Life isn't measured by the number of breaths we take...

So, July 23rd Izzie woke up and limped into my bedroom. Sure enough, her knee was swollen, and over the weekend she experienced fever and crippling pain all over again like before. Apparently our remission period was to be short-lived, which was disappointing. Every time her arthritis rears its ugly head I'm reminded of the monster it is and how fortunate we've been so far with everything. It's nice we live across the street from the Children's Hospital here, because although we haven't seen a doctor yet here (we're hoping to wait until we return home) it's been a blessing being so close to this specialized pharmacy. We've started her back on her methotrexate injections and an NSAID called meloxicam, and we have appointments scheduled for her first few days back home with the opthamologist and rheumatologist, respectively. It is different this time feeling like we know a little better what we're up against - we've stocked up on different types of heating pads and know warm baths help. We also recently discovered a nearby playground which helps keep her limber in the mornings. Hopefully this episode will be short-lived.

Even as difficult as it is seeing her in so much pain, sometimes unable to walk, we feel blessed beyond measure. Last week we got bad news, but friends of ours got worse. One of Justin's classmates has a 3-year-old son who was diagnosed with neuroblastoma last fall, and depite a difficult, crazy year for them and their family (they have three other children) were told to expect anywhere from a few more days to a few weeks left with their angel. She made the poignant comment on her blog today that with only a short time left you really see just how much you would like to experience before it's over. I sobbed like a baby, but am so grateful for that reminder from an a wonderful mother and friend. I'm not the only one, I'm sure, who hoped this day wouldn't come.

As part of an MBASA activity last fall the spouses put together an I-Spy quilt for her son, and as most fabric stores won't actually let you purchase one 6"x6" square of fabric, I ended up with a lot of the extra material and made quilt tops for myself and for my siblings. I think of it as our "hug your kids a little longer" quilt, because it reminds me of how fragile our little world is, and how short the time undoubtedly is when they'll allow those hugs, and I expect we'll take it with us when we return to the hospital with Izzie to resume her treatments should that be necessary. It's really crazy how quickly life can be turned upside down and everything can change. It's one of those things we all know and agree with, whether from first-hand experience or the happenings of others, but somehow time softens the shock and we kind of forget.

Incidentally, I loved President Monson's article in the Ensign this month and the things he said about being ready - I kept thinking of the term "Emergency Preparedness" and wondered how prepared I am for those types of emergencies. You know, the kind your three-month supply of tuna and old-fashioned oats doesn't cover because I'm afraid the answer for me right now is "not very." It's unfortunate we don't teach spiritual preparedness in those terms exactly, maybe because it would be so difficult to measure, but it could certainly generate a shock factor at least as powerful as the images of floods, earthquakes and political unrest that often accompany other preparedness lessons. The problem, I'd guess, is it's not as though there's a neat formula on lds.org for how many personal prayers equals one day of spiritual reserve, or what the expiration dates are for the FHE lessons stored in your little ones' minds, or even an answer to the "how much do I need?" question. It's just an ongoing thing, which, I guess, is why we need so many reminders. Maybe you'll feel as though you can pray for them and their little family experiencing something everyone hopes they will never have to be ready for.