Yesterday Brad and I met with Dr. Awesome to discuss my upcoming surgery. She was pleased with the shrinking tumor(s), and gave me a B+ in cancer-killing. A B+ is good, but I’ve always been a straight-A kinda girl. I am happy that I have eight more weeks to continue chemo and Herceptin (the non-chemo biological drug). I have that time to get to an A. I want this cancer to have a total and complete response to the treatment (an A+). I want there to be no evidence of cancer when she cuts me open on surgery day. I want my cancer to be the kind that responds to treatment and melts away.
This is important stuff. There is a correlation between how the cancer responds to the pre-surgical treatment and survival.
How’s that for gravity?
I had a tough time sleeping last night. Survival is a word that I have a hard time coming to terms with. There is only one side of that coin that I can handle. Right now, the coin toss is in mid-air; no one has told me which way it will land. God-willing, I will survive this cancer. Please, God, let me survive this cancer. Long life, happy life, wrinkled-all-over life, full life, healthy life, see-my-girls-grow-old life.
Most days I bump along in my routine, my new cancer normal, and I feel an appreciation for today. I feel a hope for tomorrow. And I work hard to shove the fear out of the way to find joy in every possible thing. Every so often, however, words like survival come on the scene and bring me to my knees. Cancer is hard: I remind myself that I have no control; I can only do today well.
Rejoice always. –1 Thessalonians 5:16
Please continue to link arms and walk alongside me in this journey. Specifically, please pray that the cancer would be reduced to nothing. It has shrunk a lot, but there is still measurable mass: bigger than the size of a marble and smaller than a ping pong ball.
Today, I am happy. My girls and I have a fun day planned. I am doing more than surviving today. I am living. We will have a great day.