Protons, Heart Issues, and Other Woes

Posted in #LifeWins, Health, The Hemsath Life by Theresa

Trying to be “Anxious for Nothing.”

I’m feeling pretty down today. So much going on it seems, but hoping for some perspective and hope as I know I can get this way, and God always sees me through.

Owen discovered yesterday that the hopeful outcome of radiation therapy as the final step in ridding him of his cancer, now seems rather grim. The radiologist looked at his scans and determined that the location of Owen’s tumor is in such a delicate place in Owen’s heart, especially after the heart itself has been so ravaged by the surgery and the chemotherapy, that he feels radiation would only damage it further. It is his professional opinion that the positive benefits on the cancer do not outweigh the negative effects it would have on Owen’s heart.

“You only get one heart, Owen,” he said.

So he is recommending Proton therapy instead, a newer form of treatment similar to radiation but using some sort of protons instead (hence the name) and supposedly much more gentle. So while that doesn’t sound bad, here is the stressful part. There is a good chance our insurance won’t cover it. And without insurance, my research shows it will cost roughly $30,000. This is money we do not have.

Furthermore, given the scans look good on the CT (We havent’ had a more accurate PET scan yet), it makes me wonder if it is even worth it. Yet, all the research I’ve done, which has included looking at medical journals written within the last year on Thymoma shows that for stage 3 B2 Thymoma, radiation combined with chemotherapy yielded much more success when preventing reoccurrence. Without that double treatment, likelihood of reoccurrence for Owen’s type and stage was very high. But in the end, does it even matter if it’s Proton therapy instead? Where’s the research on proton therapy for Owen? In other words, if the proven radiation therapy is not realistic for Owen, is it worth $30,000 of money we don’t have to pay for another treatment where there is no record or research done on its effectiveness for Owen’s type of cancer and stage in the first place?

So what to do?

Owen is most frustrated by the location of the Proton therapy location. It is in La Jolla, which is a good 40 minutes from our home with typical traffic. He is expected to go every. single. day. For 6 weeks. That is 40 minutes there, about an hour while there, and then 40 minutes back. That is basically 3 hours everyday that cuts out of his work time. And we’d have to find a sitter every morning to take the kids to school in order to get him there on time. At this point, chemotherapy was easier on his work schedule. So he is not happy. Neither am I.

My prayer is that God be guiding all of this. I don’t want Owen to beat cancer only to die of a heart attack. So if radiation is too dangerous than I don’t want it either. Chemotherapy has already ravaged his heart. He is getting palpitations everyday and has been enduring pain in his heart ever since his last chemotherapy treatment 3-4 weeks ago. He is still dealing with other negative effects on his body including tinitus in his ears, tingling and numbness in his fingertips and limbs, and general weakness.

I don’t want his heart issues to worsen. But I don’t want him to get a likely reoccurance of thymoma either. The survival rate for that is much worse. Over the last year, Owen and I have grown so much closer. I am more in love with him than ever and so the fear of losing him, is all the more heart-breaking to me. I want my husband to be with me for the rest of my life. And I want the time we have together to be healthy. Anything that disrupts that or threatens that fills me with anxiety.

If God does not allow proton therapy to be something the insurance pays for, I sure hope he is allowing that because he is telling us he’s got this and that Owen will not be getting a reoccurrence and so we don’t need more treatment. Please pray we have ears to hear God’s voice in this and not our own fears or itching ears.

Finally, after all of this–I am having health issues. And right now, all of our health/medical money is going toward helping Owen. And my issues just seem to be blown off by the traditional Medical establishment. As I seek alternative treatments, I recognize my dire need for a Naturopath, but that will come out of pocket since my insurance won’t cover a Naturopath. Until we get Owen settled though, I am trying to treat myself for my health issues with diet changes, supplements, etc. And I’m just praying that God bring me relief. I don’t want to get too into it until I know for sure if I am right. But I’ve struggled with a sensitive gut for years and finally found some relief when I cut down my dairy significantly. But now it seems that I’m developing more food sensitivities and my hearing issues aren’t improving that much. And on top of that, I had a tubal ligation a year ago when my daughter was born (4th c-section) and I’m starting to develop some issues that I believe may be complications and side effects to that. I’m just praying that God be guiding me through my journey through this process, show grace to me as I seek to treat myself and help provide me the answers needed to heal. I am going to be 36 years old and want the second half of my life to be healthy as well, not burdened by pain and aching all the time in my belly. I’m crying right now just thinking about it.

Lord, please bring me and my husband relief!

In the end, despite the outcome, I am reminded of a song Alanis Morisette wrote years ago that made such an impact on me. I will post the lyrics down below.

That I would be good, by Alanis Morisette

That I would be good even if I did nothing
That I would be good even if I got the thumbs down
That I would be good if I got and stayed sick
That I would be good even if I gained ten pounds

That I would be fine even if I went bankrupt
That I would be good if I lost my hair and my youth
That I would be great if I was no longer queen
That I would be grand if I was not all knowing

That I would be loved even when I numb myself
That I would be good even when I am overwhelmed
That I would be loved even when I was fuming
That I would be good even if I was clingy

That I would be good even if I lost sanity
That I would be good whether with or without you

So please pray that God guide is in the direction he will have us go, heal us on his own or lead us toward the doctors and treatments that can heal us, and that if he does, or if he doesn’t–that we both be good regardless. I want to be joyous and kind and encouraging and inspiring and giving always. I want to emanate God’s love no matter the ailment or suffering I have in my own life.

31Aug2015

A Day in the Life of Thymoma

Posted in #LifeWins by Theresa

This was Owen 2 years ago. This was when he first starting having symptoms of Cancer but we didn't know it then.

A lot of people have been asking me lately how Owen has been doing and how we’ve been holding up. After sharing how things go on a typical cycle of chemotherapy for us, I thought I’d share with the rest of our friends and family who have wondered.

We have just started cycle 4 of the recommended 6 for Owen’s stage 3 thymoma. We recently learned that he has B2 Thymoma out of all the different classes and so we plan to do more research on what that means and what the prognosis is for that. Our doctors don’t seem to know much more than just overall statistics for thymoma in general without the varying differences between the subtypes, which I have learned on my research does make a difference. At the same time, we don’t want to make too much plans based on the research because we know that God is sovereign and he can make anything happen.

Regardless, we start today the 9 day trek what we have appropriately named Chemo
Week. And that means Owen sat today for about 4 hours in the infusion center down in Encinitas on a recliner, getting work done while the nurses there pumped him through his port, which has been surgically planted into his chest, with the following: one bag of saline, then one bag of Zofran to help him with the nausea that would develop from chemo, followed by one bag of cisplatin (basically a form of platinum and one of the strongest chemicals in the chemotherapy family), and then one bag of another chemo called Adriamycin. The Cisplatin is so strong in fact that they have him take Tuesday off just to give his body a break before he comes in on Wednesday for the next round of chemotherapy involving. This session is just two hours long. He gets one bag of Cytoxin, and another bag of saline. Thursday he gets one bag of steroids called Vincristine and another bag of saline. And Friday he comes in for his shot of Nuelasta, which stimulates his bones to produce white blood cells and in effect makes his bones hurt so bad he feels like he got hit by a truck. The first day is typically okay. He gets a little weak by the end of the day.

This is Owen about 4 or 5 months before his diagnosis. He was losing weight, eating right. We had no idea what was happening inside.

https://owenandtheresa.files.wordpress.com/2015/08/owen_4_months_before_diagnosis.png”> This is Owen about 4 or 5 months before his diagnosis. He was losing weight, eating right. We had no idea what was happening inside.[/caption

On days 3-9 Owen feels nauseous, tired, and weak. He takes this week off of work and basically when not at the clinic, catches up on all of his binge watching of his favorite shows, eats when his nausea medication is working (typically small portions of carb based foods, the only thing he really craves during this time). The first 2 cycles worked out great because I was home so he didn’t have to do anything other than that. Those are the cycles that took his hair on his head and his beard.

On cycle 3 I was back to work but Kanan, our oldest was out of the country that week, so Owen only had to take the babies to day care in the morning. But this week will be a challenge as he will have to take the babies and Kanan to their schools in the morning and help with pickup because they all have after school events– Kanan has soccer and karate. James has soccer and swim. And Benny has swim. Each day is a different schedule and I can only be in one place at one time. We shall see how it goes this week. I picked up Kanan today and took him to soccer while Owen picked up the babies and let them play at the house while he rested. Tomorrow he will need to pick up Kanan and I will pick up the babies. Thankfully by Wednesday when he really starts feeling sick, I’ll be able to pick up the kids the rest of the week so he will just have to muster the strength in the morning.

Because Owen is so tired and weak these 9 days, he is unable to help much more than that. And what I explained is A LOT for him. So I do my best to keep up the house and the child-rearing in when I’m home from work and on the weekend. It is tough, no doubt. The kids certainly act out when dad is asleep a lot. Sometimes someone will come by with a meal and that is such a gift! Just relieving me from the duty of making a meal that week is so helpful. It gives me that time to take care of Owen, be better at watching the kids and helping them, and just recuperating from the stress of the week. Days 7-9 are when Owen’s white blood cell count is the lowest, so the doctor’s recommend that he doesn’t be around a lot of people or kiss on the kids because of his propensity to get really sick if he does.

owenandtheresa.files.wordpress.com/2015/08/owen_after_3_rounds_of_chemotherapy_august_2015.png”> This is Owen in August 2015 after his 3rd round of chemotherapy. Cancer took 30+ pounds from him and chemo has taken his hair. But he is so strong and inspiring. I’ve never met anyone as inspiring as my own husband. I love this man and think he is still so gorgeous.[/caption]

Days 10-14 chemo is a limbo week. He is not energetic enough to do his Youtube courses yet, but he is able to get some work done–ads, some videos, goal-setting, etc. If he is feeling up to it or getting cabin fever and not feeling too sick, we might head out for a walk somewhere or a short errand. Nothing too much, but just enough to keep up Owen’s spirits.

The third week–days 14-20, we call Power Week. This is the week Owen feels the closest to normal as he can. He helps with the kids. He gets work done. Sees clients. Runs his courses. We do family stuff together this week. It is joyous! It is the good week of the month and we cherish it! This last weekend we got to enjoy the jacuzzi that my Aunt and Uncle recently bought for us, we went on a date, went to church, and we went to Legoland with the kids. It’s our only and last hurrah before Chemo week begins again as we are on 21 day cycles. This last cycle took Owen’s eye lashes. So we imagine this new cycle we have begun this week will take his eye brows. He does his best to cover up his bald head with a hat and puts on sun glasses or regular glasses to hide the dark circles under his eyes. He has gained about 5 pounds since his diagnosis so we are happy about that. Cancer took 30 pounds from him! It’s a slow climb back up.

Given that surgery removed most of Owen’s cancer except for a small quarter size amount, most of Owen’s feelings of sickness are direct effects of the chemotherapy, not the Cancer. I couldn’t imagine if they chose to give him chemo before a surgery. Having to deal with the effects of both sounds just terrible.

heresa.files.wordpress.com/2015/08/owen_cools_it_up_during_power_week-_.png”> Owen doesn’t let chemo take his mojo. 🙂

But next week

[/caption]But next week Owen gets another scan to see if the chemotherapy has worked. If it has, he will do one or two more cycles of chemotherapy for good measure and then a month of radiation to kill any cancer at just the cellular level that the scan wouldn’t pick up. If the news shows that the cancer didn’t go away or has grown, they will probably add another 4-6 cycles to this treatment plan. We definitely don’ t want that. We are willing to do it, but we don’t want it. And we have decided that after that, if it still hasn’t gone away, we will dismiss chemo all together and try completely alternative treatments.

So needless to say, we are praying that God just shrinks and destroys the tumor and doesn’t let i grow. He has done so much to bless us through our friends and family and through Owen’s business through this whole trial. We feel very strongly he has shown us that this trial is for our own sanctification and not a punishment. He loves us and is merely refining us into better people because of it. Owen has certainly developed more compassion through this trial and our own marriage has grown closer overall. When it is all said and done, I think we will appreciate the healthy life a bit more than we ever had. Praying that by Christmas we do. And we have decided that when this is all said and done, we want to do two things. First, throw a party for all of our friends and family who have supported us through everything with their donations, prayers, emails, texts, calls, gifts, meals, and acts of service. Then we want to go on a much-needed vacation.

24Jun2015

Beginnings

Posted in #LifeWins, The Hemsath Life by Theresa

Sitting in a Writing Workshop at Cal State San Marcos, my teacher gives us a word of the day to write on for 6 minutes. We wait eagerly with pens in hands.

“Beginnings,” she says.

Normally I like beginnings–it reminds me fresh starts–clean sheets, swept floors, fresh air, new home, new babies with little pink noses and corn kernel toes, 1st day of school, excitement and goals, new year’s resolutions. They remind me of fresh green plants. Cool blue water.

But not today.

Today the first thing I think of is that this week my husband begins chemotherapy. This beginning is one I’d rather fast-forward to the end.

This is not clean or blue or fresh. This beginning is vile.

It will fill my husband’s throat with bile and stain our bed sheets with sweat that smells like poison so strong,

I will throw them out when we are done in 5 months.

This marks the beginning of foggy thinking

and of needles in the arm that are inserted by cold, rubbery gloved hands

meant to protect the nurses from the toxic liquid

they will drip into my husband’s veins for one hour, two hours, four hours, eight.

This is the beginning of a summer with neither beaches or swim parties, nor hikes in the hills on sunny days

…can’t have his skin burn.

This is the beginning of hair loss, and no sex for 24-48 hours after chemo

because the chemicals will leach out of everything

as it, “kills everything, everything” his oncologist repeated in his office last week, hands waving through the air to emphasize his point.

Everything except Owen. My love, Owen.

Who wants that?

I hate this post.

I don’t want to publish this post.

I’m supposed to be optimistic: a positive role model. A vision of courage. A cheerleader. I’m supposed to inspire people with my faith, and avoid awkward moments where my audience doesn’t know what to say so they respond with canned comments that only make me want to scream like–“It’s all for the best” or “Just think about the good this will do in the end, right?”

And they are right. But it doesn’t make it easy. And I do have faith. I am a cheerleader. I am courageous.

I am.

Just not today.

Can I get one day? Just one day to be depressed and voice it on a public page and share with everyone that I’m NOT looking forward to this beginning?

The only thing I look forward to is the end.

That bright, clean, blue end where we can plan our new years resolutions for 2016.
Where we can throw away the prescriptions and the Peptobismol and the SPF 100.

Where we can go on vigorous hikes on hot days, finding rest in the shade to sip the cool water in our canteens and talk nothing more about the pain or the nausea or fatigue, but instead about that sunny summer cruise along the Pacific ocean beaches we just took.

Where we can move from sickness and on to health in our marriage.

Where we can submerge ourselves in its new waters and wash this year all away and reemerge revived and reborn.

Where we can both grow our hair out long and wild…and stay up until late together eating pizza and laughing about nothing…and make love anytime we want on clean smelling sheets.

I want to skip this beginning and get to the end. The end of cancer and the beginning of our resurected life where nothing more will be taken for granted.

13Jun2015

Coming to Terms with Cancer

Posted in #LifeWins, personal stuff, The Hemsath Life by Theresa

In this together!!

Today Owen came home from the hospital. He had a strumectomy done to remove the 12 cm sized tumor growing in his chest–a malignant thymoma. When the CT scan was performed a month ago, the oncologist said it looked like it was in stage 2 and it was the size of like a tangerine. But this one was the size of a grapefruit, the largest the thoracic surgeon had ever seen in his career (and he has been a surgeon for like 40 years!) and it had grown into stage 3 cancer–invading his heart.

So they couldn’t remove all of it. Had to leave the part of the tumor on the heart alone. It has left an exclamation mark scar on his chest. I knew that meant either radiation or chemo or both. Deep down, I was holding out for just radiation. But sure enough, on Wednesday, the oncologist came in and explained to us the treatment plan in his thick Hebrew accent. We held hands hearing about all the chemical combinations and the side effects– hair loss, fatigue, nausea, weight gain. He used words like “aggressive” and “kill everything” to explain the process but encouraged us with words like “you are strong, you will be able to handle it.” Supposedly the research suggests that with the chemo combination often called PAC, performed every 21 days for 4-6 sessions and included with it a month of daily radiation at UCSD, Owen will have a 80-90% chance of being cured.

I don’t like those numbers. I want 100%. I can’t even imagine a world if that 10-20% chance comes crashing through our lives. That would mean more chemo. More radiation. More suffering. And what if, it is never cured? Then what? I don’t even want to imagine. So I cling to what Owen says.

“You know the strongest man you’ve ever met going through Chemo, doctor?” He said, matter-of-factly.

“Yes,” the doctor replied, questioningly.

“That will be me, doctor.” I loved that.

Given we were already mentally preparing for this talk, however, it didn’t come nearly as emotionally shocking as it did when we were in the hospital a month ago, and the first doctor from upstairs came down and suggested the word Cancer with her concerned eyes. We were not expecting that. That was the moment that slowed down, where like in the movies, the sound quiets and all you see are the characters’ expressions as they hear the grim news. The doctor pulls out the documents and solemnly words the news. The wife stares blankly at the doctor and puts her hand on her husband’s knee. He leans down and rests his head in his hands. And you know. You as the audience know they just heard they’ve got cancer. But when you are the one in that scene, it feels like a dream. At least it did for me. Is this real? This wasn’t part of my life plan.

But still, I was emotionally jarred by the official news that chemo was next. It made everything all the more real. Even more real than the surgery. This is what I think of when I hear of cancer. I think of the chemo–the monster that kills cancer patients faster than the cancer can kill them–but somehow, doesn’t kill them, just leaving them bald, frail, weak, and in bed. So after the doctor left the room, I went into the bathroom and cried. Cried for my husband. Cried for me and for the kids. I don’t want to go down this road. I don’t want to have to see my husband in that state. There are many more tears ahead and I don’t want to cry anymore.

Today I had time to process it a bit more. In the quiet of the day as my husband recovered on the couch and I paid the medical bills we had already accumulated with the blessing of donations in our GoFundMe Campaign, an intense chest pain came over me–anxiety. Almost an attack. But I prayed and asked for prayer. I decided–no cleaning, no added stress. Instead, I spent an hour designing a banner for a buy, sell, trade group I’m co-administering on Facebook with a couple of close friends. It was medicinal. I need a creative outlet. In the end, I think today’s anxiety came today of all days and not earlier because my body is finally having time to just feel. I’ve been in survival mode for a while. I just hope my milk supply goes back up. The baby is now drinking mainly formula, because 2 weeks ago, once Owen started getting another flare up (chest pains, nausea, night sweats, fatigue, weakness, poor appetite) my supply plummeted. In my mind, I felt like I was so strong. But the body knows. Survival mode kicked in. And that means less milk for my baby.

Owen went through it too–negative emotions I mean. Some friends of ours, the Pallottos, came over tonight and took care of the kids for a couple of hours, asking us to go out for a while and just be together. We did. It was good for us. We went to Red Lobster and picked at our crab legs between holding hands, talking, and sharing silence. We laughed. We even cried. My husband’s lips were ash and he didn’t have much of an appetite. He broke down a couple of times unexpectedly. We held hands and for the first time in our marriage, remembered that in the big scheme of this life–it is the two of us in our family who are one. Our kids will grow up one day and leave and they will not be with us. It will be us two. I will be with him through this cancer. And he, God willing, will be with me when I experience my big issue in the future, whatever that may be. It became so much more real tonight. So this is marriage. This is sickness and health. And strangely, it brought me comfort and an overflowing surge of love. I love him. I love this man. And he is mine and I am his till death do us part.

I drove us back home afterward, and felt a poem forming in my mind about my mixed emotions– sadness, anger, and yet love and joy still.

I told Owen–“I have a poem forming in my mind. It’s called the Paradox of Pain. You know–I want to laugh, I want to cry.”

Then Owen replied quickly, “…I want to stab you in the eye.”

“Yes!” I cried, “You know!”

I write this blog because I believe in being translucent. I don’t think we can truly know each other and love each other unless we allow ourselves to see one another as we truly are. Listen, I know the truth. I know God loves us. I know he has a plan for us. I know he will use this for good. I know he will be there with us through it all. I know this. And knowing that certainly gives us a hope and a strength, I could no way have on my own. But it doesn’t mean that I want it. I don’t want it. I want a life of bliss and no suffering.

Ironically, I say that knowing that it’s silly and knowing that it is through our suffering that we become strong and better people, which I want too. I want to grow closer to Christ. I want to be stronger. I want to be more compassionate toward others. I want to grow closer to my husband. I want to appreciate life more and take less for granted. I want all of that too. But you can’t get all that growth, without some pruning. Pruning cuts and it pinches and it hurts. It hurts! But I do know that the Master Gardner has a beautiful plan for his garden. And we get to be a part of that plan. I do trust in that. And while today was a tough day and not the last of those tough days, I know that because of what I know, there will be many great days too.

Thanks for reading. If you have gone through cancer, how did you deal? How did you come to terms and move forward? Would love to know more of your stories.

31May2015

What Cancer is Teaching Me

Posted in #LifeWins, Marriage by Theresa

Owen at the hospital on May 4th.

As most of my readers know, on May 4th my husband was diagnosed with cancer. We learned after some tests that he has stage 2 Malignant Thymoma. He has been in a lot of pain. He has lost a lot of weight. And so we eagerly await the surgery needed to remove the 10 cm sized tumor in his chest.

On the other hand, we do not look forward to the likely chemotherapy that he may have to take prior to the surgery or after.

Either way, given that we have an HMO, everything has taken forever to move forward. He finally has his appointment with the surgeon this Tuesday, June 2nd. So we’ve had 1 month of waiting. And during this 1 month, Cancer has taught me 6 Things:

1. That God loves us, and will be with us through this fire.

We know that cancer is a byproduct of living in a fallen world. God promises to redeem this world and one day, after all who will come to him come to him, he will recreate the Earth, and there will be no more death, crying, sadness, or pain because all the old ways will be gone. But until that glorious day, we get illnesses. But God promises to those who love him and are called according to his purpose, that he will be with them by either keeping them from the fire, or being with them through the fire. I don’t know why Owen has been allowed to have a type of cancer with a good prognosis while others do not. I do not know why Owen has been allowed to have cancer when others do not. But I don’t doubt God’s love for us or any other cancer victim for that matter. God love us all so much he sent his son to die on a cross, so that one day, we can rise again and live forever in his presence no matter how we have rebelled against him in our lives. We can put up with Cancer knowing what awaits us in eternity. But even here in this age, I know he can use Cancer to do good. And that he plans to do that with us. He is allowing it, to do good in our lives.

2. We have an amazing network of people in our lives.

Honestly, it has been quite humbling. You all make me want to be a better person. You have reached out to us and blessed us more than we have ever helped and blessed others. I’ll pray. I’ll make an occasional meal. I’ll make a small donation here and there. But that’s about it. I mean we have people who are not even friends reach out to us. One person, for example, whom we have nothing in common with and with whom we have even heatedly debated our differences reach out and not just give, but give generously. God has shown his love for us through all of your amazing and wonderful support. The calls, the texts, the food, the house cleaning, the donations, the prayers, the hugs…we feel it. Thank you, to everyone who has reached out to us.

3. My husband continues to impress me and I am falling even more in love with him.

The way he has endured his pain. The way he continues to work. They positive attitude he maintains. How honest he is with me about what he is going through spiritually, emotionally, and mentally. The amount of compassion he has developed for others with cancer or who have other health conditions that need medicine. I’m in awe of this man. And I’m honored to be his wife.

4. To show more grace toward my husband.

In the end–no matter what he has done or hasn’t done to irritate me, he is My Love. And I would be devastated if I lost him. When faced with the reality that without medicine, my husband would die from this cancer inside him, nothing he does or doesn’t do is worth fighting over, or pouting over, or holding bitterness against him. I love him. I’ll take him. Flaws and all. I hope he feels the same way about me.

5. There are things you shouldn’t tell people who have just told you they have been diagnosed with Cancer.

I don’t think I would have known these words until I’ve been on the receiving end (next to my husband, of course). We know people mean well. But man, some of us just don’t think. I hope I’ve never said some of the thoughtless things others have said to us. When it’s all said and done, I’ll make a funny post about it. 🙂

6. I’m stronger than I thought I was.

I can only guess this strength comes from God because I don’t know this new, strong version of myself. I’m a crier. I used to cry at least once every day about something. But God and my husband have been working on me the last 6 years, teaching me to have self-control, teaching me to trust God and not be so easily overwhelmed or offended. I think its been all in preparation for this. We are going to get through this. I can be strong for my husband. He needs me to be strong.

So what about you? For those of you who have struggled with cancer or who have watched a loved one through the illness, what did you learn? I know we are just at the beginning, especially if Owen does get chemotherapy.

7May2015

Waiting for an Official Diagnosis for My Husband

Posted in #LifeWins, personal stuff by Theresa

Many of my friends and family know that we have been going through a roller coaster ride of stress the last few months when it has come to my husband’s health. Over the last 2 months, he has had almost daily bouts of the following symptoms:

Chest Pains
Difficulty Breathing
Fast Heart Rate
Fevers
Chills
Night Sweats
Nausea
Weak Stomach
Light-Headedness
Foggy Thinking
Fatigue
Poor ability to taste
Weight Loss

We went to Urgent Care a few weeks ago and they noticed a fever and took an X-ray to look at his lungs, only to find something funky looking around his heart. So we were sent to the ER.

The ER doctors gave him an EKG, which turned out abnormal. Then did a series of tests to see if he was having heart problems. The blood tests came back fine. We were sent home.

Then the next day, they called us and said, “We never saw that you had an X-ray of your chest. Your heart does look strange. Please see a cardiologist.”

Due to insurance issues and paperwork, we didn’t get a chance to even see his primary physician until it was a week and half after the ER visit. During that week, his stomach was really bothering him, so he mainly explained those symptoms, but did explain that the week prior it was his chest. He did not mention his fevers because he didn’t make the connection. The doctor then diagnosed him with acid reflux and said that he’d schedule him with a CT-scan the following week to just rule out the heart and lung issue, but he was not concerned. He wanted to see how Owen felt after being on Zantac a few days.

Well the Zantac wasn’t working. In fact, Owen’s symptoms persisted and even got worse. Now his chest pains were back again in addition to his stomach. After another night of drenching night sweats and watching him writhe in pain on the couch with another spiked fever, I called the doctor and desperately asked for advice. He said to go to the ER and get a CT-scan of his chest, stat.

And so we did.

The ER doctors were concerned. The CT scan showed a 10 centimeter sized mass near his heart and what looked like increased fluid around the sac of his heart from what they saw in the X-ray. They sent Owen upstairs to stay the weekend and get an ultrasound and biopsy on the mass. They also gave him numerous blood tests to see if he had some sort of infection.

We prayed. Everyone prayed. Facebook prayer chains were flowing quickly.

The next morning he got the ultrasound. That was Sunday. Then finally, on Monday, he got his biopsy. That same day, and Oncologist came to Owen’s room, and said with a matter-of-fact tone, “You have lymphoma. We are going to kill it. And then you will live a long, healthy life.”

Owen looked up the disease. Textbook. All his symptoms. All textbook lymphoma. Then add the CT scan to find the mass in his chest. It seemed certain. He had lymphoma.

Hearing this news, gave us both a very strange emotion. Given that it was a highly curable cancer, we felt sort of relieved. They had an answer to his pain and suffering. And not only was the answer something that wouldn’t kill him if treated, it would actually stop his misery. Yes, it is devastating to hear you have cancer. But when it is a curable cancer, it is almost better than not knowing what is wrong with you, writhing in pain, and wondering if you will suffer this way your whole life.

So that was this Monday. Since then all the blood tests show no infection, otherwise. So it makes absolute sense. There’s no other explanation.

It is now Thursday night as I write this.

This week, we have been processing cancer. And we have been waiting on the official results of the biopsy, expecting to learn from it, not that he had it, but whether or not it was Hodgkin’s, the highly curable lymphoma, or Non-Hodgkins lymphoma, the still good, but not as highly curable lymphoma.

In the meantime, we have been flooded with love and encouragement from our family, friends, and extended friends on Facebook. I cannot believe how much support we have received. Truly a humbling experience. And since he was admitted into the hospital last Saturday, he has been covered in prayer by not only our family and close friends, but extended friends as well. We’ve heard that Owen’s name has been added to numerous prayer chains all over.

So today, while I was at work, Owen called and said the Oncologist called and wanted him to stop by his office in Temecula to go over the results. It couldn’t have been more perfect of timing because I was in Temecula and not in my classroom. I was able to step out of the meeting I was in and go meet him.

“Oh, you,” The Oncologist said to Owen with overwhelmed eyes and an exasperated voice, when he saw him in the waiting room. “I’ve been going over your case all weekend. Come in, Come in.”

Owen walked in now scared that its way worse than they thought.

“We don’t really know,” he said. “We need to do more tests.”

When I heard these words, I was filled with excitement and relief, and yet, strangely, disappointment. I know that sounds strange, but it goes back to seeing my husband suffering the last 2 months and knowing there is a mass in his chest. I want to know what my husband has, and I want it to be something that is curable.

So now Owen goes in for a PT-scan. Hopefully as soon as tomorrow. Maybe next Monday. It will see if there is malignancy in the mass outside of the area where the biopsy was taken. This will tell us if there is another type of cancer that is happening, or something benign. And what to do from there. Most likely take a larger biopsy from the area that lights up in the PT scan.

Whatever it is, we know he has been miserable with the symptoms we listed above. He has something in his chest and it is hurting him. This is something no one wants to live with. There are times the pain is so bad, it is debilitating. Whatever it is, I just want it to be cured. I want to see my husband live a long healthy life.

So we wait.

Again.

I hate waiting.

Do you know what I’m praying for now? I’m praying that mass is gone when they do the pet-scan. I’m praying God has cured my husband.

And if he chooses not to, that the doctors can figure out what he has, and help him get better.