breast cancer

It’s done. I rang the bell.

Hallelujah!

It was a really good day.

I cried on and off all day. I’m just so overwhelmed by the goodness of God.

Music is a big part of my faith experience. I love music and it’s so often the tool God uses to draw me close.

Driving to my last radiation treatment, I turned on the radio. I don’t often listen to our local Christian radio station while driving to the hospital, I might listen to news or a podcast, but this morning I felt compelled.

While driving in, this was the playlist that came on: Jericho by Andrew Ripp, Dry Bones by Lauren Daigle, Waymaker by Leeland, and Known by Tauren Wells.

If you’re not familar with these songs, here some of the lyrics:

Long before I ever called your name, you were fighting for my victory. Carved in your flesh and bone are wounds that have said my soul’s forgiven. All of my fears like Jericho walls gotta come down, come down… (Jericho)

But we know that You are God, Yours is the victory. WE know there is more to come that we may not yet see. So with the faith You’ve given us we’ll step into the valley unafraid. As we call out to dry bones, come alive, come alive. We call out to dead hearts, come alive, come alive. Up out of the ashes, let us see an army rise. We call out to dry bones, come alive. (Dry Bones)

And you are way maker, miracle worker, promise keeper, light in the darkness. My God, that is who you are. (Waymaker)

I’m fully known and loved by You. You won’t let go, no matter what I do. And it’s not one or the other, it’s hard truth and ridiculous grace to be known, fully known, and loved by you. I’m fully known and loved by you. (Known)

While I was at MD Anderson, the amazing team of therapists I had were so excited for me. My entire family came and stood outside the glass door that looks in at the bell so they could cheer me on. The women were so excited to “meet” the triplets they’d heard about.

After my final dose of radiation, we walked down the hall. You read a poem on the wall, “Ring this bell, three times well, it’s toll to clearly say, my treatment’s done, this course is run, and I am on my way!” Seriously, I’m crying typing it. I was crying reading it. Then you toll the bell three times. Bray and the kids were outside cheering.

I’d stopped for donuts for the therapists and picked some up for the kids too. I got to drop them off at school (a little late, we got special clearance to come celebrate with me)!

On our way to school, God blessed me with more music. Amen by King and Country and New Today by Micah Tyler. Resurrection day is here. Bells are ringin’ loud and clear. Caterpillar to a butterfly. Risen to another life. All the people say Amen! Amen! All the people say Amen! Amen! From death to life. Amen means SO BE IT. It is an affirmative response. And a conclusion. What a gift to have AMEN playing on the radio at my conclusion. Then:
Your mercies are new today, your mercies are new today. I can rest on your shoulders, there is grace to start over, your mercies are new today. (New Today) After the conclusion, I had the gift of a reminder: TODAY IS NEW! There is grace to start over. Today is a fresh start.

What a gift. God affirming messages through music that He has been teaching me all along the way. People all day trickled in with texts and messages. A dear friend dropped flowers. A precious co-worker zoomed me. (Ha!)

After little bit’s softball practice, Bray took us all out to dinner to celebrate. We went to the exact same spot he took us after we’d found out the cancer news and we were all so sad. We had laughed so hard that night, for the first time in two days, and it was such a celebration this time. He ordered champagne and dessert, big splurges for us, and we ended up seeing three separate families we knew at the restaurant who cheered us too! I opened a good bottle of wine a precious executive had given me a few years back for a big win. I let him know he was helping us celebrate another big win.

It’s all been a gift. All of it. The drains and the miracle of how it got out. The surgeon and the miracle of how I got her. COVID and the miracle of how everyone caught it but me. The community who utterly surrounded us and loved us and showered us with their presence and their presents.

I’m not out of it. I’m still burned and tired and it will take a few weeks. But I’m SO completely deep in my bones grateful. For this. For God. For my family. And for you.

Well, I did it!

I managed to write every day of radiation.

Maybe I’m jumping the gun. 

There are two more days left.

That’s right. Two. More. Days.

Today was Day 21 and my last day is Wednesday. 

I hesitate to say how I am because I feel like it’s the underlying theme in all my posts.  Tired. And burned.

But even with that, I’m almost done.

It’s extraordinary to me. 

I had my biopsy on December 2^nd.  Then my doctor called on December 7^th to tell me the tumor was malignant.  By December 21^st, I’d met with my full team of surgeon, oncologist and radiologist at MD Anderson. 

In just over one month, February 2^nd, they’d cut the stinkin’ tumor out. 

Then, this month, 23 radiation visits at 7:30 am from March 1^st to March 31^st.  I finish right before Easter.  I’ll be ringing the bell well before our June summer vacation that I planned LAST SUMMER with no idea of what was ahead. 

The two hurricanes that would smash the family farm. 

COVID classrooms. 

Cancer. 

Actual COVID hitting everyone in our house but me. 

An apocalyptic winter storm.

We had no idea when we clicked “reserve” on a big house on the water in Bar Harbor, Maine what a gift that time away would be.  What a celebration of life and God’s mercies. 

Two more days. 

The punchline to today’s post is I do not need to go through chemotherapy.

This is an enormous blessing and answer to prayer. So many of my breast cancer warrior friends had to face chemo for months.

I am very grateful.

But today was hard in its own way. And I’m very tired.

I spent the afternoon at the main MD Anderson campus (I’ve been able to go to the smaller west campus for radiation).

I received the great news that my genomic testing assigned a very low number to my cancer which means chemotherapy would not help recurrence at all. Thrilled for that last piece I’d been waiting on.

My oncologist also gave me news about my menopause status (which I won’t get into), but now I know what medicine I will start at the end of radiation. When radiation ends this month, I start tamoxifen. Then, a couple of years later, I will likely switch to a different type of medicine. In all, I take the pills every day for five years.

This, combined with my lumpectomy and radiation, puts me at no greater risk of more breast cancer than anyone else.

I’ll have another mammogram in 6 months when I do follow ups with my oncologist and radiologist. Those will permanently be moved to MD Anderson which gives me great comfort.

But then, the rest of the day was rough. I had to go through a second radiation simulation. I had a young student who was pretty rough with me on the machine. They have to compress your breast under a plastic board which is fairly painful when your breast is burned from radiation. Then they mark all over your breast, more, to depict where the “booster” radiation will go, starting in 10 days.

If you are going through cancer, this is just another time you have to advocate for yourself. They were going to tape right over my central breast where the burns and pain are the worst. I said NO. I let the techs know I would take it up with my doctor, but I absolutely could not have tape over an area in pain and in desperate need of regular moisture.

It worked. I got out of there without more tape all over my burns. (There’s markers and tape all over the rest of my chest.)

In my meeting with the radiologist, she said, “you are pinker than most patients at this stage of radiation.” This means my burns have hit earlier. I had been praying the reverse would be true. It becomes super important to protect my skin so it stays on. She gave me Mepilex sheets for daytime and magic cool sheets for nighttime. I really like her and her team and am thankful they are being proactive to get me over the finish line.

She also noted that because my breasts are so dense (this is the struggle that has caused so many ultrasounds over the years), the compression may not help for the booster. The seed area they are trying to “super radiate” is deep and my breasts are dense. It could mean I have a little wider area of radiation than we’d hoped just to get to it.

Between the rough simulation and less than happy news coming from radiology, I left near tears again. I’ve decided end of week is really hard for me. I should have left overjoyed at the answer to prayer about chemo, and I am so so thankful, but I felt overwhelmed all over again.

Then last night, I read a post from Jen Hatmaker who has recently gone through a very painful divorce: Dear ones, some of you are sad right now, because you should be. You are feeling appropriate feelings about devastating things, because you are a normal, good person with a normal good heart. There is nothing wrong with you. You should be more concerned if you were skipping right into your next season with nary a care or tear. We feel it now, or it will come roaring out later, ruining every good thing in its path. Grief requires our attention, and we should give it with great care…

She’s right. This is advice I would give any one of my friends. So I gave myself permission to grieve. You can have joy and sadness together. That’s life.

So if you are in the middle of good and hard right now, you are allowed to celebrate the good while grieving the hard. It doesn’t make you ungrateful. It makes you human.

Happy weekend friends.