Posts Tagged ‘cancer patient’

Wig Wisdom: 10 Tips for Buying and Wearing

One of the first questions I asked after being told I had cancer was if I would lose my hair. I quickly processed the news that I would need a radical hysterectomy, chemotherapy, and radiation, but couldn’t quite swallow the reality that I would lose my hair from treatment. Though I never quite appreciated my locks prior to cancer and would often complain about bad hair days, I now treasure each strand and am a firm believer that bad hair days simply do not exist.

They always say you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone and let me tell you, they are right. Over the course of these last five years, I’ve lost my hair five times. I was bald for nearly three years straight as I fought cancer over and over again. I’ve worn hats, scarves, and wigs, and sometimes wouldn’t even bother. Because I had no prior experience with baldness, upon diagnosis, I had no clue what to expect. Not only did I feel unprepared to fight cancer, I felt utterly ill-equipped on how to cope with my hair loss. Where was I to start? What type of wig should I buy? Will it look real? Is it going to itch and make me hot? Should I try to match my hair color or try something new? Short or long? Bangs or no bangs? The growing list of uncertainty was overwhelming.

Chemotherapy induced hair loss is common for patients fighting cancer. Unfortunately, many of us have too little information on how to buy or wear hair pieces. This often leads to sadness, fear, and lowered self-esteem. We become afraid to be in public for fear that people will stare at us. We have nightmares of our wig flying off in a sudden gust of wind. We’re unsure if we should even invest in a wig or just stock up on hats and scarves. I tried it all. My scarf collection grew, and though I never enjoyed wearing hats, I soon bought many. I knew I wanted to feel as normal as possible while battling cancer, and felt that wigs may help my self image. Thus, I began my adventure into wig buying and wearing. I went to multiple wig shops, tried on various styles, colors, and hair types, and soon learned all about the wide open world of wigs. Because many of the popular questions I get asked are in regards to wigs, I’ve put together a comprehensive list of what to know before you buy. Below are my top 10 tips for both buying and wearing.

  1. Quality and Type: First, you’ll want to narrow down if you would like a synthetic or human hair wig. Synthetic wigs are made from pre-set fibers that allow the wig to maintain its style after washing. Waves, curls, and volume are set into the strands and remain throughout the life of the wig. Synthetic wigs are great for women who don’t want the fuss of having to style a hair piece. Most can be worn right out of the box. Though they offer ease, because of their pre-set fibers, they lack versatility. Don’t expect to be able to style your synthetic wig in a variety of ways. Human hair wigs are a more natural alternative and offer more customization than their synthetic counterpart by creating a beautifully natural appearance. Human hair wigs offer high versatility and can be cut, styled, and even colored based on your personal preference. Though the superior option, human hair wigs need to be regularly maintained. Expect to wash and style your human hair wig frequently (as you would your own hair) in order for it to last longer.
  2. Cut, Color, and Style: A benefit to wig wearing is the opportunity to try something new. Many women use this time to choose a wig that looks completely different than their natural hair, while others choose wigs based on their usual style. Hair pieces are made in a variety of lengths, and colors, so the possibilities are endless. From deep brunettes to vibrant reds and soft blondes, highlights and lowlights, and even natural grays, you are guaranteed to find the shade your looking for. Maybe you’ve always wondered if blondes really have more fun, now’s your chance to find out! Maybe you’ve been too nervous to cut your long hair into a short bob, or vice versa and have wanted to have long, cascading locks… Try something new! In addition, keep in mind skin tones can often change during treatment, tending to become more pale. Choosing a wig with warmer tones may help you look and feel brighter. If you prefer to find a perfect match between your natural hair and a wig, I suggest wig shopping before you lose your hair. This will allow you to do side by side comparisons and increase your chances of getting a more accurate match. Finally, don’t feel limited to buying one wig. Some women choose two to three wigs in order to change their style periodically.
  3. Customization: While synthetic wigs offer little to no customization, human hair wigs are extremely versatile and can be cut, colored, and styled to your preference. When purchasing your wig, ask yourself if you like it the way it is. If it’s synthetic, your answer should be yes. If it’s human hair, you will have the ability to adjust and customize. If you choose a human hair wig and would like to customize it to fit your needs, make sure you verify that your wig of choice allows for changes. Your wig retailer will be able to give you details about the specific hair type your wig has been made with. Always check with your wig retailer or manufacturer before customizing the color. Some human hair wigs are pre-dyed with low grade hair color that is not meant to be changed, while others are high quality and allow highlights or lowlights to be added. Most importantly, choose a wig with your preferred hair color. Adjusting the overall color from brunette to blonde or blonde to red may not be realistic. Because of their quality, human hair wigs are even more beautiful when trimmed to fit your face shape. Find a professional stylist who has wig styling experience, and ask them to trim your wig for a more tailored and personalized look.
  4. Accessorize: Where will you be storing your wig? Will you be traveling with it? Where will you style your wig? Both human hair and synthetic wigs require specific accessories. First, your wig will need a place to rest when you aren’t wearing it. This is called a wig stand. There are many different types of stands, from mannequin busts to metal tripods. Some are free standing, while others clasp to the end of a counter or tabletop. Mannequin and foam heads both help the wig to maintain its form in times when you aren’t wearing it. If you choose to purchase a head stand for your wig, you’ll need t-pins to hold it in place on the stand. If you are traveling with your wig, mannequin heads can oftentimes be too bulky to bring along, while metal tripods are great travel companions. Metal tripods don’t require t-pins, but often interfere with the set style of your wig by creating unwanted creases in your wig hair. They are perfect for travel but may not be your best choice for everyday use. In addition to a wig stand and t-pins, you will also need to purchase wig caps. These are breathable, thin caps that you place on your bare head prior to putting your wig on. These not only protect your scalp from the wefts of the wig, but create a grip for your wig to hold onto. Wig caps are made from a variety of materials, but a stocking cap is very popular because it’s thin and lightweight.
  5. Maintenance: Like all hair, wigs need upkeep. As previously mentioned, synthetic wigs require much less maintenance than human hair, but you will still need to take special care of each. Make sure you know what type of hair your wig is made from in order to know what products you will need to use. There are wig-specific shampoos and conditioners that will not only properly clean your wig hair, but also extend the life of your hair pieces. Do not use your typical cleansers and styling products on your wigs. This can weaken the bonds of the wig weft and may damage the hair itself. In addition, you will need a brush suitable for wigs rather than your regular brush and comb. Some women opt to take their wig to a professional stylist like they would their own hair for washing and styling. If you choose to maintain your wig yourself, be sure to know how to wash, brush, and style your wig beforehand.
  6. Try before you buy. Wigs are not one size fits all! Some have tighter wefts for smaller heads, while others have wider wefts for large heads. Most have adjustable straps woven into the weft for precise fit, but because of the grand variety of wig manufacturers, types, and styles, you will need to try before you buy. For instance, what may work for me may not be as flattering on you. Lace fronts look natural on some, but on others they never lay flat. Some wefts are itchy, while others are smooth and comfortable. Like you would a pair of shoes, try on wigs until you find your perfect match. A wig should feel comfortable on your head. Not too tight, but not loose enough to fall off if you shake your head from side to side. What may look like a long style on a wig stand may look shorter when worn on a human head. Never purchase a wig if you aren’t certain it’s going to fit correctly and feel comfortable.
  7. Retailers: A quick web search will bring up several sites for wig retailers. By following the above rule of “try before you buy,” you should find a local retailer in order to see, feel, and try on wigs before purchasing one. Most major cities have wig shops, just be sure to call ahead to learn if they carry both human hair and synthetic wigs. Quality wig shops will have private fitting rooms where you can try on a variety of styles discreetly. They should also have highly knowledgeable employees who are willing to help you with any questions or concerns you may have. Once you have tried on various wigs and have narrowed down what type you prefer, you can take note of the brand, style number, and color and possibly order for cheaper online. However, if you fall in love with a wig in store, it may not be worth the risk of hunting online for an identical one. Websites such as wigs.com and hairuwear.com are great online resources.
  8. Cost: The price difference between human hair and synthetic can be tremendous. When it comes to wigs, you truly get what you pay for. Higher quality wigs will cost more than their lower quality counterparts. Because of it’s desirable versatility and beautifully natural look, human hair wigs tend to be vastly more expensive than synthetic wigs. Human hair can cost between $700-$2500, depending on the length of the wig. They will, however, last more than a year with regular maintenance. Synthetic wigs can cost between $30-$500, but will only last up to six months. There are many factors to consider when purchasing a wig, including how long your chemotherapy will last and how long you are expecting to be without hair. If your treatment extends beyond six months, a human hair wig may be a better investment, whereas if you will only experience hair loss for a few months, a synthetic wig might be the preferred choice. Regardless of whether you choose human hair or synthetic, know that purchasing a wig is always an investment. This is something you will be wearing several times a week, if not daily. *Insider tip: Call your insurance provider and ask if they cover the cost of a “cranial prosthesis.” In some cases, insurance companies will offer full or partial reimbursement for the cost of a wig.
  9. Have fun! Shopping for and purchasing a wig can be overwhelming, but it can still be an enjoyable experience. If you’re like me, you’ll encounter a wide range of emotions while searching for the right wig. While I did cry grieving the loss of my treasured locks, I also laughed throughout the shopping process. Allow yourself to be silly and light-hearted. Be adventurous. Try on different styles, lengths, and colors. Step out of your comfort zone. A cancer diagnosis is a heavy burden to carry, and shopping for a wig can be the cherry on your proverbial mud pie, but it doesn’t have to be miserable. Invite your close girlfriends and/or family members and make a day out of it. Start by scheduling a manicure and pedicure, then grab lunch and cocktails before heading to the wig shop. Laughter can be the best cure for an otherwise somber occasion.
  10. My personal favorites: I’ve tested and tried many wigs and have found favorites along the way. I know what works best for me and is most flattering and comfortable. A good wig should be so well camouflaged that everyone assumes it’s your natural hair and, through trial and error, I’ve found just that. Please note that these are not sponsored products, they are simply my personal must-haves. My favorite wig manufacturer is Raquel Welch. I own two — One blonde and one brunette. Both shoulder length. She produces high quality, natural looking human hair and synthetic wigs. They tend to be more costly, but are worth every penny. You can find Raquel Welch wigs at hairuwear.com. In addition, as far as accessories go, I prefer a mannequin head and clamp stand for everyday storing and styling use, and a metal tripod for travel. I’ve also found that stocking caps are more comfortable and lightweight than cotton ones. Remember, what worked for me may not work for you.

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Proverbs 3:15 (ESV)

“She is more precious than jewels, and nothing you desire can compare with her.”

Paying Tribute: Caribou Coffee Gives Thanks to Caregivers

Caribou Coffee

A cancer diagnosis never affects just the person afflicted with the disease. Though the doctor found a malignant tumor growing inside of me, she might as well have told my husband that he had one growing inside of him as well. Cancer is never a battle fought alone.

Through multiple surgeries and treatments, recurrences, and cancer-free scans, my husband has stood firmly by my side in every moment. He has courageously taken the role as my caregiver, and has sacrificially offered to help with my countless needs. While I rested in hospital recliners receiving treatments, Matt sat on the uncomfortable chairs beside me without complaint. When I was weak and pitifully sick, he would assure me and rub my back in comfort. When I have moments of depression and can’t battle fearful thoughts, he encourages and prays for me. He shaved his head when I lost my hair so I wouldn’t feel alone. At my weakest, my husband mustered up strength and bravery to help me through. Matt has been and continues to be my knight in shining armor, my caregiver.

Caregivers simply aren’t given the credit they deserve. Too often, they are overlooked — their importance shadowed. When sickness plagues, the patient receives encouragement, well wishes, and prayers. When cancer is gone, the patient is congratulated. Yet, cancer is never a battle fought alone. This is a disease that is defeated with a team, and quite often the caregiver plays the most vital role. Caregivers are burdened with the weight of a diagnosis as much as, if not more than, the patient themselves. They stay strong when we are weak. They are the listening ears and the sound boards when we need to vent, and cry, and grieve. Caregivers are our heroes and guardians. The ones who willingly choose to stand on the front lines with us. So, the next time you show support for someone battling cancer, thank their caregivers as well. Honor the ones standing next to us in our fight, for they too are deserving of gratitude.

This year, Caribou Coffee is launching a community video project in partnership with Tribute.co to pay tribute and thank caregivers everywhere. For the past 21 years, Caribou has supported Breast Cancer Awareness in memory of their original Roastmaster, Amy Erikson, who lost her battle with cancer in 1995. Part of their effort is to recognize the caregiver as the often unsung hero in the cancer battle. Launched in 2013 as an innovative technology for showing gratitude, Tribute.co is an online web application that makes it easy to organize a group, collect videos, and create a beautiful collaborative video montage.

For each video submitted on the #CaribouTribute page throughout October, Caribou will donate $5 to CancerCare as part of their overall $250,000 contribution to the national nonprofit organization. Caribou is also donating 10% of Amy’s Blend coffee and merchandise sales throughout the month of October. Amy’s Blend coffee comes out every Fall in honor of Amy in two blends — the vibrant and sweet original blend and the fuller body Dark Roast.

If you’re like me, you love coffee and caregivers. As not only a cancer survivor, but as someone who simply couldn’t have survived cancer without a caregiver, I encourage you to participate in this special opportunity during the month of October. Drink Amy’s Blend and record your very own Tribute video for a caregiver you love, respect, and admire. I also encourage you to view my Tribute video where I thank my amazing caregiver, my husband Matt. Also take a moment to view other tributes here, they are inspiring and heartfelt — A beautiful display of gratitude to caregivers everywhere. Let’s show our caregivers how grateful we are for the love, sacrifice, and care they give to us! Record your tribute today!

Caribou Coffee Tribute

This blog post was sponsored by Caribou Coffee.

Moving Forward Regardless

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Looking down at the file in hand, he reads aloud, “It looks like the report says that there’s an eight millimeter spot on the bottom of your right lung.”

Silence. Though there are four of us in the room, nothing can be heard but the crinkling of the paper on the blue examination chair as I shift my weight. Suddenly the room grows smaller.

“We’ll need to send this over to our imaging team so they can explain further. Sometimes different technicians read results differently than others,” my doctor shares, noticeably attempting to maintain positivity.

My words are trapped. I desperately cling to hope, but with each breath it’s dwindling. Thoughts racing, I can’t seem to organize a simple sentence. The news hits me so violently, my breathing becomes labored. The wind is knocked out of me and I’m struggling to make sense of the force behind this reality.

All of a sudden, the questions begin to flood my mind. Each one determined to be asked first. They claw their way to the forefront of my brain, spilling out in jumbled words as my mouth involuntarily opens. “What does that mean? Is it cancer? It’s not cancer, right? How big is eight millimeters? You said it’s on my left lung or my right lung? On the bottom? Are you sure? But all of my scans for the last 26 months have been clear. How can this be?”

With more grace than I could ever muster, he shares, “This report says it’s non-specific, so let’s try not to panic. Let’s stay positive. We’ll need a few minutes to pass this by our imaging team. They’ll be able to give us more details. Maybe the technician that wrote this report was mistaken.” The door closes as my doctor and his PA leave the room in search of answers.

It’s just my husband and I now. We look at each other in disbelief. Our eyes speak while our lips cannot. The furrow in my husband’s brow tells me that he is confused, scared, and in shock. My eyes jolt to every corner of the room, frantically seeking explanation. I look back at him in astonishment and defeat. What is happening? I’m convinced this must be a bad dream and that I’ll soon wake up to find relief. But it is not a bad dream. It’s real. And it is in fact happening. Soon, my strong, compassionate, empathetic guardian of a man encourages me as only he can. “We have to have hope that it’s nothing. The doctor says this spot could simply be an infection in your lung that your body is fighting off. He says this could happen to any of us. It could be nothing. It may not be cancer.” Oh how I love him each time he speaks hope over my fear. His words are a salve to the fresh wound of this news.

Confusion lingers between us as we wait for my doctor to return. I valiantly fight back tears as I quickly map out the what ifs. I have climbed to the top of the ladder of worst case scenarios and tell myself ultimately, if I die, it’s okay. I’m going to heaven. But Lord, please take care of my husband. I step down one rung and quietly think to myself that if it is cancer, I know how to fight it. And I’ll do whatever I have to. With each step down the ladder, I consciously choose hope above all else. My breathing slows. My fidgeting lessens. Calm is just around the corner. I’ve addressed the worst of the worst, and there’s no need to go there again. I bring myself back to the moment and take a deep breath. “Don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow has it’s own worries.”

The door opens, and I’m standing now. Give it to me, Doc. I want the answer. I need to know. “Unfortunately we don’t know anything more. Our team confirms that there is a non-specific spot. It’s too small to even biopsy. I know you wanted answers. I wish I could give them to you. I’m so sorry. This isn’t how I thought this would go.” Me neither. Me neither. My mind rewound to the beginning of the day. We woke up early, before the sun. For hours, we drove to what we fully expected would be celebratory news. We tossed ideas back and forth about which restaurant we’d celebrate at after we learned the results. Yet, here we were, without those results, left with more questions than we had when we first arrived.

The rest of the appointment is a blur. I know I asked a million more questions, several of them rhetorical. I know we agreed to do a follow up PET scan in six to eight weeks to monitor this spot on my lung in order to see if it grows or becomes more visibly malignant or benign. According to my doctor, if this is an infection, it may resolve itself on its own and may not even appear on my follow-up scan. We can only hope. I know my doctor was patient as I asked what treatment would look like if the spot proved malignant. Consultations with a thoracic surgeon to see if the spot could be removed. Possible chemotherapy. “We just don’t know yet,” I remember him saying.

One of the most profound moments of the day has set the tone for these proceeding weeks as we wait for my upcoming scan, and proves the importance of proper bedside manner. As my appointment wrapped up, and the four of us turned for the door, I hugged my doctor. He whispered in my ear, and thinking of it brings me to tears just like it did in that very moment. “You are strong. You can do this.” Having a doctor who believes in and encourages you while understanding your fear and uncertainty is a game changer. Cancer is fought with a team. Strength builds with unity.

So here we are now. Two weeks out from learning that I have an unidentifiable spot on my lung, and less than four weeks away from my upcoming PET scan that will hopefully identify said spot. While it may not seem like it, there are many choices to be made when fighting this disease. Joy is a choice. Strength is a choice. Peace is a choice. Hope is a choice. Faith is a choice. When facing cancer, these choices are excruciatingly difficult at times, and they can also be fleeting. In the car on the way home, through tears, my husband and I decided that we would choose hope. We would fight back the fear and doubt, and focus instead on our faith. We would try not to waste our energy on worrying, because worrying is a quick ticket to stolen joy.

If this spot is not cancer, we move forward. If this spot is cancer, we move forward. We will move forward regardless of the outcome. We are called to be courageous in the face of death. We are called to be brave in the presence of fear. We are called to walk firmly in faith when doubt tempts us. We are called to choose joy above all else. And with each day that passes, we move forward with our choices made.

Matthew 6:34 (MSG)

“Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don’t get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes.”

PC: K Mitiska Photography

Cancer: A Family Affair (Part 5 – Conclusion)

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Written by Matt, Stephanie’s husband, guardian, and steadfast calm in her biggest storm.

When I first heard that Stephanie had cancer, it wasn’t through Facebook. It wasn’t through word of mouth or even a phone call. I learned the news at the same time she did, because I was by her side, sitting in the chair next to hers at the doctor’s office. I was there.

Hearing the news made my stomach drop to the floor. Instantly, I became aware of a shortness of breath. I can only compare it to getting hit incredibly hard. You don’t feel pain at first, but you know it’s coming, and you know it’s really going to suck. Talking to the doctor, getting connected with oncologists and radiologists and getting meetings set up was the initial, “let’s deal with this” shock.

Then we got back to the car. That’s when the wave of pain hit.

Was this real life? Did that just happen? My mom had just died four months earlier, was my wife going to die next? Then what happens to me? I never told Stephanie at the time, but in my head I immediately went to the worst-case scenario. I went there once, and never went back. From then on, we had to live in the reality of the moment, but also make positive strides each day. So onward was the course. Even if you’re baby-stepping, make sure you baby-step forward.

Cancer is a literal hurricane that rips through every aspect of what your life was. Whatever plans we had for the future we had to let go of. We had to stay low to the ground and choose to not let it sweep us away. While shattered pieces of our dreams of having kids and buying a house swirled around us, cancer wouldn’t take us. Stay low to the ground and move forward, but find shelter.

The good news is that we did have a storm shelter, so to speak. It’s God. It’s still God. It’ll never stop being God. He’s our refuge. Get there, stay there. We found comfort in knowing Jesus as our Savior, and knowing that He was protecting us the whole time. We knew He wasn’t done with us, and that He’d use this situation for good. When people think of Jesus, they may think of someone who lived a long time ago and preached love and peace, laughing with children and holding lambs from time to time. That He was perfect. So perfect in fact that some don’t think He was ever real at all.

But people don’t see the whole picture. Jesus didn’t hide emotions. He cried over losing those He cared about. And He got angry, flipping over tables and yelling at people. While still God, He was also human and felt what we feel. And few see Jesus as the warrior He is and will come back as. The whole good vs. evil thing that plagues our world — He is the good. He was and continues to be our good. I shake my head and am brought to tears when I think of what would have happened if we didn’t know Him through the entirety of our journey through cancer. There’s a chance we’d be divorced. Steph could be dead. I could be dead.

Cancer sucks. But it galvanized our marriage. It gut-checked us. When we got married, we said vows to each other, but at the time never truly considered facing situations that would force us to “put up or shut up.” At diagnosis, we chose to “put up” and live out those vows. Because that’s what marriage is. It’s not surface-level rainbows and butterflies. It’s ugly and dirty and downright hard. But when you muck through the trenches with God as your anchor, the payoff is better than anything you could ever imagine. After all, we’re now in Austin, five years after God put the promise in our hearts when cancer wasn’t even on the radar. We still have dreams of family and buying a house someday, but those dreams look different than they did before.

This journey has also taught me to live a bolder life. Frankly, I used to be the type to think that if things didn’t work out in my favor, and if they didn’t work out perfectly, they weren’t meant to be. In the past few months I’ve stepped out and done things that the old Matt would call me absolutely insane for doing. But I’m glad I’m doing them, and I’m in a far better spot because of it. Swing hard, and swing for the fences. No one comes to the plate hoping to hit a weak grounder back to the pitcher. Taking chances and falling on your face is a guarantee, so you might as well make the falls worth it. Take big chances and bet on yourself.

Finally, invest in people. Take the good that life gives you, be the good you want to see, and do good for others. Take good, be good, do good. There’s nothing to be gained in the pursuit of vanity. “The good stuff” is in people, not things. Life isn’t a guarantee, and days don’t repeat themselves. January 25, 2012 happened once. August 31, 2016 happens once. Life ebbs and flows and is as unpredictable as the forecast of a Colorado weatherman. At the end of the day, what matters isn’t your status, intelligence, or bank account. It’s people. Growing old together may not be a guarantee, but the effect you have on others is. Make your life count for good.

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John 1:5 (ESV)

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”

Cancer: A Family Affair (Part 4)

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Written by Todd, Stephanie’s youngest brother who was 21 at the time she was diagnosed.

Occasionally after receiving a bill in the mail, I set it down on the counter, tell myself I’ll take care of it in a few hours, and forget about it for weeks, sometimes even months. When the sight of the bill on the counter triggers my thinking about paying it, I’ll sometimes push the thought further back into my mind, only for it to reappear when the next bill arrives. This bad habit of mine – described in psychological lingo as avoidance coping – was the strategy I first used to cope with Stephanie’s cancer diagnosis and treatment. For months, I refused to seriously think about her battle, because doing so led to painful thoughts.

I remember well the day in January, 2012, when Stephanie called me and told me that she had just received a cancer diagnosis. Sitting in the passenger seat of my wife’s car, I thought to myself that the diagnosis couldn’t be too bad. Sure, cancer is serious, I told my wife, Amy. And a hysterectomy is also serious business. But I was sure that 25-year-olds couldn’t die from it. And so when Amy and I flew out for my sister’s surgery a week or two later, I was saddened by the invasive surgery Stephanie had to undergo, but also comforted by the thought that it would act as a magic bullet. That thought was enough for me to look down on my sister in her hospital bed post-surgery and think that, while this was a massive bump in the road in her and her husband’s life, it wasn’t a tragedy. Life for them would return to normal in a matter of months, I remember thinking.

That all changed when Stephanie’s prognosis came back shortly after her surgery. The gravity of that prognosis hit me when I realized that I would have a better statistical chance of more than quadrupling my measly college savings at a roulette table than my sister would of living another year. So what did I do with that tragic information? Stuck my head shoulder-deep into the sand. For someone who had taken that approach for years, it wasn’t too hard to do. I was in college, nearing graduation, and working hard to prepare myself for law school. And so instead of continuing to talk to her on the phone almost everyday as I had done for the previous few years, over the next few months I only called a few times. A “hey, how is chemo going,” here and there. To me, this was the best way of dealing with the situation – pretending it didn’t exist. Coping with her prognosis was like my approach to the bills in the mail I periodically receive: if I pretend they don’t exist, they don’t, at least for a while.

That approach didn’t hold up when I first saw my sister bald in person. She was in Oklahoma for my college graduation, and seeing her was like being hit with a ton of bricks. I couldn’t evade the issue any longer, and so I directly confronted her prognosis for the first time. Before walking out on stage at my college graduation ceremony to receive my diploma, I shaved my head to honor her fight with cancer. Walking across that stage and removing my cap was, and will likely continue to be, my proudest achievement.

After a recurrence of my avoidance strategy came back when I moved to Washington, DC a few months later – I refused to read her website to avoid the fear of her dying – I finally put that strategy to rest. I realized that, were Stephanie to die, I would regret not spending as much time talking with her as I possibly could. That basic thought was profound, and it influenced not only my relationship with Stephanie but with my other family members as well. I began to talk with her, my brother, and my parents much more, coming to realize the benefit of confronting her prognosis head on.

Stephanie’s fight with, and now defeat of, cancer has been defined by her courage, bravery, and wisdom much beyond her years. I am incredibly proud that she has influenced so many. Her battle, though incredibly tough over the years, has provided me with an opportunity to learn what life is all about.

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Psalm 90:12 (ESV)

“So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.”

Cancer: A Family Affair (Part 3)

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Written by Denise, Stephanie’s mother.

Some moments are caught in your heart and mind for the rest of your life. Most of them bring you great joy, and you recall them from time to time, like the day you gave birth to your very special first child or the evening that child married the love of her life. I remember both of those occasions with a clarity nearly as exact as a video recording. Even now, I smile at the memories!

Other moments, though, remain with you for far different reasons. I remember waiting for a phone call from Stephanie, that very special first child, with news about the doctor appointment we had been anticipating. After nearly a year of struggling with troubling symptoms that multiple doctors had been unable to diagnose, she had finally received some answers. My stomach sunk when she told me that she and Matt, my extraordinary son-in-law, would meet me at home to talk. This can’t be good, I thought, or she would have just bubbled over with joy and relief on the phone.

“It’s cancer, Mom.” Seared in my memory. These three words were the start of an arduous journey for all of us that would be characterized at different times by fear, uncertainty, and hope. Stephanie was diagnosed with cancer and would have to undergo a radical hysterectomy. At age 25. I spent part of that first night challenging God. I cried and pummeled my pillow, reminding Him that I had already carried three children and wondering why he would take this blessing away from my daughter. It didn’t seem fair. I begged Him to transfer the cancer to me, so that I could somehow rescue her from the grueling radiation and chemotherapy that were in her future. But that was not God’s plan. A few days later, we realized just how deadly her diagnosis was.

“This is really bad, Mom,” the oncologist said with tears in her eyes. She hugged me and said it again. “This is just really, really bad.” Another moment seared in my memory. Pathology from the hysterectomy indicated a different diagnosis than the original. Stephanie was battling an extremely rare and aggressive carcinoma for which there was some hope, but not very much. “Start getting things in order. She probably has only nine months.” Was this really happening? It was, and the grief was almost unbearable.

If you’ve read Stephanie’s blog, you know that she courageously underwent 28 radiation treatments and four different six-month chemo regimens because the cancer returned three times after the original tumor was removed. To say that the journey was difficult or challenging would be the biggest understatement of all time. I could go on and on about what it’s like to be the mother of an adult daughter battling a serious illness. It changes your relationship, that’s for sure, because you want to fix the booboo, just like you did when she was a toddler. Except now she’s a married woman. And you can’t fix things. And it’s awful.

Everyone says that struggles can teach you profound lessons, if you let them, and it’s absolutely true. Here are some important things I have learned through the journey:

  • There is no handbook for how to be a good mom when tragedy strikes, so it’s important to create an effective support system. I needed someone I could cry with, someone who wouldn’t be threatened by my anger or fears, someone who could push me to stay present when I just wanted to disappear and make it all go away. My daughter surely didn’t need to take care of me emotionally because she was already in the fight of her life. And her brothers needed their mom to be strong. Having a very small and dependable group of friends who gave me the strength I needed to make it through the grueling days, weeks, months, and years of the journey was crucial for my mental, emotional, and physical health.
  • Everyone’s coping methods are different, and that’s okay. I’m a teacher and I love information. The more, the better. After the initial shock of it all, the very first thing I did after Stephanie’s diagnosis was spend hours reading everything I could get my hands on. Even though there was nothing positive about large cell neuroendocrine carcinoma of the cervix to be found, at least I knew what I was dealing with. In some strange way, that gave me a sense of control. But information doesn’t meet everyone’s needs. I learned to let the rest of my family cope in whatever way they chose, even if it wasn’t the same as mine and even if it meant I needed to keep details to myself.
  • Your adult child is much stronger than you ever knew. Stephanie was a headstrong and independent girl from the beginning, a lot like me, funny enough. However, the way she battled cancer revealed her true grit and character. She made the decision, early on, that she was going to handle her journey with as much grace and courage as she could possibly muster. And that’s exactly what she did. I remember the day Stephanie asked me if she was going to die. Through our tears, we talked through the possibility. That raw, authentic sort of conversation only happens when the one on the front lines is strong and courageous. My daughter is the strongest and most courageous woman I know.
  • Struggles of any kind can refine everyone involved. Stephanie is not the same person today as she was the day before diagnosis. Neither is the rest of the family, including me, and I am so incredibly thankful because we are much better. We have learned how to love and celebrate each other more completely, how to make every moment count, how to give each other healthy space, and how to fully honor each other’s differences.

Stephanie is more than my daughter. She’s my true friend and my courageous hero. Our relationship is stronger and richer today, and we are on the road of life together, through thick and thin, as two adult women. I am so grateful for the memories we’ve made and those yet to come. Truly, all things work together for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose!

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Romans 8:26-28 (MSG)

“Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God’s Spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don’t know how or what to pray, it doesn’t matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans. He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God. That’s why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good.”

Cancer: A Family Affair (Part 1)

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When I was diagnosed, we were all diagnosed. My husband. My family. My friends. Though I carried the weight of the disease, those who surrounded me were burdened by the gravity of the situation as well. Cancer doesn’t only affect the afflicted, it tears through the core of everyone around you.

I’ll never forget each phone call I made to those closest to me on January 25, 2012. I spent nearly six hours sharing the news with my brothers, step sisters, parents, grandparents, extended family, and friends. I’ll never forget how I felt with each person. Because of different personalities, everyone heard the news in a different way. With some, I was direct and to the point. Emotionless. Others heard my tears and sorrow. With some, I was careful and delicate. I even offered comfort to those who simply couldn’t believe what I was telling them. I heard anger. I heard sadness. I heard guilt. I heard shock. I heard prayers. I heard support. I heard it all.

My diagnosis didn’t just affect me. It affected everyone who loved me. And everyone who loved those who loved me. And everyone who loved those who loved those who loved me. Cancer isn’t an isolated circumstance. Its tendrils reach far and wide, touching the world. We’ve all been affected by cancer in some way, haven’t we?

Though I fought this disease four times, through years and years of a desperate battle, my husband was there for every single moment. Though I was the one who was sick and aching and dying, my husband was being wounded by the disease as well. What he witnessed still leaves gaping wounds in his soul and deep scars in his spirit. I cannot even begin to fathom how he felt when his bride was facing death. We only had six months of wedded bliss before malignancy marred our marriage. He’s carried my weak body out of bed. He’s clothed me. He’s bathed me. He’s fed me. My husband is my guardian. He’s stood at the gates between Heaven and Earth in protection of me.

Miles often separated my brothers and I, but I know that my diagnosis also deeply affected each of them in ways I may never know. You see, my brothers are my best friends. We share a bond that I’ve never witnessed between other siblings. I thank God for choosing them to be forever mine. My comrades. My cheerleaders. My protectors. My younger, but much bigger, brothers. We’ve been through life together. We share everything with one another. We speak multiple times a week (often every day), and have for the majority of our lives. So, when I got cancer, I know they probably felt like a part of them got cancer as well. They are caring, attentive, and the most incredible brothers I could have ever dreamed or wished to have.

Because I’m not yet a parent, to begin to describe what mine have endured would never grasp the scope of what their realities have looked like since my diagnosis. My mom always dreamt of throwing me an elaborate baby shower. Of sympathizing with me as my belly expanded and morning sickness ailed me. Many of her dreams were lost the day cancer barged into her daughter’s life. In typical Momma Bear fashion, she roared in anger and desperation in my affliction. She felt helpless, as her adult child — her firstborn and only daughter — was growing weaker and weaker.

My father. This wasn’t the first time cancer threatened to steal someone close to him. His mother passed away from the disease years ago. His mother, and potentially his only daughter. I can’t imagine. I’m a true daddy’s girl. He has always been strong and bold and able to quiet emotion. He is the umbrella on a rainy day, and the warm blanket in the cold. Yet, my cancer tore through him. He cried devastated tears. How does this make a father feel? I will never know.

When cancer affected me, it affected them. And I’m sure my diagnosis has even affected some of you as well. I shudder at how devastating this disease is. It’s a plague. A monster. A beast that swallows everyone in its path. Cancer touches us all in some way. Yet, I honestly can only know how my diagnosis has hurt me personally. I can’t see within my husband’s heart, and though I often wish I could, I surely cannot read his mind. No matter how close my brothers and I are, to try and understand how my diagnosis has impacted them would end in failure. Though I’ve known my mother and my father longer than I’ve known anyone else, I’ll never be able to grasp what they’ve endured when their only daughter got cancer.

Because I cannot imagine, understand, or fathom how my family has personally been affected since I was diagnosed, I’ve been inspired to invite them to share their stories with you and me. This month, I’m beginning a series that focuses on the family behind the patient. Each week, a family member of mine will open their hearts and share with us. They’ll explain how they felt, what they feared, and how their lives have forever been altered since my diagnosis. Please know, this requires much of them. Though I have the gift of sharing my life in words, not all of them do. My journey has been painful for them, and I’m honored at their willingness to open their wounds in this way. They may share everything, they may only share the surface, and some may not share at all. In fact, my father desperately wishes he could, yet his wounds are still too raw to be opened. Someday he may, but the time isn’t just yet.

I encourage you to follow along as you and I both get an inside look at how cancer affects more than just me, the patient. Maybe you’re the mother, or the brother, or the spouse of someone fighting cancer. My hope is that this would bring healing to us all.

1 Corinthians 13:7 (ESV)

“Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.”

So Long, Brave and Strong

Before and After Cancer Stephanie Madsen

I’ve carried the weight through deep valleys and dark caves. Hunched over, I’ve trudged through quicksand, walked miles through the most desolate of deserts, and clawed my way over the steepest cliffs. Feet worn raw, knees scuffed, fingers bleeding. Sweat stinging fresh wounds. Several times wanting to quit, I didn’t.

Tripping over rocks, my heart whispered, “Brave and strong.” My body aching. Sore and tired and desperate for rest, the wind beckoned, “Brave and strong.” Needing water. My tongue dry and cracked, family shared, “Brave and strong.” My skin burned and tender, friends called, “Brave and strong.” Repeating over and over like a skipped record playing in my mind.

Brave and strong.
Brave and strong.
Brave and strong.
Brave AND strong.
BRAVE AND STRONG!

Though not fully convinced, I started to believe it. Soon, I lived it. There was no other option. When fear arose, I’d be brave. When defeat taunted, I’d be strong. For years, this became who I was. Ingrained in the core of my being, this was my name. Through it all, this was me. Cancer couldn’t compete, for I was far too brave and far too strong.

It wasn’t until the heat of the desert cooled, the sun slipped into the night, and the moon shone bright once again that I realized brave and strong wasn’t all I’d been. The light has a powerful way of illuminating even the darkest places. Behind brave and strong hid terrified and incapable. Afraid, weak, uncertain. Behind the warrior was the wounded. Behind the shield was the flesh. Until now, I didn’t even understand that there was something beyond bravery and strength. I didn’t have the capacity to carry the weight of it all, so for that season, I clung to brave and strong.

Pummeling perspective into my spirit, this realization has been swift and direct. When you hear that you’re brave and strong enough times, you take ownership. You embody the meaning of each word. They transcend from mere words to providential destiny. They grow big and mighty, overshadowing the rest. Though several moments left me shaking in fear, brave and strong took over. There was no time, no energy, no resources, no ability to be less than. But then the sun sets, pushing them off into the horizon. When cancer loomed like an endlessly haunting ghost, I wore the shield. But cancer is further and further away in the distance and I’m learning that there’s more. Behind brave and strong is great vulnerability.

I’m sitting in that vulnerability now. I’ve set the shield down and have noticed my wounds. Oh, the wounds. Burning, searing pain. My guts are all but spilling out before me, and I sit here looking at the carnage of the miles journeyed these last few disease-stricken years. It may sound odd… It sounds odd to me… I didn’t realize how much cancer had hurt me. How many wounds brave and strong covered up. How much fear and desperation the shield shadowed. For so long I denied the pain in order to endure it.

In a battle to the death, I have won. I’ve survived, succeeded, and overcome. Endurance has paid off and now it’s time to rest. Time to recover. Time to unwind. And most of all, time to heal. Looking at these wounds, I’m realizing healing isn’t going to be an easy process. It’s going to bring with it its own level of pain. A pain that must be walked through, not avoided. While the shield of brave and strong allowed me to endure the wounds, healing will force me to clean them. To heal is to pick out the thorns, wipe away the dirt, cleanse the area, and delicately salve. If not properly cleaned, the wound is restricted from healing. Yet, if you allow the healing to begin, but pick the scab each time it develops, ultimate healing cannot occur either.

I can’t tell you that I’m excited to clean my wounds. From what I’m seeing on the surface, it looks messy. Years and years of struggle caked into deep gashes. I also can’t tell you that I even know how to clean this on my own. I’ve never attempted a wound so deep. Like many, I’m going to need reinforcements like counseling, therapy, and support. Of this, I am not ashamed. And neither should you be. I can tell you that I do look forward to the relief healing brings. I know I can’t begin to fathom the debris that rests in my wounds, but I’m ready to scrub it out. I’m ready for the soothing comfort of the salve and the cute design on the bandaid I’ll pick out.

I know I’m not the only one who has carried a shield through the trenches of life. We all do. It’s how we survive. Just as I was brave and strong, so you may be too. But once the battle is over and the dust settles, the shield’s job is done. Shine it up, we’ll need it again someday for a different circumstance. Because… L I F E. It can be terrifying to address your wounds. To look down and see what happened behind brave and strong. But I have faith that healing comes from vulnerability. That redemptive restoration is birthed in the midst of that vulnerability.

It’s time to heal. I’ll grab the bandaids.

Jeremiah 30:17 (ESV)

“For I will restore health to you, and your wounds I will heal, declares the Lord…”

Cancer In The Rearview

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We said goodbye and drove away. The anticipation and excitement was palpable as we voyaged on. We looked at each other in amazement that we were actually doing this. Are we really moving to Austin? Is this a dream? The adventure had just begun and, though we had no idea what our future would look like, we felt peace. We knew that doors had closed and others were opened wide. We had been called to step forward and go beyond comfort. We barely even looked in the rearview mirror as we headed south. I thought I’d cry. I thought I’d be sad. But I wasn’t. Instead, my heart was cheerful and expectant. The leap of faith was more than we could have ever imagined it being, and we’ve only now landed on the ground below. This chapter is just getting started.

Not only has our move brought a refreshing newness, but it’s also ushered in a spirit of reflection. We’ve been spurred on and inspired. From reflection has come revelation, and what a beautiful thing that has been for us. Beautiful yet painful. Painful but necessary. We’ve spoken more openly about our last four years than ever before. Our perspectives have shifted and we are allowing ourselves to feel the weight of what our previous season looked and felt like. For me, it’s an odd space to sit in. I never realized how much I’ve tucked deep into the dark corners of my mind, with the subconscious intent of forgetting. But how could I forget? Cancer has left an indelible print on my very core. My blueprint was altered at diagnosis, and it will never be the same. But as time moves forward, I’m learning that that’s okay.

Austin has been incredible. Each day here has tangibly revealed God’s faithfulness. We’ve been planted in a life-giving, spirit-breathing, community-reaching church. New friends have quite literally shown up on our doorstep. Each act of kindness, no matter how large or small, is 150% attributed to the compassion of God. He has given us gifts from above, shining down attributes of Himself with each one. We know we are exactly where we are meant to be and that’s more than we could’ve asked for. You’ve probably noticed that I’ve taken a small break from writing, and I thank you for giving me the time to soak into our new adventure.

Still, I find myself looking in the metaphorical rearview often. Every day, in fact. Not looking back with longing, simply looking back to see it from a distance. To view the battle with new eyes. I’m searching each moment, reflecting on what once was. Everything I went through. Everything Matt went through. Looking back gives me gratitude for the present. Gratitude that pushing through the storm was well worth it. Gratitude for the perspective change. Gratitude for grace, healing, and restoration. I also realize that I look back to assure myself that it wasn’t a recurrent nightmare, but that it actually did happen in real life. You see, stepping outside of the shadow of cancer has an interesting effect on those who survive.

Every single day. Sometimes, more than once a day. Seemingly often enough that it went beyond notice, cemented in my subconscious. I drove by my very own cancer landmarks. The locations in Colorado that have been seared into my memory. In my mind, there are plaques firmly planted in the ground at each area of significance. The office building where I was diagnosed on January 25, 2012. Its plaque reads, “You have cancer.” The doctor’s office where I learned the reality of my diagnosis on February 14th of that same year. Its plaque says, “You have less than a 20% chance of surviving this first year.” The route in which we drove over and over and over, back and forth to appointments. It states, “Ready for that needle?” The hospital full of the medical staff and technology that saved my life. Its says, “Thank you.” The emergency room in which I garnered frequent flyer miles. It reads, “You have to be admitted.” The post office who mailed off thousands of dollars of medical bills on our behalf. It demands, “Give me your money.” The grocery store where I was first asked why I was bald. It says, “Why did you shave your head?” I couldn’t go a day without being reminded of the disease. It lurked in corners, hid itself in memories, and peeked around buildings when I’d pass by. Cancer haunted me every day and I didn’t realize that until we left.

I’m in a new city. A new neighborhood. A new climate. A new time zone. Everything and everyone who surrounds me is new. The only familiarity I know rests in my husband and what we brought on our adventure. Everything else is new and unknown. I can’t tell you directions on how to get to the grocery store. I couldn’t point to where the bank is. I surely couldn’t even decipher which way is north from where I’m sitting in this exact moment. Though unfamiliarity can bring discomfort, it’s exactly what I’ve needed. I needed something to be in our rearview. I needed something to look back on so that I could move forward.

God knew. He knew, thank goodness, He knew. My rearview is clear and I feel freedom that I haven’t felt in years. It’s not blissful freedom, more somber than that. It’s a freedom that acknowledges the broken road behind while allowing me to press on towards the future. Seeing cancer in the rearview has enabled and encouraged me to truly live life with frontward vision. It’s an oddly wonderful place to be. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Being on this side of cancer is something I’ve prayed for for years. It’s good to arrive with my diagnosis finally in the rearview.

John 5:8 (ESV)

“Jesus said, ‘Get up and walk.'”

The Financial Burden of Young Adult Cancer

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(As seen in Cancer Knowledge Network’s #YARally)

I’ve endured thousands of needle pricks, undergone painful surgeries, and have withstood innumerable grueling treatments. I’ve been sick, bald, weak, over-medicated, under-medicated, poked, prodded, pained, and simply desperate for life. I’ve been triumphant, encouraged, accomplished, fortunate, blessed, and hopeful. I’ve gained insight, wisdom, and more medical knowledge than I could have ever imagined. My perspective has flourished and evolved. I have found a depth of joy that many never will. I’ve grieved loss. I’ve suffered hardship. I’ve authentically experienced mortality. I’ve overcome. I am brave and strong and alive. Yet among those things, I am also overwhelmingly burdened.

I survived cancer, but my bank account did not.

What many never mention in the beginning of your battle is that cancer is expensive. Not designer purse expensive. Not home mortgage expensive. Not even dream vacation expensive. Cancer is life-saving expensive. And frankly, before you’re thrust into the fight of your life, you can’t fathom what expensive really means.

Before diagnosis, my husband and I were newlyweds building up our savings account. We both worked full-time jobs and lived comfortably enough to enjoy frequent date nights and yearly vacations. We were building our nest egg with dreams of purchasing our first home and expanding our family. We paid our bills on time and lived with financial peace. But then cancer happened, and soon our nest egg dwindled to mere pennies.

Surgeries, treatments, and hospital visits began invading our monthly calendar. Our mailbox began filling up with bills from surgeons, anesthesiologists, technicians, physicians, and oncologists. And what we first felt was manageable soon became overwhelming. Not only did we need to process our emotions and feelings about me being diagnosed with an extremely rare and aggressive cancer at only 25 years old, but we also needed to process how we would pay for it all. What would our insurance cover? Are these doctors in-network? How much is our copay? Have we met our deductible yet? What are the tax implications for this?

The big question was, “Can we afford to save my life?”

Soon, I had to quit working. My first surgery was a radical hysterectomy in which I was horizontally cut open from one hip to the other; to say I was in pain would be an exaggerated understatement. My initial tumor happened to be deeply embedded in my pelvis. Post-procedure, I was sore, aching, and miserable. The first surgery resulted in a week-long hospital stay. I couldn’t walk up or down the stairs for nearly two months. I couldn’t drive. I couldn’t even sit comfortably. Therefore, working my full-time job was no longer feasible. Part-time became impossible as well. We became dependent on my husband’s income and, for a short time, had to move back home to live with my family.

Since then, I’ve had three recurrences. Each fight against cancer has involved surgery and treatment. And each surgery and treatment must be paid for. In total, I’ve received four major surgeries (each involving week-long hospital stays), 55 chemotherapies, 28 consecutive radiation treatments, a port placement procedure, blood transfusions, emergency room visits, innumerable prescription medications, doctor’s visits, and CT/PET scans. Each one came with a pricetag. Cancer has literally taken us to the bank.

My husband and I have learned that life doesn’t stop when cancer begins. Rent, electricity, cable and internet, trash, car insurance, phone bills, student loans, and more needed to be paid. So we began to compartmentalize. Survival here. Payment there. We found a basket to store medical bills in until we gathered up enough courage to go through them. We found ourselves transferring money from savings until our savings account dried up. With the help of our loving family and friends, fundraisers were held and money was raised to assist us. And though prior to cancer, receiving a $10,000 check would seem like a large sum of money, it soon barely put a chip in our medical debt.

Surviving cancer as a married person who can rely on their spouse for an income has been taxing, yet there are thousands of single young adults fighting for their lives without any means to pay for it. At 29, a friend of mine was diagnosed with triple negative breast cancer. She was single, active, employed, financially stable, and living on her own. Yet, like many upon diagnosis, she quickly learned that she could not afford her increasing bills. She soon had to move back in with her family and sublet her apartment. Without money to pay for her cost of everyday living, she began to heavily rely on her credit card. Within three years, she was thousands of dollars in debt and hadn’t even paid a single medical bill. It’s a story that is all too common for many YA survivors.

YA’s with cancer are not only fighting for their lives, but they are being buried in medical debt. Having to decide whether to purchase weekly groceries or pay a recent chemotherapy bill is not a decision anyone should have to make. Even when treatment ends and a young adult is declared cancer-free, the burden of debt often remains for years to come.

I’ve been out of treatment for one year, and the bills continue to flow in. I’ve developed a fear of voicemails and unknown callers, and when my phone rings, my heart grows heavy. The reality is, like many of my fellow survivors, several of our medical bills have now gone to collection agencies and they persistently call us in hopes that we can reconcile them. My husband and I have paid thousands and thousands of dollars, and still have thousands more to go. We have found the light at the end of the tunnel and are slowly but surely recovering from cancer. The financial burden, though still present, is growing lighter.

It may sound crazy, but we’d do it all over again. We simply cannot put a pricetag on my life. And you shouldn’t either. The bills will come and the money will go. Life is too precious to be seen through the lens of a dollar sign.

“Romans 8:28 (ESV)

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.”

*Photo: Flickr

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