2 Months!

What's with the Snoopy band aids, you ask?

Cooper Wyatt, you are 2 months old today! You are an absolute JOY and we love you bookoodles and oodles! You are a constant reminder of God's faithfulness to us and we couldn't ask for a better distraction from all of the yuckiness we are enduring right now. When we are in the thick of things, we look at your sweet little face and suddenly there isn't a care in the world.

You had your 2 month check up this morning at Dr. Cooper's office. You were a little ham and had the nurses giggling with all of your cooing and gooing. You were a champ during your shots (holding off on all live vaccinations because of Daddy's chemo). Mommy even held it together when you cried for 3.2 seconds. Cooper:1, Vaccination Monsters: 0. Go Cooper Go!

You weigh 12 pounds 8 ounces now (23 inches), take 3-4 ounces every 2 hours, wear size 1 diapers and 0-3 month clothes, sleep 7+ hours at night, fight naps ALL day long, enjoy long walks on the beach and candlelit dinners, coo and goo, giggle and grin, scream bloody murder when we stop feeding you to burp you, rub your nose on Daddy's chest when you are sleepy, gnaw on your fists when Mommy isn't looking, poop in freshly changed diapers only, blow it out at least once a day (had to go home naked from lunchbunch at Chick-fil-a Monday because you blew it out so big there was no recovering...), cackle when we play "Peekaboo", go nuts when we dip your Binky in sweet tea (Bad Mommy), and are the ABSOLUTE BEST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO US!

You are a busy little fella these days. You still LOVE the bath. It's your happy place and we love to see you chillaxing in the tub at the end of a long day.

You keep asking why Daddy refers to you as "Hef" after your bath. Mommy pretends not to overhear the inappropriateness of that particular nickname but I laugh about it when no one is looking. Silly ol' Daddy.

Speaking of nicknames, you have just about a gazillion. Here are just a few: Coop, Super Coop, Mister Cooper, Cooper Pooper, Pumpkin Doodle, just plain old Doodle, Baby Blue, Turkey, Lil Bit...It looks like you may not know your full name until you go to pre-k.

You don't like wearing hats. Clearly. But you look so cute!

You love your swing, Mister Froggy, and your Binky. You still have trouble keeping a good grip on your paci because of your shortened frenulum (ENT appointment scheduled for next month), but you see no problem with Mommy and Daddy holding it for you for hours on end.

You love love love to hang out with Daddy. He is your hero and you let him know it each and every day. You are so strong! You tell us you are done being a baby and want to be a big boy now. You sport the baby wedgie often and Mommy can't help snapping pictures of your sweet little cheeks. Those sweet little cheeks will NEVER, mark my words, NEVER be caught in those ridiculous Huggies Jeans Diapers. (I'm watching you, Lori). "The cutest you'll ever look pooping in your pants". SERIOUSLY!? Come on Huggies.

You started sitting in your Bumbo seat this week and absolutely love it! Mommy has senior citizen moments when trying to locate the Bumbo seat by calling it the "Boppy-Bumbo-Binky" thing. Kind of like when Mama Potts used to say "Amie-Alton-Annise-Christopher-Ali" just to tell one of us to come to dinner or to pick up the phone.

Cooper you are a super star! We love you to the moon and back and can't wait to see you grow and change over the next few months. When I was pregnant with you, I treasured the verse: God is able to do immeasurably more than we could ever ask or imagine. We know this to be true when we look at you, Baby Blue.

Hot Diggity Dog

The batteries on little man's swing decided to poop out at 4:30 this afternoon. I would have posted sooner, but I've been manually pushing him (weee!) for most of the night to keep him from joining the ranks on the cranky tank. When I stop, he reminds me that he is the boss. Mister in charge. Landmark Mommy Moment. Push. Push. Push.

It's late and I am super duper tired, but today was a big day, so I will leave you with 2 lists. The first is my Hot Diggity Dog list. Also known as Top 5 Reasons Why Today Totally Rocked. The second is my Heavens to Betsy List. Otherwise known as Top 5 Reasons Why Today Seriously Sucked. Just keepin' it real friends. (Although to be completely honest, I could only think of 2 legit things to put on the Heavens to Betsy list. I just rambled for the rest of it for the sake of symmetry).

Hot Diggity Dog:
1) I solved the Mystery of the Mailbox Mustard Seed. They don't call me Nancy Drew for nothin'. Have I mentioned how awesome our friends are???
2) 1 down. 7 to go.
3) My baseboards glisten. My blinds shimmer. My toilets sparkle. Best surprise a girl could EVER ask for...fabulous friends Lori and Colleen put on their Super Friend Capes and totally treated us to a Housekeeper-for-a-Day. Mercy. What a Godsend. Nothing like walking into a completely clean house after 10 hours at the Cancer Answer. So incredibly humbling to accept help. SO GRATEFUL. SO HAPPY.
4) Got the most precious care package in the mail today. Complete with pee pee tee pees for Cooper and a super fabulous treat for Chris and I. Natalie, you absolutely outdid yourself. Again, do we have the best friends in all the world or what!?!?!?
5) Cooper spent the entire day being loved on by his Nana. At no point did we have to worry about him being taken care of. You can't put a price on peace of mind.

Heavens to Betsy:
1) 1 down. 7 to go. But alas, we did not find the Cancer Answer today. Chris was a trooper all day long. He was robbed of his bone marrow, he was poked, he was prodded, he was poked again. He endured the Red Devil (most potent chemo drug, cool aid red, said to "melt cancer like butta"). He took it like a champ. We figured it would take a few days for the dreaded side effects to kick in, but sadly no. He is so so sick. I've never ever seen him like this. My heart is breaking.
2) Chemo is expensive. Apparently we get to pay $100 in co-pays each time he goes in for treatment.
3) I took my 2 month old to Kroger at 11 o'clock at night in a frantic frenzy for recommended anti-side effect drugs. I might have kicked a buggy clear across the parking lot out of frustration when I couldn't get it to separate from the other buggy it was stuck to. (You know the scenario. Imagine same scenario while trying to juggle enormous baby carrier and chunky monkey child.) Apparently the 5 idiots who watched me kick the buggy and make a fool out of myself didn't feel the need to help. Growl. Super Coop had heavy eyes and screamed for a bottle the entire way home. Second Landmark Mommy Moment of the Day.
4) We have to implement the double flush policy at our house from now own. Cancer Answer staff instilled fear of God by saying the "juice" can be transmitted through tee-tee and since I am breastfeeding, it could be harmful to Cooper. Follow that? Me either. Flush. Flush.
5) In less than 9 hours, Coop will be getting his first round of shots...yay 2 month check-up! Boo shots! I will be flying solo because Chris has missed too much work. Wonder who will earn the biggest cry-baby of the century award?

Regardless of how many Hot Diggity Dog moments and Heavens to Betsy Moments we come into each day, we know that "All things work together for good for those who love the Lord". And nothing else matters.

Night y'all.

Mustard Seeds in Mailbox

Who are you, mysterious mustard seed mailman? I am, again, speechless.

Whoever you are, thank you thank you thank you!

Those precious tiny seeds are going in my pocket tomorrow. Mountains will move.

Much love!

If You Give a Mouse a Cookie

Today's post is highly inappropriate. Highly.

Inappropriate but absolutely hilarious, so I would be doing my faithful readers an injustice not to post, so here goes...

If you are a) my mother b) my preacher or c) mine or Chris' boss, you should probably stop reading right about now in order to prevent extreme awkwardness upon our next encounter.

One of my absolute all time favorite children's books is Laura Numeroff's "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie". To be honest, I really love "If You Give a Pig a Pancake" more, but, I digress. Because my life revolves around little people, I will mirror Laura's "If, then" story format in an attempt to make this slightly less inappropriate.

If you get diagnosed with cancer, you will probably be scared into thinking your baby making days are over.

Your oncologist will refer you to a sperm bank.

If you get diagnosed with cancer and your oncologist refers you to a sperm bank, you will probably realize that you need to rob a bank on your way to the sperm bank in order to take a stab at future procreating.

Once you rob the financial institution of your choice, you will consider securing childcare for your 8 week old baby in order to keep him from traipsing about a sperm bank.

You will quickly find that you have sadly, left your 8 week old Pumpkin Doodle with friends and family 4x this week in order to run around to 15 other various appointments. You will decide to take your sweet baby to the sperm bank with you and call it an "educational field trip" in order to make yourself feel better.

If you get diagnosed with cancer and your oncologist refers you to a sperm bank and you load up your 8 week old Pumpkin Doodle and sprint off to Downtown Atlanta in Friday rush hour traffic in order to beat the fast-approaching Chemo deadline, you will probably get lost on the way and have to stop for directions.

Once you find the absolutely gorgeous medical office building, you will proudly park your mommymobile, get a call from your Dear Hubby saying he is running late, and head off to find the office suite to begin sperm banking paperwork.

You will spend 15 minutes frantically searching the pristine medical office building for Suite 175 only to give up and ask the nice "Guest Relations Officer" for directions. He will look at you with a crooked grin and instruct you that Suite 175 is located roughly in the parking deck.

You will look confused and ask him "in the parking deck?". "Yes", he will say. "Go back to the parking deck, round the corner and you will see a small locked door. Ring the bell and you will be offered assistance".

You will blindfold your 8 week old Pumpkin Doodle upon realizing the silliness that is about to unfold, begin sweating profusely, and frolick through the dark parking deck to the small locked door. You will reach for the bell and be quickly escorted in.

The lovely office staff at the lovely sperm bank will ooh and aah over your 8 week old Pumpkin Doodle, removing his blindfold to gaze into his baby blues. You will start to giggle uncontrollably due to nervousness.

As you wait for your Dear Hubby to arrive you will sit quietly and attempt to complete paperwork without being distracted by a nearby sign listing the "Top 10 Reasons To Masturbate". You will try not to read it but curiosity will get the best of you and you will squint and hold your head sideways to make out the tiny printed reasons.

You will hear a door squeak and footsteps behind you. The lovely office lady attempting to help you stay focused on the paperwork process will greet the tall, dark, and handsome college kid nervously holding his ahem, "cup", and realize that his eyes are the size of Texas. She will (without warning) reassure him that, "No worries, this is not, in fact, your baby".

If you get diagnosed with cancer and your oncologist refers you to a sperm bank and you make it through the small locked door (30 minutes before your Dear Hubby) and hear this comment, you will absolutely fall out in the floor laughing hysterically. Your baby's binky will skyrocket across the waiting room and land face down on the floor. You will start a small bon-fire under a nearby table and burn that sucker.

You will notice a steady stream of tall, dark, and handsome young college fellas checking in, retrieving their ahem, "cups", and ask the lovely office lady why so many young guys are visiting the bank on this particular day. She will inform you that sperm banks are strategically located within walking distance from college campuses (Hello Georgia Tech students) in order to recruit the "cream of the crop". She will inform you that should they "accept any 5 foot tall geeky kids, they will surely risk going out of business". You will feel silly for asking and decide not to ask any more questions.

Your Dear Hubby will arrive with the fear of God look in his eyes. You will not blame him one bit, but reassure him, through laughter, that everything is groovy. He will complete the paperwork and play with 8 week old Pumpkin Doodle as he awaits instructions for his next step.

You and baby will, without warning, be quickly escorted to a small private room in the back of the clinic as to keep from being a "mood killer" up front. You will concentrate very hard on not touching a single thing A-N-Y-W-H-E-R-E in the tiny room. Your butt cheeks will start to fall asleep from attempting to keep them from touching the chair you are sitting in.

If you get diagnosed with cancer and your oncologist refers you to a sperm bank and you haven't run screaming from the parking deck by now, your Dear Hubby will be taken into an adjacent room and you will rock nervously in the fetal position until he reappears.

You will hand over your firstborn son as ransom for payment because you totally chickened out on robbing a bank earlier, say goodbye to all of your newfound sperm bank friends, wish them luck on their finals and ask them "WHAT WOULD YOUR MOTHER THINK??" and make a bee line for the small locked door leading, well, right back to your parked car.

The lovely office lady will ooh and aah over your 8 week old Pumpkin Doodle once more and remind you that upon his 18th birthday, you should provide him with directions to the clinic, as he would be a fabulous donor.

If you get diagnosed with cancer and your oncologist refers you to a sperm bank, you will squeal out of the parking deck burning rubber on 2 wheels and laugh yourself silly the entire way home. You and Dear Hubby will avoid eye contact for approximately 2 hours and promise never to speak of this day again.

Beast!

The elevator didn't smell quite so bad today. What a treat.

Chris went for his bone marrow (one word or two?) biopsy this morning at the Cancer Answer. They typically administer 2 ml of sedation medication and said they might have to give Chris 4 ml because of his size.

Insert Observation #167 at the former Holiday Inn. The bathroom is decorated with Tetris patterned wall paper. It was a shame I only had to tinkle or I could have played an entire game while I was in there.

6 ml later and 2 bone marrow attempts, the sedative failed completely and Szabo made the call to refer Chris to the hospital to give it another go, under heavier anesthesia. He said Chris is a "very muscular" (interpreted as "a BEAST!" Ha-ya!) guy and that he was not able to access the bone marrow despite using a rather long and large needle. Now tell me that doesn't make you tense your butt cheeks. Yowsas.

We were able to schedule Attempt #2 next Tuesday morning at 6:30am (holy moly) and will go straight for his first round of "juice" after the biopsy.

So there ya have it. We're pretty much down for the count today at the Davis house. I've been running a mystery fever for the past 2 days (feel so bad I don't even want to go frolick at Target...gasp!) and now that we're home and the sedative has had time to kick in, Chris is passed slap out.

Good thing Mr. Cooper is here to hold down the fort :)

Silly Willy Sappy Pappy

The elevator at the Cancer Answer smells funny. I can't decide if it has something to do with it's grand transformation from Holiday Inn to Medical Office Complex or if there is some sort of chemical seeping through the ceiling tiles.

Once you get past the funky odor in the elevator, things are quite nice.

Today as we sat in the waiting room, I stewed over how silly their slogan is. In an effort to revolt, we came up with as many ridiculous rhyming slogans as possible in the 43 minutes we waited to see the doctor. Here's what we've got so far:

-Looky looky looky, here comes Cookie, Cooks Pest Control. (Seriously?)

-One call, that's all. (How old is Ken Nugent anyway??)

-He turned my wreck into a check. (Too much daytime TV? Yes, that's what you do while on maternity leave people.)

-The thicker quicker picker-upper. Bounty!

-Takes a licking and keeps on ticking.

-Don't get mad. Get GLAD.

-Give a hoot, don't pollute.

Today was fabulous for the following reasons (in no particular order)

-Cooper Pooper (see, our child even has his very own ridiculous slogan) usually requires 3 bottles over the course of the night. We always line them up before we put him down to sleepy town (I just can't stop) and prepare them one by one in the wee hours of the night. This morning when we woke up at 7:30am, the 3 bottles were still sitting where we left them last night. Bless his bones, big boy slept right on through the night last night! Wooooooo! 8 hours! Three nights in a row. Happiness.

-We got the news that Chris' kudzu is the very best type of Hodgkins Lymphoma you can have (Classical Nodular) and is only classified as Stage II. Aside from a couple of masses in his chest, the kudzu has not grown or affected other organs. PRAISES!

-I've said it before and I'll say it again. We have the best friends and family in all the world. I had to sit down on the front porch and shed a tear of gratitude when I walked to the mailbox today. This is the third time this has happened in the last two weeks. Absolutely speechless. We are constantly amazed at how people seem to know just what to say and do at just the right time. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

-Chris will start treatment next Tuesday. He will get 8 rounds of juice, every two weeks for 3 hours at a time. Not entirely sure why 8 years of college and 2 degrees didn't allow me to calculate how many months of treatment that was without pulling out the calculator on my phone, but turns out it is only 4 months. 4. That's not even a double digit, friends. After Chris' kudzu is considered in remission, he will receive 5 weeks of radiation. Zap. Boom. Bam. Pow. (That's Chris kickin' kudzu's butt).

-Heaven's to Betsy, did you know that Chili's has the most splendid White Chocolate Molten Lava Cake!? We felt it was appropriate to celebrate our good news by piling on the calories. And glorious calories they were.

-In less than 3 weeks little Cooper's toes will be tickling the sand. Beach Trip Extravaganza 2010 planned and booked. It's not too early to start packing, is it?

-We are only 24 hours away from the next jarring episode of Toddlers and Tiaras. Hey, it's my happiness list, right?

Ok, it's 12:29am. Off to fall asleep brainstorming more ridiculous slogans. Later tater. (ha.)

Transformed

In just 7 short weeks I have seen the man I love most in this world completely transformed. You could say that he has fallen in love all over again.

He has become a hero. Super hero cape not necessary.

He has passed along his dapper sense of style, He has sung songs and whispered lullibies,He has learned how to have a conversation without saying a single word,
He has passed along his dance moves to his pint sized mini-me, He has touched the life of this lucky little boy in so many ways.

Happy Father's Day Daddy! We love you to the moon and back!

Chomp. Chomp. Chomp.

I am sitting here eating an entire cup of ice. Chomp. Chomp. Chomp. It's been that kind of day...

Chris came home from work in terrible pain tonight. We called the surgeon and she wanted to see him immediately. We beat our world record of packing up our Party of 3 in 7 minutes flat and flew down 316 to Gwinnett Medical. The surgeon ordered a chest x-ray to check the position of his port and to make sure that his lungs looked clear. She also reminded him to wear sunscreen the next time he basks in the glow of the golden sunshine (he might be the only cancer patient with a sunburnt port site).

The chest x-ray came back clear so we were given the go ahead to go home. Home again, home again jiggity jig.

Around 9 Chris' pain sky rocketed and he spiked a fever. Ring, ring. Hello sweet surgeon, what do we do now? She said that the fever shouldn't be related to the port placement or biopsy, that it is most likely related to the lymphoma itself. Super.

*See, and you thought we couldn't be grouchy. Bleh.*

On a lighter note, she told us that she got the results of the biopsy today and they confirmed that Chris definitely has Classical Hodgkins Lymphoma (not the other Anaplastic yaddayadda kind). PRAISES! If we have to get a yucky diagnosis, that is just the yucky diagnosis we want. Back to keepin' our chins up.

My all time favorite treat (aside from crushed ice from Sonic and Zaxbys) is this super fabulous line of bath goodies by Philosophy. Not only do I love the name ("Amazing Grace"), and the smell (ooh, it's heavenly), but the packaging is brilliant. So inspiring. On the front of each bottle of bath gel is Philosophy's definition of "Grace". Tonight as I soaked in the tub, I read and re-read the definition a million times over. I will leave you with it...

philosophy: life is a classroom. we are both student and teacher. each day is a test and each day we receive a passing or failing grade in one particular subject: grace. grace is compassion, gratitude, surrender, faith, forgiveness, good manners, reverence, and the list goes on. it's something money can't buy and credentials rarely produce. being the smartest, the prettiest, the most talented, the richest, or even the poorest can't help. being a humble person can and being a helpful person can guide you through your days with grace and gratitude.

We love you all so much! Chomp.

3 Things

3 things.

1. Let me tell you just how much I am loving the concept of the "drive thru" these days. So stinkin' easy to get things done when you are toting around an eleven pound pumpkin doodle. Today alone we went through the a) drug store drive thru b) dry cleaner drive thru c) bank drive thru and d) Chickfila drive thru (is this any big surprise!?). I became quite cranky and enraged when I realized that the grocery store is lacking in their drive thru capabilities. Sad. Doesn't someone from Publix want to meet me at the curb with a gallon of milk and loaf of bread!? Anyone??

2. People can be so nosy. This morning at the radiologist's office this lovely woman was sitting across from Cooper and I as I fed him his bottle. A little background info...although Cooper loves the nightlife, we are a little slow moving first thing in the morning. Our sluggishness this morning resulted in Chris and I flying around the house and loading up the car in 7 minutes flat. After we finished our victory dance I realized that the bottles I had prepared for Super Coop were still cold. Enter Nosy Rosy in the waiting room. As Cooper does not yet understand the concept of "wait just one little minute sweetheart", I stuck a premixed Similac bottle in his little mouth to hold him over. Gasp. Bad Mommy. Nosy Rosy leaned over and said "What a shame, you aren't breastfeeding dear?".

Cooper wanted to stiff arm her but I reminded him that that's not nice.

I wanted to shout NO YOU CRAZY LOON, I HAD TO GIVE THAT UP WHEN I LEARNED THAT MY HUSBAND HAS CANCER. Instead I gave her waaaaaay too much information by outlining my daily pumping schedule. She got all sorts of uncomfortable and stuck to reading her Reader's Digest for the remaining 2 hours we were there. Take that. Zip it lippy.

3. If Chris and I ever decide to open our own business, it will no doubt be a sperm bank. Ahem, "Cryobank", excuse me. Heavens to Betsy. Those people are making a killing off of renting space in their deep freezes. Learn something new every day folks, every day. Seriously though, had consultation with fertility specialist yesterday and learned that banking alone is around a grand (and that's just for the first 12 months). Wonder if they charge extra for the nudie magazines they put in the "treatment" rooms?

Off to the cardiologist for baseline ECHO test this afternoon. Chris is my super hero. Fo' shizzle. He just keeps on truckin' and doesn't stop to ask "why" or moan and groan or whine and whimper or wail and flail. I love him so much. If I make him a super hero cape and get him matching dunagroos, I wonder if he will wear them to our next appointment?

Speechless

We are absolutely speechless.

The outpouring of love and support that has been shown to us over the past week is utterly amazing. We have the best group of friends and family in all the world and we just can't thank you all enough for praying for us, for dropping off unexpected bouquets of flowers to brighten our day, for offering to keep our lil' cutie patootie while we familiarize ourselves with dozens of waiting rooms and doctors offices, for setting up Carepages, for sneaking sweet notes of encouragement and support in our mailbox, and for showering us with love in every way possible.

We are so incredibly blessed in so many ways.

Chris' surgery went well on Friday. The surgeon hit a couple of bumps along the way (what started as a 45 minute procedure under local anesthesia turned into a 7 hour ordeal that involved putting Chris under) but she was able to remove a good sized lymph node to send to pathology and got the port placed nicely. Next up: PET scan Tuesday morning and follow up with oncologist Tuesday afternoon. Chris' inagural "juice" (aka "chemo") session will be scheduled after the results come back from pathology. We will also be meeting with a fertility specialist to work on making arrangements for Super Coop's future siblings (the "juice" wreacks havoc on your fertility)...yet another fun aspect of this wild and crazy ride.

We figured while we are in the business of scheduling things, we will also schedule a few days away at the beach. There's just something about seeing the ocean that reminds us that God is infinitely bigger than anything we may face in this life.

Chris is feeling good and as we say in the Davis house, "keepin his chin up". We got to sneak away last night for our sweet friend Kimberly's wedding and what a good time we had! Kim looked stunning and the wedding was absolutely perfect! We danced the night away, visited with great friends, and even treated ourselves to a full night of sleep at a nearby hotel (woo Staycations!) while Grammie and Poppy Tots kept the little guy. We came home to find Cooper and his Grammie wearing matching outfits. Hilarious. Thanks a million Mom and Bill for keeping him for us!

Again, we can't thank you enough for loving on us, praying for us, thinking about us, and supporting us.

Bucket List

Anyone who knows Chris and I (and Cooper for that matter) knows that we simply LOVE to eat. More specifically, we love to eat out. We've made a hobby out of it. Truly, although I may not land any fancy "wife of the year" awards for whipping up homemade feasts (unless instant mashed potatoes count for something), I am one mighty fine restaurant picker outer.

We started today by kissing the little man goodbye (thanks for keeping him Nana!) and heading off to meet with the surgeon who will be doing Chris' surgical biopsy and port placement. While some people sitting in this position busy themselves making "bucket lists", we know that such a list is not at all needed (although just for kicks and giggles, Chris has convinced me that he now needs 1) a motorcycle, 2) a scuba diving trip, 3) to wrestle an alligator, and 4) to become a rodeo clown for a day).

In all seriousness, as we sat in the waiting room, we decided that, because chemo is said to destroy your taste buds, it is fitting that we go on a quest to eat at all of Chris' favorite restaurants before his treatment kicks up. So if anyone is looking for us, you might just happen to find us at:

1) Sias (we will order multiple orders of Cream Cheese Fritters without shame)

2) Carabbas

3) IHOP (yes, you read it right IHOP)

4) Melting Pot

5) Ruth's Chris

6) 5 Guys

7) Shogun

8) Bonefish

9) Athens Sushi Bar

10) Jason's Deli

(Variety is the spice of life.)

We also decided that we do not like words like "cancer" and "chemo". Such negative connotations. We decided that from now on, we will refer to "cancer" as "kudzu" and "chemo" as "juice". Don't ask questions folks. Crazy times call for crazy conversations.

Surgical biopsy and port placement in the morning. ECHO tomorrow afternoon. Busy day. Better go check on this little cutie pie and call it a night...

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

We met with the oncologist this morning (but Cooper says he would have rather been splish splashing at the pool).As we sat in the waiting room, I took note of several things:

1) Chris is approximately 43 years younger than the average patient at the cancer center. So many sweet little blue haired (well, used-to-be-blue-haired) ladies. Everyone has a story to tell. I love it. Nothing like a waiting room full of stories about the human spirit and how it triumphs in the midst of chaos.
2) Although I'm sure hospice centers like to give away freebies as PR initiatives, is it really necessary to hang a Hospice Calendar in the waiting room of an oncologist's office??

3) Ex-hotels make lovely chemotherapy suites (I am absolutely positive that the Gwinnett location of Georgia Cancer Specialists was a Holiday Inn in its previous life. I tried to find a picture online to show you, but the lovely people of GCS, aka "The Cancer Answer"-bleh, are obviously aware of the hotel-like resemblance and are too embarrassed to publish such evidence).

4) Lots of people have cancer. Either that, or the 57 chairs in the waiting room are just there for looks.

5) If you want to lighten the mood of a cancer center waiting room, bring your 5 week old baby along. Seriously. Lots of smiles at this little fella.

Dr. Szabo was absolutely awesome! We fell instantly in love with him. He has a great personality and while he didn't sugar coat things, he was anything but gloom and doom. He shot straight with us and told us lots of useful things such as:

1) He doesn't trust a needle biopsy when it comes to making a diagnosis. He is mostly sure that we are dealing with Hodgkins Lymphoma but wants to do a surgical biopsy and bone marrow biopsy (Thursday morning) to confirm. He suspects Hodgkins or Anaplastic Large Cell Lymphoma. Both have fantastic prognoses, but treatment is somewhat different, so it's important to determine (for sure) which type of cancer it is.

Cooper says "Mommy, this is BORING. Zzzzzz"

2) Chris will get chemo every other week (lasting about 3 hours each time) and will either get 6 treatments or 12, depending on the severity. Mommy and Nana say "We'll toast to that!"...we were initially expecting treatment to last 10-12 months.

3) Aside from the surgical biopsy and bone marrow biopsy, Dr. Szabo wants to do an ECHO of the heart (chemo can affect cardiovascular function, so it's important to obtain a baseline), and a PET scan (to determine how advanced the cancer is).

4) If Dr. Szabo had to take a guess at the cancer stage, he'd say Stage II (based on physical exam and lack of symptoms such as fever and night sweats). Upcoming tests will be the true indicator.

5) The side effects of chemo are expected to be mild. Chris will lose his hair and will be worn slap out, but the old days of nausea, vomiting, and yuckiness are pretty much a thing of the past. Grandada says"Thumbs up" to that!
Now get down off that chair Grandada.
6) A surgeon will insert a port so that Chris can get his meds and have his blood drawn without having to be stuck every time. No more fretting over the thought of losing arm hair to surgical tape with every blood draw, Daddy.

We are sure of one thing: Chris will come out on the other side of this nasty disease stronger and braver. There's no bursting his bubble.
We love you all and can't even begin to express how grateful we are for all of the encouragement, support, and prayers. Go team Davis!
Whew, all this cancer talk makes me tired Mommy!

Now lets go play!

Mustard Seed

"I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you." Matthew 17:20

My sweet husband got the news today. He has cancer.

Ironically I was out walking at the very place I ran the Nike Half Marathon to benefit Lymphoma 2 years ago when I got the call.

Our faith is strong and our love is deep. God is watching over us, we just know He is.

Thank you all a million times over for all of your love, support, and prayers.

Now it's time to go move some mountains and kick some cancer badunkadunk. Stupid cancer.

Hurry Up and Wait

Tuesday came and went...no results. Wednesday came and went...still no results. It's Thursday at 8:22am and I am sitting here wondering how the lovely people at Gwinnett Medical feel about bribery. Perhaps a bag full of Chick-fil-a biscuits would help to get this show on the road?

We're getting pretty good at playing the waiting game over here, but Cooper says hurry up or I'll spit up on you :) Milestone this week: absolutely precious (and totally purposeful) SMILES! I might have just fallen in love all over again.