More Mercy

Several people (some I don’t even know personally) have asked for an update, so I’m very grateful and relieved once again to report that after a CT and MRI on Wednesday, my oncologist confirmed that God is still holding cancer at bay. The benign nodules in my liver are still there (and likely will not go away) but are unchanged, and the spot on my pancreas also remains unchanged. Even after all these years, “scan week” is stressful. Rich and I can tell we are more forgetful and prone to impatience and other sins. Thank you for your prayers, even in this. I had a scare in April that we didn’t mention to many people. It turned out to be nothing, so that pushed my next scan out to this week (6 months later.) If nothing else comes up, I’ll be seen on Gonda 10 in another 6 months. Meanwhile, cardiology surveillance continues every few months as well. My next echocardiogram is in January.

My impulse after a clear scan is to think, “Woo-hoo! I get to live for 6 more months!” And then I think about all the things I want to do. I’m gripped by an urgency that might be good but is also probably annoying to people close to me. Ha! In truth I might have 6 months or 6 years or 6 hours: “If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that” (James 4:15).

I marvel that God has allowed me to hold 2 new granddaughters since my last update–Olivia and Dane’s daughter Jane, born in May, and Luke and Amanda’s daughter Hattie, born just last week! I praise God that both our granddaughters have been born to parents who will point them to Christ, and that if God does not continue to intervene miraculously in my body, I have the gospel hope that I will spend eternity with them.

I’ve included a picture of a bag a Schaeffer student made me this fall. Isn’t it beautiful? I was so touched, and I carry it every day.

We sang this song in church today. I was playing piano, looked up at Rich, and saw he was tearful, too. Thank you for praying and encouraging us to trust the Lord and follow Jesus on the “road not understood.”

“There is hope in every trial, for I can trust the Lord. / He will turn my heart towards Him and help me bear the thorn./ So in faith, I follow Jesus on the road not understood, / for I know that He is working for His glory and my good.” (“His Glory and My Good,” Ben Fielding, Jonny Robinson, Rich Thompson)

TEN YEARS!

I can’t let the month of February pass without publicly thanking God on this platform for sustaining us and increasing our faith over the 10 YEARS since my cancer diagnosis. Our kids surprised us by showing up on a zoom call while we were visiting Luke and Amanda. They wanted to mark the milestone, and did so with pictures, sweet words, prayers of gratitude, and a bouquet of pink roses. Luke ended our time by reading from the Heidelberg Catechism:

Q.
What is your only comfort
in life and death?
A.
That I am not my own,
but belong with body and soul,
both in life and in death,
to my faithful Saviour Jesus Christ.
He has fully paid for all my sins
with his precious blood,
and has set me free
from all the power of the devil.
He also preserves me in such a way
that without the will of my heavenly Father
not a hair can fall from my head;
indeed, all things must work together
for my salvation.
Therefore, by his Holy Spirit
he also assures me
of eternal life
and makes me heartily willing and ready
from now on to live for him.

All month long I’ve been thinking of those shocking, sad, and scary days of February 2015. I distinctly remember gathering in our kitchen with loved ones to pray once we knew how dire my diagnosis was. Luke joined us on the computer screen from his college dorm. A pastor friend asked God for “decades of life.” I was shocked, yet heartened by the audacity of that prayer, and I’ve continued to pray the same.

My CT scan in December looked clear. My next big thing will be a right heart catheter in May to check on the pulmonary hypertension brought on by years of chemo drugs.

I don’t know why God has allowed me to see, in the past decade, graduations (high school, college, and grad school!), weddings, the birth and death of a granddaughter and the expectation of another, along with the thousands of beautiful, ordinary days. Survivor’s guilt is real. But I am so grateful. Grateful for my family, for so many friends who pray for me, for my medical team at Mayo Clinic, for life.

This song has been both a challenge and an encouragement to our family this past year.

Whate’er my God ordains is right
His holy will abideth
I will be still whate’er He does
And follow where He guideth
He is my God though dark my road
He holds me that I shall not fall
And so to Him, I leave it all
And so to Him, I leave it all

Whate’er my God ordains is right

He never will deceive me
He leads me by the proper path
I know He will not leave me
I take, content, what He has sent
His hand can turn my griefs away
And patiently, I wait His day
And patiently, I wait His day

Whate’er my God ordains is right
Though now this cup in drinking
May bitter seem to my faint heart
I take it all, unshrinking
My God is true, each morn anew
Sweet comfort yet shall fill my heart
And pain and sorrow shall depart
And pain and sorrow shall depart

Whate’er my God ordains is right
Here shall my stand be taken
Though sorrow, need, or death be mine
Yet I am not forsaken
My Father’s care is ’round me there
He holds me that I shall not fall
And so to Him, I leave it all
And so to Him, I leave it all

My Father’s care is ’round me there
He holds me that I shall not fall
And so to Him, I leave it all
And so to Him, I leave it all

Songwriters: Keith Getty / Matthew Sherman Merker

All clear

The follow-up MRI with a different contrast agent has shown that the lesions on the liver are indeed focal nodule hyperplasia (FNH)–benign! I was so relieved to get the news this morning and am so thankful to God that we will be able to celebrate Luke’s wedding next month without the cloud of cancer recurrence hanging over us. Next scan in December. Thank you, THANK YOU for your concern and prayers for our family over the past several weeks.

Cautiously optimistic . . . but brokenhearted

My MRI last week showed some reason to be cautiously optimistic. The radiologist thinks the lesions in my liver are actually focal nodule hyperplasia–benign tumors. These nodules are a complication of TDM1, the cancer med that I was on for several years. My oncologist called with the news and, after consulting with a liver specialist at Mayo, has scheduled me for a follow-up MRI with a different contrast agent that will show more clearly if this is indeed the case. So no biopsy just yet, and hopefully not ever.

But this bright spot has been overshadowed by the death of our first grandchild–precious Eleanor Ruth–who was stillborn on July 1, just a few days before her due date. We’ve never known such heartbreak. It’s devastating to watch our children suffer so, but we admire their love for one another and their trust in God. He is sustaining us all through this deep grief. As always, thank you for your prayers for our family.

Eleanor will be laid to rest here in Minnesota, and there will be a memorial service on Tuesday, July 16, 7:00 at Trinity Presbyterian Church in Rochester.

For the Lord will not cast off forever, but, though he cause grief, he will have compassion according to the abundance of his steadfast love; for he does not afflict from his heart or grieve the children of men. (Lamentations 3:31-33)

“Morn Shall Tearless Be”

We wanted to let you know that a CT scan on Thursday showed 2 lesions on my liver, which is almost certainly metastasis from the breast cancer first diagnosed 9 years ago. The scan was a routine check, not prompted by any symptoms. It is, as my brother said, “a gut punch.” We always knew this was possible–even likely–but God has granted us so many good reports that it’s hard to process this. The next step is an MRI on Tuesday night (thanks, Mayo Clinic, for having late evening appointments), which will probably be followed by a liver biopsy to clarify exactly what’s going on. My oncologist is confident there will be some treatment available. We are hopeful!

Having our kids so far away and my mom in heaven for this particular scan is bittersweet. Bitter for obvious reasons; sweet because God has allowed me to see my kids grow up and to outlive my mom. My dad came over to our house after hearing the news and prayed over me. Such a comfort to hear his deep voice petitioning God on my behalf, as I have heard him do all my life.

We know God is working, both in ways we understand and in ways we don’t. He’s working in ways we can see and ten thousand ways we can’t see. We trust him to be good to us.

Schaeffer’s choir sang this hymn at graduation this year, and the lyrics touched me deeply:

O Love that will not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in thee.
I give thee back the life I owe,
that in thine ocean depths its flow may richer, fuller be.

O Joy that seeks me through the pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee.
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
and feel the promise is not vain, that morn shall tearless be. (George Matheson, 1882)

Sorrowful, yet always rejoicing

Paul’s description of the walk of faith is so true–“sorrowful, yet always rejoicing” (II Corinthians 6:10). Our family has suffered a deep sorrow since my last update in the sudden and unexpected death of my dear, precious mom on December 23. Of course I miss her more than I can say. I am keenly aware that she was one of my greatest supports in this battle against cancer. How heartening it has been to have a praying mom. Thank you to those of you who have reached out to our family in this time of sorrow.

In the midst of the sorrow, we’ve had much cause for rejoicing, too–the greatest being the promise of the resurrection–the promise of eternity with God for all who trust Christ for salvation. We know we’ll see Mom again.

We’re also rejoicing that my latest echocardiogram shows that the pulmonary hypertension drugs are at least stabilizing things. Additionally, I had a chest CT 2 days before Mom’s funeral, and though it looked pretty good, it showed that I had had pneumonia in the recent past (no wonder I felt so crummy!), and thus prompted a repeat scan last week. That scan looked great–infection gone, and no cancer recurrence from the nodule I had removed last January. I shouldn’t need another scan for 6 months. God has been so merciful to me over these years post-diagnosis. I marvel at the TIME he’s given me and deeply desire to be faithful and fruitful with it.

Other causes for rejoicing–God has allowed me to see another daughter get married! We are happy to report that Emily is now Mrs. Jake Lysack. And God has allowed me another longed-for milestone–Olivia and Dane are expecting a baby girl in July!

A sweet friend reminded me that the best way to honor my mom is to remember all that she taught me. I’m trying to do that. A favorite Scripture passage of hers was on her bedroom wall, and I can hear her voice in my head reminding me of this over the years: “For the LORD God is a sun and shield; the LORD bestows favor and honor. No good thing does he withhold from those who walk uprightly” (Psalm 84:11). Sometimes it feels as if God is showering down good things on us. Sometimes it feels as if he is withholding good things. But our feelings must always give way to what we know is true about God–that he is always a sun and shield. He’s always good, and he’s always doing good to us.

Thank you for your prayers for us and for all the ways you bless me and my family. All the grandchildren sang this song at Mom’s funeral.

Eventful!

Lots going on here lately, on many fronts. An x-ray in late April showed a suspicious area that the radiologist wanted a closer look at, and he recommended another chest CT. My surgeon was pretty sure it was just scar tissue and not another nodule, so after some indecision, I elected to wait until after Olivia’s wedding in June to have it checked out. Turns out my surgeon was right, and lung cancer hasn’t returned. Praise God.

Meanwhile, my cardiologist decided it was time to address the chemotherapy-induced pulmonary hypertension that has been slowly worsening, so I had a right side heart catheterization last week. Quite a procedure! The doctor inserted a long tube down my jugular vein into my heart (thank God for lidocaine.) A team of nurses and techs assisted the doctor in measuring the blood pressure in my heart and my lungs, both with and without a study drug administered through a mask. The whole thing took less than half a day. (I did learn that it’s best to take it easy afterwards, though, and NOT try to do your grocery shopping on the way home.)

The results of the heart cath were disappointing. The study drug didn’t help reduce the blood pressure in my lungs, and the right pulmonary artery has started to enlarge. The drug DID improve oxygen flow, though, so I will start on a daily oral med in the hopes that I will be less short of breath. I’m thankful that Mayo has a dedicated pulmonary hypertension clinic, full of very smart and highly specialized professionals to look after me. My condition is quite complex, apparently, and I can’t articulate all the details, so I’m happy to turn this over to people who have intellectual gifts that I don’t! My nurse did caution me against using Google to answer my questions about prognosis (too late). But everyone is different and responds differently to meds. Pulmonary hypertension progresses at different rates, so we continue to pray for more time–for faithfulness and fruitfulness.

It’s scary to receive another Mayo-published booklet with a last section titled, “palliative care.” But as I watched Olivia walk down the aisle on her Dad’s arm last month, I was nearly overhwhelmed with the memories of all the times I begged God to let me be present for such a moment. Psalm 126:3–“The Lord has done great things for us; we are glad.”

Post-surgery update

So many of you have been asking how I’m doing post-surgery, so I guess it’s time for an update.  First of all, THANK YOU so much for the prayers, cards, gifts, and meals.  They (and you) are all precious to us.  And I’m so thankful for Olivia and Hannah, who upended their busy lives and came to help out.  They tag-teamed (but overlapped a few days and got some sister time.)  They took care of me and the house and freed Rich to do his work at school.  My surgeon told me to stay away from all the germs at school for 3 weeks, but I was able to do some school work at home, and competent substitutes kept my classes moving forward.

I had a follow-up chest x-ray and a visit with a nurse practitioner a few days ago.  The X-ray looks good; everything has healed nicely.  The final pathology report yielded no surprises–the nodule was small and slow-growing; the surgeon got clear margins and the lymph nodes were all negative.  I’ll need a chest CT every 6 months for awhile.  I’m hoping these can coordinate with my regular PET scans.  Once again, I can’t say enough about the competent and compassionate professionals at Mayo.  

The surgeon did indicate that my lung tissue is quite friable (easily torn–like tissue paper) because of the pulmonary hypertension brought on by years of treatment with the chemotherapy drug TDM1.  It’s not possible to reverse this condition.  I continue to have shortness of breath when doing stairs or hills or carrying heavy loads.  How quickly will the hypertension progress?  What does this all mean for my long-term prognosis?  These are questions I have for my cardiologist, whom I will see in May after an ECG.  I made the mistake of googling “pulmonary hypertension, life expectancy,” and I confess that I’ve been feeling a bit down–like I’ve traded one terminal condition for 2 or 3.  I am wistful and sad when I think of all the fun and vigorous things our parents did with our kids, knowing that is likely not going to be me with my grandkids.

BUT I am grateful that my surgery went well, and that I had minimal pain.  I’m grateful that our family was able to enjoy our long-anticipated spring training weekend in Florida at the end of February (in spite of a huge blizzard that threatened our ability to join the kids!)  And I’m very grateful that God is not wondering how this latest wrinkle could possibly have gotten by Him, but that “all the days ordained for me were written in [His] book before one of them came to be. How precious to me are your thoughts, O God!” (Psalm 139).  I know He is calling me to be faithful in the circumstances He has chosen for me now, even if they might not be what I would have chosen for myself.  

Safely Home

(This is from Olivia) We are happy to be home after what felt like a long day and a half in the hospital. The surgical team was able to remove her chest tube this morning and once she tolerated that well and they ensured there was no leaking into her lung, she was discharged.

We reported at 5:30 am yesterday morning for a CT scan. My dad and I were able to wait with her in preop for several hours before they took her back to surgery by 11am. We were reunited with her in her hospital room by 4. The surgery went well and they were able to remove the wedge of her lung that they wanted to. The “instant” pathology report showed that they had indeed taken cancer out. We’ll receive the final pathology report in several days. There was some extra scarring and bleeding in her lung that made things a little more complicated, but the surgeon was very happy with how she tolerated anasthesia and everything in light of her pulmonary hypertension.

My mom has been recovering well so far. She was insisting on taking short walks around the thoracic surgery unit last night already. We will continue to pray for minimal pain and a normal recovery! I’m guessing we will have to remind her to take it easy and not lift things over 5 pounds for several weeks.

We are thankful to God for expert medical care and for the encouragment we received this week through many texts and prayers. And I am also thankful that I was able to come home for this week and take a week off classes to be her at-home nurse!

Quick update–surgery scheduled

Rich and I met with a thoracic surgeon yesterday, who outlined the plan. It’s pretty straightforward, for which I am thankful. I really didn’t want to have to make any difficult decisions. This nodule appears to be a type of lung cancer–new and unrelated to the metastatic breast cancer I’ve been fighting. (And no, there is not a medical explanation for why I happened to get lung cancer.) The nodule is in a good location to remove with a procedure called a thorocoscopy, and God willing, Wednesday, February 8 is the day.

The surgical team will make 3 small incisions, one for a camera and two for instruments. They will deflate the right lung, then cut a wedge from it, removing the nodule, surrounding lymph nodes, and enough tissue to provide a wide margin. Then they’ll staple it shut and re-inflate. My pulmonary hypertension, caused by the chemotherapy drug I was on for years, causes a bit of concern, so the desire is to get in and out as quickly as possible. The procedure itself should take 1-1/2 to 2 hours. I’ll wake up with a chest tube and probably some oxygen and will stay at least a night in the hospital. If there are no complications, I could go home the next day. We are praying to that end–no leaking air, no pneumothorax (collapsed lung). We’ll get final pathology results a few days after surgery.

I’ll have strict lifting restrictions for several weeks but should be up walking the day of surgery. Hannah plans to fly up to help us for awhile. Not strictly necessary, I suppose, but a delightful prospect, nonetheless!

Back in November our family planned a long weekend trip to Florida to watch the Twins in spring training. Barring complications, I should be able to go. I can hardly describe how thankful and excited I was to hear that!

We feel your prayers and continue to need them desperately. Thank you!