February 2024 was a whirlwind of shock and grief. We suddenly lost my stepfather to a battle with leukemia. We were not expecting this because prior to February he had been managing and battling the chronic form of this disease, and doing quite well. As our family was just beginning another journey of grief, trying to learn a “new normal” none of us wanted to accept, I had a doctor’s appointment on the horizon as well. I had a few concerns to be discussed and looked at, but I had experienced some of these things in the past and they always turned out to be nothing, so I felt safe to assume this time would be the same.

March is always a busy month with two birthdays in our household, and this year we were celebrating our first born’s sweet sixteen! Ben did great and passed his driver’s test on the first try. We had a trip planned the following week with a group of his friends and their families to a beautiful beach in Florida. Eddie also celebrated his 44th birthday, and the kids’ spring-break was just days away. So on this Monday morning, as I sat in the chair across from a nurse explaining to me how a breast tissue biopsy works, I was in total denial, and really just angry and annoyed. I’m leaving for a vacation in four days, I have had these symptoms before and it was no big deal so I don’t know why this time they want a biopsy, and is she serious that I won’t be able to get in the ocean or swim for seven days? I do not need this biopsy, they want to mark me and put me through all this and it will be for nothing. Yet, I accepted the initial appointment, walked out to my car, called my husband, and cried. We both agreed we shouldn’t get upset or too worried yet, we don’t know anything, it’s just a biopsy. The next day I called and requested to postpone the biopsy until after our trip. I have zero regret making that choice.

On March 27, I was at home by myself, working, when my phone rang. The radiologist let me know that unfortunately, my results were malignant. I can’t accurately express how it feels to hear these words, but shock and disbelief are as close as I can get. The next several days and weeks were excruciating: telling my loved ones I have cancer, particularly my kids, is just an experience I would not wish on the worst person on earth. I was suddenly living in fragments based on doctor’s appointments, scans, more biopsies, waiting on results, and consultations with surgeons and oncologists. I never thought, “my oncologist” or “my breast surgeon” would be part of my vocabulary. I have been riding on the scariest rollercoaster of my life and there is no way for me to get off this one. I have no choice but to grab on to the handles, close my eyes, and hold on for every twist, turn, and dip. There have been crashing lows “because it’s in a lymph node, you have to do chemotherapy”, and a few huge reliefs “your scans show no evidence of disease anywhere else”.

Over the past 12 weeks, I have been walking through a very dark valley, and it’s terrifying, overwhelming, and yet at some points, I can still see so much beauty and goodness surrounding me. Wonderful warrior friends have rallied around me and given me tools and lots of love and support so that I am not walking this journey alone or blind. My “bosom buddies”, “pink sisters”, fellow breast cancer overcomers, are walking beside me and I am so grateful for their encouragement. Looking at them has given me something critical to getting through this: HOPE.

Along with support from fellow survivors, my church and community have rallied around our family. Our church started a meal train and many friends, family and neighbors have pitched in with meals, gift cards, rides for my kids, flowers, house cleaning, books and comfort gifts for infusion days, lots and lots of greeting cards (each one I treasure and save and go back to read through them for ongoing encouragement), hats and scarves to help me get through the hair loss, encouraging texts, walks with my neighbors, and so much more. My mom drives up during my treatment weeks and helps us with laundry, housework and kid’s activities. Our family is going through a lot, and it’s hard, but thank God, we are not alone.

In April, I had surgery for a port in one of my larger veins. I also cut off my long hair and was able to have mine and some of Addie’s hair made into a halo wig that I can wear under hats. Having a piece of me that I chose to take and not allow chemo to take has been somewhat empowering.

As of today, I have completed four rounds of chemotherapy: I started with a dual dense dose, two drugs at once: Adriamycin and Cytoxan. Thank GOD, I am finished now with that specific regimen. I begin a third regimen on June 26, 12 weeks/rounds of Taxol. Once I complete chemotherapy, which will be mid-September, I will have about a month to recover before I have surgery. Surgery will likely happen in October, and then I will have radiation following surgery. There will be a lot more that I have to endure and process, but for right now, I am trying to only focus on what is right in front of me: getting through chemotherapy. I am confident the worst of the chemotherapy side effects are behind me, but I do have a long ways to go.

I would be remiss if I did not mention where my faith is in all of this. I can write pages about it already, but I will save that for another post. I do want to mention that all of this news unfolded during Holy Week this year. It was no coincidence, and there were moments I was trembling with fear and emotion, but acutely aware of God’s presence with me. He has not abandoned or forsaken me, I know this to be true. He was not shocked by my diagnosis, and He knew exactly what I would need to get through this battle. He has and is surrounding me with all I could need, want or hope for with the best doctors, family and friends praying for us, a solid support system, and so far, prayers are being answered. I am responding well to treatment and my tumor has shrank so dramatically I can no longer feel it! More to come….