We knew mom had cancer, she had been officially diagnosed on April 2, 2013 and we knew she needed to see a specialist. After a couple of weeks of waiting, we finally got the phone call that we had our appointment to see this specialist. The morning of the appointment, April 25th, 2013, we got up early to get ready to go. The nerves were tangible but also mixed in was the hope of being able to start treatment. Everything at the appointment seemed to be going well until they found excessive bleeding; the kind that was so rapid, it was difficult to control. Once they found a way to manage it from the doctor’s office they told us to go straight to the UCI Emergency Room; a doctor from their team would be expecting us.
I remember that car ride, there was a lot of silence but the few words that were spoken were enough. I knew my mom was scared…I knew I was scared, but at least we were going to get her taken care of. It was one of those moments when there aren’t many words to pray, so you just whisper, “Jesus, help us.” and that is enough; it is more than enough. I reached over and held her hand and told her “Just like we have since this all started a couple months ago, you and me, we’re in this together. Whatever is coming, whatever is going to happen, it’s you and me.” There was a team of people already waiting for us in the Emergency Room, initially everything seemed to happen really quickly and within the first hour of being in the ER we had already been seen by one of the doctors on the team that would see us through all of this. By the evening we had been admitted and were in what would be the first of several rooms we would be in during that stay.
At the time there were so many things wrong that no one could even really think about addressing the cancer that started all this in the first place. While nearly every complication could ultimately be traced back to the cancer, it had escalated in such a way that cancer was the lesser concern for a while. She had been severely malnourished for some time. We attributed her loss of appetite and weight loss to her grieving the loss of our dad 9 months earlier. It turns out that those are actually symptoms of ovarian cancer. She was also extremely dehydrated and it was compromising her kidney function. Her blood was too thin, resulting in the bleeding. All this was accompanied by a lengthy list of other “small” issues that joined forces to paint one of the scariest pictures I’ve ever seen; losing my mom. In those first days at the hospital the doctors spoke to me a lot because mom wasn’t really in any condition to converse. They informed me that with a cancer as aggressive as hers, surgery was her best option since it was an aggressive form of treatment. At this time there were multiple medical teams and specialists involved in mom’s case to try and stabilize her and get her ready for surgery. Her surgery was scheduled, I started making some phone calls, up until that point only a few people knew what was going on. I let people know about the surgery while trying not to let on how scared I was and how risky this surgery was. Just hours before I started making those phone calls I sat down with the doctor to talk about the surgery and ask any questions I had. It was then that I found out how sick my mom really was, how dangerous this surgery could be, and also that it was our Plan A. If she made it through the surgery, there was no indication of what state she would be afterward. They could potentially have gone in only to find things worse than they anticipated and then close her up. I was so afraid and mom was hardly aware of all that was happening. But, the doctors gave it to me straight that surgery was Plan A and our best shot. The day of the surgery came and we were informed that there would be no surgery. Everyone on her case had determined that she was not stable enough, it was too risky and they didn’t think her body could take it. I was relieved for a moment before realizing…that was Plan A. Now what? Well, now we would move on to Plan B which was to do a few rounds of chemotherapy and then reassess to see if she was stronger and hopefully chemo would shrink the tumor. I remember pulling the doctor aside one morning as we were preparing for the first round of chemo in the next couple of days and asked him if he was hopeful that chemo could work in her case. He answered from a medical standpoint first, saying that most women were responsive but there was never a guarantee and then he said something that will stay with me forever: “But am I hopeful? Yes, I have to be hopeful. There is no way I could do this every day if I weren’t.”
While he was referring to his daily life as an oncologist, it served as a reminder…we should always have hope because there is always hope to be had. Without it, what do we really have? Now, when life challenges me (as it does often these days) and questions whether or not I am hopeful, I can respond in the very same way because “there is no way I could do this every day if I weren’t.”
Not long after that conversation with the doctor, my mom underwent her first round of chemotherapy. As hopeful as everyone tried to remain, the truth was that the doctor wasn’t even sure if her body would be able to handle the harsh medication but it was the next step; our Plan B and were weren’t ready to resort to a Plan C without giving this a shot.
I wish that chemotherapy was some kind of miracle drug whose impact can be seen instantly, but it isn’t. She had the first round and then we waited. It would be 3 weeks before her next treatment. The 3 weeks passed and she received her second treatment just before being discharged from what had been a 6 ½ week hospitalization. Clearly there had been some improvement, she was well enough to leave the hospital, even if it was to transfer to a step down rehab/nursing facility. Almost 3 weeks ago I got to bring my mom home for the first time since that April 25th doctor appointment and 2 weeks ago she had her third round of chemo. The next step was to do a repeat CT scan and other tests to track any improvement that had been made since she underwent chemotherapy.
After a doctor appointment earlier this week in which her repeat scans were reviewed, it is with much joy that I can tell you things have significantly improved. And though happy might be a strange word to use, I am happy to announce that mom’s surgery has officially been scheduled. For so long it seemed like surgery was never going to be an option, but here were are! There are still serious risks as there are with any major surgery, but we are hopeful!
I remember being terrified of mom having surgery; it was extremely dangerous based on her condition at the time. Yet, I was also angry that for this kind of aggressive cancer we had to resort to Plan B. While chemo is harsh on the body, it felt as though we were taking a passive approach to this aggressive disease that was taking over mom’s body. As some time passed I watched Plan B begin to work and I saw mom getting better. I sit here so overwhelmed with gratitude and the truth is washing over me like a warm summer breeze. Suddenly I find myself sitting on the lap of a very big God who whispers to the depths of my being ever so gently, “Sweet girl, there is no such thing as plan B, only what you perceived to be a secondary plan. It was always MY plan A. There is not a single thing that has happened that came as a surprise to me. This story has unfolded exactly as I have written it.” God The Author. As a writer, seeing God as The Author is such a beautiful image. I get it. I understand it. It’s easy for me to grasp. Of course there is no Plan B…he is that good. No editing required, he’s working off a first draft of a story that has been written since the beginning of time.
Friends, it is in this truth that I now find rest. I have no idea what is going to happen today, tomorrow, or the next day, but I know the author. Sometimes I wish that I were the author. I would make sure the next chapter included my mom’s complete healing and countless chapters of her with me after that, but, I’m not the author; He is. And rather than diving into the depths of worry and despair over the future and all that could go wrong, I choose to find rest in the arms of an Author who has yet to write a story in which His grace is not sufficient. Whatever may come, He will provide the strength and grace to carry us through…all of us.
Light and Love,
Leslie Danielle
Fearless Dialogue 