Well… It's happening.
I'm here again.
Same chemo chair.
New chemo drugs.
Ugh.
These past few weeks have brought lots of changes to my body and, as a result, lots of visits to Roswell. Not to belabor anything but in an attempt to be honest with you, here are some of the things I've experienced and heard and lived through these past three weeks:
Radiation daily to my left eye – 12 days
Radiation daily to my lower spine – 5 days
Radiation induced vomiting (every 20 minutes on our Rich Family Christmas morning)
CT and bone scans, x-rays, and blood work.
Vision issues in my left eye causing frustration to do simple tasks as well as nausea.
Tumor markers that are fairly rapidly escalating.
Reduction in my weight. I'm down about 35 lbs since June.
New meds at home to manage the annoying cough, the bone pain in my hip, the shortness of breath.
I probably could go on, but I'll spare us further yuckiness.
You can thank me later.
And, I totally get if you just want to delete this or decide to read it later when it might be at an easier time for you.
I also totally get it if you read all that and your brain jumps ahead to what you are thinking is probably awaiting me.
And if you're thinking "hospice" or "palliative care" or any of those types of phrases, you must have been eavesdropping on my recent conversations with my doctor.
Those terms have either been directly mentioned or certainly implied.
As she has said, "We're not at the Hospice door yet, but…"
Hmm.
So what does THAT feel like?
Not sure.
It's definitely not easy.
It's definitely not fun.
It's definitely not light-hearted.
And it's definitely not what I would choose.
No, definitely not that.
But, thankfully, the physical reality of my situation is not the only voice that's speaking into my total reality.
There is a spiritual reality that is speaking just as loudly – if not much more loudly - than my physical reality.
And it's a welcomed, peace-filling, awe-inspiring voice.
It doesn't erase - or, like a good mathematical expression, negate - the physical reality, but rather it puts it into a beyond-important perspective.
As I find myself dealing with more effects of this unyielding disease, I find myself surprised by the amount of hope Christ is pouring out.
And astounded by the unleashing of His voice.
And amazed by the continued sacrificial love of His people toward my family and me.
And it's good.
In the midst of the hard, THAT is good.
So very good.
And I am thankful.
So, again, my friends…thanks for walking this hard journey alongside of us. You encourage me to endure and be patient. To wait. To watch. To trust.
Couldn't do this without you.
So glad I don't have to.
Suckers.
:)
My love to you,
K.
