Update #83

Realized that I didn't let you all know (at least via email!) about the results of my scans yesterday.  Oops. Sorry. 

Easy day!  The scans show stability and/or improvement. This means that the current chemo drug I'm on will be what I continue with for the time being. 

So…tomorrow I go for Part 1 of Round #3 of chemo. 

So far, the side effects of this drug continue to be MUCH easier than those of the first drug I was on this summer.  

While I don't feel great and while eating is still hard, I recognize myself again.  

Well…I guess I really don't recognize myself if I'm talking about what I see in the mirror. 

That girl staring back at me is a bit scarier than the girl who I remember myself to be.  

But, when I think of how I'm not just laying on the couch all day or feeling crappy all day… 

THAT feels much more like my old self.  

So…thanks for your prayers and your encouragement. This would be so much more difficult without you…

Love to you all,

K. 

Update #79 - Scans Today

Well… I don't have to get my chemo treatment today as this is my "rest" week.  That's a heehaw.

BUT…I do need to have scans done today to see if/how my body has responded to this lovely chemo regiment. 

On Wednesday, I'll get the results.  

Then on Thursday - unless I get an ALL CLEAR report (to which I would fall on my face in amazement, thankfulness, and shock) - I will be having a procedure to implant a port in my chest so that I don't have to keep getting chemo through my hand and it's tired-of-being-poked veins. Although there is a great benefit of not feeling the pain of a needle digging around in your hand trying to capture less-than-cooperative veins, I am not happy about having a chest port installed and predict that that will be a tough, emotional thing for me.  

Yet another outward and "permanent" symbol of the spoils this disease has taken. 

While I know through Scripture that the spoils cancer has taken are temporary, they are felt deeply by me each day as I live this thing out.  From lack of body parts I once had, to lack of hair I once had, to lack of energy I once had, to lack to activities I once did, to lack of foods I once ate, to lack of pounds I once carried.  Those are losses.  They are felt.  They are difficult to let go of and live contentedly.  Impossible, I would argue, without also knowing the greater truth that Paul speaks of in 2 Corinthians 4:16-18.  

"We don’t give up. Our bodies are becoming weaker and weaker. But our spirits are being renewed day by day. Our troubles are small. They last only for a short time. But they are earning for us a glory that will last forever. It is greater than all our troubles.  So we don’t spend all our time looking at what we can see. Instead, we look at what we can’t see. What can be seen lasts only a short time. But what can’t be seen will last forever."

Here's what I love about this passage:  it's honest.  It says it plainly… "Yep, Kristie, your body is becoming weaker.  But, you are more than your body.  And just because your body is under attack, doesn't mean your spirit has to be too.  Just because your body is becoming weaker, your spirit can be moving in the exact opposite direction – toward great strength.  And those troubles?  Yep, they're troubles alright.  Never want to try to tell you that they're not.  But, Kristie, those troubles are short-lasting in light of eternity.  And they are producing a mighty work.  They are earning you a glory that so far exceeds the trouble."  

And here's what else I love about this passage: The challenge.  The challenge of "so what are you going to do about this?"  So what are you going to do about your body failing at the same time your spirit has the opportunity to soar?  Are you going to spend all your time looking at the deterioration? At your crazy wisps of hair that remain?  Or the numerous scars on your body? Or the shrinking size of your frame? Or even the new bandages for this port that you'll have with you for the next few weeks? Are you going to keep your eyes there?

OR

Are you going to look at the things you can't see, the things of promise included all through Scripture, the encouragement that comes when standing in His light and trading in your sorrows and fears for His love and His power? 

See, it's still about the eyes.  Where my eyes go. Where your eyes go.  Do they fall prey to the loud, flamboyantly-waving arms of the direness of your circumstances?  Do they desperately try to find a sense of peace as they only focus on the swirling, unstable ground those circumstances are creating?  Or do they respond to the strong pull of the loving face of the Savior who speaks grace and peace and joy and truth and power into those circumstances? Who calms, and takes on our burdens, and releases us from darkness, and instills joy? 

How I'd love to tell you that I've gotten this mastered: eyes only on His face.  But that's not true.  But what I can tell you to be true – after living in a pretty rough place for the past three months – is that there is NOTHING good or hope-filled about living with your eyes only on your circumstances.  Been there. Done that. Nothing good comes.  Just grumpiness, bitterness, frustration, and the sense that nothing will ever be okay again.

So, would you pray with me that my eyes – your eyes – be focused on the unseen reality around us?  That we can acknowledge our troubles, but not give them far more power than they are ever intended to have?  That we don't assume that what's happening in our circumstances is what also has to be happening in our spirits?  That we can be renewed powerfully at the exact same time that our bodies and/or our circumstances are falling apart?  

Hard stuff, but important stuff. 

Much love,

K.

Update #68

(LONG post today…sorry!) 

A change in plans.

Tomorrow was originally scheduled to be just a scan day, with results being shared with me next week. But, as of yesterday because of increased in pain in my right hip/femur, I'm now actually getting scans and meeting with my doctor all in one day rather than waiting that week to hear results.  And that's both relieving and incredibly not relieving at the same time.No one wants a cancer doctor to "squeeze you in" to her already-full-of-cancer patients schedule, right? Means that she thinks you REALLY need to see her. 

Yuck.

-------

Yesterday, sandwiched between normal everyday activities (in the morning, buying a cute area rug and, in the evening, watching a really cute 5th grade boy dance his heart out in his 5th grade musical), I had a few really difficult conversations. 

One was with my doctor.  Telling her that my pain levels are getting to the point that Advil every 6 hours just isn't fully cutting it.  Hearing from her that I really need to see her "right away."  Hearing me say to her that I think I might be ready for prescription pain meds - something I have LONG dreaded ever having to say and continues to fill me with dread even as I type it out now. 

One was with a (new) friend. An expert in the genetics (and cancer) world.  Hearing from her much needed information about my family's probable genetic predisposition to cancers (yes, that's plural) and getting her expert opinion as to how to proceed.  Hearing things like, "You might want to consider meeting with an expert in this field who's in Boston…there's another one in Michigan…"  

One was with Chad.  Calling him in tears after the other two conversations.  Being surprised when I heard the garage door go up and seeing him walk into the house.  Ready to hug me. Ready to listen. Ready to  love me through my frustrations and anger and sadness.  

And, finally, one was with God.  Expressing disatisfaction. Wanting to know if there's really an end to this cancer prognosis that doesn't include me in a hospital bed.  Wanting – no, demanding like an obstinate 4 year old - His help. His truth. His presence.   Totally angry that I'm watching the life that I would love to live become less and less of a reality for me.  Can't ski with my kids. Can't run with my husband. Can't sit cross-legged on the floor.  Now, I can't even sit on the couch fully pain-free.

Does it sound like I was complaining?

I was (and, truth be told, I still sorta am).

I was complaining. 

Loudly. 

Here's the truth: Being tempted to complain, and then falling into the trap of complaining, is part of this journey I'm on. And sharing it with you is just part of the deal I made with you all back in Update #1… to walk it out as honestly as I know how to.  

But…thankfully…I don't only have complaints for you today. 

Remember that I said I was a having a typical day yesterday? Remember that cute rug purchase? That 5th grade play?  

Well…I neglected to tell you that I also had the privilege of going to Hamburg Town Court too.

A couple of weeks ago, I got - and deservedly too – my first ever speeding ticket.

48 MPH in a 35 MPH zone.

Oops.

So I went to court so that they would reduce my rightfully deserved speeding ticket down to something less expensive. 

It's a crazy system going on, isn't it?

I'm totally guilty of speeding.

I was rightfully caught.

I deserve to pay the penalty.

Instead…

I – and 150 other derelicts like me – stand in line around the edge of a big room in the basement of the town hall. 

We get called up to the prosecutor's podium one by one.

He looks at our paperwork that fairly and accurately describes our actual crime.

He looks up at our faces. Looks down at the paperwork.  

And issues his offer.

"2 Parking Tickets.  Do you accept that?"

Um…yes? 

Then I walk back upstairs and take a seat in the standing-room only courtroom. 

And wait as, one-by-one, we stand in front of the judge.

He, too, scans over that same paperwork – the one that fairly and accurately describes our actual crime.

He reiterates that the prosecutor has presented us an offer and asks us if we accept it.  

"2 Parking Tickets.  Do you agree to that?"

Um…yes. 

"Ms. Rush…2 Parking Tickets at $65 each for a total of $130"

"Go through that door on the right and pay your fine."

What the heck is that???

Here's what it's not: It's not justice.

There's no justice in that. 

I didn't get what I deserved. 

And, even though I don't want to pay the big fine for my actual infraction, there's something in me that longs for true justice: you were wrong, you pay.

So, yesterday wasn't justice.

But neither was it grace.

Oh, it was better than paying the full speeding ticket fine and getting points on my license.

But that's not grace. 

That's not mercy.

That may be the best the world can do for us when we mess up.

"You're off the hook for that BIG thing, Kristie, but you're on the hook for this other thing and it's gonna cost you something."

That might be the best the world can do. 

But that's not the best God can do.

That's not the message of Christ. 

It's not the grace of God.

It's not the mercy of God.

You see, the picture of God's grace looks like this:   

I admit my rightful guilt.

I stand before the judge.

And instead of having to pay the penalty, the fine is paid for me

By the judge himself.

And my record is wiped clean.

How crazy would yesterday's courtroom experience have been if, for each person in that room, the judge called them up one by one, and read to them their actual crime,and then told them what the fair punishment would be.  And then…and then….the judge came down off his bench and stood next to us and willingly and delightedly offered to take the penalty upon himself?  

Could you imagine?

That's the grace of God. 

That's the the message of Christ. 

That's what the Cross is all about.  

It's about Christ fully satisfying the deserved penalty of me falling short of, not Hamburg, NY's traffic laws, but the Laws of God and His standard for what's right.  

It's about setting me free from paying that fine because He's paid it for me.

And that…that truth…that word picture….that experience after a series of hard, hard, hard conversations yesterday…those 68 minutes of sitting in Hamburg Town Court and not experiencing true justice and not experiencing true grace…that began to calm this anxious heart.  To soothe this worried girl.  To set my feet back on solid, hope-filled, good ground.   And even, to slow the complaints that came tumbling out of my mouth. 

I don't like what's happening with my body.

I don't like what I may hear tomorrow.

I don't like the hard things about all this.

But I love grace.

And I love freedom.

And I love the peace that comes from knowing that, because of Christ, I will never pay the fine I'm guilty of.  

And that helps me to go into Roswell tomorrow and trust Him with my life. 

I know; it's another deep, tough email from me.

You guys are troopers to walk this thing with me.

I'd love your prayers tomorrow. 

That I would hold fast to the truth that "He is good. He is able. He knows me. He loves me." 

Thanks friends…

K.

P.S.  You have full permission to remind me of Hamburg Town Court if you catch me going through a long list of complaints! I think his name was Judge Gorman :)

Update #52 - With a Twist

It's been three years since my re-diagnosis. 

And it's been three years of you having to read update after update after update as to what's going on in my life. 

In honor of your tremendous commitment, I've decided to give you a break from reading yet another typical update and have determined that you all must now have the opportunity to experience my fantabulous poetry skills. In fact, I'm sure that, once you read this poem, you will decide that Shel Silverstein and Dr. Seuss have nothing on me. 

Roswell tomorrow.

Oh how fun.

Roswell tomorrow.

Hmm…what has this cancer done?

Roswell tomorrow.

For scans, scans, scans.

Roswell tomorrow

I may need ya, but I ain't one of your fans. 

Any applause? 

No? 

What's that, you say? 

Perhaps I should stick to just plain 'ole writing?

Okay.

Be back in touch next week Wednesday after I hear the results. 

Until then, please know that I will be forever thankful that you have walked these years with my family and me.   You have loved us well.

Love to you,

K.