Closer to The Day

This past month has been full.  So full that I can hardly remember it all. At the same time, I feel like it's been ages of waiting. I have a heart full of gratitude, and I'll share that soon. But for today, I just want to let you know the most recent news on how we will be dealing with the cancer.

I had an MRI on Tuesday. That was to take a closer look at the vertebrae the radiologist was concerned about. The MRI came back "clean," meaning we don't need to be concerned about that part of my neck. We're very thankful for that news.

Thursday, I met with the surgeon. She will be taking my case to the cancer board tomorrow morning. The plan is to remove lymph nodes on the right side of my neck about 3 weeks from now. There are two other spots they could try to remove. One is on the left side of my neck, and the other is behind my esophagus (if I remember right... these appointments are a lot to take in, so she might have said larynx or windpipe or voice box... it's somewhere a bit more difficult to get at. I filed it under "sounds like right in the middle of my neck" and focused on the rest of what was being said.). The right side is all we'll be dealing with right now. There are a couple reasons for that.  One is that even though those other areas DID respond to the PET scan, they didn't respond strongly enough to know for sure that it's cancer.  It could just be more active cells (commonly referred to as "brown fat."). She doesn't want to disturb cells that aren't cancerous, so unless she finds something to make her more concerned, she'd like to leave those alone. Another reason is that the one spot is more difficult to get at. It means more chance for complications, and higher risk for long-term damage. Lastly, the cancer doesn't seem to be going anywhere. Even though it is incredibly tenacious, it is not incredibly active; it is holding on to me tightly, but not moving to attack other areas of my body. This means we have flexibility in what we deal with first.

Of course, it ALSO means that there's potential for future surgeries. If we take out these lymph nodes and my bloodwork doesn't improve, more aggressive measures will need to be taken. But... maybe this will be enough. And if it's not, maybe dealing with it one area at a time will be easier on my body than trying to do it all at once.

I believe I'm in good hands. I'm exhausted from this week, but I'm at peace with the decisions that are being made. Yesterday I soaked up love and hugs from my babies, today I've stayed as close to my husband as I can. I am physically and emotionally drained. I am trying to plan for the next few weeks while living as fully as possible each day. I can't get enough of my family right now. I want to fill them up with joy and laughter, so that maybe they will have less time for fear and sadness.

I have some very precious, unexpected blessings that I want to share, but I cannot do that right now. This whole thing is heavy, and sometimes even sharing wonderful things takes too much energy. But that will be coming soon. Just give me a couple days to sleep (which I've barely done this week) and gather my thoughts.

Again, thank you for your prayers. I cannot say it enough, and saying it doesn't seem to be enough. If you can do nothing other than pray for me and my dear ones, you are doing exactly what we need most. God is faithful, and He is providing for us; strength, courage, wisdom, love, and physical needs of various kinds. Those prayers are being answered, and I am so grateful for each of you who prays!

For those of you who have done, and will do,  other things for us, I can never repay you. Any act of love in this time means infinitely more to me than I can ever express. Thank you for being the Church body. You are binding my wounds and soothing my fears. I pray I am given the opportunity to do the same when your hour of need comes.

Another thing I don't want to do

Well, the results are in, and they're exhausting.

I talked with my doctor yesterday about the CT results. She is no more concerned with the slightly abnormal reading in my lung than she was before,  but she will continue to monitor it to be safe. The CT showed "multiple lytic fuci within the cervical vertebral bodies which could represent boney metastatic involvement." That basically means there are little "pockets" in the vertebrae right at the base of my skull,  and those are typically found in connection with cancer.  BUT the PET scan didn't show cancer in any bone, which is really good.  Good... but confusing. Because if the "lyric fuci" aren't caused by cancer, then what ARE they caused by? So I'll be having an MRI done in April to get another look at that,  and I'll probably have a second MRI a few months later to see if there's any change.

That just leaves the cancerous lymph nodes in my neck that the PET scan revealed (and the CT confirmed). We know radioactive iodine therapy won't do anything to it. And traditional "beam" radiation is not incredibly effective on thyroid cancer. So I will be having surgery sometime soon to have those lymph nodes removed. And after that, possibly a chemo pill, though we'll have to see how the surgery goes before any further decisions are made.

I do appreciate that my dr is trying her best to be thorough without being too invasive. She never tries to rush through an explanation, and she listens to my concerns. As far as earthly healing, I think I'm in very good hands.

And what about healing that ISN'T earthly?

I have so many people praying for me.  I'm so thankful for each of you. Yesterday was tough. I thought I was ready for whatever was coming, but the word  "surgery" hit me hard. I want you all to know that I'm thankful for your prayers, your love, your support.  I need every bit of it,  as does my family. God is answering. Even if I'm never rid of this disease, I want each of you to know that He is being faithful. He hears, and He answers.

He gives me strength to smile and enjoy beauty and fun in spite of upcoming hardship. He gives my children peace and gentleness when they could so easily become bound by fear. He gives my husband wisdom and clarity even while we talk about the things we each are afraid of.

I AM scared. I don't want to go through this. But I'm not petrified. I cried yesterday. Several times. And I think that's natural. But I questioned myself at the time: are these tears proof that I don't really trust God? And then I began to remember all of the Bible stories I learned as a little bitty girl.

Joseph, who ultimately saved two entire nations, but who suffered slavery and prison for years before that.

Ruth, who was grandmother to a king and Christ Himself, but who lost everything she had before that.

Three Hebrew boys who were saved from the fiery furnace, but who didn't know they would be... and still they defied a king for their Lord.

Eve, who waited her whole life for the offspring who would crush the head of the serpent, believing the promise that wasn't fulfilled until generations and generations later.

The lousy goes on and on. Job, Abraham, Jacob, Noah, Jonah... all had hardship. This life doesn't go as we plan. And,  as Brad says, "no one is getting out of here alive."

And yet... nations ARE saved, kings ARE raised, fires ARE made harmless, and the promise IS fulfilled. Just not always the way we want. So, I will hold tightly to these promises as I face things I wish I did not have to face. I will remember that His stripes HAVE healed me; my soul is safe, no matter what happens to my flesh. I will be comforted by His Word and the church, as His people reach out to help me carry this burden. And I will pray that He would allow me a long life with my family. I will be thankful that I've been given today, even if I don't have perfect health. I will pray for strength to find joy in each day, even if I NEVER have perfect health again. And I will try to grow my faith by meditating on His Word. And one day, on the other side of this life, I'll see the whole picture and be thankful for every step.

I've never liked marathons

In junior high, I was in track. *gasp* Yes,  me.  And I really,  really wanted to run hurdles.  But the coaches never even asked me to try.  Instead,  they put me down for the mile.  Meet after meet,  I gasped my way around that track,  hating it every minute.  As a matter of fact,  the only thing worse was the one time they put me in the two mile. I was never an openly defiant kid... but that day I let my displeasure be clearly seen: I walked those two miles and didn't care how many people lapped me. I'm sure everyone was relieved when I didn't come out for the senior high team!

I would have loved to try the hurdles,  just once.  And I never understood why I wasn't given the chance. I probably wouldn't have been a star.  But I wouldn't have been miserable. Right?

Or... maybe I would have discovered that I was horrible at that too. And then even the hope of enjoying a sport would have been replaced by frustration and shame. I guess I'll never know. I do know that I hated the long run. We'd watch our teammates run sprints, relays,  hurdles,  the quarter mile... and then it was time for that long plod. Step after step of getting nowhere. I didn't even care what place I took. In reality, it wasn't a long race.  But it felt like ages to me every time, as well as incredibly pointless.  By the time we got to my race,  all the excitement was over. All the interesting heats had been decided.  I was just an indication that we would soon be headed home. Oh,  how I hated it!

I feel much the same now. There's so little that feels like progress.  I'm just plodding along on this track I didn't choose. Tomorrow I have a scan,  but that's not the end.  It's just passing the stands one more time. After this,  it could be as long as 4 months before I even have another doctor appointment.

I should be thankful.  I should be overwhelmed with gratitude that I'm not being rushed to surgery or plied with medications. But I never learned to like the marathon. I just want it to be over. It's exhausting.

And I'm so tempted to ask why I wasn't given hurdles. Something I think I can handle.  Why THIS race? I don't know. I'll probably never know. So it comes down to if I trust my Coach or not. In school, I didn't. They barely knew me,  and certainly didn't genuinely care.  I was just another talentless kid passing through.

But in life... here I pause and read that Christ died for me. And He didn't say that I would never suffer,  or that life would always work out the way I wanted. But He did promise that His burden is light. And,  with His sacrifice before me, my trial becomes so much easier to bear.

I'll never like the marathon. But I'm discovering (again,  as it's a lesson I seem to often forget) that the strength to run will be given as its needed.  And maybe I need the lesson more than I need any physical healing.

"God did not say 'thou shalt not be tempested, thou shalt not be travailed, thou shalt not be diseased.' But he said, 'thou shall not be overcome.' " ~Julian of Norwich

The Beginning of an Answer

  This week has been a bit overwhelming for my household.  But we have been surrounded by love and prayers, and we've found the courage for each day.
  I wish I could tell you that I've been brave.  That I haven't feared the very worst,  but I cannot.  I've gone from laughter to tears in the blink of an eye.
  This week I had my PET scan.  We had intended to also have 2 CTs, but the insurance wouldn't approve the CTs until the PET had been done.  So we proceeded with the PET yesterday.
  I have to say,  I've learned to appreciate the wonders of medical science.  A PET scan uses cancer's trait of hoarding up sugar. They inject a solution of (basically) radioactive sugar water into your blood stream.  After waiting about an hour,  they scan for that radioactivity.  The spots that show up brightest are the trouble spots.  Isn't it incredible that God has granted some people with such intellect that they could create this way of  finding illnesses?
  Well,  today my doctor contacted me with results from the scan. The good news is that there is no cancer in my bones.  That would have been a bad scenario,  and one I had tried to prepare myself for it. There is cancer in a few lymph nodes in my neck.  There is also a suspicious spot in my chest. She does not believe it's cancer,  but we're going to do both a neck and chest CT to look at both areas and be sure.
  So...I still don't know what we'll do to mange the disease.  But we do know it's the best situation I could hope for. And I'm very,  very thankful.
  Thank you for your prayers.  For the verses and encouragement and offers of help.  I want to give special thanks this week to my dear sister, Kim,  who went with me for my scan (and a great salad after!). Having a friend to talk and laugh with was such a blessing.
  Today,  I celebrate.  In a short while, I'll have more information, and then I'll face another step. But tomorrow has enough worry of it's own. I will not carry it today. I'm still learning that lesson,  you know.  Today I know it,  and I pray I remember it.

Vanderbilt 1.0

  Thursday,  I went to Vanderbilt to meet with a specialist.  I have been meaning to write ever since,  and I'm sorry for those of you who have been praying for me but have heard no news.  I'll start with bare facts,  and see where this leads after that.

  The specialist agrees that there is cancer somewhere still.  So now it's a matter of finding it. On January 30, I'll have a PET scan,  a neck CT and a chest CT. The three places radioactive iodine resistant thyroid cancer can be expected to be found is in the neck,  the chest, and/or the bones.

  Once the cancer is located,  some more decisions will be able to be made.  Where it is,  what size,  what it's near... all of those things will be considered.

  The fatality rate of thyroid cancer is incredibly low. The doctor is not concerned for my immediate health,  but instead is focusing on a plan to track and,  if necessary,  treat the cancer. If it isn't growing, it's growing slowly,  isn't endangering any organs... then treatment will be delayed.

  The treatment would be for me take a chemotherapy pill.  But the side effects of it are hard on the body.  So if I can go without treatment,  that is the path we will take, for as long as we can.

  Some patients in my situation have to start the chemotherapy pill right away.  Others don't take it for years.  My doctor has one patient who was diagnosed 30 years ago and in all that time,  there's been no change and she is not taking chemotherapy.

  I don't know for sure what I feel.  There's a bit of anxiety.  And...a jumble that I can't sort out right now.

  I know I'm thankful for the people God is surrounding me with right now.  My family is precious to me.  I have friends who are wrapping me up in love. I know there are SO many people praying for me. I'm very blessed.

  It's hard to say more.  I know I'm usually more verbal,  and I'm sure I will be again as time goes on.  Thank you for your prayers and your friendship. I cherish them both.

Second verse, same as the first!

  I've been blessed and overwhelmed by all the prayers and encouragement I've had since my last post. The words,  "thank you," aren't enough. I'll never have a way to thank you all enough.  But know that I AM thankful. And I trust that God will reward each of you far better than I ever could.  💜

  I have heard from my doctor.  There isn't much actual NEWS,  but I'll tell you where we are,  and where it's headed.

  The scan it's self came back clear,  as expected.  That's good,  since it was clear last time,  and to see anything THIS time would mean cancer is growing for sure.  That pesky thyroid hormone number did some crazy stuff,  though.  My doctor looked over my history and said that for the past 6 years,  it's been averaging about 9. She specifically wanted to look at the unsupressed number this time, which she was able to get by me being off my supplement for a while.  It got as high as 70 by the time I had my scan.  That concerns her quite a bit.

  I'm back on my medicine now,  eating normally,  and feeling MUCH better than I was the last time I wrote.  So that's good.  And my doctor called me herself instead of having her nurse do it.  She went over everything with me,  and made sure I understood her concerns,  as well as the options that she sees before us.  I'm very thankful for the way she handled it. With so much uncertainty,  her patience and compassion really meant a lot to me.

  After we talked it over,  we decided that the best next step is to seek a more experienced opinion.  I believe I will probably be sent for a PET scan in the near future,  but I'm going to consult with a specialist first.  So on Thursday,  I'll be going to Vanderbilt to meet a new doctor who will most likely take over my care.

  Having to go to a "big" hospital is intimidating.  It makes me feel like maybe I really am sick, even though we don't have information that definitively says so. The drive and time off work irritate me.  Irritate might not be the right word...I don't know the right word.  I want this to be simple,  and it's not.  I feel like I'm looking down a long,  dark  tunnel and no one can tell me how long I'll have to walk before I can see the end.

  At the same time,  I'm thankful that there IS a hospital I can go to that doesn't require an overnight trip. I'm thankful that my doctor is humble enough to suggest a second opinion. I'm blessed to have a job with benefits that allow me to take the time I need. I'm thankful to already have people offer to go with me. There's so much to be thankful for that it seems petty to complain about not knowing what to expect next.

  After all,  do any of us really know what to expect? Tomorrow has equal chance of bringing joy,  pain,  excitement,  disappointment,  sorrow,  and hope.  We won't know which ones until they're here.

  Please pray for my emotional stability.  I've been a bit of a mess this week. Time brings acceptance and calms me,  but not every moment is easy.  Please,  please,  PLEASE pray for the doctors I will be seeing.  Pray for wisdom in how to proceed. I will have to trust their suggestions, so I'm asking that they be granted this extra measure of wisdom. Please remember my family,  especially. If they're ok,  I can face anything. But... if I face things that hurt me or scare me,  they aren't ok anymore,  because of their love for me.  It is such a sweet,  blessed thing to be part of this family. Again, I find that there simply aren't words for the thing I feel when my mind rests on them.

  There's no more I can say tonight other than to thank you in advance for the prayers I know will go up even tonight on my behalf.  The church Christ built is an amazing thing to behold. I will never get over the beauty of it!

Another RollerCoaster

  I'm back.

  I never meant this blog to be a newsletter of my health.  But, in a way, that's what it's become.  Partially because there are so many people who care about how I am that it's almost impossible to talk to everyone one-on-one.  And partially because the most difficult things for me to express are a little bit easier in the written word.  I've spent so much of my life in books...it seems as though I express my own thoughts and emotions best where I can see them in black and white.

  Regardless of why this is the format, I'm glad to have it.  And I'm always thankful for the people who read, and especially for those who pray.

  Today I'm writing again, and I need to start with an apology for not doing it sooner.  And I need to follow the apology with a bit of what I HAVEN'T said since my last post.  So, to those of you who are faithful to read and pray for me, I'm sorry I've been out of touch.  There's been a bit of fear, of course, but I'm beginning to suspect that more than fear, there's been pride.  I'll get into that in a bit.  For now, let me go back to May of 2017.  Well, let's go back a little further to April.

  In April of 2017, my ENT wanted to schedule another scan.  It had become a fairly regular thing for me.  A pain in the backside, and dreary because it never produced GOOD news, but necessary so that we would know there wasn't BAD news.  Cancer just holding on in tiny bits, not enough to look into further treatment, but not gone either.  So we scheduled the scan and I planned to start my diet.

  And then we suddenly lost my Aunt Debbie.  She was one of those incredible people who always had a smile and a hug.  Not just for me, but somehow she made it feel like it was just for me.  I've never met a more loving woman.  She would call and encourage me, just out of the blue.  I know she prayed for me regularly.  She was both sweet and wise.  She understood my fears and encouraged my faith.  And then, she was gone.  It hit me hard.  It still hits me hard.  Not because we were super close, but because she loved so deeply.  The absence of that love is a tangible hole that no one will ever fill.

  I traveled with my parents to Illinois for her funeral.  My mom, my cousins, my grandparents...all had such deep, deep pain.  And my annoying little diet seemed such a small thing.  Not really any issue at all, compared to the gaping loss that we all were feeling.  I didn't put the scan off because of this.  I followed all the rules, even through the gatherings of friends and family where there inevitably was food being served.  But the burden of that diet seemed so insignificant compared to how I had looked at it in the past.  Perspective is a powerful thing.  I had just lost a precious piece of my heart, and I couldn't mourn the loss of food compared to that.

  Back home again, I kept my appointment for the scan, and then waited for the results.  And they were a surprise to me.  For the first time since that day way back in June of 2012, I was given good news!  The scan showed no more cancer!  It was more than I could have hoped for.  My bloodwork was still wonky, but the scan was clear, and that was amazing.  So I shared that information with you.

  But, let me be really honest (because, here in print, I'm able to be).  I didn't celebrate much.  I was happy, of course.  I was REALLY happy for my family.  This is the news they've been praying for for years, while I simply prayed for the strength to endure whatever would come next.  But I was still reeling from the loss of my sweet Aunt, who would have cheered the loudest.  In my mind, I was seeing her "happy tears" for my news, and it made me sad that I couldn't share it with her.  It felt like I'd been given a consolation prize, and it was hard to be as thankful as I should have been for it.  I don't know if I can express how I was more happy for my family than I was for myself.  I was so incredibly thankful that this very scary disease seemed to be put off, and that the pain I was feeling over her I wouldn't be causing in them any time soon.  Also, after living with cancer for 5 years, I had become rather resigned to it.  I almost didn't know what to do with a "success" moment.  So I made some happy phone calls, and wrote a blog about what a blessing it all was.  And, I will say, it still is.  But in my fog of emotion, I'm not sure I knew what I really was thinking or feeling.  It's only with distance that I see all of these things I'm telling you now.

  As I mentioned, my blood tests were not "right" through any of this.  I went back a few months later and had more drawn, and it still was "wrong."  Since you and I  aren't doctors, I'll explain it as simply as I can:  My blood shows normal thyroid hormone levels, which would be great in most people.  But my thyroid has been removed, so those numbers should be 0.  So I asked my ENT if, in light of the clear scan, we simply assume this oddity is normal for me, even though it's not normal at all.  He very firmly said no.  He said until they were 0, they would need to be regularly monitored.  At the same time, he said that as long as they didn't increase, he was content to not do any more scans or be unduly concerned about my health.  His assumption was that there were still thyroid cells in my body, producing that hormone, which was what the blood tests were showing.  But that the cells were so few and far between that they couldn't be detected by the radioactive iodine scan, which meant they were also too small to do any damage, even if every one of them was cancerous.  This seemed reasonable to me, as well.  It still does, and it very well may be the case.

  This past summer, that ENT moved from Murfreesboro, so I needed someone new to monitor my levels.  This fall, I began to become concerned with various small things that could be chalked up to age (I'm 41, after all.  Things just don't work the same as they did when I was 15), but one thing cancer has soundly cured me of is assuming all my discomforts are due to age and raising kids!  So I went to see my GP, and she referred me to an endocrinologist.  She and I spent a bit of time going over my medical history.  She kept going back to that "wonky" bloodwork.  Coming from a different perspective than an ENT, she was not content to make the same assumption that he did.  And so she ordered another scan, and more blood tests.  She said that it's very possible he was right.  But...

  Oh, how I hate that word!  Since that first moment 6 years ago, there's been so little to be happy about.  Thankful, yes.  Thankful that the cancer was found.  Thankful that it wasn't all through my body, even though it was in my lymphnodes.  Thankful that I had such great doctors.  Thankful for all the support.  Thankful for the painless recovery from 2 surgeries.  Thankful for the sensitivity it brought out in my family members.  Thankful for the emotional wounds it helped heal.  Thankful for more things than I can count right now.  Happy?  No.  I had cancer.  That's really, really scary.  It took my voice.  I've developed a new one, but cancer took the one I had, and it will never be the same.  It invaded my life and brought fear into my household.  It forced me to look death in the face and agree that we would meet one day, and more than that, possibly meet before I was even able to see my children grown.  There's no happiness in that, no matter how much peace you are granted.  I'm not bitter about those things.  I'm just trying to be very, very honest.  I DO have peace.  God has granted it to me, and it truly is peace beyond my understanding, because when I see all the other things I've felt, I don't understand how I can still rest in His plan; the very plan that brought all of this uncertainty into my life.  But I can, and I do, and I try to teach my children to as well.  Because along with the turmoil, He reminds me that He is in control and knows better than I do what I need. It's a daily process,  and it's not easy.  I don't mean to give that impression.  But there is peace,  supporting me through all of the other emotions.

  So my new doctor says my old doctor could be right,  but... But what?  But this:  there's a possibility that this cancer has lost the property that only thyroid cells have of absorbing iodine.  Such a small thing, considering they're cancer cells and I don't depend on them to work right anyway.  But this is the thing we've depended on to track them.  I stop taking my supplement, I go on this low-iodine diet to starve any cells of iodine.  Then I take a pill of radioactive iodine and those starving cells suck it up, if they're there, and if not, it flushes through my body.  And then they scan my whole body, looking for that radiation.  It's genius science, and it's the thing that makes thyroid cancer one of the simplest cancers to cure.  But.

  98% of thyroid cancer patients have one surgery, one radioactive iodine treatment, and they're done forever.  I've had 2 surgeries and 2 treatments, and I still wasn't cured.  I have been in that 2% for most of little Mikey's life.  One time he came up out of the blue and said, "Mama, you still have cancer, right?"  Just like he might ask if I still had a necklace he hadn't seen in a while.  Yes, baby.  I do.  And I may always have it.  But he was so young, he understands least of all of them.  To him, it's just a fact.  And since July of 2012, I've depended on that cancer to act the way it's supposed to act.  And we've responded according to those rules.  And now I'm told there's a possibility that the cancer isn't playing fair.

  And it's not fair.  It's not fair at all.  I was scared.  And angry.  All the things I've stayed calm about.  All the loss, all the uncertainty, all the pain it's brought to those I hold most dear, and now we're told there might be more.  More what?  We don't even know.  And, once again, I had to accept that my plan wasn't the one my life would be following.

  Friday I had another scan.  Over the past 4 weeks, I've had 3 blood draws, no thyroid supplement,  and I've followed the strict low- iodine diet.  And now we wait.  Again.  I told a few people along the way, but I didn't do this.  This makes it real, in a way.  This blog is where I face everything.  I knew if I did this, I would have to tell you I was scared. I would have to admit my weakness,  and even the fact that I was angry over the whole thing.  I thought I was past this level of uncertainty, at least for a long time.  I had begun to allow myself to see a "normal" future,  where cancer was a possible problem,  but no more likely than and other issue that old age might bring.

  But.  Here I am,  41 and facing the unknown all over again. And I find that it's not easier than it was 6 years ago. I'm tired. I'm ready for it to be someone else's turn.

  And I'm prideful. I refused to write a blog where I know I have a huge list of people who will pray for me and encourage me.  I told those who were closest,  those I felt I owed the knowledge... and that's it.  I couldn't bring myself to do more.  To admit I don't want to go through this again. I keep saying,  "it very well could be nothing." And that's perfectly true.  But it's not the only possibility.  I don't even know if it's the most likely situation. If I don't write,  I don't have to think about it.  Which means I don't have to worry. And not worrying is faith,  right?  Sadly,  no.  Not today,  not for me.

  But.

  That can be a good word too,  you know.  I'm prideful.  But. But God knows me and provides for me in spite of myself.  He sends people and verses and songs to me,  bearing His word and truth even though I didn't ask for it. Soothing my injured spirit.  Reminding me of things I know,  but so consistently forget:

"No guilt in life, no fear in death
This is the power of Christ in me
From life's first cry to final breath
Jesus commands my destiny
No power of hell, no scheme of man
Can ever pluck me from His hand
Till He returns or calls me home
Here in the power of Christ I'll stand"

  So now I humbly come to you,  my faithful friends,  and ask you to pray for me.  For my family.  For accurate test results,  and for wisdom for my doctors. I desire perfect health. But more than that,  I desire an obedient spirit,  and for my life to be a light.  After all,  every moment is a gift from Him. I am thankful for each of those moments,  and for each one of you who will read this.  You have touched my life and made it richer. I cannot ask for more.  💜