New Year, New Fun

Gather round the glow of your favorite screen & warm yourself by my sarcasm

Welcome to the New Year, Compassion Brigade!

Yes, I’m two weeks late with salutations, but so what? We still have Christmas decorations up; Minnesota is stuck in a sub-zero snap of “always winter but never snow” nod to the White Witch of Narnia; and time is a social construct anyway.

But Sue stopped me this morning at church to tell me she was worried that I hadn’t sent out an update lately, and Sue is a fantastic human, so this one is for her and anyone else who wants to know how NEW YEAR NEW ME is going.

I riffed on this news more poetically here, but December brought the best verb tense switch. Now I catch myself in conversation to pivot from I have cancer to I had cancer.

I also learned at the end of the year that I will not need radiation post-surgery. This is a phenomenal development, due entirely to the success of the clinical trial I did (since radiation is standard treatment for the nasty beast that is triple-negative breast cancer).

As one oncologist put it, “you got the best case from the worst-case scenario” so if you want to rub my buzz cut for good luck, consider it Father Sorin’s golden foot.

Past tense still feels strange in my mouth, but I’m thrilled to slam the door on 2023.

Recovery update

Six weeks out from my mastectomy, I am happy to report that things are moving in the right direction. I have more mobility in my arms but I still delight my older kids by asking them to reach things on high shelves for me. I have a bit more energy but I am learning my limits and resting a lot.¹ The soreness and pain recede slightly each week. Even my hair is coming back in full force (lighter and maybe wavier).

My whole family came to visit for Christmas, which was the best possible gift at the end of a long hard year. The second best possible gift was this glory from my sister.

Most importantly (and I won’t say much here, because the internet never forgets and I have five kids who could easily google their mother one day), I am very happy with my decision to opt for reconstruction. Most women I know who have had breast cancer in recent years have opted to go flat, and I’m thankful that patients now have such choices in their care. Despite reconstruction meaning additional surgeries and longer recovery, I’m quite glad I made this choice. Getting to recreate your body in midlife² is a wonder, especially after so much pain and loss.

Overall post-surgery I’m still surprised by how quickly I tire. Turns out that pumping yourself full of powerful drugs³ and then lopping off a few body parts will wear out a person. For so long, 2024 shone in the distance like the promised land: if I could just get there, everything would be ok. But now I’m realizing in a slow Epiphany that this will be another long year of healing, far from the bounce-back I secretly wanted. The uncertainty of what this means for my work, my writing, my parenting—pretty much every calling I have—is an unsettling place to live. I’m beyond grateful for those of you whose generosity helped support our family in the past year and will continue to do so. It has been a long, hard exercise in trusting that God will provide. Though it sounds like a throw-pillow-worthy cliché, I am stunned to find how tangibly this provision shows up.⁴

What’s next

Pull up a chair, friend, because the fun is far from over!

To wax eloquent for a moment, this is the strangest part about where I find myself today. Everyone around me is celebrating that I’m Done! It’s Finished! You Kicked Cancer’s A$$⁵! But I’m…not done.

I’m now getting infusions of immunotherapy every 3 weeks until May. This is super fun because my body does not hate the cancer clinic at all so it really loves the chance to spend more time there and get poked and prodded and exhausted again.

I’m also heading back to Mayo this week for More Adventures! with Yet Another Oncology Department! as I start meeting with doctors about removing my ovaries and tubes. If you remember from an earlier missive, I learned early on in mY cAnEr jOuRNeY that I have a genetic mutation that might be related to triple-negative breast cancer but is definitely related to ovarian cancer. So whilst the average woman has a 1% chance of developing ovarian cancer, mine hovers between 5-15%. Ovarian cancer is notoriously hard to screen for; thus the standard recommendation is to remove the culprits.

I will likely have this surgery at the same time as my next reconstruction surgery, later this year. But it might need to come sooner. TBD. I’m daunted by this one, so I’m grateful for your prayers. Turns out yanking out the ol’ hormone producers takes a big toll on a body for the long haul. Really wishing it didn’t need to happen, but c’est la vie.

So fear not, friend: the Compassion Brigade is not disbanding any time soon. We have a long way to go. But I’m a mom so I know we need snacks, music, pit stops, movies, snacks, bathroom breaks, snacks, broking of peace agreements for backseat battles, mandatory quiet for 10 brooding minutes, stupid jokes to break the tension, more music, more snacks, and a celebration at the end.⁶

If you’re game, I’d love to hear what you need prayers for in 2024. A mighty force of praying folk have gathered here, and we wait to throw our arms around you, too.

1. By “resting,” this writer mostly means “reading,” but whatever—it makes my body and soul happy. Our family currently has 69 library books checked out (will I ever be mature enough to stop smirking at that numeral? doubtful) and I estimate that 50% of these are mine. Brace yourself for a flood of book recs coming at you from The Holy Labor.

2. And firmly ensconced within menopause, too! Among other things I won’t be writing about here for the sake of my someday-Googling offspring!

3. All I want for 2024—and every future year of my life—is for no one to EVER AGAIN send me their thoughts, suggestions, links, or books on curing cancer naturally. [I am so adamant about this desire that I split an infinitive in my last sentence for emphasis, which I never do.] Chemo + immunotherapy + targeted drugs from my clinical trial KILLED ALL MY CANCER. If you think cutting sugar from your diet will do the same, I wish you all the best and so does Hank Green who knows way more science than me.

4. Like manna in the desert, fresh each morning (except Sabbath; go back to sleep). But more like Chipotle at the doorstep, which pleases hungry kids more than manna or quails.

5. Do anyone else’s kids chortle at every old-timey Christmas hymn where ox and donkey are sleeping, or just mine?

6. Yes, I still want to have this party. No, I don’t know when it will be: this summer? Yes, I agree that it should not actually be in my backyard if I’m inviting (beloved) strangers from the internet. No, I have zero doubts that it will be a hell of a good time.