With another round of chemo complete, I try to look back and count the number of rounds Dad has been on, but I've lost count. I've also tried to look back at the number of MRI's, although I've also lost count of those too.
Dad's last round of chemo was a little tough, but we've somehow managed to get better each round at treating the side effects of the drugs. We know it could all be much worse, as I remember my Granny fighting through cancer, and I remember how difficult each round of chemo was on her body. I may have been young, but there are some things you never really forget. I thank Mom for not hiding her cancer from me as a child, for sharing with us the good and bad days with her cancer battle, and for teaching me how to take care of someone who is diagnosed with cancer. Granny's fight prepared me to be a caregiver for Dad. To be there for the doctor's appointments and difficult days, it prepared me to face the battle with courage and strength, knowing that there was a much greater hand in it all.
So what's next for us? Dad's next MRI is approaching and from there we will determine our next steps. If the MRI appears stable, we will plan to continue the chemotherapy and schedule another MRI in about 6 weeks. That would be the absolute best case scenario. If the MRI appears to indicate growth, then we look at plan B. We will determine if the growth is operable, and if so, if Dad wants to take that approach, and/or we will be visiting our doctor in Houston for our next options. I am all so aware of the statistics of regrowth, and I continue to pray the chemotherapy is working for Dad and suppressing any growth.
We take it all one day at a time, look around and realize we are truly blessed throughout this experience. We are quickly approaching our 19th month mark in Dad's diagnosis, and it's unreal to me that we've been battling the cancer this long- as it all feels like just yesterday Dad had a seizure.
I joke that, unfortunately, no one hands you a "how to" book when you receive a cancer diagnosis. No one tells you how to react to the diagnosis, no one tells you how best to handle the treatment or the side effects, and no one tells you how to handle the stress and sadness associated with it all. So instead you look at others who have been where you are now, you look at those who seem to face the most difficult days of their lives with such a grateful heart and positive attitude. I'm currently a witness to a family facing those difficult days ahead in their cancer journey, and I'm in awe of their strength and grace throughout it all. I pray that, if we are faced with a similar battle in our journey, I have that same strength and grace to make it through those difficult days.
Sometimes I feel like my entire life is focused and centered around cancer. And I struggle to know if that's a good thing, or a bad thing. Is it good that my focus and perspective on life has changed, and that certain things just don't seem to matter as much as others? Or is it a bad thing that because of this focus, the fear of the unknown, the lack of control, seems to dictate the schedule in my life- trips, vacations, and every day plans? I struggle with this. I struggle with a central focus of my life being cancer, and I struggle to understand if this will ever not be the central focus.
I can't hide or deny Dad's diagnosis and fight we have ahead. There are times when denying the diagnosis would be easier than facing the battle ahead, but we've promised ourselves that we wouldn't deny the diagnosis, but fight to defy the verdict. And I hope, and pray, we can do just that.
Life can change in an instant. And how very blessed that our life changing instant came 19 months ago to give us a central focus on family, friends and faith. We could have easily lost Dad 19 months ago, but instead we've been given a beautiful gift these last 19 months- quality time.
So maybe my life is focused on cancer right now, and maybe that's ok. I'm not sure if this focus will ever completely go away, and I'm not sure if I really want it to ever go away- it's provided so much to me in ways of growing in faith, growing in compassion, and growing as a person. I'm not sure if I will ever "thank" cancer for these last 19 months, but I do know that I'm thankful for the journey it's taken me on- learning more about myself, my family and my friends. I've learned that I'm much stronger than I ever imagined I would have to be. And for that, I am thankful.
I've come to grasp with the term used to describe Dad's cancer- 'terminal'. I came to grasp with that term within the first couple months of Dad's diagnosis, but that doesn't mean that any of the hard days are easier, any of the MRI result days are less stressful, or that any of the side effects of the cancer itself don't impact me tremendously. All of these things find a way to bring me stress, sadness and fear, all of these things I pray so often to go away- but God has a funny thing about timing, as it's always in his perfect timing.
I ask for continued prayers for those faced with difficult battles ahead. I ask for prayers of peace, comfort and guidance, as many of us are faced with making difficult decisions in our battles.
Continue the prayers, as we continue fighting to BTHO Brain Cancer.
Wednesday, April 29, 2015
Thursday, April 23, 2015
The Hardest Part. Dad Update 4/23/2015
I currently follow the blog called "Becoming SuperMommy". Not because I can at all relate to her stories about children or attempting to become a "super mommy", but because I can relate to her battle and struggle to help beat her husband's brain cancer.
Her husband is 7.5 years past his initial diagnosis of stage IV brain cancer (Glioblastoma). The same type of brain cancer Dad was diagnosed with almost 19 months ago. And now, the cancer is back for her husband. Her recent post was titled "This is the Hardest Part of Getting Treatment for Brain Cancer." Throughout the post I found myself having tears in my eyes and a smile on my face. Because her words have been my exact thoughts these last 19 months.
The smile comes from these words, because I'm pretty sure I've thought exactly this-
"I'm almost through it [discussing scheduling surgery and treatment]. I'm almost to that finish line where I look around for the medal I've earned through all this BS, and instead I'm reminded that in this decathlon I've only finished the first event."
And she ends her post by saying:
"But I'm going to get through all of them. We're all going to get through all of them, even those secret ones I don't know the details for yet. We'll get through them, whatever they are. And my reward will be standing on the other side, slumped exhausted against the man I love, knowing we're going into another hard part together."
It's interesting, because at the start of Dad's cancer, I kept living by the expression, "Just get through these next 5 minutes", or, "just get through this next day." And slowly the 5 minute increments, and one day increments, I used to "get through it", have now become almost 19 months. And when I look at the battles we've faced, I wonder how we did it all with smiles on our faces, how we managed to make it through some of those days (and sometimes, some of those 5 minute increments) without completely breaking. But we did. And we will continue to get through those moments, whatever they may be in the future.
As our chemo week hits the half-way mark, we are still fighting through the side effects of it all, and Dad is handling it like a true champ. If anyone here deserves a medal, it's that man. He takes it all in so much stride and I've never once heard him complain about any of it. I'm so incredibly proud of him.
Chemo sucks. Ask anyone who has or is battling cancer. You live in this world where you love chemotherapy, and then hate it, all at the same time. I can't fully describe this feeling of loving something so much for giving us quality time with Dad, but then also hating it for the week Dad has to face the side effects. It's a constant struggle for me.
I look at the story of a woman who's husband is 7.5 years out and can't help but hope and pray that our story is all so similar to her's, that Dad has much more time with us here to continue to inspire so many.
On this path, we are truly faced with difficult days- days where it all seems so incredibly overwhelming, days where doctor's appointments and insurance claims, chemotherapy medication and financial responsibilities all seem to try and get the best of us. But this path, so perfectly created for us, has such beautiful moments as well. Glimpses of Dad pre-cancer come out often, and I realize how blessed I am that I get to cherish those moments and really appreciate Dad. I get to sit and take mental pictures of my Dad and those are memories that I will have for a lifetime.
As chemo week ends, we continue to pray the treatment is working to suppress any tumor growth. We know the tumor can return, we know the chances of that are in fact, very high. But we also know that we've got to "Keep [our] eyes on [Him], not only for direction but also for empowerment. [He] will never lead you to do something without equipping you for the task."
Keep the prayers coming, as Dad continues to fight to BTHO Brain Cancer!
Monday, April 20, 2015
The Journey. 4/20/2015
Throughout these last 18 months, I've had the opportunity to connect and develop friendships with people that, from the outside looking in, it seems that we wouldn't have much in common, it appears there would not be a reason for such a deep bond or connection. But sometimes, when God hands you something as difficult in your life as cancer, the outside looking in similarities mean nothing, instead you look at one another, give each other a hug, and you just get it.
It's amazing how the talks about chemotherapy, the terrible side effects, the anxiety of scans/MRIs, and overall stress involved with fighting cancer become your new normal. And that's exactly what cancer has become in my life- my new normal.
I talk about cancer and chemotherapy as if it's a normal every day routine, which is exactly what it is. But, my friends are so amazing in understanding that some days I just don't want to talk about it. Sometimes I want to go back, if just for a few hours, to those days when I was just a normal 27 year old, with no concerns about cancer, no concerns about chemotherapy, instead I just wanted to enjoy a glass of wine and talk about life. Life that doesn't involve upcoming MRIs and treatment, no, instead life that involves upcoming weekend plans and hanging out with friends. My friends get it. They understand that when I'm ready to talk about Dad's difficult days or any fears/uncertainty I might have of the future, they listen. But when I want some wine, or maybe a margarita, there is no judgment there. Because they understand that sometimes you just need to have a little bit of normal, sometimes you just need 5 minutes to forget about the difficulties in your life.
I learned very quickly after Dad's diagnosis that my way of dealing and working through Dad's treatment may be very different than how others might handle it all. And that's ok.
I learned very quickly, and share with others faced with that difficult battle against cancer, that the beauty of your journey with cancer, is that it is in fact YOUR journey. You get to do, say, and act however you would like. You get to decide how you want to face that difficult battle. And the beauty of it all, is that until someone has been in your exact situation, until someone has been the fighter against cancer or the caregiver to someone battling the disease, they do not get to share how they would handle the battle.
This is not saying that the love and support from so many is not appreciated, the cards, the food, the hugs and texts- all letting us know you're thinking about us, and praying for us. What I'm trying to say is, each person's journey with cancer is one that is unique to them. Each person handles pain, fear and anxiety in different ways. And that is ok!
What we can never do is try to compare one journey with cancer to another. I can relate to so many faced with a cancer diagnosis. I understand the side effects of chemotherapy, the anxiety of scan days, and the overall fear of the unknown- those I can relate to. But what I can't do is ever try to discredit someone else's journey by comparing it to another. By saying that one situation is much worse than the other, or that someone has it easier than someone else. To say those things, to say that my Dad's cancer is worse than someone else's, would in fact take away the beauty in their journey, and that is something that no one should ever take away in anyone's journey.
I recently read a quote once that said:
"Saying someone can't be sad because someone else has it worse, is like saying someone can't be happy because someone else has it better."
How incredibly true! I continue to pray each and every day that no family is faced with the difficult battle that we face daily, that no family is faced with the constant fear and anxiety that comes with a cancer diagnosis, but if they are faced with a difficult battle, they treat the world better than it is treating them.
Encouraging words, love and support, it all goes so far when you're battling cancer. It all can make a bad day seem less difficult, it all can make chemo week seem bearable, and it all can make you realize how beautiful the journey really is.
Dad starts another round of chemotherapy tonight, and I know the thought of taking the treatment has been giving him anxiety all weekend. 18 months out, and it doesn't get any easier for Dad. We will attempt to manage the side effects the best we can, and pray Dad continues to feel well during his treatment. It's really a constant battle between hating chemotherapy and loving it, all at the same time.
Thank you all for the continued thoughts and prayers throughout this journey, and keep them coming, as we fight to BTHO Brain Cancer!
It's amazing how the talks about chemotherapy, the terrible side effects, the anxiety of scans/MRIs, and overall stress involved with fighting cancer become your new normal. And that's exactly what cancer has become in my life- my new normal.
I talk about cancer and chemotherapy as if it's a normal every day routine, which is exactly what it is. But, my friends are so amazing in understanding that some days I just don't want to talk about it. Sometimes I want to go back, if just for a few hours, to those days when I was just a normal 27 year old, with no concerns about cancer, no concerns about chemotherapy, instead I just wanted to enjoy a glass of wine and talk about life. Life that doesn't involve upcoming MRIs and treatment, no, instead life that involves upcoming weekend plans and hanging out with friends. My friends get it. They understand that when I'm ready to talk about Dad's difficult days or any fears/uncertainty I might have of the future, they listen. But when I want some wine, or maybe a margarita, there is no judgment there. Because they understand that sometimes you just need to have a little bit of normal, sometimes you just need 5 minutes to forget about the difficulties in your life.
I learned very quickly after Dad's diagnosis that my way of dealing and working through Dad's treatment may be very different than how others might handle it all. And that's ok.
I learned very quickly, and share with others faced with that difficult battle against cancer, that the beauty of your journey with cancer, is that it is in fact YOUR journey. You get to do, say, and act however you would like. You get to decide how you want to face that difficult battle. And the beauty of it all, is that until someone has been in your exact situation, until someone has been the fighter against cancer or the caregiver to someone battling the disease, they do not get to share how they would handle the battle.
This is not saying that the love and support from so many is not appreciated, the cards, the food, the hugs and texts- all letting us know you're thinking about us, and praying for us. What I'm trying to say is, each person's journey with cancer is one that is unique to them. Each person handles pain, fear and anxiety in different ways. And that is ok!
What we can never do is try to compare one journey with cancer to another. I can relate to so many faced with a cancer diagnosis. I understand the side effects of chemotherapy, the anxiety of scan days, and the overall fear of the unknown- those I can relate to. But what I can't do is ever try to discredit someone else's journey by comparing it to another. By saying that one situation is much worse than the other, or that someone has it easier than someone else. To say those things, to say that my Dad's cancer is worse than someone else's, would in fact take away the beauty in their journey, and that is something that no one should ever take away in anyone's journey.
I recently read a quote once that said:
"Saying someone can't be sad because someone else has it worse, is like saying someone can't be happy because someone else has it better."
How incredibly true! I continue to pray each and every day that no family is faced with the difficult battle that we face daily, that no family is faced with the constant fear and anxiety that comes with a cancer diagnosis, but if they are faced with a difficult battle, they treat the world better than it is treating them.
Encouraging words, love and support, it all goes so far when you're battling cancer. It all can make a bad day seem less difficult, it all can make chemo week seem bearable, and it all can make you realize how beautiful the journey really is.
Dad starts another round of chemotherapy tonight, and I know the thought of taking the treatment has been giving him anxiety all weekend. 18 months out, and it doesn't get any easier for Dad. We will attempt to manage the side effects the best we can, and pray Dad continues to feel well during his treatment. It's really a constant battle between hating chemotherapy and loving it, all at the same time.
Thank you all for the continued thoughts and prayers throughout this journey, and keep them coming, as we fight to BTHO Brain Cancer!
Monday, April 13, 2015
Run For The Rose 2015. 4/13/2015
"Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass, it's about learning how to dance in the rain."
Or maybe I should change that last part from "dance" to "run", because that's exactly what we did yesterday morning in Houston to support Dad and brain cancer research- we ran in the rain.
As mile 2 hit in our run, and the rain was coming down a bit harder than I was anticipating, I sort of laughed to myself when I thought of that quote. And then quickly thought of another quote from a prior blog post- "Rain falls on the just and the unjust". Even when you have faith, you'll still have difficulties, but when the storms come, you will not be defeated.
And I think yesterday proved just that. Not only did we not allow the storms to defeat us, but I think we all had a chance to dance in the rain (ok, maybe not literally!). We were able to celebrate Dad's HUGE milestone of 18 months post diagnosis, and we were able to love and support so many other families just like mine. And for that, there was no amount of rain that could dampen my day.
We had a team of 112 people- which is more than DOUBLE our size from last year, AND we raised $6,500 to support the Dr. Marnie Rose Foundation, and brain cancer research in Houston. My heart is so incredibly full.
After the run, Dad had a chance to see each soaking wet person come inside to the post-race party, and as much as he wished it didn't rain on us, he loved seeing each of you complete the run. To all those who attended the run and proudly wore your maroon t-shirt, I really can't thank you enough for taking the time out of your Sunday and spending it with us. I wish I had all the words to really thank you and share our appreciation to each of you, but I'm not sure if there are enough words to truly do just that. Dad is able to see each of you love and support him on this journey, and THAT is key in fighting this disease.
I've been able to share with Dad each person who has made a donation or requested a "BTHO Brain Cancer" t-shirt, and Dad continues to be overwhelmed with all of the support. Thank you to each of you who donated to the run and continue to support brain cancer research in Houston. Dad's Houston doctor was at the run, and directly benefits from the foundation in supporting her clinical trials for brain cancer patients. We are so thankful we have not had to utilize any of the clinical trials offered by his Houston doctor, but we are more than happy to help support these for Dad's future treatment options.
The run was a huge success, and I hope all of our team members had a great time (even with the rain!). It takes a lot of planning on our part to coordinate such a large team, and each year we will get better at organizing and planning the event, this I promise you, but I hope each of you had a great time and will want to join us again next year for an even BIGGER team for the run.
My sweet co-worker printed off a verse for me when we were all training for the half-marathon, and I continue to keep it up in my office for those days when I need a little reminder:
"Since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that is so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of Faith. (Hebrews 12:1-2).
Thank you all for such a successful trip to 'Run For The Rose', and we ask for continued prayers as our next round of chemo and MRI will be approaching.
Again, thank you all, and thanks for helping us BTHO Brain Cancer!
Or maybe I should change that last part from "dance" to "run", because that's exactly what we did yesterday morning in Houston to support Dad and brain cancer research- we ran in the rain.
As mile 2 hit in our run, and the rain was coming down a bit harder than I was anticipating, I sort of laughed to myself when I thought of that quote. And then quickly thought of another quote from a prior blog post- "Rain falls on the just and the unjust". Even when you have faith, you'll still have difficulties, but when the storms come, you will not be defeated.
And I think yesterday proved just that. Not only did we not allow the storms to defeat us, but I think we all had a chance to dance in the rain (ok, maybe not literally!). We were able to celebrate Dad's HUGE milestone of 18 months post diagnosis, and we were able to love and support so many other families just like mine. And for that, there was no amount of rain that could dampen my day.
We had a team of 112 people- which is more than DOUBLE our size from last year, AND we raised $6,500 to support the Dr. Marnie Rose Foundation, and brain cancer research in Houston. My heart is so incredibly full.
After the run, Dad had a chance to see each soaking wet person come inside to the post-race party, and as much as he wished it didn't rain on us, he loved seeing each of you complete the run. To all those who attended the run and proudly wore your maroon t-shirt, I really can't thank you enough for taking the time out of your Sunday and spending it with us. I wish I had all the words to really thank you and share our appreciation to each of you, but I'm not sure if there are enough words to truly do just that. Dad is able to see each of you love and support him on this journey, and THAT is key in fighting this disease.
I've been able to share with Dad each person who has made a donation or requested a "BTHO Brain Cancer" t-shirt, and Dad continues to be overwhelmed with all of the support. Thank you to each of you who donated to the run and continue to support brain cancer research in Houston. Dad's Houston doctor was at the run, and directly benefits from the foundation in supporting her clinical trials for brain cancer patients. We are so thankful we have not had to utilize any of the clinical trials offered by his Houston doctor, but we are more than happy to help support these for Dad's future treatment options.
The run was a huge success, and I hope all of our team members had a great time (even with the rain!). It takes a lot of planning on our part to coordinate such a large team, and each year we will get better at organizing and planning the event, this I promise you, but I hope each of you had a great time and will want to join us again next year for an even BIGGER team for the run.
My sweet co-worker printed off a verse for me when we were all training for the half-marathon, and I continue to keep it up in my office for those days when I need a little reminder:
"Since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that is so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of Faith. (Hebrews 12:1-2).
Thank you all for such a successful trip to 'Run For The Rose', and we ask for continued prayers as our next round of chemo and MRI will be approaching.
Again, thank you all, and thanks for helping us BTHO Brain Cancer!
Thursday, April 9, 2015
Beating The Odds. 4/9/2015
We heard the words from our Oncologist, Dr. Fleener: "I've never had a brain cancer patient do so well on Avastin for this long. So, we're a little bit in uncharted territory." Dad had been on Avastin since March 21, 2014.
Later that day I asked Mom if she realized what Dr. Fleener meant by saying that, if she understood what that really meant about Dad. Mom looked at me a little puzzled, and I simply said, "Dr. Fleener is saying she's never had a brain cancer patient this long without the tumor returning. Mom, most patients don't live this long."
But Dad's been beating the odds that have been set against him from day 1 of his diagnosis, which is why it breaks my heart when doctors give patients a time frame for their lives. I know lots of people ask the life expectancy, and I also know that doctor's have that responsibility to share with them the statistics and studies- but I also know that each and every patient is different. And Dad is proving just that.
MD Anderson posted a 'Q&A: Understanding Glioblastoma' article, in which it states the following, "Unfortunately, the recurrence rate for glioblastoma is near 100%, with an average time to recurrence of 6 to 7 months."
How fortunate that we are at 18 months.
We've already beat the odds. With standard of care treatment, the average life expectancy is 15 months. Another odd Dad has beat.
Just this week a dear friend of mine shared that her mom is battling stage IV cancer. She also shared the time frame they have given her mom. My heart broke.
I wanted to do so many things to comfort her during this diagnosis. But most importantly, I so badly wanted to be able to take away all of her hurt, pain and fear.
I started the conversation by making sure she understood the pain, fear, and anger she was feeling was so very normal. How can someone not experience all those emotions when you hear that your loved one's life could potentially be cut short due to something so completely out of your control?
And the next part of our conversation was about those devastating statistics her mom was given, those statistics that left her feeling lost, alone and confused.
I shared with her Dad's story. I shared with her our statistics we were given 18 months ago. And I shared with her one of my favorite quotes: "When odds are one in a million, be that one."
As families involved in the fight against cancer, we sit and study every statistics, fear every MRI/scan, and we fear cancer growth. So much fear, from such a small 6 letter word. It's that fear that I wish I could take away from so many other families faced with this journey. But it's all part of this journey- this beautiful journey, that at times feels as though it is so far away from beautiful, but it is. You just have to look real hard sometimes to see the glimpse of the sun through the rain.
I'm constantly reminding myself that 'Suffering is not the place where we prove our faithfulness to God, instead it's the arena in which we learn that God is faithful.'
I'm not exactly sure why God felt as though my family was able to handle the fear, sadness, and struggle that is cancer, but I've learned to trust this path he so perfectly created for us, because I do believe there is a much bigger plan he has for us- Like I've said before, cancer is not the whole story, it's just a chapter.
Continue the thoughts and prayers, and we continue fighting to BTHO Brain Cancer!
Later that day I asked Mom if she realized what Dr. Fleener meant by saying that, if she understood what that really meant about Dad. Mom looked at me a little puzzled, and I simply said, "Dr. Fleener is saying she's never had a brain cancer patient this long without the tumor returning. Mom, most patients don't live this long."
But Dad's been beating the odds that have been set against him from day 1 of his diagnosis, which is why it breaks my heart when doctors give patients a time frame for their lives. I know lots of people ask the life expectancy, and I also know that doctor's have that responsibility to share with them the statistics and studies- but I also know that each and every patient is different. And Dad is proving just that.
MD Anderson posted a 'Q&A: Understanding Glioblastoma' article, in which it states the following, "Unfortunately, the recurrence rate for glioblastoma is near 100%, with an average time to recurrence of 6 to 7 months."
How fortunate that we are at 18 months.
We've already beat the odds. With standard of care treatment, the average life expectancy is 15 months. Another odd Dad has beat.
Just this week a dear friend of mine shared that her mom is battling stage IV cancer. She also shared the time frame they have given her mom. My heart broke.
I wanted to do so many things to comfort her during this diagnosis. But most importantly, I so badly wanted to be able to take away all of her hurt, pain and fear.
I started the conversation by making sure she understood the pain, fear, and anger she was feeling was so very normal. How can someone not experience all those emotions when you hear that your loved one's life could potentially be cut short due to something so completely out of your control?
And the next part of our conversation was about those devastating statistics her mom was given, those statistics that left her feeling lost, alone and confused.
I shared with her Dad's story. I shared with her our statistics we were given 18 months ago. And I shared with her one of my favorite quotes: "When odds are one in a million, be that one."
As families involved in the fight against cancer, we sit and study every statistics, fear every MRI/scan, and we fear cancer growth. So much fear, from such a small 6 letter word. It's that fear that I wish I could take away from so many other families faced with this journey. But it's all part of this journey- this beautiful journey, that at times feels as though it is so far away from beautiful, but it is. You just have to look real hard sometimes to see the glimpse of the sun through the rain.
I'm constantly reminding myself that 'Suffering is not the place where we prove our faithfulness to God, instead it's the arena in which we learn that God is faithful.'
I'm not exactly sure why God felt as though my family was able to handle the fear, sadness, and struggle that is cancer, but I've learned to trust this path he so perfectly created for us, because I do believe there is a much bigger plan he has for us- Like I've said before, cancer is not the whole story, it's just a chapter.
Continue the thoughts and prayers, and we continue fighting to BTHO Brain Cancer!
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
Quick Dad Update 4/8/2015
Let me start by sharing the news of Dad's last MRI- it did not indicate any tumor growth or any stroke. We are on cloud 9! After lots of discussions, we decided to stop the IV (Avastin) treatment for right now. Dr. Fleener had a great way of giving us her opinion on the treatment and Dad's cancer, and she also said that sometimes we get divine intervention, sometimes something happens that makes us re-think our current plan- and I think Dad's mini-stroke was just that. The Avastin can cause strokes, both mini-strokes and massive strokes, and although the MRI did not show a mini-stroke, Dr. Fleener feels as though Dad did have one. The fear of a massive stroke in his future is too devastating to us, since we've come so far in Dad's brain cancer journey.
So the chemo will continue, and the MRI's a bit more frequent to monitor the changes in treatment, but overall Dad is feeling great! We are so incredibly blessed!
Side Note: Run For The Rose is just a few days away and there is still time to join our team or make a donation to help support Brain Cancer research!
http://runfortherose.racepartner.com/run-for-the-rose/bthobraincancer
Thank you all for the continued love and prayers, and thanks for helping us BTHO Brain Cancer!
So the chemo will continue, and the MRI's a bit more frequent to monitor the changes in treatment, but overall Dad is feeling great! We are so incredibly blessed!
Side Note: Run For The Rose is just a few days away and there is still time to join our team or make a donation to help support Brain Cancer research!
http://runfortherose.racepartner.com/run-for-the-rose/bthobraincancer
Thank you all for the continued love and prayers, and thanks for helping us BTHO Brain Cancer!
Thursday, April 2, 2015
Pearl. Dad Update 4/2/2015
The grit of life.
The irritations of life.
The aggravating, challenging circumstances we each face daily.
And sometimes, we need a bit of a reminder WHY we see this "grit" on a daily basis. And sometimes this reminder comes from a wonderful friend who decided to email me a little analogy:
"The grit of life, the irritations of life, the aggravating, challenging circumstances of life that create multiple layers of irritation...well to the oyster is just everyday life. The oyster seemingly takes this grit, without complaining, closes it's shell and oozes out a substance that is slowly refined by the grit to make a pearl. Making something so valuable and beautiful out of life's challenges. Or is it that something beautiful emerges from the grit of life? If we work with it, sit with it, roll it around, not spewing it out, but allowing it to be what it is, seeing it for what it is- the potential for beauty. Just think the pearl only exist because of the rubbing and chaffing of the grit of life, slowly unfolding itself, over and over, like in the way our minds and bodies find things irritating and uncomfortable day in and day out, yet if we give it a chance, if we stay with it, engaging in the experiences rather than running from them- if we learn to see the way the oyster sees, knowing that the beauty of the result, a pearl, we can strive for our best self.
This can be compared to our relationship with God. He knows what we can handle and he is always refining us ('the grit in life'). If we can see through his eyes, strive to be like Jesus, and know by faith that we are His jewels in the making, we can be at peace with ourselves and the daily grind in life."
How perfectly written.
How beautifully written.
I started to think about my grit. About the grit in my life and if these challenging circumstances these last 18 months have turned into pearls yet, and at first I thought there was no way my life had any pearls, there was no way the pearls outweighed the grit at this time. But then when I really started to think, I realized it was so clear how many pearls this grit has created. How many pearls Dad's fight has brought to my life.
This blog. Just one of many pearls. I started this blog after Mom and I received countless phone calls and text messages, and although we loved being able to have everyone know what we were going through so they knew what to pray for, it was also emotionally exhausting for us to share our situation, even on some of our good days. So I decided a blog would be the easiest way to share Dad's fight. The blog has slowly turned into something that I so desperately needed in this situation- an outlet. It's allowed me to share our good, and bad days. It's allowed me to share our faith, and at times, lack of faith in our journey. It's allowed me to have others follow us step by step in our battle against cancer. And most importantly, it's allowed us to not feel alone. As of today I've had over 21,200 views. It still completely blows my mind when I see the number of people who read our story and follow our story.
'The Run For The Rose'.
Talk about a HUGE pearl. We are so incredibly close to raising our goal of $5,000 this year, which will mean in the last 2 years our team has helped raise $15,000 to support brain cancer research in Houston. $15,000!!!! I think about the numerous people who are diagnosed with this disease, and I realize that our donations are helping the future of so many families. It will give them HOPE for a cure, and HOPE for treatment options. I just know in my lifetime we will find a cure, and I'm so proud to be part of it all.
Not only have we financially support the Dr. Marnie Rose Foundation, but in the last 2 years we've brought 142 people (47 runners in 2014 & 95 runner in 2015) to the annual 'Run For The Rose'. We've helped bring awareness to brain cancer research and we've helped to support so many other families just like ours by participating in the run.
Those are just two pearls I've realized from Dad's battle these last 18 months. And one major pearl. My faith.
It's been tested. There is no denying that. I've been hurt, frustrated and aggravated with our challenges, but in the end I look and see some pretty amazing "pearls" that have come from it all. And for that, I can't help but look at these last 18 months as less of "grit" and more of "pearls".
Dad finished chemo last week and felt better than he's felt since we started combining his treatment with Avastin- what a blessing! So now we wait for the next MRI to tell us our next treatment path. We wait. Oh how I hate waiting! But Dad's been doing more in the yard and his speech seems to be improving daily since his mini-stroke- and for that, I am so incredibly blessed. We pray for good MRI results and hopefully a more clear path on our treatment plan for the future.
But until then, we take it all one day at a time and try to enjoy the Easter weekend with family.
Asking for continued prayers as our next MRI is quickly approaching, along with continued prayers for another brain cancer family, as their MRI is also quickly approaching. Also, prayers for a sweet family, as they received the news that no cancer patient wants to hear- "there is nothing more we can do." I hope the family can see the pearls from there journey, although I know all too well that right now their world is filled with more "grit" than ever. Asking for continued prayers for them as they wait patiently for MD Anderson to accept them for clinical trials, and ask for continued prayers for the cancer growth to stop and for the patient to feel better. Prayer is powerful, and this family needs it more than ever right now.
There is still time to help GROW this "pearl" of mine, by joining our team or making a donation to 'Run For The Rose'. http://runfortherose.racepartner.com/run-for-the-rose/bthobraincancer
Continue the prayers, as we continue fighting to BTHO Brain Cancer!
The irritations of life.
The aggravating, challenging circumstances we each face daily.
And sometimes, we need a bit of a reminder WHY we see this "grit" on a daily basis. And sometimes this reminder comes from a wonderful friend who decided to email me a little analogy:
"The grit of life, the irritations of life, the aggravating, challenging circumstances of life that create multiple layers of irritation...well to the oyster is just everyday life. The oyster seemingly takes this grit, without complaining, closes it's shell and oozes out a substance that is slowly refined by the grit to make a pearl. Making something so valuable and beautiful out of life's challenges. Or is it that something beautiful emerges from the grit of life? If we work with it, sit with it, roll it around, not spewing it out, but allowing it to be what it is, seeing it for what it is- the potential for beauty. Just think the pearl only exist because of the rubbing and chaffing of the grit of life, slowly unfolding itself, over and over, like in the way our minds and bodies find things irritating and uncomfortable day in and day out, yet if we give it a chance, if we stay with it, engaging in the experiences rather than running from them- if we learn to see the way the oyster sees, knowing that the beauty of the result, a pearl, we can strive for our best self.
This can be compared to our relationship with God. He knows what we can handle and he is always refining us ('the grit in life'). If we can see through his eyes, strive to be like Jesus, and know by faith that we are His jewels in the making, we can be at peace with ourselves and the daily grind in life."
How perfectly written.
How beautifully written.
I started to think about my grit. About the grit in my life and if these challenging circumstances these last 18 months have turned into pearls yet, and at first I thought there was no way my life had any pearls, there was no way the pearls outweighed the grit at this time. But then when I really started to think, I realized it was so clear how many pearls this grit has created. How many pearls Dad's fight has brought to my life.
This blog. Just one of many pearls. I started this blog after Mom and I received countless phone calls and text messages, and although we loved being able to have everyone know what we were going through so they knew what to pray for, it was also emotionally exhausting for us to share our situation, even on some of our good days. So I decided a blog would be the easiest way to share Dad's fight. The blog has slowly turned into something that I so desperately needed in this situation- an outlet. It's allowed me to share our good, and bad days. It's allowed me to share our faith, and at times, lack of faith in our journey. It's allowed me to have others follow us step by step in our battle against cancer. And most importantly, it's allowed us to not feel alone. As of today I've had over 21,200 views. It still completely blows my mind when I see the number of people who read our story and follow our story.
'The Run For The Rose'.
Talk about a HUGE pearl. We are so incredibly close to raising our goal of $5,000 this year, which will mean in the last 2 years our team has helped raise $15,000 to support brain cancer research in Houston. $15,000!!!! I think about the numerous people who are diagnosed with this disease, and I realize that our donations are helping the future of so many families. It will give them HOPE for a cure, and HOPE for treatment options. I just know in my lifetime we will find a cure, and I'm so proud to be part of it all.
Not only have we financially support the Dr. Marnie Rose Foundation, but in the last 2 years we've brought 142 people (47 runners in 2014 & 95 runner in 2015) to the annual 'Run For The Rose'. We've helped bring awareness to brain cancer research and we've helped to support so many other families just like ours by participating in the run.
Those are just two pearls I've realized from Dad's battle these last 18 months. And one major pearl. My faith.
It's been tested. There is no denying that. I've been hurt, frustrated and aggravated with our challenges, but in the end I look and see some pretty amazing "pearls" that have come from it all. And for that, I can't help but look at these last 18 months as less of "grit" and more of "pearls".
Dad finished chemo last week and felt better than he's felt since we started combining his treatment with Avastin- what a blessing! So now we wait for the next MRI to tell us our next treatment path. We wait. Oh how I hate waiting! But Dad's been doing more in the yard and his speech seems to be improving daily since his mini-stroke- and for that, I am so incredibly blessed. We pray for good MRI results and hopefully a more clear path on our treatment plan for the future.
But until then, we take it all one day at a time and try to enjoy the Easter weekend with family.
Asking for continued prayers as our next MRI is quickly approaching, along with continued prayers for another brain cancer family, as their MRI is also quickly approaching. Also, prayers for a sweet family, as they received the news that no cancer patient wants to hear- "there is nothing more we can do." I hope the family can see the pearls from there journey, although I know all too well that right now their world is filled with more "grit" than ever. Asking for continued prayers for them as they wait patiently for MD Anderson to accept them for clinical trials, and ask for continued prayers for the cancer growth to stop and for the patient to feel better. Prayer is powerful, and this family needs it more than ever right now.
There is still time to help GROW this "pearl" of mine, by joining our team or making a donation to 'Run For The Rose'. http://runfortherose.racepartner.com/run-for-the-rose/bthobraincancer
Continue the prayers, as we continue fighting to BTHO Brain Cancer!
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