I debated between that title or “Cancer for Dummies”(aka me) as it was probably the book I should’ve started out with when we first got Dave‘s diagnosis back in July. Even though I’d never heard of multiple myeloma or bone marrow cancer, I didn’t look up any books or resources as I was afraid of what I might read. The doctor was highly optimistic as we had caught Dave‘s cancer early. I didn’t want to read anything that might discourage me or make me think otherwise about a very treatable outcome. From the beginning, Dave stayed true to course with his steadfast, unwavering faith and trust in his Creator that this would all be just a blip on the radar – a small speed bump in life. I wanted to be just as unwavering.

I met Dave when I was 19 and he was 20. Over the course of 35 years of marriage. I’ve often been frustrated and at times annoyed that he didn’t show more emotion over things “normal people” would. I mean like he didn’t cry at the birth of either child granted he did claim to have gotten some dust in his eyes while giving his father of the bride toast at Meagan‘s wedding. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons God put us together – one of us needs to stay even keeled and not run amok with our emotions.

The first few weeks after more blood tests and a bone marrow biopsy (side note: the most ginormous needle you can imagine) confirmed the diagnosis, I was an emotional hot mess. I let my mind go to places it didn’t need. As has been the case since becoming a runner fifteen years ago, I found it therapeutic to take these emotions on a run. On one particular run, a thought occurred to me that literally stopped me in my tracks. For so many years now running and staying fit have been a huge priority and integral part of my life. It hit me on this run that one of the major purposes for staying fit and healthy was to ultimately live longer… to enjoy more days, and Lord willing, years with Dave. Suddenly I couldn’t help but think what life might be like without Dave. For the first time I had these overwhelming thoughts right there in the middle of the Monon Trail. I stopped mid stride unable to breathe, ugly crying as I said to myself “What’s the point of living longer if it’s without Dave?”

Much like when I am walking our dog Miles. I had to stop and shake it off. Like literally shook my head and body like a wet dog. I knew I’d let myself wander/wonder too far. I had to get off that train of thought immediately. Now more than ever I needed that verse that has gotten me through so many difficult races over the years such as my dad’s Parkinson’s battle, my mom’s Alzheimer’s journey, and even the decision to move from California. Every destructive thought, every debilitating emotion, every physical breath and step – take it all captive to the obedience of Christ Jesus. (2 Corinthians 10:5)

I did manage to pull myself together enough to run back home. That was definitely a low point on this cancer journey. The following days and weeks, along with more trail time with Jesus, I felt a new sense of calm and reassurance that may be it’s not all that uncommon to have these thoughts and emotions – perhaps completely normal. In fact, to experience this spectrum of emotions doesn’t make me less of a wife, mother, sister, friend, or neighbor. It doesn’t even mean I have less faith. It just means I am human.

I’ve had to remind myself of that conviction many times though over the last six months. Has it only been six months? It feels more like six years. The weekly chemo treatments began in July. From day one, we knew we were in good, capable hands. From his oncologist to his weekly injection/infusion nurse, we saw God’s fingerprints through kind, compassionate, knowledgeable, medical staff, one of whom I now call friend as we discovered very early on that we were both runners and members of Carmel Runners Club. To my delight and probably Dave‘s chagrin, every Thursday his amazing nurse Maria and I would chat about all things running including favorite marathons and upcoming races. Isn’t that what everyone wants to hear nonstop during chemo?

For the next five months this weekly routine was our new normal with splashes of refreshing visits from friends and family who flew out to support as well as pray for Dave. I took on the role of Dave’s personal chauffeur as we found the cycle of treatment left him high as a kite on Thursdays and Fridays from his superman steroids (to mitigate side effects) but also made it difficult to sleep. Those were the days he could plan on more work productivity, but then the crash would come Saturday to Sunday which made for built-in rest days on Sunday. If you know anything about Dave, you know he bleeds blue and gold (always surprised to see his blood collection actually red). So when his west coast Cal Bears team has a 10:30 PM kick off, it didn’t matter how tired he was from the chemo and roids; he was a fan through and through staying up for all of those games.

Speaking of side effects, one humongous praise was the very minimal chemo side effects Dave experienced from start to finish. He was told by doctors, nurses, and a couple of friends who are now in remission from various cancers, that we should keep buckets all over the house, office, and in our cars for all the nausea and vomiting. I’m happy to report not one of those buckets had to be used. One of his more uncommon side effects was vicious hiccuping. Funny as neither of us have hiccuped in probably the last decade, but for several weeks Dave experienced hiccuping to the point where he couldn’t sleep or talk. Fortunately, that also passed.

Everything seemed to go along somewhat routinely during the summer months until one Thursday when we showed up for his regular chemo appointment and usual lab work. Maria came in with lab results and said doc wants to hold off on the Velcade this week as your ANC (absolute neutrophil count) is below one. One is already pretty low along with his very low white blood cells, but below one means you are neutropenic meaning you are immune compromised. Extra precaution with foods (all the stuff you learn in microbio and food safety) as well as exposure to the public had to be taken. Interesting as the food part seems so counterintuitive – you would think cancer patients would need to eat stuff straight out of the garden – the freshest, most nutrient, abundant type of foods. However, we quickly learned when one is immune compromised you are relegated to canned, frozen, and packaged foods as well as all meats cooked to well done.

Not ideal timing as we had scheduled way before his diagnosis to drive up to Chicago to cheer Natalie on in her first ever marathon – the Chicago marathon, one of the world majors. Our hotel was paid for, excitement for Natalie and her year of training behind her, nothing – not even cancer – was going to stop us. So after getting the green light from his doc and nurse, we read up on necessary precautions and made the three hour drive to Chicago. Dave would not be at the finish line amongst the crowd of some 50,000 runners and maybe even more spectators, but he would at least be there to see her before and after.

The following week at Dave’s Thursday appointment his labs were back up to a more safe immunity level, not to say he could rush out and have a medium rare prime rib or anything, but he was somewhat out of the danger zone for now.

As we approached the tail end of these weekly chemo injections, it was time to meet with the bone marrow transplant specialist. We headed to downtown Indianapolis to the Simon Cancer Center, the first of many more trips downtown, and met with Dr. Abonour, one of the leading oncologists in the area. Come to find out, he is an avid ultra runner and cyclist. I happened to be wearing a race jacket to that first appointment (not uncommon for me as I have enough race apparel to wear something different every day for an entire year) which runners know is an invitation to ask runner questions. Dr. Abonour, after introductions with Dave and some necessary medical questions, proceeded to ask me more important questions such as what my finish time was for said race. We did not forget to talk about transplant details like what the stem cell harvesting would entail as well as his subsequent hospital stay estimated to be three weeks. Interesting timing as his last chemo injection would end up being early November then his cells get a chance to rest for 3 to 4 weeks before harvesting which puts us at Thanksgiving.

November 2nd is Meagan’s birthday, but it ended up being a birth date on a whole new level as that was Dave’s last chemo Thursday. Maria told him he could ring the “Finished Chemo” brass bell on the entrance wall of the infusion center, but we decided there was more to come so we’d wait to ring the bell. Boy, was Dave ever happy to be done getting jabbed as his poor belly now looked like a war zone. I said “Sorry to break this to you, honey, but your swimsuit modeling days are over.”

The next few weeks were a bit surreal. It felt odd to not have to drive Dave to chemo on Thursdays. In the next couple of weeks, the brain fog cleared and he was almost back to a normal sleep pattern. One of those weekends was Dave’s birthday. Beautiful weather, so we went for a walk at a favorite local spot taking the long path which we hadn’t done in quite awhile. Dave felt better than he had in a long time. “I’d forgotten what it was like to not have brain fog.” It was a glimpse of new hope for me to have Dave back after seeing him so down for months. Much needed hope reminding me that life may not be the same as before we started this journey but could be even better.

We’re both not ones to admit to each other when we’re the “d” word…depressed. Especially since his diagnosis, I never wanted Dave to know how bad I was feeling. I mean really, how could I complain about ANYTHING when he’s the one with cancer? If we were both being honest, it had been an incredibly stressful, volatile, exhausting, depressing few months. We would enjoy this brief reprieve.

His famed prime rib roast being a close second, seeing the kids was priority this Thanksgiving. We were able to schedule his stem cell harvesting for the week after Thanksgiving which meant going in Monday for his central line to be surgically placed and the following day to begin the full day’s process of stem cell harvesting which could take anywhere from 1 to 4 days. Over Thanksgiving until harvest day, Dave had to self administer three injections every morning of filgrastim, a bone marrow production stimulant, in preparation for harvesting. So in addition to a massive rib roast marinating in my refrigerator, we had bags of injection needles in the fridge – funny juxtaposition.

Thanksgiving took on a whole new meaning this year. It was one of the best thanksgivings ever having Meagan and Nathan fly out from California and Natalie, Zach, and grand pup Herbie drive down from Chicago. Lots of laughs, playing games, short walks, and just hanging out at home. Just what the doctor ordered. Speaking of doctor, Dr. Abonour further confirmed he was the right doctor for us when he gave Dave the okay to enjoy that prime rib roast cooked to his liking. All was well in the world.

Stem cell harvest day finally arrived. It was in essence what we had been working towards since July with the weekly chemo treatments zapping those cancer cells, cleaning out “the garden” as his doctor first explained, zapping the weeds to make way for a new garden. We got to the hospital, bright and early Tuesday after Thanksgiving, and it was all systems go for harvesting. They would access those cells through the central line placed the day before as well as for all blood draws and transplantation of his clean cells back into his body. It was a fairly boring day, I mean really, when you’re at the hospital you want things to be boring, right?

So there he sat in his bed in the apheresis wing from 7:30 AM to 4 PM. Results from that first day were not available until later in the evening. We waited for a phone call from the nurse to say if they had collected enough cells on day one. Of course, that was the hope for many reasons but also because Dave did not want another day of lying around for eight hours not permitted to walk around or used a normal restroom. Unfortunately, we got a call in the evening saying we were close but they wanted him to come in the next day hopefully for just a half day of harvesting. Bummer. In the meantime, we updated several friends who had been praying for every step of the journey. I let them know we needed a second day of stem cell collection.

The half day we were hoping for turned into another full day as around one or two o’clock the guesstimate was he had 5.7 million cells per kg collected and doc wanted to see at least 6.0 for transplantation. The following week they would use half of the 6.0 and the remaining 3.0 would go into cryo reserve for Dave’s use (hopefully never), but would be available for up to twelve years. It was a little after 2 o’clock when the nurse said it was gonna be close as their protocol is to shut everything down at 3:30. About an hour left to get to 6 million. My 6 million dollar man. Where are my Steve Austin fans? Yes, I just dated myself there.

I messaged one of my friends who had been praying specifically for this day who’s also a marathon runner. I told her we really needed every possible cell to cross that finish line before 3:30 and that we were close. We needed 6.0. She promptly messaged back that she would continue to pray until 3:30. For the next hour, I prayed, picturing each one of those little individual cells crossing a finish line. Yes, once again, I have made this about running as Natalie and Meagan have joked with me about in the past: “Mom, do you HAVE to make everything about running?” Yes. Yes, I do.

That afternoon I sat along with my runner friend hundreds of miles away asking God for every possible cell to cross the finish line before 3:30. Shut down and flushing out the central line happened along with a triple check by three different nurses that they indeed had the correct bag of stem cells matched with the patient. Dave was asked probably a dozen times to spell his name along with his birthdate. Apparently if even one letter is incorrect, they would not be able to proceed with transplant and all would be for not. I sat and watched the nurse disconnect Dave’s bag – this little bag of filtered, cleansed, cancer free blood that would potentially save his life. I could not take my eyes off of it. When the technician showed up with his little blue cooler, I nervously joked with him if he was going to handcuff the cooler to himself like a nuclear football in movies. He did not laugh and proceeded to double check labels before leaving to bring it to the cryo lab.

We didn’t know exact numbers when we left, We got a call later in the evening that they had collected enough. I wasn’t sure what enough meant. Dave was just happy he did not have to go back for a third day. The next morning his transplant coordinator called about hospital logistics. I asked if she had exact numbers from the harvesting. She said yes. They were able to collect 6.2 which brought me to tears as we were only praying for 6 but got an extra POINT 2! I had to immediately message my marathon runner friend who had been praying with me that last hour. I said we got an extra 0.2 which we know, in marathon terms, the race all comes down to that last POINT 2 of a 26.2 mile course.

The next few days were spent in an organized frenzy, trying to wrap up work and projects before his hospital admit the following Tuesday. It got down to the wire that Monday on several projects but another praise of this whole situation is that several of Dave’s key managers stepped up to the plate and were able to allow Dave peace of mind going into the hospital the next day.

Tuesday, December 5, the day I had circled on my calendar and discussed ad nauseam with the transplant team for months, finally came. Not like I was expecting a suite at the Ritz or anything but I was pleasantly surprised when we checked in to his spacious room with a giant window. In fact, the entire BMT (bone marrow transplant) floor was light and bright with so much natural light flowing in from the walls of windows, large wide, expansive hallways, quiet, peaceful sitting areas, and two family lounges. There was even an area with exercise bikes, so of course I pictured Dave and I finally cycling together during his recovery. I had dubbed his weekly chemo infusion center “Club Riverview” with its massage recliners, fireplaces, and room service and now could add 3 East BMT to the club.

That first day, which actually nurses marked as day -1 on the whiteboard calendar in his room, was heavy duty chemo day – very different than the weekly chemo injections he had received for almost 5 months. This one was the granddaddy of them all. The one that we were told more than likely causes nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, mouth sores, and hair loss. To mitigate side effects, 30 minutes prior to the chemo infusion through his central line, the nurse brought him cups of ice. Chewing on ice causes the blood vessels in the mouth and stomach lining to constrict, which would hopefully minimize the chemo absorption in those areas. So there he sat in his bed chewing ice for 30 minutes until the nurse came with the actual chemo and more ice which he was to chew during the 30 minutes of infusion. But it didn’t end there. For two whole hours after infusion, he was to continue chewing ice.

I later told his bro and sis, Ed and Alice, who flew out to support Dave, that having them there in the room while he was chomping on ice for three hours definitely made the difference in having almost no side effects. If you’ve ever tried chewing on ice for an extended period of time you know it’s not easy and not fun, but somehow having Ed and Alice there laughing, joking, and even kidding with Dave about what they were prepared to do once the chemo kicked in (one of the two who shall go nameless brought a Sharpie to draw on Dave’s face at the opportune moment) made those three hours passed by more quickly. He really didn’t end up having mouth sores and had zero diarrhea. He had some mild nausea and only vomited once. Pretty amazing! If you are ever in that situation – which I pray you will never – when they say to chew on ice for three hours, do it!

I began this post saying I intentionally didn’t read up very much (only the absolutely necessary logistics). Not sure if it was better to know or not know certain effects way ahead of time. After the first week, I was expecting to walk into Dave‘s room every morning to find him completely bald. I began to think, wow – this ice chewing thing even prevents hair loss! But apparently that doesn’t come for 3 to 4 weeks. Sure enough that third week Dave saw large chunks of hair in the sink when he was washing his hair as well as on his pillow case, so he said “I think it’s time.” Meaning shave the head.

Not sure why, but I wanted to be the one to do it as his nurses had said they have the shave kit and could do it for him if he wanted. I think it didn’t actually matter to Dave as it was just another practicality, but I felt like I’d been with him every step of this process and this was just another step. Another mile marker in this marathon. Mind you, I’ve never used an electric shaver. The only time Dave let me cut his hair was early on in our marriage to save money. I’ve never been allowed to touch his hair again since then.

We were told by the nurse we needed to use the razor guard since his platelets were so low, he was at high risk for bleeding. As if I wasn’t nervous enough, but okay, here I go. I think I didn’t do too bad of a job being it was my first time and hopefully, only time. He didn’t look too bad. The razor guard left him with enough up top that he looked like a young, handsome Marine – not that he didn’t look young and handsome before. We had been joking the weeks leading up to this that if I shaved my head in solidarity, the joke would be on me since my hair grows incredibly slow and knowing Dave, his would grow back way before mine.

About those platelets… so that whiteboard calendar in Dave‘s room was updated every morning with three numbers from his daily blood draws: WBC for white blood cells, H for hemoglobin, and P for platelets. Every day we watched these numbers carefully. As I mentioned earlier, chemo/admission day was Day -1 and transplant day was Day 0. Fascinating procedure! They wheeled in a large metal container, which looked like it weighed a ton. One nurse would lift open the lid which allowed some of the -375° vapors to escape. It looked like a really cool (no pun intended) science experiment.

The nurse removed one pouch at a time. There were five total which contained half of the platelets that had been collected from Dave exactly one week ago. Each pouch was placed in warm water to bring to room temp. Then they would inject it through his central line. The whole process took less than an hour. Apparently it needs to be done within an hour or his stem cells become non viable. I didn’t know this until after the fact. Good thing as I might’ve been more focused on watching the clock instead of chatting with Dave making sure he got enough Jolly Ranchers to suck on for preventing a metallic taste in his mouth. These nurses had it dialed in as it wasn’t their first rodeo. But, wow, talk about time pressure – worse than when you’re looking at your Garmin approaching a finish line and potential new race PR.

After week one, Ed and Alice returned home to NorCal and passed the baton to my sister, Sandy. Just as I did with Alice, we walked a ton during those hospital visits which, in retrospect, I needed more than I knew at the time. I got to show off our famous Carmel Christkindlmarkt on one of those days Sandy was here. We didn’t spend much time there, went early to avoid crowds, and masked up. The change of scenery and vibe was a much needed breath of fresh air. The last night Sandy was here after coming home from visiting Dave, we took advantage of him not being home and watched the Taylor Swift Eras Tour movie. So good! Binged on junk food as well. We might’ve been feeling 22.

I drove Sandy to the airport the next morning then headed to the hospital. Flying cross country to support us was an act of sacrificial love, but when Sandy’s flight delay ended up being ten hours, man, did I feel bad especially since she had to go back to her classroom the next morning. Well, the next day was back to the airport for the next baton pass to Meagan. She arrived in time to witness her mom shave her dad’s head. Natalie and Zach missed all that fun as they arrived the following day. Probably a good thing as they might’ve made me laugh too hard or ugly cry – either resulting in a less than satisfactory hairdo for Dave.

Side note: my amazing family made sure to schedule their visits so I would never be alone for more than a day. It was such a huge blessing to have them here whether it was to walk countless miles (we had some of the best December temps) or commiserate with Dave about the hospital food. I probably logged more miles walking those first two weeks of Dave‘s hospital stay than I have in recent years. Good thing as the hospital cafeteria food had this power of making me hungrier. As someone who doesn’t usually eat lunch, I found myself grabbing pizza or tacos every day at the hospital. But none of us could complain as Dave’s food was far less appealing since it had to be fully immune safe meaning all fruits and vegetables washed in a special chemical as well as all meat and vegetables cooked beyond well done.

Dave grew up with a mom who knew how to cook good Chinese food. We’ve also dined in some acclaimed Chinese restaurants in the Bay Area as well as Chicago when we visit Natalie and Zach. After only a few days, Dave was craving more than ever some decent Chinese food. He hit a new low when we walked in one day to see he had ordered his hospital lunch and was trying to make his own version of fried rice as he had ordered steamed rice and an omelette. We said we’d try to steal him some packets of soy sauce from Panda Express the next day, but I ended up getting him some frozen PF Chang chow mein. Patients are allowed frozen packaged foods, but no restaurant, DoorDash, or anything of that sort. I wish I had videoed Dave taking his first bite of that little PF Chang‘s entree I brought him. You’d think he was dining at a Michelin star Chinese restaurant. He even used the word “delicious.” Poor Dave’s taste buds have been altered from chemo. He used to make fun of Panda Express and PF Chang‘s as not being real Chinese food. Oh, how the steam tables have turned.

So for a good 2 1/2 weeks Dave survived hospital food and PF Chang’s frozen entrées. He had been encouraged by his physical therapist to walk as much as he could around his floor which the PT calculated to be 615 steps. Am I even a runner if I didn’t figure out what that would equate to in miles? I calculated out that if Dave did 18 laps around his floor each day for the duration of his stay, he would have walked a marathon by discharge day. That became the goal: 18 laps a day, ideally 6 laps after each meal. Totally doable, right?

Those first few days were no problem. But around day four or five, the effects of the chemo kicked in big time not only with loss of energy but also chemo brain fog combined with lack of sleep as every few hours he would be awakened for nurses to take vitals. What was fairly easy a few days ago became extremely laborious – even half a lap knocked the wind out of Dave.

It was sad to see him so out of breath and feeling somewhat defeated. It was also sad the days he had fever and chills, which I didn’t know were normal reactions to the chemo reducing his white blood cells down to essentially zero. It’s the body fighting infection. The nurse had also explained from the daily blood draws the key numbers to watch out for would be a hemoglobin drop below 7 and a platelet count below 10. If those dropped, transfusions would be necessary. His platelet count did drop on several days which warranted three platelet transfusions, but he felt significantly better and noticeably more energetic after each one. Sixth grade bio is all making sense now. The function of hemoglobin and oxygen transport – that sixth grade film (yes, actual film) with Hemo the Magnificent flashed before me.

Days 16 and 17, Dave seemed almost back to his normal energy level. Originally his hospital stay was estimated to go through December 26. On day 17 his white blood cell count was back up to 0.5. The doctor had told him that number needed to stay 0.5 for two consecutive days or over 1.0 for one day. On day 18 his white blood cell count was 1.7! On the morning of December 22nd, doc said go home! Huge answer to prayer as all Dave wanted for Christmas was to go home to be with the kids…and Miles…and me.

Not anticipating an early discharge, we headed over to the hospital soon after we got the call from Dave. He was packed and ready to go home four days early. When I say I wasn’t anticipating his early discharge, it wasn’t just an empty fridge (I hadn’t cooked at home in three weeks), but it was also not being prepared mentally and emotionally. I didn’t realize until days after he got home, there was a sense of control and safety when he was behind those double doors of 3 East.

If I’m being totally honest, I almost lost my *bleep* on the way home after his discharge when he wanted to stop for fast food burgers. At that moment I was tempted to turn around, return him to the hospital, and hand him back to the nurses at 3 East. But instead I kept my mouth shut, and drove home where for the next few days all I could see were invisible germs, spores, and bacteria ready to attack Dave. It felt like an abrupt transition from the safe confines of the hospital to our home which – might I add – I take great pride in keeping very clean being the OCD, food safety obsessed, germaphobe that I am.

Humor has been a saving grace throughout this journey. Lots of weekly texts from family and friends, encouraging, praying, and making me laugh. A couple of friends asked if they’d be allowed to send flowers or food to the hospital which unfortunately was a solid no. One of our friends made a trip to Chicago Chinatown‘s famous oldest bakery last year gifting us with pastries and barbecued meats. When I explained why outside restaurant food was not allowed, her comment was “Roasted duckling hanging in the window all day has got to have its own kind of special bacteria. Lol.”

Back when we had scheduled his stem cell harvest and transplantation dates, I had to mentally and emotionally prepared myself to spend Christmas at the hospital. I had even put up our Christmas tree at home the week before Thanksgiving so that Dave could feel like he got a little bit of Christmas at home. As a rule, I don’t usually put up our tree until December. I was picturing we’d have our own quiet little Christmas in his hospital room, sing some Christmas carols, I’d bring a little artificial tree with lights, and we’d enjoy some over cooked turkey and potatoes from Cuisine de Simon Center.

This whole experience has made me feel like a bit of a doubting Thomas since it’s not like at any point I could see bone marrow cancer or see stem cells – healthy or unhealthy – increasing or decreasing. We had to put a lot of trust in doctors, nurses, coordinators, pharmacies, health insurance representatives, and the process. So when his white blood cell count tripled overnight, I wasn’t exactly sure how I should respond. It was an enormous answer to prayer. Intellectually, I knew without a doubt God could do anything – none of this was too hard, too complicated or too big of an ask for God, but my OCD human side couldn’t make that leap as quickly as Dave could pack up to go home.

I came to that realization this week and have tried to articulate MANY thoughts along the way, but it just didn’t come together despite several blogpost drafts starting as early as last July. Literally half a dozen posts are sitting in draft mode that I couldn’t finish. Part of me didn’t want to publicly post anything since we didn’t know the outcome. Another part of me didn’t want to have to answer all the “how are you doing” questions since it was easier to be a recluse. I hadn’t posted anything on Facebook (very unlike me) as I felt it wasn’t my story to share.

After Dave was discharged, I was a nervous wreck and kept crying for no apparent reason. I mean there was a reason – I just wasn’t sure what it was. We’ve had four follow-up lab visits since discharge. The second one his numbers dipped a little bit. The most recent one was back up even higher. I’m not sure if this is the new normal. We see the oncologist next week and have a whole bunch of questions. His numbers are definitely trending upwards, so we are very thankful. Dave will need to get all of his childhood vaccinations over again in the next months and year which he’s not looking forward to, but who would?

New Year’s came and went without a lot of glitter and glam. We probably watched 16 hours worth of football, but hey, maybe being well rested couch potatoes helped his numbers go up. After all he’s not just sitting around – he’s busy making more platelets and white blood cells.

I had a routine dentist check up a few days ago. I found out my hygienist is a cancer survivor who’d also successfully undergone stem cell transplant. The topic came up as I was trying to explain why I stopped wearing my night guard last summer. It was around the time Dave began chemo treatments. I’d been having trouble sleeping which was highly unusual since my whole life I’d slept like a rock. I noticed I’d wake up several times during the night as well as with headaches and jaw pain in the morning. Those last two went away after I stopped wearing the night guard, but I continued to wake up 3-4 times probably since Dave wasn’t sleeping great either. The challenge was falling back into a true restful sleep. In retrospect, I think those were appointed times for me to pray over Dave. And pray I did. Nothing profound. Kind of the same prayer over and over each night for physical strength, minimal side effects, mental clarity, provision and favor with medical care, as well as direction and timing of business decisions. Okay, I guess that’s a lot. Sometimes this simple chorus from a song (by Katy Nichole) was the prayer:

“I speak the name of Jesus over you…

I speak the name of all authority…”

Funny how God uses people and circumstances to bring clarity. One simple comment from the dental hygienist this week resonated: “I’d rather be the patient.” There it was. The statement that summed up how I’ve felt since last July. So many times I’ve thought that very same thing: I wish it were me instead of Dave. She shared how she always felt bad for friends and family taking care of her, watching her go through her sickness. She even had a friend say she would shave her head, too. Her reaction was “No! That would make me feel worse!”

There are so many moments, instances, provision, appointments, timing, friends, family, neighbors, cards, gift baskets, hugs…I am sure I am forgetting ALL the ways God has shown he’s been in every detail, every step of our journey since July. Answered prayer of prayers I didn’t even know I was praying. Things I didn’t think I needed until it was right in front of me. In retrospect, I think God knew how much I could handle at one time as well as my tendency to overthink everything. So He was like “Here you go, here’s what you need for this day, for this moment.” Reminds me of how God gave the Israelites exactly enough manna for each day with instructions to not worry about tomorrow’s manna. Use what I give you today for today’s purposes.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean to go into anything like this blindly or unprepared. I’m just saying a big part of trusting God and not becoming overwhelmed was to take each day one day at a time. Pack for the journey like you’re running a race. Lightly. Just the essentials. Nothing to weigh you down or trip you up before you cross the finish line. Each day had its own hurdles and hills to climb. We did cross several finish lines on this journey. I don’t know how successful I was personally after each one – just like I’ve had good races, bad races, and everything in between. I’ve never not crossed a finish line. Not finishing this stopped/started blogpost began to feel like an unfinished race.

This journey is not over. Clearly in God’s Word, it’s evident He loves when His people remember and record His faithfulness ESPECIALLY during the most difficult of circumstances. I hope and pray this imperfect blogpost reflects that perfect truth.

Would I have done anything differently along the way? Yes and no. Hindsight is not 20/20…especially when it comes to cancer and marathons. Too many variables. Too much out of our control. That’s why God says to fix our eyes on Jesus, the Author and Perfector of our faith. The Ultimate Physician and Finisher.
Hebrews 12