March Madness

This is, typically, one of my favorite times of the year. Daylight extends further into each evening, a round of golf becomes more plausible, and of course, it doesn't get much better than four weeks of tournament basketball.

With certainty, though, you can expect a March shower to ruin a day of golf, a cold front to disrupt an outdoor family event, and only one team in the tournament gets to win their final game of the season. This is the madness of March.

This weekend's visit to the hospital epitomized March Madness. We were thrown a curve ball. After believing, for weeks, that Sarah's tumor was a Grade I or Grade II Astrocytoma, we learned that it is Grade III Anaplastic Astrocytoma. Our neuro-oncologist did explain that, while classified as Grade III, it seems to be low on the Grade III spectrum (a few tests are not yet finalized). Nevertheless, Sarah will begin a six-week radiation regiment in Houston in a couple weeks, and chemotherapy is a real possibility.

Regardless of the classification, it's still only 5% of the size it used to be. For that, we are very grateful.

Each year, I fill out a bracket. Back in the glory days of Arkansas basketball, I would spend an inordinate amount of time conducting a thorough research on every team in the tournament. This may surprise you, but, despite all the research, I never had a perfect bracket. Nobody ever does. We never have all the answers.

Nor do we know all the details of this diagnosis, prognosis, and treatment plan. I doubt that a selection committee would make us a top seed.

Not many miracles start with great odds. I'm convinced God, (like Lynlee), loves a Cinderella story. We have faith that He can heal Sarah's cancer. Stories like ours give Him "One Shining Moment".