From Diagnosis to Treatment

My rock who has been there for it all

My friend Erica turned to me one day as we were driving and said, "Rachel! Stop telling me how to solve my problem. I know there is a solution, and I actually know what it is, but right now I just want you to listen while I vent about the fact that it sucks!" 

I learned two things about myself that day. First, my listening skills needed some work. Second, I realized fixing was always in my nature. While we all need to wallow about life from time to time, my go to response to a problem is to make it right whatever it takes. And that is great when there is a clear and defined path leading to a solution. But much more challenging when the answer is that ever familiar "Be still and know that I am God", or "You'll know when it's the right thing", or you know, anything that requires patience and listening (there's that whole listening thing again...). 

The initial stage of cancer diagnosis drove the fixer in me into weeks of adrenaline fueled life that left me wrecked by the time chemo came around. Unfortunately, life on adrenaline isn't something I ever recognize until later. I just thought I was managing, planning, taking care of what I needed to and trying to eat as healthy as I could. Then one day I realized I didn't know the last time I'd felt hungry, or tired, or aware of my body's needs. I'd already lost 5 pounds, I was suddenly getting nauseous, and treatments hadn't even begun. Yikes.

Living with something growing inside my body was clearly not working well for me. And then treatment was delayed because I don't fit into the traditional mold of American healthcare. After my doctor worked some magic, a date was finally set and things were in motion. Awesome. And also terrifying. We've all heard of chemo. We all hope and pray that it's not us that has to do it, and I pray even more it will never be my loved ones. 

My mom flew into town about a week before chemo started and I was so grateful to have her here with us. I was much more of a wreck than I even knew, and she jumped right in helping out with the boys, the house, and getting things in order. Knowing diet was a concern for me, she also ordered the Cancer Fighting Cookbook so she had an arsenal of tips and recipes that might be helpful during chemo, and she was a really good sport about trying to keep up with my daily updates on which new diet I thought would be best to follow. One day it was Keto, the next it was plant based, and some days I just felt like I should just not worry about it and deal with that after treatments (but remember how I'm a fixer? So yeah, that last one was never going to work).

Despite the intensity August brought, there were daily reminders of goodness that filled my cup to overflowing. My mom and dear friend Ashlee schemed and created a plan to bring in bread donations to the store as a birthday surprise. About 2 days before my birthday we suddenly started seeing familiar names buying up loaves of bread by the tens and even occasionally hundreds. I was overwhelmed with love and gratitude. I also started receiving unexpected packages and gifts filled with things to encourage and support me on my journey. While many of these came from close family and friends, we also had customers from our store that brought Brad things to share with me. One customer asked how we were doing, and then asked if he could pray for me. Brad of course said yes, and he stood right there in our store and offered a prayer in my behalf. As if all that wasn't enough, a few days after my first chemo, I opened my phone to find a GoFundMe that was started by dear friends from work, and they had already raised $6k, that was also for donations to go toward our store (it was just for a couple of weeks, so it's no longer open. I wanted to mention that since a few people had asked). I opened the link and just ugly cried. There were so many friends I had worked with that were so generous, along with complete strangers. The goodness just overwhelmed me.

Picture we used for the thank you post for 

bread donations

A little birthday gift from my brother

By the time treatment came along, I was as ready as I could be. Nervous, and unsure what the coming days would bring. But ready. That morning I opened the first link on my chain of inspiration (one part of the bonus package my sister and her family put together for me). The first quote on the chain was, "Can't go over it, can't go under it, you have to go through it," from The Bear Hunt. Perfect. Light. Simple and even a little silly based on the origin. Full of truth.

Day 1 of Chemo

Going through it is hard. Some days it feels totally doable. Some days I still wonder how this could really be my life. Some days I know for sure God knew this was meant to be my trial. Most days it's really hard that I can't "fix" this overnight. It's a marathon, not a sprint. I have months ahead, and even a lifetime to make sure I heal right, and I heal for good. But I'm grateful I'm not fixing it alone. In fact, I am reminded every day my life is in his hands.   

To Devin

 My Sweet Devy Dev,

It's been a long time since I've written just to you. Life has been a crazy intense roller coaster, and I haven't been able to document all the beautiful things that have come along the way I wish I could. But today, I needed to share with you, for you, what you've done for my heart. 

When I found out I had cancer, the scariest part was wondering if I would have to leave you and Davey behind. I trust God and His plan. But, the thought of not getting to see you grow up is a lot for a mama heart to take. Being your mom has been the most beautiful journey, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. And I can't wait to see what you'll do with your life! And worrying you might not know just how much I love you breaks my heart.  

I believe I will heal, and that we'll have so much more life together. And I know that this time will be a blur in your  young life that will pass, and maybe you'll forget the heaviness that you never quite understood. But I see you trying to process what is happening. You knew I was sick, but I didn't look like it, and I didn't act like it. Until one day I did. And I know that soon I will lose my hair, and you will know that something is not right. And there will be lots more days of watching me hurt and struggle. And amidst this you'll be trying to work out how to be a kid at school with new rules and new friends, and I worry that you won't be able to communicate the things you feel, but don't yet understand. 

All these things have weighted heavy on my heart. And then yesterday you reminded me that you are strong, and you are capable, and your heart is what is carrying me. You came in yesterday morning and gave me the sweetest kiss, telling me it was time to get up. When I said I didn't feel good and I couldn't get up, you just gave me a snuggle and offered me your blanket in case I needed an extra one. You were kind and sweet and excited about everything. Especially about being with Mimi and Papa. You got out the vacuum all by yourself, dragged it all the way into the family room, unwound the cord and plugged it in, and pulled out the hose to vacuum the crumbs you had left on the couch. And throughout the day you did things like offer to share your part of the couch as you said, "because you are so special to me, and Daddy, and Mimi and Papa."

Each of these little things were sweet. But more than the sweetness of each act, I felt you reaching your little heart and soul to wrap yourself around me in love. You, my little love, took care of me yesterday. My little big almost 5 year old. I am so proud of who you are. I'm so grateful for your sweet, loving heart. I want you to know that light is in you always. And I know that one day, when you can understand so much more, I want you to know what you gave to me. Because it was a big act of love for a very young boy. I love you Dev. 

Xoxo,

Mom   

The Plan and Prognosis

 I wanted to let my closest 500 friends know about my diagnosis because I believe in the power of community, and even more in the power of prayer. I've seen how incredible a support network can be. That said, it felt a little weird just throwing it out there for all to see. I was unprepared for the response of love and generosity that would come our way. I can't begin to say enough in gratitude for those that have reached out in countless ways--those that are already friends and family, and those who have just seen a need and chosen to give. I am humbled. 

I know it's taken me awhile to get beyond just the "I have cancer" post. Many have reached out and want to know the details, and I'm struggling to keep up with life, appointments, kids, work, etc. so this seemed like a good place to get into the details. Here is what I know about my cancer and my treatment so far:

I have been diagnosed with Stage 3 Her2 Positive breast cancer. This is considered "good news" (you know, as far as the "you have cancer" news goes), because it's highly treatable, despite the fact that it's a very aggressive cancer. There are "smart" drugs (as my Oncologist calls them) that target the Her2 proteins and are very effective in killing them off. Where 95% of women once died from this cancer, now 95% of women survive with this treatment. I currently have 2 tumors in one breast and it has spread into the lymph nodes as well.

Because my cancer responds well to chemo and targeted treatment, the plan is for me to start chemo (as soon as we can get someone to take me), along with the additional drugs for 4 months. At that point they plan to do removal and reconstructive surgery, followed by radiation and an additional year of targeted treatment. The first four months will be when I will have the typical chemo-related symptons, and I will lose my hair. The remaining time I should be able to feel well and the targeted treatment will just continue to ensure nothing comes back. I was elated after talking this through with my Surgeon. I know that sounds strange, because that actually sounds pretty awful. But the days leading up to this news were full of unknowns. I knew I had cancer. I knew it had spread. I was told I would likely have immediate surgery and I have seen others go through those surgeries and seen the complications they've experienced. Once I'd talked to the doctor, I knew there was a plan. And, it felt like I could do it.

Since the initial conversation, the roller coaster ride has continued. That high was abruptly deflated when the Oncologist office I was referred to refused to accept my health coverage and I was left waiting for a new solution. I finally got in last week to see an Oncologist, and he is amazing, but we've had hiccups in trying to get treatments started (once again, thanks to our lovely healthcare system). He's working all angles to help so that hopefully we can get started by next week at the latest. If we can't find another solution he will have to admit me to the hospital, which forces them to treat me without the red tape. That's far from ideal, but we'll see what happens. This is where all those prayers can come in handy! 

Cancer

“Silence like a cancer grows…”

That line has run through my head countless times this past week. The “C” word is obvious, but something else compels me to dwell on it a bit. I think it has something to do with the concept of silence connected to something so intensely consuming, both physically and emotionally.  

I’ve only experienced cancer firsthand for a single month so far, which includes the moment I found the lump and acknowledged something wasn’t quite right. A lifetime of emotions, questions, waiting and wondering seems to have passed since that time. Knowing that this disease has been hiding, camouflaged in my body brings up many questions. Did I do something (or NOT do something) that left me weak and vulnerable? I’m full of new questions I hadn’t thought to ask before. Did I let it in? Could it have been prevented? I’ve tried to be pretty healthy throughout my life. I am active; I eat lots of fruits and veggies, and we haven’t even had a microwave for the past year (I did give in and buy one this week. Partially because other people will be helping me out a lot more, but also because let’s face it… if I’m going to have cancer anyway, I might as well cut down on time spent cooking and cleaning).

Clearly, I’m struggling with what I did to let cancer in, but it’s even harder to deal with the reality that I can’t just make it go away. I am a fixer, and when something isn’t right, I’ll do everything in my power to make it better. I’ve never wanted to take a shower so much as I have the last few weeks. I want to force the showerhead into my chest to wash the cancer out, or flush it out with a magic detox drink. But I can’t just make it go away, which I guess gives God the perfect opportunity to continue teaching me patience and trust.

My desire to “fix” my situation, and my questions about how I got here aren’t a need to change my circumstance or dwell on the past. I accept them as a part of this process. A need to work through a new reality, a new journey. I don’t feel sorry for myself. I’m not angry, at least not at this stage. Am I scared? Definitely. But I’ve been assured that this is part of God’s plan for me, so I know there are things I’m ready to learn, and He will be there with me along the way. He always has been, and He always will be. Cancer quietly lodged itself next to my heart, and I don’t like it there. But as I start to get answers about the path ahead, I’m starting to feel a new peace, and hope for a future full of beautiful reminders that God is there, and He’s taking this journey with me.