Head and Heart. Dad Update 8/1/2016

In just a few short days, we will have reached 34 months in our battle against brain cancer. And I would be lying if I said that brain cancer hasn't been a pretty big mountain in our lives these last 34 months- one that we have tried so hard to move, just inch my inch. Inch by Inch-because I truly do believe we've been assigned this mountain to prove to others that it CAN be moved. 

But sometimes the mountain feels impossible to move, sometimes the weight of our own anxiety, stress, fear and sadness weighs the mountain down more than we can imagine. And this weight was so very clear to me this weekend.

Sunday I helped Mom clean out the bathroom, as my parents decided to re-do the bathroom/shower to make it easier for both my Dad, and my Mom. But as we cleaned out cabinet by cabinet, we came across the medicine cabinet- one with empty chemotherapy bottles (I would guess at least 30 bottles), and my heart sank. 

My mind went back to Thursday night when I received a phone call from Mom letting me know that Dad was having extreme right side weakness- and something was not right. She was pretty certain he was having a mini-stroke, and there was absolutely nothing we could do. So I waited all night for the phone call letting me know to head to the ER, as I feared a much larger stroke was on it's way- but I'm so thankful that call never came. The right side weakness seemed to get better, and Dad slept through the night without any issues. 

This weekend this mountain seemed heavier and larger than ever before. Along with the mini-stroke and the realization of how long Dad has been battling this beast, my heart and my head were conflicting on the decision if we should take a "chemo break".

There is no scientific evidence to show that taking the chemotherapy forever is beneficial- nor is there any scientific evidence to show that taking the chemotherapy for only 9 months, or 18 months is the perfect dosage. There is no scientific evidence to help us at all with our decision. 

So instead, we've been praying about it- we've been praying so incredibly hard. I've had a few conversations with the man upstairs, each one begging him to have my head and my heart feel the same way. 

In one week we will make this decision, as a family- with Dad getting the ultimate vote- and I haven't decided if I'll be voting with my head or with my heart. My head says, "If he goes off the chemotherapy and the tumor returns, there is a chance the chemotherapy will not be able to work as quickly as the tumor grows." Sometimes I think I've read one too many articles about this beast Dad battles.

But my heart, my heart looks at Dad's face during his chemotherapy week (and the week following), and sees how tired he is from fighting through the side effects of the drug. His face doesn't show defeat, but it shows a need to slow down the treatment- it shows a need to get the quality back in his life during these weeks. 

The day I heard the diagnosis, the day I heard the life span of someone with Dad's cancer- I told myself I would never allow treatment to get in the way of Dad's quality of life- so now the question remains, at what point am I doing that by voting to continue the chemotherapy? 

As the days countdown until our next doctor's visit, my prayers double in asking God to have my head and my heart be on the same page- because right now, my heart is sounding so much louder than my head. We all want to go into this decision with no regrets, with absolute assurance that we have made the right choice, and with the understanding that it is always God's will whatever may happen.

It's just sometimes, when you've got your head and your heart at war- making a decision and feeling 100% certain about it feels nearly impossible.

Asking for continued prayers as we struggle with making the best decision for Dad as a family. And as always, thank you all for the continued love and support in helping us BTHO Brain Cancer!