You Cry

I’ve started to write this at least half a dozen times. Each time, I have delete everything in a fit of frustration. The truth is, I don’t know where to start, or how to say what needs to be said. I have never really been good with words and I don’t handle stress all that gracefully. I am overwhelmed and distraught over the news we received this week.

Hearing you have cancer is the worst. Seriously, it knocks the wind out of you and you stumble through the first few days (maybe weeks) in a bewildered state. You just follow along. Not sure what to ask, or who to yell at. If you suffer from anxiety, you likely get to replay all the horrible decisions you’ve made throughout your life, and rehash old conversations for the millionth time. You cry. You scream. You lose all emotional feelings. You just don’t know what to think or feel. And then, and then you have to look your favorite people in the face and tell them them your terrible news. If you’ve ever had a loved one deliver some heartbreaking news, know this. It was more awkward and painful for them than it was you. It’s a conversation I hope none of you ever have with your loved ones.

Hearing you have cancer for a second time is hell on earth. It still knocks the wind out of you and hurts parts of your soul you didn’t know could ache. You know what to ask, yet you’re still uncertain who to yell at. You get to relive all your poor choices and crappy conversations. You cry. You lose touch with your emotions, again. And, you have to have those conversations with your loved ones again. I’m truly sorry to my family and friends. I love you all and am so thankful for you.

The PET Scan showed only one area where the cancer is active. (Those swollen lymph nodes in my neck.) This is much less than my original PET Scan last year. (Head, neck groin, bone marrow, etc.) The bone marrow results showed less than 1% this time. (Over 30% upon original diagnosis.) The spinal fluid and biopsy results are still being reviewed by pathology. However, their results likely won’t change the recommendation for treatment.

We were given two options. Neither of which are especially promising. We can choose to do nothing. Which really doesn’t seem like much of a choice when they estimate a 3-6 month life expectancy without treatment. The other option is intensive chemotherapy with expectation of receiving a bone marrow transplant. Which also doesn’t sound like a great choice when they tell you it only has a 50% chance of taking and even if it does take, there’s still a chance the cancer can come back.

We haven’t met with the Bone Marrow Transplant (BMT) Team yet, so my understanding and expectations are limited. What I understand right now, is that I’ll be in the hospital for 30-100+ days. They do intensive chemotherapy to completely wipe out my bone marrow. Then, they replace it with donor cells. There is a long list of possible complications with this process. I will share more once we meet with the BMT Team and have a better understanding of the procedure.

If you’d like to pray with us, here are some specific needs and request:

• The swelling and facial paralysis from my biopsy procedure heal ASAP.
• Complete and total healing.
• My care team and BMT Team. The choices they make regarding my care and treatment plan.
• Minimal side effects from treatment.
• Zero secondary infections or illnesses.
• My BMT donor. May they be blessed abundantly!
• Minimal time in the hospital away from my family.
• Mike’s mental health.
• Ryan’s transition dealing with major changes yet again.
• All of our caregivers health and wellness.

I should have more to say, but I can’t think of anything worth adding. Hug your loved ones. Tell them you love them, even when they’re being unlovable. Thank God for your health, and smile at strangers.

Elizabeth