breast cancer Archives - Gindi Vincent

We’ve been at the farm this week. The top photo was a shot I took as the sun was setting. I zoomed in on the sunset to crop out all the stuff that took away from its beauty. But then, when you zoom out, you see what’s around it.

Zoom out. There’s work trucks. A trash bin and loading pallet. There’s a storage container. Because as you know, Hurricane Laura decimated the Vincent family farm. And then it got hit again by Hurricane Delta. Progress is being made, but it’s slow going. Rebuilding from the ground up.

Then, if you pan over a little to the left, you’d see this picture at sunset.

Zoom in – sunset exclusively in focus. Zoom out – sunset distracted by hurricane clean up pieces. Zoom over – a handsome son enjoying a fire he built.

I planned to write. For over a week. I meant to. But I’ve been pretty antisocial this holiday. I’m avoiding telephone calls. I haven’t seen anyone besides my crew. And everytime I go to do something, I just stop.

So when I finally made myself sit down to write today, I thought about how our perspective changes when we zoom in or out or over. (And I seriously hesitated using the word Zoom at all in a 2020 wrap up post.)

For the first few weeks after I received my diagnosis, I was very focused on seeing all the good. The blessings. The miracles.

I stopped that last week. Not permanently of course, but I allowed myself to be grumpy. And conflicted.

I wanted the kids to stay home because I wanted to spend time with them because TIME FEELS VERY PRECIOUS. Except while they were home they were fighting and I was yelling at them and I just wanted a break. A break from my kids? While I have breast cancer? It felt terrible to even think because time feels shorter and I should treasure every moment. But I couldn’t treasure a thing because I was tired and had a ton of cooking to do and the house was messy and the kids were fighting. (It got better! We had a great Wednesday! All the cooking got done!)

Perspective. How do you reconcile the warring perspectives? Zoom in, kids fighting and chaos. Zoom out, life is short and enjoy every minute. Zoom over, good progress on treatment.

I had a really positive appointment with the medical team at MD Anderson last week too. It turns out the cancer is Stage 1 not Stage 2, hallelujah, and it looks like the garden variety, hormone positive, breast cancer that makes up 70% of the cases. Another huge praise. When you have cancer, you want the early stage, run of the mill stuff.

There are still things to pray about. We are praying my genetic testing comes back all clear. Praying the surgery (which is scheduled for February 4th) will confirm no cancer in the lymphnodes like the ultrasound showed. Praying the genomic testing done on the tumor doesn’t show a high reproduction rate so I won’t need chemotherapy.

While I feel like I’m constantly zooming over to the treatment course, another phone call today to move forward with the genetic counseling, I’m trying to remember to zoom out more.

How far out? Well, at least as far out to see the glorious 2021 in the near future.

I’m not delusional. I do not think 2021 is going to be a panacea. We still have a world fighting a pandemic and inequality in the distribution of medicine to stop it and inequity in our socioeconomic and racial fault lines and infighting over silly political memes.

Yet. I find hope in 2021. I find hope in a relief from an election year. In a vaccine which will hopefully curb the spread of this vicious virus. In a 5th grade graduation ceremony and 15th wedding anniversary and hubby’s 50th birthday. I believe this time next year I will be cancer free and hopefully able to love on the next round of women who are feeling all the things I’m feeling right now.

See, you would think by zooming out, if you use those pictures above as a guide, I would see the pain and things that mar the beauty. But no! By Zooming out, you see the things that bring restoration. You see the work trucks which bring people to construct and build and clean. You see the containers that kept family heirlooms safe while the rebuilding happens.

The restoration isn’t pretty. It’s dirty and messy and ugly and takes way longer than it should. But in the end, RESTORED.

It reminds me of Nehemiah. In the beginning, the walls of Jerusalem are broken down and the gates destroyed by fire. He leads the effort of rebuilding, an effort attacked on every side. The work gets done though. When you get to Chapter 3, it lists all these different families doing the messy work of restoration (Jeshanah Gate repaired by Joiada, Fish Gate was rebuilt by the sons of Hassenaah, Fountain Gate was repaired by Shallun, Baruch son of Zabbai zealously repaired another section, and on and on).

It’s what we’re all doing. We’re all just restoring a little bit.

Zoom out. You’re rebuilding civility. And you, you’re restoring justice. You, quiet one in the corner, you’re rebuilding with art or medicine or education.

It’s messy. Maybe it’s not as pretty a picture as when we’re so zoomed in on ourselves. On that solitary sunset. But oh how it reflects the community working together toward restoration.

And that’s why there is such hope for 2021. The teachers and medical workers and first responders and lawyers and grocery clerks and students and retirees and all of us. We’re doing the hopeful messy restorative work.

Keep going. With all it’s conflict and uncertainty and stepping on each other’s toes. It’s work worth doing.

I needed to write before I went into my appointment at MD Anderson. Before I understand more. Before I know the treatment course.

I wanted to make sure I capture the miracles.

Two weeks ago today, my doctor called and said a biopsy found a ductal carcinoma on my right breast.

In my life, there are before and after moments.

The first one I remember is at 12. Before and after my parents divorce. When the world as I knew it tipped on its axis.

Before and after marriage, almost 15 years ago. And world shifting moments since then – before and after infertility, before and after children, before and after Bray’s job loss.

So here’s another one of those. In the year of our Lord, 2020.

In the midst of the news, and the logistics, and the processing, there have been miracles. God working in every single moment.

On Day 1, I spoke with two women who gave me insight into their own personal stories of recent breast cancer and treatment at MD Anderson. As a result, I went on line that night and filled out a form to get in to see a team there.

On Day 2, at 8 am, I received a phone call from MD Anderson. I’d been told it could take months to get in and I should consider seeing other doctors in order to get an evaluation more quickly. Yet here was this woman on the other end of the line saying she could make appointments for me on what would be Day 11 and Day 12.

That same evening, a dear friend and mentor of mine introduced me to his friend leading a team at MD Anderson. He recommended a specific surgeon in the department. I looked into the team I’d been assigned to see on Day 12 and realized the oncologist is not one that would be who I would ultimately settle on. He didn’t have the background or experience I was looking for in the oncologist that would be with me through the entire process.

Meanwhile, my closest friends and family members were praying like crazy. We had told the children and they had shared with some close friends at school, and teachers, and a few more people began to cover our family in their prayers.

On Day 3, MD Anderson called again. I explained that I did not want to lose my appointment but I knew the oncologist I was assigned wouldn’t be a fit. She said she’d check for the next available team appointment. The next opening was only ONE BUSINESS DAY LATER, today, and the surgeon on the team was the very one the MD Anderson team lead had recommended. The same one.

I said YES PLEASE! Another miracle.

On Day 4, I wrote about the diagnosis here and the gates of Heaven were barraged by the prayers of so many on my behalf. The biggest miracle of all.

On Friday, Day 12, when I went into my first MD Anderson appointment for testing, another miracle. They repeated the mammograms and ultrasound and noted possible bilateral biopsy. That was to investigate other areas of concern. They spent time US-ing my lymphnodes. When the technician came back, she reported no further areas of concern and I was free to go.

Let me be clear here. Everyone has different results. The fact that my results went one way while another’s come out differently does not reflect anything about their faith or their prayers or their community of support.

But what is important for my individual story, as I process, is for me to acknowledge the hand of God in every thing that happens. The big and the small. The significant and the minute. Because God is not just a God of the mighty miracles where seas part and the blind see. He’s a God of the small miracles. The daily walking around goodness – in open parking spots and appointment availability and test results and friendship.

People came as God with skin on these past two weeks.

They prayed. We had two Tiff’s Treats deliveries and a delicious loaf of homemade bread.

Five women from law school sent a “treatment tote” with incredibly thoughtful gifts, crowdsourced from their friends who had gone through this before. Gifts for the children and button front pajamas for me and even a cute tote I could take to every hospital visit and then throw away when I beat this thing.

Two of my best friends arrived days later with a bag laden with the softest blankets and sweaters and a diffuser with essential oils. My best friend had the exact same sweater and wore it on Friday as I wore mine. Solidarity with me on my first visit when she couldn’t be there.

There’s more. Every day, there’s more. Family and friends and God right smack dab in the middle.

The miracles started even before “Day 1.” I was supposed to get a mammogram this month. But in October, one time in the shower, I thought I felt something. I never felt it again. But it made me call my doctor and get a mammogram a month and a half earlier than usual.

I was supposed to get the biopsy results on a Friday. I’d have gone nuts that weekend. I couldn’t have DONE anything and it would have done us all in. The boys on their hunting trip and me having to sit still. Instead, my dear friend had an appointment (scheduled months ago) with my primary care doctor on Monday morning. She asked her to go find the results and then I got the call. On Monday. When I could spring into action.

Every day was another miracle. The God of the small and the big.

And no matter what they tell me today, no matter what the course of treatment, I serve that very same God. The one who shows up. The one who cares. The one who acts in all things for His good purpose.

Zoom Out

Miracles in the Middle