There are two things that no mother should ever bear witness to. One is the lifeless body of her child and the other is a MRI showing a tumor that has planted itself in the gray matter of her child’s brain. Unfortunately, I have been confronted by both nightmares and can attest to the painful suffocation that leads to the death of pieces of your mind, body, and soul. 

Whereas the death of my premature twins was an immediate execution of my heart, my daughter’s diagnosis of brain cancer is liken to a death row sentence where each MRI is an appeal for life, each clear scan a temporarily stay of execution, and each relapse results in more time on death row awaiting another appeal and stay of execution or the acceptance of the final decision to proceed with death.

As a mother of a child diagnosed with medulloblastoma, you fight hard and pray harder to escape this death row sentence that has so unfairly been rendered upon your child. But the ugly truth is that the aftermath of the cancerous tumor or the removal of the tumor, or the treatment to prevent the reoccurrence of the tumor leave reminders of the death row sentence. Therefore, we learn to adapt to a life filled with anxiety, grief, and the deferred dreams for our children. We celebrate the here and now and insatiably love our kids.

So, here on the eve of my daughter’s next appeal for life, I am fighting the scanxiety that has resulted in shaky legs, uncontrollable tears, and bile that is threatening to crawl up my throat. I have gotten down in the lowest position possible and beg my God to continue to have mercy on my child. I know without a shadow of a doubt that I serve a master that will never leave me nor forsake me, but the human side of me and the mommy side of me fear the unknown. Perhaps, I should be strong enough in my faith that I don’t worry about the fate of my child. But I am not. If this is a sin against my God, I beg for forgiveness and I pray that my God continue to strengthen my faith and remove any doubt by showing me that HE is a way maker.