Oct 18, 2013


From that moment, nearly a year ago, as I sat in a sterile doctor’s office waiting to hear news I somehow instinctively knew was going to be bad, to the moment in another doctor’s office today, this journey has never been easy.  

We have received multiple diagnoses (lesions on the brain, intracranial vascular disease, Moyamoya) to multiple prognoses (great, good, not so good), and it’s definitely been up and down.  

Today was just another day in our new version of normal.

First, let me say, Claire is doing well.  Surprisingly well. Remarkably well.  Curiously well.  You see, Claire’s surgery is not working yet.  So the new neurosurgeon that we met with today... well... he’s a bit perplexed at how great Claire is doing.

Wanna know something? It never feels good when you read your surgeon’s body language as “perplexed”.  Just an FYI.

Now surgeons - they are a rare breed.  They never, never like to admit their work is anything less than successful.  NEVER.  So even if the surgery is only making stuff work, say, 5% better than it was before surgery... they still consider that a success.  So, Claire’s surgery is still considered “successful” - but when you pin them down, they will admit, it’s not very successful. At least, not yet.  But all indications are the indirect bypass Claire had in December will work... someday.  So we are going to focus on that.  It will work... someday.

The fact that Claire continues to have TIAs (also known as mini strokes) isn’t unusual, but it’s not the best news in the world.  The fact she is doing so incredibly well despite them is pretty great news.  And we are going to focus on that.  She is doing well, in spite of.

Today was spent discussing “options”.  There are a few of them, but I can’t say as I like any of them. Neither did the surgeon.  So, we are going to wait and see what her next MRI study shows in December (which we hope shows progress), or until she starts having more TIAs (which we hope she won’t), or until they are more severe (which we hope never happens).

It was scary for a few minutes there, as the doctor looked concerned, as he laid out our options, and as he answered our questions.  Then, right in the thick of it -  when I was trying to swallow past the growing lump in my throat - Claire reached over, grabbed my hand, squeezed it and gave me a smile. And I realized...

She’s good.

So I am okay.  We are okay.  Because, while I don’t have faith in much anymore, I have faith in my Warrior Princess.

She’s got this.


  1. Realized right after, "She's got this." that I must've been holding my breath a little bit because I took in a deep breath and let out an equally deep sigh. The words I used to have for, well, everything, are now a jumbled, dust-covered mess on the floor in some room in someone else's universe but I can say this: This is difficult for me to read and I ache with you and I want so badly for your warrior princess to be okay and... well... The other words that are popping into my head are stupid and mushy. Hugs?

  2. Hugs is perfect. And we are all going to be okay. Someday.