Losing HOPE
Brad and I went to college in Georgia where the state lottery funds a very generous scholarship program to in-state high school graduates. With some pretty basic requirements met, you can get your full tuition paid for, to any in-state school, through the HOPE scholarship program. The only catch is you have to maintain a certain GPA to continue receiving the money.
At the North Avenue Trade School (where we attended), the general consensus was that it was easy to get in but it was difficult to stay in. The classes, especially the introductory ones that everyone had to take (I'm looking at you, Physics 2), were ridiculously hard. I can remember not leaving the dorm for a whole weekend just to study for a biology mid-term. There was one class where I had a 32/100 grade but that constituted one of the few A's in the class. There was a class Brad took where the curve was constructed so that you could be in the top quartile of the class with a D (don't think too hard about how he knows that).
Needless to say, there was a significant percentage of students that couldn't maintain the GPA standard and lost their scholarship. Folks around Tech would call that, "Losing HOPE"- hilariously tragic for its double meaning.
Reality
I've been having a difficult time recently, grappling with the non-insignificant statistics around my diagnosis and (limited) response to (now six) different chemotherapy drugs. The first drugs they give you are the strongest and most likely to be effective, then they move to other well-proven drugs, but with less potential effect. There is a finite list of drugs the FDA has approved for triple-negative metastatic disease, each with varying side effects and efficacy.
The goal of chemotherapy is to mess with the cancerous cells' ability to replicate thru screwing with the cells' DNA, RNA, or other biochem mumbojumbo I don't really understand. For me, because my cancer cells have such a high proliferation rate (aka they multiple very quickly), my cells can adapt to the destructive mechanisms being thrown at them thru the chemo. What I have experienced so far is a lot of benefit at the beginning of the chemo regimen, but by the end, I can feel the tumors/lymph nodes growing again.
I read today that the median survival for someone with triple negative metastatic disease is 13 months. That means half of the women live longer than 13 months, and half pass away before 13 months. And I'm seven months into that number with six of the best, highest-potential drugs down.
Hope
This week, a Bible study I have attended off-and-on over the last five years, held a session specially for me and one of my friends who is also facing a tough cancer situation. We went over scripture that involved the "testing of our faith". The timing could not have been more perfect as I wrestle with my "impending doom".
There is this immense tension inside me at the moment. There is part of me that absolutely hopes and wants and believes for a miracle of healing and many years spent with my family. But there is the realist in me as well that says, set your expectations low and you'll never be disappointed. At the beginning of this journey I had this crazy peace that everything was going to be fine. That beyond a shadow of a doubt I was going to make it to the other side of this, beat all the odds, and go on a speaking circuit. But more and more recently, I feel like there is no realistic way to get to that happy ending. That I shouldn't be so foolish as to think that history won't repeat itself; that I'll somehow be different than the many patients before me with less aggressive cancer.
Today
With all that being said, I know what God wants of me right now, today. I know that it actually doesn't matter what the outcome of this journey is- life or death. He calls me to be faithful, today. He will give me grace for today. I am supposed to reflect Christ, give Him glory, and be faithful in the little things of life, today. So for me, that means getting up when the baby cries at night, feeding my toddler breakfast, and changing lots of stinky diapers.
So while I may be "losing hope" (as we used to say in college) for a total and complete recovery and a cure from cancer, I'm not losing the hope required to living today well and to its fullest.
Brad and I went to college in Georgia where the state lottery funds a very generous scholarship program to in-state high school graduates. With some pretty basic requirements met, you can get your full tuition paid for, to any in-state school, through the HOPE scholarship program. The only catch is you have to maintain a certain GPA to continue receiving the money.
At the North Avenue Trade School (where we attended), the general consensus was that it was easy to get in but it was difficult to stay in. The classes, especially the introductory ones that everyone had to take (I'm looking at you, Physics 2), were ridiculously hard. I can remember not leaving the dorm for a whole weekend just to study for a biology mid-term. There was one class where I had a 32/100 grade but that constituted one of the few A's in the class. There was a class Brad took where the curve was constructed so that you could be in the top quartile of the class with a D (don't think too hard about how he knows that).
Needless to say, there was a significant percentage of students that couldn't maintain the GPA standard and lost their scholarship. Folks around Tech would call that, "Losing HOPE"- hilariously tragic for its double meaning.
Reality
I've been having a difficult time recently, grappling with the non-insignificant statistics around my diagnosis and (limited) response to (now six) different chemotherapy drugs. The first drugs they give you are the strongest and most likely to be effective, then they move to other well-proven drugs, but with less potential effect. There is a finite list of drugs the FDA has approved for triple-negative metastatic disease, each with varying side effects and efficacy.
The goal of chemotherapy is to mess with the cancerous cells' ability to replicate thru screwing with the cells' DNA, RNA, or other biochem mumbojumbo I don't really understand. For me, because my cancer cells have such a high proliferation rate (aka they multiple very quickly), my cells can adapt to the destructive mechanisms being thrown at them thru the chemo. What I have experienced so far is a lot of benefit at the beginning of the chemo regimen, but by the end, I can feel the tumors/lymph nodes growing again.
I read today that the median survival for someone with triple negative metastatic disease is 13 months. That means half of the women live longer than 13 months, and half pass away before 13 months. And I'm seven months into that number with six of the best, highest-potential drugs down.
Hope
This week, a Bible study I have attended off-and-on over the last five years, held a session specially for me and one of my friends who is also facing a tough cancer situation. We went over scripture that involved the "testing of our faith". The timing could not have been more perfect as I wrestle with my "impending doom".
There is this immense tension inside me at the moment. There is part of me that absolutely hopes and wants and believes for a miracle of healing and many years spent with my family. But there is the realist in me as well that says, set your expectations low and you'll never be disappointed. At the beginning of this journey I had this crazy peace that everything was going to be fine. That beyond a shadow of a doubt I was going to make it to the other side of this, beat all the odds, and go on a speaking circuit. But more and more recently, I feel like there is no realistic way to get to that happy ending. That I shouldn't be so foolish as to think that history won't repeat itself; that I'll somehow be different than the many patients before me with less aggressive cancer.
Today
With all that being said, I know what God wants of me right now, today. I know that it actually doesn't matter what the outcome of this journey is- life or death. He calls me to be faithful, today. He will give me grace for today. I am supposed to reflect Christ, give Him glory, and be faithful in the little things of life, today. So for me, that means getting up when the baby cries at night, feeding my toddler breakfast, and changing lots of stinky diapers.
So while I may be "losing hope" (as we used to say in college) for a total and complete recovery and a cure from cancer, I'm not losing the hope required to living today well and to its fullest.
"Each time he said,"My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness." So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me."
-2 Corinthians 12:9 NLT
Lord, I trust you with my life- no matter what the outcome. I know you work all things together for good to those who love you and who are called according to your purpose. Today I make a choice to trust you in every detail of my life including the outcome of my cancer treatments.
Lord, I trust you with my life- no matter what the outcome. I know you work all things together for good to those who love you and who are called according to your purpose. Today I make a choice to trust you in every detail of my life including the outcome of my cancer treatments.
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