Day 365: A Year with Cancer

A year ago today, I got that call from the surgeon that the biopsy of my lymph-node was positive for follicular lymphoma.  The picture of that moment is seared on my brain.  I remember my husband sitting at the bar that overlooked our kitchen as he was working.  My children were chattering away upstairs--I remember hearing them.  I sat down on the foot of our staircase, and laughed at the surgeon, "You are joking right? I don't have cancer."  We hung up the phone.  Our farm box of veggies had just been delivered.  I remember stabbing the box with the kitchen shears trying to open it to put away the vegetables.  And I remember putting my head on that box and sobbing.  My son came in the kitchen just at that moment.  He bust into tears to see me crying.  I held him really tight I remember.  I couldn't imagine how to have this conversation with my family.  I couldn't bear to break the news to my mom.  Shock doesn't begin to cover what you feel. I am neither surprised, nor anything really that the gamut of my emotions followed the pattern of grief that is well identified by experts.  I find no comfort that how I have progressed through this experience meets the norms.  You never feel normal when you've been diagnosed with cancer.  And while many talk of "finding the new norm," I am not sure there will ever be a new norm.  Just like I am never sure that even if people go into remission, they "get rid" of having cancer.  You see, I have come to believe that whether I live for 40 years with this lymphoma, or at some point in the future I go into remission, I think that I have been undeniably changed by this experience.  In my minds' eye, I will always have cancer.  It is making me into who I am today.  I never expected it on my journey, but what do you know, it's making me.

I have not blogged over the last six months very much.  There have been a variety of reasons for this lapse.  One, I've been writing.  There will be two more books out by me in the new year, "Christ Walk Kids" and "Sally and the Constellations."  So there are successes to this story.

But I've also been silent because I have found that somewhere along the 6-11 month part of this journey, I looked into a mirror and saw a fractured image of myself.  I was there, but parts of me were broken.  To say I moved on from anger and frustration would be to lie to you.  I STILL get annoyed when I allow myself to think of my cancer.  Who has time for cancer?  It irritates me on the days it rears its head and says "slow down."  And being unable to do anything about the cancer, is a bit of a kick in the gut.   I don't always watch and wait well. God always seems to be trying to teach me the art of patience. I often fail miserably and I don't know that I will ever get over that.  Waiting is a part of that whole "new norm" thing that causes me to roll my eyes.  Waiting doesn't fit into the world view of the action hero I want to be when I grow up. The new norm forces you to think about your perceptions of yourself.

This new norm really forced me the last several months to stop and focus.  I really had to work with my doc on a means of living with cancer and still functioning, because it was tenuous at times.  Those broken bits of me kept trying to fall out.  And I found myself needing to apply glue to me.  And in a very private way, I needed to do it without blogging.

Glue comes in many shapes, forms, and substances.  It came in the form of prayer over the last year.  My own and others.  We pray as a family every night that God continues to take care of mommy's cancer--and thus far, God continues to show me grace in many ways.  Glue comes in the form of friends.  Those who were willing to listen.  Those who were willing to receive random texts about fear and anxiety.  Those who were a distraction.  Those who treated me like "Anna" so I could figure out how to treat myself like "Anna" again as well.  Glue comes from professionals who were patient enough to answer repeated questions of the same thing, that were a calm when new symptoms cropped up, and were unfailingly reassuring that watching was still the right thing to do.  Glue comes in the form of the mundane.  The pleasure of walking.  The pleasure of doing things with the kids.  The pleasure of writing.  The pleasure of still having value in the world although I am a broken, semi-repaired, cancer carrying, child of God.

You see a year ago when I was receiving this diagnosis, my book "Christ Walk" was being published.  I could not imagine that the book would do well.  Who wants to learn about living a fit, healthy, and spiritually fulfilled life from a cancer patient?  I was so afraid that this diagnosis was the end of my passion for health in the church.  I thought God had made a mockery of what I perceived was my calling in life.

But you know, God works in funny ways.  My book has gone on to do very well at Church Publishing, Inc.  They tell me I am one of their best sellers.  They've graciously decided to pick up my second book, "Christ Walk Kids."  And people want to hear my story of faith, fitness, and health.  You see, people desperately want to know they have value in the world, that they are needed and they are just as important when they have illness and disease.  Illness, cancer, disease--these labels are devaluing to what we think of ourselves.  We need to stop this.  EVERY SINGLE ONE OF US IS BROKEN, DISEASED, OR DAMAGED and we ALL have value in God's creation.  I can still be healthy: mind, body, and spirit; even with disease.  I really believe this.  My cancer is a part of me and my journey and will continue to be for a long time.

So this is where I am now a year later.  I am in a good place.  I exercise daily, but not always running and training for distance.  I pick things that feel good and bring me joy in movement. Each day, I search for the lovely in my life.   I am awed by God's grace.  When I feel anxious, or fearful of the future, I stuff glue in those pieces of me that want to fall out and pass the glue bottle to God to hold it all together. There is much I will never understand.  There is much I have little patience for, and when those failings come to get me, I remind myself that I do trust God more than I trust in my limited understanding and funnily, peace follows.

In two weeks, I go for my annual CT scans.  They will pump me full of radio-graphic material to see if anything lights up in my body as a new, or growing tumor.  They keep telling me that I'll know when things start to go south.  Huh.  I still look at them a little crazy when they tell me this.  It is so anathema to current medical practice not to treat when early detected.  Consequently, if you are the praying type (and if you are not, I ask that you consider it--it makes a huge difference!), I'll take your prayers.  I'm not sure to ask what to pray for?  Spontaneous remission (always good); continued status quo (also acceptable); patience with the "new norm" (okay); lots of glue bottles if things go south (eh, it could happen)?  I believe in prayer.  I'll take whatever you are willing to offer.

So, keep walking with me, I am still on this journey and we will continue to find faith, fitness, and health together.  I've decided to hold the hand of my cancer and bring it along with us.  It's teaching me a thing or two.  It might not have been the lessons I was seeking, but it's always teaching me.  I hope you are learning something too.

With love, and prayers for another 365 day report.....Anna

My Six-Month Cancerversary

My six-month cancerversary has come and gone this past week. It was marked by illness for me, my son, a blood transfusion for my dog (she may have cancer too--cancer just sucks), and a torn calf muscle for my husband.  It's been a week, I'd like to forget.

But, a six-month cancerversary is worth blogging about.  Every time I think of that phrase, or see it in writing, I long to insert "cancer-free" into the statement.  If I'm honest, I want to bang my keyboard that I am unable to put those words in writing.  It is like standing at the finish line of a long race and being unable to cross the finish line. It taunts and teases me.  I am not cancer-free.  I'm not sure what to celebrate.

I fall into that nebulous category of individuals that are not survivors.  We haven't beat our cancer (yet).  It is still with us.  I call it my pesky parasite.  There is no fist pumping moment of definitive success in my cancer story because there isn't anything I can do to fight at this time.  I have to wait and watch.  Waiting and watching is its own treatment option.  It's a viable one in my case that points to a greater quality of life and a better long term prognosis.  Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled to be in the treatment shoes I wear....but in the secret, dark places of my heart, I yearn to yell the words:

"I'm cancer-free!"

No such luck.

Instead, the six month point in my journey is marked by a tight-rope balancing act of moving on.  I still find myself searching for the new norm.  I am a big believer in routine and structure to keep the focus on positive activities, and not those things you cannot do anything about.  So, my routine and structure was defined by a training plan for a local ten-miler.  I have secretly being going out each week checking off long runs on a racing plan, praying that I do not fail.  Each step is a powerful thought of squishing cancer-cells under the sole of my shoe.  Success was marked with each step and each mile.  Through my run, my cancer couldn't stop me, even if it was on board for the journey. My cancer-posse cheered me along the way telling me how strong I was, although in my heart, I still don't feel very strong.  But each step is marked by at least being able to do some thing.  There is no sitting on my butt doing nothing in my world.  I am a do-er.  Running the race fills me with a sense of accomplishment and purpose.  I will not sit back and take this diagnosis lying down.

And yet, even with every step towards a fight for normalcy, I find that it intrudes itself on my awareness more than I like.  I'm a lot weaker physically since my diagnosis.  My pace is a lot slower and it takes me far longer to build up my endurance.  I also found (to my grief) that I'm a bit more susceptible to pesky germs.  A bronchial infection has laid me up the last week, derailing my racing plans and again, looking at the finish line, but unable to cross.  And let me tell you about night sweats--waking up 2-3 times a night in a pool of sweat because my body no longer understands how to regulate temperature is just gross.  And annoying.  Did I mention annoying?  I like my sleep.

But here I am six months later.  Still in the weird waiting place.  I hope to tick off the "cancerversaries" in an annual fashion from here on out.  I'm hoping that with each passing year, I'll decorate the weird waiting place with with race medals, tiger paws, sunshine, beaches, friends, family, and memories with my husband and kids.  Hopefully in time, this weird waiting place will look no different than the walls of my house, or the love in my heart.  Hopefully in time, the weird waiting place feels comfortable.

Will I ever be a "cancer survivor?"  I don't know.  But I sure hope, for as many years as God gives me, I'll THRIVE with cancer.  It's the best revenge to thumb my nose at it and say, "You aren't going to stop me anyway."

So at my six-month cancerversary, not crossing the race finish, not crossing the treatment finish, not really doing anything, but learning to go on in life, let me take a moment to fist pump at yell:

"I'm THRIVING with Cancer."

Take that.  Cancer still sucks.

Lent is NOT Christmas

Lent is not like Christmas. People drag their feet towards lent rather than the eager countdown to Christ's birth.  The Easter bunny does not hold a candle to Santa Claus.  I think deep down we know that we may have focused a little too much on the secular side of the holiday, focusing on gifts and parties and indulgences rather than the coming of Christ. 

During Lent, we cannot do this.  Lent is a period of preparation for the greatest gift of them all:  Christ's death and resurrection.  Lent is a time where we need to prepare ourselves to be worthy of the gift of Christ's sacrifice. Lent reminds people that they need to change. While the gift of Christ is freely given, it comes at a cost. The cost of Jesus' crucifixion. The crucifixion is also freely given, yet it reminds us that we need to be better people to honor the gift of death in order that we might have life everlasting.  The gift of the resurrection reminds us all that God has the power to transform. 

God has transformed me.  When I was 12, I lost my hearing to an auto-immune disease.  At the time, the doctors did not know what was going on with me.  My blood work was very abnormal and I was put on many experimental therapies to try and stop my hearing loss.  Three years later, many drug therapies later, I still lost all my hearing.  I stand before you today, legally deaf.  I wear cochlear implants that allow me to hear, but for a period of time, I did not hear at all. 

During this time, I have a very vivid memory of being at church.  We had all stood to say the Nicene Creed.  I could not hear at all.  At this point, I was deaf and without any hearing aids.  I became very, very angry.  I felt abandoned by God, and I thought it was very pointless to be at church when I felt that I could not participate in the liturgy.  I remember to this day, the furious tears, and the hot feeling under my skin as I sat down and refused to participate in the rest of the service.  My mind was screaming, "How can I do this and not hear?" 

And then the Eucharist began. I felt a sudden peace come over me.  My tears stopped.  My heart rate slowed.  I felt like I was being hugged.  I distinctly remember the presence of the Holy Spirit.  And it spoke to me.  And I heard God tell me that I did not have to HEAR to participate.  My Christ Walk had little to do with what I was HEARING and everything to do with what I was doing in my life. 

Throughout the years, I have come to realize that God gave me other gifts besides my hearing (and now my cancer).  And I have learned that I can manage my disease through exercise, good nutrition and managing my mind, body, and spiritual health.  I invite you to join me in the Christ Walk program to see how the Holy Spirit can transform your life, mind, body and spirit.

Christ Walk is a 40 day program designed to prepare yourself mind, body and spirit to lead a Christ-filled life that is also healthy.  In 1 Corinthians, 6:19, Paul states: "Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you?" 

Our bodies house the gift of the Holy Spirit.  Very few of us treat our bodies like temples.  Rather, we make choices that treat our bodies in a careless fashion.  We eat too much, drink too much, fail to exercise, misuse medications, stress too much and make choices that do not care for this body that has the Holy Spirit within us.  We do not treat ourselves like temples. 

Lent is an opportunity for us to relook at our everyday habits, not only spiritually, but also physically and mentally so that we can turn to Christ in all of our choices, not just in our prayer life.  A Christ-like life, is something that we should chose to try and live each day.  Not just on church holidays. 

This Lent, you have chosen to do the Christ Walk program.  What does this mean? Instead of giving up chocolate, or sweets or other temptation, I ask you to take a walk with me.  Christ Walk is a Lenten devotional that uses walking different biblical routes to symbolize the journey we take with Christ in our everyday life.  You will choose a biblical route to walk this Lent.  They are listed in the appendix of the Christ Walk book.  You will choose one of the routes that appeals to you.   There are many different routes you can symbolically walk during the next 40 days.  You will collect miles towards your route in different ways.  You can walk, bike, swim, volunteer or pray in order to earn miles towards your route.  By the end of Lent, you will have collected enough miles towards your chosen route and completed your journey. 

Some examples of the different routes you can walk include the following:  One route is the distance between Bethlehem and Jerusalem; signifying the journey between Christ's beginning and his end.  Another route is the "Via Delarosa, or the Way of Sorrows.  This route is the journey Jesus made as he walked through Jerusalem towards the cross.  There are several routes from Paul's missionary journeys.  There are many different routes to choose from.  You will  choose a route that calls to you. 

If you are unable to exercise, each 15 minute block of prayer, volunteerism, or outreach opportunity you take on will count as a "mile" towards your goal.   Christ Walk is designed for anyone at any level of fitness to participate.  In fact, I have had Christ Walk participants in wheelchairs and walkers that have found ways to earn miles during their Christ Walk journey.  Your miles, however you walk, run, bike, swim or pray through are steps you can use on your walk with Christ. 

The goal of Christ Walk is to build a strong temple so that we all can continue to do the work that Christ calls us to do in the world.   

God does call us to change.  We are called in our baptismal covenant.  We are called when we confirm that we are members of the body of Christ during confirmation.  We are called daily to represent God's love here on earth.  This is not just a call of prayer, but also a call of action.  Being a Christian is all about everything we DO and every way we ACT and the CHOICES we make not only with one another, but also with ourselves.

When I was growing up, I used to say Christmas was my favorite holiday. My father, a priest, would always say that Good Friday and Easter were his. This always made me scratch my head as a child

As I have grown older, the gift of Easter grows each year and I have come to think of it as my favorite holiday. I use the Lenten period to prepare myself mind, body and spirit to receive the gift of God and strengthen my skills to use myself in God's calling in my life. Lent is a time that we can spring clean our lives mind, body and spirit so we are prepared for the springing of Easter. Lent is my time to rededicate myself to God's calling in my life.

Lent is not something to drag one's heels. Rather, look with anticipation the coming journey and the change God can make within you. At the end of this forty days, You WILL be a changed person.  

In closing, I would like to share with you the Christ Walk prayer: 

The Lord be with you: 

I will try this day to walk the path set before me

I will try to walk a little longer, a little stronger
I will walk with my mind, body and spirit
I will walk with others, I will walk for others
I will walk when others cannot
I will be still and know that you are God on the days I cannot walk
I will walk with you Lord, on the path you set before me

When my own feet fail, I know you will help me get up and walk again
I will imagine what it would be like to walk in Christ's shoes
And try to live my life as though I was on Christ's path
I will pray that I walk the path I am called to and not turn down paths I am not
Today, Lord, on my journey I will Christ Walk
And I am thankful that you Christ Walk with me too.
Amen (Used with Permission, Christ Walk: A 40-Day Spirtual Fitness Program, 2015, Church Publishing Incorporated)

Come, Christ Walk with me.

Cancer Day 125: Another Day with Cancer, Or Just Another Day?

I had every intention of writing a blog marking the 4-month passing of my diagnosis with lymphoma.  That day passed without me realizing it (7 January) until several days later when I realized my friend Ivey died from her cancer on the 4 month "anniversary" of my diagnosis.  You can wander through that coincidence yourself.  I will not.  Ivey's death hit me far harder than I was prepared for.  Her memorial service was beautiful and just the thing to say good bye to my friend.  Although her death roused my own surpressed fears, it was necessary to look at them and remind myself that I am trusting in God.  No matter how little I understand, nor how little I can comprehend of God's intentions, I am learning contentment in trust.  EVERYTHING else that I cannot control or handle, goes into God's hands.

With that said, thinking back on my "4-month diagnosis anniversary", I've realized that although my cancer still lies in my body (a sleeping giant?), life goes on.  The move came and went. Life goes on.  Christmas came and went.  Life goes on.  Families came and went. Life goes on. Births and deaths and work and school have come and continued the cycle of life. Life goes on.

The fact that my 120 days passed without my awareness is a good thing.  It means I too, am moving on.  My cancer is VERY much a part of me.  There are days it rears its ever-loving head and says "hey, you, you've got cancer, pay attention to me!" And I pull out my metaphorical baseball bat and beat it back into submission.  It's nice that more days go by that it is just a passing thought than something that stalks my brain every day.

It means life has gone on for me.  And that's good.  I'll continue to wait and watch and mark the passing of each month of my dignosis anniversary, because each month means I'm closer to passing a year of staying healthy with my tumors a part of me.  Those are my kind of goals for the new year.  Health with Illness.  I know that statement will resonate with a lot of people.  We don't exercise and get fit to have a better body; we exercise and get fit to tame the illness that rests within us. The exercise and fitness ensures that illness doesn't take a toehold in our body that won't let go.  I don't find myself driven by hypothetical PRs anymore. Exercise isn't about being a beast or a stud in the gym anymore, exercise is about whatever I can do to stay fit and sane.  Every day that I am active and another diagnosis anniversary passes, is a win for me. 

I've actually turned into a calmer, more contented version of my self as each day passes.  God has answered those prayers of mine for peace and acceptance.  I asked to be able to live my life, even with this beast in me.  And God has granted me those prayers.  Even with cancer, another day is another day. 

Saying Good bye

There's nothing quite like facing your own mortality with cancer as you watch a friend succumb to hers. One of the greatest fighters of her cancer will die soon. She is the one who taught me that half of the battle was a fighting spirit and believing you can knock this sucker out.

Unfortunately, while she's going out her way, with her head held high, my friend will soon die. She is dying on her own terms with her husband and children by her side at her home. But she is still dying. This isn't the result we all prayed for.

I have no answers for this. A beautiful, young, courageous mom of three, devoted wife and army spouse will lose her life shortly to her cancer and I have no answers.

I have grief and fear and sadness in my heart. My soul screams at the unfairness of it all. My faith has little spider veins of doubt because we have prayed so hard and so long for my friend to beat the beast. And the very weakest part of me nurses fear. This could be me. I have drum mallets in my psyche trying to beat the fear away. I pray in God's name and pray out my fear, but it crawls and claws at me trying to reach all of me.

I don't want my friend to die. I'm certainly nowhere near, nor even ready to accept any thoughts of my own mortality, but this is what cancer does.

Cancer forces the "what if" question front and center. Cancer forces you to really look at yourself and answer honestly "what do you believe?"  It's like Indiana Jones with the grail and St. Peter.....what do we believe? Are we ready to drink of the cup of Christ and see what's on the other side?  Are we ready for the kingdom of heaven?  Is there a place that I have earned in the company of angels?

I believe that while I cannot begin to understand why this world will be bereft of a beautiful spirit, nor why other spirits are wrest from us that we so desperately need to make this world a better place, I believe they are surely going to the arms of a loving God. There will be no pain nor fear where my friend goes. There will be peace. Eventually there will be peace for her family as well and for us. We just aren't there yet.

We have a prayer in our Church that includes these line: "Therefore we praise you, joining our voices with Angels and Archangels and all the company of heaven, who forever sing this hymn to proclaim the glory of your name."  In my heart, I believe that my friend will be a part of this company in heaven.  And there will be a song on her lips and probably a wine glass in her hand. My friend's smile will light up heaven. Just as so many other smiles do as well.

I too, hope that one day I will be a part of that company. Just not today. Nor any day soon. I'm just not ready. But my friend's death and dying has made me think of this a lot today. I'm sure others share or have shared in this grief and fear. Yes, I am well. Yes, things seem to be in a good place. But I still live with this beast in me and when a friend dies from that beast, well, fear has this nasty habit of finding a foothold.

But just like many people in this world, my friend was a shining beacon. Her light touched many and for this we are very blessed. Hold your peeps tight my friends. While there is a grand place waiting for us in Heaven, life is very precious here on earth, hold it close. 

With love,

Anna

Post script: the beautiful pictures in this post were donated by my friend Roger Hutchison, author of "The Painting Table," (https://www.churchpublishing.org/products/index.cfm?fuseaction=productDetail&productID=9851) .  The first picture represents to me our collective grief with loss. The second picture represents to me the shining beacon each soul brings to the world. 

Many thanks to Roger for his generosity.

Roger Hutchison is Canon for Children and Family Ministry at Trinity Episcopal Cathedral, Columbia, SC. When Roger felt the need to express his relationship with God, he turned to painting. Traditional painting with brushes did not work, so he put his hands directly into the medium, thrusting him onto the local art scene. He has since had numerous exhibits and is a favorite of local designers and collectors from around the

world. He regularly offers workshops nationally for children, youth, and adults on how to express their thoughts and relationship with God through the art of painting with their hands, making this expression accessible to all. He lives in Elgin, SC.

On the 1st Day of Christmas....

....It was time to get in shape. What?  Are we really going to talk about fitness and health on the Lord's birthday?

Yep. 

If there is one thing I know about, it's getting back into shape after a hiatus for health reasons. As I've written about in my book "Christ Walk" sometimes fitness and health are where you are in your life at that moment. It may not always be in the fighting shape you want, but we can still have goals and we can still get back to our fitness levels when we are able to so so again. Fitness is not a static moment in time.  Fitness is not a status quo moment. Fitness comes in all sorts of shapes, sizes, and skills at varying points in your life. 

But for me this Christmas, I've decided to take a very literal view of Jesus' birth and look at my own body and life that need to be transformed as I head into this season of waiting. 

I could wait on my butt and feel sorry for myself as we wait to see what the cancer does, or I can look at Christmas as the beginning of a new me and a new chapter of my life. Now that we are settled (mostly) and my body has healed from the surgeries (mostly) and life is returning to some sort of norm (sort of), I'm ready to focus on getting back into shape and making this body a lean, mean, cancer-fighting machine. In cancer-ville, they call this the "wait and watch" treatment. Well, "wait and watch" and see what I can do with me and my body over the next couple of months. It's watch and see me transform time. 

That means daily walks with God, goals of 10K steps or more, healing fruits and vegetables from God's earth, building back my push up strength one push up at a time.  It's learning to run again. It's learning to do burpees again and it's learning to zen again.   It's a time of rebuilding and this does not happen over night. 

It's a slow and often frustrating journey to look at what you need to do in your life to be healthy again, but it's worth it. It's often frustrating to look back and see where I was versus where I am now. But my goal and your goal should be to be in the now on the path you are on. Look ahead to where you can be in the future and not living in the past. Being stuck in where you were in the past really keeps you from moving forward in your journey. Physically turn yourself around and look to a new direction of where you want to be and take that step towards it. 

For Christmas, give yourself the gift of health one step at a time. 

https://www.churchpublishing.org/products/index.cfm?fuseaction=productDetail&productID=10075

Day 70: You Will NEVER Believe What I Have Chosen

God works in mysterious ways.  Without a doubt, both my husband and I believe that God wanted us to be back on the East Coast and in the DC area (despite all the freakishness that happened [and continues to happen] with this move).  We are here for a reason.  And part of that reason was to create a waiting place between Kansas and DC.


God placed me in the waiting place for a good reason.  And I have chosen (believe it or not) to stay in the waiting place.  I dread the waiting place. I loathe the waiting place.  There isn't nearly enough activity in the waiting place.  But the waiting place has become my friend. Upon arrival in DC, we immediately set upon meeting my new oncologist (who is a rock star that looks just like a blond version of my sister in law) :)....we both had questions regarding some of my test results and so we decided to rescan my body and take a closer look at my tumors.  While we waited for the results, I also had an appointment with the National Institutes of Health (NIH) up in Bethesda, MD.  Let me tell you, that place is amazing.  While it is an ALL DAY event to go into the clinics, it was worth EVERY penny of my time to spend with incredible researchers, doctors, nurses and other staff that walked you through the entire protocol process.  Remember last week where I wrote about the top ten things every hospital should do (you can read about it here)?  Well, NIH knocked these out the park (and yes, they had Starbuck's coffee too).

Following additional testing, exams, and a review of my history, my doctor at NIH looked me in the eye and said, "Anna, I'm 39 years old too.  I have a wife, kids, a job.  If I were you, I would not seek treatment for your cancer.  It's not extensive enough.  The staging is not correct.  Your "good cells" in your tumor far out number the "bad cells" in the tumor and you are young.  This needs to be your decision and if you feel you cannot wait for treatment, then we have treatment for you.  But if you can watch and wait, you slow down entering the treatment cycle."  With my kind of cancer, once you enter the treatment cycle, you begin a cycle of remission, relapse, treatment, and over again.  This is very hard on the body and exposes the body to a lot of toxicities.  I'm young.  My tumors are not causing me to be symptomatic at this time, it behooves me to watch and wait.  My NIH doctor shared hope for me.  He wants me to be a part of a natural history study to explore WHY I have this cancer.  And he explained that when the time is right, they will have treatment for me.  It could be a multitude of different things, but when you have the opportunity to wait, you also have the opportunity for new research to be released for public protocols and each year, better and better treatment becomes available.  One day, there will be a CURE for my kind of cancer.  The waiting place gives me a chance to be a part of that "one day."

My local oncologist concurred with my NIH doctor that the repeat scan found only a small, 2.3 cm tumor cluster in my neck.  Nothing was seen in my chest or abdomen.  My blood work is beautiful and both doctors concurred that my shoulder pain was a physical ailment versus as tumor ailment (in fact, my scans DID show arthritis of by C7-C9 vertebrae, so we DO have conclusive evidence I am getting older--HA!).

Which leads me to the dreaded waiting place.  I have never liked the dreaded waiting place.  As a do-er, the waiting place blows.  But I am amazingly at peace about this decision to watch and wait.

The waiting place allows me to grow closer to God.  I am putting my trust in God that the waiting place is right for me.  The waiting place allows me to physically hand over my cancer and my care to God and trust in the Lord God with ALL my heart and ALL my body.  This gives me joy.  I still have worry and anxiety.  I still wonder if I am doing the right thing, but in this waiting place, it allows me to PRACTICE TRUST that God has a greater plan in store for me than anything I can possibly understand.  God has led me to this place, to these doctors, and to this plan.  The waiting place has allowed my tumors to either get smaller or disappear, or whatever might have happened.  Without the waiting place, I would be starting treatments that I might not be ready to use.  In this waiting place, we have the chance (albeit small, 8% chance) of spontaneous remission.  In the waiting place, there is hope, there is peace, and there is a chair with God by my side.  In the waiting place, I can hang up my coat of worry and busyness and rest a little.  In the waiting place, there are all sorts of levels of healing.

Some might say my story is a story of mis-diagnosis.  One can say that.  I would rather think of this part of my story as a testimony to prayer.  I have simply THOUSANDS of people praying for me all over the world; of all types of faith and belief, and of all sorts of denominations.  God has heard everyone of those prayers.  A friend described it "storming heaven" with prayers.  Y'all keep storming heaven for me.  This isn't over.  This isn't a sprint.  This is a long haul of the rest of my life and prayer makes a HUGE difference.

This has been a wonderful example of the power of social media.  We have a prayer chain without end when we share our lives over the Internet and ask each other to pray for each other.  YOUR prayers matter.  They have made an amazing difference in my life and I cannot express my gratitude enough.

Does this mean I will be in the waiting place forever?  No.  I am okay with this.  I will probably have treatment at some point in my life.  But today is not that day.  Does this mean my cancer will not grow?  Probably not.  But today is not that day.  Could things still go terribly wrong?  Possibly.  But today is not that day.  Could things possibly get even better?  Maybe, but today is not that day.

Today, is a waiting day.  Today, I am okay with the waiting place.

God is there.

Day ???? (I'll figure it out later): Where is My breaking point?

Do you ever wonder where your breaking point lies?  I've been flirting with mine on and off lately as you've seen from my posts. I'm in a rough patch. I'm old enough to know that eventually it will pass, but young enough that it still entangles me; consumes me; grabs me by the throat and tries to rule me. My rough patch and me are like the devil and drama dancing the tango.  

The last two weeks of my life fit this hashtag: #youcannotmakethisstuffup. I'm living my own personal soap opera and even I am left stunned by the crap that stalks me. 

There are various reasons why. Number one: I DON'T LIKE TO RELENQUISH CONTROL. Number 2: I think I walked under too many ladders or crosses too many black cats or something. Lately stuff is just stupid. 

When you have cancer (or any other kind of tragedy, disease, problem) you instantly lose control over your life. Consequently, you try to retain tighter control over those things in life that you can. For an inherent control freak (I.e. ME), this presents problems. 

I'm sorry, but the whole "Let go and Let God" approach is like Mount Everest to me. It's my sin, I know it and I try to tackle it daily but when I lack control, I find myself slipping closer to my personal breaking point.  Plus, stupid things can make me a little crazier than normal as well. 

This week has been our move. I'm used to moving. My son and I counted up 15 moves in my 39 years this week as we talked about our newest adventure. I'm an old salt. A vagabond at heart. This life suits me, so don't think I'm complaining about my lot. But it doesn't make it easy. The process of moving is inherently exhausting mind, body and spirit. 

And my body is tired. It feels old and fails to respond with the vigor I know. In my heart, I know my cancer slows me down. And I resent it immensely. I have no place in which to focus my fury. No outlet for my angst. I am stuck in this short period of time that is called my move. I am trying to focus my energy on my children who are also struggling with yet another move. This will be the fifth in six and a half years. During all this, my husband is wrapping up school--all so we can leave earlier than planned for me to try and get the right treatment. It's the perfect storm.

And the storm began brewing when we decided to stick with our plans to go to SC for thanksgiving.  I over did it as usual and then to cap the cake with more frosting, we misses our connection by five minutes (it was still on the Tarmac waiting when we arrived) but they wouldn't let us on the plane. This les to a six hour layover and arriving home about 1 am the day our move started. On top of that, I came down with some nasty virus. 

At the prodding (well, really demanding, forcing, cajoling) of friends and family, I did what I truly HATE to do and have asked for help this week. I couldn't do it on my own. It was more than I could handle. I set up friends for dinner, coffee runs, companionship, and child care. And I asked our transportation/moving coordinator for ONE thing:

I played the cancer card--not in jest-- we simply said, "I have lymphoma. We need a smooth move to DC with as quick of a delivery of our household goods as can be so I can see my doctors and get treatment". (Treatment is the only thing on my mind these days--I want this crap out of my body fiercely).   The only thing I asked of them was to send me a good team, make it as stress free as possible, do a good job, and get my stuff to DC. 

Well, this is how it played out:

Day 1:  "Ma'am:  we will be there between 9-10 am". Ok. Good. This will work. Hour after hour passes.  Finally, at 1345, they show up with three people and work for 3.5 hours. Maybe 1/4 of my house is complete. No worries, they tell me that they will come back the next day between 9-10. 

Day 2: 10 am passes by...and then another hour and then another.  Finally, they show up at 1230. With two guys. Evidently, the third has been banned from entering a military installation. All day the lead packer is calling around looking for help. He wants this job done today. There is no way with two guys.  Around 2:30 pm, four more guys show up. Things pick up, but still not enough to finish packing. At one point, they are telling me how they aren't getting paid enough to come help "me" out on this extra job. It's everything I can do not to tell them that I've had to take two days of leave without pay to wait for them to come of the job they were contracted to do. They want to stay until 10 pm to try and finish the job. I am exhausted. My body hurts. My kid is falling a part. We tell them to come back the next day. You don't get to stay all night when you can't show up at the time agreed upon. 

Day 3:  they actually show up at 0940. I'm elated. But there are only two guys and the second guy has the flu. I give him medicine. Fluids. He goes to work. I keep being told they will be done by 1. This from the same guy that told me they would be done by 6 the previous day. No time management skills. When you show up for work four hours late two days in a row, there is no getting done early. I think we all hated each other at this point. Hours roll by. They finally finish packing around 1815. A lot of things were left undone. 

Day 4:  loading van day--"ma'am, we will be there before 9 am". Time passes. At 1040 the van shows up. It's 2/3rds full of other peoples stuff.  There is no room for all of my household goods. Plus, they spent a good hour taking things off and rearranging other peoples stuff that was just thrown in the truck. At 1100, I officially lose it. I spent half the morning yelling at people on the phone that said they would take care of this and make this an easy move because of my cancer. It's been the worst move ever (and remember, I've done this 7 times as an adult). They fill the first van. My stuff is scattered across my lawn in boxes and pieces. It's like looking at your life like a broken puzzle strewn across the ground. At 1630, a second van finally shows up to get the rest of my house. So instead of one move with one delivery date, I will now have two delivery dates and two unpack dates all around three huge doc appointments that wait for me at our destination. The sad thing was that our loading team was great. If they had a van that had fit our stuff, then they actually would have been done on time. Both our loading team and my family got screwed today. 

To the man that said he'd "take care of this and make sure I had nothing to worry about". Thanks. You did a bang up job.

Then our driving adventure ensued. Because the moving fiasco was not enough, I am driving one car and my husband is driving the truck pulling the boat we cannot get rid of.  I loath, LOATH driving. Three days, 20 hours were ahead of us. It was totally a bear down and get through it deal for me. So. I'm trucking a long on my end of the trip with the plan to meet my hubby at our first stop. 

He is four hours late...WTHEck????  The boat trailer broke. I kid you not. The wheel fell off the dang thing?  YGTBKM!!! Thankfully, my husband had the great wisdom not to informs of this until we were reunited. I don't handle that sort is this well. (Control remember?)

Then upon our arrival to DC, we are greated with a traffic jam. The number one reason I've resisted DC to date is the traffic. #countrygirl

This lengthened our 8 hour trip to 10. And I'm already pooped. Grumpy car has nothing on me at this point. 

And I hate these moments. They bring out the worst in me. I can't find my Christian charity. I can't find my patience. I can't find my kindness nor understanding. I'm tired. I'm sad. My family Is sad. We both love and hate to move. On the one hand a great adventure awaits, new friends are around the corner...on the other, we leave dear people that were and have been a lifeline not only during these last weeks of finding out about my cancer, but also during this move. I simply cannot thank them enough. And as we arrived at our new home, it was ready for us. Friends had left gifts and welcome notes and beer!:). And the house itself was everything the Tully family had promised

. 

(I'd like to end the post here, but I'm still irritated at my moving coordination so I will close with the below and say several prayers is forgiveness tonight.)

For the dude that promised to help, and then turned this into hell-- well the sinful side of me hopes you have a move just like this one in your future, and I'll hope and pray you have people by your side because today was awful, and the only thing that kept my toe from crossing the breaking point were the peeps I had by my side. 

 

Day 47: Wearing yourself thin: What Not to do

Because life was not complicated enough, we flew home for Thanksgiving to see family. In our defense, we bought the tickets long before we knew about my cancer or our move schedule. We will fly home today and tomorrow the movers come. We have been packing for two trips, taking pictures of the walls, cleaning basements and garages and ensuring the house is ready for inspection. To say there are a lot of moving parts is a bit of an understatement. 

But With coming home, I got to hug my mama. Even though I'm 39 years old, I still want and need and love my mama. Her hugs make it worth it. 

And we got to go back to my alma mater #Clemson University to attend our rival football game. It's been over 2 years since I've been back and I was astounded by the changes and additions to campus--it still feels like home. When the Army is done with us, Clemson is one of those places I could call my forever home.....there is something in the hills. My happy factor was bursting. 

I got to see some surprise friends I did not expect to see and I got to cry all over my old roommate and get hugs from so many wonderful people. We got to visit with many who have supported me from a far the last several weeks. And I guess I still don't look like I have cancer cause everyone still says I look good :D

I got to see my Tigers win their football game. It was great to see those around us whom we have sat with over the last 16 years (on and off) and now their kids are grown and in high school or college. I still look 21--I'm confused that everyone else is looking older!  Ha!

And I had to fall asleep during half time. I'm sure everyone thought I was a terrible fan but that's what my body does now. And by evening my back was a knotted mass of pain. There were times I had to walk off the tears. I dislike (yes, still do) the interference of my disease on my plans. I've managed to get a cold, I'm pooped and my back will take at least a week to get back to manageable but to hug my friends, shed tears with those I love and see "where the blue ridge yawns it's greatness" was a weekend of thanksgiving for me. 

The real world returns tomorrow but my heart is full (even if my body aches).

Sometimes you over-do it and push your body to its limits for a chance you might not have for a long time. 

Day 49: God Advertises in NEON SIGNS

Let me just put this out there if you haven't realized it yet:  I believe in God.  I believe that God is all around us, and I believe that God walks with us every step we take.

I've been going through a lot lately.  Digesting a cancer diagnosis is not quite as palatal as digesting a piece of chocolate cake.  But we still need to digest it and work through whatever has been thrown at us to conquer.  I've known theologically through all of this that God was with me.  I've known it in my heart, but at times my heart was so hurt and so angry and so disillusioned that all that negativity was keeping me from feeling the love of God during this time.

I think this is normal.  I think God understands that.  I think God knows that we are so fragile, so sensitive to our emotions that we need time to process and digest before we can realize that adversity can result in cheesecake even when it feels like a fallen souffle' (I may have food on the brain going into Thanksgiving)......I digress....

With that said, we are fragile and because we experience life through our senses, we need to feel, touch, hear, smell, taste and see God to sometimes believe that God is with us on our journey.  Sometimes it takes a looooooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnnnngggggggggggggggggg time for us to see those neon signs in front of our faces, but they are there.  Sometimes the hardest thing about faith is believe in God and knowing God is with us without those experiential senses tied to it.  Just because we cannot feel, touch, smell, taste or see God sometimes, doesn't mean that God is not there.  But then there are times, our sense are overwhelmed with God right there, right with us and the moment we need it most.  God comes to us through Grace.

I've said it once, I'll say it again:  I am far too flawed to understand the WHY THINGS HAPPEN in the world, but I believe in Grace.  Grace WILL prevail at sometime.  Grace Happens through People.  And I can show you an example of where I got to feel, touch, see, hear and taste Grace in action in my life.  God came to me through Grace.

Grace happened to me last week.  Grace showed up in my life like a big neon sign for a cupcake bakery.  Grace came to me frosted, with pink roses and sunshine and smiles and promises THAT EVERYTHING WAS GOING TO BE OK.

Grace rocks, people.

Grace came to me in the form of a letter.  You see, my husband and I are moving from Kansas to Virginia with the Army.  We've been holding off on my treatment (with the approval of my doctors) until we get to our new duty station.  We knew about this move before my cancer diagnosis.  In fact, we had put down the contract and earnest money on our new home the week before we found out the news.  In my gut, I knew (remember grace!  listen to your gut!) that we should move anyway and we would figure out how to do that around the cancer.

But the move was an added complication to an already complicated mess and it didn't help with the struggles with anxiety I continued to have.

But then this letter came.  This beautiful letter that had grace coming from it out of every sentence.  You see, the executors of the estate that we were buying the house from had found my blog.  And they had reached out to me from my blog email address (christwalk@courie.com) to send me a message.  You see, the previous owners of the house were a lot like me and Treb.  He was a retired military man--a WWII decorated veteran and his wife was a nurse like me.  They were a strong Christian family with deep ties to the area we are moving....and Gail told me in this letter that this house was meant to be ours.  SHE SAID MY CANCER WOULD BE HEALED BY THE LOVE IN THAT HOUSE (Ok, so that wasn't what she wrote, but the message I received!  God's grace sends messages!).  Gail has told me I can share the letter with you all so you too can see that GRACE HAPPENS.  Grace comes like an advertisement in Neon when you need it and I desperately needed this message from God that everything was going to be ok:

Hi Anna:                            

                              I understand you are the new owner of my late uncle's home, as our family fondly refers to the house on P Lane.  My cousin Don the executor of my Uncle John's estate, shared your Face Book page with me.  Wanting to know more I went to your blog page. I am touched deeply.                             

                              Since I have not met you I was not comfortable posting on the blog but I feel compelled to reach out to you.  I want you to know about the tremendous love and blessings and celebrations that were shared in your new home.  The home where you will rest your head, where you will return after your treatments for the cancer which has invaded your body, where you will recuperate and God willing, beat this beast, where you will raise your children, where you will nurture and strengthen your marriage, where you will seek and find the peace of Christ.                              

                              My dear Uncle John and Aunt Wini, my mom's only sister, showed me the true essence of Sacramental Marriage. Never have I witnessed a couple more devoted to one another or more in love.  Nothing was more important to either of them than their love for the Lord, their love for each other and the love they had for their children.  Their doors were always open to our large extended family as well as the hundreds of friends my cousins had.  Not only was their door open but their hearts as well.  Their love was so great that it could not be contained within their home but spilled over into the community and beyond, in service to the poor and the homeless, in the establishment of prayer groups to bring others closer to the heart of Jesus Christ, in ministry to the sick and home bound.  The list is long.                                    

                              I believe with all my heart and soul that God has a plan for each of us and that His plan is perfect.  Many times we can't comprehend this or see His light because of the darkness that we allow to overwhelm us.   But I am certain that it is no coincidence that my beloved Uncle John was called home a few months ago and that his family home was available just when you needed it.                             

                              So, Anna, know of my prayers for you and for your family.  May you find comfort knowing you now reside in a home that has been blessed in so many ways.  May you continue the legacy of love for the Lord, for your spouse, for your children and for the Kingdom which began so many years ago by John and Wini Tracy.    May God bless you and give you strength.     Paix, Gail.                                   

                              Senyè,

                              Mwen te tande yon nonm di "Mwen ba ou kè mwen."  Men maten an mwen santi ke mwen pa kapab ba ou sèlman kè m'.  Mwen ba ou tèt mwen tout antyè.

                              Lord, I heard a man say "I give you my heart."  But this morning I feel I cannot give only my heart.  I offer my whole self.

 

Even as I re-read my post, I am brought to tears.  God sent me a sign through another person that I desperately needed in the middle of this chaos and I (and my husband) were touched beyond measure.  God does send signs.  Yes, some are bigger and bolder than others, but I know if we open our hearts to these signs, we will see them and we will be comforted and brought peace. God never promised me a rose garden in my life, but he did say he would be there with me through it all.  When we love one another, we are sending God-signs to each other. And when I got this God-sign from Gail, my anxiety and fear abated.

 

I cannot thank her enough.

 

Paix!

Day 42: Crazy Things that happen when you have Cancer (or other diagnosis)

So this is what I call my "kick cancer's a$$ tea." It's not bad, but I don't really like it. I'm a coffee drinker at heart. But just about everything you read about Green tea talks about it's butt kicking anti-cancer properties. So each afternoon I sit down with a cup of my tea and imagine it kicking my cancer's a$$.  This is only one of the many crazy things I've started to do in this journey of healing and faith.   I've discovered that when you feel out of control with your life, that controlling the small things is quite empowering. Drinking my tea, whether or not it works, makes me feel like I'm doing something other than sitting here waiting. 

I also decided one day that my Keurig coffee maker was a culprit in my cancer diagnosis. It up and got itself sold. No more coffee dripped through cancer causing plastic for me!  When I told the lady that I sold it to that I was worried it was causing my cancer, I thought she would throw the thing back at me. She was very gracious with my crazy cancer thoughts, but I learned some of your crazy, you keep to yourself. 

Along with the Keurig, all the plastic in my house turned evil overnight. The plastic storage containers went into the garbage, I tossed my BPA-free water bottle and opted for a glass one. I've begun looking at my water faucet through squinty eyes--there might be cancer chemicals in my water. We might just need a water filter in the future. 

I've started taking a organic whole foods multi-vitamin and digestive enzymes. Those suckers are supposed to eat up all the junk in your gut that might cause cancer. Bring on the probiotics!

The next to go was any deodorant in the house. No more aluminum deposits for me!  No siree--I promptly purchased an all organic deodorant that leaves me smelling great but doesn't do a whole lot for sweating. 

In a moment of possession, I tossed my mascara too. I've got a nice organic tube of mascara now as well. Organic brown. It works great and now I won't get eye cancer. I will neither confirm, not deny, whether my other beauty products will take a hit in the future.  I am eying all products the same way I look at my water: with suspicion.  

I have determined I will embrace my grey and forego any chemical treatment of my hair. It's just one of those things I can control. 

We already eat very organic and I'm not huge on processed foods to begin with, so our journey down the real foods approach to living started long ago. We really have an overall healthy house. In fact my son recently said to me: "mommy, there's something I don't understand. You are the healthiest of all of us, why did you get the cancer?"

It's a question I ask myself a lot. Things just happen. A lot of things in life happen that we cannot control. A lot of things happen that we will never understand. A lot of things we have to just have faith in God that a greater purpose is in store for us than we can ever fathom. 

In the mean time, with those things I don't understand, nor can control, I will continue with the sort of things I can control. They may not work and they may look like crazy cancer girl thoughts/actions/craziness to you, but to me, they are things that make me feel like I am doing something to beat the beast. 

Day 39: "So, How are you?"

If there were three words more loaded with conflicting answers, I am not sure what they would be:

"How are you?"  

There should be a guidebook on how to answer this one. "The Dummies Guidebook to answering socially appropriate questions."  They need a special chapter for those of us with something going on. I feel like a deer in headlights when approached with it. Is it someone that really wants to know?  Is it someone that can handle full kahuna?  Is it someone that will understand "how I am" changes with moment to moment?  Or is it someone that I need to reassure that everything is going to be ok?  I often wonder if it's socially acceptable to really answer "how I am" in an honest manner--do people really want to know? Some  days I am not really sure how I am because I'm still in the dreaded waiting place. How I am and how I want to be are two different questions. 

"I'm okay" covers a lot of ground with anyone going through something. It's also the lottery ticket out of a conversation if you don't want to answer the question straight up. There are some people you just don't want to get into how you are and then there are other people you need to buy them a new shirt because you've just blubbered everything out on their shoulder. 

So how am I?

I am beyond blessed. God sent me a freaking neon signage saying "It's going to be okay" that I will blog about at a later date, but it has put me in a calm waiting place rather than an anxious one. For any of you doubters out there.....there is a God, he does care, and I am confident in his plan..even when I don't get it. 

I am tired.  Frequently just tired. Mentally and physically tired. I love going out and being social, but it makes me tired. I am much more selective about what I do and whom I do it with because I am tired.  I often take a nap in the middle of the afternoon before my kids get home so I have energy for them. Because they remain my priority. If I don't take a nap, I don't make it past nine most days. I'm learning to manage my energy levels so I can do what I want to do.  My body controls my life right now. I'm learning to surrender to its needs. 

I still hurt. It's manageable, but it is still there. My tumors sit on top of a nerve I think. After a day of working at the computer, my shoulder is a tortured mess of tangled fibers. I swear by acupuncture, massage and yoga stretches. And Advil. We cannot forget the Advil.  But I am rarely unaware of the parasite that sits on top of my clavicle. It reminds me daily that yes, it's still there and yes, I have to wait to get rid of it. 

I still get anxious, but each day it's better. I am not going off the deep end, even when I have a bad day and let it all out for everyone to see. If you want to know how I am, don't freak out if I tell you the truth!  :D  It can be a loaded question!  Ha!  I still swear by my walks and talks with God. The best advice by far I've been given is to pray for others during this time when my anxiety is overwhelming. It works. And I practice this. Life is more than just about me. Praying for others takes me outside myself. 

I am weak. While I am coming out of the toxicity of anesthesia, and my body heals from all the surgeries, I'm working on my fitness level, or rather what remains of my fitness level.  I ran about 500 ft for the first time. My first push up was an utter failure, but I am learning to modify and listen to what my body can do. This is especially hard for me. I just ran a 1/2 marathon in May and spent the entire summer doing a 100-day burpee challenge. I'm used to being strong, not weak. It's humbling. I wrote a chapter on this in @ChristWalk--Christ walk for where you are now. And that's what I am trying to do. No, my fitness level is NOT where I would want it to be, but I am plugging away with it daily. It's a journey, not a sprint. 

I am still waiting.  Waiting, waiting, waiting. I don't wait well. And because our life is not complicated enough, we are moving in three weeks to a new home and we are in the throes of managing movers, cleaning, and getting rid of things. We are registering kids for new schools, closing on a house, and still waiting to find out what they will do with me.  I still have far more questions than answers which makes "how are you very difficult" to answer.  There are so many moving parts in the waiting place right now. 

I evidently look good because people tell me this all the time. Like, "wow, you don't look like you have cancer."  I'm not really sure how to answer that one....how are cancer people supposed to look?  I jokingly tell my doc that I don't look bad because a) makeup is amazing and b) I still (STILL) question that I have cancer. If I hadn't read the path reports, I'm not sure that I would believe it cause I felt fine until they started messing with me.   But yeah, I look good. They haven't done anything to me yet, so when I look like a cancer patient, I guess I'll let you know. But this is a great lesson, we have no idea what people are going through solely by the way they look.  Makeup and clothes make for great armor around whatever you are carrying in your heart. 

I have a sick sense of humor. Gallows humor puts cancer in its place. I won't apologize for cracking jokes about my cancer even if it makes someone uncomfortable. When I can make jokes about death, dying, and cancer it allows me to face the cancer and tame the beast. It's a "take that" response. So if I drop my cancer into a conversation like a bomb, don't cringe. Let's beat that beast back together. I've learned my friends are scared just as much as I am. We aren't going to tiptoe around this crap. We are going to slap it down and own it. 

I have amazing friends and family. I'm certainly hoping I haven't hurt any of their feelings about the "how are you question" because EVERYONE asks this out of a sense of concern and love. I don't get upset when questions come from a place of love, even when I'm really not sure how to answer it.  People mean the best when they ask you how you are even if it makes you a little crazy to answer it. Some days you want to answer it with a four letter word or two, even when it's not polite to answer that way. It is what it is. When you have no control over your life, it's a roller coaster of responses. 

"How am I?" Is a complicated question. I am a lot of things. And it depends. It depends how I am at any given moment. It depends on what is going on around me and it really depends on how much you really want to know. 

That's how I am today. How are you?