Plans + Steps: A Health Update

 “A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.” 

~ Proverbs 16:9

Plans and steps have been kind of strange words for me lately.

I always thought of these years of older kids or even post-kid-raising as full of potential. I had lots of ideas. Lots of dreams. Lots of plans. I was so content and grateful to be at home full-time when the kids were little. I tried never to take that for granted. But as the nest continued to empty I just really thought I’d have a lot of opportunities outside the home ahead when things slowed down within. And maybe I do. But it’s been a struggle lately to put one foot in front of the other. 

Literally. I am struggling to walk these days. And this is a new turn in my health status. Early this summer I woke one day with pain in my right knee. I didn’t do anything to hurt it or cause a problem. It was just suddenly painful one morning. After a few appointments and scans the doctors determined that I had a complex tear of my meniscus. It didn’t make sense. I haven’t exactly been out doing anything super athletic or rigorous. But I was experiencing some pretty good pain in my right knee and unexplained or not, it was debilitating. 

An MRI showed that I not only had a complex tear of the meniscus, but also that I have significant loss of cartilage and the knee is in a serious degenerative situation. 

I have never had knee issues. Why now? Well, it’s a pretty well known fact that taking the estrogen blocking drugs I take to fight my cancer happen to also cause significant joint pain and deterioration. We need estrogen to keep things healthy and working right in our bodies—Everything from our skin and hair to our brains and organs to our joints and bones. I can release the skin and hair stuff, but the other body parts and functions are pretty important. I’m in a crazy catch 22 of sorts. My cancer is estrogen fed, so we have to block it best we can, but I am incurring some significant side effects because of this blocking. See what I mean? It’s a little tricky. 

Early in July, an orthopedic doctor gave me a cortisone shot and that helped immeasurably. It provided great relief right away and I was able to navigate some fun trips and travel through the summer with the pain mostly under control.  

Unfortunately, in early August, the cortisone wore off and the pain came back. Even worse. And now, strangely enough, it was in both knees. Same thing as before—all of a sudden it hit me and since it's return even walking has been a daily challenge.  Especially early in the day. Getting out of bed is the hardest. Once I'm moving a little I can walk so it looks almost normal, but there's still a good bit of constant pain. I feel like I'm suddenly about 85 years old. My dad has knee issues and is looking at a TKR (total knee replacement). Maybe together we can work some kind of father-daughter deal. Funny, not funny.

We haven’t imaged the left knee yet, but I am assuming it is the same issue. Scans and appointments will take place soon. 

So now I am the owner of two bad knees and I am at loss for next steps. The doctors are also a little at a loss. I am meeting with several, but there’s this weird bridging that isn’t always clear between oncology and orthopedics. We need to address both concerns simultaneously. Surgery or a total knee replacement would mean stopping my cancer treatment for a while. The treatments which seem to be keeping my metastatic cancer sleepy, So, as you can imagine, halting this seems a pretty big risk. As much as the cortisone shot helped, that is only a quick fix, and can’t be used more than a couple of times before it begins to add to the problem. So it really is nothing more than a flimsy type of bandaid.

The diagnosis of cancer in my bones and lymph nodes has been a lot to deal with. The heaviness of my worry over cancer’s progression feels often like it is beginning to just flatten me. I am not myself. I don’t feel like myself. I realize that social media paints a different picture. Let’s just all agree that social media does that for most everyone. But the truth is, I am struggling big time trying to carry this load. I know Jesus carries it for me, but it still requires me to continually hand it over and remind myself that He has it and He has me. It is a daily talking to myself and a constant taking of myself to the foot of His cross.  

It was one thing dealing with the loss of my clean bill of health, but now I feel like I am in yet another state of loss as my mobility and independence feel threatened. 

The things I was distracting myself with in these past couple of years are seemingly being stripped away. It is hard to care for our yard and gardens and chickens and home and family and myself with what’s happening to my knees. And I fear there’s no end. I fear this is the way it is going to be. We don’t suddenly heal from degenerative issues. And, I’ll be honest, the distractions have been really, really helpful. Nothing helps me more with anxiety or fear then going out to my yard and digging in the dirt or burning the dead brush from our woods. I know that might sound weird, but it’s how I am wired. These activities have been a cathartic kind of salvation for me. If I was stressed or dealing with something I went outside and I Did Things. Friends and family like to joke that I work like a man in our yard. I do. I did. Right now, I can’t. And it is kind of breaking my heart. 

And that’s the outside story. Inside we have some things for which to solve. We have stairs everywhere in our home. How am I going to continue to navigate this set up? Is it realistic? What if things get worse? I wake in the middle of the night with these questions coming at me like relentless, pelting rain. I sometimes feel absolutely suffocated by the fear and the what ifs. I have been living with those nasty what ifs since being diagnosed, but lately I am sitting with the “what nows.” What in the world do we do now?

And so I am asking you to pray with us and for us. I am asking you to stay on this journey. We are doing our very best to keep our eyes on our Good Shepherd and to keep placing our trust in His plan and His purpose. We are. It’s just that we feel pretty weak and weary these days as life isn’t looking like what we had hoped or planned. 

I assure you there’s much for which we are grateful. So much. It’s not all gloom and doom. I try to walk that line candidly and honestly with you, my friends. I want to be honest about the hard stuff, but I also want you to know it is my heart’s desire to find the the silver lining and to highlight the purpose in the pain. Not because I have to, but because I want to. I want to find the glimmer in this grave disappointment.

And so that is my main source of exercise and encouragement these days. I have specifically asked that the Lord would remove the “why me? why now?” feelings and give me only praise for His plan and His purpose. 

Maybe you know a little of what it is I write. Maybe you too have been in a similar place of wondering and waiting. A place of questions and concerns. A place of anxieties and unbelievable angst. Maybe the plan for your life is turning out a little different than you thought and hoped it might. There’s a million books out there on the subject, but only we can walk the personal roads of our own dashed dreams. 

So, pain or not, let’s keep walking. Let’s keep journeying together. Even if we can’t walk very well. Even if every step is fraught with fear or pain. Let’s keep going. Keep asking. Keep searching. Keep listening to the words of Jesus who has told us so many good things.

Like, “but He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. … ‘that is why, for Christ’s sake I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” 2 Corinthians 12: 9 + 10

Like, “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.” Isaiah 43:1

Like, “For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” ~ Jeremiah 29:11

Like, “The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” ~ Deuteronomy 31:8

And maybe my favorite in this season I’m in …

“Listen to me … you whom I have upheld since your birth, and have carried since you were born. Even to your old age and gray hairs I AM HE, I am He and I WILL carry you; I WILL sustain you and I WILL rescue you.” Isaiah 46:3-4

A Light in the Dark

Anyone else out there feeling some strange sense of relief that we are finally well into January? Feeling also a measure of guilt. A bit of a betrayer. Christmas came this year a little harder than hoped. For a few different reasons. 

One, It was the “off” year with our married kids so they wouldn’t be home for the holiday. That missing of kids at Christmas thing isn’t ever easy for any of us as parents. Even though we know it’s how it goes. Even though we are incredibly grateful for the wonderful in-law families provided our married children. We still miss them. Once someone said to me, “But, Jody, you have so many children, surely you don’t miss one or two.” Umm, No. That’s not quite how it works. I promise. Anyway, we know we need to share and we do. And we really try not to inadvertently put any kind of pressure on our kids in the process. Well, we try. 

On top of that, Rick and I both had the flu over Christmas. It crashed over me right in time for Christmas Eve. And made for quite a week. So that meant the kids who were planning to come the day after Christmas also could no longer come. Which meant no sweet grand baby girl under my Christmas tree this year. Plans derailed. Again, these things happen to all of us. I get it. But I didn’t like it. And I guess I just let it all get to me. 

So many people struggle in the holidays. In ways so much worse than some kid missing or flu getting. Loneliness and lack and sadness and sorrow can grow deeper when the rest of the world is rejoicing. I'm not sure I always got this or empathized very well, but this new season of life with cancer has marked me with a new understanding.

I’m not really sure I have words to explain how the holidays can feel for someone who has been given a statistical expiration date on the short side. I know I am not a statistic. I know God is in control of that date and all my days. He’s ordained them and knows the very number, but still, the weak, frail, human side of me flirts with the future in a not so nice way. And for some reason the holidays highlight this hesitation over my future.  I felt this way last year as it was my first Christmas stamped Stage Four and, I suppose, this year, it was much the same. Try as I did, I wasn’t able to completely combat or avoid it. 

There’s something so momentous and milestone-ish about a big holiday or a birthday or a brand new year. It's a clear marker of time. One Christmas to another Christmas. One year to another year. 2023 to 2024.  Resolutions and goals and Happy New Years. And all that “The Best is Yet to Come” stuff. All happening every time 12 months rolls around.  All of it feeling so sprightly pronounced. So brightly proclaimed. So big. 

I tried to keep it small. Manageable. Controlled and calm. But between the sadness and the sickness, I let it grow unmanageable and, most definitely, out of control. I found myself in a dark place. An angry place. An easily angered place. And though embarrassed this morning as I write, I confess, even a “poor me” kind of place. Pitiful.

I typically look on the bright side. I mostly try to find a silver lining and a sliver of hope. That eternal hallelujah in the hard. I try. But, is it okay to admit that doesn’t always happen as it should? As I want?

Maybe you have felt that way at times too. And wondered what’s wrong with you (with me)? 

Why can’t I get my emotional health together? 

Why can’t I pull myself up and out of this funk, this hole, this hurting.

Why is the darkness so dark? The anxiety so anxious? The sadness so sad? The struggle so real?

Is it a lack of gratitude? A lack of grace? A lack of grit? Or perhaps just a lack in general? And, by the way, if you weren't already spiraling downward, that kind of thinking will get you there really fast.

Is this how we all feel at some point, in some place, at some time? Maybe. 

Again, I’m embarrassed to admit it. I have so much for which to be thankful and grateful. So much. And I mostly keep that gratitude close by. So who am I to feel abandoned by God or doubt His goodness? Why am I so easily brought down? 

What is this weakness within me? 

But that is exactly it! There IS weakness within. Great weakness. And God knew that in my design. And He knows it in my day to day. And He sees it in my darkness when it comes screaming or seeping or crashing or creeping. He sees it. 

But, He doesn’t just know it and see it, He promises to meet it even in the very depths of my sorrowful soul.

He promises. And He proves true. Over and over and over again.

Psalm 139. I read it this morning and the words which I love and know well met me in a new and encouraging way.

“Even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.” (vs. 12)

My darkness. My sadness. My valley. It is nothing for Jesus and His light. Even the darkness will not be dark for Him. There is no place I can go too dark or too deep for my Savior. 

“If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, EVEN THERE your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.” (vs. 9-10)

Why? 

Because He, “created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb … My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I woven together in the depths of the earth. You saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” (vs.13-16)

I could go on and on with this chapter in Psalms. I encourage you to read it. Read it when you are in that pitiful place of poor me. Read it when the darkness feels too dark or the depths too deep or the sadness too sad. 

Read it when you feel weak. Alone. Angry. Afraid.

Do you know why this passage met me so poignantly this week? Because I had been in a dark place. Sometimes we must feel the dark before we can fully see the light. This is true in science, this is true in self. One makes the other better known. A symbiotic revealing which happens in this relationship. And because I have the light of Jesus within me, I cannot stay in the dark places of my soul, no matter how sad. I just can't. Even when I had selfishly decided to go ahead and let myself be depressed, I could feel the flicker of His light within. 

Oh, dear ones, it is a battle through and through. It is a digging in and most desperate place in the world of spiritual warfare. It is real. It is relentless. It is ruinous. And, I fear, in this God forsaking world, it is running rampant.

You can read all of the self-help books and make all of the most hope-filled new year’s resolutions, but none of it will make much a difference without knowing that Jesus is in the dark and in the depths right with us. The dark is not dark for Him.  Not one bit. 

“Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for YOU ARE WITH ME.” Psalm 23: 4

The flicker of this reminder was exactly what was needed to dispel the dark. Nothing else was going to work. No amount of bootstrap pulling up or happy face putting on or bright side looking at. 

Only. Only. Only the light flicker and finding of Jesus standing, sitting, weeping, wrestling … and being with me in the dark. 

"I am The Light of the World. 

Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, 

but will have the light of life."  ~ John 8:12

 

Instructions for Christmas

Decorating for Christmas is always one of my favorite things. And this year feels much the same, except I keep coming across notes tucked into my holiday storage boxes.

Last year, after Christmas, as I spent extra time taking things down and putting them away I was facing another round of scans in early January. Scans do something unkind to a stage 4 cancer patient’s mind. Scans mess with us. I’ve always been a person wired to hope for, and even, expect the best, but these past couple of years have introduced me to a new, more skeptical side of myself. Unfortunately, at times, a more anxious side. I still hope for and pray for and ask for the best, but I have this self-protective thing in me which, I notice, on occasion, attempts to manage my expectations and keep in check my slightly Pollyanna-ish personality. 

So those scans had me on edge last January. And as I put away my Christmas decor after the holidays I started writing out detailed directions on how to install the garlands on the railings and the candles in the windows. I left written and typed out sheets of paper in the boxes before I stored them in our basement. I left diagrams just under the lids. I told myself it was to make it easier on myself next year, but if I had been completely honest, I would have admitted it was also for a "just in case" kind of scenario. Just in case 2023 happened to go awry. Just in case I wasn’t able to be the person to hang that confusing garland on the front porch or place those electric candles in the right windows. Just in case. We will leave it at that. 

Super dramatic, right? I agree. And I really try to stay away from that kind of thinking, except I have a terminal cancer diagnosis and so sometimes that luxury affords me not.

Trust me, my attitude is very positive for a girl wearing these kind of statistical shoes and fighting this kind of undignified diagnosis. Most of the time I have ridiculously high hopes and every reason to believe I am going to keep fighting this disease for many, many years. But, as I mentioned above, there’s this new, slightly more skeptical, side with which I’m constantly confronted. I have statistics. I have too many stories of stage 4 patients. I know things. I see things. I fear things.

This is what living with stage four cancer sometimes looks like. The part you might not notice. So I'm telling you. 

And the mother and wife and woman in me wants to be ready. She doesn’t want her family to throw down that garland in frustration because, “only mom knows how to really make it fit the space.” She doesn’t want the dining room tree ornaments to end up on the family room tree or the stockings to be hung in the wrong order or the wreaths to be on the wrong doors. (gasp!) She doesn’t want a holiday season to come and not be well celebrated because, “only mom knows how to…”  I fully realize that all sounds pretty silly in the face of  cancer... or really anything. I know none of that stuff is a truly big deal, but in some weird way, for me, it was. Is.  

And I know when the day comes where I may be sick or weak or weary or (hopefully) old, I will want my family to carry on with all the courage and creativity that I’ve spent decades trying to pour into them—cancer or no cancer. 

Because life is brief. There are no guarantees. And as mothers we never know what lessons have really been learned. What traditions will be carried on. What memories made. What things remembered. We can’t imagine not being the one to wrap the presents or choose the yearly ornaments or plan the menu. We can’t fathom a day where we won’t be in the kitchen baking cookies and barking orders and checking on the turkey.

But for all of us, sooner or later, that day will, indeed, come.

Last year as I removed the ornaments and folded the stockings and wound up the garland and lights, I allowed the King of Lies to take hold of my very human, very fragile, heart. I allowed The Liar to whisper what ifs into my uneasy ears. He scared me. Of course he did. He is really good at his job. 

And, somehow, I thought if I wrote out directions and detailed a lot of drawings, I would be able to silence his insidious plans to sabotage my peace.

But he is a liar. And those were lies. And satan isn’t in charge anyway. Not one bit. He wants to keep me unsteady and unable. He wants desperately to make me incapable and ineffectual. He’d like nothing more to shut this girl down well before cancer does.

It’s a truly weird balance as we consider the brevity of our days—each one of us—and yet, place our full confidence in the perfect timing of Jesus. I know. I don't get all of it either. But it bears considering.

And that’s why I so desperately need the Truth of Jesus. Every day. Every hour. I think of the hymn I heard my grandparents sing so often growing up. They sang it a lot. I think because as older, wiser people, they knew. They got it.  Like I know now. Like I (mostly) get it:

“I need Thee every hour

Most gracious Lord

No tender voice like Thine

Can peace afford

I need Thee, O I need Thee

Every hour I need Thee

O bless me now, my Savior

I come to Thee.”

Annie S. Hawks, 1872

I don’t really fault that Jody from early last January. She likes her ducks in a row. She always has. Rick and I laughed a little as we pulled out those storage boxes this year. He was actually pretty impressed with my uber organization. The man loves a good diagram and chart. Trust me, it’s not easy to impress a #1 on the enneagram when it comes to organization. But impressed, he was.

Speaking of Rick, he’s been amazing this year in helping me get the house ready. Though he does a ton around our house daily, the holiday decorating was always my thing and he mostly just cheered me on and enjoyed the end result. But this year, he didn’t hesitate to jump in. He has been like my own personal 6 foot 3 1/2 inch elf. It’s been fun and he’s been a fantastic help. But, please, for his sake, no Buddy the Elf jokes! =)

But this morning as I sit here in this first week of advent and think about my many feeble attempts to be Christmas ready and prepared, I have to kind of laugh at myself. A decorated and ready house is so incredibly insignificant in life. But a dedicated and ready heart is what this season is truly about. It’s eternal life.

It’s not about preparing my rooms, but preparing room for my Savior and the celebration of His birth. 

In the words of Isaac Watts’ famous 1719 Christmas carol, 

Joy to the world, the Lord is come

Let Earth receive her King

Let every heart prepare Him room

And Heaven and nature sing.

You probably know that carol well, but did you know Watts wrote this hymn based on Psalm 98? 

Sing to the Lord a new song,
for he has done marvelous things;


his right hand and his holy arm
have worked salvation for him.

The Lord has made his salvation known
and revealed his righteousness to the nations. 

He has remembered his love
and his faithfulness to Israel;


all the ends of the earth have seen
the salvation of our God. 

Shout for joy to the Lord, all the earth,
burst into jubilant song with music; 

make music to the Lord with the harp, with the harp and the sound of singing, 

with trumpets and the blast of the ram’s horn—
shout for joy before the Lord, the King. 

Let the sea resound, and everything in it,
the world, and all who live in it. 

Let the rivers clap their hands,
let the mountains sing together for joy; 

let them sing before the Lord,
for he comes to judge the earth.


He will judge the world in righteousness
and the peoples with equity.

What a beautiful psalm full of resounding seas and clapping rivers and singing mountains. As a lover of nature, this resonates with me deeply. I get it. But, dear ones, we cannot ignore that final verse. “For He comes to judge the earth. He will judge the world in righteousness and the peoples with equity.”  He surely will. As much as I'd prefer to focus on the pretty and bright things of Christmas, that day of reckoning is very much a reality. 

As much as we want to prepare our hearts for the sweet Baby Jesus who found no room in the inn, we must also consider what we are doing to prepare our hearts for the Righteous One who will return and who promises to judge. 

We must. 

Even at Christmas. 

Especially at Christmas.

Even when the images are pastoral and idyllic and so lovely, we must remember being ready has to do with so much more than our holiday preparations. Let all these wonderful details point us to the most important details of all -- our heart preparation. 

Joy to the World, the Lord is come.

Joy to the World, the Lord will come again. 

And the good news is we don’t need to do anything. Unlike with Santa, we don't have to be good enough for Jesus. That's why He came. For us. Out of love. For us. We don't need typed out instructions or detailed drawings, we need only bow before The One who truly does make heaven and nature sing and worship Him.

Every Reason

This afternoon I have my next PET/CT scan. It's been 6 months since the last one. I had been doing them every 3 months, but my doctor--in the hope to give me a break--pushed this scan a little further since things looked stable.  In the interim, we've monitored in other ways. I have every reason to believe this scan will again show my cancer as stable.

Every reason to believe it, but of course anxiety still knocks at the door.

Every reason to believe my doctor knows what she's doing, but I still wrestle with the what ifs. 

Every reason to trust Jesus holds my future, but still fear rises and takes my breath away. 

Every reason ... and, yet, that doesn't mean I don't feel the weight of this disease and it's daily burden of never ending treatment and consuming thought.

So, as is often the case, this morning's devotional passage met me right in this very place of struggle --desiring to hope + trust God, but still feeling anxious and unsure. 

Psalm 42

"My tears have been my food day and night, while men say to me all day long, 'Where is your God?'

"Why are you downcast, o my soul? 

Who so disturbed within me?

Put your hope in God,

For I will YET praise Him, my Savior and my God."

"My soul is downcast within me;

Therefore I will remember you ...

Deep calls to deep 

In the roar of your waterfalls;

All your waves and breakers have swept over me."

"I say to God my Rock, why have you forgotten me?

Why must I go about mourning, oppressed by the enemy? My bones suffer mortal agony as my foes taunt me saying 'where is your God?'"

"Put your hope in God for I will YET praise Him."

Can you just hear and see the wrestling of David as he writes this Psalm? Tears. Downcast and disturbed, even feeling forgotten ... but I will YET praise you. I will remember you, God. I will remember your character and who you are and what you've promised. 

Following Jesus doesn't mean all the human emotions just easily fall away and all is okay. No, it means we have a place to be held when we fall and things aren't okay. A place to go to when we are anxious, unsure, afraid, and yes, even angry. 

Jesus can give us a peace which passes all understanding, but He can also allow us to wrestle and wrangle with some very hard things in this life. Nowhere in His word does he promise an easy existence on this earth. In fact, He is pretty clear, “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

And so today I'll scan at 2pm and then we will wait for the results in these next couple of days. 

As always, I would sure love your prayers. 

How can you specifically pray?

For clear and stable scans.

For my eyes to be on Jesus.

For my family. This is about all of us. 

For some tough side effects from current meds.

For a supernatural strengthening of heart + spirit as I am on this road for the rest of my life. 

And to "Take heart!" Because Jesus has surely "overcome the world!"

Grateful, Jody 🩷

We've Raised Awareness, Now it's Time to Raise the Bar

As "PINKtober" begins its final week, I’d like to share why this isn't necessarily an easy month for some women with stage 4 breast cancer--this month where we see the breast cancer pink ribbon on everything from tennis apparel to trash cans ... from police cars to every form of packaging. 

I've always been on board with raising awareness and heaven knows I love a good event. But friends, I've been struggling in the past weeks as everywhere I turn I see pink. I would really love a chance to help others see, maybe not red, but just a little more clearly. 

It's hard to explain--I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it--but allow me a minute to at least attempt what it feels like to sit on the other side of this not so rosy line. I’m still processing, but I’ve spent a few weeks learning about why women with stage 4 breast cancer aren’t exactly excited about all aspects of the PINKtober campaign. It’s not just the constant pink reminders of our incurable disease, but it's, more so, for many, some misleading messaging and, unfortunately, maybe even the misallocation and misrepresentation of funds raised. 

Yes, the pink ribbon campaign has done amazing things to raise awareness and dollars, but most people do not realize how little of that includes stage 4 breast cancer. The percentage is in debate--Some say less than 2% ... others claim it's now risen closer to 7%--But, regardless, 2% or 7% going toward research for stage 4 breast cancer is simply not enough. 

Metastatic Breast Cancer (MBC), also called stage 4, is the ONLY breast cancer which kills and yet only a tiny percentage is allocated for this research. 

Read that again.

Furthermore, 1/3 of women who "beat" early stage breast cancer will at some point in their life become stage 4/metastatic. Yes, you read that correctly, ONE-THIRD. 

Like me.

No one really likes to hear my story because it doesn't fit any of the things we know or like to believe. 12 years ago I was "early detected" and “barely stage one." I had pretty minor cancer and, yet, chose aggressive treatment. Did all the things. Fought like a warrior. Was told I was "cured" and had "beaten it."  Was called a "star patient" and assured because of my early detection and fighter mentality I WAS "the poster girl for beating breast cancer.” I remember my oncologist saying early on, “Jody, you’ll be just fine. You’ve nothing to worry about.” 

His words sometimes haunt me. 

I had less than 1% chance for this beast to reoccur. 

But, against all the odds, it did. It reocurred.

Now as a woman with MBC (stage 4) I will never "be cured" or "ring the bell" or "kick cancer's ass." Nope. Never. And so all that warrior and battle and victory talk is tricky for women like me. The messaging in this month makes it sound like if we (only) fight hard enough we can achieve victory. The problem with this is that the opposite then also feels true when we lose--and those of us with stage 4 will lose. “According to the American Cancer Society (ACS), the 5-year survival rate after diagnosis for people with stage 4 breast cancer is 28%.” Another not so gentle way of saying that is 72% of women diagnosed stage 4 will not live past five years. 

So what does that mean in the face of all this pink? We didn't fight hard enough? I don’t know. At best, it's confusing. I do know our main hope (now) is not going to be curing cancer or kicking its ass, no, it’s going to be buying time and praying for more treatment options to give us more years. That takes research. That research takes dollars. 

In the meantime we hope to prolong life.

And that is exactly why I don’t “look” like a stage 4 patient. That’s a topic for another post, but I know this confuses some people. "Well, gosh, Jody’s busy planning events and posting photos of her chickens and she has all of her hair. Seems like she’s doing great. She looks good. Surely she can’t be THAT sick." Well, it’s because, for women like me, it is no longer a sprint to be healed, it’s a marathon to stay alive. It’s the long game. We strategically are given medicine and treatments to keep the cancer at bay and keep us living life. At some point cancer will outsmart my current treatment and those meds will fail me. And at some point, I’m sure you’ll see me looking a whole lot more like a stage 4 patient. I know that’s a lot to process. I’ve had conversations with many of you. It doesn’t make sense. It’s easy to forget (for you maybe, not for me). But trust me on this, I know what I’m talking about. There isn't a silver bullet when it comes to stage 4. MY PLAN is for the treatments available to work well for me and give me LOTS and LOTS of years, but I have learned too much, I know if that's what happens, I will not be the statistic, I will be the outlier.

Sometimes learning things is hard.

I am also learning to understand why PINKtober isn’t an easy thing for women with MBC. As this has, unfortunately, become a big part of my life now, I spend a good amount of time connecting with others walking this same walk.

I'm in several (Facebook) groups with thousands of women with MBC. I read their stories and struggles every day.  I cannot explain to you the pain and sadness. Women who are alone and unable to work. Women who can't pay for treatment and have to fight with insurance companies. Women who bounce from one brutal treatment to another knowing it will never end. They will always be in treatment. Forever. Women, literally, at the end of their rope. Heartbreaking doesn't begin to explain it. There is nothing festive or celebratory or rosy-pink about it. I don’t really put myself in this category because I AM still living a pretty normal life. Yes, lots of side-effects and, yes, lots of mental/emotional/anxiety battles, but also lots of wonderful stuff too. I’m grateful. And lucky.

But, I don't have to tell you how hard it is for the women who struggle to see companies using the pink ribbon as a marketing ploy to tug at heart strings and increase sales. And, yet, we know that's exactly what happens in some cases. Certainly not all cases, but in some. It feels like gross commercialization. At times it’s hard to see some of the flippant, casual, and sometimes crude, comments made and posted. Those can hit differently when you're fighting for your life. It’s also agonizing to see all the hype and excitement over pink bows and pink socks and pink tennis skirts for a fun-feel-good-event. I once wore the pink tennis skirt and played in the pink tennis tournaments. Now, as stage 4, I am having so much joint pain and fatigue I can’t imagine I’ll be out on the tennis courts ever again. Instead, I brush by my tennis bag every single day when I walk through my garage and have to wonder.

I’m not saying it’s all wrong. Like I stated earlier, there are some great things which have been achieved in raising awareness. We are certainly ALL AWARE.  I’m just saying there’s more to the story. We need to be more aware of asking the question-- WHY aren’t more of these funds raised going toward the breast cancer which kills women? Especially knowing that 1/3 of all women who have "beaten" it, will progress to stage 4 --even the very best case scenarios, like me.

Early detection and awareness are great, but, I was both early detected and (more than) aware and there is not one single doctor who can explain why my breast cancer returned. Not one. Two of my three oncologists didn’t believe it. One of them told me to “go home and not worry about it,” even after the scans showed lesions. Crazy, I know.

Last week, out of my own wrestling, I asked the question to the specific Metastatic/Stage 4 groups of women I am in on Facebook. I simply asked this --

"Why is PINKtober hard for so many of you?"

I received an unbelievable amount of stories and responses to that question. Hundreds, in fact. Most all of them explaining that they "dreaded" this month and felt "assaulted" by the misrepresentation and “gross commercialization” of the pink ribbon. These are women who are in the darkest, deepest trenches of breast cancer. Women fighting for a few extra years of life and dealing with one awful treatment after another knowing there won't be an end ... until there is.

I think their voices need to be heard. 

One woman in this group shared an article she had written on why more stage 4 research MUST be the goal: 

“While the pink ribbon is well-known for representing the fight against early-stage breast cancer, it is not inclusive of stage IV.

It’s a sad fact that today, nearly everyone knows someone who’s had breast cancer. Yet there’s one fact not everyone knows: 

30% of people with “cured” early-stage breast cancer who’ve “beaten” the disease will eventually see it return as stage IV, also known as advanced or metastatic breast cancer (MBC). 

That means the disease has spread to other parts of the body, a diagnosis that carries an average life expectancy of around 36 months. While the average survival rate of a breast cancer diagnosis is 90% over five years, that statistic tumbles for metastatic breast cancer, dipping to 29% over five years.

Many women with metastatic breast cancer will live only a handful of years. But about one-third will live at least five years after their diagnosis. And there are outliers who live for 10-15 years after such a diagnosis.

MBC is the only form of breast cancer that kills. 

Yet while MBC claims the lives of 115 people in the U.S. daily, less than 7% of US breast cancer funds raised go toward researching new treatments for it. 

Worldwide, more than 685,000 people die of MBC annually. 

Those shocking statistics explain why more and more people are embracing a reimagined breast-cancer-awareness ribbon that goes beyond pink — there’s no surviving or “beating” MBC, just buying time via treatment. 

The pink ribbon has done a lot of good. It has reminded people to get screened, and it has helped to raise a huge amount of funds. But at the same time, it has been used to raise money for purely corporate pockets, including the pockets of several prominent breast cancer charities. 

It has become a symbol of the idea that everything will be OK, breast cancer is only an annoyance, just a year out of your life, and you'll go on happily from there. The pink ribbon as a brand is a misrepresentation of the truth of breast cancer. 

And, most importantly, it is not a cure.

What the ribbon should represent is the need to fund medical research in order to save lives.”

Pink is not a cure.

Research can and has saved lives.

With more and more new treatment options, patients like me have a better chance to live longer.

Thus a tricolor ribbon, for metastatic breast cancer, aims to raise awareness for the need to direct funding toward the development of life-extending treatments. 

In it, green represents the triumph of spring over winter, life over death; teal symbolizes healing and spirituality; and a thin pink-ribbon overlay signifies metastatic cancer that originated in the breast.”

Dear friends, please don’t view this post as sour grapes. Sure, I have some pretty sour moments, but mostly, I do have a lot to be very thankful for. I spend most of my days really trying to focus on the beautiful and the blessings of each day. Those of you who know me, know that my life is truly in God's hands. I trust Him with it. Completely. But I also have felt a prompting to go ahead and share some of my newly gained perspective. I wish I didn't know so much. I wish this wasn't my story. But it is and I believe that our stories and our journeys and our lessons learned are meant to be shared.

 We've raised awareness, now it is time to raise the bar. 

One last thing--there's an organization which does use its dollars raised for MBC research and funding. 

Please check out the METAvivor organization. METAVIVOR.ORG

Spring [Reclaiming February]

Spring. How early it visits in the South. Might be my very favorite thing about living here.🌱

People like to declare, “The change, it seemed to happen overnight!”

But I kind of disagree. 

It really does not happen “overnight.”

There’s work involved. 

Most people just don’t know how to watch for it. 

Early spring requires a careful looking. 

A stopping. 

A noticing of the small and almost imperceptible.

Maybe the loudest pops of fuschia and bright yellows do explode seemingly while we sleep, but first, they must begin with the tiniest buds of pale green. 

Almost invisible—unless willing to pay close attention. 

We won’t notice them in our rushing. 

And though I love the bold drama of a tree in bloom, I love even more those baby buds so hard to see. 

BECAUSE—

That is actually where hope is truly found.

It’s easy to believe warm weather is fast approaching when staring into the face of sunny daffodils or hot pink saucer magnolias. 

That’s not hope, that’s hard evidence. 

AND — 

Faith isn’t seeing and then believing, it’s believing before seeing. 

Or it isn’t really faith. 

“Faith shows the reality of what we hope for; it is the evidence of things we cannot see.”  ~ Hebrews 11:1

I know we all long for the surety of full bloom. We gaze at those frothy flowers, and, with confidence, proclaim it a beautiful tree and more to come. 

BUT —

Is it possible that Jesus wants us first to trust Him? 

To trust Him for what He’s doing? 

For what He’s bringing? 

For what He has promised?

I’ll admit, this is hard for me. I like the evidence. I like proof, clarity, results!

But this year God has held me in a place requiring me to stop and look more closely. 

To stop and look and have faith. 

The evidence of His love has been a bit harder to see. I’ve had to look more intently for those little buds of blessing—for those tiny gifts of grace. 

Yes, it has been challenging, but it has also been faith building. 

If your trees aren’t yet dressed in bright colors, I encourage you to stop for a minute and look more closely. 

Have faith. Have hope.

See His love.🌸

#reclaimingfebruary #HisLove #new🌱

Reclaiming February

 

Happy February, friends. I’ll confess, I was a little hesitant to turn the calendar page this morning. Just the month’s name holds a good bit of PTSD. A year ago, February went drastically off the rails at our house.

It was February 3rd when I received the MBC diagnosis. Normally I love this month. It holds the birthdays of both our oldest AND our youngest (February 5th). It holds Valentines Day and sweet declarations of love. It holds the slightest beginnings of spring (at least here in the south it does). But last year I could barely hold it together as our world rocked with news of cancer’s return and spread. For me, February felt shot to pieces. Cupid and his arsenal of little arrows mocked me. The entire 28 days were a blur as I began digging out from my diagnosis and forming a medical plan, a battle plan and a brand new not-so-quite-so-shiny plan.

So on this first day of February 2023 I’m taking back the month. I’m reclaiming that which felt obliterated and overwhelming. In this “month of love,” my original idea was to share each day “something I love,” but as I was thinking through my plan this morning it occurred to me that’s not really it at all.

Reclaiming this month has little to do with what I love, and everything to do with how God shows His love to me. How even in this first year of an incurable disease, He has, again and again, demonstrated His great, unconditional and incredible love for me. Some of you might roll your eyes and even argue—A cancer diagnosis doesn’t exactly sound like anyone’s version of a love letter. Nope, it sure doesn’t. But stick with me this month and I will hope to offer you real examples of what love looks like even in some pretty unlovely circumstances.

And so today, it feels only right to begin my February Reclamation with Jesus and what He demonstrated for me on the cross. “But God shows His love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Romans 5:8.

I didn’t earn it. I don’t deserve it. But He came and He chose to bear my sin and become the ultimate sacrifice. He did it for me. For you too. Nothing says true love like someone laying down their life for another. “There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” John 15:13.

Today, while working in the woods I thought I’d try to find something that resembled a cross for today’s photo. And can I just tell you it was crazy—everywhere I looked I was finding crosses. My favorite is the two roots with one growing over the other. 1st photo.

I am not sure I have it in me to post every day. I’m not sure YOU have it in YOU to read my post every day!Lol. So some days you might see my stuff pop up, but I’m taking the pressure off the every day posting.

This isn’t just about me though. I’d love you to also stop and think about how God has shown his love for you. Go ahead and begin listing the examples. I bet, like all my crosses in the woods, you’ll be suprised.

Sometimes we just have to look.

Psalm 18 and A Deep Breath

Taking a deep breath tonight, dear friends. PET scan results showed up in My Chart late today. I’ll meet tomorrow with my doctor for more details, but from what I can surmise we are seeing “a favorable response” with my treatment. There has been a notable decrease in uptake and shrinking of several spots in my bones and lymph nodes.

This is a great direction! Great news.

God gets this glory. All of it.

I told my girlfriend group today two things are going on in this battle … (and, believe me, it’s a battle).

1. These scans cause great exhaustion mentally and emotionally. I’m spent. I feel like a boulder has been literally lifted from my back this evening.

BUT …

2. The scans (and the management of this disease) continue to lead me closer and closer to Jesus. Not because I’m all of a sudden super spiritual, but because I’m desperate for Him in a way I’ve never been before. Desperate. He is opening my eyes every day—Through scripture, through the words of others, through constant prayer, through His unexplainable peace. He is leading and He is strengthening. And though cancer is most bitter, there is a sweetness in this closeness to Jesus. It is not the silver lining, it is the very gold.

Psalm 18. If you get a chance, I invite you to go find a Bible and read it. Close your eyes and see the imagery set before you — the vivid images of God fighting for me … fighting for you.

God swooping in to deliver and defend. See Him reaching down and pulling us out of deep waters. Hear his battle cry! Watch the earth tremble! Imagine the blast of rebuking breath from his nostrils! See him soar on the wings of the wind! Taste the victory.

This is battle.

And He is on our side. He is. He is. He is.

“He reached down from on high and took hold of me;

he drew me out of deep waters.” Psalm 18:16

Tremble - The Worship Initiative

TREMBLE

Peace, bringing it all to peace

The storm surrounding me

Let it break at Your name

Still, call the sea to still

The rage in me to still

Every wave at Your name

Jesus, Jesus, You make the darkness tremble

Jesus, Jesus, You silence fear

Jesus, Jesus, You make the darkness tremble

Jesus, Jesus

Breathe, then call these bones to live

Call these lungs to sing

Once again, I will praise

Jesus, Jesus, You make the darkness tremble

Jesus, Jesus, You silence fear

Jesus, Jesus, You make the darkness tremble

Your name is a light that the shadows can't deny

Your name cannot be overcome

Your name is alive forever lifted high

Your name cannot be overcome

Jesus, Jesus, You make the darkness tremble

Resolutions & Results: Trust

I’ve found myself this week in a bit of a holding pattern. As everyone has been declaring their 2023 New Year’s words and resolutions, I’ve felt quiet. Not quick or sure what to say. In fact, not eager to declare or proclaim anything much at all. 

After contemplating my strange hesitation all day today I’m pretty sure the reason is that, without even realizing it, I’m waiting for tomorrow. Tomorrow I have another set of scans scheduled. Tomorrow we will measure changes against my previous PET scan last fall. This is definitely not my favorite kind of week.

And it is this worry-ridden pattern that I’m finding myself all tangled up in—Declare nothing until I have some updated information. No resolutions without first some results. Zero January commitments without a concrete picture of what is currently happening inside my body.

As soon as this bit of self-understanding began to unveil itself today, I knew it was time to give my own shoulders a good shaking. This is not how it is supposed to work. I don’t want to be living in 3 month increments from scan to scan. I have never lived like this, why do I believe I should be doing so now? Everything dependent on the next scan’s results. No. No. No.

It’s true, I don’t know the future. I don’t know what these results will be and I don’t know what this year will bring. That is definitely a more pronounced way of thinking these days. But did I really have any guarantees in all of the other Januarys of my 54 years? No. I just thought I did. 

But this year has been different. If I’m honest I’ll tell you that it was kind of a rough weekend and I really wasn’t prepared for it to be so. I didn’t see the attack coming. I’ve always loved the New Year. Always loved to celebrate and anticipate and participate. I’ve always welcomed it with wide open arms and heartfelt expectation. Always. Except this year the New Year’s Eve party felt painful. 

The new year didn’t feel happy, it felt scary. I'm sure that’s true not just for me, but for others out there as well--your own diagnoses, broken relationships, shattered lives, rebellious children, lost jobs, missed loved ones, dashed dreams, and failed plans. 

When you’re not feeling whole, holidays can feel pretty lousy. I’m learning a little more about that these days. All weekend I was seeing and hearing those little New Year’s slogans like, “Cheers to the New Year!” and “The best is yet to come!” And though I tried to rally, I found myself only wanting to run fast from the phrases. 

Because what if it’s not? What if my best years are already behind me? What if. What if. What if. I know what my diagnosis says these years ahead can be, and so why would I ever want to usher them in? Why welcome something so unwanted? What exactly is the future when you are feeling unbelievably fragile?

Now, I realize that last paragraph is fraught with some pretty miserable stuff. Maybe I should have started this post with some kind of disclaimer. But I think it’s possibly important to be aware that not everyone feels like champagne bubbles and fireworks when occasions call for them. I had a little taste of that this year. It was hard to swallow. 

But, you know what’s amazing? Even in these really raw feelings and vulnerable moments, God continues to show up. He continues to show Himself in a myriad of ways. He continues to use others to speak to me. He continues to remind me of His faithfulness and His power and His mercy and, mostly, of His great love.

 Just yesterday when I was sharing some of my feelings with my oldest daughter, Emily, she ministered to me. I told her how hard that phrase “the best is yet to come” has been for me to hear. She stopped me and said, “Mom, but YOU KNOW the best IS yet to come. We will someday be with Jesus in heaven and THAT is the best to come.”  And she is so right. So right. So wise. So spot on. It was like a switch flipped and my darkness literally lifted. What inexpressible joy to have your child remind you that the best years will be our years with Jesus. Honestly, does anything else even matter in the context of eternity? 

I know some of you, on occasion, find little scraps of encouragement in my words. I’m so glad you tell me that. But I want you to know, it’s hard. I’m in the hard. I’m in a fight. A battle. Every day. Every single day. So much of it right now is mental and fear related.  And though God keeps showing Himself to me, I still have some really weak and scary days. I won’t ever lie to you about that. I won’t ever pretend it’s all easy just because I’m a Christ follower. Being a Christian means I have great hope in life, but it doesn’t mean life will be easy. I am learning every day what it means to trust Jesus with the good and with the hard. 

And so tonight as I prepare to think about yet another PET Scan tomorrow, I want to boldly share with you my resolution for 2023 —

To trust Jesus more. 

That’s it. Nothing fancy. Nothing elaborate. Just more trust. I’m not asking to better understand his plan for me.  I’m not asking for more clarity. I’m not asking for more certainty. I’m just asking for more TRUST. 

Trust. Yes, I guess that’s also going to settle the question of my word for 2023 --- Trust. 

“You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you.” Isaiah 26:3

“The Lord is my strength and my shield; in Him my heart trusts, and I am helped; my heart exults, and with my song I give thanks to Him.” Psalm 28:7

“And those who know your name put their trust in you, for you, O Lord, have not forsaken those who seek you.” Psalm 9:10

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make straight your paths.” Proverbs 3:5-6