Say "10 months" 10x fast.

Selfie Qween, circa summer 2019

10 months // We are nearing the 10-month mark, people! 10 months since our life-view was completely obliterated. Silly us, we were only in the midst of planning our life . . . what would life in the Army continue to entail . . . how would our homeschool vibe evolve as we add Silas into the mix . . . where would our camping bucket list take us . . . what would the logistics look like if Matt were to continue his nursing education . . . all the planning.

10 months // As I sit here today, in the infusion room at El Paso Children's Hospital, the cries of a sweet baby boy ringing in my ears, I nervously laugh out loud, realizing just how much life for the Orcutts has changed. But, even though these have been the most painful, gut-wrenching, lonely, hell-on-earth months of my life, I type with joy. Don't get it twisted, I mourn the life we were busy planning, all those details and dreams we were working out. In fact, there are days I retreat to my closet, unable to deal with this new life, this new world view. But after a good cry and raw chats with my Creator, I gain back the sense of peace and contentment for where we are in this season, in spite of the ugly journey it's taken to reap these gifts.

10 months // This significant amount of time is truly a miracle for us. If you're new here, back in October, our life did a 180 with Lydia's cancer diagnosis (stage 4/ high grade glioma/non-operable) and subsequent grim prognosis. Grim, grim, grim. The doctor's words you'll have a good Christmas with her, but I anticipate significant decline by March with her life expectancy less than 12 months echo in my head on the regular. But, by God's grace, Lydia is the same today as she was on October 9th. Wait, scratch that... she's grown a ton and her feet are ginormous. No major decline to be seen. No decline really at all. Her doctors are stumped. Her April MRI revealed that her highly-aggressive brain tumor was STABLE. Again, stumping her doctors . . . they can offer no explanation. We have another MRI this summer to get another look. #stabilityrocks 🤘🏼

10 months // God has been at work. The amount of people rallying behind us, behind Lydia, pleading with God for a miracle . . . to save her . . . is 🤯. Every day Lydia wakes up, symptom free, is literally a miracle. Tangible answered prayers each day. The thought of having to endure this hell alone, without the support and prayers of Lydia's Army is too much for my mama heart to bear. We see you and we're overwhelmed.

10 months // Reading, praying, researching, praying, changing viewpoints, praying, questioning it all, praying even more. It's been uber humbling coming face-to-face with all the things I DO NOT know. But God. His goodness covered it all. And when I would go cross-eyed, reading yet another study on PubMed, not fully comprehending the premise and the gist, but feeling the daunting weight on my shoulders to press on, find an answer . . . God would intervene. His gentle rebuke that He was in the details, He would make straight my path, and He would bestow the wisdom I required to move forward. And He quietly reminded me that He loves her more than I do. I whisper that truth over and over and over . . . He loves her more than I do. That I can hang my hat on . . . I can finally rest in that.

10 months // Right after her diagnosis, I had an absolute breakdown in my happy place, Target. I was passing through the birthday aisle on my way to the Legos (Lydia's new jam while she's laid up in hospital beds), when I was stopped in my tracks. I surveyed all the girly themes and suddenly couldn't breathe. Fear crept in, as a voiced reminded me that Lydia wouldn't be here for her 7th birthday . . . and if she was, her state would be so tragic, we wouldn't feel like celebrating.

Probably the suckiest and most painful part of cancer-hell is deciphering God's truth juxtaposed to the clinical evidence of Lydia's type of tumor. What do we cling to? How do we plan? What effing lane are we in??? If I, Liz of today, could talk to the Liz in Target nearly 10 months ago, I would give her a hug, but then grab her by the shoulders (we'd be the same height, you see 😂), look her in the eyes and reassure her . . .

. . . that every truth we thought to be true about God, is legit

. . . you'll be the recipient of God's unfailing mercy

. . . God will move in ways so massive, it will leave you completely shook

. . . that whole peace-that-surpasses-all-understanding— yea, that's a real thing. And it's other-worldly

. . . Lydia will be so healthy, full of energy, asking all the questions, that at times, you get annoyed (something you're ashamed to admit, but a sign as to how shockingly normal life will be)

. . . and there will be an epic party that will need to be planned so catch your breath, grab a marg and get your Pinterest game on

And so we're planning said epic birthday party. Homegirl has a countdown going on and excitedly announces, to anyone who will listen, how many more sleeps till she's 7!!! (It's July 30, btw).


10 months // Thank you, God. Can we please get 10 more?

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