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.  💜

Free

It's been so long since I've posted anything here. So many people read to stay updated on my health, and there just hasn't been much new to say.

But today, there's something new.

Today my cancer is gone. Just... Gone! It's been 4 years since I've had a treatment. And I'll until now, the best news I've gotten has been, "no change."

Last week I had another scan. It had been about a year and a half since my last one. And each time I have bloodwork or a scan, I have to prepare for the results. Not getting any good news in the past teaches you to prepare for no good news.

It's ok after a couple times. There's an emotional moment, usually. Because fear is real. But that doesn't last. After all, this path is the path God chose for me. And there's a reason for it. Even if I don't KNOW the reasons, I do believe there is a Divine plan. And I've seen good come from it. So after an emotional moment or two, I'm ok. Then there's the test. And then the waiting.

The waiting is horrible. Because there's nothing to do. You're just waiting. Your whole world holds it's breath for days. I don't know about you, but I don't wait well. And this time seemed worse. Maybe because we had gone longer between scans? Whatever the reason, I was a bit more tightly strung than usual. And, of course, the wait was longer than it has been in the past.

But FINALLY, this evening I got the message: all the thyroid cells are gone and everything looks normal.

Did you see that?! ALL GONE. For no reason at all. No treatment, no medicine. It's just gone. It's totally God.

And then what do I do? Because I haven't prepared for good news. Why would I? Why would I even hope? I've had radioactive iodine resistant malignant thyroid carcinoma for 5 years.

And now it's gone. I am overwhelmed. I am free.

And it makes me think of Christ. Because today was like salvation. One moment I was prepared to live the rest of my life with this disease, and most likely die of it one day. And then... It's gone. Without anything I had done.

Christ does that. He just reaches out and gives life to a soul dead in sin. A soul without hope, without a cure in sight.

Ephesians 2:8-9: For it's by grace that you’ve been saved through faith, and that faith not of yourselves: it’s the gift of God, lest anyone should boast.

Beautiful, isn't it? Life. Eternal life, freely given.

What a gracious, generous, loving Lord!

A Step in the Right Direction

  Last week I was on my low-iodine diet again for tests.  I had a blood draw on Wednesday and another full-body scan on Friday (I think that's the fourth one I've had so far).  Of course, the diet always is a downer.  It is emotionally difficult as well as physically draining.  My sister-in-law brought dinner for my family one day, and I had a friend or family member take me to each of my 4 different appointments throughout the week...not to mention my sister taking us to my daughter's eye appointment on Thursday.  I know I said thank you to everyone, but I want to say it again.  Thank you so much for your display of love and support toward myself and my family.  Having someone go with me helps keep me calm, and I always enjoy the one-on-one time that seems so hard to get.  Meals to my family are especially helpful when I am on my diet and have no desire to even think about cooking.  I never take these things for granted, and I hope you know how deeply I appreciate each of you.
  I had scheduled an appointment with my oncologist to receive the results of my tests.  Kim planned to take me to that appointment on April 10th.  Things have changed a bit, however.  This morning, my Dr.'s office called to tell me I don't need to come in on the 10th.  The results are back and my scan is clean!  I cried, of course.
  This does not mean that I am cancer free.  I am celebrating like it does, because it really is such good news.  But it's not the same as being in remission.  The scan came back clean, but the blood-work didn't.  My tumor marker is still more than ten times the acceptable level...though even that is close to half of what it was before.  What it does mean is that there are no cancer groups large enough to be detected by the scan.  It means that I do not have to have another treatment any time soon.  It means that we can breathe a bit.  :-)
  I have learned to live with cancer, and go about my day-to-day business as though there is nothing different at all.  I have learned to be at peace with the professional opinion I received that told me not to expect a total eradication, but only hope to control the cancer's growth.  I have even learned to be thankful for cancer because it has taught me so much.  At the same time, the hope never goes away that some day this disease will be completely gone.  I know my Lord is able to heal me, and we have prayed for that healing.  I don't demand it, or claim that He is supposed to heal me, but I know that He can.
  Today I have been granted a portion of that healing.  I will have to have more blood-work done in six months.  At that point, we will either continue to monitor tumor marker levels, or opt for another radioactive iodine treatment.  But today I don't have to worry about that.  Today, my family celebrates.  Today there are tears of joy and a heaviness lifted.  Today there are prayers of thanksgiving and smiles and hugs and an overflow of gratitude that words cannot express.
  I still would appreciate your prayers.  But tonight I encourage you to praise the Lord with me for this gift, this moment of joy.  It is a blessing.  It almost feels like a vacation.  Today, even the unexpected blast of snow cannot dampen my spirits!

Finally Speaking

  Do you ever find that sometimes the hardest thing to do is to accept help?  I do.  It's probably a pride issue, but I just have such a hard time asking for help.  I even have a hard time letting people help.  That's probably why I'm having such a difficult time writing this blog.  It just feels...uncomfortable.  I don't want to come across wrong.

  So, first off, I'm not asking for help.  :-)  We are not in dire need for anything right now.  But I am willing to accept help.  I am often asked, "Is there anything you need?"  Or, "Is there anything I can do for you?"  And many conversations end with, "If you need anything, let me know!"  It makes me feel good to know that people care and want to do something nice or helpful for me and my family.  But it rarely goes further than conversation, because it feels so awkward to actually take anyone up on their offer.  As a matter of fact, I have had this blog in my "drafts" section for over 2 months.  My mom recently called and asked what types of things she could do for me.  It made me ashamed of myself that I would keep so quiet that those who really love me have no idea how to best show that love.  So now I'm posting, whether I like it or not.

  Since my most recent test results, I have been thinking a lot about the future.  I feel like I cannot take anything for granted, and that it would be unwise to not prepare for serious difficulties.  So I am just going to give you a list of things that could be beneficial to myself and my household...and if you have a desire to use any of these suggestions, it will be a blessing.

• Send a card, an email, a text, a note on facebook, a comment on my blog; these thing encourage me so much, and they often come exactly when I am feeling down.  It doesn't take much time, but it really can make my entire day better.
• Visit.  I know you're busy.  And I know many of you live a ways off.  But if you can visit me, please do.  I have friends and family states away...people I haven't seen in years, that I love dearly.  I cannot make a trip to see each of you.  But if you're planning a family vacation to Florida, stop in TN and have dinner with me.  Or swing by on your way to a weekend in Gatlinburg or Nashville.  For those of you who are a bit closer, try to plan a Sunday afternoon meal with us, or call me to have lunch with you.  I just want to see you, give you a hug, make another memory.  I'm not trying to sound morbid; I don't expect to die any time soon.  But dealing with this does make death very real, and I have stopped assuming that I'll have time to spend with my loved ones out in the vast, unplanned future.
• Make a family meal.  Several people have cooked for us over the past year and a half, and it is a blessing every time.  Now that I am working second shift, it is especially sweet when someone prepares a meal, because then I know that my daughter doesn't have to.  She feels like she is getting a special gift as well, which makes it mean even more to me.
• Make a freezer meal/dish.  If you have a crazy schedule and can't bring something hot to the house, freeze something that we can reheat later.  It is just as much of a blessing, and it works on your timetable!
• Make a low-iodine freezer meal/dish.  The low-iodine diet I have had to be on will probably be in my future quite a few times.  I know for sure that I will need to go back on it for at least a week in March for more test results.  If I had dishes in the freezer that I could just pull out as needed, that would be incredible.  I did fine the first time I was on the diet, but that was before I was working.  The last time, it was much harder.  I think part of the reason was because I had no desire to plan a meal for my family AND a meal for myself while I was working every day.  You can download a low-iodine cookbook for free here.  Remember that any time it says, "salt," that means non-iodized salt (and also, not sea salt).
• Clean something.  I think it sounds horrible to say because I know everyone gets busy and houses get messy and women take care of it even when they don't seem to have time or energy.  So to tell someone it would be a blessing if they helped me in this area...it's hard.  But if this is your gift, I will swallow my pride and accept it.  I am not a natural housekeeper.  I am good at picking up, but detail cleaning is few and far between.  I have times when I get into cleaning mode, but...even then, one room about kills it.  So if you are a "cleaner" and you just can't help but want to do something nice for myself and my family, you can come clean a room!  Detailed cleaning in any part of the house really would be a blessing.  Not only to me, but to my entire family.
• Plan something for my kids.  Life right now is pretty normal (our new normal, that is).  But when I have to have a treatment, that normal is seriously disrupted.  After my tests in March, we will know if/when I am doing another radiation treatment.  Anything you can think of to make a time when I'm away from my family for 3-4 days easier would be awesome.  Planning to come help them with a "welcome home" project, dropping off a new movie or game, teaching Trin to cook a new meal, planning a day at the park (if it's warm enough by then)...this isn't something to be done right now, but my main concern while I'm away is always my children.  I hate being away from Brad, but it's different because he's an adult.  I don't want these times to color the memories my kids have of their childhood with dread or fear.  This is something that I absolutely cannot do for them.  Any show of love and support at these times goes into my most cherished memories.
• Send cash.  Again, I want to make sure you know I'm not asking for this.  We are managing well right now.  But there are things we are trying to take care of quickly because we don't know what the future holds.  I am not working because we cannot get by without that extra income.  I'm working to pay things off quickly and not be in a pinch over doctor bills.  So when someone sends money or a gift card, it is a very practical, extremely appreciated gift.

  Ok, that's all I can think of right now.  If you are one of the many, many people who have offered help, or have helped in any way in the past, I want you to know how much I appreciate you.  Your show of love wraps around me and comforts me when days are difficult.  Right now, I am doing very well.  I feel great, our household is running smoothly, and I don't have to think about test results for a few months.  But I should have posted this a long time ago, and only my fear of how it would come across has held me back.  I love you all, and look forward to hearing from you.

The Many Faces of Family

  Social media has changed so many things in our lives.  In addition to the benefits of picture sending and status updates, we also receive and onslaught of new traditions.  Like "30 Days of Thankfulness."  I'm not knocking it, because it's been neat to read the hearts of my friends.  I, however, have rebelled against joining in.  Instead, this year I am going to share the blessings of the various forms of family that I have been given.  People are the most precious thing in my life.  I don't always know how to tell them I love them, I don't always spend enough time with them or call as often as I should.  But I understand the value of an individual.  I have been shaped and pruned and protected by these people throughout my life.  If one of them had not been there, the person I am today could be very different.  Many are "official" family, and others have been adopted over the years.  This is not an exhaustive list, but it is the list on my heart today.  There is no way to list them in order of importance, so I will do my best to list them in rough order of appearance.  :-)
  The first I have to mention would be my grandparents.  Grandma and Grandpa Eavey are part of my earliest memories.  They are in some of the most precious and also some of the most painful moments of my life.  We have not always agreed, but I have never felt unloved by them.  Grandpa's hug and Grandma's smile immediately take me back to a time before I knew there were problems in the world, when every hurt could be smoothed away by a kiss.  To these incredible people, I have this to say:  When I have been angry at you, I have still been influenced by your steady hold on your convictions.  When I have expected resentment and coolness from you, I have received acceptance (if not always agreement).  I have come to realize that you are not as perfect as I thought when I was five...but you are still my grandparents.  You still love me as you did when I was little, you still want the best for me, you still pray for me, you still encourage me, you still make me smile, you still make me feel loved.  There are parts of my personality, the unshakable parts, that can be traced back to your influence on my life.  I am, and have always been, blessed to have you as grandparents.  I have loved you even when we haven't been close, and I hope you never doubt that.
  Next, obviously, would be my mom.  My mom is...there just is no one word to describe her.  She is the thing that has held our family together.  Her stubborn love (as best as I can say it) has endured much pain and difficulty for the sake of her children and husband.  Her reasoning behind each rule and consequence left no room for argument or escape.  And yet her personal sacrifice never allowed us to doubt her love.  I cannot remember a time when my mom wasn't actively pursuing a way to benefit our family.  She rarely worked outside the home, but she was never idle.  Foster care, babysitting, bagging little plastic parts for a factory up the road...there was always something she was doing to supplement my dad's income while still being available to us whenever we needed her.  She pinched pennies and sewed clothes and never complained openly (if at all) about anything we didn't have.  Looking back, I can see that I grew up with little (financially speaking), but she never allowed our home to feel like it was missing something.  I never felt deprived.  She always did what she had to do, and she did it for us.  It may have taken me a while to realize what a deep expression of love this is, but as I have grown up, I have come to truly appreciate my mom for all that she did (and does).
  My dad did not come into my life in the normal way.  Somewhere out in the world, there is another man who gave me his DNA.  I have never met that man, and I probably never will.  Very early in my childhood, I didn't realize there was a difference in my family.  My grandpa filled the "man role" well in my life.  But there came a day when a very special man entered the scene.  I still get emotional when I think about how I was given a daddy.  In our world today, single moms are not uncommon.  And these single moms fall in love, and that's not uncommon either.  We see kids with mom and step-dad, dad and step-mom...that's just how it is.  But this was different.  This man wasn't content to be step-dad.  He wasn't OK with a family full of different last names, to be viewed as a "mixed family."  He did not just marry my mom, he joined our family.  I was at the wedding.  And I was there when the adoption papers were signed and I legally became his daughter.  I still remember the judge looking at me and saying, "young lady, you have a daddy."  If you have not been that person, you cannot know what that moment was like for me.  And as I have gotten older, it has become even more precious to me.  I know that he didn't have to adopt me.  But he did.  Because of the way my dad showed he loved me, I have a very tangible picture of God's love for us.  I cannot tell you the number of times I have heard my dad say, "You will always be my daughter, nothing can change that."  When I read in the Bible about how God has adopted us and made us co-heirs with Christ, I hear my daddy say, "You will always be my daughter.  Nothing can change that."  He has always worked hard for us.  He has never just wanted to "get by," but always wanted to be able to give us more.  He has always been quick to forgive.  He obviously isn't perfect, but he is smart and loving and generous; I am more than blessed to call him Daddy.
  I will not forget to mention my siblings.  Being the oldest child, I was often responsible for them in one form or another.  I am thankful for that experience.  It taught me to love different personalities.  It taught me patience.  It taught me to be proud of the accomplishments of another person.  It prepared me for motherhood on many levels.  And now that we are adults, our relationships have changed.  I'm not "the boss" anymore.  But I still feel responsible, I still try to set an example.  And I dearly cherish friendships with them.  Each one is unique.  I have precious memories of our childhood together, and I am amazed that those little ones are the adults I see before me today.  I have great hopes for them and their children.  I am so proud when one of them accomplishes something.  We have times when we are frustrated with each other, but I am thankful that we always have tried to work it out.  I am so thankful that I was not an only child!
  I will take a moment to mention extended family here.  The list can get so long that I dare not begin mentioning individuals!  I will say that my aunts and uncles made me excited to BE an aunt.  To have a niece or nephew think my house was the best place in the world, to watch my kids play with their cousins...those impressions came from my own childhood, and the blessings I had in that type of family.  And my cousins...I loved how we were always friends, no matter how much time had passed since we'd been together.  It taught me (though I didn't know what I was learning at the time) that love reaches past time and distance and simply loves.
  Here along with siblings and cousins, I have a few very dear friends.  Again, I won't list them by name because 1) they know who they are 2) not all of them are still with us and 3) I could never do credit to the individual reasons why they mean so much to me.  These friends have known me for years.  They have laughed with me, cried with me, been happy for me, and even been upset at me.  They have been dependable.  They have listened when I've vented, they have called and sent cards when I've been sick.  They are also the type of people who will still love me even if years and states are between us.  I am thankful for these few who are more than acquaintances.  Who will pray for me, who will chastise me, who will hug me, who know me and love me still.
  And now for Brad.  My husband, my best friend, my leader, my provider, my protector...that one man can be all of these things amazes me.  I will be brief to spare my readers.  :-)  My husband is exactly what I need.  He is steady and strong.  He is compassionate.  He is honest.  He probably knows me better than anyone, and he has seen me at my very worst.  And instead of walking away from me, he has helped me become better than I ever was before.  I could be the first to tell you that he's not perfect, but I didn't need perfection (perfection wouldn't have known what to do with me!).  God knew what He was doing when He put us together.  If it weren't for Brad, I don't know what type of woman I would have grown into.  I am thankful for his steadfastness.  I am thankful for his partnership.  I am thankful for his love.
  And now for kids.
  Trinity is my princess.  Smart, sassy, funny, beautiful.  She thrives on order and desires to create beauty.  She is my right hand in so many ways.  I have never wanted to be my kids' friend.  I am a mom, and that's my job.  But even though I have not set out to make friends with my kids, Trinity and I do have a very special friendship.  Maybe it's due to us being the only girls in the house.  Maybe it's because she's so like her dad that I am already friends with her personality.  No matter why, I am thankful for the relationship that we have, and I pray it only grows stronger as the years go by.
  Andrew, my firstborn son.  Andrew is a genius in his own way, but if you don't know him, you'll never see it.  I am thankful for Andrew because he makes me slow down and take individual time with him.  It's so easy as a mom to get into a routine and just do what you have to do that day.  One day slips into the next and the kids are cared for, but you're so busy you forget to have a relationship with them.  Andrew slows me down.  He reminds me that the same thing doesn't work for each kid.  That my family is made up of individuals and they need individual love and attention.  When that time is taken, I see the beauty of  each moment and creative thinking.  Some days he is my greatest frustration...but he is just as often my greatest source of wonder.
  Johnathan is my cool kid.  Smart, but a bit lazy.  Handsome and fun, imaginative and energetic.  He is comfortable talking with adults, and sweet enough to play with toddlers.  He does everything in slow motion, but generally with a good attitude.  He is easy-going and fiercely loyal.  He is sensitive and genuinely repentant when he's done something wrong.  If all of my children were Johnathans, we would have a very easy time being parents...but we would always be late to everything!  I am thankful for his sweet spirit.  He reminds me to look for opportunities to make others happy, and to enjoy simple things.
  Michael is the one who makes us laugh the most.  He is growing and changing so quickly!  At four years old, he claims the same rights that all the big kids have (he insists he IS a big kid).  He is nick-named "Monster," and there are moments when it is a very fitting title.  He is determined to accomplish whatever he sets out to do.  He is articulate and opinionated.  He is both stubborn and spontaneous.  He has taught me to be thankful for unexpected relationships.  He has stretched my patience and tested my consistency.  I am thankful for his bursts of love and the joy of watching a new life grow and a new personality develop.
  You thought I was done, didn't you?  Nope.  You see, these are the children that were born to me...but there are more that my heart has claimed.
  Dalton is the oldest (as in, with us the longest) "extra" son in our family.  He is fun and loving, and the kids always look forward to his visits.  He is smart and well-read.  The type of person you can have deep discussions with about everything from theology to the most recent super hero movie.  The type of guy who has influenced my daughter's idea of what a man aught to be, and who has given my sons someone to look up to.  He gives me hope that there are still young people who are passionate about the Word of God.
  Gordon came to me by way of Brad.  Dalton brought him to men's Bible study, and Brad adopted him.  There are times when he annoys me, and I never cease to be amazed that Brad (the impatient one) has such an easy time being with him and mentoring him when I (the "patient, nice" one) just want him to stay out of my kitchen!  Gordon is a picture of the power of God to change a person completely.  He is a miracle.  He reminds me to never write someone off because of the way they look, or where they come from.
  Jazzy (most of the world calls her Jessica) is the blonde daughter that Brad always wished for.  We were not looking for her, but she needed us.  I have grown to love this small package of emotions wrapped in a tough-looking shell.  As she matures, she is becoming a beautiful young lady.  The stubborn child is falling away and a soft, strong, loving woman is emerging.  She has taught me the importance of always being available, of always being willing to reach out, even if it's not convenient.  The rewards of this relationship far outweigh the small sacrifice we made when it began.
  Josh is my first son-in-law, by way of marrying Jazzy.  He is another wonder to watch as he takes on the role of husband and leader.  Seeing him listen to wisdom, accept responsibility, prepare to shoulder the weight that a Godly man needs to carry is exciting and encouraging.  Here I see a young man who will one day be a strong leader in our church.  I am so thankful to be a part of his life as he matures and seeks God's will for himself and his young family.
  Can I mention someone I have not met yet?  My heart is flooded with love for a precious little boy named Konner, though he is not even born.  He is Josh and Jazzy's son, due to arrive in late March.  I have heard his hearbeat, I have seen him move, I have seen him stretch his mama's tummy as he grows.  I have seen Jazzy's face glow as she feels him move or hears his quick heartbeat.  He is the promise and wonder of new life.  I am honored that I will get to be a part of his life.  He makes me realize that my influence can reach years and generations down the road.  I am thankful for this reminder to live as the best example of a Godly life that I possibly can.
  My family continues to grow.  There are others that have come into my life, and more who will come into my life.  Each precious person is unique and stretches me in ways I didn't know I needed to be stretched.  I am thankful for the influence they have had on me, and the ways they continue to help me mature.  I pray I am always an example and encouragement to them.

I Did Not Marry My Best Friend

  Yep, I'll admit it:  I didn't marry my best friend.  Fourteen years ago I pledged myself to a wonderful man.  He was funny and smart and talented and decisive...and, for some strange reason, he loved me.  It was so easy to love him back!  We had fun together, and I knew he was a good man.  I was so honored to become his wife.
  But somehow I isolated his role in my life.  Here is "husband," there is "friend."  I didn't trust him with all of me like I should have.  I didn't share my hurts and fears and concerns with him.  I loved being his wife, being mother to his children...
  Yet there is so much more to be had than just living in the same house together.  Even more than raising a family together.  I have learned so much over the years!  God has broken me in ways that have allowed my husband to learn who I am more completely than anyone else I have ever known.  And the miracle is that he still is by my side, that he still loves me.
  He is faithful and honest and gentle and firm.  He loves to have fun but knows when to be serious.  He is a provider and a playmate.  He is a leader and also my support.
  There was a time when he was only my husband.  But slowly over the years, he has become so many other things to me.  My strong shoulder when I need to cry.  My wisdom when I am confused.  My coach when I am unmotivated.  My pastor, teaching me from the Word.  My comedian, making me laugh when I want to be mad.  My authority when the kids are difficult.  My wardrobe consultant.  My movie partner.  My dinner date.  My best memories and my greatest future dreams.
  Our marriage is not always smooth and full of laughter.  Sometimes we disagree or even fight.  But every storm brings us closer together and shows me the treasure I have been given in this man.  No, I didn't marry my best friend.  But, by the grace of God, my husband is my friend today.  He is the first one I think of when I wake up, and the comforting warmth as I fall asleep.  He is in my thoughts throughout the day and the one I desire most to please.  He is, now and forever, my best friend.

Not Beaten

  The past few days have been difficult for me.  I have been easily irritated, very quiet, and often near tears.  I can't even tell you exactly what I wrote the other day, and my emotions are too sensitive for me to want to re-read it.  I already know the facts...I don't need to see them written out again.
  Having said all of that, let me assure you that I have come to grips with my test results.  I have had some very good emotions mixed into my days.  An overpowering sense of love for my family, especially my husband.  A determination to make my experiences count for something, to help others by sharing what I am learning.  Knowledge of being surrounded by love and prayers, of so many people caring for me; it is amazing.  And in the quiet moments, peace.  Peace that has never left, even though I have wept.  Even joy.  Joy that God is taking me on this journey for His purposes.
  Maybe you want to know how I know that God plans to use my cancer for His glory.  I'll tell you how:  I've seen the opportunities already.  First and foremost, God has changed me.  Changed me so totally; softened me, broken me, rooted out my pride and tempered my selfishness.  God has changed my family.  My mom tells me she prays more.  My husband is more gentle.  My daughter is more caring.  And these are just a few of the many family members who have been affected.  God is creating a ministry opportunity for myself, along with some Godly friends, to help others through life-changing events.  And He also gives me appointment after appointment with random people who I would have never spoken to.  These appointments happen at the bank, at the grocery store, at the gas station, at work, everywhere I go.  I am able to speak of my cancer and the power my Lord has to carry me through it.  Just last night, I had to stop at the store before coming home.  I just wanted to be home.  It's been a long week.  I wanted to sit with my family and just enjoy being together.  With nothing else on my mind, but weariness in my heart and body, I ran into another divine appointment.  In the parking lot at Kroger, a conversation begun by a stray cart headed my way...
  I am amazed and encouraged.  I had no desire to talk to anyone.  But this woman needed to talk to someone.  She is headed to the doctor today, and she has issues that may be thyroid related.  She is scared and doesn't know what to expect.  Her daughter and grandchild were with her.  I know that fear.  The fear of leaving those you love.  The fear of making them care for you when it's always been your job to care for them.  The fear of pain that might come, the fear of overwhelming medical expenses.  Fear so powerful that you will cry in front of a woman you've never met until just now in a grocery store parking lot.
  So to that precious woman, who I hope is reading this now, I give you this comfort:  You have today.  Make the most of it.  We don't know what tomorrow holds, but we have today.  Sometimes that's all we have the strength to face.  When the overwhelming news comes, I deal with one day.

Sometimes one hour.

One moment.

One breath.

And in that one breath, I find peace.  That one breath is given to me by God Himself.  As is the next.  And the next.  And the very last breath that I take will be the last one that He chooses to give me.  For a child of God, that is an unending source of comfort.

Thank you, Lord, for this breath.

Writing What No One Wants to Hear

  I had an appointment today that not many people knew about.  Even those who knew about it didn't know much about it.  It was one of those things I just didn't want to talk about.  First, there was no reason it should be a big deal.  I was just getting results for the same two tests I had done in June.  They were redone when I had my most recent radiation treatment in August.  Less than two full months apart, there was no reason for there to be a lot of difference.  Even though I like to keep people informed, I don't like to be a drama queen, so I really didn't mention it.
  On the other hand, there were some things that bothered me.  First, when I had the scan done in June, I had to have my abdomen scanned a second time.  Then in August, they again scanned extra shots of my abdomen.  It gave me an uneasy feeling...but no one acted like it was unusual, so I did my best not to dwell on it.  Secondly, the nurse in my oncologist's office mentioned (twice) that the doctor might just call me with the test results.  So when, instead of being called with test results, I was told that he would "love for you to come in," I had a few seconds of panic.  On top of that, the nurse said she would "squeeze me in" between appointments instead of having me wait until the next week to get them.  None of these things bring comfort.  As soon as I hung up from that phone call, I dialed my dear friend, Kim.  I have often turned to her for wisdom and comfort and Godly counsel, and she seemed to be the only right person to call.  I asked her to come with me to the appointment, "just in case."

  Prov. 16:9 A man’s heart plans his way, but the LORD determines his steps.

  My plans weren't my plans at all, come to find out.  Kim was the perfect person to take with me.  God brought her to mind, and I had no idea that things that were going on in her life would be exactly what I needed on the day of my appointment.
  Forgive me if you know some of this already.  Sometimes I feel the need to repeat information for those of my readers who may have missed some posts.  The first time I had these tests done was in November, when I had my first radiation treatment.  There is a number referred to as a tumor marker.  It's a thyro-globulin count, and basically it is a measurement of how much cancer is in my body.  The number that the doctors want to see is four or less...though (in my case) they would be satisfied if it were less than ten.  In November, that number was 86.  A lot higher than four, and higher than the doctors expected.  After the radiation had time to do it's work, they ran that blood test again.  Some of you may remember that I had to have shots to flush my system for that (as well as a full body scan that they did at the same time).  That was in June.  The number that came back from that round was 33.  Still too high to ignore or go without treating, but much lower than it had been.  While most thyroid cancer patients only need to have one treatment, this meant I would need another.  Still, the 60% drop was encouraging.  I had my treatment in August, as well as another blood draw, followed by another full body scan.  Today (yesterday, by the time I get this posted), I received the results from those tests.
  Apparently, the levothyroxine (my thyroid medication) in my system suppressed the thyro-globulin levels and gave a skewed result.  It still gave an accurate body scan result, which was what they were looking at most intently.  All of that to say that today, with an accurate tumor marker reading, my thyro-globulin level is 76, not 33.  That's still lower than 86, which is great.  It does show that the radiation made a difference.  But...it's a bit discouraging for it to be more than double what I thought it was.  Especially when the goal is 4!
  Kim had some really encouraging news in her life, so I was so thankful that she was there.  It gave me something positive to focus on, and a constant reminder that God is in control.
  Hours later, I am handling it much better than I was.  There is still so much to process, and I have not begun to speak of emotions or where we go from here.  I can only manage to tell facts this evening.  This post is not to encourage or challenge or enlighten.  Only to inform.  I know prayers and love surround me, and I thank you for every show of friendship and every prayer for myself and my family.  You will hear from me again soon, as I deal with this disappointment.

Little Mirrors

     Most weekends, we have several young people in our home for fellowship...ok, they come for the cool video game system hook-up.  The fellowship is probably just a byproduct!  This is something we really enjoy doing.  A big pot of nacho dip and a ton of tortilla chips are proper sustenance for hard-core gaming.  One recent weekend, there were ripe avocados at a great price.  As I browned hamburger and added all the "extras" in my special mix to the nacho sauce, Trinity sat at the table and mixed up a huge batch of guacamole.  We cooked and talked and laughed and shooed the boys out of the kitchen when they came sniffing around.  The picture of Amish kitchens came to mind.  This is what I should be doing with my daughter.  Teaching by doing, working together for the benefit of the entire family.  The thought stuck with me; seeing how the things I cook, the way I handle the kids, my speech patterns,  even faces I make get passed on to my children.
     It wasn't long after that moment that I was in the kitchen at church while the praise band practiced for Sunday morning worship.  I have gotten used to not singing on stage with my husband, but the music is always in my heart.  As Brad started a favorite song, I began singing my part along.  It comes out quiet, and not always in tune.  Then, unexpectedly, I heard my notes from the stage, but strong and sure instead of wispy and wobbly.  I almost began to cry as Mary Grace sang the harmony that she had learned by listening to me.  I was so amazed, so blessed by the impact of her perfect imitation of the music I used to be able to make.  The lesson was so clear to me.  I had a little church service right there in the kitchen, just me thanking God for teaching me once again.

Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ. - 1 Cor. 11:1


     Paul urged the church at Corinth to look to his example to know how to live a Godly life.  As he followed Christ, so they could follow him.  Laying down footprints, leaving a path, marking a trail.  As parents, we are to do the same for our children.  They WILL imitate us, whether we imitate God or not.  Just as Trinity will tend to cook the same dishes she grows up cooking with me, so she will tend  to follow in my spiritual footsteps.  This goes beyond attending church and reading the Bible daily devotional.  I teach her how to season foods, I teach her how to handle stressful situations.  And it's not just my household that I'm leading.  Mary Grace memorizes the notes I used to sing, but she also listens to my testimony of finding joy through my trials.
     People are watching.  Am I living so that I am reflecting Christ?  Not just in word, but in how I actually respond to people and situations.  Do I allow the world to pollute my mind?  Do I get upset at insignificant events or hold grudges?  Do I love in a sacrificial way?  Christ did.  I am called to be a reflection of Him.  And even though in my head I have known this my entire life, it took these few events to point it out to me again.  To refocus me, to remind me how important it is to not just skate by in my life.
     It is so easy to get into the habit of going through the same motions.  Go to church, sing the songs, smile, go home, read a little Bible every day, spout off a verse now and then.  But there is so much more to reflecting Christ.  I am so thankful that my savior reminds me to be passionate about Him!

I'll be done procrastinating in a little while...

  So I know it's been a couple weeks since I went to talk to my surgeon, and I haven't posted any updates for you.  I'm sorry.  I could say I've been busy (which I have), but that's not really all of it.  Deep down, I just haven't wanted to talk about it much.
  I'm not being fair at all, I know.  I brush things off like they're no big deal, then snap at my husband because he really isn't in the mood for chicken alfredo, which my mouth is watering over but I'm not allowed to have right now.  And I don't want to make a big announcement about everything, but sometimes I get annoyed that people go on like nothing has changed.  I guess I don't really know what I want, which is frustrating too.  So let me just tell you where I am, and you can pray for me.
  I went to my surgeon for a second opinion on going through with the RAI (radioactive iodine) treatment.  This is the same treatment I had in November, and it did have an effect on the cancer, but (unlike for most thyroid patients) it did not kill off all of the thyroid cancer in my body.  There is a blood test that they do (forgive me if I repeat things I've already told you).  The number they look at should be 4 or less, and in November, my number was 86.  After the RAI had time to do it's thing, I took another blood test (about a month ago).  Now that number is down to 33.  That's good, but not good enough.  I was concerned that this might mean there is something else going on in my body.  Perhaps another type of cancer.  My surgeon assured me that it is not.  We are still dealing with thyroid cancer, which is good.  Then came the difficult part.  He told me that, considering both my young age and the aggressiveness of the cancer in my body, I will probably be dealing with this for the rest of my life.  He was quick to assure me that, even in my circumstances, very few people actually die of thyroid cancer.  And those that do usually live with it for a very long time.
  I can't say that I was surprised or depressed or overwhelmed by the news.  I've said from the beginning that I felt as though God was telling me to be prepared, and I've always taken that to mean I should be prepared for something big and difficult.  Even so, I've been annoyed at my own back-and-forth emotions over it.  I think I'm just dealing with the fact that everyone else can go on as usual, but I will never be done with this.
  I am both amazed and frustrated that it seems as though God hand picked trials that I consciously thought about and hoped to never face.  I am amazed and honored and humbled because at every step, He is teaching me that I can face my deepest fears in confidence if I lean on Him.  I am frustrated because...well, let's face it, no one REALLY wants to learn that lesson.
  It's been ages ago (we're talking high school, which is 20 years back, believe it or not) that I heard of a female Christian artist who prayed that if the music, the show, or her voice ever became more important than singing for Him, that God would take her voice from her.  I remember it because it terrified me.  I loved music, I loved to sing, and I did not want to tempt God to take that from me.  And now here I am, with no voice.  One of the first things I wondered was if this was because I had enjoyed the music more than the worship.  I'm not saying I did...I guess I don't really know.  Worship and music are so wrapped up together for me...not that it really matters now, but I wondered.  I guess maybe I still do.
  Then there's the "long-term" factor.  There are so many stories of people who have suffered and/or died for Christ.  I remember thinking, "Lord, I have no problem dying for you.  But I don't know if I could suffer."  Dying is quick.  Suffering...not so much.  Shallow, I know.  And here I am, looking at years and years of dealing with a disease that will attack my body over and over again.  Not knowing if there will come a time when it will stop responding to treatment, not knowing if it will eventually spread to another area of my body or become a different type of cancer altogether.
  Most recently (in one of my rare melt-down moments), I told a friend that I just didn't want to be "the girl with cancer."  That identity, that label...I don't want it.  At the same time, I DO want to talk about it, to share how God has grown me, all of the good things that have come of it, even to share the hard times.  But I don't want that to be who I am, if that makes sense.  And now I know that instead of being someone who dealt with cancer, now I will always be someone who is dealing with cancer.
  So there's this weight, this sobriety, that has settled on me.  It happened before, when I was first dealing with this.  I had to grow up a bit and face reality in a way that I normally avoid.  I still have joy.  I would even say that I am now able to feel a deeper, more rich happiness than I ever had before.  But I don't want to give the impression that this is easy.  Some days it is very, very hard.  Mainly I want you to know that because I don't want you to have a false picture of who I am as I go through this.  I have been given such peace and strength through all of this that sometimes my blogs come off as though I'm just breezing through every trial.  I am not.  I am choosing to have joy, I am praying for God to be glorified through it all.  But I am so very human and so very weak on my own.  It would be so easy to wallow in self-pity.  This is why I am so very thankful for your prayers and all of the other forms of love that have been showered on me.  And thank you for your patience with me.  I hope to soon be much closer to my normal optimistic self...but it might not come until I'm allowed to have chocolate again!  ;-)

Normal is so Relative

  Part of the reason I write is for personal clarification.  It is so much easier to sort out what is going on in my heart and head when I put it on paper.  Another reason is so that my friends and family will be kept up to date with new information and know how best to pray for us.  The last reason I write and post these blogs is so that, in the future, maybe some dear soul who is dealing with the same thing I am dealing with now will know what to expect and will take comfort in knowing that someone has gone through it ahead of them.  This blog is especially for that last group; to let you know that in these situations, feeling out of control is pretty normal.
  It's been a crazy couple of weeks.  Beginning with the week leading up to my scans (I have a friend who calls it "scanxiety,").  On Thursday I went to the Dr. and was told to start the low iodine diet the next day.  Friday through Sunday were ok, but I kept forgetting that I was on that stupid diet.  I didn't eat anything I shouldn't, but I would be cooking and thinking, "Oh, this is going to taste so good!" and then suddenly remember that no matter how good it turned out, I couldn't eat it.  I think mostly this was because I didn't expect to jump into diets and scans so immediately after my appointment.  I thought I would have a couple weeks to prepare and plan my meals, but I didn't.  I am thankful that I had already found a staple meal that I enjoyed (when I was on the diet the first time), so I just went back to that for the week.  There was also a lot of explaining how my appointment went to tons of people.  And telling everyone that you've had an appointment and you're doing something new, but there really isn't any news yet is kind of frustrating.  Friends and family want progress, and the waiting can be as hard on them (though in a different way) as it is on me.  It's been almost a year since my surgeries, and that's a long time to have few "real" answers.
  By Monday I thought I had everything under control.  I had decided I was just going to get this week over and be done, and that I would be fine.  Funny thing is, you can't just decide stuff like that.  I still had anxiety. I just refused to think about it!  So I had to go get a shot on Monday.  I didn't think it would be a big deal, as often as I have had blood draws and IVs over the past year.  In my mind, I would sit in the little chair, lay my arm on the flat armrest and have it done.  I was a little nervous that the medicine might burn going in, but other than that, I was ok.  Then the nurse came in and told me the shot had to go in my backside.  Don't ask me why this freaked me out, but it did.  I don't think I've had a shot back there since I was a little girl getting tubes put in my ears.  I think mostly it was just that, once again, I was unprepared for what I had to do.  But I'm a big girl, and a little needle isn't  going to get the best of me!  So I forced my body to relax as I awkwardly waited for the shot.  The medicine didn't burn a bit.  And that's about the only thing I had time to think before I started to black out.  The room was spinning, everything was black, and, even though I could hear the nurse talking, I could not understand what she was saying, much less follow her instructions.  I was holding onto the table I had been leaning over for dear life.  She had to pull a chair up behind me and force me back into it.  Finally my head started to clear.  I felt foolish and weak and (as is normal for me when I pass out), I was very emotional.  I cried a little bit to the nurse.  Then on my way home I called my husband, my mom, and a couple of my closest friends and I cried then too.  Poor Caryn got the full deluge of my emotions.  Fears I didn't even know I had came pouring out and I cried and cried.
  I learned that day (once again) that it's ok to fear.  I know I cannot live in fear, but fear is very real, and needs to be faced.  I cannot overcome it on my own...but if I don't acknowledge it, then I cannot even allow the peace of God to cover it.  I found things I didn't know were hiding in my heart, and I'm thankful for that day.  I also had to promise everyone that I wouldn't go alone to the rest of my appointments that week!
  Tuesday, I had to get another shot and my sister-in-law went with me.  It was very uneventful (I knew what to expect this time!), but she and I had a very nice trip to Murfreesboro and back.  It gave us rare, kid-free conversation!  That night, I left work early.  I had started feeling dizzy after the second shot, and I was too weak to keep up with production.  I was hoping I would be able to come back after my scan Friday morning, since I would be able to take my medicine and eat "real food" once the scan was done.
  Wednesday, I had a few appointments.  I had to get blood drawn, register with the hospital for my scan at the end of the week, and meet with my surgeon for a check-up.  My mom and my daughter went with me.  We stopped to pick up my dad for lunch between appointments.  We went to IHOP and I had a bowl of  mixed fruit.  I don't like honeydew.
  The appointments were mostly, "hurry up and wait."  The actual "doing" didn't take long at all.  I did have an informative visit with my surgeon.  He confirmed that half of my vocal chords still have absolutely no movement, but that the other half is compensating well.  He said singers have the most success in this type of situation, so (once again) I am thankful for all the years of singing that have trained my vocal cords to stretch beyond what they would normally do.
  Thursday, I was able to just stay home.  I still wasn't back to work, and it was nice to have a day with my family where I didn't go anywhere at all.  But the next day I had my scan, and as much as I smiled and loved on my kids and just took time to be close to my family, underneath it all there was a little knot in my stomach over the upcoming scan.
  Friday came soon enough.  A dear friend was able to ride with me to the hospital.  The scan it's self was easy.  Lay on a table for about 20 minutes while you get moved slowly through a huge machine.  I think I dozed off for a few minutes somewhere in there (it's best to keep your eyes closed, since the machine is a very few inches from your face, which can make you feel claustrophobic).  Then they have the radiologist take a preliminary look at the results before they let you go.  Unfortunately for me, the radioactive iodine hadn't moved through my system as completely as they needed it to, so they asked me to come back the next morning for another scan.  So much for going in to work on Friday!
  Saturday came and my sister rode with me this time.  Since it was the weekend, the area of the hospital that we needed to go to was next to empty.  They didn't have to scan the lower third of my body this time, so that knocked a few minutes off of the time I was in the machine.  That day I was more nervous than the day before; having to come back for anther scan wasn't sitting well with me.  But finally we were done, and then my sister and I went out for a wonderful brunch!  I ate an omelet stuffed with all sorts of meat and cheese.  My stomach was upset later from the sudden change in diet after such bland food for a week, but it was SO worth it!
  Now all we had to do was wait for the results.  I went back to work on Monday.  My mom made arrangements to go with me for the results, which would be Thursday.  Brad and I didn't talk about it much that week, but it was weighing on both of us.  He would randomly ask me if I was ok.  And, slowly, I became ok.  As I prepared myself for Thursday, I was given a strength and peace that had been missing.  On Thursday I was ready for anything.  Brad called me before I left the house to pray with me.  We both began to cry, but I was able to honestly pray, "not my will, but Yours."  I cannot say that at that moment I knew that the cancer wasn't totally gone, but I can say that I was completely prepared for bad news.  There is a reason it's called, "peace that passes understanding."  I still don't understand how I can face this illness and not have constant worry or pain or anger or fear or sorrow.  But the peace is there.  I'm not saying the other feelings are never around, of course.  Just that...God wins.  I trust Him and whatever He has planned for me.
  So now we just have to decide what we're going to do about the remaining cancer.  I'm still up in the air about it.  At first, it made sense to go through with another round of radiation.  And maybe that IS the best course.  I'm just not as sure about it as I was.  The oncologist suggested that course, and it is the easiest, fasted route to take.  But I scheduled an appointment with my surgeon for the same day as I meet with my general practitioner, early next month.  I feel like I need perspectives from both of them before I decide for sure what to do.  My other option would be to have more scans done before we proceed with any treatment, just to be sure we know exactly where the cancer is, how big it is, and anything else that is currently unknown.  So please pray for wisdom in this area.
  After my results on Thursday, I wanted to be close to my family.  And my birthday was on Saturday.  So we went to a matinee showing of Man of Steel, then came home to a huge birthday party with my entire family at my house.  On Sunday we went to my parents' house after church for lunch and didn't end up coming home until around 10.  I loved spending time with everyone, but it made for a very busy weekend.  Monday was a more physical day at work than usual, and on Tuesday I finally crashed.  The heat and emotional roller coaster of the last two weeks, topped by the (wonderful, yet) busy weekend all finally caught up to me.  I didn't do much of anything yesterday, and the rest was very good for me.  Even now, I'm worn out, but I'm much better than I was yesterday.  Brad is in a very similar state.  This is another way you can pray for us; that we would get the rest we need and that we would recover quickly from this draining experience.
  I hope reading this is helpful to someone.  Even if what you're facing isn't cancer, there is a natural process to dealing with trauma, and it's fine to go through that process.  It's normal, and it doesn't mean you're weak or have no faith.  You need to mourn loss, you need to acknowledge fear.  But remember not to live in those low spots.  Pray for strength and peace, and share your concerns with someone who will pray for you and with you.  Then lean on the One who gives you every breath and know that He is in control.