Two Years

Exactly two years ago, I first heard the words that changed my life.

You have cancer.

I was a healthy sophomore in college who had just taken a position as a Resident Assistant, and was trying to figure out summer employment after going on a month long trip to Romania and Moldova. Little did I know that I was about to be faced with a diagnosis that was going to take more than 2 years to defeat.

Then (1 week before diagnosis) and Now. 

These past two years have been a trial of great magnitude. They have been tumultuous, to say the least. Full of so many ups and downs. I have done all that I can to get rid of this cancer...I've invited poison to flow through my veins. I've laid alone in a room while fiery laser beams tried to diminish what is there. My body has been sliced open and stitched shut several times over. Where stuff has been removed and where there was once smooth soft skin, jagged scars remain. I have been bald for going on 10 months now, and I have learned how isolating and scary it can be. You don't really realize the amount of value we place on our hair until we no longer have it. Being bald has left me feeling vulnerable and different. Being bald is a physical reminder of the battle for survival.

Being open with every part of my journey has been hard at times, but I have challenged myself to always be honest. Cancer just plain sucks, and I have probably thrown every curse word at it that I can. I have gone up to 5 or 6 days without eating due to extreme nausea. I have cried myself to sleep because my body aches are past the point of tolerance. I have found myself on the verge of giving up because I am exhausted in every way.

I find myself struggling to get out of bed some days because I don't want to face another day living with cancer. I don't want to face another day having physical restrictions because my body is aching and tired. I don't want to face another day thinking about how I have no idea if this disease is what will one day take my life...

But while I've experienced a depth of grief I never could have imagined and wouldn't dream of wishing on anyone, there have been numerous blessings dispersed along the way. These past two years have taught me so much. About relationships. About loyalty, trust, and security. About faith, joy, and never-ending hope. Because of cancer, I hold my loved ones closer. Because of cancer, I pray, believe, and act more intently. Because of cancer, perseverance and determinations have taken on deeper meanings. Because of cancer, I have learned what it means to lament, to cry out to God in anguish, yet know that He is still there right beside me no matter what I am feeling.

I have been stretched, broken, molded, and reformed. I see life through much larger lenses, and I appreciate moments that tend to slip by unnoticed in seasons past. My character has been chiseled and refined. I am far more sensitive of what what compassion and empathy really mean. I have suffered great loss, and have experienced overwhelming gain. I have been blessed abundantly.

I have learned that we must live in the moment that God has for us today. We go through trials for a purpose. God allows us to endure unpleasant circumstances in order for growth and maturity to take place; to become more refined versions of ourselves. We can either embrace the change, moving forward with high hopes for our future, or turn around, desperately trying to hold onto something that once was. Moving forward opens opportunities for new blessings. Staying behind limits what's available for us.

As I continue to face living this life with cancer, I have a choice to make. Do I want to revert to the life I once had—one full of comfort, security, and predictability? Or do I embrace what God has allowed me to go through, and view it as an opportunity to experience new and exciting endeavors? Sure, the future is uncertain. There will be moments of great accomplishments and times of deep sadness.

But I have grown in this season for a purpose, and in the future I will continue to mature, as long as I embrace the process.

Exhausted Trust

The last several weeks have been really hard. It started off with not being able to do chemo because I got so sick 3 hours into it. Then I learned quickly about the havoc chemo had been wreaking on my teeth. I broke two molars while chewing on a piece of hard candy, which then delayed chemo because of infection.

Given I have been extremely blessed to have all my dental work covered, and I have got 75% of the work done within a week of breaking them...I have had a rough time.

On Tuesday I had 5 hours of dental work done while I was awake. I had a root canal done on my right side molar. Then they prepped that same molar for a crown. Then they went on to do all my right side fillings. By this time I had already gotten 6 numbing shots, but my root canal was beginning to throb. I was in pain and we still had to mold and fit a temporary crown. The dentist did a 7th numbing shot, but it didn't work. So I clenched on to the chair and had tears streaming out the side of my glasses and into my ears for the last 20 mins of that procedure. By the time I was done I was in a lot of pain and exhausted. I drove home, and slept for 3 hours.

That was 3 days ago and my cheek is still swollen from all the shots, my root canal is still sore, and I can barely move my jaw from it being open for so long. I have spent the last 3 days snugged up in bed or the couch on pain killers with an ice pack stuck to my face.

I have spent the last several nights tossing and turning. Not only because of my mouth pain but because that is when I find myself chatting with, and sometimes cursing at, God. In the dead of night is when my tears become prayers.

I am tired of having cancer. I am tired of not feeling healthy. I am tired of waking up every morning with aches and pains. I am tired of needles and all things doctor appointments. I am tired of being cautious of where I am and who I am around because my immune system sucks.

I hate not being able to "do my hair." I hate that no matter how many times people tell me I am beautiful, I don't always feel that way. I hate feeling like my life is on pause. I hate knowing that I may never have kids of my own. And I especially hate that all of these teeth problems have pushed back when chemo was supposed to be over.

I have been fighting this damn disease for nearly 2 years now. This journey has been hard from the beginning. Full of anger and doubt.  Next month, on April 6th, will be 2 years since I first heard the doctor say cancer.

I have 4 (maybe 5) more chemos, which means 8 (maybe 10) more weeks. I don't let myself get excited over that though because I know what it feels like to get excited and end up disappointed. I know what it feels like to hear the words in remission, only to hear the word recurrence shortly after. If these scans aren't clean after chemo is done, then there will be talk of a bone marrow transplant.

Gosh... I hope more than anything that those scans are clean. I lay here in bed at 1am typing this out...in tears. I am exhausted, and this is all so hard. Harder than I have ever let anyone see. I hold back tears in a lot of my conversations because I save my cursing and doubtful heart for my "dead of night" chats with God. I save it all for Him because I know ultimately I belong to the Lord.

I don't understand—nor do I think I will ever understand—why God is allowing me to walk this road. Oh, how I wish I didn't have to. If given the choice on what I wanted my life to look like, cancer would be at the bottom of the list. I've prayed time and time again, as well as had thousands of others joining me in prayer, for God to take this cup from me. But nonetheless, here I am. There's no denying it and there's no getting around it.

I have the choice to be miserable or joyful. Some may think it's not a choice, but I would challenge that stance. Though often times we cannot choose our circumstances, we can choose our emotions. I choose joy. I choose life. I choose to trust and love a God who is with me and for me.

Choosing to trust Him isn't easy and I have to turn my battle over to Him every day. I have to wake up every morning and tell myself that I can do it. More often than not, I have to "suck it up" and just keep fighting. It's a hard struggle, but I am discovering more of myself than I ever have. When I feel weak, I know that God is strong. He has not given me this disease, but for whatever reason, He has allowed it. For what the enemy is trying to use against me, God is transforming into something miraculous and good. I have hard days. I grieve. I cry. I don't want to leave the house, let alone get out of my bed. I experience pain and heartbreak.

But I DO have good days. Greats days in fact. Life is put into perspective when you are fighting for it. I laugh. I experience joy and hope. Certain things have changed in my life, but I have continued to hold on to things that bring me happiness. I have people around me, whether I know them or not, that just want to help. I have chosen to let them help.

And dammit, I won't give up! Because as soon as I resign myself, it's over. This is an epic battle and I am a soldier. I am on the front lines, and with my medical staff and The Man upstairs, I will crash through this diagnosis with guns blazing.

I have allowed myself to experience the rough days. After all, cancer is shitty. I give myself permission to be sad, angry, hurt, and devastated. Sometimes all it takes is someone to say, "It's okay to cry." However, once I have exhausted myself from tears, I pick myself up and keep going. On days that I don't feel well, I get out of the house. I don't isolate myself. I try to enjoy the world...spending time with friends and family, laughing, eating good food. I don't let my diagnosis run my life because I am not a cancer patient, rather a person who just so happens to have cancer.

Through all of this, God remains faithful. My plans and His are not in alignment, yet I know that His will for my life is far greater than I can imagine. For that reason, I continue to trust in His healing power, and know that He's got it all figured out!

Grief and Joy

My blog has been a wonderful outlet to keep people informed as to how things are going and what I am currently processing, but I realized I have found myself journaling a lot more instead. So I figured it is about time to let you all in on what is going on in the mind of Haley. ;)

Recently this devotional has continued to tug on my heart.

"Keep walking with Me along the path that I have chosen for you. Your desire to live close to Me is a delight to My heart. I could instantly grant you the spiritual riches you desire, but that is not My way for you. Together we will forge a pathway to high mountains. The journey is arduous at times, and you are weak. Someday you will dance light-footed on the high peaks; but for now, your walk is often plodding and heavy. All I require of you is to take the next step, clinging to My hand for strength and direction. Though the path is difficult and the scenery dull at the moment, there are sparking surprises just around the bend. Stay on the path I have selected for you. It is truly the path of Life."

I continue to have this unwanted fog linger in my life. I am extremely grateful for the few days here and there that my energy level is decent, and my body doesn't ache. And I am blessed to wake up each morning with breath in my lungs. In no way minimizing these miracles, but sometimes I think, "if only my body and health could be restored to full health."

As I have blogged once about fertility, or rather my loss of fertility, I thought it would be a long time before I wrote about it again. But some recent conversations sparked that deep burning desire within me to have children of my own. Although I am not in a place to start having kids anyways, it doesn't take away the ache that comes with the doctor saying, "Your ovaries are about as useful as if you didn't have any." Thanks doc...

But another reason my "fertility post" has continued to stay in my "drafts" is because I do not want my thoughts to come across as bitter or angry or envious. I don't want my original thoughts to leave those whom I love feeling guilty for the blessing of pregnancy and children. That is by far the last thing that I want. I am genuinely and deeply happy for those blessed with such a miraculous gift(s)!

Although coping with the fact that I could be barren—incapable of creating and sustaining life within me—is hard, it would be too easy to view everyone else with jealousy after being dealt a crappy hand. Bitterness is the easy way. I am choosing not to live in envy. No matter how natural those feelings may be, I am making the decision to choose joy. Joy in my own story, and joy for the stories that surround me.

Grief is an inexplicable thing. Often I find myself heartbroken, unhappy and afraid. I have talked about that HERE before. Some days are easier than others. But through grief, wisdom is born. Grief can last for weeks, months, and even years. However, once we work through the sorrowful moments, wisdom, knowledge, and perspective mature.

Seeing my dearest friends with their cute baby bumps truly warms my heart. They are adorable! As I have continued to move forward through grieving my fertility, I am able to be genuinely excited for those with the miracle of life growing within them. I love celebrating the pregnancies of my friends!! I enjoy feeling their baby kick, giving people gifts, and probably asking too many questions. God never ceases to amaze me. My heart is healing and my joy is overflowing.

God's blessings on each of our lives is unique. Not one of His gifts are cloned for multiple people. Sure, the gifts of pregnancy and parenthood are gifted to many, yet the blessing is in the child whom is given to us. And no child is the same.

I know I will be a mother some day. Of this I am truly certain. I am joyfully expectant for the journey in meeting my children, in whatever capacity that may be.

Until then, I am putting my trust in a God who knows my heart.

Longing For Health, But Thankful.

Well, we've come to the end of another year. 52 weeks of life, love, celebrations, and tears. 365 days of waking and sleeping, praying and hoping, living joyfully and struggling to make sense, all wrapped up in one 12-month package called 2013.

This last year has left me longing for good health again.

I can't wait for the day I get the call that my scans show no sign of cancer. And then on that same day getting to share the news with my loved ones. I can't wait for the happy tears, the hugs, the celebrating...

But this longing leaves me speechless and in tears for many reasons. One of the reasons being that I have come to the realization that my healing may not occur here on Earth. The realization that the call I previously talked about may be to inform my loved ones that I have gone to see Jesus.

When I look at that picture, I see all joy for me as I get to approach the gates of Heaven and give a run and jump hug into the arms of Jesus (at least that's how I picture it), but then I see a mixture of joy and sadness for those left behind.

While I continue to be more aware that cancer is what could easily take my life some day, I am also more aware that death is not the worst thing that can happen to me. It's actually quite the opposite. I mean, who wouldn't want to do a run and jump hug with Jesus?

Yet, the only thing that truly ties everything together right now is the simple statement, "I am thankful to be alive."

I woke up this morning, wiped the drool off my face, rolled over to an upright position and put my feet on the floor, and the first thing I did was thank God for another day. I thanked Him for sparing me from life-threatening hospital visits twice in the last 6 months. (#effpneumonia)

I can't help but continue to compare my experiences with Paul when he was in prison. He started longing for Jesus and the graduation to glory, yet God spared his life because it was better for the church's sake that he live and help them grow. (Philippians)

So instead of longing for Jesus, I have learned to embrace Him in the present. I have resolved that my work here is not done and I continue to face every day finding wisdom in the simple pleasures.

As I stood in the shower this morning with the hot water pressing into my bald head, I closed my eyes as the steam enveloped around me, and it made me think, "This is what it means to be alive."

I have those realizations often since having cancer. Sometimes when I am watching the rain, snow, or leaves fall outside or when I am curled up on the couch watching hours of Ellen Degeneres, I am struck by how lucky I am to be living through such moments. I am lucky that I get to feel the sun and rain on my skin and hear my friend's laughter every day.

And because of the things that God continues to press into my heart, even the moments of sitting in a chemo chair or fighting off infections in a hospital bed, are moments that I am proud to call myself a suffering servant.

Hi, My Name Is...

Haley. 22 years old. College Student. Christian. Woman. Daughter. Sister. Friend. This is who I was before my diagnosis. And, as I'm learning, this is who I still am.

9 months before first cancer diagnosis.
June 2011

Cancer does a lot to a person. Physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. Any degree of trauma, battle, life experience... these events change and mold us. Fighting against this disease is tough. Cancer has forever changed me. And now I'm on a path to rediscovering myself amidst fighting this disease.

Today, as I was going through my typical routine and getting ready for the day, I looked in the mirror. Surgery scars. Bald head. No eyebrows. Bags under my eyes. A noticeable amount of pounds lighter. I simply asked myself, "Who are you now?"

I am still Haley.

Pre-cancer, I was athletic, determined, fun, adventurous, and care-free. I enjoyed being a college student and athlete. I loved to cook, bake, and have friends over. I exercised. I was excited for the future. I dreamt about being the first college graduate in my family, and eventually getting married and starting a family (no timeline on that one!) Cancer was the furthest thing from my mind.

In my battle against this disease, I have began to identify as a cancer patient. I have identified as a soldier in the throes of a civil war, and fighting, quite literally, for my life. And in the midst of combat, I lost sight of who I was before the war began. I don't suspect that's uncommon. As someone fighting for their life, we tend not to focus on things such as what's on the dinner menu for the week, or what movie we'll see next, let alone complex questions of self identity. Warrior. Soldier. Fighter. Survivor. That's who I am. And again, I'm learning, that's who I will always be.

I find myself pondering more and more if I am the same woman before cancer as I am now? Do I still enjoy the same things? When I look into the mirror 20 months since original diagnosis, I notice someone different. Not only am I physically different, but I, Haley, am different. I am not who I once was. I have been molded by the fire. I have been broken, reshaped, and sculpted, and have the scars to prove it. Coming to terms with this thought scared me at first. Because if i am different, who am I now then? My name is the same. My face shows similarity from before, with an added tired appearance. But do I really know me?

As of this moment, I cannot confidently say I know all of who I am. But I'm beginning to understand that's alright. Life events change us. And if we don't change with the seasons, we might get buried in the past. Evolving, changing, and progressing into the future is healthy. As I am rediscovering myself, I know for certain that my foundation remains. My soul is untouched. I am still Haley: College Student. Christian. Woman. Daughter. Sister. Friend. But because of this season of torrential downpours, I am now more than that. I am more sensitive, aware, and compassionate. I am more braver and stronger than I ever thought I could be. A new passion for sharing my story and helping others has been birthed inside of me. As I continue to battle through the fog and haze of the battlefield, I find that I still love to cook and bake. I am still determined, adventurous, and fun. I still enjoy spending time with friends.

If it weren't for this diagnosis, I would not live the way I am living today. I am living boldly and courageously. I am soaking up every moment, no matter how big or small. I value and appreciate my friends and family more than I ever had before, for they all have still faithfully stood beside me when they could have easily jumped onto the next train. My gratitude towards my One, True God is greater and far more vast than it was many, many months again. I woke up today with breath in my lungs and for that I am immensely thankful.

Though I'm sure there will be moments where I have to recheck myself and shake my own hand in introduction, I can undoubtedly count on the identity I have in Christ. He has filled me with a spirit of love, power, and wisdom. I am His daughter and He is my friend. Through Him, I can do all things. Through Him, I have hope and a future. If my identity lies in the Lord my God, I will never be lost. So during these times of rediscovery, I cling to the knowledge that I am His creation and that my identity can always be found in Him.