Miracle Mira-- Super Dog!

{Disclaimer}: I know it will be very difficult to look past the color of the walls in the upcoming photo, but try.  We haven't gotten them painted yet, unfortunately.  Other things to do...

Independence day was kind of a hard day.  Because of Caden's fatigue and weakness, he asked us to see if we could borrow the wheelchair from our friends again, and if we could bring his bed downstairs.  The sorrow I felt for Caden made his mattress feel six times heavier than it really is.  It felt too soon for us to have to to it, yet we were grateful to be able to accommodate his needs.  More of that cancer confusion.  Howard had the wheelchair here within a few hours.  In fact, he was willing to leave his granddaughter's birthday party to get it to us immediately, if we needed.  Blessed in our friendships, I tell you.

This picture was taken yesterday, after radiation.  Caden has been in constant pain for a week now.  Enough pain for him to ask to start around-the-clock pain medications-- the good stuff.  Once the pain started, it came with a vengeance.  I also want to document that Dr. Jones said that the scans, while not diagnostic quality but still clear enough to see because of the "skin" that Caden's tumors always have, did not show any significant growth between the initial scan we took on June 22nd, to his start date of June 29th.  Which means that Caden very well should have/could have had pain the entire time.  Another confirmation that Heavenly Father answered our prayers for Caden to be able to attend Trek.

They asked us what time of day would work best for us to set up all of our appointments.  Since we are all pretty productive most mornings, Caden and I both said "mornings."  When they returned with our extended schedule, they apologized because all of their mornings were full-- his treatment times- all 17 of them- are at 3:45.  Honestly, this has been a tender mercy.  For hours after each treatment, he feels horrible.  He lays around, feeling like he has an extreme stomach bug (don't forget the constant pain), and then the fatigue slams him, and he's out for the rest of the night (unless the pain wakes him).  If we would have gotten our choice, he would feel horrible all day, with hours and hours ahead of him until bedtime and the quiet house that brings.

Back to the picture, the reason for my post:  Directly next to Caden's bent legs is Caden's Miracle.  Truly, she is the best thing that has ever happened for Caden.  For all of us, really.  She has not left his side at all.  Even as I type, she's lying next to him while he naps (at 10:00am), while the kids play games in the next room.  She makes him happier.  She makes his trial feel just a bit lighter.  So many times I've walked by his "room" to find him sleeping with his hand resting on her, and my heart fills with love and gratitude for the blessing she is in our lives.  We could not believe our good fortune when they called us, saying they had a Golden Retriever.  We were waiting for the moment when we realized it wasn't going to work as he was watching her play and saying we wanted her, like it was all just too good to be true, like it was some cruel joke being played on the beaten, wounded parents.  It was SO MUCH FUN surprising Caden with her, telling her she was his dog and seeing him cry uncontrollably.  It was EVEN BETTER when Randy surprised us all by bringing her home days before we were told we could.  But, we never could have imagined how perfect and wonderful and amazing she would be for our family.  She may be known as Caden's Miracle, but she is really The Dirks Miracle.  She will be revered for the rest of her life for what she has done for my babies.

We love being home.  We love being together.  We love this time.  But it is also hard.  Really hard.  Because he doesn't feel well, we haven't really left the house.  He wants to be with us, we want to be with him.  But the kids are not as used to witnessing his suffering as Randy and I.  It has been hard for them.  It has been hard for us to watch everyone's suffering.  If Randy and I get out of the house, even to simply go to the pharmacy to pick up Caden's pain medications, we always feel this mixture of relief to finally be away from the pain, yet urgency to return home to him.  We can't escape it.  His pain and suffering fill the entire house.  Our other kids' suffering and confusion with the whole thing cause the pressure to explode the windows and flow freely, like lava, down the sides of our home.   Our kids miss their friends and summer freedoms, but they want to spend time with Caden.  Caden misses everything, even saying last night that he was "bored being so sick and tired," then staggers back to his bed.  And, because of the extended schedule, we still have 18 more days before we can expect Caden to start feeling better.  That feels like an eternity.  Ten eternities.  We are bored with video games.  We are bored with all movies.  We are bored on our couches.  We are bored in our home.  But there is nothing else we can do, because he feels so sick.  And there is nowhere else we want to be than together.  We are grateful to be home, but we hate being home.  There are moments of light, when we are all laughing and playing and getting along, but there seems to be more darkness as the days go on.  I know this will end.  I know that one day I will look back on these days with love and gratitude, without truly remembering the immense physical and emotion pain, but, right now, as we live it, it feels heavy and suffocating.  And I have no idea how to make it better but to just keep breathing when we are blessed enough to come up for air.