Phoenix's Surgery and BBQ chippies

Many of you may or may not know that Ernie and Jenny's daughter Phoenix was born with a condition called Craniosynostosis. It is the premature joining of the bony plates that fuse to enclose and protect the brain. Normally the plates close during the first two years of an infants life, but Phoenix's had already fused. The abnormal shaped skull that results in Craniosynostosis is due to the brain not being able to grow in its natural shape. Instead, it compensates with growth in areas of the skull where the cranial sutures have not yet closed. So when Phoenix was about 3 months old she had to undergo surgery to her skull, something Jenny knew quite a bit about, ironically. Thankfully, Phoenix will not have any lasting effects from the condition. She just has a scar that is not detectable underneath her hair.

I also wanted to tell you the reason Jenny and Ernie chose Phoenix's name. When Jen was first diagnosed she was almost 4 months pregnant. The doctors thought it would be best if she terminated the pregnancy. It was an agonizing choice to make, but Jenny had an oncologist who had faith enough that the baby would be fine and that treatment could continue during Jen's pregnancy. But ultimately, the decision was Jenny and Ernie's. They prayed and exercised great faith. Christmas Eve night, when our family all got together at my mom's house, Jenny announced the baby would be born as planned, and that the name they had chosen was Phoenix. If you are not aware, a Phoenix is a mythical bird that rises out of its own burned ashes. You see, Jen felt like out of the "ashes" of her sick body, a beautiful creature could be born. We all thought it was a beautiful idea but were a little unsure of such a unique name. However, as soon as Phoenix was born we could not think of a better name for her. What a legacy her mother has left for her even in just a simple thing as her name.

Now that you have some background on our sweet little Phoenix here is Jen's e-mail she entitled "Phoenix's surgery and Barbecue Chippies" dated August 31, 2006.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had a chance to sit down and write. I hate that I sometimes let myself get caught up in everything else and forget to do the things that will really matter one day (like writing in my journal). We’ve had a busy summer and I feel like we’ve finally “moved-in” in Ogden. Most of the boxes are unpacked and I’ve gotten used to less space. We’re really lucky that Netty and Marcus are letting us live here.

Right now the air is pungent with the smell of bbq chips. I can’t even remember where they came from or why they were in my house, but Erin saw the little bag of chips this morning and is currently devouring its contents with gusto. Her greasy hands seem to be touching everything and I have to decide whether it’s worth it or not to wash her face and hands because that means no more “chippies” and a screaming two year old. Phoenix is resting, so I feel like a little potato chip grease on the rocking chair is a small price to pay for my little baby’s slumbering bliss. It’s also the reason why Erin is walking around with snot dried to her nose. Normally I’d pin her down and wipe it off, but that is usually followed by about five minutes of shrieking and screaming – so the snot stays.

Phoenix’s surgery was on Monday. We drove down to Primary Children’s Hospital in SLC on Sunday to have some labs done. On the door of the lab the techs had funny pictures of themselves as children on the door and a poster board with the heading “Who would you marry” on the door with a picture of Han Solo in one column and Chewbacca in the other column. There were names scrawled under each picture. I chose Han Solo in my head (although Chewbacca is a wonderful conversationalist), but I wasn’t able to write it on the board – I think they would have found that a little cheeky.

(Erin is offering me one of those revolting potato chips – I’m holding my breath – I am happy that she is sharing).

We arrived at Primary Children’s on Monday morning. We were late (as usual) but so was the surgeon (as usual), but Phoenix was really good, especially considering she hadn’t had any formula since midnight and only Pedialyte at around 5:30 AM. They weighed her and examined her to make sure she was healthy enough for surgery. Her surgeon wasn’t extremely friendly, but I guess that’s what nurses are for. He came and explained the surgery again and the anesthesiologist came and explained what he was going to do. Fifty percent of babies that have this surgery require a blood transfusion, but Phoenix came out not needing one. We waited in the waiting room for about two hours. I brought a David Sedaris book to read (Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim) but I couldn’t concentrate on it so I watched Ellen (a show I’ve never really cared for because of the screaming audience and the dancing) but thank heavens Dennis Quaid was the guest, I really like him. Then I fell asleep and was awakened by Ernie calling my name and motioning me into a room. I was so out of it that I just sat there for a few moments trying to remember where I was. The surgeon explained that everything went fine and that one of us could go to the recovery room and be with her. I got the lucky job of going (I think if I hadn’t I would have wished that I had). She was crying a hoarse little cry. The nurse was a big guy who told me that he had given her some morphine and was monitoring her heart rate and her breathing. I felt sick when I saw the jagged, oozing incision on my little babe’s head. There was a tube coming out of her head that was draining into a tennis-ball sized receptacle. I felt useless standing there. It was overwhelming and I felt my stomach knot and my head start to spin. I sat down on a chair at the end of the crib and put my head between my knees. I felt like a moron when all the nurses crowded around me and started shoving apple juice in my face (I don’t like apple juice, but it was cold so I drank it). They asked if I wanted Ernie to come in and relieve me, but I wanted to be with Phoenix so I sucked it up and was able to be there for her a little bit.

They moved her to a room on the fourth floor. All they could give her the first day was morphine and she was really sore and crying a lot. Ernie stayed with me until my parents came at around 4:00 PM with Erin and Ernie took her home. I stayed the night in the hospital on a chair that folded out into a bed. I was so tired I could have slept any where. Another patient was admitted to our room. I think he was a little bit less than a year old. His parents kept leaving for smoke breaks so I had to endure a lot of screaming and crying from a baby with a much larger set of lungs! His parents didn’t come back that night, but I was tired so I was able to sleep through a lot of the screaming. Phoenix slept alright and would have slept more, but they had to take her vital signs often. By Tuesday morning she had eaten for the first time and was able to have some Loritab (I hope she doesn’t become a junkie). She was able to rest much better and I think the Loritab managed her pain a lot better.

(I just had to stop Erin from slamming all the doors in the house. It’s her new thing and she’s almost as compulsive at this shutting doors thing as she is at putting on everyone else’s shoes).
I went to work after Ernie came to the hospital on Tuesday. Erin stayed at Stephanie’s house (she loves it there) and I went to work. I thought about Phoenix the whole time. I felt bad that I wasn’t able to be there with her, but I think it gave her some special bonding time with her daddy. Grandma and Grandpa Lynch visited her that afternoon. Steve was really excited about an antique clock on display in the lobby of the hospital. They came right when the nurses were removing the drain from Phoenix’s head. Ernie said it went in about five inches. I’m glad I wasn’t there for that. I could never be a nurse! Ernie stayed with me on Tuesday night. On my way down I stopped at the Gateway and bought a bear for Phoenix. I know she’s just three months old, but I thought she might appreciate it later. I sprayed it with some of my perfume and put it in her crib. She also had a Care Bear blanket from home which seemed to comfort her a little. They moved the other baby and his parents to another room, but one of us still had to sleep in the rocking chair. I decided that I could do that. It’s was kind of like sleeping in the car during a long road trip. I would wake up with kinks in my neck. Ernie gave me the bed around 4:00 AM and I slept until around 8:00 AM. We were finally able to check out on Wednesday afternoon.

Phoenix is doing great. She’s getting better every day. She sleeps a lot and Erin has, miraculously not bothered her at all. (She’s currently trying to put one of her diapers on her Care Bear). Thanks for all of your prayers and all the support that you’ve given us. We appreciate it a lot. I’m enclosing some pictures. I made one black and white because the color version would have been a little too much for some of you! It was for me when I opened it this morning on my computer.

We’ve been so blessed. I feel the power of the Lord working in our lives every day. I don’t know what He has in store for me and my family, but I trust Him. I think a lot about the scripture in Matthew 6:28-30:

“. . . Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin:
29. And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.
30. Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to day is, and to morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?”

Love,
Jen

Great MRI and 4th of July

It's been two weeks since Jenny's funeral. I meant to update the blog more often. I am a week behind! When we were all together as a family in Utah I it was wonderful. We spent a lot of time together which helped us. I know a lot of you have asked after my mom and Ernie and the girls. Since coming home, I think they are all about as good as can be expected. It's hard to go from caring for someone 24 hours a day to start back at a job and real life. All I can say about that is the Lord is watching over us and helping us cope.

I wanted to share some more of her writings with you. She amazes me still with her optimistic outlook and her happy take on life as well as her faith. I feel like if I didn't share these things with others I would be doing a great disservice. I hope you read her words and bring something of joy and peace away with you. I know many of you have donated a lot of your money, time and prayers and my family thanks you whole-heartedly.

I feel so blessed to have known her. I love her more everyday and miss her so much that I can taste it. My heart aches to see her and talk to her but I know she's not far. I feel her all around me. Sometimes when I make jokes in my mind I briefly think, "Oh, I gotta tell Jen that one," and then I remember she's not physically around to do that. However, I know she is hearing them and we laugh together...that's what we did a lot together, laugh. I still laugh and that, oddly enough, comforts me. I think my family feels the same. If Jen had one thing, it was a sense of humor.

The following e-mail was sent out July 6, 2006 and was entitled "Great MRI and 4th of July."

It isn’t that I haven’t had a lot to write about, but I’ve had so little time to actually sit down and write that I haven’t had a chance. Last week was my second MRI since radiation treatments. I was a little bit anxious about what the results might be, but, overall, felt peace about whatever might happen. I haven’t been reading as much in the Book of Mormon as I like. If I ever slowed down long enough to read anything I was pretty much asleep in a few minutes, but I tried to read as much as I could. I read Ether 12 a lot and I got a lot out of the following verses: “27: And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them,” and v. 29: O Lord, they righteous will be done, for I know that thou workest unto the children of men according to their faith;” I prayed for a long time for the spirit of healing to be upon my body and also prayed for the faith to allow myself to be healed, but I also understand the the Lord gives and the Lord taketh away. I long for the opportunity to see my children grow up, but I also understand that the Lord has us in mind when He gives us our struggles. Hugh B. Brown gave a talk in the 1960’s at BYU called “God is the Gardener” which I keep in the desk drawer next to my PC. He talked about an experience he had just after he had bought a farm in Canada. There was an overgrown tree on the farm and he went out to prune it. As he cut away the tangled and sick branches, he imagined what the tree would be saying if it could talk, “Why are you doing this to me? I was doing just fine until you came along and started to cut and prune my branches,” to which Elder Brown answered quietly, “I’m the gardner here, I know what’s best for you.” Years later when he was in the military he came up for promotion and was denied it based on the fact that he was Mormon. He felt angry with the Lord and felt himself asking, “Lord, why are you doing this to me? I’ve been faithful and true to your commandments,” to which he felt the Lord answered, “I am the gardener here, I know what’s best for you.” Whenever I get discouraged or sad, I think of that line “God is the gardener” and I am comforted.

The MRI went a lot better the second time. I had it at the Huntsman Cancer Center instead of the University of Utah. It made a really big difference. At the U I had to change into a gown in the bathroom and put my clothes into a garbage bag. At the Hunstman center they showed me into a dressing room where I had my own locker. The techs were a lot nicer, especially considering it had been a long and busy day by the time they got to me. I didn’t get a sedative because of some mix-up so my mom gave me a Tylenol PM she had in her purse (mom’s are always prepared). I was already feeling a lot easier about it than the first one. I’m in a lot better place now than I was even three months ago. My faith and trust in God is even greater now than it was then and I imagine it will continue to grow. I actually fell asleep this time during the MRI which takes about 45 minutes. Dr. Choukair met with us right after the MRI. He asked me how I was doing and then he smiled and laughed when he told me that my MRI looked fantastic and that comparing this MRI to the MRI’s in March and December he exclaimed that neither doctors nor medicine had done this. He pointed heavenward and said, “this is the work of some higher power”. We all had really big smiles on our faces (except for Dr. Choukair’s PA, Julia – you know how I feel about PA’s. She seems very capable but really grouchy). That was the good news. Dr. Choukair said he wanted to start Chemotherapy anyway because it is generally what happens after radiation. The Chemotherapy will help what’s left of the tumor to shrink (and hopefully disappear) and hopefully prevent any new tumors from forming in other regions of my brain. I’ve read that soy also helps to keep tumors from popping up in other areas of the brain, so I drink as much chocolate soy milk as I want and think of it as medicine (ha). My brother Todd said it tastes like chocolate yoo-hoo. The chemotherapy is taken orally and is really expensive. We’re hoping to get a grant to help us pay for our 20% co-pay (it’s about $700 a month). Julia chastised me for not sending the paper work for the grant in sooner, but we were hoping it could be given through IV and thus covered under major medical. Blah Blah Blah – paying medical bills sucks (sorry mom about using that word).

As I was walking to another clinic in the hospital to get some blood taken after my appointment with Dr. Choukair, I felt the warmth of the Spirit wash over me. I stopped in the middle of a deserted hallway with sunlight pouring through the windows that were overlooking the Salt Lake valley, and I prayed and thanked the Lord and gave him all the glory for all the good news we had received that day.

You might be asking, “so what does this mean?” and my answer is that I honestly don’t know, only the Lord knows what is in store for us, but faith will help us through the toughest times in our lives. I might have fifteen months or fifty years. I’m hoping beyond hope that I will be there for all the milestones in Erin and Phoenix’s lives, and that Ernie will always have me around to support him and make him laugh when he needs it the most, but God is the gardener and He knows what is best for all of us.

Love,
Jen

"Goodbyes"

It's with a heavy heart that I write this today. Jenny passed away on March 13th, this past Thursday. She went peacefully with my sisters Amy and Lesa and my mom beside her, in the early afternoon. It just happened to be the day my sisters usually came to help with her care.

Now family is gathering and we feel such joy in that. Now is the time that we are mourning her but also celebrating her life. What better way to do that than by being together? She would have loved that. We feel her everywhere around us, especially in the laughter. It helps to heal some of the pain.

As we are getting ready for the funeral we are all contemplating memories and trying to make sense of it all. We are getting ready for the day we say our final good-byes. Lots of planning, practicing songs, making videos, and writing talks. Tomorrow night is the viewing and the following day is the funeral. We are busy, and that helps ease the pain. When we all go home our perspectives will be different, but for now we are basking in each other's company and comfort.

Jenny's best friend from high school wrote the following. My family has gotten much peace from this in the last couple of days. And today as I'm thinking what might be best to post I believe this is ideal. We feel Jennie (same names different spellings) may have known her better than any of us did and her words sum up much of what we feel:

As I was driving over the Mason Street Bridge today I saw the first set of fresh water pelicans flying in return to the Fox River; the first sign that spring is here. Sometimes signs are obvious and sometimes they take a little more time to notice. I was crying as I drove over that bridge today because my beloved friend has passed and the pain I feel resonates so strongly inside of me. No matter how much time you have to say goodbye to someone you love, you can’t help feeling like you’ve just had the wind knocked out of you. I drove around a lot today, thinking about Jen and all of the time between us. And then I thought about the last time we ever saw each other; I was dropping her off at an airport in Chicago so she could fly back home to Utah. We told each other we’d “see ya later” and I can vividly picture her leaving my car and closing the door. My first thought was “That CAN’T be the last time I saw her!” I thought about how awful that was, to have a drop off at the airport be the last time you see your best friend. But then it dawned on me; as clear as those pelicans flying over the bridge were a sign of spring’s arrival, dropping Jen off was also a sign. For those who didn’t know the two of us in high school, I wasn’t allowed to have either a license or a car so Jen was always the one to pick me up and drop me off. We would spend hours just driving around the back roads; talking about politics or movies or any old thing. Jen was always at the wheel. But now, this last time we were together, I was the one at the wheel. Come to think of it, I can’t remember another time when I was the one driving. Our time as friends on this earth has come to an end; a door, even if it’s a car door at an airport, has closed.

I first met Jen in the Mrs. Stettler’s journalism class at Weber High school; she was the girl cracking all the jokes and I was the one laughing loudly from the back row.
I had lots of friends, but had never met anyone like Jen. She was an incredibly funny girl with a matchless wit and a pirate smile. For all her shouts and charisma, she was at the same time a humble and devoutly spiritual child of God. She was emboldened by her faith and made strong in her trust of our Heavenly Father’s will for her. She once said to me that she feared sometimes people misunderstood her humor as an attribute to a dark personality, but that simply wasn’t so. Jen’s life was a light by which mine and everyone’s around her was made brighter. She was my best friend and if I had never met her, than I think I would have made her up for the sheer wishing to have found a kindred spirit like hers.

I am forever moved by her humor and her grace. I want so much to share with everyone what my time with her was like because it bears importance; because it was a time in our youth when so much of our young personalities and character were created and shaped. Without her presence in my life there would be a huge part of myself that I never would have known and without her friendship I don’t know where I would have ended up. Jen always believed in me; she celebrated my triumphs, she listened to my woes and she championed my spirit when I swore I simply wasn’t going to make it. No matter the latest boyfriend or bad grade, a night of watching movies, drinking root beer floats and singing along to Barbara Streisand made the whole world right again. Anyone who knew her, knew there just wasn’t anyone else like her; When she made me mix tapes they had titles like “You’ll Hate This and It’s Okay” and when she went on vacation she sent post cards to my cat. Jen always did the things that made her happy, no matter what those things were; we could spend one afternoon visiting antique shops and farmer’s market, the next at an all day concert in a mosh pit and the day after that flying kites and eating old Easter candy. As I mentioned before, out of the two of us, Jen was the one with a car and a license so a lot of our time was just spent driving around with her at the wheel, the two of us listening to music and talking. Even in the years after high school, with husbands and babies and mortgages between us, we never lost the words that carried us into hours of conversations. Jen was so incredibly smart – If there was a subject I didn’t know anything about, I needed to only ask her about it. The economic structure of third world nations, the political ramifications of having an electoral college, the inner musical workings of a Neil Diamond album, you name it, she could give you an education on it and often have you laughing in between bullet points.

The first time anyone met Jen she was cracking a joke. You either got it or you didn’t and if you didn’t, well then, she would just try harder the next time. Her humor was so great that it almost preceded her presence. I’ve never laughed as heartily as I did with Jen. There was a time in our early friendship when the jokes between us morphed into almost a second language and if you weren’t paying attention it was easy to get confused. For anyone who didn’t know the name “Sultra” in reference to Jen, well that’s just a pity. I’ll let you in on a little secret, in case you didn’t already know the origins of the name. The summer before my senior year of high school, Jen and her family graciously allowed me to accompany them on their annual trip aboard a houseboat in Lake Powell. One hot Lake Powell afternoon Jen and I took one of her niece Ariel’s dolls and hid it. Well, maybe we hid it or maybe we tied it up to a window curtain, but whatever the case, Ariel was pretty upset with us. To make it up to her we then engaged in playing a game with dolls and when we asked Ariel the name of that particular doll we had taken, Ariel, with a deadpan look on her face said simply, “Sultra”. Perhaps it was the summer heat or the giddiness of afternoon, but Jen and I just cracked up. From that time on “Sultra” was the watchword. If we were ordering a pizza, “Sultra” was the name of the person placing the order. If someone had gotten out of hand somewhere, “Sultra” was the scapegoat. Inevitably and in my absence, Jen achieved ownership of the name and it became her alter ego. “Sultra” will forever be a sacred word to me.

Before I knew that Jen had died, I spent a lot of time going through old journals and yearbooks. I have a lot Jen’s poetry, as she often shared her writings with me. Jen cherished words; she was never one to throw away a compliment and she was never wasteful with the sentiments she chose to describe the people and the things she loved best. Jen loved her family; she loved growing up in a full house of family on Higley Road. She loved to tell me about how her father was a farmer and the time she spent helping him harvest sugar beets. She loved to tell me about the adventures she had with her sisters and brother. She loved sunsets, but especially the ones seen from her own yard. Jen was entirely grateful for the life she loved to write about; she was always inspired by those around her. As I look back now on her poetry and even the words she wrote in my yearbook, I realized that with Jen it was grace everyday. Not many high school seniors would quote Abraham Lincoln in their best friend’s yearbook, but Jen did. The year she graduated high school she wrote this in my yearbook: “You’ve been a great friend and I really appreciate your love. Abraham Lincoln once said ‘ The good thing about the future is that it only comes one day at a time.’ That way it isn’t so hard to say goodbye.” There was of course a passage about us trying to go see Oingo Boingo that summer in concert as well, but the point of it was, that Jen was always extraordinary, even as a girl. And now I have a mountain of grace to remember her by; in old letters and post cards, poems and passages on the backs of photos. I have a mountain of grace to help ease the mountain of pain inside of me.

There is a photo in with all of these great letters taken one afternoon in late spring the same year that Jen graduated. It’s of a “No Trespassing” sign in front of field and in that field is a bramble of wild yellow roses. I had come home that afternoon and answered a phone call from a very excited Jen telling me she was on her way over to pick me up because she had to show me something. Once in her car we drove for about ten minutes and out onto some back road that only Jen would have known. Suddenly it was upon us; a giant stretch of wild yellow roses just off the side of the road. It was like a miracle; wild and growing quite out of the ordinary in a place you’d never thought to look. We jumped out of the car and ran toward it slowing down only to carefully creep in as deep as we could into the bramble. It was magic. Jen made me pose for a picture smelling one of the roses, but other than that we didn’t speak. The rose bushes grew as tall as ourselves and we felt entirely surrounded in God’s beauty. That afternoon was a gift, but the greater gift was knowing that I had a friend who not only appreciated something like that, but was kind enough to share it with me.

Jen and I talked about our future as much as we talked about our present. We even, as girls in high school, talked about the children we might one day have. Jen told me once that she believed her children were already watching her; that they were witnesses to the life she was living. The first time I saw her daughter Erin I couldn’t believe how much she looked like Jen and I found myself thinking, “Yes. This child knew you.” Jen loved being a mother and in talking about our kids, her two daughters and my son, we bonded all over again. Jen always knew she wanted to be a mother and God blessed her with two amazing little girls. When I look at pictures of Erin and Phoenix, I see their mother’s heart and the slightest hint of that same pirate smile. Jen’s girls will always know love; as they grow up in the sight and arms of their father and all of Jen’s family, they will know the same love that Jen knew as a child and thus know how much their own mother loves them. They will watch the sun set in the same space that Jen did; they will have Jen’s love of scrap booking to show them pictures of a life lived in grace and they will amaze all of us as without even knowing it, as they continue to remind us of our unique and beloved Jenny.

Spring is returning to the earth and with each day of growing warmth, our sorrow and our grief will wane. Spring reminds us of the promise of new life; it’s all around us now. It reminds us of the new life that is eternal; a promise that Jen knew in her heart to be true. It was a promise she held fast to as she entered into a Mission to Germany; It was a promise she held fast to as she entered into the holy Temple marriage to the love of her life, Ernie and it was a promise she held fast to each day she spent with her precious girls. Jen’s spirit was boundless. For every challenge she ever faced, she only came back stronger. She pointed out the humor in everything; even when she was weakened by medications and another surgery this past November, she called me from her hospital bed to “try out new comedy material” about her current hospital stay. She was utterly exhausted and yet propelled to get a laugh out of me. Those phone calls meant the world to me. Even when we weren’t together I could hear in my head the joke she would have made or the punch line she would have delivered perfectly; I walk through this life with her laughter, her humor, her comedic intervention. I walk through this life, not burdened with the memory of grief, but with a soul made lighter with the memory of whimsy and devotion. I walk through this life and into this spring, a better woman and a better person because I had a friend named Jen.

by Jen Schwenk

Jenny continues to fade away. She had a few rough days of sickness, and now she's sleeping all the time. She hasn't eaten anything or had a drink for a few days now. As a family, we feel that her body is speedily shutting down one small bit at a time. My mom is having to be there pretty much all day and she works to make sure Jenny is comfortable. I don't envy my mom for having to be there, in Jenny's home, with all of her photos and with all of her earthly possessions. Jenny's "essence" is everywhere you look. It's such an emotional pull on her. I think it would be hard for me to do the same.

Here is another e-mail she sent out. It's from October 30, 2006. It was right after we went to Disneyland as a family.

Netty wrote me today and it made me realize that I haven’t been writing as much as I hoped to do. I’m still feeling really great – a little stressed at time with two little kids and mountains and mountains of laundry! :o) I have a few more months of chemo (okay, I’m not even half way finished) but compared with what some others have to go through, my chemo is relatively easy. I do five days a month. My mom takes the kids (which means she has to get up in the night with Phoenix (and/or Erin). My dad helps out. He and Erin “eat grapes” every night so my mom can get some things done around the house. I usually can go to lunch or a movie the first couple of days, and then I generally just feel pretty crummy. I’ll still go and walk around at the mall or something, but even the smell of movie theater popcorn makes me a bit queasy. The anti-nausea meds work great and they’re worth every penny (or twelve bucks a tablet – maybe I should just smoke some pot – just kidding, just kidding). I am just grateful to still be here and able to spend a lot of time with my kids (even if it does mean a lot of work for me!). I went to visit a mission companion last week and she has four kids, so I can’t complain much. I don’t know how she does it! Being a mom is still the best job in the world.

Just before leaving for my trip to Disneyland, my PA told me that I needed a platelet infusion. I wasn’t even sure what platelets were! I looked it up on the Internet and found out that they are sticky little discs in the blood stream that make one’s blood clot. My platelet count went from 190,000 to 20,000. I asked my mom if she would take the kids overnight so that I could leave early in the morning. For the first time in the last three years, Ernie didn’t wake up when his alarm went off – and he was supposed to wake me up! We jumped out of bed at 7:45 (I was supposed to be in Salt Lake at 8:00). Anyway, I got to up to the Huntsman Center, did a quick blood test then went to the infusion center. There were mostly people in there receiving their chemo intravenously. They sat me down in a recliner and gave me an IV. While I was waiting a volunteer came in and asked me if I wanted something to drink. I told him I wanted Diet Coke and he laughed at me. What’s so funny about that? He told me all he had was juice and milk – well why didn’t he ask me if I wanted some juice or some milk – I mean, I really got my hopes up for a nice little diet Coke in a foam cup with crushed ice. :o) Another lady was finishing her chemo treatments after 14 months. They brought in a cake to celebrate. It had fourteen frosted flowers on it and everyone got a piece. I joked with my sisters that it was a lot like getting a pedicure except there were needles and I didn’t get to pick the color. My body rejected the platelets (my antibodies attacked the other antibodies). My platelet count actually went down after the infusion. Julia didn’t want me to go on vacation. I started crying and told her I was going no matter what. She worked really hard to find a hospital in Anaheim and call some orders in so that she could continue to monitor my counts and order another infusion if I needed it. Luckily, my platelets started to go back up a few days later. I still went on all of the roller coasters I could and shaved my legs – despite Julia’s warning to avoid sharp objects and not to cause my body any “trauma” by going on any roller coasters. It’s not like Disneyland has some wicked coasters or anything.

Disneyland was great fun. I’m sad that it’s already over! My mom and dad would take the kids at night and Ernie and I would hurry and ride all the “grown-up” rides. After Disneyland and Sea World, everyone else headed home. We stopped in Hollywood to see Grauman’s Chinese Theater. Gene Simmons left a tongue print (eeewwww!) and John Wayne left a print of his six-shooter. Erin made her own prints in some concrete – a souvenir we got to buy and take with us.

After Hollywood we drove to Visalia and stayed the night at a little hotel that had neither an air conditioner nor fan. It was stifling! The next morning we drove up to see the giant Sequoias. It was misty and beautiful – actually awe inspiring. The oldest tree is around 3,000 years old and it is MASSIVE! I can’t really explain it, but I felt like I had been there before. It was chilly and quiet. There weren’t many visitors and we were really able to soak in our surroundings. I’m sending some pictures. Ernie and I thought it was the best part of the trip (and it was a lot cheaper than Disneyland!).
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I’ve been reading the New Testament. I read parts of Jesus the Christ along with it. Talmadge really offers a lot of insight into everything. Last night when I couldn’t sleep, I thought about Jesus healing the leper. Talmadge describes the leper’s plea as both “pathetic” and “inspiring”. Lepers were considered the uncleanest of all beings. He approached Christ, fell down at the Savior’s feet and asked the Savior to heal him – it wasn’t a question in the leper’s mind whether or not the Christ could heal him, but rather would he heal him? I’m sure the leper was used to people shunning him. Generally they lived separately in colonies with others who were afflicted with this malady. That being said, Christ, without hesitation, reached out his hand and touched the leper. Instantly was the leper healed – “be thou clean” the Savior told him, and he was.

Dallin H. Oaks said in the last General Conference:
“Jesus healed many from physical diseases, but He did not withhold healing from those who sought to be "made whole" from other ailments. Matthew writes that He healed every sickness and every disease among the people (see Matthew 4:23; 9:35). Great multitudes followed Him, and He "healed them all" (Matthew 12:15). Surely these healings included those whose sicknesses were emotional, mental, or spiritual. He healed them all. . .”
“. . . Healing blessings come in many ways, each suited to our individual needs, as known to Him who loves us best. Sometimes a "healing" cures our illness or lifts our burden. But sometimes we are "healed" by being given strength or understanding or patience to bear the burdens placed upon us. . .”
“. . . At times we may despair that our burdens are too great. When it seems that a tempest is raging in our lives, we may feel abandoned and cry out like the disciples in the storm, "Master, carest thou not that we perish?" (Mark 4:38). At such times we should remember His reply: "Why are ye so fearful? how is it that ye have no faith?" (v. 40).”

I know that it may be that faith may not be able to save me. If it is our time to leave this earth then it is time. I cannot say, however, that I have not been healed. Through the Lord’s grace and power, He sent his holy spirit to comfort me and “heal” my broken heart. He has literally taken my burdens upon him. I can remember two distinct instances out of the many, many, many times that I have felt comforted:

The night before my surgery, I was afraid, but I didn’t realize it until the middle of the night how frightened I really was. It was very dark and very quiet. I couldn’t sleep, and I was very worried about leaving Erin without a mom. I felt the darkness closing in around me. I prayed with all my heart and the spirit blessed me. I asked Ernie to come and lay down with me in my bed. We laid there holding each other. I knew everything was going to be okay. It was the beginning of the “healing” process for me. The Lord knew how difficult the next few months would be. His love for me was a salve for my sorrowing spirit.

Another instance was one morning back when I was doing my radiation treatments. I had to go to the OB that morning. Erin was crying and I was tired. Suddenly my burdens felt very heavy. I layed down on the couch and sobbed. “I can’t do this” I cried out to Him, “it’s too much! It’s just too much!” I remember instantly feeling enfolded in a safe embrace. Suddenly I realized that I could do this, because the Lord was there to carry my burdens and heal my aching soul. Just a few thoughts for tonight.

Love, Jen

Jenny is doing about the same as she was last week. Mom says she's pretty aware of things. When I was there visiting her she was still Jenny. She wasn't the "same" Jenny but little things let me know she was there. When I would make sarcastic remarks and she was the only one in the room she smiled. A couple of nights when my Mom and I were putting her to bed, Jen would laugh out loud, probably because I stink at helping. It was a laugh that was short and simple, but thoroughly Jenny. It still rings in my ear like a clear bell. I just have to think about it and I feel her close by. It's funny how a laugh so individualistic can make others remember better times. For Jenny, her laugh was her trademark.

Some more of her e-mails I thought you'd like to hear. This one was dated October 30, 2006. This one talks about my mom and dad a little bit. Their pictures are included. My mom is going to be unhappy about this but too bad! She has been so inspiring and unfailing in all this mess. She takes care of Jenny without a thought to herself. She has taken on so many hats and I am so proud of her and I wanted her to know that and to tell her we all love her so much.


I was thinking about my dad and how he once taught us an important lesson about gratitude. I was pretty young when this happened, but my dad was still farming back then. As a farmer, he was “obsessed” with the weather. Even when he was home he’d always be checking the weather out the window. An early frost can destroy an entire crop and a sudden change in the weather could be extremely stressful. We said a prayer as a family every morning around the coffee table in the front room. I was still in my pajamas because I don’t think I was in school yet. My dad walked in the door (he had already been up) and looked really stressed. It had been a cold night and he was worried about the crops. We knelt as a family and my dad asked that the crops would be okay. The other kids went to school and me and my little sister stayed home. My dad walked in later. He had just examined the crops on part of the farm and they were frosted over. I’m sure he was stressed and upset, but do you know what he did? He knelt down with us again and he thanked Heavenly Father for all that we had. When my dad came back in at lunchtime, he told my mom that the crops on the other part of the farm had been spared from the frost. My mom tells the story much better, I was pretty young at the time, but I’m really thankful that my dad taught us to be grateful for what we have, even when things seem bad.

Yesterday was my 30th birthday. Ernie took the day off of work (which is a really big deal for him). We went to breakfast at Jeremiah’s and then we came home so Erin could have a nap (and Ernie, too). My mom met us around noon and we drove down to Thanksgiving Point to see the tulips and let Erin play in the children’s garden. The first thing that happened was Erin stepped in a puddle up to her ankles. The water was murky and full of leaves and moss, but she didn’t seem to mind. Ernie lifted her out of the puddle, but she just kept trying to get back in. I was also walking with Erin, holding one hand with my mom holding Erin’s other hand when I looked down at the sidewalk and saw a snake at my feet. Besides the fact that I was wearing flip flops (hey, I’m nine months pregnant, I’ll wear what I want), I really don’t like snakes. I think I screamed jumped about six feet in the air, Erin tried to go after it and my mom stopped her. Last night we had a party with hamburgers and cake and ice cream. My family came and I thought it was a lot of fun. I don’t think I’ve had a birthday cake for a few years, but I made one this year. You only turn 30 once – well, you know what I mean.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the spirit of healing. My dad spoke of it once during a priesthood blessing. I’ve thought a lot about spiritual healing, too. When I was first diagnosed, I was devastated and searching wildly for answers. I allowed my heart to fill with doubt and fear at times. I turned to the world for hope and found none. I turned to the Lord and was cradled in the arms of His love, remembering the words He spoke to his disciples, “My peace I leave with you. . .” I then realized that only through him would I feel the calmness I once knew. Only through Him do I have Eternal Hope. Only He can know exactly what I am feeling, and send the right people to comfort me at the right time. Carol Lynn Pearson, a poet that my mom really liked when I was growing up (and I “borrowed” her books) writes a poem about spiritual healing:

THE HEALING

A bird
Once broken
Can never fly,
They say,
Quite so high
Again.

Perhaps.

But as for me,
Now desperately
In need of mending,
I have a healer
Who would restore
These foolish wings
Without a scar.

I will lie quiet
Beneath His touch
I will listen
As He whispers,
“Rise
And fall no more.”

And then –
Then I shall
Soar.

I am thankful for the smell of a blossoming cherry tree, for a tiny being growing inside me, for a blue-eyed little girl who is so excited to see me every morning, and for those moments when she wakes up in the night and she wants a snuggle. I am thankful for a husband who still holds my hand in the car, and for his 3:00 break time when Erin and I go visit him at work. I’m thankful for friends that took me to lunch and bought me a pedicure (I actually got gift certificates for three pedicures! You think they’re trying to tell me something?). I’m thankful for root beer popsicles, for a friend that flew all the way from Wisconsin to visit me, for my mom who took off of work to spend time with me on my birthday, for my dad for always being so nice to me, and for the moment between daylight and twilight – the “magic hour” (the best time to kill dragons). I’m thankful for Jesus Christ and His loving example and I wish I could be so much more like Him, but I’m thankful that He loves me even though I’m not perfect.

Love,
Jen

Miracles and Mormon Muffins

Hi, everyone. We have had a difficult week. Monday, February 18 my mom and Ernie took Jenny to the hospital because she quit speaking all together, had become very lethargic and lost some more coordination in the right side of her body. After waiting nine hours in the ER, and after a CT and an MRI, the doctors discovered that half of Jenny's brain was clouded in tumor and the other half was covered in abcess. As soon as mom and Ernie saw the scans for themselves they knew that the battle was over. It seemed the antibiotics weren't taking care of the infection and the cancer was also spreading. Together they decided instead of subjecting Jen to more surgeries, they would bring her home and make her as comfortable as possible for her final days. A strange burden seemed to be lifted from our shoulders as we began to feel the intention of the Lord. We are getting used to the idea. We are struggling but are somewhat at peace. Jenny, ironically, has popped back up after quitting the antibiotics. I was able to go to Utah, spend time with her and possibly say my final good-byes. She has become more alert than she has been for weeks and has gained some strength. What a blessing for her to be able to enjoy some more days with her family. I, for one, will treasure that gift forever.

Here's another e-mail she sent entitled "Miracles and Mormon Muffins." It was sent on December 28, 2006. Hope you like it.

On December 7, I officially became a one year cancer survivor. It’s cute that they make special little names for us – “victim” is a no-no – and I would agree with that. “Survivor” just sounds better I guess, but it always makes me think of the song “Eye of the Tiger”, and then I picture myself doing chin ups and pulling sleds of rock up an icy hill like Rocky in Rocky IV – that’s right, “eye of the tiger” that’s me.

To celebrate my “survivorship” we went to eat at the Greenery, one of my favorite restaurants and an old family favorite. We ate “Mormon muffins” and had some diet coke (I think their diet Coke is the best – my friend Jen calls it “crack water” – it’s true, that stuff will kill you). The waitress asked if it was a birthday or something and I explained to her that I was officially a one year cancer survivor. She is co-chair for the Relay for Life, an event that is held each year at Weber State to raise money for cancer research. She brought me a big decadent, gluttonous piece of chocolate cake with chocolate frosting (and a cherry on top) and she sang “happy one year anniversary”. My eyes filled with tears and I saw that my dad’s, Lesa’s and my mom’s were too. I hope that waitress understands what a service she did for me that night. It made everything really special. She’s also sending me a special invitation for the Relay for Life in August.

My last chemo treatment went really well. I didn’t feel as sick. On the third day of the Temodar cycle I took care of the kids for most of the day. We built a fort out of blankets. Both Erin and Phoenix were really excited about it. Phoenix just rolled around inside it, staring at the pictures of Winnie the Pooh and Piglet on the blanket. Phoenix can get anywhere she wants to go just by rolling and scooting. She sits up by herself now (which is amazing considering she has a pretty big head for such a little body!). Erin called the fort her “little house”. She squealed with laughter when she realized what I was doing with the big blanket. I was “Grandma” coming for a visit to see my “grandkids” (Carebears and a freaky looking doll that Erin loves).

I wrote about “miracles” in my journal and I thought I’d share part of it with you:

“. . . My whole world came to a sudden, terrible stop . . . I was deeply, terribly depressed, and without the Love of my Heavenly Father, I most assuredly would have remained that way. I’m here by His Grace and I must always be mindful of that fact. I may not experience the miracle of being cured, but the miracles I have experienced have been many. . .”

I look at Phoenix and I can’t believe how close I came to losing her. I am so thankful there was a doctor brave enough to take a chance on our unborn baby. They did so much work and research on my behalf. I feel so blessed and happy to have her in my life. She’s Ernie through and through and I love her so much. I also experience joy every single day. I remember wondering what I might be able to pray for. I knew people who were also young with children who undoubtedly prayed to be healed and who passed away. I wondered if I was questioning the will of our omnipotent God by asking to be healed; so I prayed that I would be able to feel joy again. I honestly never thought I’d feel that again. My whole world was twisted up into everything cancer, and now I sometimes go all day without thinking about it once. I woke up thinking about it; I went to bed thinking about it. Some days I would cry off and on the whole day, and now I can’t remember the last time I cried about it. It’s not that crying is bad, but I was wallowing in my own sadness and there were times that I literally felt the presence of the Adversary who wanted me to be miserable. The Lord was willing and able to ensure that I had joy in my life, but I believe he also wanted me to have the faith to ask for it.

I couldn’t have made it those first few harrowing months without the Gospel of Jesus Christ, the unfaltering love of my husband and family, and the sweet, kind acts of neighbors and even strangers. I don’t have the actual quote, but I believe it was Spencer W. Kimball who once said, “God does love us and watch over us, but it is usually through someone else that he meets our needs.” (I’m sure he was much more eloquent). Like the simple vase of tulips from a sister in my ward. For two weeks I kept them near the window in my kitchen, and when I would see them, I would think of spring and hope and better times. Tiny acts of kindness such as these got me through the darkest days of my life.

We had a terrific Christmas, and I hope that all of you did as well. Happy New Year!

Letters from Jenny

I've been going through some of Jen's old e-mails this week. It's hard to read them but also fun because it makes me feel closer to her. I've always been amazed and somewhat jealous of her writing ability and how she can make words speak to people so beautifully. She has always had such a writing talent.

I decided it would be fun to put some of those old e-mails on this web site so that people can get to know my sister better and see what a wonderful person she is. Although I am the oldest of us, I always felt that I had more to learn from Jen than she did from me.

The following is an excerpt from an e-mail dated April 11, 2006. It was written about 4 months after her diagnosis.

Hi everyone! I’m sorry I haven’t written for a while. Erin and I have been having a lot of fun with the sunny weather. Daylight Savings has been very beneficial to my mood, I’m sure it’s helped a lot of you out, too. My mom can’t wait to ride her bike in the mornings. She’s been working out at the gym. I can’t believe she wakes up at 5:00 every morning – I feel so lazy! Erin has been waking up at night. I think her internal clock get a little messed up with the time change.

Ernie didn’t have to work Saturday so he stayed home and cleaned out the garage (yea!). He said he didn’t realize what a pack rat he was becoming until he realized he was eventually either going to have to throw it away or move it. It’s so nice to have a 2 car garage again! The weather was so nice on Saturday. I opened the sliding glass door and Erin sat in the sun in front of the screen. I was sitting at the table and looked over at her. She was looking so angelic and peaceful and then she pulled up her shirt to reveal her belly button and said in a soft voice “Tickle? Tickle? Tickle?” Later in the afternoon we went to Farr West Elementary and flew kites on the field. Erin flew her own kite. She didn’t exactly understand the concept (she kept running after the kite, trying to catch it). Then she got tired of that and rolled around in the wet sand for a while. She was filthy! I think her Aunt Mindy would have had a heart attack if she had seen how dirty Erin was. Dallon is always very neat and respectable.

I’ve been thinking about an experience that I had while in Germany that I didn’t really understand at the time. I was in Erfurt at a street display at a place called “Anger” a wide open space where all of the trams met. Usually we would approach people as they were walking by. I used to say, “Hello, may I introduce myself?” (in German of course) and sometimes the person would wait long enough for me to tell them who I was before they would say, “no time” or “not interested” or “no need”. A lot of people in that part of Germany are atheist because of the communist teachings that religion was just “opium for the masses”. I once stopped a man who was short and a little stout (not like a tea pot). He was probably in his fifties, balding, with a gray beard and a kind face. I approached him and started the conversation. I asked him if he believed in God and we chatted. He asked why we (the missionaries) were all so happy and so we chatted awhile about Jesus Christ and redemption. Then he said to me, “I wasn’t going to tell you this, but I’m going to anyway. I’ve been out walking in the woods, thinking about life and death.” He then went on to tell me that he had recently been diagnosed with cancer and was going to have an operation the next day. He had been walking through the crowded pedestrian area when I stopped him. He told me that talking to me was like talking to someone he had known for a hundred years. He said he could tell that I spoke from my heart. We talked a little longer, and I don’t know if I’ve felt the spirit so strong before. As he was leaving, he told me there are people in your life that you only meet briefly but you never forget, he told me I was one of those people to him. I wanted to break down into a long hard sob right there. I knew that I had been a tool in God’s hands that day and that He directed me and guided me in giving comfort to this man. As someone who now walks the path he was walking, I understand how much a conversation like that would have meant to me under similar circumstances. Stephen R. Covey wrote that we are all tools in the Lord’s hands. Maybe you’re a saw and he needs a hammer, but if you keep your saw sharpened, when he needs a saw, you’ll be ready.

I found a quote that my first mission companion in Germany used to share with me by Harold B. Lee, “You must learn to walk to the edge of the light, and then a few steps into the darkness; then the light will appear and show the way before you.” That’s such a simple concept, but so spiritually powerful. We need to trust in God that if we just step into the darkness of the unknown, our eyes will adjust and we’ll be able to see the light before us. This is the picture I had in my journal underneath that quote. That’s me walking into the “darkness.”
This is another picture that I found in an Ensign in my last apartment on my mission. I didn’t write down the artist’s name, but the title of the piece is “The Initial Act” which reminds me of the story about a boy in Ireland who had been climbing on some rocks with his friends. The boy climbed down to a ledge and realized he could not climb back up. His friends ran and brought the boy’s father back, by which time it had become dark. The boy’s father called to him and told him to jump that he would catch him. The boy looked down and could hear his father’s voice but he could not see him. Again his father called out and told the son that he could see him and that he would catch him. The boy held his breath and jumped into the darkness only to be enveloped in the arms of his father who caught him without incident.

I feel like I’m learning a lot about trust right now. I put my whole trust in Him and know He lives and loves all of us. He understands our triumphs and our struggles and He is always there for us if we just have enough faith to accept Him into our lives.

Well, thanks for reading today! I am enjoying life! I’m feeling good and the new baby is doing well, too. She’s due May 29th for those who maybe want to know.

Jen