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 women. I never once worried about the care I would receive, and they always made me feel seen, heard, and loved. I knew I was in good hands because their hands were an extension of Jesus’.
Once my labs were drawn, I went upstairs to meet with the fantastic medical team. Dr. Washington, her assistant Cherie, and the nurse Tareeta make you feel like one of the family. They are always so caring and compassionate and genuinely happy to spend time with you. Dr. Washington came into the room to discuss labs, needs, and any concerns before the next dose of toxic chemicals is unleashed in my body. I knew today we would be making some hard decisions, but I trusted the doctor and Jesus, so I knew I was in good hands.
The entire time, Dr. Washington was open about the fact that I may not get through the chemotherapy regimen because of the allergic reaction I had in the very beginning to the first drug tried. I was supposed to have four doses of TC, but after the first dose, I had an allergic reaction that caused trigeminal nerve damage that triggered hundreds of electrical shocks to my head, ears, jaw, and temples. The shocks were intense and brought me to my knees in surprise and agony. Imagine taking a cattle prod to the face or grabbing an electric fence with your teeth every time you talk, smile, or eat. Hence, why we switched care teams and plans of care.
Dr. Washington prescribed four rounds of AC followed by twelve rounds of Pacitaxel. The pacitaxel is the cousin of the T in the TC regimen, so she was not positive I would make it through that regimen. Yet it provided the best five-year survival and significantly reduced my recurrence rates, so we decided to try it.
I explained that I had been recording the intensity, frequency, and location of the electrical shocks so we had a log to plan moving forward. I knew that the research shows the reaction I was having could become permanent if the treatment is not changed or stopped in time. So I came at this with my Dr. Gardner research hat, not just as a patient.
I kept a detailed log of the event time, the location of the painful shock, the level of pain, and the duration. The log from the first week showed nine total shocking events over seven days, with pain levels ranging from one to four. However, this week, my log showed over 200 shocking events in 4 days, and I stopped counting and logging because it was starting to stress me out.
Upon analyzing the data, it was clear that the nerve damage was shifting down from my head to my face, ears, neck, and had reached my chest. I was having instances of pain levels reaching six to seven on the pain scale and ten to fifteen-second sustained painful durations.
Therefore, Dr. Washington advised we stop chemotherapy because my body could not handle any more. She was fearful that if we did any more, the response would become permanent and could spread to other nerve bundles in my body. Gavin and I had already prayed over this and said we would trust the care team and whatever advice they had for the ongoing care plan. We knew that the doctor had my best interests in mind, so we agreed to stop fighting the cancer cells with chemotherapy.
We hugged, tears fell, and we asked to pray together before we left. I chose not to ring the golden bell as it felt wrong since I technically did not complete the regimen. However, I decided I would ring my own bell with Jesus later.
Once I got in the truck, I burst into tears of grief, relief, joy, and fear. I know that God has all of this figured out and that no matter what, I am in the best place I could be—the center of His will. However, the human part of me could only think of the odds of recurrence and survival rates I have researched.
I am not afraid of death and know the best-case scenario is that I get to go home to Jesus. The worst case is not death; for me, it would be living with a debilitating level of shocks to my face and body that would make it hard to enjoy the quiet moments, the joyful days spent with family around, and the opportunities to serve the Lord through acts of love.
But I also want to hold my husband's hand for early-morning beach walks, see my adult kids reach milestones, have Sunday family dinners together, and dance in the rain with my grandbabies. I want to renew our vows in the remaining five states Gavin and I have yet to visit. I want to see our youngest, Lilyan, graduate from nursing school and get married one day. I want to hold the hand of our middle daughter, Evelyn, through her military service and her dream of future motherhood. I want to continue watching our oldest, Nehemiah, love and serve his family and the Lord. I want to support and love my two bonus kids, Maisi and Connor, who married into our family and whom I love deeply.
We drove to get a celebratory cup of coffee, chuckling that we never thought we would cry over not getting chemotherapy. Then we went home. I shared the news with my family, spoke with one of my confidants, and began writing.
As the words began to flow, so did the tears, and I knew exactly what I needed: worship.
I drew myself into the quiet of my back porch, surrounded only by the sounds of the birds singing their rich melody of hope, just as they do every single day. The trees and the river flowed, calming my nerves as I let my tears flow.
I got on my knees and turned on my Spotify playlist, "How I Fight My Battles." I wept. I prayed. I opened my hands to Him. I called on His name, Jesus, over and over again. I felt the pressure and the weight of the past few months falling away as I gave Him the pain, fears, and lies from the enemy. I lay at His feet, let my spirit groan, and the worship poured out of my heart and soul.
As I worshiped, the questions and fears bubbled to the surface. God did not give me answers about the treatment, recurrence rates, or overall survival rates. Instead, He reminded me of the verse that has been stuck in my head all week—Ephesians 1:18:
I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened, so that you may know the hope to which He has called you, just how rich His glorious inheritance among the saints, God’s people.
I was not sure why God kept placing it on my heart, but all week I had been reading the book of Ephesians in its entirety, feeling called to keep returning to it. He spoke the truth, telling me things I never recognized before that will help me walk through this phase of life enlightened by hope.
I AM BLESSED, CHOSEN, AND LOVED
Ephesians 1:3
Ephesians 1:4
Ephesians 1:5
I AM GOD'S WORKMANSHIP, A PEACE-FILLED INDWELLING
Ephesians 2:10
Ephesians 2:14
Ephesians 2:22
I AM STRENGTHENED, ROOTED, FILLED
Ephesians 3:16–19
I AM A HUMBLE IMITATOR OF CHRIST AND LIGHT TO THE WORLD
Ephesians 4:2
Ephesians 5:1–2
Ephesians 5:8–9
I AM AN ARMORED PRAYER WARRIOR, IN LOVE WITH JESUS CHRIST
Ephesians 6:11
Ephesians 6:18
Ephesians 6:24
The verses that had jumped out stopped being words on a page and became truths I needed in this moment, anchoring my soul to the grace of Jesus. These verses became declarations to my survival and gave me strength to stand steady and firm, even though my circumstances feel unsteady.
For now, I will allow my body the month to heal before daily radiation and remember who I am called to be in Jesus as I enjoy every moment on this earth with the people He blessed me to love.
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