How It Started Three Years Ago

I didn’t recognize the phone number, but answered it anyway.  It was 4:45 pm on an idle Tuesday afternoon, and I was looking forward to getting out of work to meet a girlfriend for dinner.  It was my physician, “do you have a minute?”  For a second, I couldn’t think of why on earth she was calling me.  Then it registered, maybe something was wrong with my biopsy from six days ago.  She asked me to get a pen to write down what she was about to tell me.  It was a blur, more like hearing white noise.  Phone numbers, measurements, wait, what?  Oncologist. Surgeon. Those are serious words, I was thinking to myself.  Tears started to well up.  My mind flashed to danger of doubting God, and I closed my eyes to silently pray, “God, I never want to doubt for one second that you are good.”  The talking, or white noise, on the other end stopped.  I asked, “so what does this mean exactly?”  The doctor replied following a weighted sigh, “it means you have cancer.”

This was it.  It was that phone call that you never, ever dreamed you’d get.  Especially not at age 30.  I sat back, put down my pen.  I stared at what I wrote, having absolutely no idea what any of it meant.  Tears were streaming down my face at this point.  I had to tell someone.  But wait, should I?  I mean, this will likely freak out some people.  And my parents, how on earth do I tell my parents?  Who do I tell first?  Is there a rank?  Telling everyone sounded incredibly overwhelming.  What if I’m overreacting?  What if this is nothing at all?  Wait, she said cancer.  She said oncologist.  She said surgery.  That’s kind of huge, I think.  I absolutely cannot do this without prayer, from anyone who would offer it.  I needed prayer. 

I told my boss.  He sat with me while I cried.  He sat with me while I picked up the phone and called the hospital phone number that my doctor just gave me.  No answer.  They closed at 4:30 pm, I had just missed them.  He told me I had all the support I needed, to take the time I need, and was incredibly supportive.  The next two conversations were my Mom and Dad, I don’t even remember the order or what I said exactly.  I just remember saying, “I have cancer.”  And wondering, did those words just really leave my mouth?  Am I in a bad dream?  This can’t be real.  I’m too young to be saying that.  It’s not real.  I have no idea what lies ahead, but I know I need God and I need prayer.

That was September 25, 2012.

It’s been three years.  I wish I could tell you that cancer doesn’t impact the rest of your life, but it does.  You can try to compartmentalize it, but that’s like trying to clean up an oil spill with a paper towel.  It doesn’t stay neatly on it’s side of the table.  However, the lasting impact doesn’t have to be bad.

Are there lasting negatives?  Sure.  I have lots of physical scars (and I’m sure some emotional ones too), lungs that have been through way more than they needed to be at my age, lots of scarred tissue, and been on way more drugs than I can possibly remember.  Not to mention that “lab rat” feeling you get after a while.  Oh, and the tremendous shattering cancer places on a number of your relationships, and your career.  The unknown fertility outcome, because let’s be honest, when you set off a nuclear bomb in your body – even your doctors aren’t sure what happens for years to come.  The list goes on.

But…..

I can rejoice.  God is sovereign, and because He is sovereign I can trust that His hands are at work for my good and His glory.  I can trust that my suffering has had a purpose.  I can rest in Him knowing that He is making sense out of what seems like it has no sense.  Birthdays have way more meaning now, not everyone gets to have them.  Small things like traffic, dirty dishes, and getting groceries no longer seem like an annoyance.  Going for a run or a workout now seems like a privilege.  The desire to be right for the sake of being right doesn’t matter anymore.  The definition of “stress” takes on an entirely new and adjusted meaning.  Getting your hair done is way more fun, and a privilege.  You want to love people better.  Failure no longer seems as fatal as you once thought it was, you realize God is there to catch you and sustain you. 

Purpose, with God, your suffering has a purpose.

I had felt convicted back then as I still do that I never prayed for my own healing.  I only prayed for God to be glorified.  I gave my life to God a long time ago, and it is up to Him how He uses it.  Whatever He determines that is, it is my privilege to live it out.  I serve a God that can be trusted, and who loves far beyond we can measure.  Today, there are still risks and tough statistics to live out.  According to the instrument they used when I was 30, I have a 58 percent chance of seeing my 40^th birthday.  (One friend of mine recommended writing a letter to myself to open on my 40^th birthday, I might just do that!)  Every day is a gift.   Embrace it, and embrace God’s unfailing kindness.

If you want to see a glimpse of what my first year with cancer was like, this is a short video (so crazy that it now has over 22,000 views!) that was put together for DC Cancer Consortium:  

Someone who saw it recently asked me, why are you smiling in most of these pictures?  I never noticed it before, but when I thought about those times I remembered that I just knew it was always up to God.  Don’t get me wrong, there were definitely bad days.  But, my grasp of truth never wavered only because my God never waivers. 

It’s been a messy but beautiful three years.  Thankful for every piece of it.  Some of the memories come and go.  Each time I go for a checkup, I know I’m only one test away from being right back in that same chair in the chemo room.  Now to the cancer patient who just got a diagnosis, I would tell you this:  Hold on.  Just hold on.  Hold on to God, as tight as you possibly can.  He will never, ever let you go.  Know that in the midst of circumstances you may not ever understand, you can trust that He will use this for good.  You are directly in His care, and it is so much bigger than you can imagine.  So, hold on.  Hold to His truth, hold on to His grace and mercy, hold on to His wisdom, hold on to Him in your good and bad days.  But, just hold on. 

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. – James 1:17, NIV 

Explaining Veins

I survived.

I showed up for my MRI bright and early this past Thursday, and I had a male nurse named Kokeb there to help me.  He was from Ethiopia, and hoped to take his medical skills back to his home country one day where he could use MRI technology to help people.  (I thought that was cool)  I digress.....  Turns out, my MRI ordered contrast.  I'd never had contrast in an MRI before.  This means they needed to test my kidneys, and then run an IV (womp, womp).  My kidneys were in excellent shape after he tested my blood and creatnin levels.  This mean Kokeb could start an IV.  This was going to be difficult.  You see, since I've had 18 lymph nodes removed and do not have a lymphatic system in the upper left part of my body anymore, everything has to be done on my right arm.  Vaccines, IVs, blood pressure, you name it.  I have only three veins able to take an IV on my right arm, and they are pretty small.  One is on a nerve, which hurts like you would not believe.  One on top of my hand has been by far used the most and is under layers of scarred tissue (it has been stuck over 150 times, I lost count a while back).  The third is where I bend my arm, so it is too easy to bend the catheters.  Kokeb was up for the challenge.

You see, every time I get an IV, I usually have a new nurse and I have to explain this history to them.  Most of the time they get nervous, some freak out and won't do it.  Those nurses usually call their senior counterpart to do it.  Explaining veins is always just a part of the process.  Kokeb went on top of my right hand, off to an even smaller vein (unusual when inserting contrast) and got it on the first try!  We went in the room, I laid on the table.  He put my head in the cradle, closed the top so it was in front of my face now.  He added a mirror for me to look up, like a rearview mirror sort of, so if I looked up at it, I could see him in the exam room.  This actually made me feel a little better!  He gave me these really thick headphones that played classical music (it was actually more like tunes straight out of Gone With The Wind, haha!).  One cool thing about hospital blankets, is that they are usually kept in these heater like things you would have for loaves of bread at Subway!  He tucked me in with two of them, which was awesome because the room is so cold.  I just breathed easy, laid back, closed my eyes, and prayed.  I thought of this verse immediately:

The Lord Himself will fight for you; you need only to be still.  - Exodus 14:14, NIV

And still I was.  I had to be.  After about 15 minutes or so, Kokeb came back in and injected the contrast into me via the IV, which felt cold going in.  I've learned that contrast, while harmless on the most part, still can take a lot out of you.  I always feel pretty tired for a day or two after having contrast.  The doctors encourage me to drinks lots of water after having it, so I'm slamming back full glasses of H2O for the next couple of days.  It felt good to rest over the weekend, even though I was largely unproductive.

I woke up on Saturday to a message from my oncologist.  I knew that was a good sign.  When it's bad, they always call you.  He said my brain was normal.  (A relief to those that had any doubts or questions!  haha!)  yay!  Now I could go on with life for the next year, not worrying about any brain lesions or intracranial metastasis.

So here we go, another work week.  Another week to take on by His grace.

I was talking to my roommates recently, and I think one thing I've started to notice about myself is that I have this great fear of not using every second of my life for a purpose.  Like not the micro-managey type, but wanting my life to count.  Wanting my time to be towards a purpose.  That sounds kind of exhausting, doesn't it?  Maybe it's healthy, but when I think to what the next chapter of my life will look like, I have no idea what to expect.  In some ways, it's good to be open and malleable.  I don't like to get ahead of God, I want Him to align my steps by opening doors and closing others.  I just want to love for His glory.  Then I realized, I'm going to fail at this.  We all do in some way.  None of us are able to love perfectly, we're not God.  Only God is able to love perfectly.  In a way, it's a relief.

There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear.  - 1 John 4:18a, NIV

We love because he first loved us. - 1 John 4:19, NIV

These verses are etched in my heart, and help me to realize it is only by God's help that I can love others with a selfless, radical love.  I'm so thankful God's love is perfect, and He is there to provide wisdom to us and help us to love like Him.  It is so easy to feel like we fail at this constantly.  We're human beings, prone to sin over and over.  God accepts us and loves us not because we earn His love, we are completely incapable of earning His love.  But....He loves us out of His own grace.  Because He chooses to love us.  Despite how we turn our backs on Him each day in each sin, He still reaches for us, He still loves us, He still wants His best for us, He still provides for us, He still chooses to forgive us, He still wants our hearts.   It rocks my world that God still never lets me go.  God welcomes me not because of any good deeds I've done, but because of what He has done on the Cross.  Game changer.

Failing at loving others doesn't feel good.  It feels a little like having a heavy wave (like Mavericks in Northern California....80 foot wave) crashing on you, pushing you deep down into dark, freezing cold water and you can't even figure out which way to swim up.  And as soon as you make it to the surface and catch your breath, you get another wave in the set coming down on you almost as worse as the first.  You're in the impact zone.  BUT......

There. is. hope.

We can follow the One who does love perfectly.  God washes us new each day, as His word says:

Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. - Lamentation 3:22-23, NIV (emphasis added mine)

I have swept away your offenses like a cloud, your sins like the morning mist. Return to me, for I have redeemed you. - Isaiah 44:22, NIV

Literally, I thank God for these beautiful, amazing promises.  Everyday we get a new start with God.  Everyday.  I sincerely pray that I can love like He does, even just a little bit.  A move closer to being less of myself, and more full of Him.  We serve a God who never gives up on us.  With His help, we only get better over time.  He is that kind, that loving, that patient.  Not a minute or second wasted.

A Celebratory MRI

Here comes year three.  On September, 25, 2012, it will be three years since I was originally diagnosed with malignant melanoma.  A deadly, aggressive cancer for those of you just tuning in (I mean, I didn't know what it was even when I was told).  Though in number, three years doesn't seem like a long time ago, that day feels like a blur to me now.

I just had a round of check-ups consisting of CT scans, blood work, skin exams, the full round.  All came back "nothing concerning" (thankfully!) and I *finally* signed up for MyChart, after my oncologist asked me for like the ninth time.  MyChart is this online portal through the Johns Hopkins Hospital network where you can exchange messages with your doctors, see your results after they are posted, keep track of your progress, etc.  I guess that's better than carrying around my piles of medical history in a pink Vera Bradley shoulder bag!  However, it appears one test remains outstanding - the MRI.  I haven't had one since December 2012.  At the time, I think mine was ordered to ensure no cancer cells had skipped my lungs and went to my brain, which is the general progression of melanoma.  Also, they had wanted the test to assess restless leg syndrome possibilities by prescribing me with Mirapex, as it turns out chemo increases your chances for restless leg syndrome.

Anyways, this Thursday at 7:45 AM ET at Sibley Hospital, I will get my MRI.  Now, I'm not too concerned about results.  Sure, its been almost three years since I've had one, and I'm sure someone in my medical team somewhere will find that unnerving in some way.  But to be honest, the tube they stick you in is so darn small and if you are at all claustrophobic, it will drive you crazy.  It's the worst part.  Last time, the MRI was the test I was most nervous about because you are slid into this narrow spaceship-looking, LOUD machine for about 20-30 minutes.  The entire time, I repeated this verse:

But now, this is what the Lord says - he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: 'Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. - Isaiah 43:1-2, NIV

(Of course, you are robed in none other than the riveting 'hospital gown' look, which is always in season around that place.)

That verse has been a comfort to me time and again.  What a promise!  Comfort takes on an entirely new meaning in an MRI.  I'm constantly remembering what Charles Spurgeon had said:

"When you go through a trial, the sovereignty of God is the pillow upon which you lay your head." - Spurgeon

It really IS such a comfort.  If God is not in control, what hope is there?  Thankfully, we can acknowledge that with God at the helm, our trials are for a purpose - a purpose far beyond what we can even fathom.  Without that hope, what are they for?  To "make us stronger?"  Ok, then what?  My hope is that through trials, I can take comfort knowing that my God can be trusted and it is my sincerest prayer that others can see that God can be trusted.  My hope is that by going through trial, it isn't wasted and that I could somehow have a deeper dependence on God Himself.  My hope is that trial, though painful, could help me learn how to love better and live my life more like Him.  We often have to get outside the box, stretch beyond our limited view of the tiny horizon we see.  God sees the entire horizon, He sees the summit, He sees the beginning and the end.  These trials serve a greater purpose than I can see.  It's in God's hands.

I'm thankful that over the last couple of weeks, I've been able to spend precious time with family and friends.  To me, this is really living.  It's funny how our definitions change over time as they weather life circumstances with us.  As you may remember, in the midst of chemo a couple years ago, I was getting somewhat stressed out every time I'd see another cancer video or commercial about young adults who were dying and would go out and buy their dream car, climb Mt. Everest (or some insane mountain), surf a 25 ft. wave, etc.  Who are these people?!  I was too sick! I physically couldn't do it.  Not even close.  Then my pastor told me a truth I would never forget, he said, "Kristina, you live for so much more than that."

As I sat in the chair in his office, the words sank straight into my heart.  Relief could be felt at my core, a proverbial elephant was lifted from my shoulders.  The pressure I was putting on myself to "really live it up" and what was beyond my physical means, was sliding away.  What a comfort!  Simply loving God, abiding in Him, this was living!  Loving others was the overflow, and a sincere privilege.  Focusing on what is eternal, what has eternal value, changed my perspective entirely.  I wasn't living for myself or for self-indulgence anymore.  My life was given to me by God, and loving Him with it is a sweet gift.  As I turn the corner into another year, I'm excited to see what God has in store - and Lord knows I need Him every step of the way.  Knowing and loving my God better, and learning how to love the people in my life even better awaits another year as long as God keeps giving them to me.