Not the news I was hoping for. But yes, it's true, my melanoma has sprouted and shown its ugly head again. I felt it as a lump in my neck (near the place the original infected lymph node was removed) about a week or 10 days ago. I had been suffering from a nasty cold the week before that so I was hoping it was just some effect from the congestion. Or maybe a side-effect of the chemo-drug I had taken, an inflammation of sorts. But when my clinician saw it on Tuesday she recommended a biopsy immediately. O joy! The pathologists came right up with their big needles and syringes and began poking and aspirating my lump. On the third try the got the positive cells. It is melanoma. So, I'm out of the study. No more free super drug for me. Back to square one.
Scans on Thursday showed it has not spread from my neck, but it is on both sides now. Left and Right lymph nodes will have to come out via surgery. Because I am at Moffitt now, that also entails meeting a new surgeon. His first available appointment isn't til the 11th. That's just to meet him, surgery would be scheduled after that time. Needless to say I am anxious about the waiting. I have asked my doctor to personally ask if there is a way to get me in earlier. She has, but we are waiting for an answer. The aggressive nature of this thing makes me want to be even more aggressive with it. But again I find myself waiting and trusting God, nothing I can do to control it....
Please pray with me for mercy with the surgeon's scheduler. I would love to meet him on Wednesday and have surgery on Thursday. (or something like that.)
Thank you for praying.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Second Treatment
Today it is off to Moffitt for my second drug infusion. Last time was relatively painless and I have not experienced any side effects so far. So really I have no reason to worry, right? But I do. However, I worry about what might be, not what is reality.
Every time I walk into a doctor's appointment there is the chance that they will tell me that something more is wrong. More bad news. When I was first diagnosed in October, it was like that. As went travelled from doctor to doctor, from test to scan to procedure it felt like at every turn there was more bad news...
I knew nothing about melanoma before this. (I also learned that you are supposed to have a yearly skin exam done by a dermatologist. Who knew? Get your skin checked people!) So every appointment was an educational experience. But when you are sitting there with stage 3 and they are educating you about how aggressive and tricky this disease can be, how limited the treatment options are, it feels like bad news...each piece of info felt overwhelming and suffocating.
I don't like bad news. No one does, I guess. But I'd prefer to avoid pain and suffering if possible. I'd rather avoid the knowledge of bad news if it means that I could aviod the pain of it. I'd rather fix the problem personally than cause those around me the pain of change or discomfort.
So, as I head into another one of those appointments it feels like another opportunity for the professionals to tell me more things are wrong, something is not working like it should be, whatever. While it causes a bit of nervousness in the pit of my stomach, I will be determined to smile, put on a brave face and trust Jesus. I know he is trust-worthy in all ways.
I hope that one day I will get to a place where my character is transformed and I don't even feel the nervousness- that my faith and trust will carry me above the worry and fear.
"Which of you by worrying can add a day to your life?" -Jesus
Every time I walk into a doctor's appointment there is the chance that they will tell me that something more is wrong. More bad news. When I was first diagnosed in October, it was like that. As went travelled from doctor to doctor, from test to scan to procedure it felt like at every turn there was more bad news...
I knew nothing about melanoma before this. (I also learned that you are supposed to have a yearly skin exam done by a dermatologist. Who knew? Get your skin checked people!) So every appointment was an educational experience. But when you are sitting there with stage 3 and they are educating you about how aggressive and tricky this disease can be, how limited the treatment options are, it feels like bad news...each piece of info felt overwhelming and suffocating.
I don't like bad news. No one does, I guess. But I'd prefer to avoid pain and suffering if possible. I'd rather avoid the knowledge of bad news if it means that I could aviod the pain of it. I'd rather fix the problem personally than cause those around me the pain of change or discomfort.
So, as I head into another one of those appointments it feels like another opportunity for the professionals to tell me more things are wrong, something is not working like it should be, whatever. While it causes a bit of nervousness in the pit of my stomach, I will be determined to smile, put on a brave face and trust Jesus. I know he is trust-worthy in all ways.
I hope that one day I will get to a place where my character is transformed and I don't even feel the nervousness- that my faith and trust will carry me above the worry and fear.
"Which of you by worrying can add a day to your life?" -Jesus
Monday, December 26, 2011
Christmas
This year I am going into Christmas with much more hope about seeing next Christmas. Never really thought about that before.
This year I am going into Christmas with more joy. Not worried about the little things that might normally stress me. I am thankful to be alive!
This year I am celebrating Christmas with a deeper understanding of Jesus' love for us. That he would come as a baby for you and I motivated by his love for us...blows my mind...and his power! Veiled in a baby, helpless and needy, yet the one who created all things! Knowing he would eventually defeat death and yet humbly sibmitted to the Father's plan.
This year I am celebrating Christmas with less gifts under the tree. Not only because medical bills are a reality when you're fighting cancer, but because they seem less important somehow. Being together and making memories will take the priority this year.
This year I'm taking a lot of pictures and video at Chirstmas time.
This year I'm going into Christmas aware of the gift that life is.
May you and yours enjoy life this year. Celebrate the ones in your life who mean so much to you, thanking Jesus for all the gifts in your life.
This year I am going into Christmas with more joy. Not worried about the little things that might normally stress me. I am thankful to be alive!
This year I am celebrating Christmas with a deeper understanding of Jesus' love for us. That he would come as a baby for you and I motivated by his love for us...blows my mind...and his power! Veiled in a baby, helpless and needy, yet the one who created all things! Knowing he would eventually defeat death and yet humbly sibmitted to the Father's plan.
This year I am celebrating Christmas with less gifts under the tree. Not only because medical bills are a reality when you're fighting cancer, but because they seem less important somehow. Being together and making memories will take the priority this year.
This year I'm taking a lot of pictures and video at Chirstmas time.
This year I'm going into Christmas aware of the gift that life is.
May you and yours enjoy life this year. Celebrate the ones in your life who mean so much to you, thanking Jesus for all the gifts in your life.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Where Cancer Found Me
On a very normal Monday, I found myself in a dermatologist's office in complete shock. I could not believe what she was telling me. "Worst case is 15-30% of people live", she said. "15-30% die?", I restated incorrectly. "No, that's the amount who survive 5 years. But we won't know for sure until you get it staged. You need have surgery. The surgeon will stage the cancer depending on how far it has travelled in your body. Then you'll know better where you stand. I already made an appointment for you to meet him on Thursday. You need to go downstairs and get a chest x-ray right now."
She told me to call my husband, sit there as long as I wanted to. And she left. I couldn't move. I was in shock. I sat there staring at the wall, my thoughts whirling in incoherent circles. I remember thinking it was a dream. This couldn't really be happening to me. God wouldn't let this happen to me, to Jeremy, to my kids. My mouth was dry. I was cold. I couldn't call anyone. I couldn't even put a sentence together. I felt so helpless. I don't know how much time went by, then the nurse came in with a glass of water and I thought I should do something. I left, in a complete daze.
After getting the chest x-ray, I started just walking. I was on the USF campus so I was familiar with my surroundings, but unaware of where I was going. I called Jeremy; I wanted to go home, but neither he nor I trusted my driving ability in my compromised mental state. I found a bench, parked myself on it and began to pray. I had a huge packet of info on melanoma that I began to read but it only made fear rise up in me. I read enough to get the gist of the severity of what I was facing, but I had to stop. It was too overwhelming.
Several people called me not even knowing of the news I just just received. It was like God was already reminding me that I was not in this alone. People care about me and my family. He cares for us all.
The following week was a blur. Many conversations with friends, reading too much Internet info and too many stats about melanoma, meeting my surgeon then a medical oncologist. I had multiple scans and tests done- more than most people have in a lifetime. Surgery was scheduled immediately. With every appointment the reality of the situation began to sink in. It seemed like we just kept getting more bad news every time.
Surgery went well. They were able to remove all the melanoma from the primary site and lymph nodes. The scans showed no more cancer in my body. I was glad to hear this news but my heart was still heavy. They were telling me that melanoma is tricky. It can get away from the primary site and out into your bloodstream and go undetected for a while. Scans can only pick up something that is already 2cm in size. Smaller than that and it's undetectable. All the "what-if's" were plaguing my thoughts. I was trying to go about normal daily life but they would catch me out of the blue. "what if there is cancer growing somewhere else in my body right now?" "what if it comes back?" "what if i die?" too many scenarios. Too many possibilities. Too much fear. I wanted to trust God. My mouth was saying that I did trust him, but in my heart I knew I was deceiving myself. Could I trust him in this? What did that kind of trust even look and feel like? This was way beyond my trusting ability.
I went on like this for a couple weeks. I would cry at the thought of cancer or death. I would cry when I thought about my kids growing up and the chance that I would not be a part of that. I would cry reading anything about this disease or treatment options. I would cry when I was spending time with Jesus. I was always sad.
Eventually, through conversation with my amazingly wise husband (no, he didn't tell me to describe him that way...) I realized real faith would be able to trust God and allow myself to play out those worse-case scenarios that I was trying to avoid. To trust God in every moment in spite of the circumstances or the bad news of the day. Real faith would mean trusting God even on my deathbed...I think I've turned that corner in my relationship and trust in God. I think that my faith is ready for the journey of cancer. And when it fails me, I hope in his grace...
Cancer found me unprepared. My faith was not as strong as I thought it was. My mind, my heart and my life were not in agreement with what I really believed. It took this shock to make me figure out what I really believe about life, death and the hope we have in Jesus. I don't have it figured out still, but I feel like I am on the right path. I don't know what tomorrow holds, but I want to be better prepared for whatever it may bring. God help me...
She told me to call my husband, sit there as long as I wanted to. And she left. I couldn't move. I was in shock. I sat there staring at the wall, my thoughts whirling in incoherent circles. I remember thinking it was a dream. This couldn't really be happening to me. God wouldn't let this happen to me, to Jeremy, to my kids. My mouth was dry. I was cold. I couldn't call anyone. I couldn't even put a sentence together. I felt so helpless. I don't know how much time went by, then the nurse came in with a glass of water and I thought I should do something. I left, in a complete daze.
After getting the chest x-ray, I started just walking. I was on the USF campus so I was familiar with my surroundings, but unaware of where I was going. I called Jeremy; I wanted to go home, but neither he nor I trusted my driving ability in my compromised mental state. I found a bench, parked myself on it and began to pray. I had a huge packet of info on melanoma that I began to read but it only made fear rise up in me. I read enough to get the gist of the severity of what I was facing, but I had to stop. It was too overwhelming.
Several people called me not even knowing of the news I just just received. It was like God was already reminding me that I was not in this alone. People care about me and my family. He cares for us all.
The following week was a blur. Many conversations with friends, reading too much Internet info and too many stats about melanoma, meeting my surgeon then a medical oncologist. I had multiple scans and tests done- more than most people have in a lifetime. Surgery was scheduled immediately. With every appointment the reality of the situation began to sink in. It seemed like we just kept getting more bad news every time.
Surgery went well. They were able to remove all the melanoma from the primary site and lymph nodes. The scans showed no more cancer in my body. I was glad to hear this news but my heart was still heavy. They were telling me that melanoma is tricky. It can get away from the primary site and out into your bloodstream and go undetected for a while. Scans can only pick up something that is already 2cm in size. Smaller than that and it's undetectable. All the "what-if's" were plaguing my thoughts. I was trying to go about normal daily life but they would catch me out of the blue. "what if there is cancer growing somewhere else in my body right now?" "what if it comes back?" "what if i die?" too many scenarios. Too many possibilities. Too much fear. I wanted to trust God. My mouth was saying that I did trust him, but in my heart I knew I was deceiving myself. Could I trust him in this? What did that kind of trust even look and feel like? This was way beyond my trusting ability.
I went on like this for a couple weeks. I would cry at the thought of cancer or death. I would cry when I thought about my kids growing up and the chance that I would not be a part of that. I would cry reading anything about this disease or treatment options. I would cry when I was spending time with Jesus. I was always sad.
Eventually, through conversation with my amazingly wise husband (no, he didn't tell me to describe him that way...) I realized real faith would be able to trust God and allow myself to play out those worse-case scenarios that I was trying to avoid. To trust God in every moment in spite of the circumstances or the bad news of the day. Real faith would mean trusting God even on my deathbed...I think I've turned that corner in my relationship and trust in God. I think that my faith is ready for the journey of cancer. And when it fails me, I hope in his grace...
Cancer found me unprepared. My faith was not as strong as I thought it was. My mind, my heart and my life were not in agreement with what I really believed. It took this shock to make me figure out what I really believe about life, death and the hope we have in Jesus. I don't have it figured out still, but I feel like I am on the right path. I don't know what tomorrow holds, but I want to be better prepared for whatever it may bring. God help me...
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