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.
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.
I found you on YouTube. I read your 3/25 post. It hit me. My 18yr old son was diagnosed 9/12/14. Stage 3c. Soon he was stage 4. It's been a year of giant surgeries, biochemo, radiation, interferon and mostly a year of faithful prayer. While doing radiation he saw a spot...in the next 2 months no matter what we tried it just kept spreading. Lungs, liver, sternum, ribs, femurs and worst--tons in his spine. In June/July I was fairly sure I was losing my boy. We were approved for keytruda! He didn't have to have Trevor or BRAF inhibitors first, and truly, there wasn't time. After about 5 weeks I saw his visible tumors shrink and Jake looked way better! He had scans 9/17/15. Amazing. I think this boy has time to live. About half the cancer is gone, the lungs and liver stable and less active. Spine only has 2 tumors left. He plays tennis everyday, is going to college close by and feels normal!! Jake is my miracle. God has picked you guys. You are very special. Jake has a true testimony of prayer and that God hears us. I am so happy you are doing well!! Thanks for your updates. I will watch how life goes!! You got this.
ReplyDeleteKerri