Mystery and miracles: Part I

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the Lord.

"As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts." - Isaiah 55:8-9

Geared up to go bear viewing at Katmai National Park

Just before 8am on the second Saturday in September, I shimmied into a pair of chest waders. Tightening the suspender-style straps and lacing up the borrowed boots, I double-checked to make sure everything seemed watertight. Basically, I was a pro at this... I mean, I'd already been through this suiting up process the prior day for our first such adventure. Once the four of us - Sean, myself, our new friend Shelly, and our guide Tisa - were all set, I tossed my tripod over my shoulder with my camera securely attached. We were off, sploshing into the Brooks River and walking upstream through coastal brown bear country in Katmai National Park in Alaska in search of wildlife. Stepping confidently over the decomposing carcasses of sockeye salmon along the banks and among a smaller number of live ones in the river, I breathed in the cool morning air. Bears. Nature. Water. Peace.

Who would have thought two days later I'd be far more frightened than I was in that moment? Even being bluff-charged by a 400ish-pound subadult bear along our trek - although breathtaking in the moment - couldn't foreshadow what was to come.

Fast forward through the next two days of bear viewing and traveling home from Alaska, and I'm awaiting blood test results. I'm planning to start the chemo pill the next day, and so as a routine measure I had blood work taken and analyzed before an all-clear could be given. The previous day of travel had been draining, and so I tried grabbing a quick nap before packing for my CAS governing board meeting. I was leaving for New Hampshire early the next day, so the rest felt much needed. Even so, I couldn't quite drift off, and I kept glancing at my phone. I'd already seen my metabolic panel of blood work come through as lab results, looking great. All we needed now was the tumor marker baseline, which we were told might take a few hours.

A message popped up on the screen. Finally. I logged in to my patient portal to see the new test results. It was the CA-125. And, the number was not good.

CA-125 is a cancer antigen (also known as a carbohydrate antigen or glycoprotein) used for diagnosing and tracking cancer's presence in one's body. Often relied upon for ovarian cancer screening, it was the marker that was elevated when we found my original tumor last fall. And, according to the lab results I was looking at, it was very high again. Crap.

Y'all know that my pathology results from last May were not ideal - little cancer cells were still present in my lymph channels before I started my radiation treatments - and this test result was pretty much my waking nightmare. Lying next to me as I tried to process this news was my slumbering Sean, and I reached over to gently rouse and tell him. Reality started to set in. Tears fell.

I knew this number changed everything. I shot off a quick message to my oncologist. We had an appointment to see her at 4:30pm, and I wanted to be sure we would talk about what this meant.

Unsurprisingly, my doctor was quite concerned. Never one to mince words, she told us that the best case scenario would be for the tumor marker number to be elevated for no reason - a possibility she deemed very unlikely. The worse-but-not-worst case scenario was that there was a cancer recurrence in the same breast or underarm where my tumor had been before. And, she told us, there was one definitively worst case possibility: my breast cancer could have metastasized. At that point - if cancer had cropped up anywhere outside my left breast or underarm - then my condition would be considered terminal and incurable. Sean and I asked lots of questions, but we held ourselves together in the face of the news.

I was urged to cancel my work trip, starting the chemo pills was put on hold, and my oncologist recommended I get tests immediately. It seemed like waiting would be an eternity, but we scheduled a PET scan for two days later. I reached out to my closest circle of friends and family. When I felt ready, I posted on Facebook that I needed support, good vibes, and prayers. Love was poured over me, and circles of friends and strangers asked God to be with me.

That Wednesday, we showed up to an office we hadn't been to before. The vibe was warm, and the technicians were kind. They shot a radioactive dye into my system, and I watched HGTV for an hour while we waited for it to make its way through me. When it was time, I headed into the room with the PET machine, placed my arms above my head (reminded me of radiation treatments!), and laid very still for 30 minutes. I talked to God, sang church songs in my head, and was enveloped by His comforting arms. Time flew by as I inhabited a prayerful state, and God kept me calm.

I took this photo in Alaska, and this verse really resonated
for me as I struggled with the unknown

I'm not a particularly "religious" person, although I've always felt God in my life. I was raised Catholic (and still choose to practice today); typically my faith is a private affair. But - in all honesty - without God and the ways He supported me through people, His Word, and your prayers, I would have been in a far worse place than I was.

Even so, the hours between the scan and receiving results were excruciating. The message came late into the evening - almost all looked good in the PET scan images. There was a small spot on my liver which the doctor thought might be just a distortion in the images (caused by my body eliminating the dye from the test) - but we met with her again on Thursday afternoon to review. She was stunned but felt very good about the results. We determined that we should have the mystery spot checked with an MRI, and we scheduled it for later that same night. If you haven't had an MRI lately, it's one of the more claustrophobia-inducing experiences out there. Again, God's peace enveloped me even with the noisy machine banging all around me. We went to bed that night hopeful, but cautious in our optimism.

All results came back clean the next day! The radiologist dispassionately declared my scan to be "unremarkable," and I have never been more excited to be classified as such. Based on the images, there was no sign that the cancer had taken up residence elsewhere in my body.

Through the process, we discovered that I do have a different condition, called lymphedema, in my left breast. I'll save details for a future post, but it could have contributed to the elevated tumor marker. I'm now undergoing treatment and physical therapy for that condition.

I truly believe I experienced a miracle. I'm praising God for the gifts He brought and the many ways I received His love.

Yet, this story is not over... the intervening three weeks have brought new challenges, pains, and fears. The chemo pills have come with atrocious and debilitating side effects. And, my blood test results from this week show continued elevation of the tumor marker, which is baffling and could point toward metastasis. I'm scared, friends.

Part II of the story is coming soon, when I have the ability and perspective to write it. In the meantime, your love, your prayers, and your support mean the world to me. I need them. Miracles happen every day - I've lived it and I believe it.

And, I'm hoping for another.