I was reminded by some friends that I never really did a closing post. I think I was caught up in so many mixed emotions that I needed to distance myself from analyzing for a while.
This Tuesday, August 23rd, I have what will become one of many routine MRI's scheduled. For now, these scans will be bi-monthly as long as there is no growth. At 6 months out, I can decide to lengthen the time between scans or choose to keep it the same, based on my comfort level.
Since my last visit in June, I have felt great. That scan was perfect. My doctor placed me in "maintenance" which means my job is to stay the same. I have to keep alert for dangerous symptoms, but otherwise live my life as normal. This has been pretty easy for me and I have been able to get to a point where most days, even weeks, I don't remember all that I have been through.
There was a week earlier this summer in July when my body was very worn down from travel, work and just over-extending myself. This exhaustion manifests itself in my vision loss and so I had two incidents in one week where my limited vision caused a bruise and a fall. It felt like someone hit me in the knees because I didn't see it coming. I feel healthy and strong and when the weaknesses emerge, I remember all that I have been through and how this diagnosis will live with me forever.
When I trip or fall, even on a normal day, my kids, especially Noah are immediately fearful that something tragic has happened. I have to remind them that I am klutzy and 99% of my trips are just normal behavior for me.
And so, I press on every day, living a life of joy-full moments and living out my normal desire to explore every corner and experience every opportunity possible.
I've had a great blessing of getting to know a new friend in my community with a different type of non-malignant brain tumor who will go through some of the same surgeries I have gone through and who is definitely experiencing the feelings that I go through. These encounters continue to reinforce my deep feeling of connectedness to God's human family. Unfortunately though, the connectedness is a celebration of human relationships but also connects me to others who have had more difficult struggles than my own.
For Dugan, the young man who was in my youth group at Oxford, the illness took over his body. His spirit was not lessened, but the large butterfly glioblastoma in his brain was stronger than the medicine and the treatment. He passed away a few weeks ago and the tears swell up every time I even think about it. It's a mixture of anger that the disease is so strong, sadness that his life ended so early and a deep, aching pain that his family is suffering through without him.
Again and again I am asked how my life has changed because of all of this. I say the same thing every time because it is the most true thing I can say. For the first time in my life, I have had the opportunity to live out what I have always believed. My thoughts and feelings about death, suffering and pain have been tried. But, more importantly, my joy and triumph, and my belief in God's presence and power have been strengthened enormously.
And so, I continue to thank you for your prayers and for your support. Every time I reconnect with a friend, I am greeted with a gentle and welcome inquiry about how I am feeling. I am grateful for the questions. It means that you are lifting up my well being and that you are a friend invested in my good outcome. Hopefully it means that in your prayers you have remembered me.
So, this Tuesday, I ask you to pray that there is no fear in me, that there is no tumor growth, that I walk out of the hospital as cheerful and positive as I walk in.
