Celebrating from the valley

“Celebrate! Celebrate!” I read those words on social media, and I thought, that’s probably a really good idea; even if, I am terrified to celebrate.

I had big plans for the long holiday weekend. I knew I would visit family over the course of a week and a half while the girls had a few days off of school. Plus, our local zoo had been hosting a lantern festival I wanted to check out. I knew we had several fun outings scheduled close together. Surely celebrating would be attainable. 

Naturally, I built these events into our week for the sake of good news or bad news. I knew it would be hard to be home if I received bad news from my oncologist. Tim and I would just be defeated and end up taking the bad news out on each other. I would become obsessive over how clean the house was, and Tim would avoid me. I needed the distractions and company of loved ones scheduled. 

Inevitably, celebrating was a tall order. Getting the all clear and clinging for dear life at the same time don’t welcome a party. As simple as it sounded to celebrate, the world around me still remained fragile. 

Friends still have their ports. One friend still has debilitating, unexplained pain. Then there’s a dear loved one who is using all of her strength to move forward from a horrific accident. The acquaintance whose cancer turned metastatic. The father who lays alone at night after Heaven snatched the mother of his children.  

What’s the point of celebrating if there is brokenness all around me? 

To focus on celebrating myself is totally out of my comfort zone. Especially if the people next to me are hurting. I’d totally rather celebrate someone other than myself.

I am so blessed to have people celebrate me. Family surprised me with cakes, balloons, spa days, jewelry, the infamous tiramisu, and my favorite matcha latte. I’m so grateful they didn’t let the celebration slip away. So grateful. 

While I am still finding my footing in this freeing chapter of my cancer journey, my kids and hubby were totally worth celebrating. 

We celebrated them by saying “Yes” at the zoo’s lantern festival; yes to face painting, and Dippin’ Dots. We spent the long weekend boating at the cottage. Plus, a road trip to grandma and grandpa’s to hang with cousins and swim in the pool. They were the gold on the good days and the hard days. I’d celebrate them everyday if I wasn’t so easily inclined to forget all they’ve sacrificed and loved me when they themselves were terrified.

At the end of the week, I will share with you what you’ve probably been wondering, “What’s Next?” 

I can’t wait to tell you what’s around the corner and how you can be a part of it. Stay tuned for more ways on how I’m celebrating all God has done! 

Exposed

Never have I been awkwardly exposed to the point of embarrassment. At worst, my exposure level has been heightened when caught in a lie.

When I was a young girl you could find me in the basement on a beautiful day. While all my brothers and sisters were playing outside, I took advantage of the opportunity to play pretend school without feeling like a dork. I can still feel the cold air of the climate controlled basement as the sun beamed down the basement stairs. I had my classroom setup, but my mom interrupted my play. She asked me if I took checks out of her checkbook. I remember after telling her no, she went upstairs, and I went straight to my secret stash and ripped up the evidence. She caught me. 

Years ago my counselor encouraged me to expose myself to whatever makes me anxious to find myself safe and okay. I thought that seemed counterintuitive, and why the heck expose myself? Come to find out, it worked. 

I started spending money without feeling anxious that I wiped out my savings. I even remember her saying, in regards to my phobia of germs, to expose myself because no life could come from living in a bubble. She was so confident that living in a bubble would only be effective if there was an epidemic. I suppose she couldn’t forecast Covid-19 or my stem cell transplant. 

Throughout my cancer journey, I continue to ask myself, why do I continue to expose myself. I'm definitely lukewarm when it comes to making medical decisions. I’m torn between the harmful chemicals in my body and a future with my husband and kids. I’m torn between another scan that is all telling and just embracing the unknown of remission. I’m split between another radioactive scan (five PET scans in the past fourteen months) or reducing the amount of toxins I expose myself to. 

Approaching my latest PET scan revealed just that. Dancing in the dark, praising God in the storm, and finding the good that cancer brought to my life. 

I almost needed a rain jacket to absorb all the tears I had flowing at the latest PET scan. I sat there unable to shake the unsettling feeling that this was the beginning of the end. And not in a happy way: I kicked cancer in the butt. No, like I have pain in my back again, traveling down my leg, can’t sit without pain triggering the memories of being diagnosed twice, all stemming from back pain. Maybe the third time's a charm. Hopefully not. 

If being terrified of the results wasn’t enough, the exposure to radioactive tracers that would track down the cancer would prevent me from being around the kids the remainder of the day. It’s a dream to have a day to myself, right? It feels different because I don’t have the option to be with the kids. 

Scans see all the things. Well if not the whole picture, most of the picture. Am I better off than the one that has something, but remains hidden. Somehow cancer exposes all the things: my marriage in distress, mothering without patience, anxiety, fear of the future, pain and potentially the good. The good that is hidden under all the junk and just needs some digging out. 

Satan is trying to do a number. It’s not just the physical exposure I’ve been battling these past few months as I re-enter life after a stem cell transplant with germs all around me. It’s the mental exposure of waiting for my prognosis. “Should we walk out?” Tim says while waiting for the scan. “Which is worse, knowing or not knowing?”

I’m going to take my counselors advice to go against what feels safe and expose myself. There is always good in doing hard things. 

Meanwhile, I had the opportunity to enjoy a lymphatic massage this week. It was the perfect antidote to the exposure I’ve faced over the last several months, let alone years. I was wrapped with magnesium, and sat in an infrared sauna to sweat out the toxins. You will notice the garbage bag liner wrapping in the picture. Now that is some exposure I can get used to. 

Thanks for venturing over to my new home. 

I don’t write to be seen. I have enough scans and doctor appointments that highlight my insides. I write because it helps me process life. Helps me track where I’ve been and where I am going. It helps me expose the insides of me, so I can live out the good work God is going to see through completing (Philippians 1:6 NIV). Follow with email updates HERE. 

Thanks for meeting me here in this new space. My favorite part of writing is connecting with you, and creating a safe place to grow into all that God has in store to complete his very good work through you (Philippians 1:6 NIV)!

Like Christmas Morning

At my doctor’s appointment this morning, I was welcomed to an exam room within thirty minutes of my appointment time. Previously, I’ve waited up to two hours before heading back to the exam room. Tim brought me a coffee and I got to see my favorite chemo nurse. I refused to go back to the infusion center to find her, so I sent Tim. No way was I going back to the infusion center if I didn’t need chemo. Nurses are really great, she showed Tim a post it note with my name, appointment date, and time on it. She’s a gem, always checking in on me. 

I needed that burst of joy. My cancer center is located on Medical Mile. Quickly, I remembered while driving in the doom and gloom of Medical Mile. A helicopter was landing at the nearby hospital, and there was a traffic jam in the cancer center’s parking garage. Clear reminders to pray for big things for those I encounter and those I will never meet. With the utter reminder that my health is way better off than most. 

I could hear my oncologist going from exam room to exam room. As soon as I heard his voice beyond the door my stomach dropped. It was as if I was riding Millennium Force at Cedar Point reminding myself on that initial uphill climb, “I don’t do things like this.” It sounded as if he was going to enter my exam room. I remember his voice being so predominant. It was another few minutes before he actually came in. Hello nausea. 

His strong voice cried out, “NO LYMPHOMA!”

My scan was clean. My doctor even noted, it’s often that scans overshow. Sometimes, it looks like a disease and it isn’t. I thought to myself, oh dear I am so happy that it was clearly clean. 

I can’t wait to share more about what this means moving forward, but I couldn’t wait to break the news.

So today we celebrate the goodness of the Lord and his moving in my life. Thank you for celebrating with us! What a dream to publish a website and hear cancer free on the same day. 

Before you leave, be sure to follow my website. Join me on this journey of healing from cancer and embracing the gift of everyday gold. 

It would truly be an honor to receive your encouragement as I process all that cancer has brought to my life. This will be the best way to get the scoop. 

My prayer is that you will find freedom from the pain you are experiencing and embrace the good happening in your life.