Snippets and Stories

Summer Lessons

snippetsandstories — Tue, 19 Oct 2010 23:17:38 +0000

So here we are, where we honestly never expected to be. We’ve gone from a more than 60% chance of incurable cancer that could have taken Mark in less than five years to a roughly 70% to 80% chance that he’s completely cured. The radiation oncologist says it’s not in Mark’s best interest to do radiation right now, and the risk involved in waiting until there’s a definite reason to radiate is minimal. Every three months we will get his blood drawn for a PSA check, pray, hold our breath, and wait. Waiting. In many ways that’s a word that very well describes a journey through cancer. You’re always waiting.

So what have I learned through this summer of cancer? I’d say it wasn’t so much new things as reminders and reinforcement of things the Lord has already taught me. First of all, regardless of what the doctors say, our future is determined by the Lord. Time and time again the odds were against a cure. Time and time again, Mark beat the odds. Just goes to show that while doctors can give you odds, it’s the Great Physician who gives the outcome. He may still choose to use prostate cancer to bring Mark home, but if so He isn’t going to do it anytime soon. For the time being anyway, it appears He wants Mark healthy.

He also reminded me that He meets us in the moment. He knew all along what was going to happen, but He also knew I didn’t know. When I was weak, He was my strength. When I grieved over the thought of losing my beloved husband, He was my comfort. What a blessing to cry out that I didn’t have the strength to get through the day, knowing that at the day’s end, He will have given me the strength and I would be OK. Tomorrow is in His hands. We live in the moment, and in the moment He gives us what we need. Not necessary what we think we need, but always what we really need. When the future looked dark and uncertain, what a blessing to know I could trust the One who has written out every day of my life before any of them came to be. I could rest in the moment knowing that whatever ‘moments’ might be ahead, He’d meet me in those as well.

I learned once again that there is joy even in the darkest of times. I watched Mark on the tractor, brush-hogging the grass in the pastures (cutting it down, for all you non-farmers out there). It was a beautiful sunny day with the warmth of Spring soaking into our winter-chilled skin. It was a moment of joy. I watched chicks break their way through their shells and blink in the light of a new life. It was a moment of joy. I took Akira down to the river, built myself a little altar of river rocks, and surrendered everything to the Lord once again. The depression that hung over me that day evaporated like mist, replaced by peace. It was a moment of joy. True joy doesn’t come from our circumstances, it comes from the Lord. And He is there regardless the circumstances.

For the believer, God has promised to work all things together for good. That oft-quoted passage in Romans (Romans 8:28) can sometimes seem trite. Believe me, in the trenches of life’s trials, there’s nothing trite about it. I can see already some good He’s worked in our lives through this summer of cancer. The future may show us more. I’m sure I won’t see it all until I’m actually with Him. For now, we go on, knowing as ever that we are in the Lord’s hands, regardless of what tomorrow brings. There’s no better place to be.

Good News (with a caveat)

snippetsandstories — Wed, 29 Sep 2010 15:42:42 +0000

OK, this is a little complicated, so I’ll do my best. First, much to everyone’s delight, Mark has no detectable PSA. In theory, this means there is nothing in him producing PSA, neither a prostate nor prostate cancer. Under normal circumstances we’d be dancing around and shouting, “Let the ten year countdown begin!” But this is where it gets a little complicated. Mark had positive margins. This means there was cancer all the way to the edge of the tissue that was removed during surgery. Positive margins mean either the surgeon cut right at the very edge of the tumor, or there were cancerous cells beyond where he cut. That’s why men with positive margins have such a high recurrance rate. Normally, detectable PSA is the indicator that there is still cancer present.

In Mark’s case, he had a very aggressive, very extensive tumor but a relatively low PSA. This tells us that his cancer wasn’t producing a lot of PSA to begin with. So for him, undetectable PSA is not necessarily a good early indicator that cancer is still present. It could be that there is cancer present, but not enough to produce enough PSA to be detected. Thus, we have a choice. Do we watch and wait to see if the PSA begins rising, or do we proceed with radiation treatment to be on the safe side. There are pros and cons on both sides. Radiation should never be treated lightly, and in Mark’s case the risk is higher because he’s on Coumadin. That might argue for at least waiting until he’s off the Coumadin, either in November or in February, and then testing the PSA again. On the other hand, because we know Mark’s cancer is not one that produces a lot of PSA, the chances are higher that by the time PSA is detectable (if cancer is present) it will have already gone distant and hence become terminal.

We will meet with a raditation oncologist within two weeks, after which Mark will make his decision. Prayers for wisdom would be greatly appreciated.

Vertical Perspective

snippetsandstories — Thu, 22 Jul 2010 02:35:01 +0000

Well before we knew Mark had cancer, we decided to use Livestock Guardian Dogs to protect our herd of goats. Mark, in shining Mark style, researched the options, decided on a breed (Anatolian Shepherd), and found some breeders. We put a deposit down on Akis and a younger male puppy from another breeder. Mark’s diagnosis didn’t change our plans. One week before his surgery, we went to pick up Akis. The younger puppy would be ready a couple of weeks after Mark’s surgery. Alas, despite a very large litter (eleven puppies, six of them male), all of the puppies were sold to people who had sent in deposits earlier than us. She referrred us to another litter that had a male available and offered to transfer our deposit to that breeder. We agreed and got in contact with the other breeder. I planned to make a very long drive to Northern California and back to pick up the pup once I was convinced Mark would be well enough to be home alone all day.

As the time approached, I began to dread the drive. I felt overwhelmed and exhausted. One morning I woke up early and decided to pray until it was time to get up. Among other things, I prayed for the energy I needed to make the long drive. Instead, I got the very clear thought that we should wait on getting another puppy. I’m not 100% sure, but I think it was Friday morning. Later that day, we would learn that Mark will likely need radiation treatment. I told Mark of the thought that had come to mind when I was praying. We talked about it, and he said he would think about it. I left it there, confident that if the thought had come from the Lord, He would confirm it for Mark, the head of our household. He sent an email off to get some more information about the puppy. We got a reply saying that the puppy was no longer available.

Looking at things from a strictly horizontal perspective, the fact that a male puppy was suddenly unavailable not once but twice could have been a big disappointment. Instead, I sat at my computer, reading the email, awed at the way the Lord was obviously guiding and directing us. I think He started directing us with the reluctance I felt to make a long drive, and confirmed it for both of us when the second puppy fell through. For whatever reason, God is keeping us from getting the second dog. Instead of feeling deprived of what I need, I feel so cared for and protected. Eventually, from our perspective anyway, we feel we do need two guardian dogs. God obviously knows that right now is not the time to have two of them. Maybe next year we’ll be in a better position to add a second puppy. Akis will be more mature, and we’ll have a better idea of Mark’s prognosis. Maybe it has nothing to do with Mark’s prognosis and God is keeping the second puppy from us for reasons that at this point are hidden. It doesn’t really matter. The important thing is to keep our perspective vertical, knowing that God is in control, guiding, directing, caring for, and protecting us.

The Road Ahead

snippetsandstories — Fri, 16 Jul 2010 22:44:32 +0000

Mark had his post-operative appointment with his doctor this afternoon. He removed the catheter (hooray!!!) and went over the final pathology report with us. We wanted to hear that the lymph nodes were negative for cancer. We heard that. We wanted to hear that Mark had negative margins. We didn’t hear that. The cancer had broken through the prostate wall and had begun to invade the bladder. What the doctor meant when he said he “cut wide” was that he removed part of Mark’s bladder and then reconstructed it. Did he get all of the cancer out by doing that? Probably not. He said he felt there was less than a 30% chance that he got it all out.

So what next? We wait until late in September to let all of the residual PSA exit Mark’s system, then do a PSA test. If that comes back with detectable PSA, Mark has radiation treatment. There is a 50% chance that radiation treatment would be successful and we’d still have a chance at a cure. If radiation doesn’t work, that means the cancer has left the immediate area and we begin treatment to slow the cancer, which at that point would be incurable. So, roughly speaking we have a 60% chance of a cure. If it isn’t curable? The doctor is confident he would have at least another 10 years, maybe 15 to 20. Statistics are nice to give you a general idea of how things might go, but we are ultimately where we were at the beginning of this process – in God’s hands. He’s known from the start what would happen with this. We just have to wait to find out what that will be.

Mixed Results

snippetsandstories — Tue, 13 Jul 2010 15:56:49 +0000

Mark’s final pathology was not yet back last Friday, probably due to the fact that the previous Monday was a holiday. The doctor called us yesterday with the results. Thankfully, the lymph nodes still showed negative. However, the cancer did break through the prostate wall. This doesn’t mean the doctor did not get all of the cancer out, although it does mean that possibility exists. He told me at the time of the surgery that due to the size of the tumor, he “cut wide.” While we will find out more details at his appointment this Friday, we know right now that a PSA test will be done as soon as it would be reliable, and the results of that test will determine if we proceed with radiation treatment. So, once again we wait. Waiting will simply be a part of our “new normal.” After all, even if the PSA levels are undetectable (indicating no cancer), we need ten years of undectable PSA levels before we can consider him cured.

Mark is recovering well following his surgery. He grows stronger every day. He is able to care for himself well enough that I’m comfortable leaving him for four hours tomorrow while I drive to pick up a couple of Mottled Java Roosters for my hens. I could have picked them up last week, but there was nothing that could entice me to leave him for that long at that point. He has a great attitude (not to imply we haven’t both had moments of crabbiness ), but is very eager for his appointment this Friday after which he’ll be less restricted. We are daily amazed at how faithfully God has sustained and blessed us.

Two Hurdles Down, Two To Go

snippetsandstories — Wed, 07 Jul 2010 23:21:57 +0000

Mark’s surgery went very well. He stayed in the hospital two days and came home on Sunday. He’s obviously very sore, but getting better every day. During surgery, they do a quick check of the lymph nodes. That quick check came back negative. So, we’ve crossed two of the four hurdles in order to have a chance at a cure. The third comes this Friday, when we get the final pathology report. In order to clear this hurdle, we need negative margins (no cancer on the outside edges of the tissue removed during surgery) and negative lymph node involvement. The final hurdle won’t come until he gets his first PSA test done. According to what I’ve read, that will take place anywhere from 6 weeks to 3 months post-op. We’ll probably find out for sure when that will happen at his appointment this Friday.

During the surgery, I was blessed by a dear sister in Christ who stayed with me the entire time, and brought me a delicious lunch too! The next day good friends from Seattle came down to see Mark and take me out for lunch to make sure I wasn’t neglecting myself while taking care of Mark. Friends and family from all over have been covering us in prayer. I tell you, I will never again take it lightly when some says they are praying for me. It has been such a blessing to know many people our taking our needs to our Lord, petitioning Him on our behalf.

On the Eve of the Unknown

snippetsandstories — Thu, 01 Jul 2010 18:35:17 +0000

We’ve been here before, we’ll be here again. Tomorrow is Mark’s surgery. What will the doctor find when he gets in there? Will he be able to get all of the cancer out? Will the lymph node dissection show microscopic spread? We just don’t know. Once again, we must rest in the hands of the One who does know. Soon enough, the facts will be known and we’ll go on from there.

It’s funny the thoughts that have been on my mind today, the day before our life changes. And change it will, even if they do get all of the cancer out. The surgery itself, even if successful, will have long term, possibly permanent consequences. One of the most surprising things I’ve been thinking about is the absolute certainly of no more children for Mark and I. I haven’t thought about having more kids for years. I’m almost 46, Mark is 57, we have two grandchildren. Why this mourning over a dream I gave up years ago? Maybe it’s just the finality of it. I don’t know. All I know is that I need to open up my hands, lift what I thought was a long ago dream to the Lord once again, and say “Yes, I accept Your decision to not give us any more children.”

What a joy to know that whatever tomorrow brings, we can rest confident knowing our Lord knows best, knowing He will never call us to go through that which He will not also equip us to go through. I don’t fully understand the heaviness of my heart today, but I do understand who has my heart in His hands. It’s enough.

Observations of a Chicken Hatch

snippetsandstories — Mon, 28 Jun 2010 17:16:24 +0000

For obvious reasons, the subject of death and dying have been on our minds lately. It’s not really a new subject. In fact, it’s one of the oldest systematically ignored subjects we human deal with (or don’t deal with as the case may be). The fact of the matter is that, regardless of the outcome of Mark’s surgery this Friday, he is dying. So am I. So is my four-month old granddaughter. We all are. Except for a select few alive at the return of Christ (I hope to be part of that number), none of us are going to make it out of here alive. I was thinking about this as I watched my chicks hatching a couple of weeks ago. I thought about the hatch from three perspectives; the shell, the chick, and me. I know, I know, a shell doesn’t have a perspective, but work with me on this.

As I watched the hatch, I noted that the shell was being destroyed. When the process was finished, I would remove the shell and discard it. It had served its purpose. If shells did have a perspective, it might have been distraught over what was happening to it. It was a pretty shell, a useful shell, a carefully nutured and protected shell, but now it was being relentlessy, ruthlessly broken apart by forces beyond its control. Hatching is not a pleasant process for a shell.

It’s not terribly pleasant for the chick, either. It’s a lot of work. It involves a lot of struggle. It’s not easy breaking through that shell and getting free. The chick was safe and warm inside that shell. Granted, it was a bit cramped, but it was familiar. None of that mattered to the chick. Regardless of the struggle, something told that chick it was time to break free, to move on to something more.

Then there’s me. I watched the hatch, not thinking at all about the destruction of the shell. I felt for the struggle of the chick, but I knew to intervene would cause serious harm to the chick. I knew the chick was struggling, but I didn’t feel sorry for it. On the contrary, I was excited. New life was bursting through that shell, soon to join the world! In fact, I was far more excited about the shells being destroyed, and the struggle of the chicks to break free, than I was over the two shells that remained intact. Those made me sad. There was no life inside.

Our bodies are shells. They are important. God Himself says so. But they are shells. One day, they will be destroyed. Cancer is threatening to destroy Mark’s “shell” a little on the early side, but even if we get it all out, his body will be destroyed eventually. All of ours will be. How we feel about that depends on our perspective. Our bodies don’t look forward to the process. It can be a long, painful struggle. Even if it happens suddenly and without pain, we still don’t want to think about it. For the believer, though, we know that although the process may be difficult, what awaits when we’re finished is well worth the struggle. Life, eternal life given by God to those who place their faith in Him, bursts through! The shell isn’t missed. We have the promise of an immortal, perfect body. Who would miss the old, broken down one? And as far as God’s perspective, Jesus says quite plainly in John 17 that He wants those who are His to be with Him. He knows it will be hard for those left behind, but one of His children is coming home! That’s not sad, that’s exciting!

Death is only death for those who don’t belong to Christ. For the believer, death is life bursting through!

Answering the Hardest Question

snippetsandstories — Fri, 18 Jun 2010 15:49:47 +0000

When we told our pastor about Mark’s cancer, I made the comment that at the very least I would have him for a few more years. He laughed and said he’d never have pegged me as a pessimist. That really bothered me, not because he said it but because I wondered if it might be true. I thought and prayed about it a lot. I personally think a Christian has no business being a pessimist. I finally realized it wasn’t pessimism, it’s a way I use to face difficult situations. I imagine the worst possible outcome to the situation I’m in, in this case it was losing Mark in a fairly short period of time, and then I face it. I stare it down. I look at it eyeball to eyeball. And I ask myself the question, “Do I trust the Lord enough to let Him take me down this road if this is what He wills?” Once that question is answered, the lesser ones become much easier.

We found out yesterday that the question does indeed look like it’s one of the lesser ones. Indications are that the cancer has only spread locally, if at all (the CT scan showed an area just outside the prostate that was possibly the tumor breaking through the prostate wall). Surgery will take place in July (still waiting on an exact date), at which time we should know for sure. We are in a period of guardedly optimistic waiting. The odds were against us. But what do odds matter when God is on our side!

The First of Many

snippetsandstories — Wed, 16 Jun 2010 17:27:31 +0000

I knew this day would come. I know it won’t be the last. As is typical for me, the emotions are displaced. Annoyed at the kids, annoyed at the dog, annoyed at the cat. Not the goats. I think it’s impossible to be annoyed at the goats. Annoyed at the disaster my house is becoming, annoyed at not having the time or energy to do anything about it right now, and annoyed at the knowledge that I’d probably have to be forced to accept help with it. Then there’s the self-analysis. Is it the cancer? Is it the fact that I’m closing in on 46 and menopause is most defintely breathing down my neck? Is it both? I know I’ll get through it, I know I’ll find new ways to get done what I need to get done despite a far more disrupted schedule, I know the dog, the cat, and even the kids will forgive me if I fail to hold my tongue or keep up my “I’m just fine” face. I also know I hate feeling weak.

Then, like He has so many times before, my Lord reminded me that it isn’t my strength that I need to depend on. I dropped Mark off at work after the first step of his bone scan this morning and headed for the grocery store. Noticing that it was 9:00 and knowing that annoying “This miracle supplement will cure all your problems!” infomercial was ending, I flipped on the radio. After the intro to the Haven Today show that was just starting, the host played a song. It was exactly what I needed to hear. My Lord always knows. I never have to pretend with Him. I couldn’t get away with it if I tried. He can see right through that “I’m just fine” face of mine (and He gave me a husband who can do it too). Here is the song.

You Are My All in All by Dennis Jernigan

You are my strength when I am weak
You are the treasure that I seek
You are my all in all

Seeking You as a precious jewel
Lord, to give up I’d be a fool
You are my all in all

Jesus, Lamb of God
Worthy is Your name
Jesus, Lamb of God
Worthy is Your name

Taking my sin, my cross, my shame
Rising again I bless Your name
You are my all in all

When I fall down You pick me up
When I am dry You fill my cup
You are my all in all

Jesus, Lamb of God
Worthy is Your name
Jesus, Lamb of God
Worthy is Your name