Life Goes On

Life goes on.

This is the lesson I got in the last week.

I also got this lesson: don't count your chickens before they hatch.

What am I talking about? Is my son's health okay? What's going on?

Well, here's the long and the short of it: life continues happening even in the midst of trials. And it can make it completely crazy, but it can also give you bright spots during the times you're in the deepest, darkest canyon.

Take for example what's happened in the last few weeks. If you read one of my last blog posts, you know my son's been marked for a bone marrow transplant. Not the most fun thing, especially when the two-year survival rate for someone with SDS is somewhere between 45 and 60%, depending on what method and drugs are used to prep for transplant. For this reason, my husband and I decided to get a second opinion, since we want to be absolutely sure that this is the road we'll go down.

Which led to a flurry of activity, and ended with me having a lengthy conversation with one of the doctors who is probably in the top three in the nation, if not the world, with experience with Shwachman Diamond kids. Of course, we can't stay in Kansas City to get our second opinion. After speaking with this doctor, which I'm going to call Dr. S (because her name is too long and difficult to pronounce!), it was decided we'll be heading out of town, we know not when, for that second opinion. Hopefully, sometime in the next few weeks to a couple of months.

So, while we're waiting on the answers, we find out our daughter is NOT a match for her brother, which means we have to go to the national registries. Mixed feelings about that. Glad she doesn't have to go through that, but at the same time, now we don't know whether he'll have a match.

Enter: a bright spot.

You know how a few weeks ago, I said I was giving up on "Homebody"? That I'd decided it was time to tell it goodbye, thanks for the memories, all that? (Here comes the "don't count your chickens" part.) Yeah, I may have spoken too soon.

With everything going on, I hadn't checked my business e-mail in 6 weeks or so. Last week, I decided I'd better do that because I *thought* I may have a short story out somewhere and probably should see if I'd received any mail on that.

Well, I didn't have anything out on my short.

But, I did have a reply from an agent I'd sent "Homebody" to back in--get this--February. FEBRUARY! This was a query only agent, which means I didn't send anything to them besides a letter. I saw their e-mail in my spam box, and thought, "Oh, here's another rejection." But I opened it anyway.

First, there was an apology for the long time in getting back to me. But then I read these words: I'd look at the first 75 pages and synopsis after 8/20 if you don't have an agent.

Did I read that right? I got a request for a partial?

HOW COOL IS THAT?!

So, the day I actually read this, I went around the rest of the day with a stupid grin on my face, unable to do anything. After that, it's been a mad rush--is everything ready? I did some changes to the opening scene--does it read okay? And about that synopsis, I never was happy with it, so let's rewrite that on the fly.

And, I have to admit: I haven't sent in anything yet. But, I'm close to doing it. Hopefully later today. I'm nervous, excited, and at the same time, if this is meant to be, let it happen. Maybe I wrote off this book too soon. If not, maybe I'll get some decent feedback, and perhaps, the agent would be willing to look at another project when I've got them done. We'll have to see.

Funny thing is, I looked at the day they sent the e-mail. It was the day before my son's biopsies. I find that kind of meaningful, but that's just me.


In closing, I thought I'd share something that proved especially meaningful last night. My husband and I have seen "The Fellowship of the Ring" dozens of times. We saw it in the theater when we were dating. But, we hadn't watched it in a while due to the demands of parenting. Watching an episode or two of "Castle" or "Stargate" in the evenings is all we have time or energy for, let alone a 3 hour movie!

Near the closing of the movie, Frodo says, "I wish the ring had never come to me."
Gandalf replies, and I'm paraphrasing, "So do all who live in perilous times."

While I wouldn't say my life is perilous, at least not at the moment, it hit me. I could really get Frodo in that instant. Since we found out our boy has SDS, I've prayed, "Don't let him need a BMT. Don't let him have cancer. I can handle diabetes, but please don't let him ever have to face cancer treatment." Not much different than Frodo's lament.

Oh well. I have a request for a partial, and while it doesn't make my troubles go away, it does make them a lot more bearable.

Life certainly goes on.

Until next time,

Liberty