God is in the details
A few minutes ago, a lady from Duke Hospital called to let me know my surgery time is 7:10 a.m. and that I should arrive at 5:10 a.m.
She gave me a series of clear instructions and concluded with “Do you have any questions?”
I replied, “May I ask you a personal question? What is the country of your birth?”
Her reply, “Haiti.”
We chatted back and forth in Haitian Creole, and I told her she was part of my story now - a story only God could write.
She went silent. I was afraid I had offended her until she said, “Ou fè m kriye.” (You made me cry.)
I had tears in my eyes, too.
Sunrise on a Sunday morning
I love my early morning walks here in our neighborhood. This is the last one for a while as we leave for Durham later today in order to prepare for my surgery at Duke on Tuesday.
This morning was quite ordinary - listening to Russell Moore’s podcast, then worship music.
The future is so uncertain, but I will heed this solid advice I've received:
Don't look left. Don't look right. Look straight ahead, and follow Jesus.
Amen.
Counting down the days
I’m hopeful that by this time next week surgery will be over, and I will be in the beginning hours of the healing process.
I’m hoping to fill these next few days of waiting for the big day by marking things off my “to do list” and spending time with friends.
Today was one of those day when encouragement came from many directions, including a Chick-fil-A breakfast with a friend, a surprise in the mail (a devotional book I’ve been wanting), a phone call from someone who’s been through a similar procedure, a visit from a sweet friend bearing flowers, and a little blue duck left on my Jeep.
Because He is faithful
Yesterday was insane. I was having a bad day emotionally. Panic, anxiety… they were rising in me, engulfing me. And then… my phone started to blow up. Person after person. Calls. Texts. Even in-person visits. It was incredible.
And then today… nothing. Nothing. But I don't need it today.
However, yesterday, when I needed it, God sent me so much encouragement. I was blown away.
This journey. It’s more than I could have imagined.
His mercies truly are new every morning
On mountaintops You stay the same
In valleys low, You never change.
And I believe that I will see
The goodness of the Lord.
I’m confident as seasons change
Your faithfulness remains.
- Maverick City Music
I’m thankful I had certain morning habits in place before my most recent diagnosis.
It’s an interesting thing indeed to be faced with your own mortality when outwardly you look just fine and unless you tell people, no one knows you’re sick. In some ways I feel as if I am being given a gift. I have time to reflect, to think about the “what ifs” and the “what could have beens” and put them in their places. I get to decide how they will define me today and how they will define me in the future.
It’s heavy right now. I walk every morning for one hour. It’s one of those morning habits for which I am so thankful. This morning as I walk, I hear the birds chirping, and I ask myself, “Will I be able to do this in six months? In a year? Will I be here to do this in 5 years? Will I even be here at all 10 years from now?”
So many questions. So few answers. And yet, on this beautiful spring morning, I will continue to choose to embrace these lyrics, “I believe that I will see the goodness of the Lord. I’m confident as seasons change Your faithfulness remains.”
What's helpful … and what's not
A few friends have asked me “what’s helpful and what’s not?” right now. I want to start out by saying everyone is different and responds differently to things, but after speaking with a number of other ladies, here are a few things that are helpful - and a few that are not - to us.
1. Surprises without expectations. Gifts are not usually something that speak to my heart, but recently unexpected surprises in the mail and on the front porch have been encouraging. Opening the door and finding something on the doorstep - something that was left without the doorbell ever ringing - those surprises truly mean something to me because there have been a few days I don’t know if I would have opened the door had the bell rang.
From a friend on her own journey with cancer:
“Offer to take your friend to chemo, or go with her to a doctor's appointment.
Have a girls’ day out where you go to the beach /lake together or go out to eat. Send a care package.
One of my best friends sent me a blanket, ginger chews, and a salt lamp. It was so caring and thoughtful.”
2. Words of encouragement. April sent this message to me recently, and it’s one I’ve saved and will go back to repeatedly.
Sometimes when our physical strength wains, all we have is our mental strength. Know that, whatever comes your way, you have the mental strength and the tenacity to keep going.
The three simple yet profound words my family keep saying to me as I was battling cancer was, “You got this!”
Becky, I know you got this! Keep putting one foot in front of the other. Do the next thing that you have to do and think of only that, until it’s time to do what comes after that.
I will keep you in my thoughts and prayers. 🙏
3. Companionship. Lunch dates and walks around the park are wonderful distractions as I wait for my surgery date.
4. Suggestions of what you want to do to help versus “let me know if I can help sometime” are helpful. For example, Joyce said:
I would love for someone to say, “Is it okay if I bring you dinner on Friday night?” instead of saying, “Let me know if I can bring you dinner one day.” I might never take you up on a general offer, but when you ask me about a specific date, that helps me focus and decide on a time that works.
5. Listening is always appreciated. Unsolicited advice and suggestions … not so much. Questions can feel overwhelming at times, but thoughtful questions are encouraging. Please be satisfied with what I am willing to share with you instead of pressing me for more information. From a friend:
“Listening and humor. These are two things that really help me.”
Lilli said:
“I need someone to talk to who understands some basic information about the type of cancer I have, who cares about what I am going through, and will listen to the fears I can’t share with my family.”
6. Understanding that each cancer and each person's experience are different. In one of the groups where I am a member, Hannah shared:
“I wish people would Google GCT and understand its uniqueness instead of comparing my illness to someone else’s. I’m not your mom or your aunt, and my situation is different.”
7. Assume that I have done my research, lived a healthy lifestyle, and made smart choices instead of asking if I have 1) taken this or that supplement, 2) used this essential oil, or 3) eaten this particular diet. From another patient:
“I didn’t do anything to bring this one myself. I didn’t miss doing anything, either. According to my doctor, this is genetic, it’s luck of the draw. It hurts when friends ask me if I did or didn’t do something in the past . . . or tell me by taking a certain vitamin I can be healthy in the future. It’s not that simple. Can you change the color of your eyes by rubbing an essential oil on your eyelids?”
8. Texts that aren’t trite or overly spiritualized are encouraging.
One of my favorite texts from a friend:
“Had you on my mind this morning. No verses or scriptures. Just wanted you to know I was thinking and praying about you in my quiet time.”
9. Finally, don’t let the above make you afraid to reach out. According to Anna,
”Just check in. Say hi. Text. Call. Write. Whatever you can do. I found some people were scared they didn’t know what to say or how to say it, and so they didn’t say anything. Some just disappeared from my life during my cancer treatments at the time I needed support most, and that was sad to me.”
I agree with Anna.
Friends, more than anything it doesn’t matter what you do or say when it comes from a heart of love. What matters is that you show up, that you care, that you understand that you truly can’t understand, but, please, don’t let that stop you from trying.
A recent lunch date with friends encouraged me greatly.
This is actually happening
My appointment at the Duke Cancer Center yesterday went as well as I could have possibly expected. I walked away with a firm plan, as well as confidence in the surgeon who will operate on me May 2.
I consented to a much larger surgery than originally anticipated, but the surgeon’s reasoning lines up with my goals for the future. I am at peace with the following:
Exploratory laparotomy
Total abdominal hysterectomy
Left-salpingo-oophorectomy
Debulking (removal of visible tumors)
Abdominal wall resection
Possible bowel resection
Possible ostomy
Actual surgery time will be set the day before the procedure. Expected hospitalization ranges from two days to one week.
At this point my medical team and I are in agreement that I will not have chemotherapy after the procedure, but if biopsies of different tumors reveal anything other than GCT, there is still the possibility that chemo could be warranted.
So, yes, there are still many questions about the future, but I do feel that I have finally found a firm plan with the expertise needed for my unusual situation.
A quick update
I had more bloodwork today - a new test. It’s a good thing I have good veins. I’m giving blood frequently these days.
The conversation with Dr. J in Australia was encouraging and productive. Because of that phone call, it is the current “new plan” to forego chemotherapy because there's no real evidence it actually has any measurable benefit in preventing recurrence of GCT.
I’ll have a mammogram, ultrasound, and biopsy tomorrow.
I have canceled surgery for April 14 here in Wilmington because…
I have an appointment at Duke on Monday, and I hope to schedule surgery at Duke in the near future.
All of this just moves me one step closer to resolution and a firm new plan.