15 February 2000 Friends: Light a candle. Give some thanks. But don't cease the intercessions. The cloud under which we've been living for a week, has only this morning been lifted. (Actually, at the Worker when I asked prayers and said we were anxious for the outcome of this Sunday's MRI, Jeanie corrected me: I might be anxious, but she was confident, clear, and hopeful. And as it turns out, right so to be.) Last Wednesday morning (2/9) Jeanie had a seizure. It was a long one, but she retained sufficient consciousness, for example, to recall me in tears holding her. Since the girls were just then preparing for school, they witnessed it all yet again. When they finally went off late with our neighbor to school, we headed for the ER. This time bloodwork showed, disconcertingly, that her level of seizure medication was on the high end of normal, indicating this was some kind of "break through" seizure, over-riding the meds. I did indeed imagine the worst (as did the neurologist as well), but don't believe I gave myself over to it. Friday morning, same hour, she crashed to the floor in a faint. More fuel for my inner fretting and late night sleeplessness. I'm from a family line famous for wrestling worries. Lydia rolls her eyes, and sides with Jeanie's resolute confidence. When Lucy couldn't sleep the other night and requested the light on, I sat with her and asked if she was worrying about Mom. "Not that I know of, but sometimes you worry deep down and don't even know it." Then today, we got the radiologist's read of the weekend MRI: no new tumor growth. We still don't know what's behind the siezuring, but the doctor adds another layer of meds in the interest of prevention - and, above all, we can rule out the hastening fears. Nor do we know to what the tumor's stability may be attributed (radiation, viral treatment, prayer, all of the above?) - but we are content to light a candle, give thanks, and send out this day's good news in tears and love, Bill