Surviving

How do you calculate survivorship? From the time you first learned you had cancer? Or the date you had surgery to remove it? Or that wonderful day when treatments are finally finished?

And what if you get a second cancer? Does the time clock start over?

These are questions I've pondered with my friends. And I think we've determined that our survivorship began when we had surgery. I know my doctors considered me a survivor after that day.

But when can you consider yourself cancer-free? Or in remission? After 5 years? 10 years? And what constitutes a long-term survivor?

Honestly, is anyone ever truly "cancer-free"?

(I just discovered an amazing article that discusses all these questions: When Can I Say I Am a Breast Cancer Survivor?)

On February 20, 2014, the one-year anniversary of my diagnosis, I celebrated tentatively with a post called One Year In. I was happy, but still nervous. I couldn't wait to get to the five-year mark, at which point I thought I would really feel like a survivor. And then I'd be halfway to the ten-year mark when I figured I'd be home free.

Looking back, reading that post, I'm struck with the realization that I still celebrate my "cancerversary" the same way. I rejoice that I have another year post-cancer under my belt. I ruminate on the ways that my life is different now because of facing cancer. And I wonder how long I still have.

Today, I'm celebrating six years since my first surgery. It feels really good to be over halfway to ten! 

And yet, I know full well that cancer could rear its ugly head again at any time. It already did, almost 3 years ago. And what did that second cancer (NOT a metastasis) do to my survival status? My doctors have said over and over that those tiny tumors (yes, they found yet a third cancer in the cross-section of my lumpectomy) are not even worth worrying about. According to them, my triple-negative cancer 6 years ago was "the big one," and my survivorship keeps counting from that day.

But I can tell you that I also celebrate the years since my second cancer, and will be thrilled when I'm ten years out from that date, too. 

There's nothing like a life-threatening illness to make you feel like you're living on borrowed time. But . . . we're all living on borrowed time. The illness is just a reminder.

I recently told another survivor friend who is awaiting more tests: we know Who holds the future, and we know Who holds our hand¹ . . . but we can't help holding our breath while we wait.

However . . . here's another truth: God even holds our breath! In ancient Babylon, the Jewish official Daniel reminded King Belshazzer of "the God in whose hand is your breath."²

I find that super comforting. I don't have to hold my breath ~ because God does! I will keep breathing, surviving whatever comes my way, "all the days of my appointed time."³

However long my life may be,

He holds the schedule in His hand

And doles my days out graciously.

I trust His perfect plan.

¹"I Know Who Holds the Future," by Alfred B. Smith
²The Bible, Daniel 5:23 (ESV)
³The Bible, Job 14:14 (KJV)

Six Years Later

I've been writing letters today. And every time I wrote the date (2.20.19), my heart went back . . . back six years to the day when I first heard the words, "It's cancer."

I wrote in my journal on that date:

Well, I have breast cancer. There's just no good way to put it. Not the result we were expecting or hoping for. Even the doctors are surprised: a cancerous cyst. So now I face scans, surgery, chemo, radiation, and the pill. Not a pretty picture. Hard to tell the kids; hard to see them and Greg cry. I'm numb, scared, a little angry. But we'll trust God ~ and fight this hard.

I would not know until after the surgery that my cancer was triple-negative, not one of the hormonal ones that can be battled with "the pill" Tamoxifen. It would be even later before I learned that triple-negative cancer can be one of the more aggressive, harder-to-beat forms of breast cancer. 

But by God's grace, I'm still here! He's not finished with me yet!

I've spent today not only writing letters, but also caring for my husband and daughter who are battling the flu. It's been a tough day, trying to juggle "nursing duties" with all the other things that I wanted to get done. But as we reminisced tonight about six years ago, I felt incredibly blessed and thankful that I'm here to care for my family. Somehow, remembering that I might not have been makes the task just a little sweeter. 

Life, even on the hard days, is a gift!

Rejoice!

The sky was brilliant blue yesterday, in spite of the arctic freeze. It reminded me of the February day in 2013 when I first heard the words, "It's cancer." The sky had been blue that day, too ~ so achingly beautiful that I couldn't reconcile it with the terrible news I had just received. 

I couldn't help but wonder if history was about to repeat itself.

The period between undergoing tests and receiving the results is the hardest, as anyone who has awaited a diagnosis can attest. I did pretty well the first few days; but as the week went by, my anxiety grew. 

It was kind of like cranking a jack-in-the-box. Every day I just kept cranking and cranking, knowing that on Thursday something was going to pop out at me.

Like my youngest daughter said, "It's the initial that scares me. I can handle what comes afterwards." She was remembering both times that we had come home from the hospital with grim faces and a cancer diagnosis.

By the time we sat in the doctor's office yesterday, I think Greg and I had both convinced ourselves that it was cancer again. So when the oncologist came in and, after some small talk about how the procedure had gone, said, "Well, it was benign findings," we didn't really know how to respond. I wouldn't say I was flooded with relief ~ more like calm gratefulness. And maybe a bit of disbelief: All that worry . . . for this? Are you sure?

Yes. We've come through another test with good results. I can breathe! Well, until the next test. I wish I could master the trick of waiting. But as my Canadian oncologist once said, "There's no trick. It's just hard!" And God has used this past week to continue teaching me, patiently pressing His promises into my heart again.

Last Sunday in adult Bible fellowship, we discussed this interesting paradox:  
". . . we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us."¹ Our teacher explained it like this: "The more we endure, the more we are able to endure." I think he's right.

So this is what I've learned this week: suffering produces endurance . . . which produces character . . . which produces hope . . . because God loves us. And I'm going to enjoy each day that He gives me in the "breathing half."

¹The Bible, Romans 5:3-5