Inside the Mind of an Educator

  As I sit here writing an update, tears of full praise and joy spill down my cheeks. Blessed is the only word I can use to describe the beautiful life I am humbled to live on this Earth. So many moments of grace and love reminded me how many people are walking alongside us in prayer and hope. At the beginning of the week, I was still weak but able to get up and move without dry heaving. The first thing I did was buy orange juice and drive to the beach. I sat for hours, letting the waves lap against the sand, the sun warm my skin, and the breeze calm my heart. While I was there, one of the sisters in Christ I am blessed to love called. I vented, cried, and laughed as I sat in the sand drinking my juice. We both had a good laugh when I realized my coveted orange juice had expired by 20 days. Usually, I would have just drunk it, but with chemo, you can't fight bacteria, so begrudgingly, I tossed my golden nectar into the trash. Phew, this one is NOT expired. Later, Gavin found me on...

Thank you does not even begin to cover the gratitude I feel in my heart and spirit for all the prayers that have been offered for my family and me. The journey we are on is one I would not wish on anyone. It is humbling, painful, and so overwhelming sometimes that I can do nothing but cry. However, I learned this week that tears released in sorrow are actually filled with cortisol, the stress hormone. Tears allow us to release our pain and stress in a way that God intended to help us. So, I am going to let them fall when they need to.  Chemo therapy has begun with new drugs, one of which is nicknamed "The Red Devil." It is called this because it is not only red, but it has intense and serious side effects. However, I refuse to call it this and have renamed it "The Blood of Jesus," because I know Jesus is healing me from the inside. The new team is wonderful, and I am so grateful to them already. The doctor provided me with three different anti-nausea meds that were ...

The past few weeks have tested me physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. The troll in my head—the one zapping me hundreds of times a day—finally quieted with medication, which I weaned off this week. At the same time, we met with my care team, and because of my reaction, they discussed skipping chemo altogether. You'd think I'd be thrilled. Instead, I felt confused. My confidence was shaken. A Shock to the Heart When this journey began, I was adamant: remove Buella surgically and pursue a metabolic-only approach. But if you know me, you know I research e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. I quickly discovered that while mice respond well to metabolic-only strategies, the human data isn't strong. Most studies combine metabolic therapies with standard treatments—chemotherapy, radiation, and, for tumors like mine, hormone therapy. That meant my care team wasn't being overly cautious—they were following the science. Still, the sudden change in plan made me pause. Gavin laughed...