Guilt of Life By Reality of Death

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My heart sinks like a heavy weight in the bottom of my chest. My anxiety pushes through my body, stealing air from my lungs. My pulse quickens and my mind wanders. I don’t want to face this. I don’t want to talk about it. I’d rather lock it inside behind the smile on my face. Yet no matter how much I try to avoid the topic, it bubbles up in my throat like flaming lava searching for an exit. Though I don’t want to address it, I know I must.

The weight of survival is heavier than I was prepared for. Especially when not everyone has the opportunity to live. The guilt of life caused by the reality of death is piercing and painful and unexpected.

Grief has shown itself in different forms throughout my life. Sadness was expressed in anger when my parents divorced in my childhood. Fear was cloaked in avoidance when I was first diagnosed with cancer. And, most recently, guilt hid behind overwhelming and undefinable anxiety. I was anxious, yet unsure why. I felt lost though I knew where I stood. I was burdened by a sadness that haunted the hidden places of my heart. But I was alive and well, surviving, though confused about my sorrow.

Survivor’s guilt is something I knew nothing about prior to entering the gates of Cancerland. It’s a form of grief that I didn’t know existed until years after surviving an often fatal disease. Whenever I had heard the term “survivor’s guilt,” it was always in regards to soldiers returning from war or survivors returning from some form of disaster. I saw news highlights about people overcome with guilt that their fellow passengers did not survive the same accident that they had. Those who were buried in sorrow because they lived when others did not. Those angry, questioning “Why me?!” And here I am now, having survived a diagnosis that continues to claim the lives of thousands around me, sitting in the thick of survivor’s guilt for the very first time.

When I was first diagnosed with a very rare and aggressive, stage 3, metastatic, neuroendocrine cancer in 2012, I never asked why. I didn’t lie awake in bed at night wondering what I had done to deserve the sickness bestowed upon me. I didn’t question my life. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t depressed. I was simply ready to live and willing to do whatever it took. My eyes were set forward, my posture strong.

During my fight against the third recurrence of my disease, my grandfather was diagnosed with a similarly aggressive type of cancer and ultimately succumbed to the diagnosis. And though I heavily grieved the loss of my dear Papa, survivor’s guilt never showed itself. When one of my close friends entered a surgery that I too had received, only to develop a blood clot and suddenly passed away on the recovery table, guilt never surfaced. I was terribly grief-stricken, but not guilty. With each day, month, and year that goes by, people around me, several of whom I was close with, have died from cancer. Though it wasn’t until the most recent loss of an incredible woman in our cancer community, I never experienced survivor’s guilt.

Melissa was a warrior. She was full of faith and proclaimed her powerful testimony each and every day. She spread hope like wildfire, offering a positive perspective to those of us who knew and loved her. She valiantly fought metastatic breast cancer even when it spread to her spine and brain. She continued to post encouraging messages on social media and consistently clung to Jesus. She was a light to us all. And then, days before Christmas, she took her last breath and left for Heaven.

I was paralyzed in grief. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t be angry. I couldn’t put words to my feelings. While several friends around me posted thoughtful and heartfelt messages of remembrance of a life well lived and taken too soon, I retreated. In fact, when Melissa stopped posting as frequently on social media, so did I. It wasn’t fair. She beat cancer, it was never supposed to return. It wasn’t fair. I couldn’t find words to say. I felt guilty for being alive, for smiling, for laughing, for loving, for living. It wasn’t fair. I was guilty for surviving because she did not.

I am coming to understand that survivor’s guilt is purely an expression of grief. Guilt is birthed in our grief when we lose a loved one to something that we survived. Survivor’s guilt is the “Why me?” when we are cancer-free and they are not. Survivor’s guilt is the “If only…” when reflecting on our relationship with the one who has passed. If only I had talked to her more. If only I had prayed for her more. If only. Survivor’s guilt is feeling like you are wasting the chance you’ve been given. Survivor’s guilt is the burden of life amidst the reality of death. Survivor’s guilt is a comparison of their circumstance and your own. Survivor’s guilt is the “Should have” and “Could not.”

It’s easy to become enveloped in self-punishing thoughts and feelings of guilt. It’s difficult to face these emotions. But until we do, we dishonor the lives cut short. When I made the conscious effort to be still and listen to my feelings, I realized that being trapped in guilt does nothing but punish myself and diminish my own life. I had to step outside of my grief and understand that those we have lost would not want us to live a life buried by guilt and sorrow.

We are alive and we must live. For those who are not, cannot.

Matthew 5:4 (MSG)

“You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.”

PC: Kim Mitiska Photography

My Gluten-Free, Dairy-Free, Sugar-Free Vegan Lifestyle

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The numbers on the scale continued to rise. I was bewildered and depressed knowing that my diet hadn’t changed at all. As my clothes grew tighter and my stomach more bloated, I realized that my assumptions had been wrong. Cancer treatment was not a sure way to lose weight, and in fact, many women actually gain weight during chemotherapy. I gained thirty pounds within the first six months of treatment.

I’ll never forget my very first chemo. A nutritionist came in to talk to me about diet and nutrition. He said that I would lose my appetite and that I needed to focus on consuming more calories than I was used to, to ensure that my body remained strong. He said, “If you want chocolate, eat chocolate. When you’re hungry, eat whatever sounds good.” And while this may be sound advice for those who truly do lose their appetites, for me, it was neither helpful nor beneficial to my fight against cancer.

The truth is, there are more opinions about the cause of cancer than I even care to address. Will being in the sun increase your chance of getting cancer? Yes. Will consuming copious amounts of sugar fuel the disease? I’m sure. Will eating red meat propel the growth of cancer cells? Maybe. Are there ways we can reduce our exposure and risk of getting cancer? More than likely. Do high-fiber, cruciferous, plant-based diets combat malignancies? Probably. There are books, websites, and plentiful resources that completely conflict with each other. How do we even begin to decide what is right? My answer? Do you what you feel is best for you. Read those books, watch those documentaries, listen to those professionals, and scour the resources, but always listen to your body and trust your gut.

Beyond the rise of the numbers on the scale, during my fights against cancer and years later, I noticed an overall decline in my health and wellness. Chemotherapy, radiation, and surgery recovery is taxing on one’s body, but even after they were completed, I felt lethargic. For months I assumed it was my body trying to heal from the amount of treatment I had received. I figured that the reason my body was not bouncing back as expected was due to the fact that I was experiencing menopause as a young adult. I had just fought cancer four times in three years and received a slew of treatments and several surgeries, so of course my body was tired! While I believe that is true, I also know that my body was craving good nutrition. The tank of this engine was dangerously low and it needed to be refueled.

I grew up with a southern cookin’ mama. Casseroles, fixins’, crockpot dishes, pasta, rolls, cheese, and butter. All the food that metaphorically wraps you in a nice, warm blanket and whispers in a southern drawl, “Sweet darlin’, you’ll be alright.” It wasn’t until my early twenties when I realized that though my heart loved that food, my body did not. I have been lactose intolerant since birth. My mom had to quickly eliminate all dairy from her diet because of my colic. I have vivid memories of eating ice cream as a toddler and breaking out in violent hives. I quickly learned to steer clear of milk, but continued to eat cheese, yogurt, and other processed dairy foods.

I have never been someone who loves meat. If you are like my husband, a self-proclaimed meataholic, your jaw probably dropped at that statement. Though I grew up with barbecue meat, grilled meat, and deli meat, it never appealed to me. In fact, I’ve always loathed steak. So, at 20 years old, I decided to radically change my diet. I not only stopped consuming meat, but also rejected all animal products, becoming completely vegan. Yet one year in, at dinner with my boyfriend (now husband), I caved. I just needed that sour cream! Processed dairy continued to pull at my heart strings, but I stayed committed to being a vegetarian (no meat, but some animal products).

After cancer, no amount of exercise was helping. I’d wake up early every morning to get a hard workout in, but the tired, bloated, and heavy feelings remained. I have always enjoyed juicing, so I would go on strict juice fasts to see how my body would react. I would lose up to ten pounds in one week and feel great, but as soon as I went back to consuming my normal diet, my body would revolt. I grew weary in my search for health, and started to feel like this was the body and the energy level I needed to accept for myself.

Somewhere on my social media news feeds, I saw something that caught my eye. The Whole30. Several of my friends were posting how amazing their experiences were, so I quickly researched to find out more. I loved everything that I read, and especially loved that the goal behind the program was not to lose weight, but rather to “push the reset button with your health, habits, and relationship with food, and the downstream physical and psychological effects of the food choices you’ve been making.” Without going into a comprehensive description, because there are several resources that give in-depth explanations, the Whole30 is a 30-day elimination of “the most common craving-inducing, blood sugar disrupting, gut-damaging, inflammatory food groups.” No added sugar, no dairy, no gluten, no grains, no alcohol, no legumes, no processed foods. At this point you may be wondering what one can actually eat while on the Whole30. The answer? REAL FOOD.

I decided to try it, and even suckered my husband into joining me. After the thirty days, we both felt incredible. Our views of food radically transformed, our energy increased, our physical appearances changed, and we agreed that we felt the best we had in years. Though meat can be consumed on the Whole30, I chose to continue on with my decade-long decision to remain meatless. My body and mind felt so rejuvenated after the thirty days, that I decided to go forward with a vegan, primarily Whole30 lifestyle. Because the changes I experienced have been so dramatic, I cannot imagine ever returning to the gluten-filled, dairy-full, sugar-loaded way I ate before.

Am I so rigid in my nutrition that I don’t allow myself certain non-compliant foods every now and then? No! My husband makes an incredible vegan black bean (legume) quinoa (grain) dish, and you better believe that I practically lick my plate dry. What I’ve learned by eliminating inflammatory foods is that my body functions best with real, natural, unprocessed foods. I no longer crave nor want items rich in gluten, dairy, or sugar. I eat a diet abundant of fresh vegetables, fruits, and nuts. And you know what? Never have I ever felt deprived. I am full, satisfied, in shape, and energized. And as a bonus, I’ve lost nearly all of the thirty pounds I gained during treatment.

Many of you have asked for my favorite recipe recommendations. To start, I highly recommend beginning the Whole30 and reading the resources of the program. There are several books, cookbooks, and websites dedicated to this lifestyle. Heck, go on Pinterest and search, “Whole30 recipes” and you’re sure to find no less than 900 options! For me, there aren’t many vegetables or fruits that I won’t eat, so my options are endless. Eliminating all gluten, dairy, sugar, and processed foods can be intimidating, but if you are committed, your life will be changed. And by the way, this is not a sponsored post. I simply believe that we are meant to eat clean, real food and I have found a program that believes the same.

I challenge you to start listening to the way your body and mind responds to what you are feeding it. If you are tired after consuming certain foods, your body is trying to tell you something. Listen to it.

The Power of Shared Story

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I was sitting in the fourth row surrounded by hundreds of people perched on the edge of their seats awaiting the wisdom that would soon flood the stage. With an empty seat in front of me, I had clear vision of the speakers who sat in executive leather chairs facing the audience. As the session began, a sense of relief spilled over me. The conversation instantly pierced my weary heart as I thought, “Me, too.”

As she poignantly responded to each prose, the speaker’s authentic approach penetrated the doubting places of my heart and called me to rise up in self-worth and acknowledge that I was no longer alone. She expressed inner thoughts that I felt were only crashing inside my own brain. She illuminated fears and self-doubt that I had previously assumed were only felt by me. She shared personal struggles that turned out to be universal among many. Her openness invited me into a place of belonging. Her willingness to share her story broke the barriers I felt trapped in for so long. I no longer felt alone.

This has happened to all of us at one time or another. Maybe you were sitting in a church service and the pastor said something that ripped through to your very core and felt meant just for you. Maybe a friend shared their story with you and you couldn’t resist nodding your head in agreement at every word they spoke because each one resonated inside your heart. Maybe you read a book or heard a song that finally put words to the way you had been feeling. Maybe, like me, you attended a conference and a speaker expressed a message that washed over your spirit like cool water in the midst of a drought.

From that moment on, your life was probably different. Not only do we feel a sense of relief when someone expresses feelings that we feel, but we are also overwhelmed with a sense of belonging and validation. The “Me too” feeling is powerful. It breaks down walls that we construct around our hearts. It shatters the windows of isolation that we look out from. It invites us to walk alongside each other instead of alone and behind everyone else.

In each of these scenarios, someone entered into a space of vulnerability and was willing to share their story with us. Had they resigned themselves to isolation, we would not benefit from inclusion. If stories and experiences remained locked within the bearer, no one would belong. We would all be alone within the confines our feelings.

The power of sharing our stories is monumental. When we give a voice to our feelings and a platform to our experience, we invite others into the fold. When we shed light on the dark places, shame is removed, fear is absolved, and doubt is erased. Light penetrates the darkness and shines truth over the lies we convince ourselves of. When one person is bold to share their experience, it releases others into the freedom to share their own. What our parents told us is true: sharing is caring. When we share our hearts with one another, we are caring for the well-being of one another.

Many people often tell me that they envy how open I am about my journey. Saying, “I wish I was as bold as you,” or “No one would listen to what I have to say.” And this pains me, because it’s not only untrue, but is a deception that so many fall into. The comparison game is unending. What we must first understand is the difference between circumstance and story.  Our stories are unique and individual, while our circumstances may be shared. Comparisons come when we confuse the two and believe that because our circumstances may be similar our stories must be comparative. The truth is, circumstances happen to us all, but stories are uniquely given to each of us and no two are the same. Comparison is harmful and devastating because it kills the message. It builds walls when we should be breaking them down.

Comparison, at its root, is a thief. It robs us of joy and life and abundance. Comparison causes us to draw within ourselves and continues the cycle of isolation. We must stop comparing our voices to one another. We must stop comparing our circumstances and our experiences. Instead, we should unite and share our stories to show one another that none of us are alone in our suffering, and in our grief, and in our pain. The truth is we are all suffering, and no pain is greater or less than.

Sometimes we wonder if we actually do have a voice. We confuse extroverted and introverted personalities for the effectiveness of platform. We assume that extroverts have a louder voice and introverts have a more quiet one. While the volume of our voices may differ, our platforms are the same. Think about this — do you interact with other people throughout your day, week, or month? Whether you are confined to your home for medical reasons, in a fast-paced sales career, or are a stay-at-home mother, we all have interpersonal interactions. It may be with your neighbor, your spouse, your children, your online community, or even strangers in the grocery store. If you have people around you (which you do), you have a platform to share your story.

Our suffering is not meant for us alone. Our circumstance ushers us into the arena together, for we all suffer. Rather than being trapped in the lie that no one else knows what we are going through, step out in faith and share. You’ll be surprised at the influence your sharing will have not only on your own heart, but on the hearts who receive your shared story. By keeping your story within, you are perpetuating someone else’s isolation. Sharing our stories is pivotal to freedom, healing, and restoration. We cannot heal what we don’t acknowledge. Freedom will never exist until the chains of silence are broken.

Your story is powerful and it needs to be shared. Invite someone to say, “Me too.”

Romans 10:14 (MSG)

“But how can people call for help if they don’t know who to trust? And how can they know who to trust if they haven’t heard of the One who can be trusted? And how can they hear if nobody tells them? And how is anyone going to tell them, unless someone is sent to do it?”

Fun Chat Friday

In the last month, I’ve begun a weekly digital series that I’ve titled, “Fun Chat Friday.” Through Instagram Stories I share about a variety of topics each week as a way to invite you to learn more about me on a personal level. It’s a great way to interact with all of you and I’ve really been enjoying it.

I launched the series by debunking the myth that I had breast cancer. Many of my social media followers were under the impression that because I have several friends who survived breast cancer, I must have too. Since then, I’ve addressed frequently asked questions including those about my nutrition and gluten/dairy/sugar-free vegetarian lifestyle, the top five ways I cope with scanxiety, and most recently, what life looks like now and what projects I am working on as of late.

I’ve been given wonderful feedback from these weekly episodes, and am surprised at how well they have been received by all of you. It’s nice to put a face and voice to my words, isn’t it? Sometimes a person’s full personality doesn’t entirely show through written words, but seeing them interact in a more personal way adds depth to one’s character. If you don’t already follow me on Instagram, please do (@derailingmydiagnosis)!

Some have asked how Instagram is different than my Facebook business page or even my blog and to be honest, it gives you a deeper look into my life. I share throwback photos of my time fighting cancer, sneak peeks into my daily life after cancer, and what inspires me now. When I visit the doctor, I take you along with me, sharing pictures and videos in real time. You see my minute-by-minute updates, my raw emotions, and what it’s truly like behind the scenes of my life.

Instagram has become a platform where I share more intimate details of my journey, and has quickly become my favorite way of sharing my story. As previously mentioned, every Friday I post a video series on a wide array of topics. Some topics are more serious and others are lighthearted and fun. Every topic comes from emails I receive from you. So, if you have a question or would like me to speak more on a specific subject, let me know!

The only catch to these stories is that they disappear after twenty-four hours, which gives you incentive to tune in each week. Though if you miss a Fun Chat Friday episode, you’re not entirely out of luck. Some of the topics will be featured here on the blog in the weeks following each episode. For example, this month I’ll be writing about two topics previously featured on Fun Chat Friday: nutrition and my five tips for coping with scanxiety.

On the lineup in the weeks to come, I’ll be sharing about the side effects I experienced during treatment and those that continue to linger after, my favorite products (hair, makeup, and accessories), how I choose joy in the midst of the storm, and who is most inspiring to me. I am loving this new venture and enjoy having a space that I can more readily interact with all of you.

One of the most revealing things that I’ve learned in sharing my story so openly is that we really do need each other. We are not meant to walk through life alone. Social media, though at times overwhelming and intrusive, provides an incredible community for all of us. No matter if you are currently fighting cancer, have survived the disease, or are walking a similar path of suffering, the power of social media has the ability to unite us. My ultimate goal for Fun Chat Friday is that you would know you are not alone. Let’s be vulnerable with one another. We’re in this together.

I receive daily emails, direct messages, and comments from you, and each one impacts my life. Though it’s been over five years that I publicly began to share my story, reading each note continues to leave in me in awe at the simple beauty of communication and camaraderie. I am grateful for you. For your dedication in following along as I have faced my darkest seasons, my most memorable moments, and the tremendous growth I’ve experienced and wisdom I’ve gained over the years. Your support and encouragement never go unnoticed.

If you want to join me each week — to laugh, maybe cry, and most definitely learn more about me — tune in to Fun Chat Friday! This week I’ll be digging into the past in a way I haven’t yet done. I’ve spent days scouring the hundreds of pictures we took during the very midst of my fight, specifically looking for the ones that tell the painful story of the side effects I experienced during treatment. Many have asked how chemotherapy, radiation, and surgery affected me then and how it still affects me now, so that’s what I’ll be chatting about this week!

See you on Friday!

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Hebrews 10: 24-25 (ESV)

And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.

Fear, Faith, and Follow-Ups

SMadsenHope25-2“I don’t know about you, but I feel really good about this scan. You’re going to be cancer-free. I just know it.”

You’d be surprised at how often I hear this from family, friends, and sometimes strangers around the time I’m due for my latest follow-up scan. While my initial reaction is to bristle in response, it also breathes life into the dark and doubting places in my spirit. It’s a double-edged sword. I love and hate hearing it. I appreciate the words because, deep down in my soul, I feel them to be true. Yet, history glows on my medical reports. Having experienced three recurrences, I’m cautious and timid about predicting what’s to come. The truth is, we never know what the results of each scan will be until my doctor presents them to me face-to-face.

There have been seasons when I have felt, with every fiber in my being, that the cancer was gone. And I’ve been wrong. Likewise, there have been moments when my fears were overwhelming and I was convinced that the disease was infesting my body. And again, I’ve been proven wrong. I’ve had more scans than I can count, so I’ve learned to maintain a specific posture while facing them. Cautiously optimistic and abundantly thankful.

I stand with cautious optimism to maintain balance. It’s neither healthy to be ridden with the anxiety of looming bad news, nor to be preemptively and naively excited for positive results. It’s crucial to rest somewhere in the middle. Cautious and optimistic. Additionally, I remind myself to be thankful when scans are on the horizon. Depression, fear, and doubt cannot penetrate gratitude. Joy is birthed in a thankful heart. I reflect on how far I have come, all that I have, and all that God has waiting for me in the future. Second to salvation, life itself is the greatest gift of all.

“I feel good about it.” My dad actually said this to me yesterday. As soon as the words hit my ears, my insides shuddered. And as quickly as I recoiled, I also smiled. What an odd experience. I am full of faith and hope, yet fear pricks at my heart. You see, fear and faith are not mutually exclusive. So often we believe they are. That if we are afraid, we are simply lacking faith. How defeating must that be, for us to be faithless if fear is present? It’s simply not the truth. Fear is a human response, yet faith is a supernatural assurance. They can be felt simultaneously.

Likewise, I’ve grown to understand the difference between fear and fearless. Fearlessness is not a lack of fear but rather a resilient determination to push through the circumstance that makes us most afraid. Fearless means forging a way amidst paralyzing doubt and trepidation. Fearless is a mindset and a commitment. To be fearless is to overcome.

I am full of faith in a God who redeems, restores, and heals. Faith is an assurance in what cannot be seen, and while I have not tangibly seen God, I have seen Him to be true in my life. He is present, at work, and carefully orchestrating every detail. He has gone before me. He has written my story. He has rescued me. My God is alive, and I have faith in Him. At the same time, I struggle with the fear of my earthly opponent. My flesh is quick to breed anxiety and doubt. Rather than reflecting on the miracles woven in my story, my mind falls prey to the memories of past disappointments and recurrences. Fear is a looming shadow, stealthy to entrap me.

My faith is unmoved and unwavering, though my flesh is broken and afraid. Simply put, my faith is abundant because it rests in my Savior, and my fear is present because it rests in a scan. God does not change, our circumstance does. And right now, as my latest follow-up scan approaches, I am choosing to maintain a posture of cautious optimism and an attitude of gratitude. Am I afraid? Not overwhelmingly so, but enough to put me on edge. Scanxiety is real, no matter how long you’ve been cancer-free. Do I have faith? 100% YES! God is bigger than my fear and mightier than my disease.

As you read this, Matt and I will be in between appointments at MD Anderson for my next round of scans, tests, and doctors visits. If you remember my last trip to Houston, I officially reached the two-year mark of being NED, which means my scans have now switched from every three months to every six months. It’s hard to believe that it’s been only six months since my last trip to the hospital! We’ll be venturing to MD Anderson once again to not only meet with my specializing gynecologic oncologist and receive a PET/CT scan, but additionally to meet with a new team of doctors for further tests. (I’ve been experiencing intermittent nerve pain in my breasts and want to be extra sure it’s nothing, therefore I’ll be receiving a mammogram to be precautious.)

While I rarely look forward to these appointments, I find myself with excited anticipation for my last appointment on Thursday. It’s something I have looked forward to for years, and it’s hard to believe it’s finally here. Barring no new spots on my scans, my port will be removed! A momentous occasion indeed!

As we spend two solid days at MD Anderson with eight separate appointments, we ask that you stand with us in prayer. Though this isn’t our first rodeo and we aren’t expecting news other than the positive kind, fear and anxiety are present, but we are full of faith and cautiously optimistic for good results!

Philippians 4:6-7 (MSG)

Don’t fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It’s wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.”

Unshakeable: 5 Tools to Equip & Strengthen Your Faith

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There are seasons in life when God seems overwhelmingly present and others when He seems far away. As our lives progress, so does our faith. We experience both peaks and valleys throughout our journeys. We can be ignited and on fire for the One who has shown Himself tangible in our lives, and then doubtfully contemplative of His existence when we cannot feel Him near.

When life gets hard, everyone responds differently. Some cry out to God in desperation, some turn their backs on Him in anger, and some worship with the full faith that He will redeem. It can be easy to praise God when life is comfortable, but it is in times of devastation when our faith is tested. We can be sharpened and refined, or defeated and crippled when we face seasons of suffering.

Do you know how you would respond in times of catastrophe? Maybe you have walked through a difficult season, and you felt spiritually ill-equipped to handle the burden. Before being diagnosed with cancer I would have said that I had strong faith, yet it wasn’t until I faced my own mortality, devastating loss, and overwhelming grief that my faith in God was fortified.

Suffering is the most powerful way of revealing the inner workings of our faith. Yet we shouldn’t wait until we face the storms of life to build our faith and equip ourselves for those seasons. Below are five life-changing strategies to grow your faith. My hope and prayer is that when struggles come, we would be equipped, ready, and full of unshakeable faith.

  1. Prayer. Think of your closest friendship. How was that relationship bolstered, created, and cared for? Communication! God wants to hear from us. Too often we are waiting for Him to speak and we forget that we can initiate the conversation. Prayer doesn’t have to be formal. You don’t have to brainstorm what you will say — God knows your heart, He asks that you share it with Him. Establish open communication with Jesus through prayer. Rather than using prayer as a way to ask for something, begin to thank God for all that He has done. Gratitude in prayer will transform your heart in suffering.
  2. Fellowship. “You are who you surround yourself with.” Did you parents tell you this growing up as well, or was I the only one? While I might have rolled my eyes in my adolescence, there is deep, resonating truth to this. Examine your relationships. Do you surround yourself with cynics full of sarcasm, gossip, and snark? Or are you around those who encourage, support, and speak life-giving words? Re-evaluate your company. Your friends are a direct reflection of who you are. Your faith will grow when you are in an atmosphere of positive, faith-filled believers.
  3. The Word (and Worship). I find my faith wavering when I become too enveloped with what is happening around me, rather than focused on what is happening within me. Through seasons of suffering, it’s easy to wonder where God is. Does He even care that I’m struggling right now? We lose sight of the work that He is doing within us. Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, and the conviction of what we cannot see. Though we can’t always see God moving in our lives, we must believe that He is here among us. Closer than we can even fathom. Our faith is strengthened when we dive into the living, breathing word of God. It is a tangible tool to sharpen our faith. It is water in our deserts. Food in our hunger. It is life. Worship is also pivotal in transforming our view of who God is. I find that in moments I cannot pray, I simply worship — singing praises of gratitude for all that He has done. Worship is the outward expression for the work being done within us.
  4. Service. Nothing is more uplifting to our faith than serving someone else. Blessing others blesses us. When we step outside of our circumstance and step in to someone else’s, we not only grow our faith, but we encourage theirs. We are not called to be quiet believers. We are called to be the hands and feet of Jesus. Bold, brave, and benevolent. Serving others softens and molds our faith in not only God, but in humanity. Our faith is strengthened when we actively live a life of service. By loving others, we are loving God.
  5. Guard Your Heart. It is of utmost importance that we filter what we are allowing inside of our hearts. Everything we watch and listen to soaks into our spirit like a sponge. Though you may really enjoy that show on Netflix, is it feeding your soul? Are you allowing the wrong kind of media in your home? I get it. Believe me, I too am guilty. I say this to you as much as I say it to myself: We need to be mindful of what we watch. That show you watch that you think probably isn’t the best choice, probably isn’t. A great resource for family-friendly and wholesome entertainment is Pure Flix. It’s exactly what is sounds like. At Pure Flix (a subscription service similar to Netflix and Hulu), it is their mission to influence the culture of Christ through media and family-friendly content. When you subscribe to Pure Flix, you can be assured that every movie, documentary, and educational series is family-friendly and faith-centered. (Currently, they are offering a free month’s subscription!)

Hebrews 11:1 (MSG)

“The fundamental fact of existence is that this trust in God, this faith, is the firm foundation under everything that makes life worth living. It’s our handle on what we can’t see.”

Stepping Back to Move Forward

I try my hardest to look forward. I encourage others to do the same when exiting the gates of Cancerland and transitioning into life after. Don’t look back. Push forward. Look ahead. Yes, it’s true. Vital to let go of the past in order to embrace what lies ahead. But sometimes healing requires us to step back in order to equip us to move forward.

I always told myself that one day I would visit the hospital in Denver where I received all of my treatment and surgeries. I thought fondly of the moment I would visit my doctors. I imagined that we would rejoice and celebrate at the hard work we all put in for me to be able to sit here today and be cancer free. Hugs and tears flowing as we would reflect over the difficult road that led us to this very moment. The numerous surgeries and chemotherapies. The middle of the night calls of desperation to my oncologist. Each needle poke in my chest to access my port. Every encouraging word and prayer that pushed me over the finish line. I dreamt of the day I would walk back into my doctor’s office with long, flowing hair and without trace of disease.

As time continued to go on, I thought less of the wonder of walking back through the doors of the hospital and more about the dread and anxiety it would cause if I were to do so. Thinking about the sterile smell of the infusion center would trigger instant nausea. I cried fearful tears as irrational thoughts flooded my mind. Would stepping back into the place I fought cancer cause my cancer to recur? Irrational, I know, yet it felt so real and valid and true. Why would I subject myself to the very place that housed my darkest and most painful memories? My life has moved forward, there’s no need to step back there. We live in Austin now, and though we’d be back to Denver to visit family and friends, there was no reason to go out of our way to get to that hospital.

I recited to myself what I’ve encouraged others to do… Keep your eyes forward. The past is the past, let it go. Yet no matter how determined I was to walk the talk, everything in me was pulling me back. I was tethered to that hospital. Tethered to the nurses, technicians, and doctors that saved me. Not only did my medical team save my life, but they invested years into it. Never once giving up. Always willing to try again upon each recurrence. They had become family, and the reason I found myself longing to go back was to reunite with my DNA. They had become a part of who I am, and denying it would be rejecting my very self. I had to see them. The longer I avoided this, the longer my complete healing would be suspended — trapped in some version of recovery purgatory.

We flew to Denver last month to celebrate my brother and new sister-in-law’s wedding. We extended our trip for the entire week and made plans to visit family and friends. We even made sure to leave a couple days open to ensure that we weren’t booked solid. In the back of my mind, I knew this was it. The time had come when I would walk through the hospital doors for the first time in nearly two years. I called my doctor’s office and let them know that I would be in town and would love to swing by and say hello. The receptionist gave me a day and time that was most optimal for my doctor and nurse. Once I hung up the phone, I was flooded with anxiety. Technically, I didn’t schedule an actual appointment, so if I decided to miss, it wouldn’t be that big of a deal. I noticed myself already backing out. I wasn’t so sure I could do it.

The day arrived and I could barely contain my racing thoughts and unbridled emotions. My husband was calm and quiet, providing stability and reassurance. As we drove down the familiar roads that led us to the hospital, I was becoming increasingly nervous. How would I feel when we arrived? Could I actually do this? Was I ready? The closer we got, the more of a wreck I became. Past memories washed over me and, without success, I tried to sort through them. Before I could fully wrap my mind around what we were doing, the hospital was in view. There was no turning around now.

I was instantly transported to the past. I saw myself bald and weak, barely alive, making my way to chemotherapy. I reached up to touch my head, in order to remind myself that I did in fact have hair, was cancer-free and beyond treatment. My body was physically urging itself to stop. White knuckled, sweat forming, I became antsy. “I don’t think I can do this,” I whispered. “It’ll be alright,” my husband encouraged in response. We drove through the parking garage to the roof, where only one parking spot remained. As Matt unbuckled his seatbelt, I stopped him from opening the door. I needed to sit in the moment. I needed to breathe. I needed to overcome the crippling fear and anxiety that glued me to my seat. I cried.

Soon, I gave the okay, and we walked toward the wing of the hospital where I had been over one hundred times previously. All so familiar, the smells and sights ushered floods of memories. Under my breath I tried to convince myself, “I can do this,” and while shocked I also repeated, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” In a few minutes, we were standing in front of the entrance to my doctor’s office. Before pulling the handle on the door and entering my home away from home, I took a moment to center myself — remembering how important this was for my complete recovery — and without thought, we were standing in the middle of the waiting area, a beaming smile plastered to my face.

It all happened so fast. A smile reciprocated from the receptionist who I had spent hours with on the phone over the course of five years, scheduling appointments, leaving messages for my doctor, and paying bills. Everything had changed, yet nothing had. We hugged, and my eyes quickly shifted as my nurse walked in to grab a patient. Without shame, I interrupted and hugged her. No words needed to be shared just yet, smiles would do. She jubilantly told me that she would let my doctor know that I was here. Matt and I picked the two seats in the waiting room that we sat in countless times prior. I breathed it all in, and pouring over me came a loud, crashing, undeniable wave of gratitude.

My doctor peeked around the corner, smiled, and motioned that we follow her. I practically ran and found myself in a tight embrace with my dear friend, my oncologist. Neither of us let go. No words needed to be said. We cried into each other’s shoulders, and laughed at the precious miracle that was and still is. I’m alive. I’m alive. I’m alive. We pulled apart and looked at one another, taking it all in. We caught up on the goings on in each of our lives. With joy abundant, we reflected over the past five and a half years. Seeing the woman who fought for me, cried with me, and encouraged me countless times through my battle against this disease was more beautiful and fulfilling than I ever dreamed it would be.

Had I not stepped back, I could have never moved forward.

After making a surprise trip to the infusion center to visit my chemo nurses, I walked out of the hospital with my head held high. Healed. Death did not win. The enemy did not succeed. What was meant for harm was made beautiful. Restored. For the first time since I was diagnosed with cancer, I saw the whole picture. Not just a peek, or a glance, or a flash of its beauty, but a deep knowing that there was purpose in my pain. God’s redemption over my life overwhelmed me. He saved my life. He formed a team of doctors and nurses to come alongside me, and he knitted them into my story with deliberate intention.

It would have been easy to go the rest of my life without stepping foot into that hospital once more. Easy to avoid the pain, post traumatic stress, and anxiety. Easy to shove the feelings down deep into my soul. But it would have dishonored and dejected the journey that led me here. Sometimes we think healing involves forgetting or avoiding. That in moving forward, we shouldn’t dare look back. But there is power in addressing the place of our deepest pain. There is redemption in stepping back to reflect over how far we have come. There is honor in gratitude. There is healing in acknowledgement.

Sometimes we must step back into the depths of our grief in order to walk in confidence towards the future.

MJ and Steph

Lamentations 3:21-23 (The Message)

“I’ll never forget the trouble, the utter lostness, the taste of ashes, the poison I’ve swallowed. I remember it all — oh, how well I remember — the feeling of hitting the bottom. But there’s one other thing I remember, and remembering, I keep a grip on hope: God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out, his merciful love couldn’t have dried up. They’re created new every morning. How great your faithfulness! I’m sticking with God (I say it over and over). He’s all I’ve got left.”

Suffering Has Refined Us, Not Defined Us

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Seven years.

Today marks seven years of marriage for my husband and I, and I find myself reflecting over the gravity of our journey in learning what love and commitment really are and what vows really mean. For those of us who are married, many could say that we never fully comprehended the reality of the vows we shared with our spouse on the day we wed. Excitement and naivety clouded the promises we spoke to one another. Many are simply looking forward to the party to follow or the evening ahead. For Matt and I, we were just so happy to finally live in the same house. No more driving hundreds of miles to visit one another in our long distance relationship. We could fall asleep and wake up to each other forever. It was us against the world.

Marriage then is not what marriage is now.

In sharing our story with married friends recently, Matt and I have realized just how grateful we are to have endured suffering early on in our relationship. At first it seemed unfair, cruel, and isolating. We were the only young couple we knew walking through such a treacherous journey. Most of our mentors hadn’t even experienced the depth of tragedy and trauma in their own decades-long marriages. We were treading through waters that hadn’t yet been discovered.

Matt and I had only been married for a little over one year when his mother suddenly and unexpectedly passed away at the age of 54. We were 24 and 25 years old, left to navigate such a burdensome loss. Alongside his sister, we were responsible for making the tough decisions following their mother’s passing. The hours and days we spent in the funeral home speaking with the coroner and funeral director will forever be etched into my memory. We made the decisions on cremation, burial, funeral plans, and were even in charge of cleaning out her home. Everything was up to us.

It’s something many don’t face until much later in life, yet there we were, newlyweds in our twenties. Closing my eyes, I can picture myself sitting in the front row of the auditorium during her memorial service, watching my gentle husband deliver the eulogy with words full of encouragement, love, and faith, just days after his mother died. He was a pillar of strength when our world was crumbling.

Only five months after my mother-in-law passed away, Matt and I sat in a cold and sterile examination room receiving the news that I had cancer. Still in a fog from our recent loss, we were facing yet another season of suffering. Initially, I had been diagnosed with stage 1 cervical cancer, but soon discovered that I was actually stage 3, high-grade, metastatic large-cell neuroendocrine cancer with a less than 20% chance of surviving the first year. Our marriage was on the line. My life was on the line. We had a decision to make. We thought back to a quiet moment in the funeral home months earlier when the coroner looked at both of us and boldly said, “I have seen tragedy like this break marriages. But it doesn’t have to. You either choose to let it separate you, or you choose to let it unite you.” Upon hearing my diagnosis, we made our decision.

Life sped by quickly as we met with several doctors and began forging a treatment plan. With my husband by my side, I was diagnosed by my gynecologist on a Wednesday, met with my oncologist that Thursday, and was sitting in the office of our fertility doctor that Friday. Because of the aggressiveness of my diagnosis, we had to make life-changing decisions quite rapidly. We were given one hour to decide whether we would pursue harvesting my eggs to preserve my fertility, or move forward with the necessary radical hysterectomy. We were in our home, drenched in tears, full of fear, sorrow and grief clinging to each other, and we began to pray. We asked for clarity, direction, and peace. Soon our tears dried and our prayer stopped, and Matt, with strength and tenderness said, “I didn’t marry you for the children you could give me. I married you for who you are. And I need you here. Our future kids, no matter if biological or adopted, need a healthy mom.” The following week, I underwent a radical hysterectomy. 25 and 26 years old.

In the last seven years, we have faced suffering we could have never prepared for. Death, grief, infertility, pain, trauma, cancer. Though Matt’s mother died, we were both stripped of a mother. Though I was diagnosed, we were both diagnosed with the disease. That’s what marriage is. Not only sharing the “us against the world” moments when together you feel undefeatable, but also when your world and everything in it crumbles away and you feel weak, vulnerable, and afraid. 

Too often, marriages fail because of seasons of suffering. And while I can’t speak into individual circumstances and won’t chide those whose marriages haven’t lasted, I will say that marriage takes more than just love to succeed. We often get asked how our marriage survived all that it has. Seven years ago we thought commitment meant fidelity and loyalty, yet now we understand commitment as a decision to choose each other above all else no matter what. For Matt and I, there can’t be anything that comes between us. And not that plenty hasn’t tried, believe me. Years of chemotherapy and radiation treatments, multiple surgeries and hospital stays, sudden infertility, early onset menopause, and the death of a mother all attempted to separate us. It’s only by the grace of God and our willingness to unite through it all that our marriage is beautiful and flourishing.

Our marriage then is not what is now. Marriage isn’t simply being together forever. Marriage is commitment through circumstance. It is love above fear. It is unity over division. After the majority of seven years full of suffering, our gratitude for one another is overflowing and much deeper than it has ever been. We have faced tragedy and chose to overcome together. We continue to choose each other above all else, letting nothing stand between us. We have a common goal, with eyes always focused on God. We’ve gained greater perspective through our suffering and are much better individuals and a much better couple for it. Suffering has refined us, not defined us.

Today, rather than letting these last seven years separate us, we celebrate our continued decision to let it unite us. Happy anniversary, my love. May we have seventy more, not without suffering, but with commitment, faith, perseverance, and unity.

Mark 10:9 (ESV)

“What therefore God has joined together, let nothing separate.”

5 Ways To Cope With A Recurrence

This week I had the pleasure of being a guest on The Nalie Show where Nalie and I spoke about one of the toughest topics in Cancerland… Recurrences. When I think back to when I was first diagnosed, recurrences were so far from my mind. I rarely heard anyone speak of them. Not doctors, not friends, not even co-survivors. Recurrences are taboo, merely a whisper in the cancer community. After all, we never want to consider our cancer returning after we’ve already beat it.

As someone diagnosed, a recurrence is, quite literally, the worst nightmare. It’s a subject that is hidden away in the deep and dark corners, rarely to be addressed. And because of that, those of us who suffer recurrent or metastatic cancer more often than not feel isolated in our grief, circumstance, and emotions. By shedding light on this difficult topic, my hope is that you will be empowered and full of strength, grace, and wisdom moving forward. Your feelings are valid and what you are going through is real and raw and vulnerable… and devastating. But, take it from me, you can (and will) get through this. I did, four times!

Below are five practical, applicable, and tangible ways to cope with a recurrence. I encourage you to let these penetrate your soul and transform your perspective. After having overcome three recurrences since my original diagnosis, these are tools that equipped me in the lowest points of my fight(s).

  1. Allow yourself to grieve. Feel the feelings! Often, our fears become scarier when we don’t face them. Allow yourself to face the “what ifs” and the deep, dark, nightmarish places that you try to bury. Avoiding fearful thoughts or depressing feelings will not help you nor anyone around you. This is not the time to put on a brave face. The way that you build your strength for your fight is by getting to that deep, dark place, knowing what the end of the road could be, but then stepping back, and preparing yourself for what lies ahead. Bring a picnic, don’t pack a tent! Sit in your grief and devastation for a little while, but don’t allow yourself to stay there. Don’t camp out in your grief!
  2. Breathe and make a plan. Once you’ve packed up your “grief picnic,” take a breath. Feeling the feelings is exhausting. Take a breath and get to work formulating your plan for the days and weeks ahead. Remind yourself that this isn’t the first time you’ve been through this and thus you’re already a chemo (and/or surgery, radiation, even grieving) pro! You have cancer fighting skills already on your resume. You know what you’re doing. Take this time to reflect on your previous fight against cancer. Not from a place of wondering if you did anything wrong, but rather reflecting on what you would do differently this time. Maybe you want to try different modalities of treatment or include integrative therapy such as acupuncture. Your new plan could involve juicing, reducing sugar and processed food intake, or supplements. You have the unique (though unwanted) opportunity to build a stronger plan for this time through.
  3. Remain hopeful. Numbers and statistics can get in our heads and rob us of our hope. Don’t let the numbers define your fight. Just because x number of people didn’t survive this doesn’t mean you won’t. Just because your doctor gives you an expected survival time, doesn’t mean you can’t live longer than that. I had to completely block out the statistics in order to remain hopeful. I didn’t want nor need to know what happened to everyone else. So what if your statistics aren’t encouraging? There always has to be someone who survives. You can beat the statistics. Think back in time to when cancer was fairly new. There was a first person to survive metastatic breast cancer. There was a first person to survive glioblastoma. And if there wasn’t a first, you can be the first! No one but God knows your last day on earth and until you take your last breath, don’t you dare give up hope.
  4. Set goals and look forward. Recurrences are harder to cope with than an original diagnosis because it’s a fight you thought you had already won. Recurrences can be paralyzing because you know exactly what you’re facing. Instead of being crippled in your fear, continue to set goals. Both short-term and long-term goals will keep your eyes focused ahead. Short-term goals can be scheduling a dinner date with your spouse this weekend, or vacuuming your house on Wednesday, or meal prep for your upcoming week. Long-term goals can be scheduling a vacation to celebrate your upcoming finale of treatment or planning your dream wedding (like Nalie!). Setting goals gives us eyes for the future and propels us forward. Recurrences often cause us to look back and wonder why treatment didn’t work the first time, or what we did wrong, or why me. Looking back steals your strength, but looking forward with excitement and anticipation gives us motivation to push through.
  5. Choose joy. Above anything else, choose joy! But first, you must understand the difference between joy and happiness. Happiness is an outward expression that is dependent on what is going on around you. Happiness occurs when something or someone makes you feel a certain way. Whereas joy is an inward decision that only you can make for yourself, completely independent of the circumstance around you. We live in a society that constantly tells us to be happy. However when facing a recurrence, happiness is the last thing you’re probably feeling. When you strive to be happy and come up short, you feel like a failure. But by choosing joy, no matter what your diagnosis or doctors tell you, you can overcome. Joy is not a decision that is made once, but rather one that is repeatedly made even moment by moment. By choosing joy, you are saying that you won’t let your suffering dictate the condition of your spirit.

Romans 5:2-5 (ESV)

“Through Him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God. Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.”

The Power of Adventure

These past few weeks have been full to the brim with fun and new experiences. We were blessed by a friend who gave us two badges to SXSW here in Austin and several of our days were spent downtown shuffling to and from events among tens of thousands of locals and visitors. SX is a large, eight-day festival that quite literally takes over the city. It incorporates interactive technology, music, and film and brings in tens of thousands of attendees each year. While we had heard of this festival, we could have never prepared for its grandiosity until moving to Austin. Not only does SX converge the smartest minds from across the globe, it’s also a weeklong party. Needless to say, we had a blast. We networked, we learned, and we loved every minute of it.

During the interactive portion, we had the opportunity to listen to several great speakers. Casey Neistat, Gary Vaynerchuck, Michael Nieling, Tim Ferriss, Cheryl Strayed… the list goes on and on. We met people from Denmark and Germany, ate free tacos, and learned the correct pronunciation of our last name (courtesy of our new Danish friends). We left the conference inspired and tired and we’ll certainly be looking over our pages of notes for weeks to come.

SXSW ended on a high note. During his keynote that Friday afternoon, Garth Brooks announced that he would be offering a free concert for Austin residents only. Though tickets sold out within one minute of going live, we were two of the 50,000 other Austinites to get lucky. So that Saturday evening, in 80-degree weather under a gorgeous, star-filled sky, we rocked out to Garth Brooks. It was a moment that will be remembered for years to come. The glow of the city, the reflection on the lake, being surrounded with vibrant energy and smiles, and the sweet hum of country music… it was perfect.

Having cancer has taught me to live, experience, and soak it all in. No matter if it’s a concert under the stars in the city you love most, or a two-hour drive to find a remote winery with breathtaking scenery, or a kayaking adventure on a beautiful summer day, or enjoying tacos and margaritas with friends, or hiking to the top of a mountain simply for the view… life is meant to be experienced!

It’s easy to get stuck in life after cancer or any other trauma for that matter. It’s easy to curl into a ball and rest because the battle fought was exhausting and you’re beyond tired. It’s easy to stay home in your comfort zone. It’s easy to stick to your usual routine, not stepping too far out of the boundaries you created in order to feel secure. It’s easy to use the excuse of, “I’m too busy” or, “I don’t have time.” It’s easy to settle into monotony. But I’m learning that easy isn’t best. Easy is comfortable, and comfort is oh so good. But adventure and experience and really living life instead of letting life live you is what it’s all about.

With the start of the new year, my husband and I decided to take one small step to actively LIVE our life. We have deemed each and every Saturday our “Adventure Day.” To us, this means that no matter how big or small, detailed or straight forward, an hour or all day, we do something NEW. And I must say, it’s been the most rewarding decision we’ve ever made. It not only strengthens us as a couple, but pushes each of us out of our comfort zones and helps us grow.

Adventure Day not only represents spontaneity, but it also symbolizes a life well-lived. How many of us, at the end of our time here on Earth will think, “Did I live enough?” Right now, ask yourself that question. If you had eyes to the future and knew your last breath was around the bend, would you be satisfied with how you chose to live? It’s okay, you’re not alone in your answer. I’m still not satisfied and feel I have an incredible amount to do before entering the gates of eternity. Why are we often required to face our own mortality in order to really learn how to soak it all up? Cancer stole so much from me, but it gifted me eternal vision and has radically changed my perspective on the purpose of this life.

Adventuring removes barriers, manifests breakthrough, unites, births joy, and uplifts the dark corners of our souls. It ignites in us a passion for this life that we often forget is meant to be experienced actively, not sedentarily. It pushes us off the cliff of comfort and gives us wings to fly in vibrant ways. It freshens stagnancy, quenches deserts, and elevates us to living the way we are called to live. Adventuring gives us new perspective and creates vision. Though comfort is easy and adventure is often hard, the rewards for the latter are much greater than comfort zones can ever provide. Adventure is powerful.

Ask yourself again, “What am I doing to LIVE?” I challenge you to step out of your comfort zone and experience something new, letting adventure take hold in your life.

Ecclesiastes 3:12-13 (ESV)

“I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live; also that everyone should eat and drink and take pleasure in all his toil—this is God’s gift to man.”

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