When Science Isn't Enough...

Sometimes science and all the medical advances in the world just aren't enough...

I've had a cold for the past several days, and yesterday was running a temperature of about 100 degrees all day. I woke up this morning a little after 3:00 and figured I should check my temperature. I grabbed my phone to use it's flashlight function so I wouldn't wake up Noelle with my bedside table lamp. On my phone I saw that Rebecca Dutson, a friend who Noelle and I met walking the halls of East 8 several months ago, had "tagged" me in a Facebook post 2 hours before. I wasn't prepared for what I read.

Her Leukemia is back.

I laid awake in bed for nearly two hours, crying off and on. How is this possible? I know the statistics. Not everyone makes it. Now, with Rebecca and our friend Houston Holbrook, I have two friends - people who have strengthened me and whom I have grown to admire so much - who are having to go through transplants again because the first one didn't work. Will the second go-around be any different? Were their first donor's cells just not strong enough to fight the cancer, or is the cancer too strong for any stem cells to fight it off? Will they be able to beat the odds stacked against them?

What does Rebecca have to say? "What now? We move forward with hope. My family and I are united in our understanding that God STILL knows best, even after being blindsided today. He knows my capacities and won't push me beyond, and knows where I need to be." Part of what makes Rebecca such an incredible person is her perspective. It's a big part of why she is loved by Noelle and I and who-knows-how-many others. We're leaving for a week at the beach and Disneyland next Saturday, and I wish we could take Rebecca and Houston (and Houston's wife, Denise) along with us. They are both suiting up for a battle they've already fought. It's a battle no one should ever have to fight, and they're having to do it twice. I wish I could give them my tickets to Disneyland and let them enjoy it and get some extra smiles in before they walk through the valley of the shadow of death...again. I almost feel guilty that we're taking this trip to celebrate my remission while two dear friends are wondering if they'll ever get to hear the words, "you're in remission" again.

Rebecca and I at last October's LLS Light the Night Walk

Rebecca is only about 160 days post-transplant. I'm 100 days ahead of her, and as far as I know, I'm still cancer-free, but for how long? For life? A decade? A year? A week? Cancer is so unpredictable. When I had my clinic visit on Tuesday, they took an extra vile of blood to test for Kappa and Lambda light chains, which are leukemic cancer markers in the blood. If my blood is clear, I'm still cancer-free. If not...well, in the words of Dr. Ashe, "Let's not think about that." Now, with this news and the light chain results still not in, it's hard to not think about it. It's hard to avoid fearing the worst.

When we sent out our Christmas cards at the beginning of December, we sent one to Elder Bednar (The member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles who visited us in our home a year earlier (see the post about it here)). He replied with a nice letter, telling us he's happy to hear of my remission. He also enclosed with his letter a copy of a CES fireside talk he gave on March 3, 2013. It's called "That We Might 'Not...Shrink' (D&C 19:18)." In part of his talk, he speaks about a 23-year old young man who was diagnosed with bone cancer just about three weeks after his marriage to his 20-year old sweetheart. When Elder Bednar visited them in the hospital, he asked them a very interesting question: "do you have the faith not to be healed? If it is the will of our Heavenly Father that you are transferred by death in your youth to the spirit world to continue your ministry, do you have the faith to submit to His will and not be healed?" That's a hard question - albeit an important one - to answer. I've pondered on that question several times since first reading Elder Bednar's talk. Do I have faith sufficient to accept my Father in Heaven's will for me, whatever it may be? Some days I feel strong enough to say I do. Other days I wonder how I would respond if given the same news that Houston and Rebecca have been given. Would I be strong enough to "move forward with hope," like Rebecca is committed to do? Or would I just fall apart? 

I'm a "Type A" personality. Having no control over things is really, really hard for me. It's been one of the hardest things about my cancer, even since being declared in remission in September. The fears of a relapse are real...not pervasive on a daily basis, but something I think about regularly. I think it's natural. I'm sure that most, if not all, cancer survivors deal with it in their own way. I was counseled earlier this week that one of the best things I can do to mitigate my fears is to "live in the moment" as much as possible...to be aware of and grateful for the blessings of each moment. Having goals that I'm working towards, like my 1/2 marathons I'll be walking later this year, is something that can also be very therapeutic and can distract me from the "what-ifs" over which I have no control. I think that's great advice. In her post last night, Rebecca ended with this thought: "Just a reminder - enjoy every moment, dear friends. Life is good." That's a great message.

Cancer sucks, but life is good. Thanks, Rebecca.