Last night, Dad started another round of chemo. Oh how I hate these weeks. And I'm pretty sure the feeling is mutual for Dad.
But, it's all part of our process and our fight. The chemo pills will never stop, unless they stop working to suppress the cancer growth, or the side effects start to decrease his quality of life- but until then, Dad takes them each month for those 5 long days and we continue to press on.
The other day I sat in another cold doctor's office, this time an appointment for me with my annoying allergies and I couldn't help but go right back to that cold doctor's office where we heard the word "tumor". Where we heard the word "malignant". Where I realized that our lives were about to be changed forever.
I started thinking about all the things we've overcome so far, many of which I mentally prepared for prior to it all happening. I read about brain surgery recovery, I read about chemotherapy side effects and radiation treatment, and I read about what exactly Dad's tumor was capable of doing to his brain. But what none of those articles shared with me was the insecurity Dad would face with losing his hair due to the radiation treatment and the surgery.
He's a guy. Guys don't care about losing their hair, right?
I realized it wasn't so much about losing his hair, it was the fact that the hair falling out solidified that he in fact had cancer, and without all of his hair, there the scar from his surgery showed through.
But what Dad doesn't realize is the beauty I see in that scar. You see, that scar reminds me that something so bad and evil tried to take my Dad too early, that scar reminds me that I have so much to be thankful for.
That scar also reminds me of how far I've come as an individual and a caretaker these last 19.5 months. That scar reminds me that I've got the strongest and bravest Dad in the entire world. I have a Dad that has looked death in the eyes and never feared cancer, but instead, given his concerns and worries over to God. That scar reminds me that I have a really good God.
There is so much beauty in that scar. Because that scar reminds me of the battle that Dad has won.
Winning the battle against cancer doesn't come from remission or the cancer shrinking, nope not at all. Winning the battle against cancer means you looked at something so terrible and fearful right in the eyes, and you maintained your faith, your strength and your fight. And because of that definition, Dad has already won.
I'm not sure what our next few months will look like, much less what will happen tomorrow, but what I do know is that I never want Dad to feel insecure about his scar. I never want any cancer patient to feel that way about their scars or losing their hair. Because to me, it's beautiful. It means your strength, your grace and your faith have helped you fight against something. Because to me, you are a true hero for the world to see.
In the end, the journey with cancer is much greater than the end result. We all learn, grow and become better for it all. Sometimes we question how God could ever think we are strong enough or faithful enough to be on the journey- but difficult times are not the arena in which we prove our faithfulness to God, no, it's where we prove that God is faithful.
With another round of chemotherapy this week, Dad will be back at the doctor in about a month for blood work, in hopes his counts remain stable and we can continue on his treatment. Revisiting the doctor again in 2 months to determine when our next MRI will take place, and feeling a sense of relief that, although off of the Avastin, Dad's MRI maintains stable. We are so incredibly blessed for each and every day with Dad, and can't help but thank God for the amazing friends and family on this journey with us every step of the way.
Continue the prayers, as we continue fighting to BTHO Brain Cancer!
Tuesday, May 19, 2015
Friday, May 15, 2015
Quick Dad Update 5/15/2015
Dad's last MRI did not show any re-growth and the MRI, even more so, indicated that the areas showing up in the MRI are in fact scar tissue and radiation damage- NOT cancer.
God is good!
God is good!
Monday, May 4, 2015
Go Gray In May. Brain Cancer Awareness.
May starts brain cancer awareness month, which is something that is so incredibly near and dear to my heart. As I've watched Dad's battle these last 19 months, I can't help but be so incredibly excited about the progress being made with treatment options, yet at the same time discouraged with the standard treatment options available to Dad.
I've taken it upon myself to educate others on brain cancer, educate others on how deadly of a disease this really is, and educate others on the lack of funding provided to research brain cancer treatment.
For the specific type of brain cancer Dad was diagnosed with 19 months ago (Glioblastoma Multiforme), the average life span is 14 months with the standard treatment (Surgery, Radiation, Chemotherapy). And statistically, 25% of people diagnosed with the disease live past 2 years.
Those statistics leave me with such mixed emotions. I read those and cringe, and fear is filled in my mind, as the odds are not in our favor. And those statistics also seem to light a fire inside of me, a fire that has me focused on funding, research and awareness of brain cancer, because I truly feel like I can help change those statistics.
I'm not sure if in Dad's lifetime we will see a cure, and that is a difficult thought to comprehend sometimes, but I am certain that we are so incredibly close to finding a cure, finding a new treatment option that will give patients quality of life, and will give patients longer than the statistics mentioned above.
What will it take to change these statistics? It takes funding, it takes awareness, and it takes passion. In the last 19 months, we've had the love and support of so many friends and family members who have helped us donate over $16,000 to the Dr. Marnie Rose Foundation.
Some days during Dad's fight are difficult, he has good days and bad days. And on the nights of the bad days I usually have a little bit longer talk with God. Sometimes there are tears, other nights I'm more emotionally calm, but regardless these talks start with so many questions about our journey. So many questions I ask about the future, and each time the answers come in comfort. I always get a sense of comfort on those extremely difficult nights, when all I want to do is cry, question God's path for my family, and ask Him to take away all the pain.
But, the beauty of this journey and our fight is that I will never get these answers. I will never know what the future holds, not what will happen in the next 5 minutes or the next day. I will never not have pain in my life, regardless if it's associated with Dad's cancer or other events, and I will never be able to fully contain the tears- because I've learned sometimes you just need a good cry.
I've realized that maybe this battle has given me a wonderful opportunity to find my purpose and passion. I'm so proud that I'm able to have an outlet with Dad's fight and help bring awareness and funding to brain cancer research. In the moments where I feel as though I'm helpless, that I'm not able to take this disease away from him, I realize that his fight- regardless of the length of the fight- is paving the way for a cure. It's bringing awareness to brain cancer, it's providing funding to research and it's providing HOPE to so many others. There will be a day where a family receives a brain cancer diagnosis and the statistics aren't the same and there is no use of the word "terminal". No, instead because of Dad's fight, the awareness and funding it's provided, patients will be given a better chance to fight with new treatment options. Patients will be given HOPE to be cured. And to me, what an absolutely wonderful gift this battle has given me, and Dad. We have been given the opportunity to help others in such a wonderful way, and for that, I'm so incredibly proud.
Make sure you go GRAY in MAY and continue praying, as we continue fighting to BTHO Brain Cancer!
I've taken it upon myself to educate others on brain cancer, educate others on how deadly of a disease this really is, and educate others on the lack of funding provided to research brain cancer treatment.
For the specific type of brain cancer Dad was diagnosed with 19 months ago (Glioblastoma Multiforme), the average life span is 14 months with the standard treatment (Surgery, Radiation, Chemotherapy). And statistically, 25% of people diagnosed with the disease live past 2 years.
Those statistics leave me with such mixed emotions. I read those and cringe, and fear is filled in my mind, as the odds are not in our favor. And those statistics also seem to light a fire inside of me, a fire that has me focused on funding, research and awareness of brain cancer, because I truly feel like I can help change those statistics.
I'm not sure if in Dad's lifetime we will see a cure, and that is a difficult thought to comprehend sometimes, but I am certain that we are so incredibly close to finding a cure, finding a new treatment option that will give patients quality of life, and will give patients longer than the statistics mentioned above.
What will it take to change these statistics? It takes funding, it takes awareness, and it takes passion. In the last 19 months, we've had the love and support of so many friends and family members who have helped us donate over $16,000 to the Dr. Marnie Rose Foundation.
Some days during Dad's fight are difficult, he has good days and bad days. And on the nights of the bad days I usually have a little bit longer talk with God. Sometimes there are tears, other nights I'm more emotionally calm, but regardless these talks start with so many questions about our journey. So many questions I ask about the future, and each time the answers come in comfort. I always get a sense of comfort on those extremely difficult nights, when all I want to do is cry, question God's path for my family, and ask Him to take away all the pain.
But, the beauty of this journey and our fight is that I will never get these answers. I will never know what the future holds, not what will happen in the next 5 minutes or the next day. I will never not have pain in my life, regardless if it's associated with Dad's cancer or other events, and I will never be able to fully contain the tears- because I've learned sometimes you just need a good cry.
I've realized that maybe this battle has given me a wonderful opportunity to find my purpose and passion. I'm so proud that I'm able to have an outlet with Dad's fight and help bring awareness and funding to brain cancer research. In the moments where I feel as though I'm helpless, that I'm not able to take this disease away from him, I realize that his fight- regardless of the length of the fight- is paving the way for a cure. It's bringing awareness to brain cancer, it's providing funding to research and it's providing HOPE to so many others. There will be a day where a family receives a brain cancer diagnosis and the statistics aren't the same and there is no use of the word "terminal". No, instead because of Dad's fight, the awareness and funding it's provided, patients will be given a better chance to fight with new treatment options. Patients will be given HOPE to be cured. And to me, what an absolutely wonderful gift this battle has given me, and Dad. We have been given the opportunity to help others in such a wonderful way, and for that, I'm so incredibly proud.
Make sure you go GRAY in MAY and continue praying, as we continue fighting to BTHO Brain Cancer!
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