Skip to main content

Posts

How Do We Say Goodbye?

How do you say goodbye  to a spirit bigger than most,  and loved by all? By remembering what he did and who he was.  He wrestled.  He was a man who pinned opponents to the mat with power, strength, and fire,  yet always ended with a handshake, eyes steady, dignity intact. He rode.  A man who rode bulls for a living, chasing dust and danger,  his raw talent and fierce determination recognized long before the buckles came. He lived. He was a man who lived with integrity,  stood up for others with the heart of a hero and felt  the power of the Holy Spirit when he gave his life to Jesus.  He loved.  He was a man who loved his son and his family with a passion second only to the love of our Savior.  He was a friend who simply showed up every time he said he would and even when you didn’t ask him to. A man who gave his whole heart, his time, and his hugs to those lucky enough to love him. So how do we say goodbye? We wrestle.  W...
Recent posts

Radiation: Glow Party

I began radiation after four trips to the radiation oncologist's office and two visits with the reconstructive surgeon. I had to completely drain the left (healthy) tissue expander, so it will have to go through the expansion process again. After the expander was drained, the radiation oncologist tried mapping my chest with the machines. Then he came over and asked, "Do these have metal in them?” "Yes. That's how they use a magnet to find the port to fill them, or at least that's what I was told,” I replied. “I cannot do radiation with metal nearby because the beams can hit the metal, scatter, and we cannot control where it goes,” the doctor said softly. I took a deep breath, trying to process. “So I need to remove both expanders in order for you to do radiation?” “Yes. I’m so sorry. Did they (the original team from out of state) not tell you this could be a concern?” “No. That team works closely with the reconstructive surgeon, and this is their standard procedur...

I WANT MY LIFE BACK!

"I WANT MY LIFE BACK!" I have cried out these words many times from the depths of my being throughout this disease. Each setback pushes the finish line farther away—the day when doctors' visits, poking needles, toxic drugs, and painful surgeries are finally behind me. Cancer doesn't just destroy cells and organs; it invades every part of your life and spills into the lives of those who love you most. This week, that truth tore out of me in sheer exhaustion. We went in for my first radiation appointment. It was supposed to include the creation of a mold to hold my body still, three tattoos (which we'll call "party dots"), and a scan to map out my radiation dosage and treatment plan. But instead of moving forward, we hit another snag—another delay in the care plan. The tissue expander (aka torture device) on the left side was blocking one of the beam angles needed to target the right-side cancer cells. Because of this, the radiation oncologist explained th...

Held by Jesus When the Treatment Ends

Today is one full of emotions as we navigate the next steps in cancer care. We went in for my weekly chemotherapy appointment today and chatted with my fellow pink sisters in the waiting room. It is amazing how connected you become when you are trudging through the same dark valley and realize those sweet shared stories are the light that keeps you going some days. When I was called back, one of my phenomenal nurses, Jenny, accessed my port and shared the good news of her recent engagement and Christmas plans. My other nurse, Lucy, came over to say hi and see how I was doing. These two women are truly some of the most amazing humans I have ever met. They serve in a tough area of care and never make you feel like they have been hardened. Their compassion, expertise, and skill in caring for their patients clearly show the love of Jesus in one of the seemingly most bleak areas of healthcare. No one wants to be there, but I appreciated that each week I would get to see these two beautiful ...

A Heart of Gratitude in Cancer

       Having an attitude of gratitude has always been in my nature, but a cancer diagnosis has a way of intensifying a thankful heart. As many are preparing for Thanksgiving, shopping for the traditional dish ingredients, and making travel plans, my family and I are focused on living for today. I will soon begin the new chemotherapy regimen, Pacitaxel. The drug is the cousin to the first round of chemotherapy I started in August, which caused a rare and very painful allergic reaction.       My oncologist (GOD BLESS THIS WOMAN!) is not confident I will make it through this one without a Trigeminal Nerve response; however, she wants to try it because it gives me the best odds of survival. She wants to complete 12 weekly rounds. Yet, she cannot promise I will not have a neuropathy reaction that could cause permanent painful damage, so she is monitoring me closely and dosing me with a lot of premedications to ensure we take every precaution we can....