Miracles

Miracles

Saturday, February 25, 2012

We Walk By Faith and Not By Sight

February 23, 1988. Twenty four years ago, today, my youngest child was born...a son. Twenty four years ago, I was holding him in my arms...Every inch of my healthy, beautiful baby boy, wrapped up snug in one neat little bundle, fit perfectly in my arms. Amazing how something that small and vulnerable could be so full of energy and life.
Tonight, after helping Anthony into bed, I crawled under the covers so I could hold him in my arms. He’s too big to swaddle or wrap into a compact little bundle, but I did the best I could to make him feel safe and loved and cared for as I held him close to me. I nearly drove myself into despair as I pondered how my husband, a grown man, could feel smaller and more fragile than a newborn in my arms.
I don’t know what to think or how to feel tonight. Even though we were told the tumor shrunk to a size that’s too small to see on an MRI, I can’t deny what I see with my own two, imperfect eyes, right in front of me, as big as the day. I see my husband shrinking, his clothes hanging loosely on a bony frame that, up until now, had always been so strong and robust. His once long stride has been reduced to tiny steps that he takes slowly and with great caution, leaving him feeling tired and weak. When I see Anthony like this, it’s very hard for me to stay strong and positive for him...or for me.
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I wrote the above late Thursday night. Perhaps I had a premonition about Anthony’s doctor appointment yesterday (Friday) afternoon. Or, maybe past experiences have taught me to trust my instincts, face my fears, and to stand tall against adversity. I don’t know how I knew something was wrong, but I knew. Still, I was completely unprepared for what we heard yesterday afternoon, and it absolutely knocked the wind right out of me. I’m still trying to catch my breath.
One of the things I’m struggling with most is telling all of you what happened. I don’t want you to become disillusioned or lose faith or hope. This is really hard and really painful, but we have to remember, above everything, that God has a plan. We are called to “walk by faith and not by sight.” I keep saying that over and over to myself as a reminder that God sees everything and He can answer all the ‘whys’ we may have...We may not get the answers in our time, but someday, we’ll understand. So, for now, I ask you to join me as I put one foot in front of the other and continue to walk in faith.
Yesterday afternoon, Anthony’s oncologist told us cancer cells were found in the fluid taken in his last paracenthesis. This means the cancer has spread to the abdominal wall.  Anthony has three options: 1) He can start on the standard chemotherapy treatment for pancreatic cancer with a drug called Gemzar; 2) He can sign up for a protocol out of UCLA that uses the standard treatment (Gemzar) in combination with a new drug being tested. With these trial studies, there is always the possibility of getting a placebo instead of the real medication. The good thing about this trial is that he won’t be compromising his treatment because he will still be receiving the Gemzar in a standardized treatment regimen. If he starts treatment, he can always stop it, at any time, if it makes him too sack; 3) He can opt to abandon any further treatment and sign up for Hospice care at home. 
All of this was completely unexpected and really hit hard. Anthony and I need the time to talk, cry, and just “be” for a while, until we come to a decision together. I’ve told him I want him to choose what he feels is right for  him...even if that means he chooses to stop all treatment and go on Hospice. I can live with that. I absolutely can not live with him suffering on my account.
Please pray for us...and with us. And, please, don’t let this tear away at your faith. Yesterday, I was so upset and angry because, just three weeks ago, we received miraculous news of healing; yesterday, all that changed. But, life is like that, isn’t it? Things happen all the time, and it only takes a moment to change a lifetime. We have to make the best of it. So, Anthony and I will continue to walk by faith and not by sight. We ask you to do the same. God bless all of you.

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Yes, Miracles Do Happen

It seems that, when doctors have bad news, they usually give you whatever good news they have, first...At least that's what Anthony and I have experienced throughout the course of his illness with pancreatic cancer. So, when the office visit with his oncologist began with good news, I immediately braced myself.

Here’s what happened:
A short time after checking in at the front desk, Anthony was called back and put into a patient room. We waited (and waited and waited) almost an hour before finally seeing the doctor. This was actually the first time, at this office, we’d ever had to wait more than 10 or 15 minutes to see the doctor. Of course, my already primed imagination was running at full speed by the time we entered the building, so after an hour plus of waiting in that tiny exam room, my thoughts were in orbit. I had managed to convince myself that the doctor was saving us for last because the news was bad. I figured she could spit it out right before escaping through her office back door and diving right into her weekend. 
When the doctor stepped into the exam room, she promptly sat down with Anthony’s medical chart spread across her lap. She removed a large clip from a stack of test results and began rearranging the order of the pages. Uh-oh...Here we go. I tried to read the expression on her face and all I could think was that she’d make one hell of a poker player. When she finished rearranging and reordering, she looked up and made eye contact. Anthony and I sat there with our hearts in our hands, but she was holding all the cards. 
First, the doctor commented upon the unusual fact that Anthony has had a paracenthesis (a procedure to remove excess fluid [ascites] from his abdominal cavity) every week for the last 12+ weeks and that, not once, have any malignant cells been found in the fluid. When pancreatic cancer patients have ascites, it is usually caused by the cancer spreading to the abdominal wall, in which case, malignant cells are present in the fluid. This does not appear to be the case with Anthony because every single time his fluid is sent to the lab, the report comes back negative for cancer cells. We also learned that ascites, if not caused by the cancer, can be a symptom of serious liver disease. Once again, the doctor was a bit perplexed because nothing in Anthony’s blood work or imaging studies suggest liver disease. Those results were normal as well. 
I made a conscious effort to breathe deeply as I watched the doctor flip through the next set of pages. My stomach felt like it was doing a few flips of its own.

Next on the agenda was the matter of Anthony’s dizziness and loss of balance that resulted in him falling a couple times. I’ve known several people who have had cancer that eventually spread to the brain. We were about to hear the results of Anthony’s MRI of his brain to rule out this horrifying possibility. I grabbed the seat of my chair and held on as I watched the doctor intently. It seemed like everything was moving in slow motion as her lips formed the crucial word: Nooooooor-------maaaaaaaal. Wait. Did she say normal? She must have said normal because Anthony was smiling and she was smiling and now they were talking really, really fast and I couldn’t understand one word until ribbons of “ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha” filled the room and eventually bumped into the sides of my head and made their way into my ears. Aaah...laughter! Did Anthony just tell Yogi Berra’s story about the doctors x-raying Yogi’s head and finding nothing? That’s Anthony for you...In times of stress, bust out the Yogi-isms.
I took a few more deep breaths. OK, so far, so good. Two more items on the agenda: The tumor marker level and what the tumor looks like on the MRI. These were both biggies and she saved them for last. I didn’t know what to think, so I told myself to empty my brain of all thoughts. Ha! That’s very funny. The day my brain shuts off on command is the day pigs fly. I decided to try focusing, really hard... 
She went for the tumor marker first. Just in case some of you have not had experience with this, tumor markers are substances that are found in the body (via blood sample) when cancer is present. There are different tumor markers for different kinds of cancer. So, if the level for a particular marker is high, it can be an indication that a specific cancer is present. When a patient receives treatment, the test is repeated at various intervals, and the results are used to help determine whether or not the treatment is working. 

Anthony’s CA19-9 (the tumor marker for pancreatic cancer) was over 250 in early November of 2011. (The normal range for a healthy person is 0-37.) At that time, he was beginning his first round of treatments, consisting of six weeks of concurrent chemo and radiation every day, five days a week. He finished this grueling treatment regimen on December 22, 2011. I had never seen anyone so sick. He said he had no idea a person could feel that sick. I don’t know how many times I wondered if he would even live through it. Too many nights, I laid awake, next to him in bed, just listening to him sleep...going over and over in my mind what to do if he stopped breathing.  As we sat across from the doctor, waiting to hear the new number, I didn’t realize I had stopped breathing. I don’t know if the momentary dizziness I experienced was from a lack of oxygen or from the excitement of hearing  a few select words...“dropped”...“way”... “down”...then, finally...“120!” Did I hear that correctly? I actually said that out loud...“Did I hear you correctly?” A voice (sounding like it came straight from Heaven, complete with a chorus of angelic “aaaaaahs” in the background) said, “Yes. His level is 120. It dropped way down, by more than half.” I’m surprised the doctor didn’t ask me if I needed my hearing checked....I don’t know how many times I’d asked her to repeat herself during this visit.
Now I was breathing fast. Probably too fast. I couldn’t feel my feet on the floor, and that made me think about my mom and dad. I remembered what great dancers they were...It was like their feet never touched the floor. They were two people, moving as one, gliding across the dance floor with so much grace and beauty that you’d believe anything was possible. That’s when I knew. That’s precisely when I knew that Anthony’s oncologist was saving the best for last. 
As the doctor flipped through those pages one last time, to the very end, I  turned to face Anthony as she spoke. I wanted to see the look on his face when she told us what the tumor looked like on the MRI. I was waiting for a size comparison, dimensions, changes from the first scan...the one that showed an inoperable tumor in the pancreas and in the blood vessels going up into the liver. I was sure she was going to tell us the tumor was smaller...measurably smaller. I just knew it...But, apparently, I was wrong. 
No, the news we received was not what I expected at all. The doctor did not give us any size comparisons or measurable changes in the tumor. She didn’t do that because the tumor could not be measured. Actually, the tumor could not even be seen on the MRI. There was nothing visible to measure. 

In answer to your, “WHAT?” .... Yes, you heard (well, read) correctly. The doctors do not see the tumor on the MRI. It shrunk so much that it’s too small to see. 
To say this is miraculous is an understatement! Anthony’s response to the treatment was far better than anyone expected. Before he started treatment, the prognosis was “grim, very grim” (the exact words used by his doctors). We’ve been given a gift of time...How much time, no one knows. For us, we are grateful to have this time together, time to pray even harder, time to see and experience this miracle continue to unfold. 
So, what’s the plan now? Well, the doctors are still very concerned about the ascites. Each week, Anthony has anywhere from 6 to 8 liters of fluid removed from his abdominal cavity. That’s a lot of fluid all at once. His blood pressure always drops significantly, and it takes a while for it to stabilize, so he gets exhausted and very weak. So, his doctor wants him to have a paracenthesis twice a week, starting this Monday. He’ll go every Monday and Thursday now, and hopefully, it won’t be so taxing on him. Still, the cause of all this fluid remains a mystery, so Anthony is scheduled to see a liver specialist next week to make sure nothing is being overlooked.  If the cause of the ascites can be found and treated, there may be a chance Anthony can have surgery to remove the rest of the cancer. 
Anthony remains steadfast in his faith and truly believes he will experience a total healing. I have never met anyone like him and his faith inspires me and helps me stay strong. I am so proud to be his wife, to walk beside him in faith, in hope, and in love. We continue to take one step at a time, confident that God will strengthen us for the journey that lies ahead...no matter how arduous or challenging that journey may be.

Please stay with us and continue to pray for a complete and miraculous healing for Anthony. He still has a long way to go before he can be pronounced cancer free; but, he and I believe, with all our hearts, that day is on the horizon. Miracles do happen! In that spirit, we ask that you continue to visualize Anthony healthy and whole as you pray for his miraculous healing. 
We thank you...we thank God for you...and we send our love to every single one of you. May God’s peace and blessing be upon you, and may His love fill your hearts with hope every minute of every day. 
Praise God for His goodness, His kindness, and His love! 

Friday, February 3, 2012

Staying Close to the Center

You never think it’s going to happen to you...to your husband or wife or family member. You hear about other people being struck with a horrible disease or illness and you convince yourself it won’t happen to you. No, cancer will not become a part of your life...until it does. 
I re-read my first post and I remembered everything exactly the way I described it. And you know what’s strange? Every now and then, I feel those same feelings all over again. Out of nowhere, I feel terrified, as if I’m hearing the word ‘cancer’ with Anthony’s name in the same sentence for the very first time.  
This afternoon, we’re going to get the results of Anthony’s MRI. The anticipation is sickening. The fear of what might or might not be is maddening. Will I be trying to plug my ears again to block out the doctor’s words? Will I feel the chair (and the rest of my world) fall right out from beneath me once more? I’m seriously thinking about wearing a rubber band around one of my wrists to the appointment. That way, if my vision starts to blur and I feel my mouth moving but can’t hear myself talking, I can SNAP! myself back into reality. I don’t know. Maybe trying to defy nature’s way of softening a blow isn’t such a good idea. 
OK, I have to stop doing this. I have to stop thinking about the worst possible scenario. It’s hard, though. When I think back upon all the tests and procedures and waiting rooms that led to the face to face meetings with all the doctors and specialists....when I do all the math....well, I can’t deny that we’ve received more bad news than good. It’s hard to stay positive and hopeful when the scale is tipped that way. It’s hard to not be scared.
I really wish I could say that I’m not afraid. It’s not that I’m ashamed of being afraid. We’re all afraid of something (or some things). No, I’m not disappointed in myself or embarrassed that I’m scared. I just don’t like the way it feels. It’s uncomfortable and makes me feel sick down to the core. You know that feeling. You know what it’s like to walk around with that knot in your stomach. Sometimes, it feels like you’re going to be sick and the thought of eating makes you even sicker. Then, other times, you feel your stomach churning and you want to put something inside it...anything to fill that pit...just give it something besides itself to gnaw on. 

OK, I have to stop this. If I’m going to make it through this day with my sanity intact, I’m going to have to change the way I’m thinking and adopt a new outlook. Somehow, I’m going to have to make that internal shift and focus upon the positives...no matter how small or insignificant they may seem. I’m going to have to tip the scale back in the positive direction...or at least find that place of balance. That’s what it’s really about...finding balance... moving toward the center.
I can do this. I’ve been doing this. I just have to remember that I’m not alone. First of all, God is with me every single step of the way. He always manages to get His message across to me...to let me know He is all around me and in me. 
Second, I have all of you. Please know this, and believe me when I say that I feel you with me...with us. We are connected through love...through God’s love...and I feel you here. You are waiting and praying for good news, right along with us. Thank you for that. 
And, of course, I have Anthony. My dear, sweet Anthony. I know he’s scared, too. But, I also know that we can get through anything...together. We always have. We have this ‘thing’ together...this super, duper powerful bond of love that sustains us and allows us to forge ahead. I know why it’s so strong...It’s because we’ve always put God in the center of our lives, and our love for each other comes from that center. I can’t forget that. No matter how scared I get, I have to stay focused on that center. 
I can’t wait to tell Anthony that it’s all going to be fine. I’ll remind him to focus on the center, too. He’ll understand, right away. And I know he’ll feel better...calmer. Yep, we’ll make it through this day, no matter what. We’ll stay close to the center and we’ll be just fine. 

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Time Is Precious

It’s hard to describe what life is like these days. Sometimes, I feel as though I’m walking around in a daze and I’m not sure what I’m thinking or even feeling. It’s been so hard to write...next to impossible...so I’m forcing myself to sit here and put whatever thoughts come to mind on paper (well, on screen). I’m hoping I’ll get some clarity, maybe learn something about myself that will help me cope with Anthony’s illness a little better...and at the same time, give you all an update on his condition.
Yesterday, Anthony had MRIs of his abdomen and his brain. He also had blood tests to check his overall metabolic functions, as well as the tumor marker level. (Since Anthony has fallen a few times lately, the doctor ordered the MRI of his brain...just to be on the safe side.) 
Tomorrow, Anthony goes to the hospital for his weekly paracentesis. Fluid continues to fill his abdomen and has been increasing in volume the last couple of weeks. Even though no cancer cells have been found in the fluid, as of yet, it is not good that it continues to build up as soon as it is drained. Pulling off the large volumes is very taxing on the body, it causes major shifts in blood pressure, and results in Anthony feeling weak and very tired. But, it is way too uncomfortable if it’s not drained, so he continues to have the procedure every Thursday....and it is usually an all-day affair. (Since his blood pressure drops significantly after the procedure, he has to stay in the recovery area until it comes back up to a safe level before going home. Sometimes, that takes several hours!)
 We see the oncologist on Friday and will find out what the next step is, with regard to further treatment. (The results of the abdominal MRI and Anthony’s latest blood tests will be used to determine the type of treatment [i.e. chemo] he will get.) Hopefully, the MRI will also show if there are any blockages and/or damage to the liver that could be causing all the fluid to collect. One of the hardest things we have to deal with is all the “not knowing.” We are really hoping and praying for some answers on Friday... something to sink our teeth into...something hopeful to hang on to when we feel tired and scared and overwhelmed.
Speaking of tired and scared and overwhelmed, lately, I have been plagued by anxiety attacks of the strangest kind. Some of my thoughts are so scary that I don’t want to give them any more energy by writing about them. I will tell you this much though: My imagination can be quite vivid...frighteningly vivid. During the course of my recent anxiety/panic attacks, my mind has tried to convince me that I will come down with any number of catastrophic illnesses or that I will be destroyed in or consumed by the worst of the worst natural disasters. Crazy stuff. 
I suppose my experiences are not all that uncommon for someone in my position. After all, I am on the frontline of this battlefield with Anthony, and I stand beside him through each firestorm. Sometimes, we both feel like burrowing ourselves deep inside a foxhole and staying there for as long as we can. Let everything fall down around us....as long as we’re snuggled together, we’ll be OK.
Most mornings, I’ll get out of bed early and go downstairs to start the day. But then, it doesn’t take long before I get lonely and miss Anthony’s company, so I go back upstairs. Even though he may be sound asleep, it makes me feel better just to be close to him. And, when Anthony wakes up (even if he just opens his eyes for a second), he smiles as soon as he sees me. He tells me it’s always so comforting to know I’m there. That’s all I need to hear...to know...to be sure...that being there is what’s most important.
Do me a favor...No...Do yourself a favor...If someone in your life needs you, even if it’s just to sit there, quietly, without saying a word, be there. Drop everything and be there. Time goes by so quickly sometimes, that we forget the treasure that lies within every second. It isn’t until you try to stretch out the moments and squeeze out every morsel of life from them, that you come to see how sacred, how sweet, how precious time is...especially when it’s shared with someone you love.