A Very Good Friday

A year ago yesterday, I found out I needed to be rescued. That was the day I heard my diagnosis . . . cancer. I’ve written many times about the difficulties of our past year, but today I have a different story. It was confirmed exactly a year later that I continue to be in remission. It was a very Good Friday!

I’ve been thinking about how things could have been different. What if I had ignored my symptoms? What if I had disagreed with the doctor and denied my problem? What if I hadn’t agreed to the treatment plan? I would likely not even be here to write this.

There was certainly opportunity to do all of those things. My symptoms weren’t that noticeable and they didn’t bother me very much, and no one else even noticed anything was wrong with me. In fact, just a few weeks earlier, I had been told by a doctor that I was completely healthy.

The thing is, that doctor didn’t see everything. She only tested for certain things that she was looking for. But my core problem couldn’t be seen with those tests.

I think all people are forgetful, but I’m even more sensitive to that feeling after experiencing Chemo-brain (totally a real thing!). So, I sometimes need to remind myself to look at things clearly.

As yesterday was Good Friday and the one-year anniversary of my diagnosis, I think it’s a good time for me to remember. Imagine, if I had ignored my problem since it wasn’t that noticeable or if I had denied my diagnosis or trusted an expert who didn’t see a problem from her limited viewpoint, I would be lost forever. That disease would have killed me by now.

I absolutely hated being told the reality of my condition, and the difficult road involved in curing me was unpleasant and inconvenient; the medicine was not fun and changed so many things about my life. I really did NOT want to take it. But, only in that medicine could I be cured, and in the end, the discomfort I felt was nothing compared to the life I have today!

This Easter weekend, I am pondering how similar it is to surrendering our lives to Christ. It would be much easier to deny we have a problem (sin). We’re comfortable with the way things are. Others may think we’re fine, even those who seem to be experts of a sort (people who deny the reality of God or sin, people who feel like they're good enough on their own, etc.). 

Even if we admit we have a problem, we’d prefer to explain our sickness away and forget about it rather than disrupting our comfort and our normalcy by acknowledging and receiving the cure for that problem. Truthfully, that’s why so many don’t do it . . . they don’t want to have to be faced with the reality of their condition or that they need a cure. But those who take that path will eventually find that it was the path that led to death. Had they faced the reality of their condition and their need for a cure, they would instead find life.

This Easter, I pray you have realized that we all have a condition that requires treatment. The great news is there is a cure! If we will accept our need and receive the treatment, we can be cured! Yes, there is a cost. Grace is free for those who receive it, but it does permeate every part of your being. It will change you. You will no longer be your own boss and won't be able to live the same way. Becoming a Christ-follower can be uncomfortable and inconvenient for life as you have known it. But the medicine of the grace of God through the death and resurrection of Jesus will give you life to replace the death you don’t realize is swallowing you. 

Romans 6:23:

For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.

John 14:6:

Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.

1 John 5:10-12:

Whoever believes in the Son of God has the testimony in himself. Whoever does not believe God has made him a liar, because he has not believed in the testimony that God has borne concerning his Son. And this is the testimony, that God gave us eternal life, and this life is in his Son. Whoever has the Son has life; whoever does not have the Son of God does not have life.

I pray that you have received the medicine of Good Friday that will lead you to the life of Easter!

Normal

January 23, 2015 . . . It was a normal day in Lexington, SC. It was also my brother’s birthday, so I called him (not normal . . . I usually forget). This time, I had more to say than “Happy Birthday.” I had to tell him I was on the way to the hospital. Earlier that day, I had an MRI because one of my eyelids had been swollen for a week or so. Three hours later, my doctor called and told me to go to the hospital. They had a room ready for me, because the MRI showed “an infection” touching my brain.

Little did I know that that was the first night of a year that would be filled with pokes, prods, scans, fears, tears, insertion of a PICC line, daily self-administered IV treatments for hours at a time, at-home nurse visits, misdiagnoses, allergic reactions to medicines, a craniotomy, a port surgery, chemo, hair loss and other side effects, hospital stays, lots of trips to Charleston for doctor appointments, and much more prayer for myself than I usually offer up . . . oh, and a job change for Eric, yet another move for us, another new school for the kids where they would know no one, a search for a new church, starting over with new doctors (and new out-of-pocket expenses), the sale of a house, multiple house-hunting trips while going through cancer treatment, and a purchase of a new house in the suburbs of Atlanta.

Today, I painted a room in that house. That’s kind of a big deal, because it was just so . . . normal. The last 363 days have not contained a lot of normal for me. I’m exhausted right now, as I am still not at 100% strength, but I did it. Tomorrow, another big deal happens . . . my port is being removed.

I must confess that I’m a little nervous. Truthfully, while I am so thankful there are doctors, nurses, technicians, and hospitals to deal with those of us who have a year (or often many years) of the abnormal, I am tired of it. I don’t like being poked and prodded, slit open and sewn back together. (Prayers greatly appreciated that all will go well!)

And another confession . . . I’m scared that I may need that port again. It’s how my chemo was administered and my blood is drawn and my contrast for my scans is given. What if, once it comes out, the cancer comes back? The first two years is the most common reoccurrence time frame. Most people don’t keep the port in for two years, as it has to be flushed regularly to make sure a clot doesn’t form. The doctors won’t tell me what the normal time frame is for removing ports. I get the generic “anywhere from two months to a year” answer. So, is now the right time? It’s scheduled, so I guess it is for me.

Once the port is gone, my only visible, daily reminder that I had cancer will be my hairstyle. My hair is now short (until it grows out), curly, and red (because gray is just not my color). Yet another confession . . . I don’t like it. I feel very self-conscious about it (because I’m quite sure my hairstyle is a real concern for most people I see :-/.) Still, I truly am grateful my hair is growing back, and I spend entirely too much time looking in the mirror and stretching the strands out straight to see if maybe it’s just a little bit longer today than it was yesterday – a great use of my time, I know. It’s totally different in thickness and texture and style than before January 23, 2015. But now, it is my new normal.

As I reflect on the past year, I wonder what normal is anymore. I think I put far too much emphasis on life being normal or my feeling normal in the past. In an instant, on a normal day driving through car line at school, it all changed for me. I can’t help but wonder what this next year holds in store. Will it seem normal? Am I going to be obsessed with wanting to feel normal again? I don’t know. But I do think I want to look back in another year and know that whatever the year has held, some things will be normal for me: loving my family well, being grateful to God for each day, encouraging those who are struggling, praying regularly for those on my radar, spending time in God’s Word daily, using my time purposefully, using my words to build up and not tear down, and trusting that my normal is in God’s good and sovereign hands regardless what may happen. I hope this will be my consistent normal and yours, too.

And I hope I will remember to call my brother and tell him “Happy Birthday!" . . . and have nothing else to say.

Stories She Never Knew

Four years have passed since my mother left this life. I rest in the fact that she is joyfully worshiping and enjoying her Savior and the wonderful life beyond this life that He’s prepared for those of us who have put our faith in Him. She is reunited with all those she loved who have also passed from this life, and maybe they’re sharing stories. She loved to share stories and hear about other’s stories!

Still, four years have held a lot of stories for us, and I haven’t been able to talk to her about any of them: about our decision to move to NJ, about how hard it was to say goodbye to our friends and family in GA, about the NJ hurricane that ruined the house we ALMOST bought, about the house we did buy and lived in less than a year, about the friends we met and then had to say goodbye to, about the decision to move to SC, about living in temporary housing with our belongings in storage for months, about the house we bought and loved, about the friends we met and had to say goodbye to again, about our decision to move back to GA . . . about how much I miss her.

I wanted to call her and talk to her about all of those things and so many more! One thing I am thankful I didn’t have to tell her was that I was diagnosed with cancer. Had she not left us four years ago, that might have been enough to take her by now. I am thankful I didn’t have to share that part of my story with her.

This weekend, though, there’s a part of my story that I DO wish I could share with her. I would love to pick up that phone and say, “Guess what, Mom?! On Friday, the doctor said the scans are clear! And he didn’t even mention a stem cell transplant this time. When we asked why, he said some people think it might help, but there’s no definitive evidence that it would help me, because I’m young, I appear to be doing well, and my scans are clear. So, no stem cell transplant! Now, they just monitor and scan me every three months for a year or two to make sure they catch it early if it does come back.”

I wish I could tell her that part of my story, because that’s what happened! I think I know what her expression would have been. It would have been something like this (This is a picture of her being surprised at her 80th birthday party.):

And we would have cried many thankful tears together! I would love to have shared that with her! Some day I will . . . but it looks like she’ll have to wait a little longer to hear that story directly from me. :-)

God already knows all of our story, and He loves to hear and answer our prayers along the way. While my story has been a little more eventful than I would have liked this year, it also has been especially filled with His answers to our prayers for strength, for hope, and for healing for me.

Thank you all for your continued prayers, support, and encouragement throughout all of this! I’ve still got to get strong . . . and grow some more hair . . . but I’m feeling pretty done with cancer at this point. I’m ready to embrace what the doctor said and, as one of my cancer-surviving friends recently told me, to start saying that I HAD cancer. It is in my past. I am living in the healing God provided for me through answered prayers, medicines, and doctors. I don’t know if this healing is full or if I will have to walk the cancer-road again, but for now, that trip is in my past.

I still want to tell my mother all of my stories and I can’t wait to hear hers! But we’ll have an eternity to catch up on that stuff. For now, it will have to wait, because I’m done with cancer! That’s my story . . . and I’m stickin’ to it!

Just the Facts, Ma'am

Facts are important . . . and sometimes elusive.

Two weeks ago today (9/18) at 9:00 p.m., I got an email that a new appointment had been scheduled for me at MD Anderson. I logged on and saw that it was with the stem cell department. Great timing for something like that, huh? Of course, there was no one I could contact on a Friday night at 9:00 to find out why that was scheduled. It was a somber weekend, as we feared the worst, because the MDA doctor had not had any interest in scheduling a stem cell transplant consult until the MYC results came back and then only if they were positive. So, we assumed that’s what had happened.

On Monday, I emailed and called and got no response most of the day. Around 2:30, I got an unrelated call from the radiation oncology department from MDA. She said she had received an order on Thursday (9/17) to schedule me for a consult with their department. This continued to be bad news, as that order was received three days after my first and only appointment at MDA, and they knew when we left on the 14^th that we weren’t likely coming back. Now, two new appointments were scheduled with no explanation . . . no facts for me to consider.

At 5:30 that afternoon, the nurse finally returned my call, said she could see how those appointments might have been upsetting, but they were just automatically scheduled. The test results would not be back for another week. She would go ahead and cancel the appointments. Sigh . . . it was yet another very frustrating experience with MDA, and we still knew nothing about the results. But the fact was, at least the news wasn’t bad. I decided after my three days of gloom and doom that I was going to live as if I was well until I found out anything different. So, that would give me until this week to “be well.”

In the meantime, I had my MRI and my PET scan last week. On Monday of this week (9/28), I met with my new Emory ophthalmologist, and he gave me good news. He said my eyes were completely clear and he saw nothing that would concern him. Those are some positive facts I can rest in. Yay! I will see him again in three months. 

On Tuesday, I met with my new Emory Neuro-oncologist. While he couldn’t see my old scans to compare to, so couldn’t tell if the scan had changed (even though I brought the scans personally to Emory weeks ago . . . aarrgghh!), he thought the MRI didn’t look concerning. There was at least no brain involvement. So, I’m going with that being good news, too. We also asked him if the PET scan results were back. He said they were and while that is not his area of expertise, he could read us the notes from the radiologist. They said there was no sign of anything hypermetabolic (like cancer) on the scan! Woohoo! That was excellent news, because if there had been, we’d have to start talking about beginning again with chemo. So, after he compares to my old scans (assuming Emory can find them or get them sent from MUSC again), if he still doesn't see anything concerning, I will also see him again in three months.

In the meantime, while I was at my appointment, the MDA doctor called, so Eric answered my phone. The MYC results came back . . . inconclusive. Ugh! Evidently, the biopsy piece they had to test was not big enough, so we don’t know whether I am MYC negative or positive. This puts us back in the same place we were before we went to MDA, having no real facts that will tell us whether or not the transplant is likely to help me and be worth the risk. However, the MDA doctor did say that if the PET was negative, he would consider me to be in full remission, and he would not recommend the transplant. He said he’s not convinced that there would be a benefit to doing the transplant. That is good news to have, but we still don’t know what the Emory doctor will say, since he’s the one who suggested the transplant in the first place. Eric said as far as he’s concerned, the burden of proof is on the Emory doctor to convince us there is a true benefit to the transplant, at this point. My appointment with that doctor (my Emory Hematologist/Oncologist) is a week from today.

Thank you all for continuing to pray for me and my family! We are so encouraged by all of you. We are asking you to still pray for good news on Friday. To be honest (this is my confession), the skeptic (and control freak) in me is having a hard time believing that we truly know that the PET scan is clear, because what if the other doctor misunderstood the results? Of course, assuming he can read accurately, the facts are good. I think I will just feel better when I get the official word from my main doctor on Friday. (Yeah, apparently, this need-for-control thing is still not worked out of me. :-/)

In the meantime, I will focus on one of the confirmed facts I do know! That is that God has blessed me with an amazing daughter who just turned 16! She’s had to give up a lot and endure much over this last year . . . a sick mom, extra responsibilities, uncertainty of my/our future, moving, more goodbyes, starting over at another school for her junior year, finding new friends, etc. Yet, she hasn’t complained. Really! She just takes what life gives her and trusts that the Lord is ultimately in control and knows best. Through it all, she is joyful, hopeful, a diligent and excellent student, a great caretaker, an amazing daughter, and a wonderful friend . . . to me and to all who know her. 

So, I don’t have all the facts I want, but one fact I know is true is that my daughter is a true gift from the Lord (Psalm 127:3), and I am celebrating 16 amazing years with her!

Observations from the Road

A few observations from our “week” on the road:

1. Towns called Pintlala, Tickfaw, and Lobdell exist . . . oh, and Flomaton.
2. The fastest drivers on the road consistently have Texas plates.
3. Vast amounts of Louisiana’s highways seem to have been constructed entirely of speed bumps.
4. Happiness can be found at a casino in Lake Charles, Louisiana. (No, really . . . hundreds of billboards told us so, so it must be true, right?)
5. Out of the dozens, maybe hundreds of casinos between Atlanta and Houston, there appears to be only one smoke-free one on the gulf coast, and it is in Biloxi, MS.
6. If you’ve been looking for Chubby Checker, we found him. He’s at a casino in Biloxi, along with all of your favorite 80s musicians.
7. The casino industry is as concerned about your potential addiction to gambling as the smoking industry is about your potential tobacco addiction. There’s a helpful phone number that is almost legible underneath each gigantic casino billboard ad.
8. Texas is entirely too wide. We stopped at exit 880 as we entered the state.
9.  MD Anderson’s cancer center appears to be about the size of the city of Columbia, SC.
10. Just because you are at arguably the best cancer center in the world doesn’t mean you’re going to like your doctor. :-(

We have also discovered over the past six months that treating cancer is as much an art as it is a science. Here is what I mean:

• Mayo Doctor in Jacksonville – recommended typical RCHOP treatment
• MUSC Doctor – recommended RCHOP plus Methotrexate
• Emory Doctor – would have likely recommended RCHOP plus stem cell transplant
• MD Anderson Doctor – would have done tests others didn’t do, would have likely done EPOCH rather than RCHOP, and only would do stem cell transplant if I have double-hit lymphoma, which we will know only after they get the pathology results from the extra test they are doing on my original biopsy.

The MD Anderson experience started out on a positive note. All the staff were kind, helpful, and efficient. Unfortunately, when we met the doctor, our experience changed. I am certain the doctor is one of the best in the nation, but when he walked in, he didn’t bother introducing himself and just started rattling off information that we didn’t understand. It was as if we had walked in to the middle of a medical class where the professor was lecturing, but we had no context for anything. 

He spouted off jargon about cellular and genetic information and test names and acronyms we’d never heard of as if we were supposed to know what he was talking about. He huffed when we tried to ask clarifying questions, once he finally looked up from his computer and took a breath. In trying to understand him, if we incorrectly repeated something he had said, he was very condescending in his tone towards us, and when I apologized for not understanding but told him that most of the things he was saying were Greek to me, he responded with a smirk on his face that that was what I had come there for, wasn’t it?

How did he know? He didn’t bother to ask us what we had come for! He had not really bothered looking at the information they insisted they needed before my first appointment. They absolutely had to have my scans at my first appointment, but he hadn’t looked at them. He said he doesn’t look at scans. That’s what radiologists do, but their radiologists wouldn’t even look at them unless we did new ones at MDA, because they don’t get paid to look at them, since we’ve already had them read by someone else who has already gotten paid for that. If we did new ones at MDA, the radiologists would look at the old ones to compare, since they’d be getting paid to look at the new ones.

He talked about what he would have done differently but really had no insight into what treatment was actually done, (because he didn’t bother to look!). It appeared that he had no interest in helping us as a second opinion. He might have been a great doctor had we gone to him for the initial diagnosis and treatment, because he’s got great ratings and is known as one of or even “the” best lymphoma doctor there. Perhaps he had an off day, but we decided this was not what we had been expecting or hoping for from our experience after a 14-hour one-way drive.

While he said he could do some testing and maybe get me in to see a radiotherapist who he was certain would have administered radiation as part of my original treatment even though it was touching my brain, if MDA had treated me instead of other doctors, “because it’s easy for the docs at MDA.” We asked what they would radiate now, since the original area seemed to be clear, and he seemed to think they’d find something they could still radiate. However, since ordering the tests and scheduling this other appointment seemed like it was mostly just because he assumed we wanted that, we decided to leave and drive home. We both agreed that we had no interest in his being my doctor. Brilliant or not, we did not feel like we received “care” from our doctor at MD Anderson.

While we were emotionally stunned and disappointed, after hours of debriefing, Eric and I do think something useful came out of the information we sort of translated from all of the gibberish we heard. Here’s what we came away with (summarized by Eric after looking up more information on the internet):

My prognosis comes down to two tests. The MDA pathologist ordered an additional test on my original biopsy to determine if it shows something called MYC translocation (pronounced “mick”). This would be indicative of what they call double hit lymphoma, which is not good news, and would cause the MDA doctor to recommend the stem cell transplant. Otherwise, he would not. The transplant carries a 1-2% chance of killing the patient, is tough to go through, and is expensive. Additionally, the data is mixed on whether it actually helps or not.

The other outstanding test is the PET scan. My original doctors recommended waiting 6-8 weeks after the final chemo treatment before doing the scan because the chemo continues to work for some time after it's given. The MDA doc scoffed at that and said I should have gotten it within two weeks of the final treatment. In any case, if the PET is negative, and the MYC test is negative, he recommended doing nothing and is expecting a good outcome. If the PET is positive, we would need to biopsy anything showing hypermetabolic activity to confirm, then we'd be looking at more chemo before even talking about stem cell transplant.

The MDA doc goes solely by the pathology to determine stem cell transplant, where the Emory doc seemed to be basing it more on the location within the body. We're glad to hear the additional test was ordered and curious to know why my previous doctors at MUSC seemingly hadn't ordered it (probably because some of this is new information from recent studies). However, it was good to hear that the MDA recommendation sounded pretty much the same as the original MUSC recommendation (a negative PET scan means do nothing but monitor), unless the MYC is positive.

We decided to go ahead and have the PET scan done at Emory as originally planned. By that time we should have the MYC test results back and will have a better picture of what comes next.

So, we will take the MYC test results to my Emory doctor and hope it means something to him. We will get all of my tests done at Emory from now on, and we will just pray and rest in the care I receive from the doctors there, ultimately trusting in God’s sovereignty. The only hesitation I have with this route is that my MRI and PET scans will now be done next week instead of this week, and my appointment at Emory to find out the results is not until October 9^th. :-( Hopefully, the MYC result will be in by then (praying for a negative result), and my Emory doctor will get it and know what to do with it.

Thank you to all who have prayed and helped out for our week (that turned into three days of mostly driving). While it was disappointing in many aspects, it did give us a bit of new information. Hopefully, it will be helpful in our decision-making for the next steps on this roller coaster ride we are on. In the meantime, I’ll just focus on growing more gray peach fuzz for at least a few more weeks and trying to make a few more observations from the road. :-)

The Gray Peach

Yesterday, a lady saw me from behind in a parking lot and said “Oooo! I love your pretty hair!” I didn’t expect someone to be talking to me, so I said, “Pardon me?” and turned around. She repeated herself, but when she saw me from the front, I think I detected her next thought. I believe it was something like, “Wait. That isn’t her hair at all, is it? Oh no! What do I do now?” I just smiled and thanked her . . . and I had to laugh at the thought that if she saw my real hair (I was wearing my red wig), well, my “pretty hair” would never have formed as a thought in her mind.

Yes, I do have hair. It’s about a half inch long (basically, peach fuzz), and it’s completely gray! Yep! I’m in my mid-40s and am completely gray. When we lived in Georgia before, Eric would sometimes lovingly refer to me as his “Georgia Peach.” He now refers to me (still lovingly . . . lucky for him) as “The Gray Peach.” But, at least hair is growing! I am VERY thankful for that.

Of course, I don’t know if I’ll get to keep it for very long. We are heading to MD Anderson in Houston on Sunday to get another opinion of my situation. While I won’t get an official recommendation from my Emory doctor as to whether we should do the stem cell transplant until the first week in October, we talked to my MUSC doctor, and he and Eric thought it best to get an opinion from “the best” in cancer treatment in addition to the Emory doctor’s opinion, just in case they may have different ideas. So, we have been told to expect to be at MDA for up to a week for all the testing they will want to do. I’m not looking forward to the long drive or the pokes, prods, and scans. However, November will mark 20 years that Eric and I have been married, so I’m just going to consider this our anniversary trip. Who needs a dream cruise to Alaska when we get to spend a romantic week visiting a cancer hospital, instead? :-) At least we will get to celebrate over some good Mexican food!

I ask you all to continue to pray for my family, for full healing for me, for the doctors to have wisdom in their recommendations, and for us to have wisdom about which recommendation to follow, in the event the doctors’ opinions vary.

In the meantime, I am in good spirits and am hopeful. When I first found out about the possibility of more and very intense treatments in my near future, and that if I didn’t do those treatments there is a good chance the cancer will return and if so, will likely be incurable, I was not mentally prepared. I sat around for days in disbelief and with a cloud of darkness hanging over me. But my wise and wonderful husband tearfully reminded me that no one is promised another day. So, as long as God gives me breath, I need to live like I’m still alive, not like I’m already dead.

That helped to knock me out of my funk, and I have been focusing the last couple of weeks once again on the gift that each day is. Especially, on this calendar day, when we all remember the terrible events that ended so many unsuspecting lives and forever changed the rest of ours, I am thankful for the gift of today! I pray we will each live like we are alive, whatever our circumstances. As long as we are alive, there is always hope! And once that life is over, if our hope has been in the One who breathes life and conquered death, there is STILL hope!

• “This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it!” Psalm 118:24
• “For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” Philippians 1:21
• “But when the goodness and loving kindness of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of works done by us in righteousness, but according to his own mercy, by the washing of regeneration and renewal of the Holy Spirit, whom he poured out on us richly through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that being justified by his grace we might become heirs according to the hope of eternal life.” Titus 3:4-7

Hopeful for all of us!

“The Gray Peach”

Out of Control

A friend recently shared her thoughts on all my family and I have faced this year. She said from her viewpoint, looking in from the outside, it seems like what I’ve been going through (cancer, the move, the house, etc.) is essentially a stripping of all control in my life. (I probably butchered what she really said, but that’s what I took from it.) While I agreed that was possibly part of what God was doing, I really felt like that was something God accomplished already. I didn’t need any more surprises to make me realize I have no control over my life and circumstances. I had learned my lesson. He is in control; I am not. I’m all good with that. Ready to move to the next life lesson.

Evidently, I have more to learn. I discovered yesterday that I subconsciously thought things were getting back to normal, meaning I could have some say-so in what happens next and even into the future . . . aka, control. Nope!

I met my new Emory doctor yesterday. It was my consult with him for my follow-up care since my treatment is now over. While he was a very nice, compassionate, and knowledgeable man, he evidently didn’t understand that I had already learned my lesson and was back in some sort of control of where I was headed. It seemed that no one informed him that I was done with cancer and ready to get stronger and move on . . . that the worst was over, it’s only going to get better from here . . . so, he suggested I might not be finished with treatment.

Um, wait, what?

He referred to my cancer, because of its abnormal presentation and location, as a “bad actor.” He suggested that I might need more aggressive treatment . . . but wait, that was what the Methotrexate inpatient chemo was already! He said he agreed with what MUSC had prescribed, that I did need the Methotrexate in addition to the standard RCHOP regimen that I received. (He said some refer to what I got as "Mr. CHOP." Sounds friendlier that way, I guess.) But he informed us that we may ALSO need to do a stem cell transplant.

Ummm, excuse me . . . I’m done here! I’m on the road to recovery! Are you not aware that I’m here for POST-chemo care?!?! This was NOT on my agenda for the day or the rest of the year or the next . . . however long this will affect our lives!!!

I know very little about this procedure, but my understanding from our brief discussion yesterday is they would do something that would cause my bone to emit stem cells, which they would take and freeze. Then, they would give me very powerful chemo that would kill ALL of my red and white blood cells and my ability to make new ones but hopefully also any hidden cancer that might still be lurking. Then they would give me the stem cells they withdrew earlier that would rebuild my blood cells. This would require a two week (or more) hospital stay, and would be “the worst thing I’ve ever been through in my life.” 

Yep, that’s what he said. 

NOT what I was expecting for my initial post-chemo consult with my nice new doctor. He said that while it would be tough, they’d get me through it. (As you might imagine, my tear ducts had become quite active by this point.) Here’s a link to more of what I can expect if we have to do this: https://www.mskcc.org/cancer-care/treatments/cancer-treatments/blood-stem-cell-transplantation/approach/autologous-transplantation

(I haven't even fully read it, because it started looking worse than the doctors described it, and it is too much for me to handle emotionally right now.)

We won’t know if he will definitely recommend this treatment until after he sees my next MRI and PET scans, which are scheduled for four weeks from now (in the hospital where my mom passed away incidentally, yep . . . more tears). But the other doctor with him (a Fellow studying under him) referred to this as the best way to make sure I make it to my son’s wedding. So, it seems like they are really leaning towards this next step for me. Sigh . . . I thought I already did what was the best path to get me to my children’s weddings and to loving on their children and to growing old with Eric.

None of this was in my plan!!!! Ugh . . . .

That’s when, after talking and crying through this with Eric, I realized I evidently thought I was back in some place of power. Um, yeah . . . no. He said his fear is that I’ve been putting my hope in the wrong place. And it’s true. I’ve been hoping in prayers and procedures and doctors and medicines and encouragement and hope, etc. . . . rather than holding things loosely and truly trusting that God’s plan is good, whether He takes me on my preferred path or not.

His plan may or may not be to heal me. His plan may or may not be to get me to my children’s weddings. His plan may or may not be to smooth out my path, since we’ve had such a trying year. His plan IS for me to “Trust in the Lord with all [my] heart, and do not lean on [my] own understanding, but in all [my] ways, acknowledge Him, and He will make straight [my] paths.” (Proverbs 3:5-6) Not necessarily smooth, but straight. The straight path is trusting in Him, not the benefits I think He will or should provide. Historically, His followers haven’t led easy lives or even lives that just have one major bump in the road. He gives them strength to endure (“I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.” Philippians 4:13), but He does not promise an easy path. Instead, He tells us that we will have trouble in this world, but we are to take heart because He has overcome the world. (John 16:33)

My life is not and never can be about ease and comfort, if I am truly following Him.

• I am to take up my cross and follow Him (Matthew 16:24).
• I am to trust that His way is righteous (Psalm 145:17), however difficult it might be.
• I am to trust that He is working all of this for good and conforming me through this to be more like Jesus (Romans 8:28-29).
• I am to be still and know that He is God (Psalm 46:10) . . . I am not.

He is in control . . . I am not.

So, I continue to learn and try to wait with open hands, not clenched fists about what the future may hold. Today, I must focus on who He is, regardless of my circumstances, and trust that His way is good. The only thing I have true control over is my response to His truth. I choose to believe He is good and His steadfast love endures forever (Psalm 136). Today, I will try to let go of my desire to control my life and pray I can rest in that.

If you are praying for me, I ask that you specifically pray that the scans will be encouraging enough that I won’t need this procedure and that if that is not the case, for me to have strength to get through this next unpleasant step. Please also continue to pray for my family. This is tough on all of us. Finally, pray that I will be content and at peace with whatever path God has chosen for me to walk, and that I will cling to Him and His love, not just the hope that He will make me better.

Thank you for your faithful prayers and encouragements!