Final Zapping

Today was my 20th and final radiation treatment.

Thank you to everyone who has sent cards and gifts to the boys and me -- they love getting mail and  appreciated the encouragement. Thank you to my MIL who sent a "sunshine box" with different gifts for us to open on different days to give them something to look forward to. Thank you to those who have sent texts and messages letting me know you're praying for me. 

Thank you to my friend Georgia who made dinners for us when I was fatiguing and who stayed with the boys when they were off school and to Elizabeth who took the boys for a night of fun at Defy one evening. 

Thank you to Melody and Rick who kept the boys during the eLearning day when I had both a radiation treatment and oncology appointment. 

Thank you to my parents who came up for a week in the middle of October from warm, sunny Florida to stay with the boys during fall break. 

Thank you to my Aunt Karen who dealt with breast cancer herself and who texted me faithfully every day to let me know she was praying for me. 

Thank you to my friend Dan who also sent a note of encouragement each day. 

Today, Kieran wanted to know if they killed all the cancer cells. That's the idea, of course, but in order to further reduce the risk of occurrence, I'll be taking a hormone suppressant pill (Tamoxifen for the curious) for the next 5 to 10 years. I also have a cocktail of supplements that I'll be popping along with the pill (message me if you'd like to know what's on my counter).

As I read through the literature on the options available to minimize the risk of occurrence or the statistics on who gets breast cancer because of which cause, it strikes me how much of this is out my hands--how much seems to be so arbitrary and almost capricious. And I wonder if that's part of the curse God placed on sin--death, ultimately, is the reminder that we aren't in control of our destiny. I drink apple cider vinegar every day, I use natural, organic body and hair products, I try to buy organic when I can, I was off sugar for several years, I've taken immune-boosting supplements . . . and yet . . . and yet here I sit with a divot in my skin from where a cancerous lump was removed and a rash from where the radiation attempted to eradicate any remaining cancer. 

As much as we might like to think we can control what happens to our bodies, ultimately we can't. Yet as I peer through the seeming capriciousness, I choose to recognize the sovereignty of God in all of it--the cancer, the disability, the sickness, the people who cross my path. And I know it's not for nothing--that he's working all of this for my good and for his glory. And I'm driven to remember my dependence on my Creator for even my next breath. So as I lay on the table in the radiation room early in the morning, I chose to give thanks for the gift of another day of life. Another breath. Another new mercy. 

Someone recently posted a quote from Elizabeth Elliot that went along these lines but I can't remember where I saw it. I found these quotes, though, which point me toward that conclusion (from Suffering Is Never for Nothing).

“Just start thanking God in advance because no matter what is about to happen, you already know that God is in charge. You are not adrift in a sea of chaos.”

“You either believe God knows what He's doing or you believe He doesn't. You either believe He's worth trusting or you say He's not. And then, where are you? You're at the mercy of chaos not cosmos. Chaos is the Greek word for disorder. Cosmos is the word for order. We either live in an ordered universe or we are trying to create our own reality.” 

 Even as we work to minimize the risk of the cancer returning or spreading, I rest in God's sovereignty over my life and in the mercies he gives abundantly. He is good, all the time. 

The Wounds of a Friend or the Kisses of a Enemy

I've started and stopped this post several times over the past two weeks. It was a heavy time for me. 

On September 9, I met with the oncologist to go over the next phase of treatment. The mammography center is in the same building as the cancer center at our hospital. The last time I was there was for those initial pictures. At that time, I parked farther away and walked past the "Reserved for Oncology patients" signs, wondering what it was like for those who needed to use those reserved spaces. 

A few weeks later, and I had found out.  

My next treatment phase was based on the oncotype score of the tumor. After the surgeon removed the tumor, she sent it to a lab for analysis. The lab analyzes the genes of the tumor itself and spits out a number that predicts the risk the cancer will reoccur if it's not treated with chemo in addition to hormone therapy. (For those who like to read, this site had more information on the oncotype tests.) On a scale of 1 to 100, my tumor returned a score of 25. Tumors with scores less than 20 didn't typically benefit from chemotherapy and weren't likely to reoccur. Tumors with 26 and higher scores definitely needed to be treated with chemotherapy as they are more aggressive and likely to come back. In addition, there was a small subset of pre-menopausal women under 50 with tumor scores between 20 and 25 who seemed to benefit more from chemotherapy to minimize the risk of recoccurence. So, my tumor sat right there on the border. 

The oncologist went through the risk analysis with me and seemed to settle on the need for chemotherapy as my next step in order to make sure the cancer didn't come back. That wasn't what I wanted to hear. He brought in a social worker who offered a variety of supports for women with breast cancer. And, after telling me to think about it over the weekend, he set up an appointment to begin chemotherapy two weeks later. It would be one infusion every three weeks, beginning on September 23. 

So, I went home and talked it over with Seth, researched the studies done on the oncotypes, researched chemotherapy, and began freaking out over losing my hair and all the other side effects of chemo. 

If I told you what was happening during that time, I likely said something like, "It seems like I'll need chemotherapy" because I just couldn't bring myself to actually surrender to needing it. How would I be able to mother my kids if I was sick in bed all the time? Who would help them with homework? Get them to sports? How would they react to seeing my hair fall out? ("Most women go ahead and shave their heads before they begin just to get it over with," the oncologist said.) How would I be able to deal with my job and all my other responsibilities? As much as I hated the thought of chemo, I tried to start getting my ducks in a row so that I didn't drop too many balls as I went through it. 

Of course many women, including my aunt who was diagnosed with triple-negative breast cancer, have been through chemo and survived. In fact, my aunt called me during that time to share her journey with me and pray with me. 

I just didn't know how I was going to survive it. I prayed and cried and and looked for a second opinion and tried to rehearse the promises that God's grace is sufficient for every situation and that his power is made perfect in my weakness. And then I also tried to think of other options . . . like having my ovaries taken out. (The tumor had estrogen-positive receptors, which meant it fed on estrogen produced by my body; take the ovaries out and no estrogen was my thinking.) Drastic, I know. Which is what Seth said when I brought it up him. And also the oncologist when I brought it up to him. And also my doctor when I brought it up her. And also my sister-in-law when I brought it up to her. 

In a conversation about my anxiety with my sister-in-law, she also let me know this, "My prayer is that you know the assurance of God's good hand and can always approach Him with confidence and gratitude. That you are always mindful that the One who made the world with His words is still speaking into your life. That you remember He has already worked the greater miracle of bringing you from death to life in your salvation and to know that as hard as it gets, God's work in and through you is not done yet! Our pastor mentioned the other day, "Could it possibly be that God knows what He is doing?" And we know He does, but I pray that you would absolutely be able to trust Him for direction, wisdom, peace and comfort in the midst of a hard road." There's something about praying specifically and also letting that person know how specifically you are praying, isn't there? 

And then she said, after listening to my laments about the toxins that would be dumped into my body, "And just maybe the "poisons" are the wounds of a friend, not the kisses of the enemy?" 

Those words helped shift the way I was thinking about chemo. So, I messaged the nurse and asked about setting up a time to have the port put in that would be used for the infusions (instead of digging in my veins each time). When I did, I mentioned that I was still struggling with the decision. 

Later that day, the doctor called and said he had "run the numbers" again and had discussed my case with other breast cancer specialists at the hospital and based on what they saw, they were comfortable with not doing chemotherapy and proceeding with radiation and, later, hormonal treatments. 

Praise God. 

So, instead of beginning chemotherapy today, I met with the oncologist to talk about treatment options for after I finish radiation. I begin that on Monday morning and will continue every weekday for four weeks. 

There were some bright spots in the middle of the turmoil. My friend Diane sent me this pillow she had made, after talking with another friend of hers who had been through breast cancer and had been blessed with someone making one for her. It has pockets for ice packs and wraps around like a hug. Thank you, friend.  

Melody and Jenny, two friends from church, put together a care package to carry me through both chemo (should I have needed it) and radiation. They found a shirt that would allow easy access to the port for chemo . . . 

A wearable blanket . . . 

Coloring and devotional books for when I'm waiting for treatments or want to journal about the cancer journey . . . lotions to help with radiation . . . fuzzy socks to help with temperature regulation during treatments . . . 

Encouraging blankets . . .

Candles and bath salts . . . 

And so many other blessings such as snacks and head scarves. Things to make a hard journey that much easier and better. Thank you, friends. 

 At church a few Sundays ago, I taught the kids the account where the Israelites are fighting a battle and they win when Moses raises his hands. They lose when his hands fall. It was a long battle and Moses' arms grew tired, so Aaron and Hur stood beside him and held up his arms. Thank you to all of you who have been holding up my hands through prayer and also through other tangible gifts like these. 

God is good. All the time. 

New Arrival

So much for blogging every day, eh? And so much for blogging even once a week! So, it's been a busy few weeks but things may be calming down just a bit for awhile, so, since you missed me so much (what? you didn't notice?), or maybe just because I enjoy writing, I'll try to jump back onto the blogging wagon. 

A coworker at the museum I work with gives workshops on carnivorous plants (from a biblical perspective). He's a carnivorous plant enthusiast and has scores of different types of them in his own greenhouse. 

Having a carnivorous plant has been on my "someday list of things to acquire" because I think they're interesting and because I thought they might be helpful in cutting down on the fly and gnat population in our house. And I'm in awe of their amazing design by our Creator. So when Ron advertised  that he was selling off some of his premium plants to make room in his greenhouse, I jumped at the chance to buy one (or six). My friend Chris facilitated the exchange, and on Friday he delivered Red Dragon Venus Flytraps to me. 

According to Ron's directions (check out his article here), I'm supposed to keep it sitting in one inch of distilled water and give it six hours of sun daily (if I want the leaves to stay purple). So I put it in my kitchen window, and it is now making friends with the succulent and the green onions that were already residing there. 

When I checked it today, I was excited to see that it had caught its first fly! It is already earning its keep. It can stay. 

Summer Sanity Saver

Last summer, Cael decided it would be appropriate to awaken every day at 6 a.m. Pretty much all summer long. No matter how late he was awake the previous day. And, when Cael wakes up, he doesn't just lay quietly in bed or play quietly by himself. He runs to our bedroom, climbs on the bed, and starts talking: narrating the events of the day before, what will happen during the coming day, how hungry he is, and what he'd like to eat for breakfast. All before I've opened my eyes. It drove me a bit crazy.

Toward the end of the summer, I bought some blackout curtains for their room, thinking that maybe the sun was waking him up. They didn't work quite like I had hoped. Over the school year, thankfully, his wake time has gotten later and he manages to stay asleep until 7:30 or so (depending on the events of the previous day).

Kieran is very sporadic in his wake time. He's never been a great sleeper and lately he's been wandering during the night. He'll move from his bed to the bed in the guest room and then to the sofa and sometimes to the blanket area beside our bed and then back to his bed and to the floor and . . . . Sometimes he's awake at 5 or 6, sometimes he sleeps until 7 or 8.

I recently decided that I didn't want a repeat of last summer and that we needed to do something about Kieran's wake times and his night wanderings. (I'm not too concerned that he'll get out of the house right now -- he doesn't know how to operate the dead bolt -- but it is on my mind.)

Enter the stoplight alarm clock. I remembered hearing about it at some point, so last week, I hopped online, found it, and bought it. It arrived Friday.

The idea is that you turn on the red light at night, and the green lights up at whatever time you set in the morning. "Red means stay in bed." And when it's green, they can get out of bed (they're allowed to go to the bathroom if they need to). The yellow serves as a night light. (It also has an actual beeping alarm that you can turn on if you need them to wake up a certain time, but I'm not currently using that function.)

Last night, I set the "alarm" for 8 a.m. and reminded the boys that "red means stay in bed." I don't know that it worked for keeping Kieran in bed during the night (I found him in a different bed than he started out in), but at 8:01, Cael came bounding into the room. I asked him if the light was green, and said, "Yep!"

I'm hopeful this means we'll all be able to enjoy the sleepiness of summer this time around. Here's to a sane summer break!

The day of my birth

In case you haven't heard, I'm celebrating 40 years of life post-womb this month (I like to celebrate all month long). In light of that, I thought it might be fun (for me) to have a record of my birth for posterity, so I asked my parents to share what they remember from that time. And here it is (as an aside: I think my mom should become a regular contributor to this blog, don't you agree?): 

The day of your birth dawned bright and sunny.  Trees had not yet started budding, but there was hope spring would arrive soon. You were now four weeks overdue – a true ten-month baby. You were supposed to come on March 30. And no, we hadn’t miscounted – you were on schedule all the way through the pregnancy. You just needed to bake a little longer than most, I guess.

Contractions started in the morning. Dad went on to work. (He was youth pastor at Hilltown Baptist Church in Hilltown, PA at the time.) Later on in the morning, as the contractions began to get closer together, the phone rang. I hobbled over to answer, thinking it was Dad checking on me. Instead, it is someone wanting to sell me light bulbs that last forever at a fantastic price. Umm . . . no, thanks. 

At noon, Dad came home for lunch, and we decided that it might be best to head on down to the Doylestown Hospital. Arriving there, we were asked if we had called the doctor to tell him we’d be there. Why, no – it hadn’t really crossed my mind. So while they coached me through the contractions, we waited an hour and a half for the doctor to arrive. And the nurse kept telling me not to push because he hadn’t come yet. He arrived at 1:30. You arrived at 2:15. And this was a natural childbirth. After all, it was in the 70s, a natural birth was the in thing.

I remember being surprised for about 2 seconds that you were a girl. For some reason, I guess because I had two older brothers, I thought that I would have a boy first. Remember, there was no way of telling prior to birth at that time which we would have…unless you count those ladies who would come up, look at your belly, and announce that you were having a boy or girl because you were carrying it low, or high, or you had heartburn, or not, or you carried it all in the front, or around the middle . . . .  

Just after you were born, the attention was drawn to Dad – the nurse noticed that he had turned white. Quickly, she drew him into another room and administered whatever you administer to someone who is about to faint. Was it your beauty? The relief that you were here?  You can decide. :)

Editor's note:
I'm gonna go with "my beauty,"
 n'est-ce pas? 

 We hadn’t settled on a boy’s name, but we knew what we would name our girl. Your name comes from your mother’s and grandmother’s name – Anastasia. My mother was called Ann. My name became Nan (later Nancy). And we turned the name around to call you Stacia Ann. You have carried the name well.

Three days later, we left the hospital with our precious firstborn girl. Spring had arrived. The trees had burst into bloom, celebrating your arrival. We love you and thank God for you every day. 

Happy birthday, dear daughter.

Prayers

A few months ago, I downloaded the (free) PrayerMate app on my phone (available for iOS and Android). I've found it amazingly helpful in keeping track of prayer requests from church and friends and family, and it's helped to revitalize my desire to spend time with the Creator of the universe in talking with Him and talking to Him about the needs of those in my life (and my own needs).

One of the encouraging aspects of PrayerMate has been the daily prayer from Scotty Smith at the Gospel Coalition that I selected to have automatically imported into the app. Two of his recent prayers have really ministered to me and I wanted to record them here so that I can return to them and meditate more on them.

A Prayer for Humbling Ourselves When We’d Rather Not

Mar 18, 2015 | Scotty Smith

     Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up. (James 4:10 NIV) When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with humility comes wisdom. (Prov. 11:2 NIV) Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. (Eph. 4:2 NIV) Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. (Matt. 5:9 NIV)

Dear heavenly Father, “being right” is so much more fun than being humbled; remaining defensive is so much easier than offering kindness; getting even is more instinctive than getting low. Alas, I find myself again in the need of fresh grace as this day begins. Thank you for convicting me without condemning me.

I know you resist the proud, but give grace to the humble—and the last thing in the world I want is to experience your resistance, so, Father, I humble myself before you today. Bring glory to yourself, as you bring me back to the ways of the gospel.

Forgive me for trying to justify my haughtiness, coolness, and withdrawal. Nobody’s failure to love well can excuse my own. Forgive me for investing more energy in propping up my reputation than in working towards peace and reconciliation. Forgive me for confusing the self-righteous monologue I’ve been carrying on in my head with prayer. I’ve been talking to myself, not to you.

Forgive me for relishing the thought of being right, when there’s been everything wrong with my attitude. Forgive me for “processing” the broken situation with others, when it’s really been closer to gossip. Forgive me for being passive in the face of a potential messy confrontation, rather than active as a peacemaker.

Have mercy on me, gracious Father, have mercy. As the day unfolds, please grant me humility, kindness, and courage to move towards the situation. Bring glory to yourself, gentleness to my heart, and a good gospel outcome. So very Amen I pray, in Jesus’ wonderful and merciful name.

A Prayer for Avoiding the Deadly Toxins of Bitterness and Resentment

Mar 24, 2015 | Scotty Smith

Look after each other so that none of you fails to receive the grace of God. Watch out that no poisonous root of bitterness grows up to trouble you, corrupting many. Heb. 12:15 (NLT)

Resentment kills a fool. Job. 5:2 (NIV)   

Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you. Eph. 4:31-32 (NIV)

     Dear heavenly Father, these Scriptures cut to the chase and bring conviction to our hearts. We are your beloved daughters and sons, but today we are also your “busted” daughters and sons; for resentment comes to us as quickly as someone steals our parking place, or eats the saran-wrapped piece of cake we hid in the “frig,” or fails to include us in some social event. It’s amazing how quickly a little slight can launch us into a big spite. Have mercy on us, Lord, and grant us fresh grace, thicker skin and bigger hearts.

     But Father, being slighted is one thing, but being assaulted by the betrayals and failures, deceit and lies, attacks and abuse of others, is an altogether different matter. These aren’t things to shake off, but deep wounds, broken hearts, and incredible pain to bring to your throne of grace. You’re not calling us to denial, but to yourself. Have mercy on us, Lord, have big mercy; and grant us wisdom, strength and tons of grace.

     Father—through the power of your Holy Spirit, the truth of the gospel, and the gift of community, don’t let our appropriate anger morph into destructive revenge. Don’t let our raw hurts become a band of vigilante marauders, not just bent on getting even, but upping the ante—repaying harm for harm, evil for evil, and death for death.

     Don’t let our vulnerable hearts become gardens for the planting of roots of resentment and bushes of bitterness; and keep us from medicating our pain foolishly. Father, as Jesus has forgiven us, so help us to want to forgive others. Write stories of redemption and restoration with the ink of our hurt and your grace. So very Amen we pray, in Jesus’ tender and triumphant name. 

A love song

One of the things that I love about Seth is his sense of humor. The other day, I posted this on my Facebook status:

Random memory (as I listen to country songs on the radio -- don't judge): I once asked Seth why he never wrote a love song for me. He said, "Because nothing rhymes with 'Stacia'." ‪#‎acacia

Several friends offered their recommendations for words rhyming with "Stacia" . . . in case Seth wanted to write that song after all: aphasia, Valencia, facia.

My multi-talented SIL Ruth took it one step further and actually wrote a song on behalf of her brother in the country genre. It made me laugh and I thought I'd share it here, too.

Stacia, Stacia, oh mah, Stacia,
Ah jus’ wanna take this occasia
Ta sing y’a little song
 Cuz Ah cain’t help but praise ya!

Ain’t a never gonna take ya on a trip ta Asia,
But Ah can grill ya’ll a steak and feed ya focaccia.
Ah’d surely take the jolt if somebody tried ta taze ya
Even though it means Ah’ll get another abrasia.

Ah love the choice o’ yer life’s vocatia.
It don’t matter to me what yer boss pays ya.
Ah don’t care what the bathroom scale weighs ya,
All ya need ta know is that I gotta embrace ya.

As time goes by an the years start ta age ya,
If ya end up with rheumatism and hip dysplasia,
Even if ya grow some whiskers on yer facia,
Ain’t nuthin’ could convince me that Ah oughta replace ya!

While I'm on the topic of Ruth and her many talents, I thought I'd share these cute button puzzles she made for Kieran. I had mentioned a while ago that he was working on learning to button with some button boards but that I thought it would be good for him to practice on buttons of different sizes. Ruth immediately had the idea of making puzzles with buttons that he could practice with. And quick as a wink, she sewed up these two puzzles out of fabric scraps and buttons she had on hand for him to use.

He saw the dragon as an elephant. Can you?

He's enjoyed putting them together and taking them apart.

 I think she could start a business out of making custom button puzzles, don't you?

How I met your father, part 29

Part 1 -- The Hayride
Part 2 -- The Interview with Seth
Part 3 -- The Interim
Part 4 -- The Rook Party
Part 5 -- The Meeting
Part 6 -- The Sign
Part 7 -- The Phone Call
Part 8 -- The Dinner Party
Part 9 -- The History Channel
Part 10 -- The Trip to England
Part 11 -- The Homecoming
Part 12 -- The Interview with Seth (part 2)
Part 13 -- The EE Questions
Part 14 -- The April Phase
Part 15 -- The Birthday
Part 16 -- The Engagement
Part 17 -- The Memorial Day Picnic
Part 18 -- The Official Engagement
Part 19 -- The Date
Part 20 -- The Family Participation
Part 21 -- The Wedding Dress
Part 22 -- The Bridesmaid Dresses

Part 23 -- The Wedding Ring
Part 24 -- The Bridal Showers
Part 25 -- The Week Before
Part 26 -- The Rehearsal
Part 27 -- The Wedding Photos

Part 28 -- The Wedding

Appendix -- The Marriage Advice

Dearest Kieran and Cael, 

We've come to the end of our tale about how I met (and married) your father. I've enjoyed revisiting the beginnings of our relationship and remembering things I'd long forgotten. 

So, your father and I were finally married. After we exited the church sanctuary, we stood at the doors, greeting people as they moved into the reception area. I remember, in particular, your Uncle Dan passing by and giving your dad and me a big hug and saying with a huge smile on his face, "I am so happy for you guys!"

And I also remember taking off the shoes I was wearing because they were very uncomfortable and putting on another pair of sandals so that the circulation could continue to my feet. 

And then it was time for us to be introduced at the reception, "Mr. & Mrs. Seth McKeever." I loved hearing those words.

This was the spread your Aunt Katy put together to feed everyone.

After we made our entrance, we sat down at a table and ate a bit and then tried to make it around to chat with everyone who had come. I don't think we were able to talk with everyone, but it was so nice to have so many of our friends and family there with us to enjoy the day. 

And your Aunt Kenda was finally able to meet my boss -- someone she'd wanted to meet in person for quite a while. 

And this is just a fun aside -- my boss sent this note to my parents after he found out your dad and I were engaged. It meant a lot to me that he and his wife came to our wedding. 

We didn't do a lot of traditional weddingy things, like toss the bouquet or garter (I wasn't even wearing one), but we did keep the tradition of cutting the cake. 

Until I saw this picture, I'd forgotten your dad grabbed a big handful of cake and pretended he was going to shove it in my mouth.

We were kind to each other.

Until the end. If you look closely, you can see a bit of icing on your dad's nose. That was thanks to me.

And then we kissed and made up.

 I like to title the following pictures, "Son, if you ever hurt my daughter . . . "

 "Just kidding!"

After most of our guests left, we opened our presents so that our family could share in the joy of that moment with us.

A long-time friend of my parents, Ruth, was ready to help wherever she was needed. This time, she pitched in to help organize the flow of the presents. My parents (and I) still treasure their friendship with Ruth and Bill.

After the presents were opened, we changed our clothes and then got ready to leave for our honeymoon. My parents gathered up the presents and took them back to our condo for us. And I think everyone who was left helped to clean everything up.

Frost and Roger again participated in our wedding by offering us the use of their Miata as the get-away car. Roger even helped to decorate it.

We drove it to the hotel where we spent the night, and then they came and got it the next day while we went on our way to the airport. 

So there you have it. How I met your father. 

And, by God's grace, we've lived happily (for the most part) ever after. 

The end.