[Please note that this post was written earlier in the week prior to yesterday's day of fasting and prayer. Brad and I have intentionally wanted this blog to be "real" and not to sugarcoat how we are feeling throughout the journey- fair warning this is one of the more "real" ones. It is also important to note that I've had perfect peace today and yesterday that I would say is directly correlated with so many people praying- so thank you!
As it turns out, the day of fasting came at just the right time as I was just notified that my scans will be conducted all day tomorrow. I will post an update on my staging when I am emotionally ready to share the news. Please pray for my heart to be prepared to hear the news, whatever it may be.]
Metastatic is such a scary word. Metastatic means incurable. It means potentially a 0 to 5% prognosis of making it 5 years from now...and the scariest part is there is a 20-30% chance I have metastatic breast cancer.
When I was pregnant I kept thinking the cancer had spread to my bones because my hips would ache or my feet would tingle. Or, I would think it had spread to my lungs because I would get out of breath carrying Noah up the stairs with an extra 35 pounds around my midsection. My doctors had to remind me over and over again that it was much more likely that these symptoms were from me being pregnant.
For the last few weeks I had pretty much convinced myself that if I had metastatic cancer, I would already be having symptoms because my triple negative cancer was moving at the speed of light. I was really relieved when all my aches, pains, and shortness of breath went away after delivery. Then this weekend after my surgery, I started having pain when I took in deep breaths. Which in my crazy mind, means it has spread to my lungs.
I spent an hour on an IBC network facebook page reading story after story about women that had died of IBC- young women, with young children, women that shouldn't have died yet- women just like me. When you combine that with a few websites describing prognoses of metastatic cancer, my brain spirals into picturing what it would look like if I die of this disease. I picture Noah walking around the house calling, "Mama, Mama?" and me not being there to answer him. I picture David never knowing to call "Mama," because he wouldn't even remember who I was.
I know this line of thinking isn't healthy, good, or edifying. Brad is good about trying to course correct me and helping me review the information we do know. I also had my oncologist's nurse and my surgeon to talk some sense into me as well. In fact, my surgeon said that they took a lung x-ray that would have shown any tumors that would be big enough to affect my breathing. So while not a perfect screening for lung mets, it does make me feel slightly better.
When other small symptoms pop up (from one of the many procedures I've put my body through recently, or one of the numerous drugs that I'm on, or from something totally random), it is hard not to assign it back to cancer. To stay functioning and sane though, I have to focus on what we do know - my liver sonogram, blood tests, and chest x-ray came back negative. My breast sonogram, mammogram, and biopsy came back positive for IBC. And even if the PET scan/ MRI with contrast comes back negative for cancer spread, it doesn't mean it won't someday come back positive.
Somehow in the midst of all this uncertainty and terrible odds, I have to keep relying on God to give me peace. I have to keep coming back to His Word:
As it turns out, the day of fasting came at just the right time as I was just notified that my scans will be conducted all day tomorrow. I will post an update on my staging when I am emotionally ready to share the news. Please pray for my heart to be prepared to hear the news, whatever it may be.]
Metastatic is such a scary word. Metastatic means incurable. It means potentially a 0 to 5% prognosis of making it 5 years from now...and the scariest part is there is a 20-30% chance I have metastatic breast cancer.
When I was pregnant I kept thinking the cancer had spread to my bones because my hips would ache or my feet would tingle. Or, I would think it had spread to my lungs because I would get out of breath carrying Noah up the stairs with an extra 35 pounds around my midsection. My doctors had to remind me over and over again that it was much more likely that these symptoms were from me being pregnant.
For the last few weeks I had pretty much convinced myself that if I had metastatic cancer, I would already be having symptoms because my triple negative cancer was moving at the speed of light. I was really relieved when all my aches, pains, and shortness of breath went away after delivery. Then this weekend after my surgery, I started having pain when I took in deep breaths. Which in my crazy mind, means it has spread to my lungs.
I spent an hour on an IBC network facebook page reading story after story about women that had died of IBC- young women, with young children, women that shouldn't have died yet- women just like me. When you combine that with a few websites describing prognoses of metastatic cancer, my brain spirals into picturing what it would look like if I die of this disease. I picture Noah walking around the house calling, "Mama, Mama?" and me not being there to answer him. I picture David never knowing to call "Mama," because he wouldn't even remember who I was.
I know this line of thinking isn't healthy, good, or edifying. Brad is good about trying to course correct me and helping me review the information we do know. I also had my oncologist's nurse and my surgeon to talk some sense into me as well. In fact, my surgeon said that they took a lung x-ray that would have shown any tumors that would be big enough to affect my breathing. So while not a perfect screening for lung mets, it does make me feel slightly better.
When other small symptoms pop up (from one of the many procedures I've put my body through recently, or one of the numerous drugs that I'm on, or from something totally random), it is hard not to assign it back to cancer. To stay functioning and sane though, I have to focus on what we do know - my liver sonogram, blood tests, and chest x-ray came back negative. My breast sonogram, mammogram, and biopsy came back positive for IBC. And even if the PET scan/ MRI with contrast comes back negative for cancer spread, it doesn't mean it won't someday come back positive.
Somehow in the midst of all this uncertainty and terrible odds, I have to keep relying on God to give me peace. I have to keep coming back to His Word:
"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:10
So yes, there is a huge percent chance that this disease will kill me, and kill me soon. But during this battle, I will keep putting my faith in Christ and lean on Him for strength, courage, and joy during this season. When the statistics and symptoms scare me, I will look to a God that is greater than all these.
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