Posts Tagged ‘miracles’

27
Oct
2016

When You Become The Miracle

“Do you think I’m going to die?” I remember asking my mom this question four years ago during the first season of my battle against cancer. I was huddled under a blanket, sick, bald, and fearing death was upon me. My mother’s response was powerful and though I didn’t realize it then, quite prophetic.

“Stephanie, I know that we’re all going to die. I’m not sure if that’s what you’re really asking me, though. I think you’re asking if I think you’re going to die from cancer, and my honest answer is, ‘I don’t know.’ I do know that there always has to be the first… In a long line of terminal cases, there has to be one person who beats the statistic.”

She went on to share how two of her friends had passed away twenty years ago from breast cancer and, had they been diagnosed today, may have survived. Medicine has drastically advanced from decades ago and diagnoses that were once deemed terminal are now curable.

“Doctors and researchers finally found a treatment that worked, and there was a first woman who survived breast cancer. I think the same could be true in your case. Someone always has to be the first. Why couldn’t it be you?”

Little did she know, many people (friends, family, and strangers) believed this for me as well. Oftentimes, God gives affirmations through the words of those who surround us. Quickly it became my mantra, my north star, my fight song. Statistics are just numbers, and I am more than a number. I can be the first. I will be the first.

Fast forward to my latest appointment two weeks ago. After receiving a scan that showed an 8mm spot on my lung, my hopes and dreams of surviving beyond the small numbers that I was given were quickly fading away. I then had to wait six weeks before receiving a PET scan to determine what the spot was. Two weeks ago, sitting in a sterile exam room, my husband and I learned my fate.

Displaying an enthusiastic smile, my doctor opened the door and quickly announced, “You’re all good!” Because I had prepared myself for news quite contrary to this, I questioned what he meant. “What does all good mean?!” He handed Matt the report and proceeded to tell us that whatever spot was on my lung was now gone and that the rest of my entire body was absolutely free and clear of disease.

And with that, I continue to beat the statistics!

Though in the beginning of my fight(s) against this disease I adamantly refused to know numbers, I now carry them proudly. I’m inching closer and closer to the five year mark when I can officially be deemed “in remission,” and I crave the numbers. The statistics for surviving my stage and type of cancer are astounding, so knowing them gives me fuel to stand up against my enemy.

The smaller the number, the bigger the miracle. Sometimes I think we are called to face Goliath in order for God’s power, goodness, and mercy to be brightly displayed for all to see. God performs “smaller” miracles that we tend to overlook because we don’t see them fitting our grandiose idea of impossible. So sometimes, I think we are burdened with a giant so big that our rescue becomes louder than we could possibly share ourselves. God is mighty to save. Through tears, I know this to be true.

In order for me to fully comprehend that, I need the numbers. I don’t share with proud disregard to many of you facing your own Goliath. I don’t share to set myself apart. I don’t share these statistics to boast in what I have done, but rather what God has. By giving these numbers a platform, my hope is that you can grasp the faith that I’m not the only one. See, I may be the first, but you may be too.

I shouldn’t be here. Many of you know that I was given a less than 20% chance to survive the first year. Meaning, it wasn’t likely that I would make it to 2013. After hearing the clear report two weeks ago, I asked my doctor for numbers. I needed the statistics. I needed to see, hear, taste, feel, and know the miracle. By rough and quick guesstimation, my oncologist shared that I am one in fifty million. Y’all (for perspective’s sake), according to the 2015 census, there are 8,550,405 people in New York City. To think that I am one in over five and a half NYC’s is mind blowing. A miracle on a grand scale.

In addition, there are only 10-15 cases in the database of the English speaking world that share my diagnosis. Among them, my oncologist (the leading researcher and expert of this type of cancer), has only three patients with large cell neuroendocrine cervical cancer.

Some of you may be like I was in the beginning of my battle, not wanting to know statistics. Not wanting to know the numbers that you are up against. That’s okay. I don’t encourage you to find out, because I was there. I get it. Had I known my likelihood of survival four years ago, I would have been crippled with fear. I may have given up. And some of you know your own statistics. You need to see your enemy in order to better fight it. You go girl. However, regardless of where you’re at in your journey, know that you are more than just a number.

If you’re wondering if you’re going to die, I want to answer that. The truth is yes, we’re all going to die. And though I don’t know if it will be from cancer, I do know that you can be the first. The smaller the number, the bigger the miracle.

Fight on.

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Psalm 77:14 (ESV)

“You are the God who works wonders; you have made known your might among the people.”

06
Nov
2013

Groundhog Day

The one with Bill Murray, not Punxsutawney Phil.

Getting cancer over, and over, and over again is comparable to the movie Groundhog Day. One season ends and I wake up expecting a new one to begin, only to find myself in the same season I have journeyed twice before. Over, and over, and over again. Much to my dismay, this battle is not complete yet.

As you know (or maybe you haven’t read the latest), surgery went better than we could have imagined. God has repeatedly displayed His power. The scan showed a two-inch tumor near my remaining ovary. However, during surgery, my doctor didn’t find a tumor at all, and in fact stated that I had one of the cleanest abdomens she had ever seen – pink and healthy. Just to be certain, she removed the ovary and sent it off for further review. Pathology reports came back showing microscopic cancerous cells… That, my friends, is a miracle… Did you not catch that? From the size of nearly a golf ball, to microscopic cells. Had there not been a tumor on my scan, my doctor would not have operated, and I would have continued believing that I was cancer-free, when in reality, this disease would have had three more months to grow and possibly travel elsewhere. God allowed a tumor to show up on my scan, in order for us to find the beginning stages of a recurrence. A golf ball size shrinking to microscopic cells. If you don’t call that a miracle, I don’t know what you would.

God calls us to focus on the praises and miracles He has performed in our lives and the lives of those around us. Yet, as humans, when another storm arises, we tend to forget those miracles. We often store them in the back of our minds, only occasionally pulling them forward in our memories. Life gets hard again, and we forget all the good He has done in and for us. By doing that, we aren’t fully recognizing God for who He is. His goodness doesn’t come and go. He is the single most consistent being in existence. We must remember the blessings He has poured over us. It’s as vital as breathing.

Since surgery one month ago, I have already received chemotherapy. About 12 days ago, in fact. It was my 31st chemo cocktail, yet familiarity doesn’t always bring comfort. I’ll never say fighting cancer is easy. No matter if it’s your first time, or your third, fighting cancer takes everything you have and more. Frankly, I can’t believe I’m doing this all over again. Twice… okay, that was hard enough. But three times? After being out of treatment for six months and nearly a year cancer-free. Seriously?

I’ve processed this recurrence different than my initial diagnosis and first recurrence. It’s been drastically more emotional for me. Being that so many of my girlfriends are pregnant now, I’d venture into comparing my emotions with those of an expectant mother. For real. This past week, I’ve cried over the silliest things. On one of my good days, Matt and I ventured into Ikea, and noticed a woman training a service dog. I had to keep walking, or I would have needed a box of tissues. I’ve cried to my husband and by myself. Over everything and over nothing. The tears have found their way out regardless of my will to keep them contained. I know that purging these emotions is a good thing, and a healthy cry session can help with the process.

No matter how much I’d love to say I’m always focusing on the positive, I am here to admit that I, too, am human. I have moments where I allow the blessings to easily slide to the back of my mind, allowing the storm to overwhelm my life. My tears are those of sadness, grief, and exhaustion. I loathe the fact that I am faced with this choice again. The choice to fight or die. Fighting cancer is just that… a choice. And it’s a choice that I must make. However, as always, I choose to fight.

Clinging to God’s blessings in the midst of the storm helps us build up our arsenal of tools to ward off the enemy. The enemy is a thief in the night who wants to steal our joy, hope, and positivity. He knows we are weak and preys on our vulnerabilities; doing whatever he can to push us further into the mud. It’s easy to fall into the pit of despair and continue drowning in the muck that tries to suffocate us.

Last week was full of emotions, sadness, shock, and defeat. I was living in a real-life Groundhog Day. But today, I am standing firm in the promises, miracles, and blessings that God has poured over me. I am calling forth every gift He has given me, and every promise He has spoken to me. I am remembering the moment I woke up from surgery to learn that there was no tumor. I am remembering the many times that God has scheduled divine appointments on my behalf. I am clinging to the goodness of my Savior, because I am blessed.

I’m fighting this again, which only means that I will soon be a three-time cancer survivor. This season will be different. I’m not waking up in the same place as I was twice before. Try as you may, cancer, but this chick is standing firm with spiritual armor so powerful, nothing can penetrate it.

Handling business as usual, chemo-style. (October 2013)

Handling business as usual, chemo-style. (October 2013)

2 Corinthians 12:7-10 (MSG)

“Because of the extravagance of those revelations, and so I wouldn’t get a big head, I was given the gift of a handicap to keep me in constant touch with my limitations. Satan’s angel did his best to get me down; what he in fact did was push me to my knees. No danger then of walking around high and mighty! At first I didn’t think of it as a gift, and begged God to remove it. Three times I did that, and then he told me, ‘My grace is enough; it’s all you need. My strength comes into its own in your weakness.’ Once I heard that, I was glad to let it happen. I quit focusing on the handicap and began appreciating the gift. It was a case of Christ’s strength moving in on my weakness. Now I take limitations in stride, and with good cheer, these limitations that cut me down to size—abuse, accidents, opposition, bad breaks. I just let Christ take over! And so the weaker I get, the stronger I become.”

20
Mar
2013

Cautiously Optimistic

Scans are scary. And the week before and after are often anxiety-filled whirlwinds.

I received a CT scan a couple of weeks ago. You might remember that directly following my November surgery to remove the softball-sized mass, the tumor was sent to pathology. There, it was cut up into several different pieces and tested with various types of chemotherapy drugs. Results showed that some chemotherapies would work, while others were proven to be ineffective. There’s a catch, though. Three of the drugs shown to effectively eradicate my type of cancer, had already coursed through my body during my first season of treatment. Clearly they worked while swimming through my veins, but once I completed the regimen, the monster came out of hiding and grew once more. One of the drugs proven to be ineffective is what I am currently taking. Apparently several doctors don’t hold tight to the results of these biopsy tests. Therefore, my doctor suggested we stick to this proposed type of chemo and get a scan after four of my six scheduled rounds. So, with these rounds of chemo, it’s been trial and error. Let’s see if it works. If it doesn’t, let’s test something else. The longer I’m in this game, the more I’m learning how common the “trial and error” approach actually is. After all, there are no cures for cancer. I suppose it all really is just a guessing game. Unnerving to say the least.

As always, I was a bit on-edge the week leading up to my scan and the week following, while waiting for results. These scans show exactly what kind of game cancer is playing in my body. It’s not a “pass” or “fail” conclusion. It’s “live” or “die.” Often cancer doesn’t show symptoms and can only be detected through these methods. And considering I was technically prescribed a chemotherapy regimen that pathology showed to be ineffective on my type of cancer, my nerves were shot while awaiting the outcome. I ask for a large dose of grace from my dear husband during these times, as he often gets to experience the roller coaster of emotions that surround these scans. Add being menopausal to the mix, and you’ve got a pretty gnarly version of me. Oh…Menopause. I’ll save that discussion for a completely different post.

Last Thursday , I went in for another dose of chemo cocktails. That morning I knew my doctor would probably discuss the results of the CT scan I had received the week prior (3/8). I felt ready. I was ready. In my heart I was at peace with whatever the outcome. The waiting is the hardest. I just wanted to hear the results…good or bad. Before I was even able to speak with my doctor, my chemotherapy nurse walked over, papers in hand, and opened her mouth to speak. I don’t think I’ve seen my husband so nervous in my life. He was literally at the edge of his seat in anticipation. After a confusing introduction and with all eyes on me at this point, my nurse placed the papers in my hand and asked me to read the bottom line. “Impression: 1. Normal CT of the abdomen and pelvis.” So what? What exactly does that mean? As I asked my nurse these questions, she happily proclaimed that the scan showed no evidence of disease! The sigh of relief that Matt released at that point nearly brought me to tears. Sometimes I don’t realize the enormity of his love for me. At that point it was clearer than ever. What a vivid testament that my husband is in this by my side; From beginning to end. The results don’t just mean something to me. I’m not the only one affected. I know these things, but often I get trapped in my own head. Trapped in my situation. When the truth is, it’s our situation. I’m honored and blessed to have such an incredibly strong, faithful, loyal, and committed partner.

Clear CT scan results! (March 2013)

Clear CT scan results! (March 2013)

A “normal” result is a positive one. We are celebrating this news. However, I have received this outcome on a scan before. In August after my first season of treatments, I was also declared “cancer-free,” and you can read about that HERE. My attitude in receiving good news has changed since then. Afterall, I did have a recurrence three months after a similar declaration. Cancer came back after I had excitedly celebrated it being gone. Therefore, we rejoice in this news differently now. While we are very relieved and elated, we are cautiously optimistic. Just because I received a clear scan, doesn’t mean I’m forever done with this beast. And, it was only a CT scan which is localized to one area of the body; Different from a PET scan that tests your entire body for malignancies. We are optimistic and thrilled, yes. But we are cautious. We don’t expect cancer to show itself in my body again, but according to this disease, we can’t throw the idea completely away. I don’t think I’ll be fully able to relax and rejoice until I hit remission…in five years. And even then, it will be hard work to trust that I won’t have to deal with this diagnosis ever again.

Some cancers can be eradicated with surgery. Some with chemotherapy. Some with radiation. I’ve had all three types of treatment several times, and the monster continued to lurk and cause havoc. For now, it is gone. I’ve only got one more chemotherapy session in a couple of weeks and I’m happy. But to blissfully believe that I am forever done with this season would be foolish and naive. Cancer plays dirty. It doesn’t play according to our rules. It has none. However, to counteract that thinking, I believe in a BIG God that performs BIG miracles. The fact that cancer has no rule-book doesn’t mean that it can’t be righteously defeated. Statistics don’t mean a thing to me. My God writes my life, not statistics that some analyst wrote down. No matter how awful this Neuroendocrine carcinoma diagnosis may be, God can erase all of that. He healed people all throughout stories in the Bible, and continues to perform jaw-dropping healings today. I am believing that I will be another testimony of being healed and cured. I have faith that He will permanently remove any malignant particle from my body. I am believing that He has filled every single microscopic cell and that cancer will no longer reside in my life. While I stand cautiously on the results of this scan, I will continue to stand firmly on my foundation…on my God. I will continue to wait for His results.

James 5:10-11 (MSG Version)

“Take the old prophets as your mentors. They put up with anything, went through everything, and never once quit, all the time honoring God. What a gift life is to those who stay the course! You’ve heard, of course, of Job’s staying power, and you know how God brought it all together for him at the end. That’s because God cares, cares right down to the last detail.”