Standing in the Rain.

My mind is in a constant fog. It feels like there are twelve open internet browsers—but the screen is frozen with a never-ending, loading, spining wheel of death. I have appointments to schedule, medical bills to call after, insurance forms that need filled out, babystitting to line up for not only the kids but also for my husband, and a house that has been neglected. I cross one thing off the list only to add five more things. I can’t get ahead and I feel like I am drowning. While Brock was in the rehab hospital I spent my time dreaming of the day our family could go on vacation and discuss how crazy this experience has been. I would find my daily joy in my morning visits to the local coffee shop, but not anymore. It is hard to dream when your reality is in your home, constantly staring you back in the eyes, asking what time he needs to be at school. The kids are unsure of Brock. It is obviously their dad, but he doesn’t act or sound the same. It can be common for personalities to change post brain trauma and so far that seems to be true. The driven Brock is more laid back and likes to sleep in and take things slow. He still has his witty humor, but he speaks more monotone and isn’t very expressive. He is just kind of there, blending into the background; no longer the life of the party. We spend our days arguing about the reality of things. The past couple of days he is convinced he is a senior in high school, and at breakfast time he thanks God for his dinner and a good evening, unaware that he just woke up and it’s the start of the day. Brock is in tears multiple times a day as he struggles to understand. When he cries, he can’t stand or walk because the emotion just overcomes him. I am struggling to process everything; I want out. I want to escape. I thought I had patience and compassion but now I am left wondering. This is harder than I ever anticipated. I wouldn’t wish these circumstances even on my worst enemy. The doctor told me to prepare for Brock never being able to fully go back to work. He believes he will still improve but not back to normal. This is my reality now. I don’t know how to begin to grieve, I am slowly breaking and the kids are noticing. In the wise words of a new friend, “processing is a process”. I can’t rush it or go around it, I just need to feel it and the emotions it brings. I look at Brock and I am filled with frustration and anger. I know its not fair for me to feel this, but it’s where I am at currently. I need new eyes. I am praying for new eyes because right now all I see is the storm. I need eyes to see Brock not as broken or damaged but as a loved child of God made specifically for such a time as this. I am reminded of the Israelites wandering in the desert. God was with them in the desert, but all they could do is see the desolation and long to be back in Egypt…forgetting that they were actually slaves in Egypt. I long to go back to pre-surgery when Brock was himself, but truth be told, Brock wasn’t himself pre-surgery either. The tumor was stealing his quality of life, he needed to have the surgery. I know God is here in the desolation with me and that He could end this journey and bring completely healing, but I also need to accept that maybe God won’t. I need to grieve our old life we built and accept my broken reality.

I don’t care to hear encouraging words or to look for the rainbow because right now it’s storming and I want to sit and feel the rain fall.

We had an appointment this week with Brock’s neurosurgeon and it was taxing. Brock got a functional MRI done on Monday (December 13th) and it revealed that there is damage to the brain, specifically to the fornix and hypothalamus. The tumor was compressing different areas of the brain, and although the surgeon specifically tried to avoid removing all of the tumor to avoid damage, it looks like from the tumor’s constant compression and the manipulation during removal that these areas were affected. These areas cannot heal themselves and there is no type of surgery to fix the damage. The goal would be to have other areas of the brain take over and make up for this loss of function. The neurosurgeon informed me again how rare and complicated these tumors are. There are only 300 documented cases in the entire USA per year. He went on to say that this is not the common outcome and if it was, he would quit performing them because it would be too depressing to see people like Brock on a regular basis. The functional MRI results are getting sent over to a doctor in Australia who will review and decided if Brock would be a candidate for Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation (TMS). It is a noninvasive procedure that uses magnetic fields to stimulate nerve cells in the brain to hopefully improve brain function in the damaged areas. This is a new kind of treatment and is not approved by the FDA here in the USA for treating Brock’s type of case. It would all be on a trial basis if the Australian doctor feels Brock would be a good candidate. Until then Brock continues to have speech, occupational, and physical therapy weekly. We are in the process of also setting up a consultation with a cardiologist because Brock’s resting heart rate continues to remain in the 120s and exceeds that with any amount of physical activity. The endocrinologist is still working to balance Brock’s hormones and find the correct formula for him. It has been made ever so clear that Brock will improve but the life we once had will be a distant memory. He doesn’t understand a lot of what’s going on and maybe that’s a blessing in disguise.

How can you join us in prayer? For wisdom, healing, and direction for Brock. For me to have new eyes to see Brock through and raised hands to the Lord even though I feel like I am drowning. Understanding and peace for the kids to process everything. Let God's voice be louder then the fear and frustration. Adding God into any equation can make the impossible possible. I feel so blessed by everyones prayers and support it gives me strength to wake up and face each day.