March 29, 2006

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

"Those pills are tiny!" Priscilla mumbled as we sat around the kitchen table. It was 10:45 p.m., and Lydia was taking her evening medication. And it was taking her forever.

"Would you like to be the one to swallow them?" My mom answered. "You do remember that Lydia’s throat is swollen and it’s really hard to swallow?" Yes, indeed. Although each pill is about the size of a miniscule ant, each swallow costs Lydia dearly. However, several times a day, Lydia faithfully goes to take her numerous pills. She takes a pill cutter and cuts all her pills to the right size, then carefully marks the time in her medicine chart. It’s truly amazing how responsible she is about the entire process.

Hoping to lighten the moment, I joked, "Hey, look at it this way. At least at the end of all of this, you’ll be able to swallow pills better than Deborah."

"Deborah can’t swallow pills." Lydia said matter-of-factly.

"Precisely." Laughs erupted around the table at our sister. The previous serious moment had evaporated, and a happier atmosphere had settled. Thank God…

For the past few days, Lydia has been doing well. Of course, this is with the assistance of her frequent medications. Yet, despite headaches and dizziness, Lydia still tries to spend time being a normal girl. Since it was a nice day out today, my sisters and I headed outside for the first time in a long while. Lydia complained that she was having a hard time balancing on her bike, but when I watched her ride, she seemed as steady as usual. She even seemed disappointed when my mom told her not to ride too far. Then, while Priscilla and I took a ride around the neighborhood, Lydia helped my mom with the yard work. When I returned, I watched as she meticulously dug a tiny hole, and carefully counted out exactly 3 seeds into the hole.

However, when Priscilla and I climbed a tree, she came to join us. I was a little uneasy. Ever since she was little, she had been quite the little monkey, climbing trees, various types of furniture, and swinging across monkey bars several times in a row. In the current circumstances, though, I wasn’t sure if she would be able to swing herself up. She walked slowly over, put her hands on the lowest branch, and within seconds was sitting on the branch in front of me. I was astounded. Lydia had gotten herself up with less difficulty and in less time than I had needed. I shook my head in amazement. Against all the odds, Lydia was still the athletic, daring girl that I knew. Praise God!

Yet, I often feel as though these moments of triumph are few and infrequent. When the entire family visited Lydia’s radiation center on Monday, the vulnerability of this sweet, little girl became evident to me. As the doctor talked to my parents, Lydia often cried out in pain because of her headaches. She asked me to put my thumb on her forehead and apply pressure. Not quite knowing why she asked this, I did as she asked. To keep her mind off the pain, I talked to her about her Gameboy and Super Mario game. However, my mind and eyes wandered. I saw before me a frail girl whose life had been turned upside down. Her already thin frame now looked absolutely weak. Yet her face was already starting to swell from the steroids. Her smiles were rare and often pained. Then, the topic of discussion started to switch. Lydia told me how she felt so selfish telling people what she liked and wanted.

"Mommy tells me to tell her anything I want, but I don’t want to do that." She knew that many would get her anything she wanted, and so when she asked for something, it made her feel terrible. Standing next to Lydia, with my hand on her head, I was shocked by how much she understood. I also felt sadness and disappointment course through me. This feeling only grew when she was taken inside for her treatment. The nurses slowly lowered her head so she was lying flat on a table. I stood a little off so as not to get in the way. Once again, Lydia cried out because of the dizziness she was feeling. And I could do nothing. Then, the nurses put on the mask. The plastic radiation mask covered her entire face, and the nurses attached it to the table. Tears welled up in my eyes as I watched Lydia, her face now invisible.

The bravery of this little sister of mine never ceases to amaze me. Many of the things she does, I wonder if I could do. She faces each day with a confidence and hopefulness that seems to regenerate daily from a never-ending source. Indeed, God is that never-ending source. Despite everything, I know that Lydia still believes God is with her. And in situation like this, that’s all one can hold on to.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, Lydia still has her times when she isn’t that perfect angel that I’ve described. She gets into fights with Priscilla, and because of her steroids, we now have three teenagers in the house instead of two. (Yet, after her first major temper tantrum, she apologized to my mom for upsetting her. She felt so bad, yet she couldn’t control herself.) However, after taking everything into account, I still must give this girl a standing ovation for the faith and effort that she has shown. Oh, yes, and one more standing ovation, please, for the God that is behind her, helping her stand.

Love in Him,

Esther