I started this year with big ambitions (as we all probably start every year). I was going to get back into blogging, write a book, churn out some free resources. If you follow me on Instagram or Facebook, you may already know this news by know, but our lives have changed in very major ways in the last month.
About mid-February, we noticed our oldest daughter had slight puffiness in her left eyelid. People who didn’t see her every day didn’t seem concerned, and sometimes I would have to look back at old pictures of her just to be sure I wasn’t crazy. It was subtle, but it was there. Several nurses we asked said it was just allergies. In early March, we noticed a small hard lump in the swelling. Someone else told us it was probably just a sty. A week later, we saw an opthamologist. The opthamologist said it was a cyst. He sent us for a CT which also said it was a cyst.
Then we went to maxillofacial to have the cyst removed and they asked for more testing.
Long story short: it isn’t a cyst.
Our oldest daughter has a rare, highly aggressive malignant cancer and our lives will never be the same. We still don’t know what stage it is at or what exactly her treatment will look like. This process is a lot of hurry up and wait, and act normal while something lifechanging is happening. I mean, we got the diagnosis and sent her back to school the next day because what else are we supposed to do? She still needs more tests before she can even start treatment.
People around us ask how we’re really doing and the truth is there is an overwhelming peace. It’s scary. And hard. And I hate that my five year old who is so happy and otherwise healthy right now is about to walk the road of cancer treatments. Still, there is peace.
We have had so many “scares” with this girl. Even before she was born, as I bled heavily at 16 weeks pregnant, we had to trust God with her. When she was born limp, gray, and with heartbeat slower than my own, we had to trust God with her. I had a quote printed and sitting on my dresser that talked about motherhood being a journey of trusting God with your own children.
And now, as she starts this journey, we have to trust her to a God who loves her more than we do. That doesn’t mean we don’t fight. We have been fighting and we will continue to fight. I have taken names, made calls, capitalized on connections and frankly not cared who has been offended in the process. I have been hung up on and yelled at and told to stop coming into the hospital because “it’s not that big of a deal.”
This is my girl and I will never stop fighting for her. At the same time, we can see how God has gone before us, paving the way and making connections where we never could have.
Of all the places for us to be right now, we are in Europe, just 45 minutes away from a leading expert in the *exact* type of cancer she has.
So, if it seems I’ve fallen off the grid, that’s why. It may be that cancer treatment will afford me more time to slow down and write or supporting her and our family may take up every spare moment I have. We simply don’t know.
We just appreciate your prayers.
