Cancer, Coping, and the Every-Day Maces

It's *relatively* calm moments like these when I forget what this blog is actually about... And wonder why some of you sweet friends are still reading? I don't always have a concrete cancer update to give, and I guess that's alright. I guess if I can put words to some of this strange experience, and if you take the time to read them, it's one way you volunteer to be with me. It's one reminder for me that I'm not alone. And it helps. That said, this is usually a strange, raw, emotional monologue, and no one actually needs more of that in their lives lol My apologies and gratitude to you brave souls. Below I've included an August 24 transcript from my cheap spiral bound notebook. It's half "summary of an ultra-breakdown" and half "therapeutic musing while I put myself back together". Since breakdown, I'm trying to do the "live gently, feel deeply" phase where I expect less from me, try to talk about the feels, and consciou

I was reading Psalms this week and found myself thinking, "These are SO personal- such an investment of soul from the author to God. I wonder what my current psalm would be."  Articulating my desires and requests in prayers/in general has been really difficult (because when you can't want basic safety for your children, what else is there?) It's nice to have a few words that feel genuine. Oh Lord, maker of medicine and healer of homes, Breathe gently on the shards of what we’ve been. From ashes, hot with grief, make way for us to live again. My sad and sober soul, adrift, alone in seas of change, has, in the darkness, seen the stars- Our genesis, our end. I thank thee, Lord, for teaching me through sufferings of my past. Once made to bend, now I can mend this wound, my great and last. My heart, subdued, does not desire a different fate than ours. I only ask the strength to feel. and access to thy powers. I hear your call to show the tender canvas of my soul, Oh give m

After a "Can you get here in two weeks?" notice from Stanford, we started making phone calls. Family graciously adapted their plans so we'd still have somewhere to stay, and Oklahoma friends jumped in to help us prepare our house. Almost every day, I had 2-3 friends over- one to take my kids out on a fun morning outing, another to help me pack/clean in the morning, and another to help pack/clean in the evening after bedtime. I honestly can't wrap my head around how MUCH our people did for us- both in these short weeks and the months before. They loved us tenderly and tirelessly, and it is one of the most humbling and beautiful things I've ever experienced.  We had a huge goodbye party with church friends (who knew our house could hold 48 people?) and a goodbye swim party with neighbors. Friends brought us road trip snacks and activities, and our sweet neighbor made us amazing, individually wrapped quesadillas and joined with another family to wake up at 2:00 am to

Months ago, when we'd been rejected from a clinical trial, I cried to Michael. The lack of control and depth of feeling involved in every tiny detail was so frustrating. He listened, then said "I see why you feel frustrated, and I feel some of that too. But we've seen God work things out in too many tiny details not to believe that He'll take care of this big one." His faith brought me so much peace.  Friday night, we got the call we've waited for. Even though we were last told that we couldn't begin treatment at Stanford until late September or October, something changed. A spot is open on August 12. It's absolutely the ideal medical timing for Hyrum, and miraculously, not too much earlier than we had planned to leave Oklahoma anyway. We're hustling to get our house settled, say goodbyes, and start the drive to Utah.  Michael and Hyrum will continue on to Stanford for preliminary tests, forms, and the extraction of Hyrum's T-cells. Then, there