgery, but once again, the cancer was forced to retreat.

And again, a mere human being was digging around in Conan's brain. A doctor can take a piece of the skull out, poke around in the brain and yet not stop your heart or lungs. Was this the miracle? The tumors stayed away for three more years. Maybe this was one more.

In June of this year, Gretta found out she was pregnant. Surely this was a miracle.

In late July of this year we were not so fortunate. Stage 4 cancer is tough to beat -- when it comes back and in three places it is a fierce opponent. And at least one of those places was inoperable. His doctors contacted other cancer centers to see if anyone had something that might be helpful. And when the tumors continued to grow, and began to block the CSF drainage, Conan began to weaken. A possible drug trial was located, but it was only a Stage 1 trial -- a long shot at best; radiation was also proposed, but he was just too weak.

And yet maybe we did get a miracle this year too. Conan fell at their house in October. He could have fallen down the stairs and hit his head. Gretta could have tried to stop his fall injuring herself or the baby. He could have fallen and injured Henry.

There used to be a plaque hanging on the wall at Flannery's house (They are neighbors of Mom and Dad's and my godparents) that I always liked:

Footprints in the Sand.
One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord.
Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky. In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand. Sometimes there were two sets of footprints, other times there was only one.
This bothered me because I noticed that during the low periods of my life, when I was suffering from anguish, sorrow or defeat, I could see only one set of footprints, so I said to the Lord,
“You promised me Lord, that if I followed you, you would walk with me always. But I have noticed that during the most trying periods of my life there has only been one set of footprints in the sand. Why, when I needed you most, have you not been there for me?”
The Lord replied, “The times when you have seen only one set of footprints, my child, is when I carried you.”