Month: March 2019

January 21- March 5 I spent in Dallas. Some of it was driving around (~3,000 miles), visiting family and friends within a day’s drive away. Another (almost) two weeks of it was spent in bed, without the ability to do anything, other than the occasional painful walk to and from the bathroom or kitchen, along with many hours of Netflix binging and puppy cuddles. It may sound great, but it was hard for me.

What did I take away from the 6-week period?  

1. Living life as a missionary, I am always on the go, from translating an email, to helping with group therapy sessions, village outreaches, organizing donations, visiting families in need, participating in chapel services, washing soccer uniforms, and the infinite other necessities that may come my way on a daily basis, along with keeping up with my own sponsors and their support for me. I’m not familiar with having a down period, a chance to rest. Making a trip, having surgery, and being forced to stop and rest made me uncomfortable. I felt out-of-place. I almost wished I could be doing something for someone else, while sitting in my post-surgery discomfort. I’ve often classified myself more as a human-doing, rather than a human being. I don’t have to do so much to prove who God called me to be.
   
2. I have a great group of people I get to lean on in times of need. From family to friends, church members, previous missionary friends, college classmates, school faculty, I was fully surrounded by prayers and love like I had never felt before. It gave me a chance to reconnect with some I had lost touch with and truly helped me to see how so many go above and beyond to share their support with me. When I both got home from surgery and received the good news, I had about 15-20 people to text, call, or email that I was well, and I’m pretty sure I forgot about some, sorry!
   
3. The day of the surgery, February 7, I got to the hospital about 6:30 in the morning for my 7:00 scan. My wristband was put on right when the door opened at the front desk. When I was all through with scans, injections, surgery, and fully waking up, around 2:30, I was put into a wheelchair and didn’t have to walk two steps to the car my parents valeted. Throughout those 8 hours, from the front receptionist, to the nurse who did my injections and scans, the nurse who walked me back to my first room, the anesthesiologist who drugged me up, the surgeon who did the incisions and stitched me back up (along with the assistants), the nurse who was there by my side when I first opened my eyes, the assistant who gave me (my parents) discharge instructions and walked with me hand in hand to the bathroom, the lady who pushed me in the wheelchair, and the valet worker who pulled the car up, I felt like a celebrity, pampered and cared for with each and every one of my needs. That’s how I want to make each and every person feel when they cross my path…. although, I may decide against knocking anyone out with drugs or giving them the need to have stitches! (Special shout out to my dad and step-mom who housed me and put up with me and the whole process for those 6 weeks!)
4. January 14, I heard the word “melanoma” describing myself. February 15 was my first follow-up appointment post-surgery, where the doctor got the call then and there that I was negative for cancer. All that month, I was a mess of worry, doubt, fear, over thinking, and emotion. Just for a test that I couldn’t change, no matter how hard I “studied”. But, what I didn’t realize that the one who was actually taking the test was the one who created every part of me and knows what’s best for my future, the one who gave the surgeon the skills to be able to make the decisions, who provided those in pathology the tools and abilities to see the final report clearly, and watches over the communities, families, kids, and hearts I have yet to impact. Why am I to doubt if the one who controls all is also looking out for me?

It’s been a period of learning, growing, trusting, and believing. I am grateful to be wrapped up in the arms of the kids again, most of them asking how I’m feeling. It’s going back to the village and getting a huge hug from the village leader asking every week about me. It’s the house parents and psychologists who have told me they were thinking of me, praying for me, and were excited to have me back on the team. It’s the nurse and the doctor who physically make sure I am still standing, healthy, and infection free after getting back on the field only 4 days after my most recent surgery. Thank you to each of you who walked through the process with me, whether near or far.

^“2 Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters,whenever you face trials
of many kinds,³ because you know that the testing of your faith
produces perseverance. ⁴ Let perseverance finish its work so that
you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.”
James 1:2-4

 

I apologize in the long period of no blog posts, no newsletter, and minimal social media photos posted. I had a blog post written up near the end of January, but I wanted to wait to see how things played out before sharing too much. Here it is now:

1/19/21

Cancer is a butthead.

Sorry for the “language”, but that phrase sums up my feelings the best I know how to. I have cried most of the days away, hit my head on the pillow with tears in my eyes, and wake up with the streams still flowing. Just thinking, writing, or saying the word “cancer” brings tears to my eyes.

Back in October, I got a biopsy of a small marble-sized bump on my lower back. The dermatologist was surprised that it wasn’t a pus-filled bubble, but firm like a little pebble. She didn’t take much, gave me a stitch or two, and sent me back to Guatemala. It came back mid November as inconclusive, meaning a bunch of people looked at it and couldn’t tell what it was. So, I found myself looking at flights for early December to get it fully removed. A surgeon, in office, took out not only the bump, but the surrounding skin: above, below, and underneath the lump, leaving me with about two dozen stitches, maybe 3 inches long, and I was sent back to Guatemala.

Over a month later, the Monday of all Mondays, we received the results: melanoma. They don’t know if it was fully taken out during my last operation, or if it will require further treatment or surgeries. That Monday night, I maybe got a half hour of sleep, tossing, turning, praying, and worrying the entire night. 24 hours later, I was looking at flights. Not for a usual one or two week visit full of happy reunions, but a one-way back to Dallas the following week, unsure of what’s to come with tests, surgeries, exams, and possible treatment.

I’m not gonna lie, this week has been filled with a LOT of tears. A LOT of fears. A LOT of worries. A LOT of doubting. A LOT of unknown. A LOT of stress. A LOT of nerves. A LOT of pondering. A LOT of pretending to be strong around kids, communities, and fellow volunteers, while hiding my heartache. But, also a LOT of love. A LOT of care. A LOT of support. A LOT of prayers. A LOT of scripture reading. A LOT of worship music. A LOT of encouragement. A LOT of hugs (in person and through email, text, video chats, etc). A LOT of community, both nearby and distant, thinking of and praying for me while I struggle through these thoughts, feelings, and the unknown.

I don’t know what the next days, weeks, or months will hold, but I know WHO holds them. Whether the initial test comes back negative, and I’m back in Guatemala next week, or I am moving back to the states to undergo radiation, chemotherapy, hospital stays, and a bunch more for the next couple months (or years), HE HAS A PLAN. Only He knows what this experience will bring for me, for those medics who will be treating me, for the community that will be supporting me, and for the friends I meet along the way who may be facing a similar experience. I may temporarily off of the global mission field, but I still have a mission. To fight. To stay strong. To keep faith. And to be willing and able to share that faith with any who cross my path.

The Monday I got the news, I slept about a half hour. From those 30 minutes of rest, I clearly remember my dream. It was a voice of one of my pastor friends saying to me, “You inspire me, you encourage me, you’ve made a difference…” I am keeping my mindset on those words, to help inspire, encourage, and make a difference for those around me on the journey that lies ahead.

I’ve got this.

God’s got this.

My prayer warriors have got this.

My medical team’s got this.

We’ve got this.

It takes a village to raise a child. Thanks for being part of my village.

Guatemala, I will be back.

Casa Shalom, I will be back.

We Help Children, I will be back.

Volcano victims, I will be back.

Voy a regresar.

“Why am I discouraged?

Why is my heart so sad?

I will put my hope in God!

I will praise him again-

my Savior and my God!”

Psalm 42:11

—-

3/6/19

I am happy to say I am back at home, in Guatemala, with all my kiddos, friends, ministries, and communities.

February 7 was my initial surgery. I got a good portion taken out of my lower back where the original lump was, and also a few minor cuts to see if anything has spread to the other side into neighboring lymph nodes up front. It wasn’t an easy recovery, with more than a week of bed rest, weekly checkups, and a follow up minor surgery a few weeks following to fix what had not been healing correctly.

February 15, I heard the greatest “no” of my life: no cancer! If I wasn’t almost naked, half wrapped in a hospital gown with a dozen or two fresh stitches in me, I would’ve been dancing and happily crying my way through the doctor’s office.

Thank you to each of you who sent me a thought, prayer, encouraging message, or a shoulder to cry on during the past month and a half. It was greatly appreciated and felt. I thank God for the community He has placed me in full of people who deeply love and care for me! Even thought I am cancer free, I am still living with the mentality of the words from the dream, “You inspire me, you encourage me, you’ve made a difference…”. May these words continue to carry me through complete healing of my recent surgeries and emotional lows and highs.