These days, Jordan is playing the part of Mrs. Dubose.

Her pain has subsided to a tolerable level. In fact, she’s able to go most of the day without pain medication. One of her casts was bothering her, but on Thursday the doctors vented it and she said the relief was instantaneous. She has moments of pleasantness, but most of the time she’s bored out of her mind. That boredom leads her down a very cranky path. Her cranky demeanor is testing our patience, though we counsel ourselves to cut her slack, given what she’s gone through.

Those who have followed Jordan’s Journey know that she’s a determined little wag. She doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer often. It’s generally a good thing, but at times like this it can be maddening. She is so stubborn and independent. If she decides she wants to go somewhere she just heads in that direction without asking for help. I came into her room the other day to find her awkwardly hoisting herself from her bed and into her wheelchair. She would have made it had I not come in, but it wouldn’t have been graceful. And it was risky.

I’ve been lecturing Jordan on smart risks and dumb risks for years. She rolls her eyes and recites the difference back to me. But still, she thinks nothing of wheeling her chair around our upstairs area, navigating too close to the staircase for my comfort. We keep telling her to wait until we can come up and help. She moans and tells us she understands, but then she does it again.

Tonight, she crawled down the stairs using her arms to descend each step.Her helpless legs outstretched in front of her with pink casts ablazing. I dealt her some cane, but all I got back was lip. She’s defiant about her liberty. And not apologetic in the least. It’s enough to make me want to wring her neck … but that wouldn’t help us in our cause. One week is down. She has five or six more to go. With good humor, positive thinking, and a bountiful supply of alcohol, we should make it just fine. I keep telling myself how proud I am of her (I tell her, too, but she’s tired of hearing it). The willpower humbles me, until Mrs. Dubose re-emerges and we’re all taking a verbal beating from the cheeky girl in the wheelchair.

Jordan completely blew me away last night. As I was driving home, feeling sad for what she’s going through — as well as how painful it is for Larry and Jeanette to witness, my cell phone rang. I know I’m not supposed to talk on my cell phone and drive, but when I saw it was from Jordan, there was no way I wasn’t going to answer. I even thought perhaps Jeanette was calling me on Jordan’s phone. I was momentarily speechless when I heard that familiar bubbly voice with her usual “Hi Grandma.”

Although I definitely heard the strains of fatigue in her voice, she chatted on and on about how she just had hot chocolate and some medicine so it wouldn’t hurt too much, how she wants to go see the movie about the dragon with me, and if I could come see her, that would be great. So I promised her I would come up tomorrow after she got home.

My granddaughter is absolutely amazing. Not once did she complain to me or tell me how horrible it was. Had it been me in that hospital bed, I would have been sharing my pain and probably feeling very sorry for myself. Not Jordan. She even asked about my husband, another cancer survivor. “How’s Keith?,” she asked, which made me chuckle.

I want to be more like Jordan!! She truly is an inspiration, and it brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it again.

As we approached Children’s Hospital this morning, Jordan sighed and said,

– Children’s Hospital. Another day, another nickel.

She’s in the O.R. now. It will be a few hours before we see her again. I’m all nerves. Unlike me, Jordan was witty, spirited and determined to get this done. I’m certain she was nervous, too. But it didn’t stop her from chatting with the nurses about rotations in the O.B. ward. Or from cracking a littany of jokes.

I’ve lost count of how often she takes my breath away. She was unbelievable this morning. The lead anesthesiologist asked me, “is she always this happy and talkative?” If only he knew.

I know myself well enough to know that when I find it hard to write, I’m usually avoiding something. The words aren’t flowing today, and that’s because I’m uncomfortable thinking about tomorrow. At 8:30 am, Jordan will check in for the surgery we’ve diligently researched, laboriously discussed, and frequently postponed. But we can’t avoid it any longer because it is what Jordan needs and it will make her life better.

When I was not much older than Jordan, I found myself in a sticky social situation at school. I was inclined to ignore it, but one day when I was exceedingly sullen and full of self-pity, my mother gave me sage advice–advice I’ve never forgotten. She said, “you can avoid this for as long as you want, and you can make yourself miserable, or you can address what scares you and put it behind you.” It was one of those moments where the world compressed and I felt a moment of understanding that made me see things differently. As usual, my mother was right. The fear of what I had to do paralyzed me. The thought of getting it done created hope.

Today, our family wrestles with the dividing line between fear and hope. The fear emanates from not-so-distant memories, and the hope lies in the promise of the girl. Jordan’s last surgery was somewhat routine. It was when they implanted the port catheter so that she could receive chemotherapy more easily. Yet, I will never forget the fear in her face as they wheeled her to the O.R. She is a brave, brave child. She proves her bravery so often we take it for granted. After two brain surgeries, we figured this port catheter procedure would be a piece of cake. But surgery is surgery, and the recovery process was fresh in Jordan’s mind. She grabbed my hand and asked me if she needed to do this. Her eyes were wide and her mouth trembled, and I had to muster bravery of my own when I told her she did.

It’s one thing to be brave when you’re making decisions about your own health. It’s quite another when you’re making those decisions for someone else, especially when that someone is a child you adore. She trusts me completely. The gravity of that trust is never lost on me. I believe, in my heart, we have made the right decision. Jordan trusts us, and she is ready. But I dread the moment tomorrow when I know she will ask me again, “do I really need to do this?”

The procedure will take more than four hours. When she comes to, she’ll undoubtedly experience pain. She’ll face a daunting recovery path. And, she’s going to endure a couple of months of boredom and restlessness from not being able to animate her energetic body the way she prefers. But she will do it, and she will provide inspiration to us in the process. It’s a lot to ask of a child, and I can’t find it in myself today to marginalize the road ahead by painting rosy pictures of the way she’ll cope. I can only tell myself the choice is right and take the next step with her. As a family, we are about to face what scares us and put it behind us.