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 And then even the hope of enjoying a sport would have been replaced by frustration and shame.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!