During isolation I’ve done a lot of things to pass the time. I have completed and sent to the finisher more needlepoint projects than I can count, learned to cook in an Instant Pot, watched videos, ordered supplies, and learned to re-cane an antique chair seat, reorganized my kitchen pantry a la The Home Edit, and went through stacks and stacks of “treasures” I’d saved for years in plastic tubs. I won’t say I’m a hoarder, but Madison did convince me I didn’t need to keep every single report card she, Allie and Noah ever received. The significance of some of these treasures was known only to me—the piece of paper with faded purple and red strips of construction paper glued randomly across it, Allie’s first ever art project from Mother’s Day Out, was as priceless to me as any Picasso. Other items were just, put simply, trash. As I went through the stacks of “stuff,” memories and feelings washed over me. Pictures from our honeymoon, the birth of our children, reminders of their tiny hands holding mine—all took me back to those precious times. This was not a task for the faint of heart or to be completed in a single afternoon! 

I admit it—I like to collect things. Every time we go to Rosemary Beach I collect a bowl of shells. Not because I need any more shells, but because the little pile reminds me of when they were collected, time spent with family, long afternoons in the sunshine, and walks along the beach. I have a rock in my bedroom that I picked up on the beach in Pacific Palisades on Delphine’s first beach trip. Every time I see it I am taken back to that day and her tiny hand holding my finger. The piece of petrified wood on my fireplace mantel does the same thing—it reminds me of the cross-country trip with Gary and our visit to Petrified Forest National Park. Anniversaries and mementos can also remind us just how far we’ve come and the obstacles we’ve had to overcome to get there.

On Friday, November 13, 2020, at 12:52 pm I rang the bell at MD Anderson. I have the photos and a video to prove it! This means my cancer “treatment” is DONE, and instead of saying “I have cancer” I can now say “I HAD cancer.” After while, crocodile…gotta go buffalo…bye bye butterfly…out the door dinosaur…later gator. It is a good feeling knowing that I can now move past treatment and begin to focus all my energy on recovery. Ringing the bell was a tangible act to signify the end of a very long, very difficult journey. It was my “Ebenezer” (1 Samuel 7:12) and it was celebratory for sure. But as I celebrated among the clapping and cheering of nurses and MDA staff, there was also sadness that my family was unable to be there with me. Seeing their faces, hearing their cheers, feeling their hugs would have made the day so much more special.

The following week I had a prophylactic mastectomy on my right side. Although I knew the chances of me developing a new breast cancer in my right side were only slightly elevated, I didn’t want to take that chance. The odds hadn’t been in my favor in the past. The surgery went well. I will have one additional surgery sometime early next year and I should be done with reconstruction. My hope is it can be done before Sweet Pea’s birth in February, but we will see. 

Triple Negative Breast Cancer, if it recurs, does so swiftly, usually within the first three years. After five years, the risk of recurrence for TNBC falls dramatically. My oncologist said that is one of the “blessings” of TNBC—you don’t really have to worry about it recurring 15 years down the road. It is a bit disconcerting, however, that there are no tests, scans, or other things they will do to try to “catch” any recurrence early. If a problem crops up—more headaches than usual, worsening cough, dizziness, or pain—they will investigate it and see if its back. TNBC usually metastasizes to the brain, lungs, or bone. My job over the next four years is to not think “I’m back” with every migraine, every headache, every ache and pain, every allergy attack.

February 4, 2021 will be my one year “cancer-versary”—four more to go until I can take a deep sigh of relief. I know I will not be able to completely put the fear away, but I am going to do my best to live each day with intention, with joy, looking forward to what is to come with the anticipation that it will be a gift and it will be good.

Saying this has been a crazy year for all of us, is quite the understatement. Everyone has experienced upheaval, anxiety, fear, and changed plans and circumstances. I don’t think there is a person on the planet that can say this year has turned out just like they wanted it to. In so many ways, up has become down and down has become up. What we thought of as “givens” at the end of 2019 turned to ashes in 2020. But even in the midst of the crazy, the chaos, and the confusion of having cancer in the midst of a pandemic, God has been with me every single step of the way: guiding, directing, comforting, providing.

At the beginning of this journey I recognized God’s “fingerprints” in the diagnosis of my cancer. I saw how His timing, His guidance, and His provision worked together to allow my cancer to be treated at MD Anderson, even in the midst of a global pandemic. Standard treatment would not have been successful for me. My tumors did not respond well, and actually grew, while I was on standard chemotherapy. My only hope for a cure was a clinical trial. And because of the timing of my diagnosis, my stating I wanted to participate in a clinical trial at my first oncologist appointment, and the timing of my signing the informed consent and initial testing for the trial before “Covid lockdown,” I was able to be treated at MD Anderson even though I lived in Louisiana. Each of these circumstances clearly bore the “fingerprints” of God.

I also know my treatment experience was not “usual” and I can only attribute that to God’s provision as well. At the very beginning, my oncologist and the clinical trial nurse both warned me I would miss a treatment or two due to my counts being low, infection, or other illness. Although the clinical trial phase of chemotherapy/immunotherapy was delayed a week waiting on insurance approval, I never missed a single scheduled treatment. Not a one. The clinical trial nurse said that never happens. Twenty infusions, each on schedule, even in the midst of a global pandemic, state lockdowns, Texas border closing, and not one but two, hurricanes. I also never experienced the debilitating nausea many people have with chemotherapy. My blood counts stayed relatively high and just below normal range. It wasn’t all a bed of roses by any means, but on the whole, I was still able to eat the foods I wanted, walk three miles most mornings, and feel pretty good. I even adjusted fairly quickly to the no hair, no eyebrows, no eyelashes look. My avoidance of the worst side-effects, and my ability to tolerate those I did have, was a gift from God and an answer to my prayers. 

Finding my cancer when and how I did, was also a gift straight from God. Not letting my “clear” mammogram dissuade me from the feeling something was wrong, and following up on that, meant my cancer was caught early. We didn’t know just how early until the pathology report from my surgery—six months later—showed that the cancer wasn’t in my lymph nodes and had never been in my lymph nodes. At my very first visit with the surgeon at MD Anderson he said “Cancer in your breast won’t kill you. It is when it leaves the breast that it causes problems.” Because my cancer was found early, and stopped from spreading by the clinical trial immunotherapy, it never left my breast. The fact it never got to my lymph nodes also meant I didn’t have to endure six weeks of radiation treatment. More importantly, it increased the odds of my long-term survival. 

Cancer is, and will always be, a part of my life. It changed me. Not just physically, but emotionally, spiritually, mentally. I am not the same person I was before hearing the words “you have triple negative breast cancer.” The plans I had for my life, my future, the activities that gave my life meaning all seem a little more tenuous. The past year has seen God close some doors with a pretty firm slam, while opening others I hadn’t considered before. Family is even more important to me. For the first time since my parents died, I no longer feel like an orphan. My children and grandchildren have always been a priority, but now I want to hold onto them just a little tighter, just a little longer. Gary has been my biggest support, never leaving my side, keeping me focused on the goal, sending endless silly dog videos to keep my spirits up. Yes, I was alone for my infusions, appointments, scans, and surgeries, but most times, so was Gary. I may have been the one who had cancer, but my entire family suffered the consequences.

I really have no idea what comes next, what God has planned. I know whatever it is, it will be good and He will reveal it in His time. God really doesn’t “waste wounds” and I know just as he used my family’s experience with addiction to help others, He will use our experience with cancer to help those dealing with this disease. 

As 2019 came to a close, I declared 2020 to be my year of JOY. The joy hasn’t always been apparent, but nevertheless, it was there when I looked for it. As my year of JOY draws to an end, I am declaring 2021 to be my year of GRATITUDE. Finding joy even in the worst of circumstances can only lead to gratitude for the gifts of grace and mercy showered on me. This year I found the joy, and the blessings, of having triple negative breast cancer, and I will be forever grateful to my family and friends who walked this journey with me, and to God for guiding me to the other side of this valley called cancer.

This will be my last email update as I’m going to get back to living life. I want to thank each and every one of you who have read my updates, prayed for me, sent me cards, texts and emails of encouragement, brought us meals, and remembered us during my treatment. You have all been used by God to keep me going. 

Love,
Tanya

Elevator etiquette has certainly changed since COVID. Well, at least it has at all the places I go—Rotary House and MDA. Before, squeezing one more person on a cramped, full elevator was almost like a game of Tetris. Now, when the doors open, if there is just one person on the elevator I ask if they are ok with me getting on. I’ve only been denied admission a couple of times so far and that’s ok. This new norm of no more than four in an elevator makes for some long delays getting to your floor, but waiting is a small price to pay to keep everyone safe. 

Most of these elevator rides are done in silence. Everyone at Rotary House or Mays Clinic or the main hospital where I take my elevator rides either has cancer or is there with a family member who does. We all have a lot on our plates and on our minds. Occasionally, these elevator rides have involved short, but meaningful, conversations. Once as I was going up to my room a woman commented on the gallon of water I was carrying. I told her I had immunotherapy the next day and I joked I was making sure to stay hydrated. She immediately said her mother had just been offered an immunotherapy clinical trial and they knew nothing about immunotherapy. She asked about my experience and as the elevator arrived at my floor I was able to tell her I felt it had saved my life. On another occasion, I was riding up with two strangers. As the rather cranky woman exited her floor she said “try to have a good day.” When the doors closed the man said he didn’t know how, he had just been diagnosed that day with cancer. In the short elevator ride I was able to tell him it gets better, that today was the worst day, and that I would pray for him. As he left the elevator on his floor, he thanked me for the encouragement.

Every single day, wherever we find ourselves, we have the opportunity to encourage and lift others up. “So then, whenever we have an opportunity, let us do good to all people, and especially to those who belong to the family of faith.” Galatians 6:10 A smile or a kind word, a card in the mail, or a quick text message can do wonders for someone who is struggling. When my cancer journey began, Madison gave me a “Joy Box” to hold cards and letters people sent to me. It has overflowed. I have received so many cards encouraging me, letting me know I was being prayed for, simply saying I wasn’t forgotten. Many times, during the dark days of isolation, I have gone through my box to remind myself I am not alone.

I don’t know why I got cancer. It was nothing I did. It wasn’t caused by a genetic mutation passed down from my parents. It just happened. Given a choice, I would choose not to have cancer. But I can already see some good has come from it. It has certainly deepened my faith. I have seen God’s hand, His grace and mercy, all through this difficult time. He has provided, strengthened, and never left my side. My relationship with Gary has also grown closer. We recognize our time together is a gift and growing old together, while hoped for, isn’t promised. Time with family has always been important, but it has risen to a new level of priority. I want to spend every second I can with my children and grandchildren. But it’s not just about me. I know God will use what I’ve experienced, what I’ve learned as a cancer warrior to help others if I will let Him. I will look for every opportunity, every “divine appointment” to encourage others along their journey.

This past Friday I had the third of four post-surgery immunotherapy infusions. One more and I can ring the bell and be done with my cancer treatment! I can see the light at the end of the tunnel and I am looking forward to life in the after cancer sunshine. The week after my last immunotherapy in mid-November I will have my second big surgery. As a precaution, I have chosen to have a prophylactic mastectomy on my right side. I know my risk of developing cancer in my remaining breast is only slightly elevated, but any additional risk is more than I’m willing to take. This upcoming surgery will involve another mastectomy as well as beginning reconstruction. I am looking forward to having cancer behind me by Christmas!

October is breast cancer awareness month and my Pinterest feed has turned pink and sparkly. Lots of slogans, lots of reminders, lots of pink ribbons. The popularity around breast cancer is a good thing. It means more women are aware of their risk and take getting an annual mammogram and self-exams seriously. It also translates into research dollars which is vital to finding treatments to prolong the lives of women who find themselves with a cancer diagnosis. Women like me whose cancer didn’t respond to standard treatments, need the investigative therapies, new drugs and clinical trials these research dollars bring. The profusion of pink and popularity also lets those of us who have breast cancer know that we are not alone. These are all good things.

But what is the cost of all this pink? No one likes to look at ugly. That’s why we put up privacy fences to block out the eyesores next door and hide our clutter and messes in closets. We hide behind the words “I’m fine,” and we wrap the ugliness of breast cancer in pink ribbons and bows. Because no one wants to look at the ugliness of breast cancer—especially the woman going through it. The danger of covering breast cancer in pink ribbons and cute slogans is that we never get to the part that is real. We never deal with our scars, with the messy, with the pain, with the fear. With the ugly. We hide behind “I’m fine” because it’s easier. 

As a community of breast cancer warriors and survivors we need the pink ribbons, we need walks for a cure, we need breast cancer awareness month. But we also need a friend who will look us in the eye when we say we are “fine” and know that we are not. A friend who will listen to our fears, understand our anger, wipe our tears, and laugh with us when we are being ridiculous. We all need a friend we cannot hide from.

Having cancer—any cancer—is a scary business. From diagnosis through treatment your focus is on your next appointment, next scan, next surgery until the day you are declared cancer free and done. I am almost at the point where I can say cancer is behind me. Good riddance. I want to wash my hands of this year and get back to living my life like it was before cancer. The problem is, I don’t entirely know how to do that. 

I asked my oncologist at my last appointment the dreaded question—how will I know if I’m still cancer free. He asked me if before cancer came into my life  I went each year to get my left arm x-rayed just to make sure it wasn’t broken. He said, of course you didn’t. You only went to get an x-ray if there was a problem with it. Same with my cancer: if a problem arises, we will investigate it and deal with it. He also said it could take a year or more for me to feel confident again that I was healthy. Before, I thought the scariest part of having cancer was the diagnosis and treatment. Now I know it is the aftermath. How to pick up the pieces and feel safe in my own skin.

I know God does not want me to live in a state of fear. When my focus is on my fear, I cannot see the blessings God is providing. And I know that throughout my cancer journey, God has provided every single step of the way. Over and above what I could have ever asked for. I know He has been with me, calming my anxiety, making His presence known. I have a choice: I can let my fear become a cave that surrounds me, where the darkness threatens to overwhelm me, or I can choose to trust in God’s goodness in the midst of the darkness. 

King David knew something about dwelling in that cave of anxiety and fear. He fled to the the cave of Adullam and stayed there for quite a while hiding from Saul. The Psalms he wrote during this time were raw and real. He poured out his heart to God and wasn’t afraid to share his discouragement. One of the Psalms written during this time, Psalm 142:4, says, “Look and see, there is no one at my right hand; no one is concerned for me. I have no refuge; no one cares for my life.” David was throwing himself a big ol’ pity party. Yet, Acts 13:22 says, “God raised up David their king. He testified about him: ‘I have found David the son of Jesse to be a man after my heart, who will accomplish everything I want him to do.’” David could whine and complain and pour out his discouragement and fear and still be called a man after God’s own heart. His relationship with God was deep and real.

Years ago, in a book I can’t even remember the name of, I read a sentence I haven’t forgotten: God is big enough to handle your anger, discouragement and fear. I don’t have to hide my anger at having cancer—He already knows it. I don’t have to pretend everything is rosy and I’m not afraid of my cancer coming back—He knows that too. Real relationships require honesty and authenticity. They are raw. In a real relationship we share the good times, the not so good times, and the downright awful times. I am thankful God is not some distant deity looking down benevolently but removed from my life and my problems. No, He is right here with me. He knows every single one of my fears. He has seen every single tear I’ve cried in the middle of the night. As I look to “life after cancer” I will choose not to be controlled by my fears. “For God did not give us a Spirit of fear but of power and love and and self-control.” 2 Timothy 1:7 But I know the fears will come. And when they do, I won’t hide them from God. I will share them with Him and He will calm my heart.

It takes a lot of energy to wrestle with a bear. Since February every ounce of energy I’ve had has been used fighting my bear—triple negative breast cancer. It has consumed my mental and physical energy and nearly every minute of my time. Countless hours have been spent researching just how vicious my particular bear can be, what limited treatments are available for my particular bear, and what options would give me the best shot at defeating my bear. Add the weekly trips to Houston, nights away from home, hours spent in doctors offices and infusion centers, surgery and a hospital stay, and there hasn’t been time for much else in my life—or Gary’s for that matter. But the fight is almost done. I have three more immunotherapy infusions that will continue to strengthen my own immune response to any triple negative breast cancer cells that may rear their ugly head down the road, and two, possibly three, more surgeries to go. Today I am cancer free and as Papaw would tell me, I can fight a bear for a couple more months.

Much of my Bible reading and study during this season has been in the Old Testament. Rereading the stories of Joseph, David, and Job have kept me focused on God’s steadfast love and mercy in times of trial and discouragement. Lately the story of the Israelites deliverance from the Egyptians and their trek to the Promised Land has really resonated with me. They had their own particular bear—Pharaoh—to deal with. When it was time, God brought them out of Egypt and to the edge of the Red Sea where to them, the situation seemed even more hopeless. They were stuck between an army intent on killing them and a sea they couldn’t cross on their own. So they whined. They complained. And in the midst of their panic and unbelief, God delivered them on dry land to the other side. God defeated an enemy too big for them to fight on their own, in a way only He could accomplish.

I can relate to the Israelites. I too needed to be delivered from a bear too big for me to defeat on my own. When my trek began down the path of standard chemotherapy treatment I was hopeful I was leaving my Egypt. My “Red Sea moment” came when it was discovered my particular cancer was not responding to standard chemotherapy and was, in fact, growing. I could stay the course and be overtaken by my cancer or I could step out in faith and chose to trust a clinical trial therapy. But first I whined. And complained. Through it all, God had a plan. Long before my diagnosis, He had prepared and set in motion so many moving pieces to get me to MDA and in the Artemis Clinical Trial. From the day of my diagnosis, the thought that repeatedly ran through my head was if I were to survive this, I had to be at MDA and participate in the Artemis Clinical Trial. At my very first appointment I told my oncologist I wanted to be in the Artemis Clinical Trial before he even mentioned the possibility of a clinical trial for my cancer. I believe this was God whispering His plan of deliverance to my heart. I am so thankful I listened and acted on His plan.

The big mama bear of triple negative breast cancer may have been defeated, but her cubs are still around. I’m currently wrestling with the cub of reconstruction. I had been so focused on getting rid of the cancer that I didn’t really pay attention to how difficult or how long the reconstruction process would be. I will be wrestling with that particular cub for a while. I also find myself from time to time wrestling with the cub of body image. This one was a sneak attack that ambushed me out of the blue. However the biggest cub, by far, is the cub of “life after cancer.” She is elusive. She hides in the tree line, waiting. I can’t yet picture my life after cancer, what it will look like, how to return to “normal” life. The pandemic has skewed any semblance of normalcy into something strange and unnatural. I want my life after cancer to be filled to overflowing with time spent with my family—holidays, beach trips, babysitting grandchildren, and Allie & Josh’s wedding. I also want to enjoy those early morning conversations with family over a cup of coffee, quietly enjoying time spent together doing nothing in particular. As much as I enjoy the quiet tick of my great-grandfather’s clock, I want to hear the laughter of friends in my kitchen as we share a pot of gumbo together. But more than anything, I want my life after cancer to have meaning and purpose. I know God has brought me through this incredibly difficult season and His plan didn’t end when He got me to the other side. I know He has a plan and a purpose moving forward, I just can’t see it yet. “Your word is a lamp for my steps; it lights the path before me.” Psalm 119:105 I want to see the whole plan laid out in front of me. I want to know exactly where I’m going and how I’m going to get there. But that’s not how God generally does things. He illuminates one step at a time. And when we take that step in obedience, He shows us the next one. One day at a time, one step at a time. So today, while I am in the “in-between” part of God’s plan I will try to be patient and wait for His timing to show me life after cancer. He will provide the plan and the strength needed to accomplish it. I know whatever God has in store, it will be better than anything I could  imagine for myself.

To borrow a bit from Dickens, this past week has been  “the best of times, it was the worst of times.” I have been on an emotional roller coaster, and unfortunately, I’ve brought my family along for the ride. I know for many people, chemotherapy is incredibly debilitating and hard, but I tolerated it pretty well. I did have some issues—like the time I thought every tooth in my head was coming out, and losing my hair, eyebrows and eyelashes—but for the most part I was just a little more tired and itchier than normal. My assumption that I would tolerate surgery and recovery just as easily couldn’t have been more wrong.

The first few days following surgery were pretty easy. Going in, I knew I would have limited mobility, there would be some pain involved, and that I’d have to take things slower. I didn’t feel like doing much besides reading or watching HGTV and that was ok. Coming home to no electricity complicated things, but we made it through. 

My ability to deal with boo-boos is limited to a little neosporin and putting a band aid on it, so I was glad Madison was there to help with the softball-sized drains. I love my husband, but he can be a bull in a china shop and I didn’t want him anywhere near my incisions! Those drains became my nemesis—they were a symbol of my dependency and everything that was wrong in my world. There was no way to hide them. They either had to hang on a lanyard around my neck for everyone to see or be attached to a belt around my waist so that it looked like I had an inner-tube under my shirt. When it came time to change out the bio dressing around the drains even Madison had to call in the big guns, Michelle, to help. Thank goodness for friends with the ability, and all the PPE, to get the job done. After a little scare that only one would be coming out, both drains were removed this week. This not only helped by increasing my arm mobility, it was a boost mentally as well.

But I’ve still struggled this past week. At my very first meeting with the surgeon in February I did not hesitate to let him know that I wanted a double mastectomy. I wanted the cancer gone and I didn’t want it to have anywhere to come back to. Every subsequent appointment I reiterated my desire, even when offered breast conserving surgery. So the grief that swept into my life this past week surprised me. My hair is growing back. I have a few new eyebrow hairs. I even have a couple of eyelashes. But there is now a part of me that is just forever gone. And even though I will have reconstructive surgery, I will not be the same. This has been unexpected and hard to deal with this week. It will take time but I will get through it.

The nerve pain also really kicked in this past week. From my armpit to my elbow there is a constant burning and tingling that never seems to go away or get any better. I do the prescribed exercises and massage and try to go about my day but I can’t seem to find any relief. Every day I wake up and think this will be the day that I turn the corner only to lay down that night saying “maybe tomorrow.” The pain and discomfort is wearing me down. I have learned I am not a very patient patient—I want relief now.

Psalm 30:5 has been on repeat in my head this week, “Weeping may go on all night, but in the morning there is joy.” I am trying to remember that this is only temporary, I will not feel like this forever, that joy is coming. I also know that even in the “night” there is good. 

The pathology report this week could not have been better. It showed that the cancer was not in my lymph nodes and had never been in my lymph nodes. This meant that the cancer was completely contained within the tumors in my breast. In addition, the tumors had shrunk 80% from when they were first discovered—primarily due to the combination of the atezolizumab and abraxane—and only 1% of the remaining tumors were active cancer cells. The investigational therapy was successful! Friday morning as I was waiting for my first post-surgery immunotherapy infusion I received a call from the radiation oncologist with the news that based on my pathology report, I would not need to have radiation. This was another huge answered prayer. A little bit later, the nurse that checked me in for my infusion said I was getting a double dose of Mercy today because her name was Mercy and my chemo nurse’s name was Mercy too. I told her God was showering me with His mercy because I had received a wonderful pathology report and had just been told I would not need radiation! The two “Mercys” were just His way of showing out. 

Even in the midst of my depression and distress, God was still there, answering my prayers and making His presence known to me. He was close to me this week, collecting each tear that fell. When the standard chemotherapy failed, I began to fear I would lose my life to cancer. With only 20 something women on this clinical trial track I didn’t know if this investigational therapy would work. There wasn’t a lot of data I could read about that would confirm this was the way I should go. All I knew was that from the very beginning of my journey, I felt strongly that to have any chance of surviving this, I had to be a part of the Artemis Clinical Trial. I believe that was God’s direction. God has answered my prayers and the cancer is gone. “You answer our prayers by performing awesome acts of deliverance, O God, our savior.” Psalm 65:5 God has delivered me from chemo-insensitive triple negative breast cancer. He has delivered me from death to life. 

I have completed the “Red Sea” part of my journey and I can say like Moses did, “The Lord is my strength and my song; He has given me victory. This is my God, and I will praise Him—my father’s God, and I will exalt Him.” Exodus 15:2 I still have quite a journey ahead of me, some of it may be through the wilderness and it won’t be easy. But God will continue to guide me and there will be joy.

This has been one crazy year. Nothing feels “normal” any more. Up is down and down is up. Life feels unsettled and uncomfortable. The activities that formed the rhythm of my life have been changed—no trips to the Farmer’s Market with Allie in Clovis, no walks to the park with Delphine and Fritz, no lunches with friends, no coming together for encouragement and Bible study, no going to worship on Sunday. Even the simple task of buying groceries is complicated—I haven’t seen the inside of a grocery store since February! Many of the “givens” I have built my life on are no longer rock steady. Social distancing and the need to isolate to stay healthy with my compromised immune system have left me locked behind a computer screen, sitting on the other side of a closed window, while life goes on without me. Tomorrow seems so uncertain and trying to figure it out leaves me anxious and fearful. 

Change is inevitable. Uncertainty is a certainty. I cannot know my future.

As I sat wringing my hands this week worrying about when our power would be restored, what the pathology report would show, and about life in general, I realized that even with all this upheaval and discombobulation, there were some truths I knew that would never change.

• God loves me totally and unconditionally. There is nothing I could ever do to make Him love me more or love me less. I am His. “See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!” 1 John 3:1
• God has a plan for my life. I can’t see the future like God can and I don’t necessarily understand how what I’m experiencing today fits into His plan, but His word tells me the plan is good. “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11
• God will take the bad things in my life—like cancer—and will use them for my good and His glory. Cancer is mean, nasty and ugly. It steals and destroys. But God can, and is, using my experience to deepen my reliance on Him, and to enable me to reach out and encourage others facing health challenges. “And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.” Romans 8:28
• God’s will for my life hasn’t changed. “He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” Micah 6:8 “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 I must act justly, be kind, walk humbly, rejoice, pray without ceasing and give thanks in all circumstances—even triple negative breast cancer.

The choice of where to focus is up to me. If I focus on my problems and the uncertainty of tomorrow, I will spend my days anxious and fearful. But by keeping my focus on the things I am certain of—God’s love, His promises, His goodness instead of the craziness of life—I can laugh without fear of the future. 

Walking into the hospital alone last Monday morning was tough. I kept repeating a phrase from the kids show, Rugrats, with every step I took, reminding myself I was a “big brave dog” not a “scaredy-cat.” While they were preparing me for surgery I received an audio message from my friends Jael and James Esendi in Kenya, praying for peace, for my doctors, and my surgery. As I listened to it over and over I did feel peace knowing my friends and family were praying for me. After surgery, in my hospital room, I realized the prayer Shea had been lifting up for a special nurse to make me feel comfortable had been answered. As we were talking I shared how much I missed hugs from my friends. She stopped what she was doing and gave me a big hug! Gary, Madison and I traveled home Thursday. Thankfully our power was finally restored this afternoon—11 days without power!—and I am finally able to settle in at home. Argos is happy! I am sore, but it’s not as bad as I thought it would be. I’m walking about a mile and a half each day and I’m getting stronger. We go back to Houston this week for follow-up surgical appointments and my first post-surgery atezolizumab infusion. I will also get the pathology report from my surgery which will determine, in part, whether or not I will have radiation. I’m not going to worry about what tomorrow may or may not bring. Whatever comes, God will walk me through it.

I had it all planned out. I had everything prepared. I had thought through every wrinkle and made a contingency plan for every possibility. Well, nearly every possibility. I never imagined Laura would roar through Natchitoches as a category 2 hurricane leaving downed trees and power lines just four days before surgery.

This whole year has been a season of the unexpected. In January I didn’t expect to be facing cancer. In February I didn’t expect the world to shut down with a global pandemic. In May I didn’t expect to learn my cancer wasn’t responding to standard treatment. Yet in August, I thought everything leading up to my surgery would go as planned! You would think I would have learned this lesson by now, but I guess I needed a refresher.

Last weekend we were keeping our eye on Tropical Storm Marco and praying it didn’t become a hurricane and impact Houston. We considered traveling a day early if necessary to avoid the bad weather, but as we watched the forecast it appeared we would have good weather to travel on Tuesday as planned. I had scans scheduled for Wednesday and pre-surgery doctors appointments and tests on Thursday, followed by the mandatory asymptomatic COVID test Friday morning. As soon as that was checked off the list, we would travel to Natchitoches for the weekend before returning Sunday for surgery Monday morning. As we were getting checked in at the Rotary House Hotel at MDA, I received a text message from the clinical trial nurse asking if I was still planning to come for my appointments. I wasn’t really sure why she was asking—why wouldn’t I be there? When I told her we had already arrived, she said she was going to work to reschedule as many of my appointments as possible to Wednesday because it looked like MDA would go into emergency mode and be closed Thursday due to Hurricane Laura. I had not expected this. It dawned on me that my surgery could be delayed. I also thought about Hurricane Harvey a few years ago and realized Madison and I may be stuck in Houston for the foreseeable future. I still wasn’t expecting Hurricane Laura would race through Natchitoches.

Thursday morning in Houston was sunny and beautiful. Thursday morning at home in Natchitoches was anything but. Thankfully other than a few lost limbs and trees, everything at home was ok. Gary, Argos, Oscar and the chickens were all safe—although Argos absolutely hates bad weather and was anxious the entire time. I felt like I needed to race home and help Gary clear the driveway, pick up limbs, get the house ready for a possibly extended period without power and deal with all the upheaval Laura left in her wake. Madison and I (possibly the two biggest “planners” on the planet) began to look at the situation and after talking with Gary and Connor realized it was the wisest course of action for us to stay put in Houston. The priority was my surgery on Monday and we didn’t want anything to prevent us from being here for that. So we sent Gary and Connor a list—or two—about what needed to be done, how to do it, what to pack and how to pack it. We may have been guilty of a little micromanagement. The funniest item on their to-do list was to make sure to pack the Not So Bora Bora-ing Pink nail polish! It may have taken them a while to find it, but they came through like champs! After getting everything at home as situated as possible, they left to join us in Houston.

Although the situation was “messy” and unexpected and not how I had it planned, God was there every step of the way providing for us and keeping us safe and protected. Isaiah 43:2 says “When you go through deep waters, I will be with you. When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown. When you walk through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up; the flames will not consume you.” This entire year has been in deep waters. The waves have crashed over me pushing me under. As soon as my head breaks the surface of the water and my lungs fill with air another wave rolls over me and pushes me under again. There have been days when I felt I would drown, that I wouldn’t make it, that it was all just too much to bear. But God has been with me, holding me above the waters long enough to catch my breath, never leaving me alone and forsaken. I will not drown. I will survive. God will bring me safely to the other side of this river of difficulty. He has been faithful to rescue me in the past and I expect He will be faithful to see His plan to completion.

The scans this week showed the atezolizumab/abraxane combination has continued to shrink my tumors! Since the first scans in February, my tumors have shrunk by 76%, with the majority of this coming on the new therapy. The investigative therapy is working! I am first on the surgery schedule Monday morning and have to report at 5:30 am. Once the surgery begins, it should take about five hours. Having to walk into the hospital alone, without my family, and staying in the hospital by myself is the thing that is causing me the most anxiety. I should only have to stay one night in the hospital and one night at the Rotary House. If the power is restored and I feel well enough to travel, we will be home on Wednesday.

In 2007 I was excited as we planned for our trip to Kenya. Gary had been to Kenya in 2005, and he and Allie had been to Chile in 2006, but this would be our first mission trip as a family. By the time we boarded the plane our bags were filled with supplies to teach Bible studies, materials to do crafts with the children, and everything I could possibly think of we may need for two weeks away from everything familiar. We were ready for anything. What I didn’t prepare for was the feeling that came over me as I climbed down the stairs of the plane into the early morning air of Nairobi. The smells of the cooking fires, the sounds of the city waking up, the feel of the air on my skin, all swept me away. In that moment I knew God had called my heart to Kenya and I was home. 

As we gathered our bags and prepared for the eight hour drive to the village where we planned to stay and work for the next two weeks, a storm was brewing. We were aware Kenya had held a presidential election a few days before, but assumed whatever party won, the transition would be a smooth one. After all, the smooth transition of power is one of the hallmarks of a democracy, and Kenya had been a beacon of democracy in East Africa for many years. As we rode in the unairconditioned vans, we couldn’t believe our eyes—baboons walked lazily down the side of the road, some with babies on their backs; zebra grazed in fields; motorcycles whizzed by loaded with firewood and even goats; we shared the road with wooden carts filled with goods pulled by mules; and matatus with fringe in the windows, blaring music, were filled to overflowing with people. We were blissfully unaware of any problems until we reached the halfway point in our journey—Nakuru. 

Our drivers made an unexpected stop and we became aware of the first hint of the problems to come. The election results had just been announced; rioters were beginning to gather, and the epicenter of the unrest was the area where we were headed. It was not safe for us to continue our journey to our original destination; we would be stuck in Nakuru for the foreseeable future. We were driven to the Hotel Kunste, which sat behind a tall, thick wall, and prepared to wait until it was safe to continue our trip. However, we soon realized that the chaos and violence would not end quickly. By the end of January when order was restored, the violence would claim the lives of over 1,300 people and roughly 600,000 people had fled their homes, many never to return. In the area where we were originally to go, a church sheltering about 200 people from the violence was burned to the ground by rioters on New Years Day.

Although we were isolated and not where we were supposed to be, God used us those two weeks. Our days did not look like what we had so meticulously planned. (Kind of like 2020.) At our hotel we met another church group from the US, and we worked together to paint a school building for kids who had been rescued from the street. We went with a group who ministered to street children who huffed glue and feed them beans and rice and shared Jesus. We spent time at the Red Cross IDP (Internally Displaced People) camp listening to their stories, playing with children, doing whatever we could to help. We took buckets of foodstuffs to widows living in the city dump among the refuse, flys and pigs and were blessed beyond measure. The way we saw the world and our place in it was forever changed.

At the end of those two weeks we had to somehow get back to Nairobi for our flight home. The roads were still dangerous and blocked by gangs and rioters, but our driver, Peter, had a plan. For much of our journey we traveled on back roads, literally dirt trails. Sometimes he would get a call and we would leave the road and drive through fields, bumping our heads on the top of the van and praying we did not get stuck. After several hours of anxiety and bumps and dust, we arrived safely at the Presbyterian Guest House in Nairobi where we could shower, have dinner, and wait until it was time to leave for the airport for our midnight flight home. As I stood outside in the courtyard talking on the phone, I turned around and saw the cornerstone of the building. On it was the verse, “Then Samuel took a stone and set it between Mizpah and Shen, and named it Ebenezer, saying, ‘Thus far the LORD has helped us.’”1 Samuel 7:12 It was a reminder to me that God had been with us all along and kept us safe. Nothing in our journey had been a surprise to Him. He had provided opportunities for us to share His love where we were, not where we thought we needed to be. He used the time we were there to solidify in my heart a love for the people of Kenya that continues to grow. “Thus far” also reminds me He’s not done with me yet.

Having cancer during COVID has felt kind of like our time at the Hotel Kunste; walled off from the world, unable to continue to do the things I had planned to do, waiting to see what the future brings. Just when I think I have been sidelined by cancer and no longer useful to God, He has provided opportunities I never could have imagined to share His love. Heading to surgery feels kind of like that wild ride to Nairobi through the bush; racing into the unknown at breakneck speed. Surgery any time is anxiety producing, but the thought of walking into that hospital on my own without my family there is overwhelming. But I won’t really be on my own. God has been with me every step of the way and has brought me safe thus far. He will walk beside me on the rest of this journey. As I head into surgery on the 31st, I will set my own Ebenezer Stone as a reminder of God’s constant care and faithful love, and as a symbol of my faith in His continued provision.

Here I raise my Ebenezer
Here there by Thy great help I’ve come
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure
Safely to arrive at home
Jesus sought me when a stranger
Wandering from the fold of God
He, to rescue me from danger
Interposed His precious blood

Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing by Chris Rice

For the past twelve very long weeks, my Fridays have been spent with blood draws, chemotherapy infusions, and monitoring, followed by a four-hour drive home from Houston on curvy, hilly, two lane roads. But not this week. This past Friday morning I woke up in my own bed, drank my coffee, walked three miles in our woods, and did a little housework before Madison and I rode to Shreveport to do a grocery pick-up, stop at Starbucks, and get some cookies we had ordered. It was a glorious day! But by the afternoon, I was totally exhausted. And frustrated and disappointed and angry. I had the expectation that since I wasn’t having chemo, my body would immediately bounce back to my pre-cancer energy levels. One week without chemo and I would be my old self—able to work in the yard, clean house top to bottom, cook supper, do a few art projects, and leap tall buildings with a single bound, all before washing the supper dishes! 

I knew how I would feel after a chemotherapy infusion—I had lived through the day after chemo 16 times so I knew what to expect—but this was my first experience of how I should feel a week after chemotherapy was complete, and my expectations were totally unrealistic. I’m sure if I had bothered to ask, my oncologist would have chuckled when he told me “No, I wouldn’t have my pre-cancer energy level back eight days after chemotherapy ended.” My knowledge was incomplete and my logic downright faulty. If I had listened to the experts (or Gary) instead of relying on my own thoughts and understanding, I could have saved myself a bit of frustration and anxiety on a Friday evening.

Having expectations isn’t wrong; it’s the way we bring order to our world. We expect the sun to come up in the east and go down in the west. We expect a brownie to taste sweet and chocolaty and rich. The more we know about a situation or thing, the more accurate our expectations can be. As we move through our days, most of our expectations are met and life goes on. But sometimes our understanding of the situation is faulty and our expectations are unrealistic. And those unrealistic expectations can cause a lot of grief for us and for those around us. 

I know I can’t always count on my own understanding. Because of that, one of the scriptures that I repeat often is Proverbs 3:5-6 “Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make your paths straight.” In my Bible it is highlighted in pink, underlined, and placed in a box with stars at the corner. I have notes written all around the margins. When I follow this Scripture and listen for God’s direction, my expectations tend to be much more realistic and life flows much easier. I have much less anxiety this way. When I forget to do this, problems always seem to arise. So as I’m resting and preparing for surgery, I will adjust the sails of my expectations and allow God to be in control of my future. My understanding is limited—right now I can’t see past the wall of cancer and treatment to envision the next year or the one after that. But I know God is there and I expect He has a plan for my future that is good.

When my cancer saga began in February, on our first trip to Houston I told Gary and Madison that no matter what happened, no matter how serious the situation seemed to be, we were going to have FUN! That week, between appointments, we shopped at Rice Village, ate out at some wonderful restaurants, enjoyed Herrman Park, and planned our trips to the museums, the zoo, and an upcoming Cirque du Soleil performance in April. Then along came a little virus that upended all our plans.

There’s no way around it, it has been a long six months. Some days seemed like they were actually weeks long. Isolation has sucked a lot of the “fun” out of having cancer. But my family and friends have kept my spirits up and encouraged me to celebrate even the tiniest of victories. This hasn’t always been easy. Some days just call for a big ole’ pity party and I threw one Thursday evening. As Gary looked on wide-eyed, wondering where his wife had gone, I proceeded to whine and complain because I was finishing chemo and wouldn’t be able to celebrate with Allie and Josh, Noah, Casey and the grandchildren. I had 18 days “off” to rest before the appointments prior to surgery began and I thought it was extremely unfair that because of COVID I was unable to spend those 18 days with all my family and friends. I was stuck at home, with the doors and windows closed, with Argos. Gary’s promise of the best family beach vacation ever after my cancer treatment was done was not enough to bring me out of the pit I was digging for myself. Cancer brings with it a rollercoaster of emotions and I was speeding down the hill. 

Friday morning I walked into M D Anderson Woodlands for the last time. I was greeted by the same sweet woman who has checked me in for every visit. I sat in my favorite chair by my favorite window looking at the woods and feeling the sun while I drank my coffee and waited to be called back for my infusion. I smiled (although with the mask who can tell) at the elderly woman in her fancy dress and cowboy boots that I see in the waiting room each week. After 20 long weeks and 16 infusions I am finally DONE with my neoadjuvant chemotherapy! No more red devil, no more Cytoxan, no more Abraxane. D.O.N.E. At the beginning of my treatment my oncologist and the nurse in charge of the clinical trial both told me not to get discouraged if one or two of my treatments were delayed because of low blood counts or infection. That was to be expected. Over the last 20 weeks my counts have stayed steady and I’ve been healthy and I did not miss a single scheduled treatment. Not a one. I’ve also been spared the debilitating side effects chemotherapy usually brings. Yes, I have been more tired than usual and lost my hair, eyebrows and eyelashes, but for the most part I have been able to continue living life feeling ok. Staying as healthy as I have is truly a gift straight from the hand of God. It is an answered prayer and all the glory goes to Him. 

Because this was the last treatment in “Phase One” of the plan to eradicate my cancer, Madison and I had planned a special dinner to celebrate. I was looking forward to the fresh baked chocolate chip cookies that would be waiting on me when I got home and our usual post-chemo movie night routine. When Gary drove around the last bend in our driveway I spied a flash of color in our front yard—a giant sign that said “Cancer Warrior” with flowers, balloons, pink ribbons, stars, a painter’s pallet and even a llama, filled our entire yard! Madison filmed the whole thing—I couldn’t stop crying. Even though we couldn’t be together to celebrate, my sweet friends Erin, Shea and Allison had planned this to greet me and let me know they were cheering me on. 

Sometimes I forget that I have a choice and it is entirely up to me to decide whether to throw a pity party or a celebration. My circumstances did not change between Thursday night and Friday night. As Madison said, “we still have a million miles to go (uphill, in a tornado, walking over burning coals)” with surgery, immunotherapy, radiation and reconstruction. The next year is going to continue to be hard. But it is entirely up to me whether I want to spend that year whining and complaining about how unfair it is that I have cancer or if I want to live each day as the gift it truly is. I have been focusing entirely on the “night” and forgetting that it will pass and morning will come. I am going to do everything I can to remember that this season of cancer will pass, that this season of isolation will come to an end. So I will “rejoice in hope, endure in suffering, persist in prayer.” Romans 12:12 I will choose each day to focus on the joy in my life. I will remember the blessings I have been given and not the ones I am waiting on or wishing for.  Today I will choose to be joyful, I will choose to be grateful. “Be joyful always, pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

I will have a couple of weeks at home before we gear up for “Phase Two”—surgery. I am sure Argos will be excited not to see the suitcase come out every week! My plan is to rest up, fill my freezer with goodness, get a few projects done, and look for the joy each day.

I’ve watched a lot of HGTV since I’ve been in isolation. Property Brothers, House Hunters Renovation, Flip or Flop and Beachfront Bargain Hunt have given me lots of ideas for projects to do around the house after cancer and life returns to “normal.” I’m sure Gary is thrilled. My latest binge is a show called Good Bones with a mother-daughter duo who take houses that have basically been condemned and abandoned—filled with squatters, animals, filth and rot—and turn them into beautiful designer homes with hardwood floors and granite countertops. From trash to treasure in less than an hour!

The entire process begins with demo day. The crew will literally tear everything out of the house except the studs in the walls, the roof and the floor; sometimes even the roof and the floor joists have to go because they are rotted and unsalvageable. All they are left with is a shell—the “bones” of the house. After they create a design and a vision for what the house could become, the hard work of making this condemned, abandoned and unloved structure into a home begins. New plumbing and electrical systems are put in place so that the house functions safely. The walls are painted, the finishes applied and voila! Where a condemned, abandoned, rotting structure once stood, now we have a beautiful, functional, well-designed home for a family.

Lately, my life kind of feels like one of those houses that needs some work to make it useful again. Having cancer during COVID has forced a lot of my every day life to be stripped away and all that’s left are the “bones.” The activities and relationships that consumed my life six months or a year ago are no longer part of my structure. My “demo day” has shifted my priorities and refocused my attention on some things that needed to be addressed. With time slowed to a standstill, I’ve been able to think and listen to the direction God is leading me, and begin to see how He will refashion my life after this season of cancer. “So then, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; what is old has passed away—look, what is new has come!” 2 Corinthians 5:17 

I don’t know yet exactly what my post-cancer/COVID life will look like. The paring down of responsibilities and activities is not something I would have chosen, but perhaps it was necessary to make way for other opportunities God has planned. It will be a while before I am able to return to Kenya, but I feel God refocusing my attention in that direction. My life has “good bones”—my faith, my family, my friends. Whatever the structure of my post-cancer life becomes, I know God will use the “wounds” of my cancer experience to minister to others if I let Him. 

Friday will be my last chemotherapy infusion. Before my first infusion in March, my oncologist cautioned I would probably have one or two infusions delayed because my blood counts were too low. That did not happen; my blood counts have stayed steady throughout my treatment. Even though I never experienced nausea or any of the other debilitating side-effects chemotherapy can cause, I am ready to be done with this part of my treatment. I am looking forward to having 18 straight days at home before we gear up for surgery on August 31. 

It takes a lot of work to grow watermelons. Even though they are my favorite fruit, until this summer, I’ve never tried to grow my own. Well, I’ve still never tried to grow my own—growing watermelons was Madison’s project. And unlike the Shake and Bake commercials from the 1970s I can’t even say, “And I helped!” because all I did was watch.

The first step in the Great Watermelon Experiment of 2020 was to prepare the soil. Using a hula hoop, Madison dug the grass from 8 perfect circles of hard ground. Next, she scooped out some of the soil, mixed it with enriched garden soil, and made little volcano-like mounds with a moat around them. A tiny watermelon plant was placed in the center of each mound. Every day Madison would water the little plant, check for growth, watch for pests, and pull unwanted weeds threatening to steal the nutrients from the watermelon seedling. Eventually, the plants began to vine and little blossoms appeared. Once the blossoms turned into tiny watermelons, Madison carefully placed straw under each melon so they wouldn’t rest in the dirt. One morning, when the melons were a little larger than a fist, we discovered a critter living in our woods had been just as excited as we were about the watermelons. Every single melon had been broken open and the sweet fruit had been eaten. Every single one. Madison eventually pulled up the watermelon vines, raked up the straw and smoothed out the mounds. It was a whole lot of sowing for no reaping.

The Bible has a lot to say about sowing and reaping. “Do not be deceived: God is not mocked, for whatever one sows, that will he also reap.” Galatians 6:7 When Madison planted watermelons, she expected watermelons, not onions, to grow. If we sow good things—kindness, love, peace, gentleness—we can expect to reap those things as well.  However, the reverse is also true, “Whoever sows injustice will reap calamity, and the rod of his fury will fail.” Proverbs 22:8 We can’t plant bitterweeds and expect a harvest of sweet watermelons! All of our actions—the good and the bad—have natural consequences. 

By far my favorite verse about sowing and reaping is found in Psalm 126. This is one of the Psalms that is called “A Song of Ascents” meaning it was one that was sung by Hebrew pilgrims on their way to the temple. “Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy. He who goes out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with him.” Psalm 126:5-6. In the commentary section of my Bible for these verses it says: “Our tears can be seeds that will grow into a harvest of joy because God is able to bring good out of tragedy. When burdened by sorrow, know that your times of grief will end and that you will again find joy. We must be patient as we wait. God’s great harvest of joy is coming!”

That’s another thing about sowing. It takes time. Watermelons don’t appear overnight ready to harvest. At this point in my cancer journey, I am still sowing. The doctors are preparing the soil with chemotherapy and immunotherapy, followed by surgery and radiation. This sowing continues to be done with many tears. I am looking forward to the day I reap complete healing, when cancer has been defeated. I can guarantee that will be a day of much joy, much singing, much dancing, and much praising the God who made it possible.

My immunotherapy/chemotherapy treatment this past Friday marked the beginning of the last cycle of treatment prior to surgery. I will have two more chemotherapy infusions—one July 31 and the last August 7; immunotherapy will resume after my surgery. I met with the surgeon this past week and I will have a mastectomy and sentinel node biopsy on August 31. Hopefully, the pathology report will show there is no evidence of disease and the therapies have brought a “complete pathological response.” My surgeon feels it is more likely than not that I will need radiation after surgery based on the size of my tumor and the fact that I had “multicentric” disease (four separate and distinct tumors). My prayer is that radiation will not be necessary, but I will do whatever it takes to ensure I have as many years as I can to reap the benefits of a healthy, cancer free life.

When my cancer was diagnosed in February, I knew treatment would take time. But in my mind, I thought we would do a little chemo, have a little surgery, and be ready to go on vacation by the end of summer. After talking with the doctors I realized my timetable was a little off. Well, quite a bit off actually. Getting rid of cancer takes time and patience, especially a booger like triple negative breast cancer. This week marked 20 weeks since my first appointments at MD Anderson, 17 weeks since my first chemotherapy infusion. I still have a long way to go, but the end is in sight and I know the plan that’s going to get me there. Barring any surprises uncovered during surgery, my final cancer treatment will be an immunotherapy infusion on November 13–17 weeks from now. I will still have reconstruction surgery ahead, but it cannot be done until six months after radiation. That’s ok because I will be cancer free and my life will no longer be ruled by a disease I have come to hate. But today we wait. And I do not usually wait well.

There’s a lot of waiting in the Bible. Abraham and Sarah waiting for the son God promised them. The Israelites waiting to enter the Promised Land. David waiting to lead as king of Israel. Anna and Simeon waiting to see the Messiah. I was reminded this weekend of my favorite “waiter,” Joseph. God blessed him and used him, but he went through some tough times and long periods of waiting first. His brothers threw him in a pit and sold him into slavery in Egypt. Just when things started to look up, he was thrown into prison because of a false accusation. Joseph kept his eyes on God and at the end of his journey, he was able to tell his brothers, “As far as I am concerned, God turned into good what you meant for evil,” (Genesis 50:20) Life knocks us all down sometimes. But if we wait well, using our time to grow closer to God, the bad things that happen can turn into blessings. At the end of my cancer journey, I want to be able to say to cancer “As far as I am concerned, God turned my cancer into good.”

Since the last week of February my world has been shrunk down to our ten little acres. There are no quick trips to the store, carefree lunches with Madison at Atwood’s, or even getting  together with friends for Bible study. I am here with Argos, who never lets me leave his sight. Gary goes out into the wide world to get our grocery pick-up order and to work. He is my link to the world and he keeps things going. But there is risk involved and we are careful. I no longer take a sip of his coffee and my kiss good-night is now a kiss on the top of my bald head. I live in a bubble even here.  Every time we head to Houston I can hear Robot from Lost in Space, arms flailing, saying loudly, “Danger, Will Robinson. Danger.” Life outside my bubble has become “dangerous.” 

As I waited for my chemotherapy treatment on Friday the large, sunlit waiting room at M D Anderson Woodlands was filled with socially distanced cancer patients. With very few exceptions, family members are not allowed. We are all on our own. And there is a wariness between us as we wait. As I choose my seat I am calculating the risk of exposure of each alternative. There is no talking in the waiting room, no sharing about families or hobbies or commiserating about treatment and having cancer. It is lonely being treated for cancer during a pandemic. 

With the exception of my very first chemotherapy treatment in March before the prohibition of visitors, I have been alone for each of my infusions. Eleven treatments, 24 plus hours of medications pumped directly into my jugular vein, all alone among strangers. Walking by myself into my second chemo treatment was frightening. I wanted someone to hold my hand, to watch over me, to comfort me. By my twelfth treatment this week, being alone has become routine, normal. I have adjusted. I still don’t like it, but it no longer makes me anxious to face treatment on my own. I have eight more infusions (four before surgery and four after surgery) until I am done and the port that has become a part of my body can be removed. I am fighting that bear Papaw always warned us of, and I can do this a little longer. 

COVID has added a layer of complexity to my life that I could never have imagined. I want life to be like it was in January when I was free to go shopping, see my family, hug a friend. I want “normal” again. But that’s just not the reality of life right now. Wishing COVID would disappear won’t make it happen. So we are careful. Very careful. If I were to be exposed and contracted COVID, I am confident the doctors at M D Anderson could treat it successfully. But at what cost? A delay of three or four weeks or more while the focus became treating COVID, or any other illness, could begin to erode the hard fought progress we’ve made shrinking my tumors. That is not a cost I am willing to pay. 

But it may be entirely out of my hands. At the Louisiana governor’s press conference Saturday, one of the doctors related a story of a patient whose surgery for a mass had been delayed in February due to COVID. When numbers in the state continued to sky rocket it was delayed in March, then April, then May, then June. Now the mass has metastasized and the cancer has become incurable. I was heartbroken when I heard this and cannot stop thinking about this person and their family. That could have been me. Elective treatments in Houston have already been suspended by the governor of Texas. I was assured last week my treatment and surgery would continue as it was considered curative, not elective. I am praying this continues to be the case and the hospitals are not still at 100% capacity by the end of August when I am scheduled for surgery.

So until my surgery in seven weeks we will be hyper-vigilant and I will live in my bubble with Argos by my side. And we will pray that a solution to get the pandemic under control can be found, that hospitals won’t become so overwhelmed that chemotherapy treatments and surgeries will be postponed, and that people will think of others when they want to balk at wearing a mask and taking precautions. “Instead of being motivated by selfish ambition or vanity, each of you should, in humility, be moved to treat one another as more important than yourself. Each of you should be concerned not only about your own interests, but about the interests of others as well.” Philippians 2:3-4 There is a cost to pretending life can continue with pre-COVID behavior, and it is paid by the vulnerable. Please do your part—wash your hands, stay home, and wear a mask when you go in public.

We all have favorite Scriptures—ones that speak to us, ones that have brought us comfort, or have given us wisdom and direction when we needed it most. Sometimes the verse is one that we learned as a child in Sunday School, while some are from lessons learned in the storms and valleys of life. Whatever the context, we know that God speaks to us, encourages us and guides us through His word. A few of these favorite Scriptures for me are:

• “And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” Micah 6:8 
• “For God has not given us a spirit of fearfulness, but one of power, love, and sound judgment.” 2 Timothy 1:7
• “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death will not exist any more—or mourning, or crying, or pain, for the former things have ceased to exist.” Revelation 21:4
• “This is what the Lord God of your ancestor David has said: ‘I have heard your prayer; I have seen your tears. Look, I will heal you.’” 2 Kings 20:5

Verses from 2 Kings may not make too many top ten lists but this verse has more meaning to me than just about any other verse in Scripture. King Hezekiah, one of Judah’s faithful kings, had become ill and was at the point of death. Isaiah told him to get his house in order because he was going to die. Hezekiah wept and prayed to the Lord. God then told Isaiah to return to Hezekiah and say, “This is what the Lord God of your ancestor David has said: ‘I have heard your prayer; I have seen your tears. Look, I will heal you.” This is great news for King Hezekiah but what does that have to do with me?

Twenty or so years ago my life was a mess. Both of my parents had died, just two weeks apart from each other, and Gary was at the height of his addiction to alcohol and prescription drugs. My life was spinning out of control and I was struggling. I was reading a book about faith and how to get my life back on track when I came to a section that said God was big enough to handle my anger and frustrations and He wanted me to be honest about what was happening in my life. That day I really let God have it. I poured out all my anger and frustration, my hurt, my grief and my disappointment. It took a while. When I was done I felt better, not because of any miraculous change in my circumstance, but because I had finally admitted the hurt I was feeling. Still, I was not yet ready to admit to anyone other than God what was going on in my life.

That week before class began, my Sunday School teacher, Mrs. Carol, said she felt like God wanted her to share a verse that had absolutely nothing to do with the lesson for the day. She shared “I have heard your prayer; I have seen your tears. Look, I will heal you.” Then she went on with the lesson. I knew that verse was for me, that God had impressed it upon Mrs. Carol’s heart to encourage me! All through church I thought I would go home and Gary would be healed from his addiction! It didn’t happen quite that fast, but it did happen. And when the dark days would come, I would remember this verse and it would give me the strength and courage I needed to continue to fight for my family, for my marriage and for Gary to be healed. I knew healing was going to come.

Since I have passed the half-way mark with this part of my treatment regimen, scans were done this week to asses the progress. My tumors have shrunk 52% since the first scan in February, with 41% of this shrinkage coming from the new therapy. When my doctor shared the results I was disappointed. Based on the very scientific “poke tests” I had been doing, I felt the tumors were almost gone. After 16 of 21 long weeks of treatment, I had hoped my tumors would be more than just half-way gone. I threw a little pity party right there in room 407 of the Rotary House Hotel. 

Gary pointed out the fact that the new treatment was working, progress was being made and if it continued at the same pace, in six more weeks it could shrink another 41%. Looking at the numbers from my previous scans I was reminded that the tumors had actually grown between treatments 2 and 4 of the A/C. At least now they seem to be shrinking significantly. I began to feel a bit more positive, but the disappointment was still dancing around the edge of my thoughts. 

Then came Saturday morning and a friend shared a Scripture in a group text of cancer Warriors, “This is what the Lord says: I have heard your prayer and I will heal you.” 2 Kings 20:5. She hadn’t heard my story about this verse, or why it was significant to me. But getting a text with that verse, at just this time in my journey when I was discouraged, was a reminder from God that it was going to be okay. Like He was telling me not to worry about this, that I would be healed. Maybe not today, but in His time. God’s Word, and the friends who share it with us, are a precious gift of encouragement. I am so grateful for both.

Gary and I have driven across the country from Louisiana to California twice. The first time was when we helped Allie move to Clovis. On that trip, Gary got the nick-name “Leadfoot McUhaul” for his driving style through the mountains. The second time was a trip he and I made to deliver the Tahoe to Noah and attend Delphine’s christening. For both trips we planned, we packed, we prepared and we had quite an adventure along the way. The GPS way points kept us on the right road to get to our destination and helped us see how far we had already come. There came a point on both trips, when we finally got to the other side of Texas, where the GPS showed a very straight road ahead and said, “Stay on this road for 917 miles.” That’s a lot of miles! Apart from watching the scenery fly by our windows (who knew land could be that flat or that windmills were so cool?) there wasn’t a whole lot to be done. Just keep driving. But watching the miles tick down on the GPS helped us know we were still moving forward and we would eventually get to our destination.

Back in March when my oncologist told me the pre-surgery chemotherapy would last 20 weeks, that seemed a lot like that long, flat stretch of 917 miles to go. Add the week-long “detour” waiting for insurance approval and my road through chemotherapy extended to 21 weeks—if there are no further delays. Knowing where I’m headed—being cancer-free—is important. But just as important is seeing how far I’ve come. This past Friday was week number 15, and chemo number six of 12 of this course of treatments. Six more to go before surgery and I can finally be rid of these tumors. 

Although we can’t get stuck always looking back, marking the milestones and events in our lives and looking at just how far we’ve come is important. When we can see the growth, the change and the progress we’ve made on our journey it gives us the strength we need to keep going. I’ve already made it through 15 weeks of this chemo journey—surely I can do a mere six more! Seeing how far I’ve come since this cancer road-trip began in January, looking back at the blessings I’ve experienced, also reminds me of God’s presence and His faithfulness. “I recall the many miracles He did for me so long ago. Those wonderful deeds are constantly in my thoughts. I cannot stop thinking about them.” Psalm 77:11-12 God has given me the strength and courage to make it this far and He will be faithful to provide for me to the end.

This coming week will be a big week. As I’ve completed half of the pre-surgery immunotherapy and half of the chemotherapy, I’ll have scans on Thursday to check the progress of my tumors. On Friday, I’ll have the third Atezolizumab infusion and my seventh Abraxane. We are almost at the end of this stretch of the journey and I am ready for what comes next.

There is no doubt about it, cancer is ugly. We try to dress it up with pink ribbons and sparkles but the ugliness still shows through. Outwardly cancer and the required treatment changes the way you look so radically that when you pass by the mirror you barely recognize yourself. Chemotherapy makes your fingernails ugly and manicures are forbidden. Without eyebrows and eyelashes I am constantly getting soap in my eyes. And who knew nose hairs were so important? Without them my nose is constantly leaking. Cancer takes away the activities you enjoy because they are “too risky” or you have too little energy to actually do them. Working in my glass studio is suddenly off limits because my hands don’t have the dexterity they used to and a cut on my finger could easily get infected and an infection could delay a treatment. Cancer isolates you from friends. When every week is consumed with doctor visits, bloodwork, scans, and anxiety, you have very little to contribute to conversation. And when the only way to “visit” with a friend is for them to sit on your hot front porch and talk on the phone through the window with you while Argos barks in the background, it requires too much effort. But cancer’s most insidious weapon is that it keeps the people you love most in the world away. I can’t be there to kiss Fritz’s baby toes. Delphine can’t sit in my lap while I read Brown Bear 10 times in a row followed by Good Night Moon and watch The Sound of Music. I can’t spend time with Allie planning for her wedding day and being there with her. And our roles are now reversed, with Madison spending more time taking care of me than me doing things for her. Cancer and everything that has to be done to try to get rid of it is taking a year or more away from me and my family and I am angry.

Too many times we wear masks to cover up what’s actually going on in our lives. We have to keep up appearances, put our best face forward, make sure no one knows the turmoil we are dealing with. “I’m fine” is the most common lie known to man. Too much of our life is lived like the knight in Monty Python and the Holy Grail who insists it’s “only a flesh wound” when we can clearly see he no longer has arms or legs. We insist our hearts aren’t broken, that life is peachy keen, when in reality, we are bleeding out in the dirt. The problem is we will never be able to begin healing until we can admit to ourselves and to others we are NOT fine. That inability to admit reality is why we get stuck in the hurt and pain.

This week, I am bleeding out, lying in the dirt. I am struggling. I am wounded. I am angry. I am frustrated. I am heartbroken. I am weary. I can’t fix it. It has been a long five months and I am tired of having cancer.

But I am a warrior and I am going to be ok.

I am not fighting this battle on my own, in my own strength. Jesus is with me during every scan, every infusion, every appointment, every moment of anxiety in the dark of night. When I get too weary to continue, He will carry me through. He binds up the broken-hearted and understands my anger and my frustration. I may be knocked down, but I will not stay that way. 

“Don’t run from tests and hardships, brothers and sisters. As difficult as they are, you will ultimately find joy in them; if you embrace them, your faith will blossom under pressure and teach you true patience as you endure. And true patience brought on by endurance will equip you to complete the long journey and cross the finish line—mature, complete, and wanting nothing.” James 1:2-4 (The Voice). God is using the difficulties and challenges I am facing in this battle to grow my faith and reliance on Him. My faith has been tested in the past and I have come out stronger for it. I expect nothing less from this trial. I have a long journey in front of me—seven more weeks of immunotherapy and chemotherapy, surgery and recovery, four more immunotherapy (9 weeks) infusions, six weeks of radiation followed by reconstruction. Cancer—especially in the middle of COVID—has definitely been a difficult trial. I may come out on the other side bruised, battered and smelling like smoke, but I will find and embrace the joy in every hardship. I will complete my journey and cross the finish line because I am a cancer warrior.

Taking it easy and slowing down don’t come naturally to me. I am rarely still and tend to always be on the move from one activity to the next throughout my day. Multi-tasking is my middle name—even when Gary and I watch a movie in the evening I am always working on a needlepoint project to keep my hands busy. Slowing down is not something I am accustomed to. That’s why this past week has been such a struggle.

When I was receiving the a/c chemo, there would be a couple of days each cycle when I experienced quite a bit of fatigue, but I could usually push through it. During the first three weeks of the new regimen, my energy level was high. I felt really good—like my old self, only without hair! This past week, however, I saw a noticeable change in my energy level. Whereas the week before I could go for my morning three mile walk, clean the house, work on a project, prop my feet up for 30 minutes after lunch and keep going for the rest of the afternoon,  I was now finding each 30 minute activity required an hour or more of rest in between. The harder I tried to push myself to keep going, the more I needed to rest. Hard-headedness was not going to win this battle because my body was forcing me to slow down.

After speaking the heavens and the earth and all that are in them into being God didn’t immediately begin His next task, He rested. Genesis 2:2-3 says, “By the seventh day God had finished his work, and so he rested. God blessed the seventh day and made it special because on that day he rested from his work.” God wasn’t suddenly exhausted from all His hard work and needed to rest. He rested to show that His work of creation was done and to give us a pattern to follow. Work followed by rest. Rest is necessary for us to recharge, refocus, and listen for God’s direction.

As I’ve been “resting” this week I’ve had a lot of time to think about what motivates me to do the things I do every day. I’ve discovered my busyness tends to fall into one of four categories: 

• Busyness because I have to. Right now, two days of every week are spent traveling to and from Houston and getting treatments. Even when I am less than excited to be on the road yet again, it has to be done.
• Busyness because I enjoy what I’m doing. This is the best kind of busy! Planning and preparing for our “Camp Conlay” family vacation. Making brownies and setting up for a “porch party” with friends. Spending the day creating in my studio. Planning the perfect wedding. These are the things that bring joy and excitement to my day. And even though they take a lot of time and energy, this kind of busy recharges my heart. 
• Busyness because I’m trying to impress someone or earn God’s favor. When having company in my house was a thing, before anyone stepped foot inside, I spent hours making sure every knick-knack was dusted, the floors were swept and mopped, and not a thing was out of place. No one has stepped foot inside my house since February, yet every week I still dust and mop and make sure my house is “company ready” at all times. Who am I trying to impress? Certainly not Argos! It’s easy to get stuck here with my faith too. If I pray more, serve more, share Jesus more, then God will be impressed. I have to be busy for Jesus so God will be proud of me. But that’s not how it works. God loves me and deems me righteous and accepted because of what Christ did on the cross, not because of anything I could do. I don’t have to impress God—I simply need to rest in the finished work of Christ.
• Busyness because I don’t trust God to meet my needs. God’s word is filled with His promises to meet our needs. Our days are filled trying to meet our wants on our own. This dichotomy is the source of much of the anxiety we feel. I have to recognize my biggest need is not being healed from cancer or being financially secure—it is for a relationship with Him. There is nothing I can do to make Him love me more. That’s where the rest comes in. When I slow down and quiet the busyness of life I am a better listener. I can hear God’s love in the song of the birds and feel it in the whisper of the breeze. God has always provided for my needs and I trust He will continue to do so because He loves me unconditionally.

When I complained about not having enough energy to my oncologist he just chuckled. I’ve only known him since February, but he has me totally pegged. He said voluntarily slowing down was going to be the hardest thing I’ve had to do so far, but it was necessary and it would only be temporary. So I’m learning to slow down and rest. I know my physical energy level will return one day and I can’t wait. For now, I’m going to focus my limited energy on the things that matter, the things that bring me joy, and learn to live with the imperfections of dusty picture frames and ironing yet to be done. I hope when things return to “normal” I can remember the lessons I am learning in this season, to continue to rest in God’s love and embrace even in the midst of the busyness of every day life.

A friend once shared a profound truth with me: comparison is the thief of joy. Think about that and let it sink in for a minute. I’m sure we’ve all seen a child who is perfectly happy with their favorite toy—it’s the best! This toy brings them such joy each day they can’t wait to get up in the morning to begin playing. But when the child next door comes home with the latest and greatest version, suddenly the toy that brought them immeasurable joy in the morning is no longer good enough by dinner time. This isn’t just a phenomenon of the 10 and under set—as adults we do the same thing. The car we were perfectly satisfied with when we drove to work in the morning, suddenly isn’t up to par when our coworker pulls up in a brand new Tesla. The joy we felt at finally losing those 10 pounds flys out the window when someone we aren’t even close with shares they just lost 20 pounds. Social media, unfortunately, makes this even worse as you compare your everyday struggles to the highlight reel posted by your “friends.” And let’s not forget there is an entire industry—the advertising industry—whose sole reason for existence is to make us feel dissatisfaction with what we have so that we will buy the product they are selling. 

This thief was alive and well and at work in the waiting room at the Infusion Center at MDA Friday morning. The waiting area at MDA Woodlands is huge with large windows overlooking a wooded area, art on the walls, and comfortable, socially-distanced seating throughout. There were a lot of patients waiting and I finally found a seat almost in the dead center of the room. I have found the isolation of COVID extends to the waiting room—the usual banter between patients waiting to see the doctor or for chemo is gone. Silence prevails with most of us passing the time lost in our own thoughts, doing crossword puzzles, or reading. The only conversations are via phone with friends and loved ones at home, or those waiting in the parking lot for hours in the heat and humidity. As I waited, I became aware of a woman a few seats over talking on the phone. She was very excited because she had just seen her doctor and gotten the results of the MRI and ultrasound from the day before. After just two rounds of A/C (Adriamycin and Cytoxan) her tumor had shrunk over 80%! I know there are probably thousands of types of cancer, but listening to her story and knowing her treatment mirrored mine, I jumped wholeheartedly to the conclusion she also had triple negative breast cancer. That’s when the devil loosed his flaming arrow of comparison—her tumors had responded by over 80% to just two treatments of A/C while my last ultrasound had shown my tumors had shrunk by only 19% after four treatments of A/C. Whatever joy I felt when I got to MDA that morning was being sucked down the drain because of a snippet of conversation overheard in the waiting room.

As I sat watching the Abraxane drip into my body and ruminated over the conversation I had overheard, I realized nothing had changed about my cancer or my treatment in the last hour. Just because standard chemo was working on that woman’s tumor didn’t mean that the treatment regimen I was on wouldn’t work for mine. It was up to me to choose joy. I decided to pull a faithful friend out of my toolbox—name three things about my cancer that I am grateful for:

Number One: My tumors express the protein PD-L1. Not all triple negative breast cancers do. The fact that my particular tumor expresses this particular protein opens the door to my receiving immunotherapy targeting this pathway. I am confident this treatment will lead to the eradication of my cancer.

Number Two: I am able to receive cutting-edge treatment at MDA. Participation in the Artemis Clinical Trial means my doctors discovered my tumors weren’t responding to chemo much earlier than they would have with standard treatment—8 weeks as opposed to 20 plus weeks. This also gives me a second shot at annihilating my chemo-insensitive tumors with targeted immunotherapy.

Number Three: I am tolerating the new treatment well and have very few side-effects. Compared to the A/C this new treatment is a piece of cake. I don’t need anti-nausea meds, I walk 3 miles every single day (including the day of and day after treatment), my appetite is good and I sleep well. And even though I’ve now lost all my eyelashes and most of my eyebrows, Madison says she can see a little peach fuzz sprouting on my bald head!

God has been there, every step of this difficult road, providing for my needs. His guiding hand has led me to this point. He doesn’t provide for my needs in the same way He may for the next woman with triple negative breast cancer. I get what I need—she gets what she needs. “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with the weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” 2 Corinthians 12:9-10 God’s grace is all I need.

This coming Friday I will be back on the main campus to receive the investigative therapy along with the Abraxane. So far my counts, although low, are holding steady and I pray this continues. I have now completed 25% of my pre-surgery immunotherapy and chemotherapy treatments. Weekly trips to Houston are getting a bit old, but knowing every trip is one step closer to being done helps us keep going.

I am a planner, organizer, and strategist, so give me a good to-do list and I’m in my comfort zone. When this journey first began I asked my oncologist what I could do to help heal my body and he told me three things: keep a positive attitude, eat a healthy diet, and make sure I get as much exercise as I can. The rest, he said, was up to MDA. 

I’ve been doing my part: making sure I eat plenty of iron-rich foods, drinking more water than I ever thought possible, focusing on plant-based proteins and vitamin-rich berries, and cutting back on sugar (except for the occasional—ok, fairly often—Klondike bar). With very few exceptions I’ve walked three miles every day—some days slower than others, but still at a fairly good pace. I’ve started a light boot-camp routine to rebuild muscle lost from chemo. I’m doing everything I can to be physically strong and healthy. So far I’ve experienced few side effects, and with this new immunotherapy/chemotherapy regimen I feel good. It has been a blessing to feel good and I’m going to enjoy every minute of it!

The last item on my to-do list is keeping a positive attitude. Some days this is easy—others not so much. But this is where I have to focus the bulk of my energy and attention because of the tremendous affect my attitude has on my willingness to eat right and exercise, enjoy life, and to fight my cancer. Attitude really is everything in this battle. 

We all know people who are glass half-full people and glass half-empty people. Depending on the day and situation, I can fall into either camp. Thankfully, as I’ve walked this journey of life, I’ve learned another truth—most times, the glass is refillable. It may take effort on our part, but even a nearly empty glass doesn’t have to stay that way. When I find myself with a half-empty, or nearly empty, glass, I’ve found there are some things that help me get back on a more positive track. 

The first truth I try to remember is there is always, always, always something to be grateful for in every situation in life. Losing my hair was not something I thought I could put a positive spin on, but I’m enjoying how quickly I can get dressed each morning when I don’t have to spend 30 minutes drying and styling my hair!  “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18) I will be glad when my hair grows back and I look like myself again, but today I am enjoying how much time I am saving each morning. 

It also helps me to have the goal of being healed and a life back to normal in mind, while keeping my focus on what I need to do just for today. Madison has made a giant chart (literally 6 feet tall!) that  covers the next four months, showing my scheduled treatments, daily exercise goals, special days, and notes of encouragement. This lets me see at a glance the big picture, and to see where I’m headed. But I can’t do everything on that chart at once—I have to eat that elephant one bite at a time. “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” (Matthew 6:34) I know where I’m headed, but my focus is squarely on the step I need to accomplish today. I’ll deal with tomorrow tomorrow. 

For me the key has been to remember that I may have very little control over what comes my way—triple negative breast cancer or tumors that don’t respond to standard chemotherapy—but I always have a choice in how I view these situations. Psychologists call this reframing—taking a negative external event and reframing it in a more positive light. I can choose to see the fact that my tumors did not respond to traditional chemotherapy with doom and gloom, or I can see the fact that my tumors did not respond as the gateway that opened the door to my receiving a new type of therapy that will hopefully lead to being cancer free for many years to come. And because my tumors did not respond, I get to participate in a clinical trial that could lead to a targeted therapy for triple negative breast cancer, which is pretty cool beans. Paul tells us in 2 Corinthians 10:5 that we are to “demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.” Bad things are going to happen in life and bring with them negative thoughts. These negative thoughts can tempt me to doubt God’s goodness, His provision for me, and His promises. When I become aware that those negative thoughts are trying to take hold, I can choose to capture them and test them against God’s truth. If it isn’t true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent or praiseworthy (Philippians 4:8) I should cast it out and replace it with God’s truth. That’s how I begin to refill my glass. 

This past Friday and my upcoming treatment this week are Abraxane (chemotherapy) only treatments. So far I’ve felt great and I’m praying this continues throughout the next ten weeks of treatment. Eating that elephant one treatment at a time.

If you know me at all, you know I do not wait well. And this past week was a week of waiting. A long week of waiting. I had appointments scheduled for Friday to begin the new immunotherapy and chemo regimen but they were tentative, dependent upon receiving insurance approval. I tried to be patient, I really did. I waited until Tuesday to contact the research nurse at MDA—still waiting on insurance. Wednesday afternoon she called to update me—still waiting on insurance. I asked if it would help if I called Blue Cross and she said it couldn’t hurt. I called and late Wednesday, after being on hold for about an hour while supervisors and medical directors were consulted, I was told the new chemotherapy drug had been approved and they would fax the approval to MDA. Hurdle one complete. The research nurse called me on Thursday morning—they were still waiting on the “official paperwork” from Blue Cross to issue the go ahead, and she would let me know as soon as they received it. Gary and I were packed and ready and finally, about 11:00 am, we received word of the official approval and headed out the door! We made it to Houston just in time for my 3:45 appointment for bloodwork.

In the waiting this past week I did a lot of praying. I also did a lot of housecleaning and ironing to burn off some nervous energy! As difficult as waiting is, I know that God has a purpose for it. So many of the psalms instruct us to wait for the Lord, to wait patiently for the Lord, because He is our help, our shield, our salvation and He hears our cries and has mercy on us. As I waited somewhat patiently, I had to trust that His timing is always best. Isaiah 40:31 says, “But they who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” Perhaps the purpose of this extra week of waiting was to not only renew my physical strength, but my spiritual strength as well. There was absolutely nothing I could do to speed up this process. All I could do was place my need squarely in God’s capable hands and allow Him to do the rest, trusting that whatever happened, He was in control.

God was also squarely in control of that 3:45 appointment for bloodwork. I knew I had to do some additional blood tests before I could be officially enrolled in the clinical trial but I did not realize the results could exclude me from receiving the new treatment. I am so glad I was unaware of that possibility or I really would have been a basket case all week! My kidneys, thyroid and liver were all “perfect” and I would receive my first infusion Friday morning! The same internal voice that urged me to question the initial mammogram finding has continually affirmed my need to participate in Artemis to be healed. God’s guiding hand has led me to this point and I am confident the treatment I am receiving will result in no more cancer and many years to enjoy life!

Like most kids growing up in the 60s and 70s, the Saturday mornings of my childhood were spent watching cartoons and eating Froot Loops. The Jetsons, Scooby-Doo, Pink Panther, Underdog, the Flintstones and of course Looney Toons, were some of my favorites. I can still sing the theme songs and catch phrases from almost all of the childhood cartoons I watched.This past Friday morning, the day I got the first infusion on the clinical trial, the theme from Mighty Mouse played on repeat in my head—“Here I come to save the day!”

As I watched the atezolizumab, the immunotherapy drug, drip through my IV, I envisioned these tiny superheroes preparing to attack my cancer. No, I was not loopy on premeds—with this regimen I received zero premeds—so this was entirely my own wild imagination! The mean old cancer had put blinders (think Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s) on all the t-cells in my immune system. The atezolizumab superheroes were racing through my system—Here I come to save the day!—ripping off the blinders and wearing them as capes. The cancer cells all started screaming and shrinking in fear of the mighty t-cells! At least that’s my scientific explanation. 

So far I feel incredible. No premeds, no anti-nausea meds—the only medications I received were the atezolizumab and the abraxane. I’ve had no nausea, no overwhelming tiredness, no neuropathy. I enjoyed my dinner and I slept well. When we got home yesterday I walked two miles. I felt good enough to keep going, but it was hot and I’m trying to listen more to Gary when he reminds me not to overdo it—as if I’ve ever been hard-headed and pushed myself too much! I know as the chemotherapy builds and my blood counts go down I may begin to feel tired and experience some side effects. That’s ok, I’ll worry about that when it happens. As for today, “This is the day that the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.” Psalm 118:24. I will enjoy every single second of today.

After nearly 36 years of marriage I’m starting to think like my husband. If you’ve ever been in one of Gary’s Sunday School classes or listened to him teach, you know whatever the situation, he has a movie clip or song lyric to go along with it to illustrate his point. His knowledge is encyclopedic. Gary’s ability to remember just the right snippet of dialogue from a movie he watched one time in 1993 and relate it to his current subject is incredible. Although I will never reach his level of expertise, I am finding myself more and more relating the crazy events of my day to some obscure movie or song. Lately, the soundtrack of my life has become quite eclectic.

There is no way to sugarcoat it, Friday was a hard day. My oncologist gave me the results from my MRI and ultrasound the day before—my tumors had not shrunk significantly since my previous scans. In fact, the ultrasound suggested it may have grown slightly. Overall my tumors have shrunk a little less than 30% since I started chemo. (For standard chemo to be considered effective, my tumors needed to have shrunk by 70% or more.) Not exactly what I wanted to hear. As I listened, with tears in my eyes, The Rolling Stones began to sing in my head, “You can’t always get what you want, you can’t always get what you want…”

I wanted my doctor to tell me that miraculously my tumor had disappeared and after only four chemotherapy treatments I was healed. No need for 12 more weeks of chemo, surgery, radiation or any more nasty stuff. I wanted to be told my life was mine again and I could see my kids and grandkids in California without worrying about catching COVID or even a cold. I wanted to be able to walk up and down every single aisle at Target, twice, just because I could. I wanted to be able to have lunch, at a restaurant, with a friend. Instead, what I got was 12 more weeks of chemotherapy and immunotherapy, followed by surgery, more immunotherapy, possibly radiation and then reconstructive surgery. The most powerful blow came when I did not get to start the Atezolizumab and Abraxane combination this week due to a hold up with my health insurance. So Friday afternoon Gary and I drove home mostly lost in our own thoughts and fears.

The book of Psalms is a great comfort to me. In my bible, many of the pages of this book are tear stained and marked with handwritten notes. Psalm 145 is about how God provides for all living things. He is the provider and sustainer. Verses 14-16 say, “The LORD upholds all who are falling and raises up all who are bowed down. The eyes of all look to you, and you give them their food in due season. You open your hand; you satisfy the desire of every living thing.” I was certainly bowed down by my circumstances on Friday, but God was with me. His Word reminded me that He would provide for my every need—in due season. God knows what I need so much better than I do. Perhaps He knew my body needed an extra week to recover before I started the new treatments. Maybe there was bad weather or an accident we avoided by postponing the first round of treatments. Sometimes the things I want are not in my best interest and God, as my loving Father, has to step in and withhold those things. Other times, the thing I need most is the thing I don’t want to have anything to do with. Thankfully, God knows me and His plan for me better than I do and will give me what I need, in due season. I may not always get what I want, but God will always give me what I need.

Hopefully I will begin the new treatment this coming Friday. If not, it’s in God’s hands. The clinical nurse explained that there are some pretty rough potential side effects including kidney damage, thyroid issues or liver damage. However to me, none are as bad as allowing my cancer to continue to grow and thrive. I feel extremely blessed to be a part of the Artemis Clinical Trial at MDA. Because of the extra monitoring of my tumors, we know after 8 weeks that the standard chemotherapy isn’t working on my cancer instead of finding out after the full 20 weeks of chemo and surgery. In addition, the molecular testing they did on my tumors has identified a path the doctors feel will be effective in treating my particular cancer. My oncologist isn’t just treating a case of triple negative breast cancer—he is treating MY triple negative breast cancer with the most targeted treatment currently available. There are over 500 women who have participated in the Artemis Clinical Trial since it began in 2015. Out of that number, there are just over 20 of us who have received or are currently receiving the Atezolizumab and Abraxane combination. One of these women is my sweet friend, Lydia. Think of the odds—of the almost 300,000 women diagnosed with breast cancer each year, not only were we both diagnosed with triple negative breast cancer, we are two of just twenty something women who have received or are receiving this particular combination of drugs in a clinical trial at MDA. Knowing her story and seeing how healthy she is today gives me tremendous hope my cancer too will respond positively to this treatment regimen. 

Throughout this journey God has prepared the way and provided for my needs in so many ways. He may not give me everything my heart desires, but in due season, He will give me everything I need.

I read a definition of creativity that I really liked this week: “Creativity is the act of turning new and imaginative ideas into reality. Creativity is the ability to perceive the world in new ways, to find hidden patterns, to make connections between seemingly unrelated phenomena, and to generate solutions.” Creative people just see the world through different eyes. Where most of us see a problem or impossible mountain to climb, creative people see an opportunity to do something differently and find a way through the mountain. Where most of us just see cancer, creative people see tree bark as a possible solution.

For me to operate in my comfort zone I need to understand the terrain of the mountain I’m facing. That means understanding as best I can, with my limited scientific background, triple negative breast cancer and the treatments I will be receiving to eradicate it. One of the drugs I will be given in the next phase of my chemotherapy regimen is a newer Taxol-based drug called Abraxane. My research turned up some really interesting facts about the origin of this drug. Paclitaxel (Taxol) is a cancer drug derived from the bark of the Pacific yew tree,Taxus brevifolia, which grows in the Pacific Northwest. The first bark for study was collected August 21, 1962 by a team of botanists at a site 7 miles north of Packwood, Washington, in the Gifford Pinchot National Forest. (Interestingly, this discovery was made at about the same time my mother “discovered” she was expecting me!) In the early 1980s when clinical trials of the drug began, several hundred thousand pounds of bark had to be harvested each year, since the bark from a single tree only yielded enough Taxol for about one dose of the drug. Thankfully, scientists are now able to synthesize the compound from precursors found in the common ornamental yew, Taxus baccata. Taxol is widely used in the treatment of several different forms of cancer. Abraxane (nab-Paclitaxel) has an added protein that makes it less harsh and a bit more effective on certain cancers. From tree bark to cancer drug—you can’t get much more creative than that! Unless perhaps, you are a researcher from the University of Texas looking for a treatment for COVID-19 in the antibodies of Winter the llama, but that’s another story!

In addition to the 12 weekly doses of Abraxane, I will have 4 doses of another drug, Atezolizumab, every 3 weeks and an additional 4 doses following surgery. Atezolizumab is not a chemotherapy drug. It is a completely different form of treatment called immunotherapy. Our immune systems have cells called t-cells whose job it is to protect us from viruses, bacteria and other diseases. They are circulating all around our bodies. When these t-cells bump up next to a cell they identify as an invader, such as a virus or infection, they activate and destroy it. Pretty impressive system. The problem is, cancer whispers in the t-cell’s ear that it’s not an invader, that it’s a healthy cell, so the t-cells in the immune system leave the cancer cells alone. Atezolizumab takes the blinders off the t-cell and allows it to recognize the cancer cell for the destroyer it is, activating the body’s own immune system to fight and kill the cancer. How amazing is that? The scientist who discovered how cancer tricked the body’s immune system and how to turn the good t-cell response back on, Dr. Jim Allison, is at M D Anderson. He received the Nobel Prize in Medicine in 2018 for his work. 

God is the ultimate expression of creativity. He created the heavens and the earth out of nothing, simply by speaking the world into existence. People can create things—art, buildings, cancer drugs—but no matter how unique these new creations are, they are all made from preexisting materials. They may be put together in a new or different way, but they were not created out of nothing. Only God can do that.  God has provided the raw materials needed for my body to heal from triple negative breast cancer—tree bark and my own immune system. He gave scientists the curiosity, tenacity and intelligence to think outside the box and discover just how tree bark and t-cells could be used to fight my disease. He brought about the discovery of these drugs in His good time, just in time, to be used to heal my cancer. I trust in God’s promises and provision. 

If you are a parent, at some point you have probably heard the words “You aren’t the boss of me!” escaping from the lips of one or more of your children. In my case, it was usually accompanied with hands on the hips and a defiant jut to the chin. Testing limits is part of childhood and developing into adults who can successfully navigate life. Of course being faced with a defiant two year old who doesn’t see the merits of a bath before bed can be frustrating. Life would be simpler if our children would just follow the rules and do what we say! Or would it?

Call me a rebel, but I’ve always been secretly pleased when my children pushed back on the limits I imposed. That pre-bath defiance, while exhausting, also held the seeds of independence, leadership, and an ability to reason and think on their own. On the outside, my face may have appeared stern and disapproving (the required Mom face to ensure a bath was taken), but on the inside, I was doing a happy dance and giving them a mental way-to-go fist bump! During our parenting years, I was usually the rule maker. I wanted to raise happy, healthy, well-bathed children who could think for themselves, question authority when necessary, and be prepared to make a difference in the lives of others. Gary did too, but between the two of us, he was always the softie. Just ask Argos, who begs for supper from no one but him, knowing Gary will always give him a bite, or ten, during dinner.

Being able to reason and think for yourself is especially crucial when the world is telling you up is down and down is up. In this season of corona and pandemic, it is incredibly difficult to wade through the conflicting comments, information and crazy that’s broadcast over the internet. Proverbs 18:17 says, “Any story sounds true until someone tells the other side and sets the record straight.” This is why it is critically important to always ask God for His wisdom. Only with His wisdom, and by asking questions, can we truly determine what is right. This is a life skill we all need, and not just in this season of national chaos. 

God’s wisdom also allows us to truly understand that the inconveniences, troubles, trials, and illnesses we face all have a purpose. From the slightest inconvenience—having to learn patience while waiting for things like flour and yeast to get back in stock in the stores—to more concerning issues—cancer cells that don’t shrink as much as they should in response to chemo—each of these situations can and will be used by God to strengthen my faith and hopefully the faith of those around me. One way to do this is to live according to the scriptures found in 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” I can find no better example of this than during my chemo infusion this past Friday.

Early on during this season of covid, cancer and chaos, Allie and I were both derailed by something that should have brought great joy—her wedding dress had finally arrived! Instead, we were both heartbroken and brought to tears by the news. I was supposed to be there when she tried it on. It was supposed to be a season of celebration. In the midst of our pity party, we viewed this loss as one more thing cancer had robbed from us. But with the passage of time, we have both come to realize that it was up to us to continue to choose joy even in the midst of these less than happy circumstances. As the Covid restrictions were eased this past week, Allie called for an appointment to pick up her dress. She was a little sad that she would be going by herself, but excited to finally get her dress. The time the bridal salon had available on Friday was right smack in the middle of my final A/C infusion. I wasn’t able to be there in person, but it was such a joy-filled moment! As I sat in the infusion room at MD Anderson, with nurses preparing to administer my last Red Devil, I was able to FaceTime with Allie in her wedding dress! She was beautiful! She was beaming!!! I couldn’t stop smiling behind my mandatory face mask, while happy tears were rolling down my cheeks. My nurses even got a sneak peak at the beautiful bride and our happiness was contagious. Not only did Allie and I feel joy, real from the bottom of our toes joy, we spread this to others. So just for a little while, Allie and I put our hands on our hips, jutted out our chins, and told cancer “You aren’t the boss of us!”

This week will be a week of rest for me and planning for my medical team. Most of the testing has been completed on my tumor and two of the four possible clinical trial tracks have already been eliminated. The final test results should be completed Monday or Tuesday. The team will meet Wednesday to discuss my case, and should have a final recommendation on the clinical trial they feel will provide the best shot at eradicating my cancer. By Thursday the path forward will be in place. My next appointments at MDA will be for another MRI and ultrasound on the 14th. Hopefully these will show that the tumors have continued to shrink, although my oncologist feels I still won’t meet the 70% threshold to continue the standard treatment alone. I will begin twelve weekly infusions of Taxol beginning the 15th. If the results from the MRI and ultrasound confirm my tumors have shrunk by less than 70%, the plan is to begin the investigative drugs on that day as well. I am so thankful God has led me to the team at MDA and has cleared the path for me to continue my treatment there during this unprecedented time of upheaval. I have confidence in my doctors and that the treatments they are prescribing will rid me of this cancer. I feel honored that my participation in this clinical trial can be a part of moving toward a cure for triple negative breast cancer.

Life with cancer has fallen into a rhythm. There is an ebb and flow to our days that is comforting, routine, normal. I am the first one up in the mornings and I sit in my chair with a cup of coffee and pray, read and usually do some journaling. It is peaceful with the ticking of my great-grandfather’s clock and Gary’s quiet snoring from the other room. As the household begins to stir there are walks to be taken, chores to be done, art projects to work on and life to be lived. Life has not stopped—even with quarantine rules—it has simply shifted into a new kind of normal.

As a child of the 60s and 70s, my first exposure to the book of Ecclesiastes was through those great theologians, The Byrds. I loved the song Turn! Turn! Turn! By the time I sang it almost daily in the 70s, it was considered an “oldie”! My parents had a stack of records—including the entire Kingston Trio collection—I would shuffle through, and a giant record player that was set into a coffee table. The speakers were built into the ends of the table and you slid back the top of the center section to expose the turntable underneath. I didn’t have The Byrds album, only the 45 rpm record, so I would put the little yellow tab in the center to play it on my turntable. Ahhh, good memories.

If you don’t have a coffee table stereo you can always listen to this classic on Spotify. 

To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose, under heaven…

God understands that our lives need routine, structure, rhythm. We need to have those “givens” in life—the sun will rise in the east and set every evening in the west. Winter will turn into spring. Without structure our lives devolve into chaos and the human mind does not usually handle chaos and change well. Solomon begins the third chapter of Ecclesiastes with the words, “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven,” followed by a list of common life experiences. Each of these activities form a rhythm in life, a season, each with its own perfect timing. “A time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot,” 3:2. “A time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance,” 3:4 Although we may try to exert control over the rhythms of these seasons of life, ultimate control rests solely with God. Peace amidst the chaos of this season of cancer, pandemic and financial meltdown can only come when resting in God’s perfect plan and His perfect timing. 

In the slower paced life of quarantine and cancer, I am learning to savor each day more fully. Time continues to pass in the same sixty-second increments, but the ticking of the clock is no longer in charge of my day. Without errands to run and must-do tasks to accomplish, I have the freedom to enjoy the song of the birds in the morning and the beauty of the sun setting on the lake. God has allowed this season in my life and will use it for His good purposes. I am taking each day as it comes, still planning for the future, but holding those plans much looser, preferring to place them squarely in God’s good hands. Seasons of cancer, pandemic and financial uncertainty will pass into seasons of God’s good choosing. Turn, turn, turn.

With only one more A/C treatment to go, I am almost to the end of the first part of my chemotherapy regimen. I am comfortable knowing what to expect from these treatments—what the chemotherapy itself is like, the side effects, how long it takes for the soreness, fatigue and general yuckiness to pass. It has been a blessing to have a week between treatments where I feel good and almost back to my old self before the next round. I know this rhythm will change soon as I transition to different drugs and therapies and weekly infusions. We will find another new rhythm and it, too, will be good.

At a conference several years ago, Madison and I took a personality test—the Lion, Otter, Beaver, Golden Retriever one. When I tallied my score, every question I answered was squarely in the Lion column. Madison laughed and said, “I could have told you that before we took the test!” I was so disappointed—I wanted to be a Golden Retriever! They are kind, love helping others and are considerate and good natured. That’s how I saw myself. But the more I read about the Lion, I realized that was probably a more accurate characterization of my personality. I am kind and I do love to help others, but I am also assertive, competitive, and goal-driven. I thrive on challenges and I want to do what needs to be done NOW! I don’t have a lot of patience. The slow pace of my treatment and the quarantine have been especially hard for me because I am ready to move forward! I’m ready for this journey to be at its end and life to be normal again.

God created me with a lion personality. Isaiah 64:8 says, “But now, O LORD, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand.” God formed me exactly like He wanted me to be. He gave me the inner strength to face this challenge head on because He knew what was ahead of me. He knew the battle I was going to face would be a hard one and He made sure I would be able to withstand it. I told one of my doctors this past week that I didn’t think I would see myself as a cancer survivor when this was all over. That term didn’t seem like it fit what was happening in my life. I feel more like a cancer warrior. I wake up and do battle with an enemy that’s trying to steal my joy and steal my life every single day. I may come out on the other side of this battle scarred, but cancer will not win. God made me a warrior. We don’t get to choose everything that happens to us, but we always have a choice in how we respond. I choose to embrace my cancer scars, face my battles and trust in God’s goodness.

This past week I had another MRI and ultrasound as part of the Artemis Clinical Trial to judge my tumors response to the traditional chemotherapy regimen. My tumors had shrunk, but not as much as I or my doctor had hoped they would. The MRI showed the original tumors had shrunk only about 30%. A change below 25% is considered insignificant. My oncologist likes to tell stories and he explained it this way. When you are driving in west Texas you can see for miles and speed limits are “optional”. If you are going a hundred miles an hour and you see someone up ahead pull out in front of you, you will take your foot off the accelerator and push the brake. But before you begin to slow, you may actually continue to accelerate for a fraction of a second. It’s just the law of physics. Then when your foot hits the brake you will begin to slow very quickly. Two rounds of chemotherapy are like taking your foot off the accelerator, that is the tumor is no longer growing, but it’s still there. We are “slowing” the cancer, but not as quickly as I had hoped.  

I’ve now had three of four rounds of A/C chemotherapy. After the fourth round on May 1, I will have another MRI, ultrasound, and biopsy of my tumors. At this point, if my tumors have not shrunk by 70% or more, in addition to the standard treatment of 12 weekly rounds of Taxol, I will receive one or more “investigative” drugs to boost my chances of killing all the cancer cells.  My doctor said it was more likely than not that I would have to go this route. I am so thankful I am at MDA where I have options. 

I am God’s beloved daughter. I am His child, and the battles I am facing are His battles. He will not leave me alone in this fight. “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9 I will be strong, I will be courageous. God is at my side in this battle.

If you know Gary, you know that just about his favorite thing in the world is going to the grocery store. He can turn a quick trip for a couple of necessities into an afternoon of socializing, discovering obscure salsa varieties, and always coming home with a new flavor of ice cream. He has said many times how much fun he thinks it would be to work at Gelson’s, the grocery where we shop when we go visit Delphine. So this MDA imposed self-quarantine-only-leave-the-house-for-medical-treatment has been tough on him. Thankfully we do live in an era of online grocery ordering and pick-up, and our bellies have stayed full.

This past weekend it was time to restock the fridge so we began preparing another online order. Apparently, at least in Natchitoches, the toilet paper, paper towel, Clorox wipe hoarders have also become all-purpose flour, yeast, meat and Lacroix hoarders as well. Many of the items we had on our list were currently out-of-stock at Walmart, so in talking with Madison we decided we would combine our grocery lists for the week and she would do a pick-up order at Kroger. Thankfully, the majority of our items seemed to be in-stock there. We made the order, which with a week’s worth of groceries for two households was quite large, and submitted it for pick-up on Monday. 

Monday came and Kroger called with the news that our order would be delayed 24 to 48 hours. By this time we were getting low on quite a few necessities—especially the tortilla chips Gary needed for his desperachos (basically chips, cheese, jalapeños and whatever conglomeration of stuff he can find in the fridge and pile in his white bowl)—so we started a Walmart order to supplement what was coming from Kroger. When it came time to checkout, there were no pick-up times available. None. At. All. I left my items in my cart and checked back periodically to see if a pick-up time had opened up. Finally, on Tuesday afternoon, a slot for Thursday morning became available and we were able to check out. Kroger called Wednesday morning with the great news that our order was now ready for pick-up. I began to fantasize about the hamburger and baked potato I was going to have that night for supper. When Madison got to her apartment with the groceries and sent a picture of what we actually received from our order, I began to cry. From our original three page joint order, we received granola bars, hummus, feta cheese, milk, bacon, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Lacroix, bananas and jalapeños. No hamburgers, no potatoes. I had a meltdown. It wasn’t pretty.

The results of my bloodwork from my visit at MDA had been posted Monday and I knew that the Neulasta was working because my white blood count and red blood count were both great. My platelets, while still in the normal range, were much lower and I knew it was important that over the next two weeks I eat foods that would help build these back up. With the Cluck Cluck Sisters, we had eggs covered, but we were completely out of green leafy vegetables, broccoli, tomatoes, oranges, and red meat—all the foods that we didn’t get from Kroger. I went to my Walmart app and hit the “edit order button” and added as many of the things we were unable to get as I could, then hit “save changes”. Instead of an updated order, all I got was a message that said, “Oops, something went wrong. Try again.” Even though I am well aware of the definition of insanity, I continued to try to edit the order, each time with the same frustrating result. After an hour of tears, I quit. I decided to put my tennis shoes on and go for a walk in the woods. Being outside is always a good idea and my mood lifted.

The next series of events could not have been scripted by the most imaginative fiction writer. Wednesday evening right before dark, Renee’ called and told me to put a bowl at the end of my sidewalk because she and Steve had caught some bass and were going to drop some off for us. Seeing a friend, even just through the window, lifted my spirits. Then the next morning when we were unpacking our Walmart pick-up order, we discovered one of the bags held a pot roast! This was one of the items I had tried unsuccessfully to add to our order. Jehovah Jireh, God was providing! When we finished putting up our groceries and celebrating our pot roast, Gary asked me to go over the Super One order he had started. We still needed to fill-in some things that were unavailable from Walmart, including Argos’ dog food. He can’t survive the pandemic solely on American cheese and peanut butter! The earliest available date was April 15. As we edited the order, removing some things we had been able to get at Walmart and adding some items that had been out of stock, I saw a pick-up time had become available for 4:00 pm THAT VERY AFTERNOON! We quickly checked out and again celebrated, although Argos’ said he had been totally fine sticking with the peanut butter and cheese diet. As if this wasn’t enough, literally fifteen minutes after we placed our Super One order Gary received a Snapchat from a former student in the High School Sunday School Class he used to teach who was home from college due to school closures. He said he knew we were quarantined at home and he was working at Super One and would be glad to pick up groceries for us and deliver them if we needed him to. Such a thoughtful act of kindness and generosity. Gary and I were both overwhelmed and brought to tears. 

God saw my distress and heard my cries. And in the midst of my pity party, He provided over and above, exceedingly abundant blessings just as Paul describes in Ephesians 3:20. A simple thing to reassure us He was watching over us and would provide for our every need, even a baked potato. 

As part of the Artemis Clinical Trial I will have a second MRI and another ultrasound done this coming Thursday, followed by bloodwork and chemo number three on Friday. My prayer is my cancer is “sensitive” to the chemotherapy and will show a marked reduction in size. I have learned a lot from reading about triple negative breast cancers. TNBC is not just one “type” of breast cancer but a catch all of cancers that can each be very different. Only about 35-40% of these cancers are considered sensitive to chemotherapy and result in a complete pathological response, meaning there are no more cancer cells found during surgery. My prayer is my particular cancer is sensitive to chemo and I hear those words, “complete pathological response”, from my surgeon. Of those TNBC that are chemotherapy insensitive, about 50% of women will have a recurrence within three years with standard treatment alone. If my particular cancer is chemo insensitive, Artemis offers me a second chance to achieve zero cancer cells at the time of my surgery. The doctors are using the tissue from my last biopsy to break down my particular cancer to it’s molecular level and will then be able to provide targeted therapies for my cancer in addition to standard chemo. MDA will use their arsenal to treat my individual cancer profile, not only giving me a better chance of long-term survival, but furthering the science as well. This is why my ability to stay in Artemis and have my treatment done at MDA was so important to me and why I thank God every day for the blessing of being treated at MDA. My prayer is that whatever is learned from the study and treatment of my cancer will make triple negative breast cancer not as scary for those receiving this diagnosis in the future.

The past week was an incredibly stressful week to say the least. When the governor of Texas last Sunday announced the travel restrictions for anyone traveling from anywhere in Louisiana I knew that could be a problem and cause a delay of my chemo scheduled for April 3. The governor’s executive order stated anyone traveling into the state from Louisiana had to self-quarantine for 14 days. By Monday afternoon, it appeared that travel from Louisiana to Texas for medical treatment, unrelated to COVID-19, was permissible and my fear began to subside. I would need to fill out a travel form (similar to the VISA applications we do each time we go to Kenya) and carry a copy of my schedule of appointments and my reservation for the hotel, but I would be allowed to go across the state line. Whew, we could breathe again. Then came Tuesday’s announcement by MDA that beginning April 1, patients outside of Texas were required to quarantine for 14 days before receiving treatment. At first, my doctors had no answers as to what exactly that meant. Did the quarantine have to be done in Texas? I hadn’t left my home or had visitors since arriving home from my last chemo on March 20. Did that count as quarantine? Did Madison’s leaving to get a Walmart pick-up order and Gary going to the post office break quarantine? Too many questions and too few answers. 

I had been in frequent contact with the social worker at my oncologist’s office throughout the day Tuesday and late that afternoon she said the hospital was meeting with the governor’s office that evening and I should have some answers the next morning. I was told as a state agency, MDA had to follow the guidelines in the executive order and anyone outside of the state of Texas may have to be treated in their home state. Madison sent out prayer requests and the prayer warriors went to work. At that point all I could pray was, “God, fix it. I don’t know what You are going to do, what needs to be done, or how to fix it. I’ve run out of options. I’ve done everything I can possibly do. God, please fix it.” I was relying on Romans 8:26-27 “In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God.”

Wednesday morning the social worker called me. She had spoken to my doctor and as far as he was concerned, I was scheduled for chemo on Friday. However, that could be overridden by the hospital, since they were still working to put in place the guidelines for who would receive treatment at MDA and who would be rescheduled closer to home. The sticking point seemed to be that by traveling to receive my treatment, I was breaking quarantine. Her advice was to plan to come Thursday, but pack to stay in case they determined I needed to be quarantined in Texas before treatment. So I spent Wednesday trying to pack what Gary and I might need for the foreseeable future, looking at options for staying long-term in Houston, and making arrangements to keep things going at home. My prayer continued to be, “God fix it.”

God heard our prayers and responded in a mighty way! Wednesday at 4:04 pm I received an email from the supervisor of my clinical trial with the most glorious news—MDA would continue to treat my cancer during this pandemic and I would be allowed to quarantine at home! The email ended with, “call if you have any questions.” Of course, I called immediately with a hundred questions. The clinical supervisor explained that as a participant in the Artemis clinical trial everything that is done to treat my cancer and monitor my tumors’ response can only be administered and monitored at MDA under the strict clinical trial protocols. Thank you, God, for a diagnosis of triple negative breast cancer!

When I first learned I had triple negative breast cancer I wasn’t so grateful. I knew it was the “scary” breast cancer. I knew women—two—who had survived this type of cancer and drew on their strength. I knew MDA was on the cutting edge of triple negative breast cancer research so that gave me some comfort. Once I knew it had not yet spread to my lymph nodes I felt more positive. But grateful? Not yet. 

In The Hiding Place, Corrie Ten Boom recounts a story about the barracks she and Betsie were assigned to in Ravensbruck. It was overcrowded, the straw reeked, and there were fleas! They pulled out the small Bible they had smuggled into the camp and read, “Comfort the frightened, help the weak, be patient with everyone. See that none of you repays evil for evil, but always seek to do good to one another and to all. Rejoice always, pray constantly, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus.” 1 Thessalonians 5:14-18. They began to give thanks for their circumstances…until Betsie said thank you God for the fleas. That was too much for Corrie. She told her sister there was no way she could be thankful for the fleas. Not yet. Then one evening when Corrie arrived back in the barracks Betsie shared a discovery about the fleas. The reason the guards kept their distance and did not come into their barracks was because of the infestation of fleas! The presence of the fleas gave them the freedom to read their Bible to the prisoners every night. Thank God for the fleas!

I know God has showered His blessings on me during this season. I see His gracious hand in all of this. None of this has come as a surprise to Him. He has been preparing the way for me long before my diagnosis or this pandemic began. His word promises His plan for my life is good. “For I know the plans I have for you”, declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11. I can rest in Him and trust His good plan.

Gary and I left for Texas Thursday morning and traveled, without stopping, to MDA. Before we took our masks off, we Lysoled and Cloroxed the room at Rotary House as the clinical trial supervisor had instructed. We brought our dinner with us and didn’t leave the room until I left for my appointments on Friday morning. At the entrance to MDA I was given a new mask to put on and answered the questions about contact with anyone who had or was suspected of having COVID-19, and any symptoms I was experiencing. I told them I had no symptoms and no contact with anyone who had, and had been quarantined at my home since my last chemotherapy treatment on March 20. However, since I traveled from Louisiana I was given a red bracelet and told to make sure it was visible at all times. When I checked in for my bloodwork I was sent to a closed isolation room to have my blood drawn, then told to go straight to the Ambulatory Treatment Center (where the chemotherapy is administered) to check in. Even though my appointment for chemotherapy wasn’t for four hours, a nurse came and escorted me immediately to a treatment room, closed the door and put a no contact sign up. I had to wait for my bloodwork to come back and my oncologist to sign off on it before my chemotherapy could begin, but it didn’t take as long as I anticipated. My chemo began at 12:15 and I was discharged at 2:45. We were at home in Natchitoches before dark. I know the red bracelet was intended to protect the staff and other patients from me and any potential risk I may have posed, but I felt like it was shield of protection for me. I knew I hadn’t been exposed to COVID-19, and by being placed in isolation, I knew my risk of exposure would be minimized. I was grateful for the red bracelet.

So far the side effects from this round of chemotherapy have, again, been minimal. I’ve had no nausea. I’ve also experienced much less fatigue than last time. Perhaps some of the fatigue following the first chemotherapy was due to the surgery for the port. I did have severe back pain seven days after the Neulasta injection that  lasted about 12 hours and I am anticipating that will probably happen again. That’s ok, because I know that it’s working and helping my body boost my blood counts to where they need to be. Another thing I am truly grateful for. My hair has begun to fall out and that’s ok too. Yesterday Gary got out the clippers and gave me a buzz cut. Definitely an act of trust to let your husband give you a haircut! I am grateful Gary is by my side and still thinks I’m beautiful even with a few bald spots!

I am thankful for the “fleas” in my life. I choose to be grateful for my diagnosis. I choose to be grateful for the roadblocks. I choose to be grateful for red bracelets. And I will choose to be grateful for whatever new obstacle comes my way because I know it is all in God’s hands and He has a plan.

One of the most difficult consequences of my cancer diagnosis to swallow was the fact I was going to lose my hair. I know that in the big scheme of things, it isjust hair, it will grow back, and it shouldn’t be that big a deal when battling a disease that if left untreated could be deadly. But losing my hair is an announcement to the world that “I am sick. I am not well. It’s not business as usual.” I’ve also become aware just how vain I am about my hair! I’ve realized that no matter how “bad” a day was, if it was a good hair day, it was a good day! My hair has always been a huge factor in determining my overall mood. Now that it was going to be stripped away, I was struggling. So in my typical fashion, I made a plan.

Before my treatment began, I went to Kori and got my hair cut to shoulder length to slowly begin getting used to shorter hair. The plan was to go back and get an even shorter cut in between my first and second chemo treatments, then get it buzzed when it began to actually fall out (sometime between day 7 and 21 from my first treatment). I honestly never thought I would even think the words “buzz-cut” and my hair in the same sentence! Then the coronavirus hit and Louisiana shut down. My hair was still going to fall out, but my plan had to adapt.

Honestly, Allie, Madison and I are all pretty “hair-challenged” when it comes to knowing how to style hair. I never could French-braid the girls hair—about the only thing I could do was ponytails and pigtails—and the only time I tried to cut one of the kids’ hair, Allie ended up with crooked, half-inch bangs I’m still apologizing to her for! So my new “plan” was pretty far out in left field—Madison could cut my hair! Madison watched a YouTube video, gathered the supplies and set up shop on the back patio. Allie joined us via FaceTime for moral support and encouragement. The scene was a bit surreal. I sat looking at the beauty of the blue sky, the bright spring green of the trees and the calm of the lake, listening to the song of the birds, as I was wrapped in a black trash bag waiting for Madison to cut my hair. Never in a million years could I have imagined this moment!

Things overheard during my haircut…

• Me: You could cut it longer because it will curl up when it dries. Madison: Oh, shoot!
• Madison: I think the mistake I made was switching your haircut halfway through. The bottom is a pixie cut but the top is a lot longer because I don’t know what I’m doing.
• Madison: This is the most “Papaw” thing Mom’s ever done.
• Allie: Let Mom go try fixing it with her curling iron. Madison: There’s not a curling iron on earth that can help this.
• Madison: The back, for the record, looks great.
• Madison: I mean this in the best way possible, the side looks kind of like a chicken wing.

They say laughter is good medicine and the girls and I all had a big dose Thursday afternoon! We were experiencing the kind of laughter where you can hardly catch your breath. I’m sure the fishermen who had been watching this little episode unfold thought we had lost our minds. In the midst of a pandemic and quarantine and losing my hair, we found JOY!!!!!!! Belly laughing, from the tip of our toes, joy! I have a verse hanging on my back door, “Then He turned my sorrow into joy! He took away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy!” (Psalm 30:11). God took something that I was mourning over—the loss of my hair—and made it into the greatest joy I have felt in this journey! He continues to shower me with His blessings and His presence.

This has been a good week of rest. I’ve been able to continue walking and I’m back up to three miles each day. The side effects have been minimal and I am so very thankful for that answered prayer! We will be heading back to Houston next Thursday for appointments and chemo round two on Friday. For now, family is no longer allowed in MDA due to COVID-19 so this round of chemo will be solo. But that’s ok, I won’t really be alone.

With the coronavirus quarantine it’s a good thing I love to read and love a good movie or Netflix series. I’ve never really been a chick-flick kind of girl—I prefer shoot-em-ups, especially if they involve the military or spies. Movies like American Sniper, Lone Survivor, Tears of the Sun, Togo and Secretariat are some of my favorites. I’m fascinated with the discipline and courage exemplified by our military, and I’m always onboard for a come from behind, heart of a warrior story. There is a quote from one of the military biographies that I’ve read that has stuck in my mind: “Calm is contagious.” Right now with the pandemic and our economy spiraling out of control we all need to practice a little peace and calm. Not the kind of peace and calm that things in this world can provide, but the kind that comes from God.

God promises us calm in the midst of all of life’s storms. In Him we can have calm in the midst of coronavirus, calm in the midst of chaos in the financial markets, calm in the midst of a toilet paper shortage, calm in the midst of cancer. We can’t give up hope or become angry when He doesn’t follow our script and do what we think should be done. Even though we may desperately want Him to, He doesn’t always calm the storm raging around us like He did in Matthew 8:23-27. But He does promise He is always, always with us in the storm. Isaiah 41:10 says, “Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” This is a promise. I know as I walk through this storm of cancer, with a little pandemic and financial meltdown thrown in for good measure, Jesus is right beside me the whole way, giving me His strength to weather this storm. 

This past Friday marked a turn in my cancer journey. With my first round of chemo, we transitioned into warrior mode. This is a much more comfortable place for me to be. I have always been a doer and a fighter, someone who is uncomfortable sitting still. After two months of identifying and categorizing my disease we are finally working to get rid of it. I love what Allie shared on Instagram the other day, “And because she’s just that much of an over achiever, she’s set out to survive cancer during a global pandemic.” The bigger the mountain, the sweeter the victory!

The MRI I did as part of the Artemis trial identified a very small additional mass that was separate and apart from the cluster of the three previously identified tumors. The biopsy of this new site also showed it was indeed another malignancy. This doesn’t affect my initial chemotherapy treatment, but will be something they consider as I move forward in the clinical trial and toward surgery. When the doctor came back to report it was malignant the thought that ran through my mind was, “Bring. It. On!”

I will admit I was pretty terrified of having surgery to implant a port in my vein for chemo. I don’t like the thought of knives and stitches and medical devices that become a part of my body. But as I was waiting for my surgery to begin, I felt God’s peace. I also felt His comforting presence when during my surgery, I woke up to one of my favorite songs, “What a Wonderful World,” being sung by my surgeon. As the song ended, I told him thank you for singing my favorite song, and he continued to sing and even asked if I had a special request! Such a simple thing made this surgery less scary and reminded me of God’s presence. 

Chemo has been the monster under the bed that haunted my nightmares. It has been scary to think about. The informed consent, possible long-term side effects, and ways it could effect me in the coming weeks has loomed large. I worried I would become sick on the way home from Houston, that I wouldn’t be able to eat, that I would feel bad and not be able to do the things I wanted to do for weeks on end. It didn’t help that when it came time to actually administer the chemotherapy drugs the nurse had changed into full coverage gear, signifying that this was some seriously strong stuff! I have been praying for minimal side effects and I am thankful to report my prayers have been answered! I slept most of the way home from Houston and I’ve slept well every night. I’ve taken my anti-nausea meds as directed and I’ve suffered from zero nausea. I went for a short walk yesterday and a longer one today. I have rested during the day when I needed to, napped when I became tired, and enjoyed being taken care of by my family. Once I shined the light under the bed, I saw chemo wasn’t the monster I had imagined it to be. 

I know that as I continue through this journey, things may change. The side effects may hit me and hit me hard. That’s ok because if my body is suffering, so is my cancer. I can’t be afraid of what may or may not happen. I’m reminded of one of my favorite Corrie Ten Boom quotes, “Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow. It empties today of its strength.” I’m not going to worry about what the next round of chemo will do, what the next round of tests will show, how the financial markets will react tomorrow, or what new restrictions may be enacted due to this pandemic. I am going to focus on today and the strength God has provided. Just for today. I think we all need as much strength today as we can get.

During our latest visit to Kenya in March, 2019, our group hosted a conference for almost a hundred women from different churches in the Eldoret area. After much prayer, discussion and planning, Molly and I chose to teach on spiritual warfare and the armor of God. In Ephesians 6:12 Paul tells us, “For we are not fighting against people made of flesh and blood, but against persons without bodies—the evil rulers of the unseen world, those mighty satanic beings and great evil princes of darkness who rule this world; and against huge numbers of wicked spirits in the spirit world.” Although we may be unable to “see” these spiritual enemies with our physical eyes, we still feel the consequences of their attacks. 

As children of God, we cannot be destroyed, but Satan will use everything he can to distract, discourage, and terrorize us until we are incapable of living freely and fully the life God intended. The strongest attacks will come when and where we are proclaiming God the loudest. We can’t win a spiritual battle in our own strength; we will fail, and fail miserably, every time we try. That is why God gives us His armor to protect us. Our job is to pick up and put on each piece of the armor so that we are protected and prepared for battle.

When I wrote last Sunday that I was going to continue to chose joy and to thank God for my circumstances, I guess I drew a line in the sand that the devil just had to test. I have spent the last two months being poked, prodded, imaged and biopsied with the result being, they can tell me with 100% certainty, “Yes, Tanya, you have cancer.” This was the week we were going to actually start doing something about it. As Monday began and the schedulers started making appointments, it became clear that all the moving parts would not be in place for me to begin chemo on Friday. This was the first flaming arrow the devil sent and it hit the target dead center. I immediately sent invitations to a pity-party and proceeded to have a meltdown. The second arrow came in the form of a shipment of plants and flowers being delivered at Stines. They were a reminder that cancer had hijacked my life and I didn’t know when, or if, I would be able to spend my mornings in the yard with dirt under my fingernails. Boom, another arrow—car trouble on our trip to Houston. Boom, another arrow—my phone died (thank goodness it was only temporarily). Boom, the meltdown of the financial markets to add a bit more uncertainty to life. Boom, the coronavirus and the dangers it poses to someone whose immune system will be compromised by chemo. The final arrow in this assault was the arrival of Allie’s wedding dress at the bridal boutique. I was supposed to be there with her when she tried it on. When Allie forwarded me the email announcing her dress had been received, we both broke down and cried. I wanted to choose joy, but I could barely lift my eyes from the pit.  My shield of faith was covered in arrows and I was easily overwhelmed with despair.

Alone my shield was too small to protect me from the onslaught. That’s when my family, my friends, and my brothers and sisters in Christ stepped in. They linked their shields over me until I could breathe again and regain my strength and joy. Their prayers and encouragement reminded me I am not fighting this battle on my own or in my own strength. Jesus is with me every step of the way and He is my strength. “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.” Isaiah 43:2 In Lord of the Rings, at one point Frodo said he couldn’t bear to carry his load anymore. He was ready to give up and give in when his friend, Sam Gamgee said, “I can’t carry it for you, but I can carry you.” We cannot live the Christian life alone. We need each other. This past week I needed to be carried until I could get back up and face my battle. I am so thankful for my family, for the friends God has placed in my life and for the reminder this past week that I am not in this alone. And yes, I still chose to praise God and be joyful no matter what comes my way. “Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the LORD, I will be joyful in God my Savior. The Sovereign LORD is my strength; He makes my feet like the feet of a deer, He enables me to tread on the heights.” Habakkuk 3:17-19

Even though I was unable to begin chemo this week, a lot was accomplished. I met with the surgeon to discuss my options for reconstruction after surgery, with the integrative medicine doctor about nutrition, exercise and acupuncture to help prevent nausea associated with chemo and with the health psychologist. I had a full lab work up, chest x-ray, echocardiogram, and MRI, and other than a little cancer, I am healthy as a horse. The last two items on the must do list before chemo (another biopsy required by the Artemis trial, and port placement) are scheduled for the coming week. If all goes according to plan, I will have my first chemotherapy treatment this coming Friday.

In 2019 as I was looking forward to the new year and new decade, the word “Joy” kept popping into my mind. Anticipating the coming months, with a new grandson to be born in February, and Allie and Josh’s wedding in September, I could see a year filled with family, celebration, and yes, joy. It seemed like everywhere I looked (ok I’ll admit it, I have a Pinterest addiction) I saw those cute little Scripture memes filled with verses about joy. I’ve never chosen a “theme for the year” before, but I thought I would declare 2020 THE YEAR OF JOY! And so began January.

Anyone who has been a student of the Bible for any length of time knows that the Scriptures don’t tell us that following Christ means your life will be all peaches and cream. Many of my favorite passages talk about the reality that sometimes life is hard because of the choices we make, because of the choices others have made, and sometimes just because we live in a fallen world. For me, one of the key passages of scripture that illuminates this truth is found in James 1:2-4, “Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles of any kind come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing.” These verses let me know that the hard stuff has a purpose. And there’s that little word again, joy. Not only joy, but an opportunity for great joy. If I’m to have joy when I’m going through trials then joy can’t come from my circumstances.

I’ve heard that the difference between joy and happiness is that happiness depends on what is happening around you and joy comes from within. We see t-shirts and signs and bumper stickers that say “Choose joy!” like it’s an easy thing to do. Choose to wear the blue shirt, choose to have tea instead of coffee, choose to be joyful when life is hard. Knowing in your head that your joy isn’t dependent on your circumstances is one thing, but I have found it is not until you truly live through the hard stuff that you understand the concept of joy in ALL circumstances deeply.

So instead of whining and complaining to God about how unfair it is that my life is hard and it’s not fair that I have cancer, I am choosing to find the joy. Joy in my relationship with God, with my family and friends, and with Argos, joy in the sunshine and in all the little “moments” every day. I encourage you to read Psalm 30. It has become my “theme psalm”. One verse is particularly meaningful to me right now. Verse 5 says “Weeping may go on all night, but in the morning there is joy!” This reminds me that the hard part is only temporary. In my case, chemo will end at some point, at some point I will be declared “cured” and there will be much dancing and celebration. But while it is “night,” I am going to choose to be joyful with every wave of nausea, every hair that falls from my head,  every ache and pain, and every tear because I am able to be treated for this disease and I will be healed.

If everything goes to plan, the upcoming week will be very busy. Gary and I are leaving Monday to return to Houston for a week of tests and hopefully my first chemotherapy treatment on Friday. We met with my oncologist last week and he was very reassuring about my prognosis. The triple negative status does place me on the more worrisome than less worrisome side, but he was very encouraging and feels chemo and surgery will completely destroy my cancer. 

In addition to the standard chemotherapy regimen for breast cancer (4 cycles, every other week of Adriamycin and Cytoxan followed by Taxol every week for 12 weeks) I have been enrolled in a clinical trial for triple negative breast cancer called Artemis. There are about 500 women in this trial, including my sweet friend, Lydia. Artemis brings more poking and prodding including MRI’s, ultrasounds, biopsies, and lab work, but it also gives me options if my tumor doesn’t respond well to the traditional chemo. At the end of the Adriamycin and Cytoxan cycles, they will do additional testing to see how my tumor responded. If it has shrunk 70% or more, then they can be fairly certain the traditional chemo will do what it needs to do to “cure” my cancer and we will continue along that path. If it hasn’t responded as well, and hasn’t shrunk by 70%, then I will be given a combination of what they call “investigative agents” along with the Taxol to boost the chances of getting all the cancer. These “investigative agents” are generally chemo and immunotherapy drugs that have been approved to treat other types of cancer. I like knowing how closely they will be monitoring me and that if the traditional treatments aren’t working they will know it more quickly. I also like knowing that worst case scenario, I have options open to me other than the standard course of chemotherapy. The benefits are worth the trade off of a couple of extra biopsies and tests.

As I said, this will be a busy week coming up. Before I can have my first chemotherapy treatment, I have to have an MRI, another ultrasound, a biopsy, an echocardiogram, blood work and a port surgically implanted. I also have appointments with the plastic surgeon to discuss my options for reconstruction and with an integrative medicine doctor. Gary and I need to make sure we eat our Wheaties! We are also going to to follow Paul’s advice in 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18, “Always be joyful. Never stop praying. Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus.”

The scriptures that speak about God’s care for me have always been comforting in stressful times. Knowing that God cares about my situation, that He has a plan and a purpose for my life, and that everything that happens can be used for my good has helped sustain me during dark times. Life hasn’t always been easy—and sometimes its been downright hard—but God has always been there guiding me, walking with me, and providing for my needs. Nevertheless, I feel His presence more intimately now than ever before. I so clearly see His fingerprints in the details of this journey I am facing. So far I have seen 23 incidents of God’s “fingerprints” in the circumstances surrounding my diagnosis. I am sure there are many more I have missed and will only see once this season is done. Knowing He has been preparing the way, and preparing me, for this journey reassures me He will continue to provide until I am healed.

Here are a few examples of the fingerprints I’ve seen:

• When I got the results of my January 15 mammogram that told me everything was clear and to come back in a year, God nudged me to question the initial findings and not let it go. He gave me a spirit that continues to question and seek answers when something doesn’t feel right. (Maybe Allie gets a bit of her tenacity in fighting the system for her clients from me!)
• Gary got sick when we were in California visiting Allie after Christmas and we went to Urgent Care. Because we needed our insurance out of state on Sunday, when our insurance agent called me Monday with the renewal and said we could save money on our health insurance by going to an “all-state” network, I said no. If we had switched networks to save money, I would not have been able to go to MD Anderson and be treated by doctors on the cutting edge of triple negative breast cancer research.
• God’s timing for Fritz’s birth allowed us to meet our beautiful new grandson before I start treatment. If his due date had been a month later, I may not have been able to hold that precious boy in my arms until he was much older. I got to kiss his sweet toes the day he was born.

God has been in the details of our visit here at MD Anderson as well. I have felt His love and kindness shining through the smiles of the staff. Cancer is scary business but we were able to find moments of joy and laughter every day. From realizing we were in an episode of “Mr. Bean (Gary) goes to MD Anderson” to Madison and Gary bursting into laughter when the nurse stepped out to call for Mr. Bueller and no one answered, these lighthearted moments were gifts.

Although we don’t yet have a complete timeline of my treatment plan, we are moving forward. We have learned there are four types of breast cancer. Three of them have hormone receptors and they have targeted therapies that treat them. I have the fourth type, triple negative breast cancer. This is what the MD Anderson website says about triple negative breast cancer: “Since there isn’t an established receptor to target in triple negative breast cancer, this is the most difficult of the three receptor subtypes to treat. Triple negative breast cancer also tends to be more aggressive, so the prognosis for this subtype is often worse than others. Some triple negative breast cancers, however, do respond well to chemotherapy. In some cases, chemotherapy works so well that no cancer is found during surgery. This is called a pathological complete response.”

During the ultrasound they found 5 suspicious lymph nodes under my left arm. They did biopsies of the two “most suspicious”. (Actually they biopsied them both twice because the first results were inconclusive.) The preliminary pathology report showed no cancer in the lymph nodes! The final pathology report concurred, so that is a huge blessing.

My surgeon and my oncologist both agreed that with triple negative breast cancer, even if there is no cancer found in the lymph nodes, they do chemotherapy before surgery so that they can use the tumor (I actually have three tumors clustered together: one large one and two smaller ones) as a marker to gauge the cancer’s response to therapy. In addition to chemotherapy, I will participate in a clinical trial to give me the best chance of having a “pathological complete response” before surgery. We will be back at MD Anderson next week to meet with the oncologist to determine which clinical trial would be a best fit my particular triple negative cancer. My oncologist reassured me his goal was to cure me of this cancer, and that my cancer is curable. 

I feel very hopeful about my future. I still have a big mountain ahead of me to climb. I am taking Mrs. Carol’s advice and every day I am saying to this mountain of cancer “Move out of my life in Jesus name!” and trusting it will be moved! The bigger the mountain, the sweeter the victory, and the more glory to God!

I have cancer and it stinks. In my mind I had 2020 mapped out and it was going to be full of fun things, exciting things, new adventures. And none of these fun and exciting adventures involved frequent trips to Houston, surgery, chemo, and the stress and emotional toll cancer has brought with it. But this is where we are, so bring it on. I have my “big girl pants” on (thanks Erin for the ginormous pair big enough to share!)  and I’ve cinched them tight.

Cancer is not the worst thing life could throw at me. I am in no way minimizing it, but there are proven, life-saving treatments for cancer. Doctors know what to do. 1 + 1 = 2. Chemo kills cancer cells. Surgery removes tumors. Mine is not the first case of breast cancer the doctors at MD Anderson have seen. They know what to do. But make no mistake, the reason I have no fear of what the future brings is not because of my confidence in the doctors at MD Anderson. It is because I have complete trust in God.

A cancer diagnosis does bring mortality into focus. It makes you realize what a gift each day truly is and that we really aren’t promised tomorrow. But the reality is, I wasn’t promised tomorrow before the diagnosis either. Please don’t misunderstand me. I want to live as many years on this earth as I can. I want to watch my grandchildren grow up. I want to pour myself into their lives and teach them whatever lessons I can about love, family, and Jesus. But I know with every bone in my body that when I take my last breath on this earth, my next breath will be in heaven. God will wipe every tear from my eyes, and I will hear “Well done, good and faithful servant.” And all the people I’ve lost in my life, will be found.

When the worst consequence cancer can throw at you is heaven, cancer has already lost.

Right now I feel like I’m in a tornado. Life is spinning around me faster than I can comprehend. It would be so easy to become caught up in the chaos and fear. The only way I can stop this madness is to reach out and grab onto Jesus. He is my anchor in this storm. When I cling to Him, keep my eyes on Him, the chaos, fear, and madness may continue to swirl around me, but I will be steady and firm, and won’t be swept away. I will keep my arms wrapped tight around Him. 

We leave Tuesday for MD Anderson and currently have appointments scheduled on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday, but they told us to be prepared to stay longer if more tests were needed. By this time next week we should know what type of breast cancer I have and what the treatment will look like going forward. Thank you for the prayers that have been lifted for me and for my family. We have felt them all.