Update #71

We have a tape dispenser in our house.

I think it's the coolest thing.

Chad would strongly disagree with me.

This tape dispenser is a battery-powered, automatic tape dispenser. 

All you need to do is just pull on the very end of the tape and, voila, the tape dispenser pushes out the perfect amount of tape you need for most jobs.

Sounds fabulous, right?

It is. 

It's able to be used with one hand.

It sticks to the table top.

It makes a cool noise.

And it's brightly colored.

It's a nifty, fun invention according to me.

According to Chad, it's the most irritating object we have in our house.

[Don’t tell him, but I was laughing at him during the Christmas season when he had to use it to wrap gifts. It was super funny hearing him "talk" to the dispenser and complain that he couldn't figure out how to use it…that it takes a simple tasks of getting a piece of tape and turns it into a big production.]

So, despite Chad's complaints, we've had this tape dispenser sitting on our desk in our kitchen for a few years.

Just the other day, I noticed that one of the kids had added to it.

One of them took a pen to a piece of tape and wrote the word, "Pray" on it and stuck that piece of tape to the side of the dispenser.

Why?

I have no idea.

(Really, why do kids do half the things they do?  Especially boys.)

But here's what I know.

I love that they did.

I love that they knew enough about life and God and their need for Him that they illogically graffitti-ed our tape dispenser with one simple, yet life-changingly powerful  word, "Pray."

There's much about having a cancer diagnosis that royally stinks.  I mean ROYALLY.

But, if it means that our kids know that importance of God and Heaven and faith and love… 

But if that means that our kids get to see life through the eyes of eternity…

But if it means that Emilie and Daniel grow up from a young age knowing that the fullness of a life well-lived doesn't consist of having the best things, making the most money, landing the most prestigious job, taking the most exotic vacation, or even living the most days…

If it means that they are growing deep roots…

If it means those things, then I need to acknowledge that there is much, much, much good that comes from difficult things.

That great blessings can – and do – flow from hard things.

But blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord,

whose confidence is in him.

They will be like a tree planted by the water

that sends out its roots by the stream.

It does not fear when heat comes;

its leaves are always green.

It has no worries in a year of drought

and never fails to bear fruit.

 - Jeremiah 17:7-8

Love to you today,

Kristie

P.S. Headed to Roswell on Wednesday for blood work and doctor's visit.  Don't expect there to be any sort of treatment change at this visit given I've only been on this new medicine for 4 weeks and that's too early to tell its efficacy.  She will, however, probably order scans before my visit next month.  Blah. 

Update #70

What do you see when you look at this picture?

And, more importantly, why the heck might I might be posting it this morning? 

No, despite what it may look like, I'm not complaining about the fact that we still have lots and lots of snow.

In fact, I'm actually super grateful that we do still have all this white stuff on the ground.  

Before you roll your eyes, let me explain.

Last night, between 8:30 and 9 PM, a group of friends took it upon themselves to silently circle our house in prayer.

They braved the cold.  They put off putting their kids to bed. They sacrificed their relaxation time in their own homes.

To. Pray. For. Us.

As Chad and I tried to go through the regular bedtime routine with our kids, that was happening outside.

For me, I wrestled with the illogical mixture of feeling embarrassed, guilty, grateful, and joyous all at the same time. 

Because knowing that you are loved in such a sacrificial way is both humbling and awe-inspiring.

And knowing that your God is one who sometimes calls His people to do crazy, sacrificial stuff is both encouraging and challenging. 

But, for our kids…there was nothing but an overwhelming excitement.

They thought this was great and received this gift with nothing but a sense of, "Of course, this was exactly the thing that God would do for us!" 

It was so cool watching them sneak over to the windows and open the curtains or blinds just enough to peer through with one eye.

It was so encouraging to know that God made Himself more evident to them through this act of sacrificial service by our friends. 

And it was so funny to hear Daniel exclaim with building excitement: " Hey…that's Mr. Goble.  With Mrs. Goble!  With Ainsley!  And…wait…is that Gray peeing behind a tree?" 

So, why did I attach this picture of a snow-covered portion of our backyard?

Because that same snow that I've been complaining about and wishing would just go away…that same snow captured the evidence of what occurred here last night:

Footprints.

Mixed in with Mollie Moo's paw prints is the unmistakable path of footprints completely encircling our home.  

Tangible footprints that represent intangible, unseen prayers.

Tangible footprints that represent the radical love the Father has for His children.

Tangible footprints that represent the powerful realities of the unseen world around us. 

And, as soon as I opened the curtains and saw that this morning, I just couldn't wait to take a picture of it. 

To capture it as a testimony to, not just the love of great friends, but to the God who Sees, Who Knows, Who Listens and Who Acts. 

And, now that I have captured this picture, now…the snow may melt.

Until December.

Really, snow, you may melt now.

Bye, bye.

:)

Truly thankful. Truly humbled. Truly blessed.

Kristie

Update #69

In 7 days, we'll be in Florida with my family.

Ahhh…I can't wait.

In case anyone has a moment of feeling jealousy over that, let me help you get over that real quick:

What lies between now and 7 days from now is daily radiation at Roswell. 

I'm pretty confident that I just cured you of any ounce of jealously you may have had, right?

Yeah, I would think so! :)

So…the medical update from last week is that my doctor is willing to try one last "Hail Mary Pass" on non-infusion based treatment.  For the next two months, I'll be taking an older, slightly different hormone-based therapy.  In two months I'll be scanned again and, if the disease is still progressing, then it's infusion chemo for me.  In addition to these daily pills, today I started the first of 10 radiation treatments to my right hip in order to both reduce pain and attempt to slow localized progression of disease.  

Thankfully, the side effects of both these things (new therapy & radiation) are fairly inconsequential.  

Oh, wait. Forgot to mention that "excessive weight gain" is the most common side effect of the new drug I'm taking.

Not just weight gain, but excessive weight gain.  

Oh goodie.  Just what I've always wanted. 

So….how am I doing with all this?

I thought I was handling all this pretty well actually.  

That is, until yesterday, when I was by myself on my way home from Roswell.  

I was driving in the right-hand lane of I-190 and was behind a car that was driving 56 MPH.  And, sure enough, in the lane right next to me, there was an 18-wheeler driving 56 .1 MPH. 

So, there I was.  Stuck behind these ridiculously slow vehicles 

(Yes, I know, the speed limit is 55 MPH, so technically those vehicles…yeah, yeah, yeah…blah, blah, blah).  

About 15 seconds after realizing my unfortunate predicament, I (without warning, and totally surprising myself) started to scream my head off at the ridiculousness of their slowness.  

I mean, I was SCREAMING at those cars.  

My body hunched over my steering wheel, my fists pounding the seat, my eyes spilling over with tears, my face red.  My voice hoarse.

As I screamed, "Get. Out. Of. My. Way."  

Can you picture this craziness?

I was seriously off my rocker.

I was just so so MAD. 

I was just so mad at these stupid cars that were blocking my path.  

That were slowing me down. 

That were taking away my choice.

That were preventing me from going at the pace I want to go.

So mad.

Okay, so who has figured out that I wasn't really mad at those cars?

That, perhaps, my crazy anger wasn't really about those two law-abiding drivers? 

Yeah, it took me about 30 seconds to realize that too.

The truth is that cancer sucks and going to Roswell is difficult.

It can feel as if I'm behind obstacles that I cannot move.

It can feel as if I don't have the choices I want.

It can feel as if I can take a different path at the pace that I want to take it. 

And that's hard.

And it's hard working through that.

But God is good and He's got this. He's at work. He knows the path and He knows the pace.  And He's trustworthy.

So thankful for that.

So…to wrap this up…As I continue to work through this "slight anger problem", you may just want  to be on the look out for a very dirty gray Honda Odyssey min-van with a blond, pony-tailed driver and stay far, far away!  :)

Love to you all,

Kristie

End of Day Update...

Phew. That was a  LONG day…

Bottom line:  Treatment will be changing, but not sure yet what it will be.

My doctor is doing some research on some non-traditional treatment options to see if she'd recommend any of them more than she'd recommend infusion chemo. I'm also going to be meeting with Genetics (find out tomorrow when that appointment will be).  In addition, I'll be meeting with radiation oncology to see what the recommendation would be re: treating the the spot on my right hip.

How am I, you ask?

Actually okay.

Kinda strange, but Monday was much harder than today.  

My list of complaints was truly long on Monday.

But my airing of them – and then my follow-up visit to Hamburg Town Court and seeing the grander truths – truly did help put my feet back on solid ground.

I'm exhausted, but I'm okay.

No tears shed today.

AND…not even a lump in my throat.

Perhaps that will come later tonight as I lay my head on my pillow and have a moment to breathe and process all this…but, for now, I'm okay.

Thanks again for loving me well today.  You are a source of much needed, and much appreciated, encouragement.

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 #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.