My home. I'm home still and still not at home.
We’ll be in the States for an undetermined time. Covid19 is making returning to Cameroon unpredictable. Flights are just starting to go back and forth in the last few days. But Wycliffe isn't ready to send anyone back to where there are limited medical facilities yet, even though we still have people there.
But now there’s Cancer. My cancer. I have stage three colon cancer. And like Covid 19, I keep thinking all of this is a bad dream and I'll wake up sometime.
But it's real.
But it's real.
Here’s the timeline so far:
May 28 I had my, ‘I just turned 50’ colonoscopy. It was originally scheduled for March 31 but was postponed due to Covid. I had no symptoms. But Dr Musana found a large tumor.
May 29 I met the surgeon, Dr. Beverly. He’s going to do a right Hemicolectomy. Remove everything from the appendix up to the top of the colon and reattach the small intestines to the colon.
June 4 CT Scan. Cancer does not appear to have spread. They will recheck my lungs.
June 9 CT Scan. Lungs look good
Pre-op visit Instructions before surgery, blood draw, EKG
CoVId19 test. Just to check before surgery
June 15 Surgery. Dr. cut out 16 cm or so of colon and the appendix and reattached the parts. It went well.
June 18 Home. Waiting for Pathology results
June 22. Results. Not what we wanted. Cancer in one of the 28 lymph nodes. That makes it Stage 3 colon cancer. T3 N1a moderately differentiated.
This changes everything.
June 30 Oncology appointment with Dr. Gorsch. He recommends 6 months of Chemo, followed by checkups every 3 months for a year, then every 6 months, then every year until 5 years post treatments.
He said this chemo doesn't usually have bad side effects and I shouldn't lose my hair. But he also prescribed 3 nausea medications, said to get immodium, and prepare a mouth rinse with water, salt and baking soda for mouth sores, and be prepared for extreme sensitivity to cold.
So what does all of this mean for me right now?
My theme in all of this is to choose joy. That does not mean I feel joyful every moment, but I am trying to find beautiful and funny things every day. To have joy and enjoy something in each day. I know that I am in the palm of His hand. I am covered in prayer and so is my family. I am not alone.
I’m still recovering from the surgery. I’m not able to be very active for very long but every day I can do more. I get tired really quickly. I can’t sit for very long, folded up. My belly is just uncomfortable after sitting. I haven’t left the house very much and I haven’t cared. And if you know me, that’s just weird.
But I am getting stronger every day. I'm beginning to want to go and do. Getting the port slowed me down to a halt. But I'm getting better again.
So what does all this say about my home? I am thankful my true home is in heaven and though I've never been, I've read about it and believe it will be better than I can imagine. If I die, rather when I die, it will be my forever home.
So what does all this say about my home? I am thankful my true home is in heaven and though I've never been, I've read about it and believe it will be better than I can imagine. If I die, rather when I die, it will be my forever home.
So what am I afraid of? Mostly I'm afraid of how my family will be effected by all of this. I'm afraid of being really sick too. Pray for my family! Pray that I can be light and salt where ever I am.
Our friends and family and the church have been fantastic to us. We've had meals, cards, gift certificates, phone calls and emails, and most importantly prayers. I've felt surrounded by a sea of prayers and love by so many. I've felt peace and joy that passes understanding as a gift from God.
But I've also felt pain, fear, loneliness, and abundant sadness. And that's okay. It's okay to feel.
But I've also felt pain, fear, loneliness, and abundant sadness. And that's okay. It's okay to feel.
How do people do this without Jesus? How do they make it through each hard thing, every uncertainty, not knowing God is there and he loves us?
For God so loved the world that he gave-
For me. For you.
I believe. I don't know what chemo will do to me. Hopefully it will kill any stray cancer cells and leave the rest of me alone. Regardless of what it does, I know He loves me. I am surrounded by an army of witnesses of His love. I am, have been, and will be surrounded by loving family and friends and even by the kindness of strangers, but most importantly, by His Spirit.
Thanks for reading and praying for me, for my family, and for Cameroon.
Here's what it looked like the first 2 weeks of June, trying to get in as much exercise, family time, and fun things before surgery.
For God so loved the world that he gave-
For me. For you.
I believe. I don't know what chemo will do to me. Hopefully it will kill any stray cancer cells and leave the rest of me alone. Regardless of what it does, I know He loves me. I am surrounded by an army of witnesses of His love. I am, have been, and will be surrounded by loving family and friends and even by the kindness of strangers, but most importantly, by His Spirit.
Thanks for reading and praying for me, for my family, and for Cameroon.
Here's what it looked like the first 2 weeks of June, trying to get in as much exercise, family time, and fun things before surgery.
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| Getting ready- |
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| An EKG |
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| Hospital 'food' |
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| The oncologist |
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| My chef preparing breakfast |
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| My first outing - returning books at the library |
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| a few weeks later, strong enough to go to the mall |
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| 4th of July with friends including this stranded fellow missionary to Cameroon on his birthday |
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| One of these is now just under my collar bone. The tube goes into a vein and then to the upper vena cava |
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| The port means no more of these for a long time |
