The Christmas Hope

The Christmas season is one of my favorite times of year. With so much anticipation for Christmas day, most people’s spirits tend to be filled with extra cheer. Words of joy, love, peace, and hope are so easily spoken—after all, “Tis the season to be jolly,” as the song says. When I think back on the many Christmases I’ve experienced, I know I’m fortunate to say that the majority of them have been filled with wonderful memories, surrounded by the people I love most in this world. Going to the Christmas tree farm, having special meals together, decorating sugar cookies, and jamming out to Christmas songs are a few favorites of mine. But I know from personal experience that with these special traditions and memories, come times of heartbreak and sadness for some.

Maybe your loved one who used to be around for your favorite holiday traditions is no longer here, or maybe you’ve never had great relationships with your family members, so seeing everyone send out their picture perfect Christmas cards can make you feel even more alone. Or maybe your Christmas will never be the same due to an unforeseen illness such as cancer. No matter the cause of your heartbreak or disappointment there are two things you should know.

1. I hear you and I see you. Even though our circumstances are probably different, I understand why you have pain around this time of year, and it is valid.

2. Despite the loneliness, bitterness, sadness, or anger you feel around this time of year, there is still hope. If you find this hope, you can experience all the joy in the world despite your circumstances.

I never understood the pain that the holidays can bring about until I was diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer right before Christmas. In fact, it was December 22nd, 2020 when I first received my diagnosis and thought to myself, “Christmas is never going to be the same.” Sadly, the trend of getting negative news around the holidays has continued for my family and me as I’ve repeatedly received bad scan reports at this time of year.

This year in particular has been especially and unexpectedly difficult. Once again my scans showed growth of cancer on my liver, but this time around my oncologist seemed less positive about the future. At this point in time she doesn’t believe that oral medications will be effective, so the plan is to go back to IV chemotherapy. Nolan and I left my appointment feeling devastated and to be frank, quite hopeless. Once again, our Christmas will be tainted by my depressing cancer diagnosis. I’ve found myself thinking “can’t we just have a normal, happy holiday again?!” Oh, how my family and I long for some good news! I’ve also asked myself if maybe God has put us through these trials around this time of year, because there are so many reminders of hope at Christmas time? After all, Christmas is a time in which we celebrate the greatest news of all, Jesus’ birth. A time where we rejoice because Jesus rescues us from our sins and frees us from the burdens of this world.

I was reading an advent devotional by Ruth Chou Simons, and a particular line really struck me. She writes, “Where you set your hope this Christmas season will determine how you find joy.” Since being diagnosed with a terminal illness, I have learned the hard way that there is so little I can put my hope in. All of the things I have trusted in the past—including my young and healthy body and medicine and medical technology—have continuously let me down. Many of my plans and dreams have been snatched away from me and each day is uncertain. The more I hope for a cancer free body, the more disappointed I become. I cannot put my hope in anything but my Lord and Savior or else my joy will be stolen for good.

This Christmas, I am once again reminded that my future is certain because of a baby boy who was born in a manger. Although my body is failing me, I have hope because I know that one day I will be freed from the awful, devastating pain I am experiencing now. My diagnosis may temporarily steal my happiness, but I know I can still experience genuine joy. This is one of the beautiful things about this time of year. As we anticipate Jesus’ birth we discover hope, and with that we receive His gifts of joy, peace, love, and when our time comes, eternal life with him, if we just believe. Instead of letting my diagnosis steal my joy this season, I am choosing to put my hope in God and trusting that He will supply me with all I ever need. This is not always an easy task, but the more time I spend in prayer and in scripture, the easier it is to remember His promises. Maybe the trials we face on earth are what we need to remember that Jesus is near, not only in the Christmas season, but for the rest of eternity. So, for the holidays this year, challenge yourself and ask: Where have I set my hope?

Beyond the pink ribbon

It's currently the end of October, also known as Breast Cancer Awareness Month. The pink ribbons have been flying high, and the breast cancer campaigns may still be advertising for their fundraisers, but this won't last for long. Soon it will be November and next thing you know, everyone will be focused on the busy holiday season. While this is completely normal and acceptable, I've come to appreciate Breast Cancer Awareness Month. It is such an inspiring time for many, bringing about a sense of hope. But after being diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer (MBC), I have learned from experience that although breast cancer awareness month has good intentions, there are definitely some things that are unproductive and can put a sour taste in the mouths of those of us with MBC.

1. Pink ribbons don't do anything - They might raise awareness, but the money should be going towards actual research, not towards creating pink products. Many organizations spend money investing into pink products for the month of October, but rather than throwing money away to "raise awareness," businesses should put their money where their mouth is and actually donate to campaigns that raise money for breast cancer research, specifically stage IV.

2. MBC is not represented by the pink ribbon - Lower stages of breast cancer are considered curable (unless the cancer comes back) whereas MBC is incurable. Because of this large distinction, the MBC ribbon contains teal, green, and pink. This is why my blog includes these colors! You can read a little more about this if you head my home page.

3. Many breast cancer campaigns don't donate money to research MBC - Less than 5% of all funds raised for breast cancer are actually focused on saving the lives of those of us with MBC. If more money was raised for actual research this would most likely result in finding a cure for all stages of breast cancer, or at least allow MBC to become a chronic disease rather than a terminal disease. METAvivor is one of the few organizations that donates all funds raised to MBC research. This is why I frequently advocate for this organization.

4. There is a constant reminder that breast cancer exists - The way that breast cancer is nonchalantly discussed during October can be really difficult for those of us who are actually diagnosed with the disease. I completely understand that there is a need for awareness so others realize that breast cancer, specifically MBC, is a real issue, but frequently reading the statistics about MBC is honestly depressing. The fact that the average person with MBC lives only 2-3 years is a terrifying thought. It's already been almost 2 years since I was diagnosed, so thinking that based on averages I only have one year left to live is extremely difficult to think about and be reminded of on a daily basis.

5. There is a focus on survivors - Something that is celebrated during breast cancer awareness month is the many men and women who have beaten breast cancer and are currently in remission. I greatly rejoice with those who have overcome breast cancer, but the focus on survivorship can be frustrating because MBC is not curable. In this day and age it is impossible to be in remission from MBC, so I believe there should be more of a focus on those of us who are thriving despite facing an incurable disease, even if we haven't necessarily "beaten cancer." Sometimes the common phrases that are so frequently spoken around this time such as "You can beat this," "You're so strong," or "Cancer's got nothing on you" can make me feel like a failure. I know people have good intentions when they say these things, but in reality, those of us with MBC will never be cancer free. It also is disappointing to hear these phrases when many people in my cancer community have died from MBC because I know they did everything they could to survive and live a long and happy life.

Now, besides all this negative stuff, lets focus on some of the positives that come with breast cancer awareness month:

1. Certain organizations, such as METAvivor, are campaigning and raising money for MBC - As stated above, more funds need to go towards MBC. "Stage IV needs more" is a common phrase you might here at this time of year and is a great reminder about the necessity of researching MBC to be able to find more life saving or even life prolonging drugs. METAvivor has done a great raising awareness for MBC and has raised over $350,000 for MBC this October. It is because of organizations like this that I have hope that I will one day be able to beat this disease.

2. Having a month designated to breast cancer gives those of us with breast cancer a great platform to share our stories and educate those around us - If you follow me on social media, you will know that I've definitely taken advantage of October to share things that are close to my heart, as well as educate those around me about the importance of donations to MBC research. In case you missed it, I was chosen by METAvivor to share a bit of my story as well as some important things I want my family and friends to know. You can watch it here! https://www.instagram.com/p/CkBkVBVg81y/

3. The community comes together - This is one of my favorite things about October. From fun runs, to fundraisers, seeing people come together for a good cause makes my heart happy. It is also a great reminder of the support I have in my community.

4. Progress for MBC awareness specifically is made - This year, I decided to volunteer with METAvivor to help make a difference. My specific role was to compose a proclamation and write a letter to the Governor of Michigan to make October 13th Michigan's Metastatic Breast Cancer Awareness Day. I am proud to say that my hard work paid off and it's official. This is just one small and personal example, but it gives me hope knowing that every small step adds up and is making a difference.

So, while Breast Cancer Awareness Month has definitely provided opportunities for progress in the breast cancer world to be made, there is still room for growth. I hope that together those of us with breast cancer as well as those who have not personally been affected by this disease will continue to raise awareness and donate to organizations in the months to come to find a cure!

Scanxiety

It's a Wednesday morning... Just another day. But the air feels different to me, and emotions are running high. Tomorrow I will have a follow up PET scan of my entire body. The stakes are high because tomorrow will determine whether or not the last five months of intense chemotherapy were worth it or not, and it's all based on if this machine that I'm placed in can still detect cancer in my body.

It's been a long two weeks of waiting post-chemo until I'm able and ready to have testing completed, per my oncologist. So, I wake up the following day, ready to conquer the world and get this silly scan over with. Though that's not to say I'm not completely anxious and freaking out inside. While the scan itself is relatively easy - you just need to drink this delicious, thick oral contrast, get an IV placed so they can inject you with a radioactive tracer, and then after some more waiting, lie completely still on a table for 20 minutes - there's a fear inside of me that I can't seem to let go of. I've had a PET scan before, so "it'll be easy" the technician says. And while I know that the physical testing is nothing compared to what I've already been through, it's the mental game that makes this scan so difficult.

As I lie on the table for what seems like the longest 20 minutes of my life, my mind goes a million places. "There's a chance chemo worked really well and all my cancer is gone or at least has shrunk majorly," but the next minute I think "what if chemo did nothing, and the cancer is worse than before, and I'm dying?" So many emotions. So many possible scenarios. I try to take some deep breaths to relax but of course the machine is monitoring my respiratory rate and I see the wave on the screen above me as I take a deep breath in, only to see the wave fall on the screen as I exhale. "So relaxing," I laugh to myself. I try to close my eyes and pray that I will remain calm and that results will bring good news, but my mind is so distracted, it's hard to stay focused. Finally, the scan is complete and the technician comes in to release me to leave. The scan is over so I can go home and rest easy.

Joke's on me, because the next 48 hours will be more anxiety-inducing than the previous 24, because even though the actual scan is no fun, at least something was actively being done. Now all I can do is wait, and wait, and wait for what seems like forever for my oncologist to call me with the results. I try to distract myself, but in the back of my mind, I'm constantly feeling on edge. My phone could ring at any minute, but I have no idea when. And then it does. I try to steady my breath as the next few words I hear will determine the future course for my life, good or bad. This time, it's good news and I let out a huge sigh of relief.

But the next time I wait for scan results, only a month later, I’m caught off guard by some of the worst news I've ever received. "I'm so sorry, Lauren, but the MRI showed more cancer on your liver than we ever knew was there, so because of this, we will have to cancel all future medical and surgical plans and go down a different path," my oncologist says. "How is this possible? It can't be," I think to myself. I had just received good news from my PET scan a month prior and now these MRI results have to ruin all future plans. It takes everything in me to hold back tears while my oncologist reiterates the devastating news. I try to process everything, but the shock of it all blurs her words making it hard to understand that this is my new reality. All I know is the next few months will look nothing like I imagined, and the next time I'm forced to sit in that machine again I will be petrified.

.

.

.

.

I’ve come a long way since that summer of 2021 described above. While this is only a sliver of my cancer story, I share it to give some insight into the thoughts and feelings that occur when it is time for a scan, also known as "scanxiety." Although I'm not sure who coined this term, it's a very well known word in the cancer world. Many of us with cancer are required to have scans every so often - for me it's every three to four months - to observe the growth or hopefully shrinkage of cancer in our bodies. As each scan approaches, my family and I experience a wide range of emotions leading up to the results and the treatment plan going forward. My entire future can be determined based on a single test alone. And if I receive good news, God willing, I can rest at ease for the next three months until I have to repeat the process all over again.

It’s not a fun way to live, but sadly this is reality for those of us with cancer, especially if the cancer is a later stage or metastatic. I tend to say that I live my life in three to four month increments all based on when my scans are scheduled. If I'm fortunate and receive good news, I live the next three months like "normal" (my new cancer normal anyway). If I receive bad news, I have to throw many of my future plans out the window because new treatment courses require flexibility, time, and sometimes cause terrible side effects.

I'm thankful to say that my past two scans have shown positive results, but I've found that even though I've received good news in the past, it doesn't necessarily make the next scan any easier. One of the worst things about cancer is that it's so unpredictable, so I rarely have confidence that everything will be okay. The rollercoaster of emotions that comes with the ups and downs of cancer is not an easy ride. It is so hard not to freak out if you see one poor lab result, or read a negative report of your most recent scan -- thank you, patient portal. Especially if you've received bad news in the past. And when you have cancer, a disease you never expected to have, you feel as though you have to expect the worst with every future medical test so you won't be defeated again. Yet somehow, there's a tiny glimmer of hope in the back of your mind that you will be the anomaly and will beat this, so when you actually receive the negative news it still hurts and wrecks your soul. This may sound dramatic and make me seem like a Debbie Downer, but I've learned from experience that I'd rather not get my hopes up only for them to be crushed again in case of bad news.

Scanxiety is terrible and inescapable. I don't know anyone who likes laying in an MRI tube, but what's even more difficult is all the waiting. The waiting, sitting in the literal MRI or PET scan machine. The waiting for results to come back. The waiting to hear from my oncologist to discuss the results. And, potentially, the waiting to start a new treatment plan if results are negative.

As I'm writing this, I have a scan coming up in less than a week. I'm happy to say that because of prayer and distraction, as well as familiarity with the process of what's to come, I actually have been feeling less anxious about my upcoming scans than I have in the past. Still, I know that as soon as the actual day is here, I will experience anxiety. My stomach will be full of knots with the fear of the future, the frustration of being poked (again), having to lay in that uncomfortable tube (again), and the stress of the unknown. But in the back of my mind there will also be a glimpse of hope that this will be the time I learn I have no cancer left in my body.

This is scanxiety.