I know this has been a long time coming, but here is the update: I’m cancer free. My last round of treatment was on August 1st, we got the PETscan done August 24th, and got the news from my doctor on the 27th. When the doctor said that I was in “100% remission”, Danny immediately starting tearing up and came over to hug me, so relieved that this was over. I wanted to feel joy, relief, happiness, but in that moment I went numb. It was like it wasn’t real. After all of the pain and stress and fear, how could this possibly be over so quickly?
I didn’t have much time to process all of this because later that week we traveled to CA to be with my brother for his beautiful wedding to my new sister, who has been one of my favorite people since 11th grade. It was a great time with family and it was a good break from everything back here in TN, including cancer. When we first heard about the tumor back in April my immediate thought was that I might not get to go to the wedding at all. It was such a blessing to not only get to go, but to also go knowing that the worst was behind me.
About 2 weeks after we got home, Danny completely surprised me with a cancer-free celebration at one of my favorite sushi restaurants in town. I thought we were going to have a date night at Jimmy Johns so imagine my astonishment when we walked into Miso and 10 of some of my favorite people were sitting around a table waiting for me. I was so overwhelmed with love for Danny and gratitude for these people – most of them had been on their hands and knees cleaning my home right before treatment or had cooked multiple bland meals for me to eat after treatment. It was a wonderful night, but it was also bittersweet. I felt like I should be over this cancer, ready to move on and get things back to how they were before. I felt like I didn’t have an excuse any more to be bald or overweight or emotionally sensitive. You see, since getting back from CA things have been difficult – more difficult than I would have ever expected. I really thought that fighting the cancer would be the hard part and then it would be over. I began to see that the adjustment back to “normal” life takes time, is very difficult, and is part of the long process of recovery. I wanted to be crazy thrilled and jumping for joy and yelling from the rooftops that I survived, but I wasn't. I was inexplicably sad. This whole thing had just been so devastating. I felt like cancer had changed me in ways that I didn’t really like and would never choose for myself. I felt more fragile, indecisive, and emotionally unstable. Little changes equated to big changes and big changes were nearly impossible to face or deal with. Work was a weary chore instead of an exciting challenge. It felt like this cancer had stripped me of so much of my joy and sense of adventure.
This all makes sense when you look at what my body was trying to process. I mean, it first had cancer growing in it. Then it had poison dumped into it for months. Then I started menapause (including hot flashes). Then after two months I got my period. The hormones in my body are angry hormones. I started taking some medicine to help balance everything out and it has made a HUGE difference. Since January I am feeling much more able, much more positive, and much more like myself.
On December 16th, Danny and I went to Nashville for a couple of days to see Andrew Peterson's Christmas concert. We went last year as well and it's a really special getaway for us. We have so little time together on a normal week, so it is precious to have 2 whole days with each other and no other obligations. Plus, we have so much fun when we travel together. We spent an entire afternoon sitting in the hotel room watching the preview channel and eating room service! Anyway, it just happens that this concert last year was the second time my knee really started hurting and the first time we took the pain seriously. I remember clutching my knee throughout the concert and getting tylenol from a stranger sitting nearby. I hobbled all over Nashville without a clue that four months later we would find out it was cancer. Going back to Nashville this year without cancer in my body, going back in the venue where I was so keenly aware of my pain last year without any pain whatsoever, taking time to plan the future with the love of my life with the cancer in the past was incredibly healing for me. I kept waiting for a moment when not having cancer would click for me - I thought it would be when Dr. Lamb told me I was in remission but it wasn't. I had spent months in a sort of waiting area, knowing that I don't have cancer but still feeling as damaged as when I did. But then came the concert.
First, I have to give you a little background. Behold the Lamb of God is an incredible concert experience and Andrew Peterson has been doing it every year for over a decade now. It begins with a reading from The Jesus Storybook Bible, written by Sally Lloyd-Jones. They read "You know the Bible isn't a book of rules or a book of heroes. The Bible is most of all a story. It's an adventure story about a young hero who comes from a far country to win back his lost treasure. It's a love story about a brave prince who leaves his palace, his throne, everything, to rescue the one he loves. It's like the most wonderful of fairy tales that has come true in real life. You see, the best thing about this story is it's true. There are lots of stories in the Bible but all the stories are telling one big story, the story of how God loves his children and comes to rescue them. It takes the whole Bible to tell this story and at the center of the story, there's a baby. Every story in the Bible whispers his name. He is like the missing piece of a puzzle, the piece that makes all the other pieces fit together and suddenly you can see a beautiful picture..."
In listening to this in the Ryman, I remembered something. After my 4th treatment I was scheduled to get a PETscan to see if the cancer had been succesfully eradicated. Waiting those four weeks were horrible, both Danny and I were wreaks. It was so nerveracking to not know whether it was over or not. A few days before the PETscan my awesome Sunday School class prayed over me. I know they said wonderful hopeful things, but all I can remember is saying in my head over and over again "God, rescue me. Father, rescue us from this. I can't do it anymore. Rescue me." I realized at the Ryman when that quote was read that He had done it again - rescued me. He has saved me over and over and over again throughout my life, but for some reason I hadn't put it together with cancer. Things won't be perfect and the process will be difficult and my life won't ever be the same again BUT I didn't die. Cancer didn't have the final say. This fact finally rang true through my mind that night at the concert and for the first time I was wholly and truly thankful, joyous, and ready to move forward. I don't have cancer anymore. I don't know why I got it in the first place and I don't know why I was lucky enough to be spared, but I do know that I have survived.
This paradigm shift has given me a new understanding of this crazy life. I have never been perfect and never will be. I often make it painfully obvious that I have many flaws. Cancer didn't create that in me. That's just who I am. Cancer didn't make me more damaged than before. It may have covered up some of my pride and selfishness with sickness and disease, but it never warped me from an angel to someone unloveable or hideous or pathetic. I have always struggled and I continue to do so. But if the Father loved me back in highschool and through college and through the Navy and through the first year of marriage, He absolutely loves me now. And that love covers over all of my mess. It always has and it always will, no matter what evil lies crouched at my door. This, to me, is the reason for holding on to a faith that doesn't make sense all the time and praying to a God that sometimes seems cruel and giving my life over to a religion that I find very difficult to explain to others. Because in July of 2000 I stood in front a crowd condeming myself for all of the things I had tried to do right but ended up doing wrong. In that moment I asked God if he really wanted the mess that I had become and without hesitation I heard a joyous "YES!" in my mind. And that is what I love about Jesus. He loves me. And I don't have to do anything for it. Santification is a process and one that I am pretty much a passive participant in. Jesus takes my crap - crap that has been done to me, crap that has been said about me, crap that I believe about myself, crap that I give to the ones I love the most, to my co-workers, to my church, to the world - and wipes it away. Day by day. He gives me hope that I can start again, that things can get better, that I can only do what I can do. And that what I can do is enough. So even though cancer was devastating, I believe God is good. And so what if it took me six months after I was cured to contribute to society again, I believe God is patient. I believe God is nearby and not far away, that He is breathed in with every breath, and that He does care, deeply. I don't think God wanted me to have cancer - I don't think He wanted the world to ever have to know what cancer was. I don't know why the world is so cruel and empty and I sometimes scream at God for not coming today to set it right again.
But I do know I am loved. And to me, that is worth everything.
So, on to the next big adventure...
We are moving this summer. Danny will graduate with his Masters of Divinity in May and then will begin a PhD program in New Testament in August. So far he has been accepted to two programs and we are waiting to hear from the third. We'll be going to either Chicago, Denver, or Lexington. I will need to find a job and hopefully be able to get a management position with Marriott. I am thrilled to start over in a new place with Danny and establish ourselves as a couple in a new community (with our cutesy kitties). To find a church together, to explore the area together, to discover a new favorite restuarant together, and...
start the process of adopting a baby! Both Danny and I are so excited about this, even though we are still in the very early stages. A natural born baby may come afterwards, but that is still up in the air. We think that I will be able to get pregnant and that is another thing cancer didn't end up taking from us, what a blessing. Since the Ryman and my new medicine, I have had much more vigor and motivation to do something other than sleep and watch tv. Out of that came...
a new business called Painted Patchwork. Cancer scared me in the "do I really enjoy what I'm doing with my life?" sort of way. Being creative makes me happy and I've found a cool outlet for it. I'm painting different quilt blocks on 4" by 4" canvas' in all different colors and selling them. My Etsy shop should be up and running in less than a month. You can check it out (eventually) at www.etsy.com/shop/PaintedPatchwork if you like. Most of the profit will go into our adoption fund.
Thank you everyone for the incredible outpouring of support and love you've shown me and Danny. Thank you to all of your who sent me things in the mail - they reminded me that I wasn't alone. Thank you for those who gave us money - there is no possbile way we could have gotten through it without it. Thank you to Laura and Jeff who called me almost every day to check in on me even though they were so far away. Thank you to all of the people who came to clean our house from top to bottom before my first chemo round. Thank you to Julie who drove 20 hours twice just to be by me and pray over me. Thank you to Trisha who came to babysit me when I was in pain and doped up on drugs and Danny had to be at school. Thank you to Beth who bought me my scarf of strength and let me cry on her when I hated my short hair cut that she had paid for. Thank you to my Dad who drove down to watch the Muppets with us after my leg biopsy. Thank you to Tiffany who took time to make us chemo appropriate food and stop by just to chat. Thank you to my MILLY and Stever for sacrificing their vacation time to clean the cat litter, make us dinner, give Danny a much needed break, and for making my prayer blanket. Thank you to Jordan who woke up early and spent the day with Danny while I was in chemo to help keep him steady. Thank you to Jim who prayed over me every night before chemo and gave me courage. Thank you to my Mom, who basically paid all of my medical bills, who sat next to me when I found out the chemo would likely cause infertility, who made me Neebo to be my chemo friend, for offering to basically quit her job to help us, for spending countless hours in waiting rooms and doctor's offices, for listening to me cry on the phone when I felt like a disappointment, for putting together puzzles quietly with me, and for being the mom every girl wishes for.
And my Danny. Danny was there getting me ice packs and heating pads for those weeks I couldn't sleep because the pain in my leg was so great. Danny was there enforcing my crutch usage when they found the tumor in my leg. Danny was there was the doctor said it was cancer and he was there that weekend when we didn't know what would happen next. Danny was there for that first day getting chemo, when I was so afraid I was throw up on the floor or cry the whole time and embarrass myself. He got me lunch at Jimmy Johns and tucked in my blanket around my feet and got me a Sprite with a straw to drink. He let me be who I needed to be so that I could get through it. He was there that night when my world came crashing down and was still there in the morning. He had to stop using so much garlic in his stir-fry because it made me sick. He had to keep the tv off because it made me sick. He patiently comforted me every day, every hour, every minute. He drew baths for me and made me food. He cried with me and for me. I know now that wherever I may go, he will be with me. And whatever I must face, he will stand next to me. We are stronger and better together. Thank you baby for enduring this with me. We did it.
