“What a funny little girl,” they think to themselves as she gesticulates with a quirky greeting. Little do they know they are down for the count. A conversation with Jordan is untamed, frenetic, and customarily one-sided. She begins with random observations dissected from a linear thought but delivered in fragments.“He shoved the whole peanut butter cup in his mouth.” This is a standard opening. No, “hello, I’m Jordan.” That’s far too pedantic.

Jordan is doing well. The new chemo drugs seem to make her more nauseous, but she won’t be doing them as often. She gets a break from the IV this week.

Sometimes it is hard to find anything to write about. Jordan’s story is blended with crescendos and quiet passages. During the most turbulent times the words pour out of me in my mind’s effort to vent, cope and adapt. But during the tranquil moments I struggle to express the emotions. They are no less profound, just harder to express. As I watch Jordan orchestrate her life I am most often silent, introspective and humbled.

– Jordan, who are you talking to? – Grandma. – It’s 6:30 in the morning! – That’s ok, Dad. She’s an early bird like us. – Jordan, that’s too early to call people. – Dad, I’m on the phone. This is how it goes now. But there are plentiful benefits. Nearly every day she calls me at work. I don’t carry my phone around with me much, so I return to my desk to find new voice mails from her.

Jordan’s MRI showed stable results. Her medical team is starting a protocol that will introduce a new drug while alternating with the current drugs. It could mean that she only has to go in for intravenous therapy every other week, which will make her very happy. The new protocol has been achieving great results with other brain tumor patients, so her doctor is optimistic that this will be another step forward for Jordan.