Oh, if I could only put into words the emotions that overwelm me as I begin this post. One year. One year ago today, the dreaded call came in from my surgeon. The confirmation we knew was coming when the phone rang. The day it snowed, and I drank coffee and read my Bible while the kids laughed and played outside. As foggy as 2015 was for me, I remember every detail of this day last year. In fact, this entire week has ushered in a flood of memories marking my "anniversary" with this unwelcomed guest in my life.
On Wednesday, as I was writing down the kids assignments for the day, I remembered how I had done the very same thing on this day the previous year. I quickly rummaged through the stack of binders and notebooks in the basement from last year, and flipped to February 17th, 2015. We were wrapping up early that day because I had an appointment to get to, so the school list was relatively short. An annoying interuption to a busy week. As I glanced to the right hand side of the notebook, I realized that there were no assignments for February 18th, 19th, or 20th. Blank page after blank page stared at me--a haunting reminder of the new tasks our family would be given through those coming days. February 17th...a day that would change our world forever.
I went through the chronology of those early days in my first entry (My Cancer Story), so I won't go through all of the details again. But there are snapshots that remain so fresh in my mind that they feel like they occurred yesterday. My Dad making Bryan take the afternoon off from work so that he could take me to my appointment (which I thought was silly, since it was just going to be a routine thing :). The sweet young woman who performed my mammogram sharing stories about her little girl as she tried to make me feel comfortable. Ingrid, the ultrasound tech with the Russian accent, telling me that she'd be right back, leaving me alone to stare inquisitively at the pictures for the next 20 minutes. The young radiologist with her wispy curls and tender smile trying her best to offer Bryan and I words of comfort as she explained details on her computer screen...the beast she knew would inevitably change the direction of our lives from that moment forward.
Bryan and I wept in the parking lot and all the way home. My mom had our kids; so we returned to my parents' house, where he picked them up so that I could talk to my mom. How? How do you tell your mom that the doctor thinks you have cancer? Like me, she assumed this would all be routine, so it broke my heart to burst her bubble. More tears freely flowed between us, but there was a new strength that I witnessed that day in my mom...a steady confidence in her Savior that has encouraged me countless times throughout this journey. My mom trusted Jesus to provide grace for the days ahead, and she gently laid her plans for her child in the hands of a completely trustworthy God.
Bryan and I took the kids to Chick-Fil-A that night. I yearned to do something normal with them. So we ate chicken nuggets, and waffle fries, and I wiped away tears the entire time. I kept looking around at all of the busy people around us, wondering if life would ever truly feel normal again. I examined my children's faces in a new way that night, as I contemplated how life would change for them. I loved them so much and didn't want to see them hurt. Bryan and I kept looking at each other, both of us trying not to break down in the middle of one of our favorite restaurants.
The next day, February 18th, was brutally cold with snow and ice galore. My kids felt that a snow day was in order, and I couldn't refuse. Once the surgeon viewed my scans, she wanted to see me immediately, so our family began the drill we would run through countless times over the next several months...assign/recruit a driver for me, scramble quickly to find childcare for our four young ones, kiss those four little people goodbye for a bit, and clear our minds on the way so that we were ready to process "doctor speak."
My surgeon performed a surgical biopsy in the office, which as I learned later from other surgeons, is typically done in a more surgical setting under some kind of anesthesia. Anxious to get the procedure done, and with a military background, she utlized her resources the best she could (including having her office administrator assist with the biopsy). We laugh now, but she had to ask poor Bryan to sit down because he nearly passed out at the sight of everything! Let's just say, I probably would have asked for a little sedation had I known the details of that procedure :) Looking back, I'm grateful. She knew it was bad, and she didn't want to wait another day for me to return.
Then we waited. Oh, how we learned to wait through this past year! Wednesday until Saturday, we tried to resume "normal" life as we awaited the news. The radiologist and surgeon had both made it clear it was LIKELY cancer, but I supposed there was a part of us that held out hope that everyone was wrong. We cried and prayed a lot together during that week. Shane and Shane, a Christian singing duo that I had liked a lot before, became my new best friends through the long, sleepless nights. The God who created the universe, and yet knit each tiny cell in my body together, met me in each moment of my grief, giving me comfort like I had never experienced before. I clung to Romans 8:28, among countless other verses...
"And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose."
If I had cancer, it would not be "good." However, I knew I could trust my God to work all things FOR my good and His glory. Joy in pain, beauty in ashes, light out of darkness...those things became our way of life through the next year. And even through these painful memories, we know that not a step of it was on our own apart from a loving God.
The call on that Saturday, February 21st was actually a bit unclimactic for us, but a necessary step to get the ball rolling. My surgeon called from her daughter's volleyball tournament, so I could hardly hear her. Yes, cancer. Lymph nodes affected. Stage 2 (would later be changed to Stage 3). Waiting on type...will know more next week and will meet then. I can't remember if we cried? We were ready to go. We called our families (who were also prepared for the news). We called our friends to get the prayer chain started. We made grilled cheese sandwiches for the kids and brought them in from the snow to have a "special family lunch," where we revealed the news to them in gentle language they could understand. Our family prepared for battle together.
A year later, it seems like a lifetime ago, and yet like yesterday at the very same time. Our world has been turned upside down, and at times, has seemed to have shaken the life right out of us. We have experienced more joy and pain simulatenously than we ever thought possible, but the God who has held us through it all has remained constant. One of the verses that the kids and I memorized before I had cancer was Psalm 62:5-7...
"For God alone, Oh my soul, wait in silence,
for my hope is from Him.
He only is my rock and my salvation,
my fortress; I shall not be shaken.
On God rests my salvation and my glory;
my mighty rock, my refuge is God.
What comfort it has been to have Him be our rock and our fortress. We knew this verse before, but we feel like we KNOW it now.
There have been different phases of this journey for us...days during chemo where all I could do was record my thoughts from my bed and rest, others like the past couple of months where "normal life" has kept us so busy that I've had very little time to process anything. I'm so grateful to be back on a pretty normal routine again, living the life of a busy mom! The past couple of weeks have caused me to be much more contemplative again as I look back on how much has changed in a year.
As I prepare for ONE more Herceptin treatment (yes, only ONE MORE!!!) on March 1st, there is much emotion going on inside of me (which tends to mean, I need to write :). There is an abundance of joy one minute, followed by a wave of fear for the future the next. I'm learning much about taking my thoughts captive to Christ right away so that those fears don't overwhelm me.
Thank you so much for your continued prayers for my family through all of our days with this! Our family, friends, and sweet individuals we don't even know have been instruments in the hand of God to encourage us and to show us the grace of our Savior. You have most certainly been used by Him for His glory in our lives! It has been a long and difficult road; and although my treatments are wrapping up, we would still covet your prayers for my body to remain healthy, and for our hearts to remain steadfast.
