MRI, Cold Capping, and Chemo

The results of the MRI of my head yielded normal results. 🙌

My hair, though thinner and wilder, is still holding on. 🙌

I feel much better than I did last week. 🙌

We're on track for Round 4 on June 8. 🙌

Chemo. Round 2. Week 2.

Side effects have been minimal this time around, and I was able to spend this week ministering out of state.

I'm so thankful.

Chemo. Round 1. Day 6.

Highs

• Running at the beach this morning

• A sweet “chemo care kit” from Wallaby Windows of Coastal Carolina which just did our window installation in the living room

• Having the coconut kefir that I “like” (Does anyone actually like kefir?)

• Ginger candies from Rachel and lunch with her at Drift

Lows

Persistent low-grade nausea (and yes, I could take Zofran or another one of the three anti-nausea meds that were prescribed, but I would prefer to avoid them as they have their own side effects)

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Countdown to Chemo. Stop #7

POV: Run a half marathon with a critical care nurse. That person will get you to the finish line. 5/5 recommend that medical professional be your own son.

The Myrtle Beach Half Marathon 2026 is in the books, and it was a great time.

The next stop on my Countdown to Chemo is tomorrow, and I can hardly wait.

A faith with no coincidence

I was walking the beach this morning, praying through the thoughts in my mind, when this song came up on my playlist. I listened once and hit repeat. And then hit repeat again.

Burning Bushes

(Gullahorn/Kinney)

I've never seen a dead man come to life or seen a blind man get his sight.
I've never seen water turned to wine.
It isn't that I don't believe but it would be easier for me if you would just send down a sign.

I remember the childlike innocence.
A faith with no coincidence.
The world around was living proof.
Has that world just disappeared or is it me that isn't clear how to recognize it’s you.

I walk through the water and the waves looking for a drop of rain but you're still not coming through.
Maybe its new eyes that I need or maybe it takes more faith to see I'm drowning in the truth.

Chorus:
I'm praying for a miracle to let me know you're listening.
Waiting for a lightning bolt to strike.
Walking through a garden of a thousand burning bushes looking up to heaven for a sign.

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As I was thinking about “It isn’t that I don’t believe, but it would be easier for me, if you would just send down a sign” - asking myself what it looks like to ask God for a sign, what it means to see that sign for myself, I saw the most beautiful shark’s tooth in the sand. In fact, I had walked right past it before I processed what I had seen and had to turn to go back and pick it up.

I was reminded of a conversation from over a year ago with my friend, Jenni, when she asked me, “What is God trying to teach you through these sharks’ teeth?”

I remember laughing a bit when she asked me that question, but this morning I realize that on the very morning I was thinking about asking for a sign, it was there.

Because I decided in March I was going to share this journey…

Here we go. I’ve gone back and forth about whether I was going to share this, but I’m going to put it out there . . . even if it turns out to be nothing . . . because it’s part of the journey.

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Back in February when my recurrence was diagnosed, a thyroid nodule was noted on the CT scan. In all that transpired after that before finally having surgery in May, that little "concern" was put on the back burner.

Recently I realized, "Hey! That was never addressed. And hey! You've got to watch out for yourself because no one else is doing that for you."

So . . . a few weeks ago, I saw my PCP. He looked at the scan and suggested I see an ENT for an ultrasound of my thyroid. I finally had that appointment today.

Though I have a number of nodules (which is common), there is one large one which is solid with substantial intranodular blood flow that is "concerning." Therefore, I will have a needle biopsy on September 26.

The ENT was incredibly kind, and he wanted to make sure "this won't push you over the edge." He reminded me not to be worried until we have cause to be worried. So that’s what I am going with.

There’s nothing to worry about until there is something to worry about.

Above all that we could have asked or imagined

It wasn’t the worst case scenario. It wasn’t the best case scenario, either. It wasn’t even somewhere in the middle. It was even better than we asked or imagined.

We arrived at the hospital a little before 5 a.m., and I was absolutely miserable. I had become dehydrated by the bowel prep, and this was causing extreme nausea and fatigue. So when I was called back to the pre-op prep area, I was relieved.

My new friend I met on the phone yesterday stopped by, as well as Dr. Rossi and other members of the surgical team. Every caregiver was so kind and compassionate.

The patient care here at Duke is phenomenal. One guy on the anesthesiology team was even showing me photos of his dog and chatting with me while another physician was doing my epidural in the OR.

I entered the OR at 7:27 a.m., and the surgery started at 8:50. The procedure was complete, and I was ready for visitors by 10:12 a.m. This was much shorter than the time originally estimated!

The shortened time under anesthesia resulted in a fairly quick stay in the recovery unit, and I felt aware of my surroundings and confident in my ability to communicate almost immediately. My first questions:

Do I have a bag?

Did she have to breach the abdominal wall to remove the tumors in the subcutaneous tissue?

The answers to both questions was “no!”

Further, Dr. Rossi decided not to do a hysterectomy, and there was no need to resection the bowel (that tumor was incredibly easy to remove!) so I came away from the procedure with a less invasive procedure than I had anticipated.

It looks like I’ll be here at Duke through Friday. I’ve yet to get out of bed. (That’s a goal for tomorrow!) I still have an epidural administering pain meds. (I’m not complaining!) And I have a great volunteer nurse. (Ethan is the best human!)

Tonight Ephesians 3:20-21 is on my mind:

“Now all glory to God, who is able, through his mighty power at work within us, to accomplish infinitely more than we might ask or think. Glory to him in the church and in Christ Jesus through all generations forever and ever! Amen.”

So, what’s the plan?

March 30, 2023

I thought we had a plan. And we did. But now we don’t.

When paired with new information from the PET scan, the plan we had in place looked less and less like a good plan and looked more and more like an outdated one. As I have been reading clinical research articles and talking with other GCT patients and seeking advice from medical professionals, it has become clear that I should not have surgery on April 14. The idea of chemotherapy is also being called into question.

Sunday evening, 9 p.m., I’ll be talking with a doctor in Melbourne, Australia. I’ve received a referral to Duke. I’ve also got an appointment with MD Anderson in Houston in May (if I choose to wait that long).

All the questions - again. None of the answers.

Thankful for time away here in Texas to put my mind to other matters, and trusting that God’s perfect plan for me will become clear as I continue to listen and discern.

I will trust, as Job did, that my God knows where I am going, that His plan for me will not change, and that He controls my destiny. (Job 23)