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.

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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 #67

Met with my doctor today and here's the skinny:  No change in treatment until after we get the results of scans.  Scans are scheduled for 2/12, with my follow-up appointment on 2/19.  I will also be meeting with the Genetics department at Roswell sometime in the next couple of weeks to understand what, if any, non-traditional treatment options might be applicable to me because of our family's specific history of cancers  (we are not a BRCA family for those of you who know about that).

It's funny how I usually feel as if I'm handling the stress of the day well. That is, until my appointment is over and it gets to be about 5:30 PM.  I get so tired by then.  I mean, seriously tired.  All I want to do is become one with my couch!  Being the rock star that his is, Chad just smiles at me, refrains from calling me lazy, and generously takes the lead on getting the kids to bed.  Ahh…to be taken care of.

On a separate note…Remember when I first was re-diagnosed and the ortho told me that I had to be one crutches for 6 weeks and then use a cane?  Although I totally didn’t follow that advice (thank goodness), the crutches that I bought have finally come in handy.  

Unfortunately, Emilie accidentally slammed her foot against a stone step at a friend's house on Monday night.  On Tuesday morning, when she complained that her toe hurt, I basically told her – no, I actually really did tell her - to suck it up and go to school.  You know, the, "You're fine, there's nothing that can be done even if it's broken, stop your crying" spiel that moms give?  

Yeah; I really missed the mark on that one.  Learned the hard way when I got the call from school a few hours later that Em had spent a portion of the day in a WHEELCHAIR because her foot was swollen and causing her to not be able to walk.  When I picked her up, I got the, "What? Did you really think she should have sucked it up on this one?" look.  Oops. No mother-of-the-year award for me, I guess! :)

We promptly took her to get it x-rayed and, thankfully, found out that it's not broken.  Badly bruised and in need of crutches for a few days, but not broken.  Phew.  What an eventful couple of days in the Rush household! 

Thanks, once again, for all the ways you encourage us.  You are just fabulous.

With love,

K.

Update #....66

You know you're way overdue sending out an update when you go to type "Update #…" and you cannot for the life of you remember what number you're on.   

And then…when you look back and realize you're on Update #66 (66!), you immediately start to feel super sorry for all the people who will be, once again, opening this email or clicking on this post and reading it! 

In fact, I'm thinking I should send probably send these out with that "unsubscribe" option that other mass email senders give you. Because, when I put myself in your shoes and realize that some of you NEVER signed up to be on a 3+ year email distribution list, I actually laugh at the absurdity of it.  Because you and I both know that there's no great way of asking to be taken off this distribution list.  Although I'm being honest when I tell you that I'm totally cool with you requesting to be removed, I can't imagine (when I put myself in your shoes) what it would be like to send me that request.  

Yes, I'm laughing.  How awkward for you!  I guess you're stuck…unless you're very, very brave! 

Suckers.

____________

So, I'm actually typing this at 36,000 feet as I'm headed to a MOPS board meeting in Denver.  

I love to fly. 

I absolutely love it.

There was a time about 14 years ago when I started to get fearful of flying.  

And then I was diagnosed with Breast Cancer (1st time).

And I realized that the worst thing that could happen to me on a plane would be a far less painful and a far more newsworthy event than dying of cancer.

When I compared the worst that could happen on a plane with the worst that could happen in a cancer hospital, my fear of flying dissipated. 

Perspective changes everything, doesn't it?

Yesterday I started a new Bible study with my Tuesday morning Bible study girls.  

We're taking on the joy of studying what the Bible says about Heaven. 

And we're taking on the challenge of studying what the Bible says about Hell.

As you can imagine, this will be a fun semester (when we're studying Heaven) and a terribly difficult semester (when we're studying Hell). 

Although I can't predict all that we'll learn, one thing of which I am sure:  it, too, will be a perspective shifter.

Because in the past year, as I've been pursuing a deeper understanding of what God says about Heaven, my expectations for this side of life are changing. 

And that's a hard thing to come to grips with.

But it's a good thing.

A really, really good thing.

There's a popular saying (and you all know by now that I'm not a fan of simplifying statements that would fit on refrigerator magnets) that says that life isn't really about the date you were born or the date you die, but life is all about what you do with the dash; you know, that little character "-" that represents the number of years you live on earth.  

I don't disagree that what you do with that dash is far more important than how long that dash represents. 

But what I'm coming to greatly appreciate is that that dash is not synonymous with life.

While it's synonymous with life on earth, it's not even close to being synonymous with eternal life in Heaven.

Life on Earth, according to the Psalms, is just a breath when you compare it to life in Heaven.

One breath.

That's short.

Don't believe me?  

In reading this email, you've probably taken about 28 breaths.

28. 

Hmm….

Yikes; this is a heavy email, isn't it? 

Again, do you wish you could "unsubscribe"?

I get it.

For some of you, Heaven may sound like a fanciful, fairytale, pipe-dream kind of thing.  The stuff that Disney created and something flimsy and unreliable at best.  Heaven for you may be a "no way am I putting any of my eggs in that basket" kind of thing.

For others of you, my growing understanding of, and anticipation for, Heaven falls squarely into the basic of all basic truth.  Of course there's a Heaven. Of course knowing about it and living for it changes everything. This email for you is, to use my 1980's intellectual term, is a "no duh" kind of a thing.

But for others (and this is where I've been) Heaven may be something that you've loosely been thankful for, but hasn't really had much bearing on your day-to-day choices. Certainly not something that has made a day-to-day difference in bringing comfort, joy, hope or peace.  

If you're in this last category, then I hope you, like me, are encouraged  to pursue a deeper understanding of Heaven by something Randy Alcorn says in his book, Heaven. He says, "How can we set our hearts on Heaven when we have an impoverished theology of Heaven?"  

An impoverished view of Heaven.

I don't want that anymore.

Because an impoverished view of Heaven offers no hope against cancer.  

An impoverished view of Heaven offers no hope against the difficulties of living out uncertainties.  

An impoverished view of Heaven offers no hope against the wonderings and worries that come with thinking that life is all about the "dash". 

So, my friends, as I'm flying over the twinkling lights of some city thousands of miles below me, my hope for all of us is that we have ears to hear, eyes to see, a mind to imagine and a Spirit to trust in the One who makes Heaven a reality. 

With love,

Kristie

P.S.  If you get this email, you'll know I landed safely in Denver.  :)

P.P.S. And, a safe landing means that I (pending another safe landing on my way home!) I go to Roswell on Wednesday (1/22) to talk to my doctor about other treatment options.  This old body is feeling more and more bone discomfort.   Yeehaw.  

Update #65

Anyone want to guess what I heard today?

Ding. Ding. Ding.  

You got it: wait and see.

For at least a week, more likely for four weeks.

My tumor markers continue to be above normal (as they have been for many months), but are up slightly from last time.  My scans showed slight disease progression, but only in one area of my bones.  The rest of my scans showed that all other bone lesions are stable and that no other organs appear to be affected.  Because the new lesion on my bone is so small and because this is the first time my markers have gone up since switching to this treatment, the PA felt that it's too early to make a treatment change.  However, since my doctor is out of the office for a family emergency, she wants to consult with her via phone or with the other MD to make sure they agree.  Given how my Dr. has made decisions in the past, I think she will agree.  

If she does agree, I will continue on with this treatment and will go back again for blood work on January 8th.  

Phew.  A "yee-haw" and a "yikes" all in one.  

Mixed bag results are both so fabulous and so not-so-fabulous, aren't they?   

Thanks for your prayers.  How I am grateful for you.  For all the ways you stand in the gap for, and encourage, and love my family and me. You are so important to me.

If I'm not back in touch beforehand, have a wonderful Christmas…

Love to you,

Kristie

BTW - sounds like the "loudest vs. deepest desire" stuff has made an impact on more than just me.  I appreciate the many emails/posts/messages you've sent about it.  Good stuff. Thanks, Tim Keller! :)

Update #64

Guess where I get to go tomorrow? 

Yep; That Place. 

I've spent the better part of the past three months with my Tuesday morning bible study girls studying Mark and using Tim Keller's Jesus the King as a commentary.  It has been a fabulous study, perhaps my favorite.  And, although I could probably provide you with a month's worth of great new learnings from Scripture or insightful quotes from Keller's book, there is one that has been bouncing in my brain and my heart for the past few weeks that is fitting to share tonight.

Keller states, "Often what seem to be our deepest desires are really just our loudest desires."

[You may need to read that again and spend a second processing it. I know I did!]

Unfortunately – because it's bedtime in the Rush household and the kiddos need me to put them to bed – I can't give you the full context for this quote, other than to say Keller makes it after witnessing Christ's prayerful wrestling with, and then surrendering to, God the Father in the Garden of Gethsemane (Matthew 26, Mark 14, Luke 22), just hours before He is betrayed, arrested, put on trial and sentenced to death on a cross. 

What it means is this:  Often the thing that we think we most desire is really only that which is screaming the loudest in our minds, our bodies, our circumstances, our hearts.  

For me, the loudest desire is to be free and clear of cancer forever on earth. It's to be told my cancer is gone. It's to have a body that doesn't ache and hurt to the touch. It's being able to run and feel the wind on my skin and the sun on my face.  Those are honest and good desires. 

But those aren't my deepest desires. 

My deepest desire isn't to be free of cancer.  

It isn't to have a fully functioning body.

It isn't even to run.

My deepest desires are all about living fully as a daughter of The King - wherever He has placed me, and with whatever He has put before me, for whatever reasons He has.  My deepest desires are about being joyfully and peacefully obedient to Him, with a deep sense that He is always as He promises to be: loving, good, powerful, and present.  And with a deep knowing that He is at work here and now and that He will, one day, set all things right. 

Loudest versus deepest. 

It's a pretty big concept. 

And, I'm sure it's not just me who relates to it.

I bet you, too, have some pretty loud desires.  Things that are shouting at you and tempting you to believe that, with their satisfaction, you will be complete and whole.  A spouse who treasures you.  A child who makes better choices. A boss who esteems you.  A job that fits you.  A checkbook that doesn't look so meager.  A womb that isn't empty when you don't want it to be.   

Yet I bet, if asked, I bet you too would realize that those loudest desires may not really be your deepest ones.  I bet you'd realize that, while they're loud, they won't rescue you.  They're loud, but they won't fully satisfy you. They're loud, but they won't fill you with forever purpose and with overflowing hope and joy.  

Hmm…loudest vs. deepest.  

How I need to hold fast to this when I walk into Roswell tomorrow at 9 AM and hear the results of my scans.  

Because this road is not easy.

Feeling like this isn't easy.

Being there isn't easy.

And even remembering that my loudest desires aren't my deepest desires isn't easy. 

So I guess that's my request from you all on this beautifully snowy night in Buffalo, NY…I would love your prayers for Chad and me as we head to Roswell.  That the loudest desires for a cancer-free body would be realized (remember #6 prayer from a few months ago!), yet even more so, that we would fully trust and obey and go forward in joy, peace, and rest no matter what we hear.   

Thanks, friends.

Sleep well.

K.

"You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace…" Isaiah 55:12

Update #62

Home from Roswell.

Home from the dentist.

Guess where I cried?

Yep, at the dentist.

Although the news I heard at Roswell wasn't fabulous, all and all my current treatment plan doesn't change and I will still be taking daily meds.   The pain in my bone near my knee is probably growing bone metastases, but for now, doesn't warrant a change in anything I'm currently doing.  The swelling in my leg is most likely lymphedema due to radiation.  This means that I will be rocking a compression stocking, if not more intensive bandaging.   When I asked Chad if he would still love me if I had to wear compression hose, he immediately quipped, "Only if it can be lacy."   Funny, right?

So why the tears at the dentist?

Because my tooth isn't doing well and, because of complications from the meds I've been on, my only option may just be that it has to be pulled. 

And that was it; that was the straw the broke the proverbial camel's back.  So, despite my best efforts at sucking it up and trying not to cry, the tears started to flow.  Thankfully my dentist is a great guy and, although he wondered what the heck he said that opened the floodgates, he knows what's going on with me and therefore didn't think I was totally crazy! :)

Oh, almost forgot.  Want to know Chad's comment when I asked him if he would still love me if I had to wear a compression stocking and had missing molar?  

"Of course I will because that is totally sexy in West Virginia."  

He's a funny guy, right? 

You are more than welcome to crack your own jokes at my situation.

Laughter is FAR better than tears.

Just ask my dentist!

Love to you

Kristie

P.S.  To further humiliate myself...the video shows my response when I said that waiting for 45 minutes in the exam room made me feel like a caged tiger.  

Update #61

Ok.  So today is a bit different than I thought it would be.

I'm supposed to be in my office, glued to my laptop, putting together the materials for the women's retreat I'm leading this weekend at Chad's mom's church in Reading, PA. Let's just say that, while I am still working on those materials, I'm definitely not doing it in my office. 

Where am I, you ask? 

Sitting in an Immediate Care office about 3 miles from my house waiting for them to do an ultrasound on my leg to rule out a blood clot.  [Oh wait; that actually just changed.  Now I'm in a wheelchair being wheeled across a parking lot to go from Immediate Care to the radiology center.  Oh how fun.  I feel like I'm in my very own parade.]

SERIOUSLY?!? 

In some respects, I'm angry about this; I mean, really, who the heck wants to be sitting in an exam room for an hour waiting to see if you've got a major problem or not?  But as I'm stepping back from my anger and frustration, I can't help but admit that it's actually, in a way, a fitting place for me to be right now.  

You see, the topic of this weekend's retreat is "Living Authentically Unoffended by God."  What I hope to have the women explore with me is this: How can we live so that nothing God does or says (or doesn't do or say) offends us?   So that nothing we don't understand (or don't like or don't agree with) hinders us from moving forward following hard after Him?   How in the world – especially when we face difficult relationships or circumstances – can we authentically, honestly, transparently live  without letting those things cause us to begin to distrust or desert the One whom we ought to trust and obey?

Hmmm. Think about that for a second. 

Doesn't it, then, sound like sitting in an exam room, waiting to hear some potentially yucky news might just be exactly the place from which I should be typing out this message? 

Sounds like it'll keep me honest about what it means to Live Unoffended, doesn't it?

Like it'll keep me from not glossing over or minimizing the depths of some of the hard things that we face in life, right? 

But, at the same time this room highlights that fact that life can be hard, this room (or this wheelchair and, actually now, laying on this table just minutes away from getting ultrasound jelly smeared all over my leg) also gives me the privilege of testing out His promises.  The privilege of testing out the multitude of promises He makes all throughout Scripture that point to His faithfulness and His trustworthiness, to His grace, to His presence and to His hope.  The privilege of testing them out and being able to say this:  

Even in this, His promises still hold true. 

An exam room.  A wheelchair joyride across a parking lot.  A gurney with an ultrasound machine next to it.

Not exactly how I planned to prepare for this weekend's retreat. 

Yet, how come I know that a retreat without having lived through this day would have been so much less than the retreat we'll have after living this out?  A bit more harried and rushed in the planning of it for sure.  But a far richer weekend as a result, I have no doubt. 

Ah…just another day in the life Kristie…

:)

P.S.  Just found out I don't have a clot.  Cool.  Mom & Dad  – you can relax now and continue to enjoy your River Cruise! :)