Here we are just a couple of days short of Dad's 22 month anniversary of the seizure, which lead to his brain cancer diagnosis and 22 month anniversary of hearing those words "terminal cancer". We were given a grim diagnosis and devastating statistics. I look at these statistics as a realist, knowing all too well the tumor can, and most likely will, return. I look at these statistics and pray for the best, but all too often expect the worst.
But this last MRI, as I prayed for the best results possible, it's exactly what we received! No new changes- no indication of tumor! We are on cloud 9!
I read the MRI results out loud, as Dr. Fleener had a nurse bring in the results early to us while she was meeting with another patient so we didn't have to continue waiting. Let me remind you, I picked Accounting as my major because I wanted the least number of science classes I would have to take in college- and it was pretty clear that was the case when I read the report. I couldn't pronounce half of the words and every other word I said in more of a question form than a statement, because I had no clue what it all meant.
Genna finally, as she laughed, told me to read the conclusion part instead, so I did: "Stable postsurgical change of the left middle cranial fossa. Stable peripheral and nodular enhancement, likely representing postoperative change."
Ok, so I still have not a clue what most of those words mean, BUT I read "likely representing postoperative change", I knew that was good, I knew that meant the report did not show tumor growth, and I loved hearing the word "stable".
It was all such a relief. And we look forward and focus on the treatment path ahead. The chemo continues, along with the blood work and MRI's- BUT another MRI is not planned for another 3-4 months. And that is HUGE!
Once we received the news I was immediately texting friends and family, as they all anxiously await MRI day and the news we will receive. And I immediately texted a dear friend who's mom is currently battling cancer. We text often, we share stories of fear and anxiety, and celebrate with one another on little (and BIG!) victories for our parents. And on Thursday, when we received the results and I immediately texted her the news, her response made me realize all too well that Dad has such a large purpose here on Earth. Much bigger and greater than I could ever imagine, and much bigger and greater than I ever realized.
I told my friend the great news, "Dad's MRI is stable- no changes or growth! Another MRI in 3-4 months!! Almost 22 months later, such a blessing!"
And her response brought mom and I to tears, because we've always said 'Hope and Hopelessness are both options, so why not choose hope?"
My friend responded: "Oh my gosh that is such great news!!! I am so happy for your guys!!! Your dad seriously gives me hope for my mom."
Hope. Dad's fight. The good and bad days we have, heck the good and bad moments, all have this much bigger and larger purpose in life. Dad is inspiring others! Which he denies when I tell him that his faith, fight and attitude are continuously inspiring others faced with difficult battles, and his faith, fight and attitude are continuously inspiring me. But it's all so true- he's such an inspiration!
Dad's leaving this amazing footprint on this Earth. At church on Sunday, our pastor shared a sermon about looking at your obituary, and if you would like what it would say. I think back to Dad's life, his role as a father, husband, friend, co-worker and cancer fighter, and I would have to say that I'm not sure if there is a darn thing that man would change about his life. I'm so proud that I get to call him my Dad, and even more honored that I'm his daughter.
Continue the prayers, as we continue fighting to BTHO Brain Cancer!
Monday, August 3, 2015
Friday, July 10, 2015
21 Months Post Diagnosis. Dad Update 7/10/2015
July 5, 2015 marked 21 months post diagnosis.
If you would have told me 21 months ago that we would be where we are right now with Dad's cancer, I'm sure I would have never believed it.
But here we are. Given Dad's diagnosis was followed with "14.5 months to live", I would say that 21 months is a pretty incredible milestone! We still struggle daily with the side effects of the surgery and radiation, and Dad still does his speech therapy each and every day- his determination and fight never ceases to amaze me.
Dad had another appointment with his Oncologist, Dr. Fleener, on Wednesday. It had been about 2 months since we had stepped foot in the Cancer Clinic, and we were greeted by all of the staff with hugs and smiles. I can't say enough wonderful things about everyone at the Cancer Clinic- from the business office staff (those ladies have helped me through my many battles with insurance companies and hospital bills), to the nurses who help check Dad in and do blood work, and the nurses who administer chemo to the many patients in the back, this group of individuals have been essential in our fight against brain cancer. And then there's Dr. Fleener. The lady that I joke is the 4th Glenz daughter. She's so kind to us, so loving to Dad, and maintains such faith in our journey. She has this ability to be so incredibly positive to us, but also extremely realistic. Dad trusts her, we trust her, and I'm so thankful that she is on this path with us during Dad's fight.
Dad's appointment went well and we've scheduled another MRI in the next couple of weeks. Of course, this gets my anxiety and fear on full force, but I can't help but continue to read these little sticky notes I have on my desk:
"They do not fear bad news, they confidently TRUST the Lord to care for them. Psalm 112:7" And another favorite:
"My fight. To not let suffering win. To not let it take away the joy in my faith. To not let it affect the relationships in my life. To instead, take it for its own and run and use it to make me better. To allow it to show me when I am weak. To embrace those weaknesses when they are near and become strong for it."
Such important messages I try and remind myself on a daily basis. Really focusing on letting my faith be bigger than my fear.
Dad starts another round of chemo next week, and we continue to pray the chemo is working so stop any cancer growth. We also pray Dad maintains his strength, appetite and fight during this week, as I know the treatment can be so incredibly draining on his body and mind. As long as the treatment continues to provide QUALITY of life, we will continue to use the chemo in our fight.
This week I will also be moving out of my parent's home. When I initially moved in, it was a short term solution to a new job I was accepting in College Station. Fast forward 21 months, and this short term solution became much longer. I am so incredibly blessed that I've been able to spend these last 21 months being a primary caregiver to Dad. It's been 21 months that I've cherished and learned so much about myself, my faith, and my relationships. Cancer has sucked, but what a blessing it has been to be able to share this journey, hand in hand, and step by step with Mom and Dad daily.
On the way home from Dad's doctor's appointment I heard a song on the radio, and I couldn't help but relate this to Dad's journey.
"Unsinkable ships sink, unbreakable walls break,
Sometimes the things you think would never happen
Happen just like that. Unbendable steel bends,
If the fury of the wind is unstoppable.
I've learned to never underestimate, the impossible."
Given the statistics we were given, I've quickly learned that you can never underestimate the impossible. Continue the prayers, as we continue fighting to BTHO Brain Cancer!
And the Glenz Family hopes you each had a wonderful 4th of July!
If you would have told me 21 months ago that we would be where we are right now with Dad's cancer, I'm sure I would have never believed it.
But here we are. Given Dad's diagnosis was followed with "14.5 months to live", I would say that 21 months is a pretty incredible milestone! We still struggle daily with the side effects of the surgery and radiation, and Dad still does his speech therapy each and every day- his determination and fight never ceases to amaze me.
Dad had another appointment with his Oncologist, Dr. Fleener, on Wednesday. It had been about 2 months since we had stepped foot in the Cancer Clinic, and we were greeted by all of the staff with hugs and smiles. I can't say enough wonderful things about everyone at the Cancer Clinic- from the business office staff (those ladies have helped me through my many battles with insurance companies and hospital bills), to the nurses who help check Dad in and do blood work, and the nurses who administer chemo to the many patients in the back, this group of individuals have been essential in our fight against brain cancer. And then there's Dr. Fleener. The lady that I joke is the 4th Glenz daughter. She's so kind to us, so loving to Dad, and maintains such faith in our journey. She has this ability to be so incredibly positive to us, but also extremely realistic. Dad trusts her, we trust her, and I'm so thankful that she is on this path with us during Dad's fight.
Dad's appointment went well and we've scheduled another MRI in the next couple of weeks. Of course, this gets my anxiety and fear on full force, but I can't help but continue to read these little sticky notes I have on my desk:
"They do not fear bad news, they confidently TRUST the Lord to care for them. Psalm 112:7" And another favorite:
"My fight. To not let suffering win. To not let it take away the joy in my faith. To not let it affect the relationships in my life. To instead, take it for its own and run and use it to make me better. To allow it to show me when I am weak. To embrace those weaknesses when they are near and become strong for it."
Such important messages I try and remind myself on a daily basis. Really focusing on letting my faith be bigger than my fear.
Dad starts another round of chemo next week, and we continue to pray the chemo is working so stop any cancer growth. We also pray Dad maintains his strength, appetite and fight during this week, as I know the treatment can be so incredibly draining on his body and mind. As long as the treatment continues to provide QUALITY of life, we will continue to use the chemo in our fight.
This week I will also be moving out of my parent's home. When I initially moved in, it was a short term solution to a new job I was accepting in College Station. Fast forward 21 months, and this short term solution became much longer. I am so incredibly blessed that I've been able to spend these last 21 months being a primary caregiver to Dad. It's been 21 months that I've cherished and learned so much about myself, my faith, and my relationships. Cancer has sucked, but what a blessing it has been to be able to share this journey, hand in hand, and step by step with Mom and Dad daily.
On the way home from Dad's doctor's appointment I heard a song on the radio, and I couldn't help but relate this to Dad's journey.
"Unsinkable ships sink, unbreakable walls break,
Sometimes the things you think would never happen
Happen just like that. Unbendable steel bends,
If the fury of the wind is unstoppable.
I've learned to never underestimate, the impossible."
Given the statistics we were given, I've quickly learned that you can never underestimate the impossible. Continue the prayers, as we continue fighting to BTHO Brain Cancer!
And the Glenz Family hopes you each had a wonderful 4th of July!
Monday, June 22, 2015
Let Your Faith Be Bigger Than Your Fears. Dad Update 6/22/2015
This last Sunday I sat in a familiar place, listened to a familiar story, but for some reason the lesson from this familiar place and familiar story was not familiar at all.
I've heard the story of David and Goliath. The story of the little man, the underdog, who faced a much bigger, stronger man, and won. That's the story I was told as a child, and I never once tried to link this story to the struggles of life. But instead, sitting in that familiar place, listening to that familiar story, I finally linked the story of David and Goliath to my life, and finally I was hearing all the words I so badly have been needing to hear. Words I didn't even know I needed.
Our Associate Pastor did such a beautiful job of describing the story and making comparisons to our own struggles in life, and I couldn't help but think of Dad as David, and our fight against cancer as Goliath.
The passage read, 'The Lord who rescued me from the paw of the lion and the paw of the bear will rescue me from the hand of this Philistine.'
"Let your faith be bigger than your fears," was what our Associate Pastor repeated over and over again. Let your faith be bigger than your fears.
Dad has endured so much. Brain surgery, a large blood clot in his brain, a brain bleed...the list goes on. The Lord has already rescued him from all these things, and I believe he will rescue him from whatever we are faced with in the future. This faith, this handing over the control of the situation, is so difficult for me, but my reminder is constantly repeating- "Let your faith be bigger than your fears."
The message was beautifully delivered and beautifully written, and I'm not sure who else received the message in such an eye opening way on Sunday as I did, but I'm so very thankful I was there to hear this message. It brought me comfort to Dad's fight. Because sometimes you just need to hear it from someone else, you need to hear those words, "Let your faith be bigger than your fears."
I am all so incredibly guilty of running through life with a to-do list for each day, forgetting to take time to enjoy small moments in my life, and forgetting to be thankful, even in the most difficult times. This last week of chemo was especially difficult on Dad. His face showed it all- he was tired, in pain, and just down. It all broke my heart. But I continued to repeat that message I heard, from that familiar place, "The Lord who rescued me from the paw of the lion and the paw of the bear will rescue me from the hand of this Philistine." The Lord has brought Dad through so much, and I believe he will continue to do the same, because sometimes you have to let your faith be bigger than your fears.
Sunday evening Dad was finally feeling much better and was able to enjoy dinner with us all, all to celebrate him. Father's Day has a completely new meaning to our family, and actually, all holidays have a new meaning to us. We are not sure if or when Dad's cancer will return. We have no clue if this was the last Father's Day celebration, or if there are many more to come. We do know that right now, Dad is doing well and enjoying life. You can't take the smile off of his face when he sees his Grandson, and there isn't a moment in this world I would trade when it's just him and I spending time together. Life is good.
The story of David beating Goliath is no longer just a story I heard in Sunday School, no, instead this story is one of an underdog, one of a man with all the statistics against him, overcoming the odds and allowing his faith to be much bigger than any fear.
Continue the prayers, as we continue fighting to BTHO Brain Cancer!
I've heard the story of David and Goliath. The story of the little man, the underdog, who faced a much bigger, stronger man, and won. That's the story I was told as a child, and I never once tried to link this story to the struggles of life. But instead, sitting in that familiar place, listening to that familiar story, I finally linked the story of David and Goliath to my life, and finally I was hearing all the words I so badly have been needing to hear. Words I didn't even know I needed.
Our Associate Pastor did such a beautiful job of describing the story and making comparisons to our own struggles in life, and I couldn't help but think of Dad as David, and our fight against cancer as Goliath.
The passage read, 'The Lord who rescued me from the paw of the lion and the paw of the bear will rescue me from the hand of this Philistine.'
"Let your faith be bigger than your fears," was what our Associate Pastor repeated over and over again. Let your faith be bigger than your fears.
Dad has endured so much. Brain surgery, a large blood clot in his brain, a brain bleed...the list goes on. The Lord has already rescued him from all these things, and I believe he will rescue him from whatever we are faced with in the future. This faith, this handing over the control of the situation, is so difficult for me, but my reminder is constantly repeating- "Let your faith be bigger than your fears."
The message was beautifully delivered and beautifully written, and I'm not sure who else received the message in such an eye opening way on Sunday as I did, but I'm so very thankful I was there to hear this message. It brought me comfort to Dad's fight. Because sometimes you just need to hear it from someone else, you need to hear those words, "Let your faith be bigger than your fears."
I am all so incredibly guilty of running through life with a to-do list for each day, forgetting to take time to enjoy small moments in my life, and forgetting to be thankful, even in the most difficult times. This last week of chemo was especially difficult on Dad. His face showed it all- he was tired, in pain, and just down. It all broke my heart. But I continued to repeat that message I heard, from that familiar place, "The Lord who rescued me from the paw of the lion and the paw of the bear will rescue me from the hand of this Philistine." The Lord has brought Dad through so much, and I believe he will continue to do the same, because sometimes you have to let your faith be bigger than your fears.
Sunday evening Dad was finally feeling much better and was able to enjoy dinner with us all, all to celebrate him. Father's Day has a completely new meaning to our family, and actually, all holidays have a new meaning to us. We are not sure if or when Dad's cancer will return. We have no clue if this was the last Father's Day celebration, or if there are many more to come. We do know that right now, Dad is doing well and enjoying life. You can't take the smile off of his face when he sees his Grandson, and there isn't a moment in this world I would trade when it's just him and I spending time together. Life is good.
The story of David beating Goliath is no longer just a story I heard in Sunday School, no, instead this story is one of an underdog, one of a man with all the statistics against him, overcoming the odds and allowing his faith to be much bigger than any fear.
Continue the prayers, as we continue fighting to BTHO Brain Cancer!
Monday, June 8, 2015
20 Months. Dad Update 6/8/2015
I just realized it's been a while since I've posted any updates on Dad- which can really mean only one thing, things are stable. Stable is GOOD!
Our last MRI did not indicate any growth and even more of a confirmation that the imaging from the MRI is the result of scar tissue from surgery and radiation treatment. We are so incredibly blessed.
June 5, 2015 marked 20 months since Dad's diagnosis. I go back to that cold October day so many times and remember the statistics we were given- 14.6 months with standard care and treatment. 14.6 months. My heart immediately sank.
But, here we are 20 months post diagnosis, and we continue to look forward in life. We know there are upcoming chemo treatments and MRI's, but for right now we are enjoying each day with Dad.
We have another round of chemotherapy starting in a couple of weeks, followed by an appointment with Dad's oncologist- from there we will determine when our next MRI will take place. Until then, we try to live each day as normal as possible and be so thankful for each moment together.
Yesterday, as we spent some time in the pool with my 5 month old nephew, I looked around and couldn't help but be so incredibly thankful for these last 20 months. I looked around and saw Dad enjoying the beautiful day, Mom taking lots of pictures of my nephew's first pool day, and my two sisters just enjoying life, and I realized that even it if all changes tomorrow, what an absolute blessing it's all been.
Asking for continued prayers, as we continue fighting to BTHO Brain Cancer!
Our last MRI did not indicate any growth and even more of a confirmation that the imaging from the MRI is the result of scar tissue from surgery and radiation treatment. We are so incredibly blessed.
June 5, 2015 marked 20 months since Dad's diagnosis. I go back to that cold October day so many times and remember the statistics we were given- 14.6 months with standard care and treatment. 14.6 months. My heart immediately sank.
But, here we are 20 months post diagnosis, and we continue to look forward in life. We know there are upcoming chemo treatments and MRI's, but for right now we are enjoying each day with Dad.
We have another round of chemotherapy starting in a couple of weeks, followed by an appointment with Dad's oncologist- from there we will determine when our next MRI will take place. Until then, we try to live each day as normal as possible and be so thankful for each moment together.
Yesterday, as we spent some time in the pool with my 5 month old nephew, I looked around and couldn't help but be so incredibly thankful for these last 20 months. I looked around and saw Dad enjoying the beautiful day, Mom taking lots of pictures of my nephew's first pool day, and my two sisters just enjoying life, and I realized that even it if all changes tomorrow, what an absolute blessing it's all been.
Asking for continued prayers, as we continue fighting to BTHO Brain Cancer!
Tuesday, May 19, 2015
Scars. Dad Update 5/19/2015
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!
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!
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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