Xoxo, Love You

Grief is so complicated, so messy, so intricately intertwined in daily life that it it sometimes sneaks up on you and catches you off guard. 

Like today - driving to work on a plain ole normal Thursday morning. A brief thought of Valentine’s Day was all it took to make me think of you. I glanced down at your handwriting on my wrist and smiled - and quickly melted into a puddle of tears that were hard to overcome.

I thought after 11 years, it would get easier, less emotional, but I think it’s the opposite - now I just desperately grasp at any reminder or memory of the time we did get. Every year seems to carry more weight and more complicated emotions than the one before. 

I can picture it all - the exact place I was in when I got the phone call, the drive up to Osborn that evening to see you, and the sleepless night that followed.

I’ve really never *not* thought of you. I still wear your red t-shirt to bed more nights than not. It’s been 11 years but sometimes I swear I can still feel you here. A lot of things remind me of you - like drinking coffee, seeing ride-on lawn mowers, and anything Swedish. I have your signature embedded in my skin and your memory implanted in my brain - but my soul still longs for more.

You loved Jesus and you loved His people so intentionally and SO well. I have an entire box of cards from you - from Halloween to Easter and everything in between, you never passed up on an opportunity to send well wishes & love (and probably a 5 dollar bill!), even when we couldn’t be together.

So it was fitting, then, that after you died on February 13, we found a signed and sealed Valentine’s Day card all ready to go  on your kitchen counter - one last reminder of how thoughtful you were and how much you loved - well, love. 

It is impossible to fathom that someday I will realize I’ve lived as many years without you as the 16 we spent together. It’s hard not to be bitter that I lost you so young. I thought I was grown up at the time but gosh, how much of life I’ve lived wishing I could pick up the phone and call you or sit on your lap and hear you say “what’s up little squirt?!” one more time.

I wonder what you’d think of this adult life I’ve made for myself. Your friends all told me you were so excited to watch me graduate high school & spent a lot of time talking about staying in Arizona to be there for the occasion. I know you were proud of me then, I can’t imagine what you’d say now, if I could tell you everything. Like the fact that I now work in an emergency room just down the street from the one where you spent your last day. It warms my heart to wonder if some of my now coworkers were there that day with you in the trauma bay - I like to think that they were.

I want to hate Valentine’s Day for opening my scars every year, but I’m trying to be thankful for any reason to feel closer to you. Happy Valentine’s Day, Morfar. 

Xoxo,

Love you ❤️

Way Maker ; Miracle Worker; Promise Keeper

Y’all, anytime I start to doubt gods faithfulness and goodness, I want you to point me to this moment. January 26, 2020. In my favorite place on earth (hillsong phoenix) worshipping alongside Jenna and literally weeping hand in hand as Lisa Harper spoke truth and revival into our lives. To the outside world, it probably looked like two friends with broken and weary hearts coming together to worship - or maybe it even looked so ordinary that it didn’t look like anything at all.

To me, it looked like something else entirely. 

You see, leading up to my port placement last year I prayed a lot of prayers. I prayed for miraculous healing, for something radical to happen so that I didn’t have to get the port. I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to be sick anymore. And I didn’t know what else to do, so I prayed. And in desperation I prayed, lord, if this is your will, please just bring me peace about it. 

And I know now that this is exactly the miracle I had been praying for during those weeks. If you had told me almost a year ago that the randomly assigned IR nurse who I interacted with for no less than 1 hour would later be one of my best friends and personal hype squad, I never would have believed you. I couldn’t have predicted we’d be growing in faith together. But here we are, doing the damn thing. 

God didn’t mean for any of us to do it alone. He didn’t mean for us to struggle in silence or to filter our lives and only give the best versions of ourselves. 

We all say “god gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers” and honestly I’ve always taken issue with the phrase. Because I’m NOT that girl. I’m not strong. I’m not even a soldier! 

Then last night as we learned about Job and how he was stripped to nothing, publicly acknowledged his grief, and then WORSHIPPED- I realized it. Maybe god doesn’t give his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers. Maybe he gives them to those who will survive them (messily, raw, and real) and STILL continue to point to Him. 

So yes, looking back, on the day of port placement, I felt that God hadn’t listened. He hadn’t answered my bold prayers. I wasn’t healed. My physical health was a mess. And I didn’t even feel that the Hail Mary prayer was answer: I didn’t feel any peace at all over my decision. And even though it hurt, I continued to praise Him. I praised Him for the things I could see but also for the things I never would.

But in the palpable, faith filled room last night, I just knew it. This is the miracle. This is the answer to all those prayers that I thought had gone unnoticed.

This freeze frame moment in a 93 year old historic church - if it’s not an example of Gods redemptive grace, I don’t know what  is. If I could bottle up the feeling and revisit it as needed, I would. So I’m writing it here, for myself, to cement it in my memory. Hopefully forever. 

“Even when I can’t see it you’re working. Even when I don’t feel it you’re working. You are way maker, miracle worker, promise keeper, light in the darkness”

Early Detection Saves Lives

I have a confession to make.

For many years, I thought "Breast Cancer Awareness Month" to be... somewhat redundant. Is there anyone out there who doesn't know breast cancer doesn't exist? Do we need to tell more people about it every year? What about childhood cancer? What about all the other underfunded and under researched cancers that don't get any national recognition whatsoever?

.Almost 2 years ago, that opinion would be quickly and radically challenged.

October 2016

Life was pretty normal in the days and weeks leading up to October 31, 2016. My Mom was due for her annual mammogram, but her primary care doctor reassured her that it wasn't really necessary according to the new guidelines ; she was a low risk patient, being that she was young and had no family history of breast cancer at all. She had already had many annual mammograms and all of them had been perfectly normal. "Technically" the guidelines called for only biennial mammograms. But because her insurance still covers an annual mammogram, my mom thought "I might as well...."That split second decision and that appointment Halloween day would soon change the course of our lives forever.You see, that year's mammogram was the very first one to be far from normal.

Late November: the biopsy

After a suspicious looking mammogram and a follow up to primary care, a biopsy was scheduled for the end of November. The biopsy later confirmed what no person wants to hear: cancer. Invasive Ductal Carcinoma.

December: initial consultations 

Originally, the recommendations were all encouraging. At her first appointment with the surgeon, my mom was reassured that the tumor was small and that there was no immediate rush to start treatment. He assured her that this was common, that her case was nothing special, and was fairly certain that she would be able to be "cured" with just surgery and maybe some radiation treatments, too. With this information in hand, and knowing that my sister's wedding was just 2 short months away, my Mom opted to schedule her surgery for just after the new year, postponing treatment in order to be fully available to our family during the Christmas and wedding celebrations. She was able to celebrate Christmas at home with all 3 of her kids, 2 in laws, and a beautiful Grandbaby. Just 5 days later she was overjoyed as she watched my sister marry the man of her dreams.

January 9: surgery 

Before we knew it, the joyous celebrations were over and it was time to tackle this beast head on. It was officially surgery day. Everything went as planned, thank God, and in just a few hours my Mom was on her way home to rest and recover. Technically, on this day, the cancer was gone.

Late January: test results

After what felt like an excruciating wait, pathology reports were in and it was time to meet with Oncology. The margins were clear, and thankfully so were the lymph nodes. But this is what none of us expected - yes, this tumor was indeed small, but it was a beast. In fact, the tumor was characterized by pathology as a Grade 3 (high grade) - the most aggressive a breast tumor can get. 

February: more tests; more waiting

Because of the grade 3 distinction, the oncology team was no longer convinced that radiation would be my mom's only upcoming battle. The beginning of February was full of waiting and wondering as the tumor was sent off for additional testing. More information was needed to determine what the next few months would entail. Of utmost importance - HER2 testing and Oncotype DX - which would indicate her specific risk of recurrence (or the chance that her cancer would come back). This in turn would help my mom and her medical team determine if chemo was indicated. Because even though technically the cancer was removed and gone, she still had the next 40 years to plan for.In general, an oncotype "score" of anything less than 18 indicates low risk and means that chemo is not likely to be a helpful part of post-surgical treatment. A score between 19-30 is more of a "grey area" - there's no strong research to support that patients who fall in this area will reap noticeable differences in their prognosis with or without chemo. A score of 30 or higher means that the risk of recurrence is HIGH, and the benefits from chemo are likely to outweigh the risks and side effects.During this time, it felt like every day was 100 hours long - just waiting for the phone to ring and praying every day that the results would bear some good news. During this time, I prayed relentlessly for a low score. I begged God. I asked all of my friends to join me in boldly praying for a number lower than 10. I had never in my life wanted such a specific answer to prayer. Less than 10, please, just be less than 10.In the meantime, my Mom met with a radiation oncologist to discuss her options for radiation. There were 2 options presented: Traditional external beam radiation, which would last for 7 weeks, or Brachytherapy, in which radiactive pellets are sent directly to the cancerous site. While this requires two visits per day - radiation is complete after just 5 days. Thankfully, an ultrasound showed that my Mom was in fact a candidate for brachytherapy. One piece of good news....Finally, after many delays, the genomic testing was completed and the results were in.Her2: positive.Oncotype: 28.GULP. Technically, we were within the 'grey area' but just barely....I still remember the phone call from my parents. I remember the way my heart pounded and my mouth went dry. They didn't even mention the number at first, just that there were no more decisions to be made. My Mom's mind was made up as she announced the bravest decision she'd hopefully ever have to make: Chemo was officially a go.

Late Feruary: radiation

Finally, towards the end of February, it was time for radiation to begin. Unfortunately, contrary to our initial hopes, it was no longer the only treatment that loomed ahead. Radiation came and went quickly with no complications (other than the fact I got in a serious car accident on my way to pick up my mom and take her to the cancer center. seriously, God?!) My mom was required to be at the radiation clinic twice a day and live with a device implanted in her breast, which of course is no small feat, but at the end of the week, she was DONE. Radiation: CHECK.On to chemo.

March - May : Chemo

First came an overwhelming meeting with a chemo educator and plotting out all that would be required over the next few months: pre-chemo labratory tests to check blood counts, twice daily temperature checks to monitor for fevers, post-chemo Neulasta injections, multiple 5-day oral steroid courses, at home nausea medications (to be taken on a strict schedule), and of course the actual chemo infusions themselves. The packet of necessary precautions we were given felt thick enough to be its own dictionary. For starters: no fresh flowers. no fruits and vegetables. no contact whatsoever with sick people. no leaving the house at all during "low count" days. limited visitors at all times. No traveling. And the list goes on.....Required education: completed.Prescriptions: filled.Daily checklist: made and color coordinated.Chemo infusion appointments: scheduled.It was time for the first round of chemo.I have to say - I will always be incredibly proud and amazed at the way my mom marched into that cancer center on that day and voluntarily received her first dose of IV chemo. It wasn't "required". The days leading up to this, she felt perfect. She had no symptoms. The surgery had indeed made her "cancer free". But chemo? It came with more side effects and scary realities than she probably even realized. She knew she was in for a rough couple of months. She knew how sick she might get, and how much of her freedom she was giving up. But I will always remember the words she said to me with tears in her eyes when I asked her if she was sure."I plan to be there at your wedding, Sarah. I want to hold your babies. I want to play with my grandkids. I'm going to do this"All things considered, my mom's journey through chemo was relatively uncomplicated. Aside from one terrible bout of chemo-induced colitis, a necessary change of chemo dosing, and a few fever scares leading to prolonged Emergency Room visits, chemo came and went without any major complications. Fatigue and hair loss were her most prominent side effects, and luckily the at-home nausea medications did their job.

Fast forward to October 2018: remission

It has been almost exactly 2 years to the day since my Mom went in for that "optional" mammogram. In those two years, in addition to every day life, my mom has attended and enjoyed her daughter's wedding. She has been there for 2 Christmas mornings. She has shared countless laughs with her granddaughter. She has supported a daughter through pregnancy and helped her navigate life with a newborn. She has supported me through a career change and helped me navigate my own chronic illness. She has been there for all of us, in ways I can't even describe.Looking at all of this in retrospect, it is so easy to see how drastically different this experience could have been. I get tears in my eyes every single time I think about what might have happened if my mom waited until the next October to go in for a mammogram; and because of this, I now know how important awareness is, and I am here today to tell you shout from the rooftops that

Early detection saves lives.

Even after the mammogram, knowing exactly where the tumor was, none of my mom's doctors could feel it from the outside. It hadn't grown large enough or spread far enough to cause any noticeable symptoms or pain. A self exam would have never discovered the tumor until it was far larger. An abnormal mammogram reading was the one and ONLY thing that led to her early diagnosis and treatment - and, in my honest opinion, it is the one thing that saved her life.

Early detection saves lives.

"Check your bumps for lumps". "Feel them on the first". Remind a friend to do the same. See your doctor regularly. Get an annual mammogram after age 40 - no matter how much you dread that appointment. I know that my mom was reluctant to get that mammogram 2 Octobers ago. But I sure am glad she's here to tell me about it.I'd be lying if I said I'd completely left this ordeal behind us. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't still scared. Because while her initial breast cancer is defeated, i'm haunted by the fact that it is actually the recurrence of breast cancer which is responsible for most deaths from the disease. In the meantime, I thank God for every day that we get to enjoy together. I thank my Mom for selflessly getting that mammogram; for choosing to battle through chemo so she could be there for us. I pray constantly that recurrence is not a part of our story. And I pray that somehow God can use our story to raise awareness for early detection, and ultimately to bring glory to His name.

Early detection saves lives. 

"Save the tatas"?... Sure. But more importantly, lets fight to save the mothers. the wives. the sisters, daughters, coworkers, friends, and strangers. Because for what felt like an eternity but was really only a brief time, I genuinely feared that I would lose my mom to this terrible beast. And I hope someday no daughter ever has to know that feeling.Never. Again.