Red Day #2

We are wrapping up the last week of the chemo round and it is safe to say, it has had its ups and downs.  We think we learned the rhythm of these 3 weeks and are grateful to have ended on a high note--some very "normal" days where you could almost forget about cancer. Almost.

I like to watch shows and series right now that are nothing like my life.  So naturally, a recent favorite was about a female drug lord from Mexico.  When they would go to fight another cartel, they would meet up in some warehouse and line up all their weapons, making sure they had all the ammo and people they needed to win this fight.  Maybe not spiritual, but I have likened our week to that.  We are consciously laying out our weapons, making sure we have the ammo. Gearing up for the next fight.  I've been super grateful for laughter and a 3 mile walk with my husband-that I might have taken for granted previously. 

What's a shame...or human I suppose...is that on these "normal" days, you don't rely as heavily on Scripture and what God says like you did on the hardest, most confusing days.  I should own it--I found myself not relying on Scripture the same way.  I sat down one morning, forcing myself to slow down, and re-read some of the passages God has spoken so clearly through for us--Psalm 77, Proverbs 3, Exodus 14.  

Re-reading Exodus 14 even now....I see myself in them.  Right after the Red Sea parts--like right after--they're grumbling and wondering if or how God's going to provide.  Exodus 16 spoke to my heart--God was only going to give them a day's portion.  Just enough.  And that's where I need to be.  Right in the kind of dependence where I have enough for today.  I can't see what's coming anyway!  Nothing forces dependence like cancer.  But even on the days that come with a bit less fear and anxiety, I want to still be standing firmly on the God who provides the good, who provides the joy, who I am still dependent on, even when it feels secure on my own.  All is from Him and in Him all things hold together (Colossians 1). This is me preparing the ammo, readying for battle.

Thursday Scott starts his second round of chemo.  While we aren't excited about what is to come, there is a bit of relief in at least kind of knowing what to expect.  We are still praying that whether through chemo, or His own creative means, that God is wiping this cancer from Scott's body.  Cruz, our 6 year old, has been praying on the way to school "Thank you for healing me dad".  The first time he said it, it caught me off guard. 'Man, buddy, I hope you know something I don't yet!' But after he said it a few more times, I realized we should be thanking God for what He's doing even when we can't see it all the time.  God is at work here.  We feel it.  Pray with us!  Wear red Thursday again if you'd like.  We will be wearing red-still standing on God's words and His promises to us.  Grateful that the blood of Lamb conquered sin and death and can conquer this too, however He chooses. 

How does it feel?

"What do you feel?"  I ask Scott this question in some form daily.  "What doesn't feel good?  What kind of sick?  Is it like ___?"  I'm trying so hard to understand.  I want to understand. And although we are one in so many ways, I can't feel this for him or take it away.  He says I'm not annoying him yet but he might be lying.

We are about one week from the first chemo treatment.  The first several days we wondered what, if anything, it was doing.  Then there were a few nights, late in the night, we began to feel the affects.  I say we, but really Scott is doing all the feeling.  Awful combinations of feeling like he'd been hit by a truck, pain in places that hadn't been hurting, restlessness yet so tired, led to a frustration and sadness I've yet to see.  We found ourselves in the middle of the night pleading with God for breakthrough.  During the second night up late, so tired, it felt as though we were being tortured in war. And maybe we are.  A war with the cancer and the chemo.  A war between knowing God is in control and loves us and wondering if He's left us alone to fight this thing. 

I was in a massage a friend got me recently--running late and wired so when I finally laid down, my face mushed up in that hole trying to get my heart rate to calm down, I prayed.  I was praying for Scott and the way his body was feeling before chemo.  I was asking God to give him relief, to make the bloating and frustration subside.  And then I subsequently asked God to war on the cancer.  To fight it with a vengeance.  To be wiping it out, even without medicine!  I often plead with Him, "God, I know you can!  I'm asking you to.  You tell us to ask and I'm asking!"  Very clearly I felt like God said "Lauren, you can't have it both ways.  If I'm warring inside of Scott's body, he isn't going to feel peachy.  It's war."  And in a strange way, I calmed and said "OK".  If that's what it takes God, I'll take the war.  Now Scott may not like this dialogue about how his body is going to feel that he was not a part of.  But he has reminded me numerous times, "Lauren, we can't have it both ways".  So we're trying so hard to be okay with side effects and hard days, pleading with God to be warring against the cancer!

God's mercies really are new every morning and yesterday was a new day.  Scott's color came back during the day.  At one point, he lifted up his pant leg to show me his ankle and was so excited it looked like him!  We celebrated that small thing with fist bumps and his smile.  Maybe it isn't such a little thing. Maybe his body is functioning more normally.  Maybe it's just a tiny reminder that God is working.  That something is happening in there! 

We don't know much more.  He gets blood work regularly to see how his body is handling treatment.  And he should go for another "round" in a couple weeks.  My friend sent me these song lyrics today, when I confessed how alone this season can feel.  

'What was true in the light is still true in the dark.  That you're good and you're kind and you care for this heart'

Oh how I need those reminders.  

Thanks for the Sea of Red

Overwhelmed is a word I've said and felt so much today.  Driving to KU Med, knowing I'd be leaving my husband there alone for chemo treatment felt heavy and sad.  But it was matched simultaneously with texts of Scripture and encouragement.  Texts telling me to close my eyes and imagine all of you in red in our yard.  Families telling us they're fighting with us.  Pictures of families and coworkers in red spilled in.  I could have cried in sadness and frustration in one minute as Scott walked in alone and I couldn't go--and with overwhelming love and gratitude in another. 

We felt so loved and covered today.  We felt your prayers like a blanket.  People that haven't met us in cases were wearing red and thinking of us today.  God's people came together with one voice, asking for miracles for Scott. 

We just want to say thank you.  I am asking God for our unified voices to be heard.  I know he doesn't need my brilliant ideas but He tells us to ask, so we are asking.  Heal Scott, God.  Do what only you can do.

Scott feels really good today.  We are realistic and know that could change in the next few days and we are trying to be prepared to be flexible as needed.  But for now, he's okay.  Praying that chemo flowing through him is gobbled up by the cancer and the cancer is beat!  Praying God is glorified by our every step.  

Red

After waiting another week for the molecular breakdown, Monday we were getting antsy.  We were told the report was done, but no data yet.  Scott was nervous that today, the Tuesday before the scheduled drug therapy, would be another day of unknowns and we would have to decide if we wanted to move forward without the molecular breakdown again.  He woke up struggling--swollen and irritated that he just doesn't feel quite like himself.  Wondering if it's cancer or radiation, blood pressure meds or his recent change of diet that's making him feel this way.  It was God's kindness that we received the message before 10am--although not necessarily what we wanted--that the molecular breakdown didn't show a mutation that we could target and that chemo was our option.  Scott will do 7 hours of infusions tomorrow.

Discouragement can be a hard, heavy thing.  We fight it.  Often times with gratefulness, listing what we see God doing, even if it seems foggy.  One day this week, a friend from church sent a text on a hard morning.  Scott saw her name and plead with God to please make these words from Him.  The picture came with it below.  "This is what the Lord says to you".  Ok God, you got our attention.  We focused on the red words that day.  Do not be afraid or discouraged.  The battle is not yours.  Stand firm.  See.  Go.  The Lord will be with you.  Those words were life that morning, followed by numerous other texts that were a tangible reminder that God hasn't left us and loves us so personally. 

Today when it seemed heavy again, Scott went back to that picture.  He stood firmly on the red words.  In the text he sent me, inadvertently letting me know he was okay and his affect was improving,  he wrote "red".  I knew he wanted me to read the boxed in red words.  Then I remembered the PET scan from Mayo.  One of the doctors that we grew to trust pointed out how red Scott's spots were because they had drank up all the glucose.  The hope is that they will drink up the chemo like that.  So I reminded him of that red.  In a strange train of thought, we then we remembered this text from another dear friend-"While it is true that cancer is in you-it does not, it cannot overshadow the resurrection power-the Mighty power of Jesus that flows through your veins.".  Red like blood.  Like Jesus' resurrected blood that lives in us.  So we agreed we are wearing red tomorrow-Scott's first 7 hour day of chemo.  Victorious red.  Because our Jesus and His words always win!  Join us if you'd like.  Pray for him.  We feel it and need it daily!