Approaching Year 2

How unbelievable that I am just one month away from my two year anniversary of the discovery of my tumor.  I'm also about six months post treatment. I recall vividly in the early days of this journey I found a blog about a man with a brain tumor. He detailed his experiences throughly -- from diagnosis to treatment to fatigue and more.  I read every post he had over and over again, trying to compare exactly where I was on the journey with his reflections.  I wanted to know what would happen next, every step of the way.  While I was still in my early days, his posts became fewer and fewer and I desperately wanted to know his thoughts when he wasn't posting.  And now, as my face to face reminders of brain cancer become less and less, it seems so ironic to me that I don't post very much anymore, either.  Each visit to the doctor would bring up a huge mess of emotions for me, an unwanted opportunity to face my mortality.  Now that I visit the doctor so much less frequently it is easier to tuck away those fears.  I refuse to "pretend" that everything is fully okay, but without the long corridors of the hospital and the continuous needles jabbing my skin, I feel more comfortable exhaling.

Last month I received a letter on a Tuesday saying that my team of doctors had left the University of Washington.  I had an appointment on Friday.  I had no idea why they left or what happened, but it felt like someone had ripped my security blanket out of my crib and thrown it away.  I loved my doctors. They were honest and funny and intelligent and they knew my case and my story.  In the meantime I would be with a temporary doctor until they hired a new team.

I went to my appointment and had another scan.  I was determined that something was wrong and yet the doctor said she absolutely couldn't tell an iota of difference between the scans from 6 months ago to now, which means that my situation is stable with no change (which is what you want).

I was also at a Halloween party last month and as it turns out our school crossing guard was diagnosed with a stage 2 glioma ten years ago. She had it removed and has never had a recurrence.

The distance from December 2014 to now, along with the reassurances from survivors truly help me to feel as though I am healed, maybe just for now, maybe forever, but well enough to shed 99% of the notion that I am "sick."

Over the next few months, I will be working on transitioning this blog back to its original intent -- to share the joys of our family.  I will catalog the specific brain tumor posts and put them to the side in a separate blog that will link to this one.  My hopes are that if someone wants to see the dirty details of the journey, as I did, that those thoughts will be condensed in one place. It will take me a little bit to get it all organized, but I will feel better about sorting it all and releasing the hold that the illness has had on our lives. It will always be a part of our story, but it is no longer the dominant narrative in our story.

In addition, I am working on putting all of my old sermons, prayers and reflections in one place. They are currently on three different computers! Those reflections will slowly be organized on the blog listed to the right -- Thin Veil. As I am invited to preach and teach I will have a place to keep and save things I am currently working on, as well as things I have done in the past. For the sake of disclaimer, I often write sermons as a mix of "stream of consciousness" and research, so there are often run on sentences and grammar errors.

It is good for me to do this because I run into things so often that move me and I would love a place to tuck them away and also to share them.

I know that not many people read this blog anymore, but whether you read or not, I still feel so connected and united to the incredible witness of people that have walked this journey with me.  For that I live in complete gratitude to you!