Sunlit Serenity

Life is weird. And I think God likes it that way. As I sit on the boardwalk along a beautiful beach in Jacksonville (awaiting the arrival of my brother and grandparents later this evening), sipping a refreshing cucumber mojito, admiring the mighty ocean, yet calming sounds, I simply smile and laugh. Just hours ago I was flying high above the clouds. It was the perfect vantage point. Somehow, thanks to the help of physics, I was above the sun as it broke the horizon. The ground and early sky were on fire. It reminded me of the opening scene in The Lion King when Simba is presented to the world on Pride Rock. Again, I was peering out the window, lightly chuckling to myself. Prior, on the way to the airport from the hotel, a stranger and I struck up conversation. I shared I was a PA student and she proceeded to tell me both her daughter and daughter-in-law are physician assistants. She continued on about each of their stories and how they ended up where they are today. So weird. I say that because it was only hours prior that I was lying in the hotel bed, planning/thinking through/analyzing fearfully, what my next round of school will entail. God knew I needed to meet that woman in the wee morning hours. And I needed to hear her stories. (And I really needed to be sleeping instead of worrying, because all it left me with was heavy eyes and dark circles—thanks to a whopping 3 hours of sleep.) And while I probably will never see her again, she was a tiny miracle. She offered serenity.

To add to my “life is weird” collection, I opened my Jesus Calling daily devotional on the plane and its words fit perfectly, as usual. Speaking of growing closer to His constant presence in our lives, and how we are continually showered, like rays of sunlight, with His blessings and miracles, we just need the eyes to see and ears to hear. And let me tell you, this glistening sunlight tingling my skin, is pure heaven. Finally, just prior to my decision to write, I pulled out one of the books I have been eagerly waiting to read, The Fault in Our Stars. Smack dab in the middle of one of the first pages was “thyroid cancer” blaring back at me, as if those two words were formatted 10x the size, bolded, highlighted, and underlined twice. At the same time, my favorite song, “Here Comes the Sun” by the Beatles, started playing. A few pages later? The Serenity Prayer. And for those whom may be unfamiliar, here it is:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage the change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

So you see, God was really enjoying Himself today; coming up with numerous ways to announce a message I indeed needed repeated:  take delight in the sun and find serenity.

After the joyous chaos of the holidays, I think everyone needs that reminder. While we all like to believe extra time off work, families gathering, and mounds of food and presents will bring peace and happiness, I believe if people were truly honest with themselves, this might just be a hoax. Now, a quick disclaimer, I am not a Scrooge or the Grinch. I love the holidays as much as Cindy Lou Who, but I am also very aware of the pain they can cause—some years more than others.

Beginning with Thanksgiving, my family’s longstanding holiday traditions started to shift. Everything from little things like what songs my grandmother wanted to hear me play on the piano, to really big things like the absence of a family member. Naturally, an array of emotions clung to each change. And I think it’s safe to say my mother, uncle, brother, and myself all took unspoken turns at being the glue holding it all together. Because that’s what change requires; a deep inner strength and confidence that, for some reason, this is exactly how things are supposed to be. A common phrase became of all this—we called it “our new normal.”

It should have been of no surprise today that The Serenity Prayer was exactly what my heart needed last night/early this morning. As a child, my parents spoke of it frequently and lived it daily, for reasons I would not come to understand until high school. And with the diagnosis of cancer, now almost 2 years ago (so hard to believe!), my mom reiterated its importance and it became an immediate rock in my daily life, too. With major changes in our lives more recently, it has once again proven steadfast as a powerful source of strength and hope.

So today, while I sit here admiring the view and laughing at the weirdness of life, stirred up by the hand of God, my prayer for each of you is this:

I pray you had a wonderful holiday. And that if your traditions were a little “off” this year, that you can find the hidden grace and joys  “a new normal” brings. I pray that you see the many beautiful rays of reasons to be happy. Those little blessings in disguise. And may the New Year bring serenity to your heart.

Sun Kissed,

Keri

Mother Mayo Miracle

It is incredible how much emotion and anticipation comes with a knock at the door while waiting in an exam room. Lately at school, we have been testing out in clinical settings and play the role of the provider. Naturally this includes knocking on the door prior to entering. Pure instinct. Yet, regardless of which side of the door you are on, that all too familiar sound can evoke every emotion.

Today that knock held the results of a full day of blood work, tests, and scans completed yesterday. (I knew the results of my labs prior to the appointment as I had logged into my patient account early this morning. But, my radiology reports had not been posted yet—probably a good thing.) Also, I had a pretty good sense of things after my ultrasound yesterday. It is obvious when the technician finds something concerning because her mannerisms change, and so do the sounds on the machine. And being the inquisitive (sneaky, really) person I am, I bluntly asked her if my thymus was still enlarged; knowing full well she cannot disclose that information. We had a brief discussion, mostly me answering her vague yet obvious questions, and that was it. Poor woman. She was doomed the minute she was assigned to me. Disclaimer:  I promise I am a very kind and respectful patient, just sometimes a little too smart for my own good! Anyway, I left knowing my thymus was definitely still present.

Which brings me to today. That knock. Surgery? Lymphoma? Thymoma? Chemo? None of the above? All very possible differentials.

This is about how it went:

(Knock, Knock)

Dr. Dean: “Good morning, Keri. It’s good to see you again.”

Me: “Good morning Dr. Dean. It’s good to see you too.”

Dr. Dean: “Let’s go over things."

       (Still no indication either way of the results! She’s a tough one.)

“It turns out 11/12/13 is your day. Things look great! You are what we call a ‘Mother Mayo Miracle.’

Me: “Wait. What?”

Dr. Dean: “You are a ‘Mother Mayo Miracle!’ Your labs are right where I want them, and your CT and Ultrasound show improvement.”

Me: “So my thymus has gone down? But what about it showing up on the Ultrasound?”

Dr. Dean: “It is still there but has not enlarged further and has decreased in size. It has proven well to hold on surgery and just observe. Our ‘Mother Mayo Miracle.”

We went on to discuss the various symptoms I have been experiencing and the potential reasoning behind them. All valid concerns to monitor, which will take place with various physicians back home. But at the same time, she could not have been more excited. This tiny but mighty physician, whom one would never want to cross, was elated! So relieved, so happy—a complete 180° difference from my appointment prior and during phone conversations. What this all means, simply stated, is that I have a full Christmas break to look forward to WITHOUT opening up my chest to take that bizarre thymus out. (Please pass the tequila, it’s time to celebrate!!!) Such a relief. Calls to loved ones were made, and cheers + tears of excitement were the common response. Praise God. Follow-up of my lungs, thyroid bed nodules, and thymus will continue. But we are strictly in watch mode. And that is a beautiful thing!

I have never thought about what it would be like to be a “Mother Mayo Miracle.” But I do know it is a title I will happily accept! But I didn’t do anything. Sure I have altered my diet significantly in the past 4 months, throwing every helpful aid my immune system’s way. Along with my daily workouts and appropriate vitamins and minerals. But even so, things have not been ideal on a daily basis. So you see, I am not the ‘Miracle.’ It is you. Your prayers. And the love of God above. Your constant compassion and support, and His unfailing promise, have earned the title of “Mother Mayo Miracle.” And for that, I am most grateful. Those daily gratitude posts on social media throughout the month of November? That is all fine and dandy. But sorry guys, I win.

11/12/13:  I am grateful for being a “Miracle.”

xoxo,

Keri Ellen

Dreaming in White

Imagine. 

The simple, yet ambiguous, word that captured majority of my attention on Friday afternoon. It was used over and over again throughout my White Coat Ceremony.

October 25th was one of the most anticipated days in my life thus far. And I think I speak for my entire class when I say it was a day we had imagined long ago. (And more recently, thanks to anatomy, some imagined they would not make it to that day.) Sitting there, we heard phrases along the lines of, "Years of hard work and perseverance have brought you here this day." Or, "As exciting as this all is, it's only the beginning. The work ahead of you is just as difficult, if not more, than what it took to get here." And, "There will undoubtably be moments in which it will take all you have to imagine yourself at the end of this road, caring for your patient." Wait a minute. I thought this was supposed to be one big ceremony patting us on the back followed by celebratory cheers?? Kidding.

The tradition of receiving ones white coat was established back in the 80's at Columbia University. It was a fear of medical leaders at the time that professionals were losing sight of what medicine truly means. Many were using their title as a way to set them apart from those "less dignified." A self-proclaimed precedence that they were far more superior than their patients.

Which led to the creation of a formal ceremony presentation to proclaim the symbolic relevance of the infamous white coat. The purity reflected in its white color, a token of compassion and honor, and a constant reminder that we as medical professionals are held to a standard of care entrusted by our patients.

A wide range of emotions flooded my mind. As expected, I was in a little disbelief that this long awaited moment had arrived. I could not help but smile at the sight of my classmates taking their turn at the stage. Each with a different story that led them to that day. My heart raced as I imagined myself face planting in front of everyone due to a slight case of nerves combined with jello legs and heels! When I looked down the row at loved ones present, I was overwhelmed with gratitude knowing the sacrifices made along the way to foster my success. Including making the trip to be with me that day. I also felt a sense of uneasiness. Which was something I did not expect prior. But upon receiving that coat, I became part of that higher standard and set of expectations society naturally has for medical professionals. Exactly what I should have always wanted right? Yes, that is true. It has been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember to sacrifice for the good of others medically. But the moment that becomes an official reality is quite surreal. "Terrifyingly wonderful," might be a better phrase.

It was an all-around incredible day to say the least. For so many years I imagined what it would be like to study medicine. I painted a picture in my mind treating imaginary patients while wearing a white coat. What my daily routine will consist of once I am an established medical professional is another imagined scenario of mine. And as with every fairytale, there are battles to be won. I'll be the first to admit the fights are exhausting and stressful. But I also know it's in those moments of fear and doubt that true strength is found. Then, when that magical day you have aways imagined becomes a reality, the sense of pride and accomplishment is so incredibly rewarding. (Remind me of this when I call in frustration and anger; questioning why in the world I chose to put myself through such torture! Haha)

So that's it. My closet officially contains the piece of clothing I have always wanted. A dream come true.

In exactly two weeks, I will be back up at Mayo Clinic going through a variety of tests and scans, followed by appointments with my doctors reviewing the results. It's one of those things that I want to hurry up and get here but I like the idea of dragging my feet a bit. For example, there have been a few incidences lately that are practically screaming, "KERI CALL YOUR DOCTOR," buuuut I have yet to do that. I've been busy! Plus, I'm fine. (Don't tell my roommate. A few white lies may have been used to stop her nagging.) It could not be more true that doctors make the worst patients. But at the same time, I want things figured out and fixed. So I'm pretty sure that's a lose-lose either way I look at it ha. I have no fears. Whatever comes will be. I will proceed with the next trip on this crazy adventure.  Reservedly though, I will admit my only concern is how all of the timing will play out with the potential steps ahead. However, that is not for me to figure out. I've hired the most incredible personal assistant to take care of the messy details. In fact, He's already got it all figured out before I even have the slightest clue. Pretty incredible huh? You should look Him up.

Once I know what all comes of my appointments, I promise I will set aside time to post an update. For now, I'm just going to keep smiling at the shining white coat hanging pressed outside my closet door :) No more imagining.

xoxo

Every Heart

I am fairly confident that each of us, at times, loses sight of the "big picture." Be it wishing away days at work; living for the weekend. Adding to an already lengthy to-do list. Then having to make room by removing the "unnecessary" things such as that phone call to a friend you've been meaning to make, putting off a fitness class for just one more day, or quickly grabbing fast food because now you don't have time to get fresh produce at the store. And in the midst of the chaos of what society deems important, we miss the beauty of everyday miracles. The little things.

Personally, the little things are my favorite. For example, this past Friday I set a reminder on my phone to see the Harvest Moon. Silly I know. But I will be the first to admit, I have a strange love for astronomy. All thanks to my first grade teacher, Cece Meyer. To this day, I can tell you the stories associated with each constellation and the unique pattern they create across the sky. And each year in September, during the full lunar phase, the moon appears significantly bigger and is a glowing ball of orange as it appears from below the horizon at dusk. This is what is known as the Harvest Moon. It's beautiful! I missed seeing it Thursday because I was "too busy" to remember, but I was not about to let that happen again. (Sadly this took creating the alert on my phone.) A dear new friend and classmate of mine was coming over to study, but little did she know we were going for a drive before losing ourselves in the joys of anatomy. We headed out east of town, turned down a dirt road into a cornfield, and parked up on a hill. My StarFinder app (See, I told you I loved this stuff!) traced the path the moon would be taking and the exact time we should be able to see it come up based on our location. Sure enough, after watching a rainbow sunset, a giant pumpkin slowly began to rise up over the endless fields. Based on my reaction, you would've thought I just saw Adam Scott or something. I was just so excited! It blows my mind to think that people can view the exact same thing thousands of miles away from the cornfield where I was standing. We spent some time just sitting there watching in awe and enjoying the moment. Afterwards, my friend kept laughing at what we had just done. But she did admit she enjoyed every minute.

Like I said, I appreciate simple joys.

Earlier in the day on Friday, all of us first year MD, PA, PT, and OT students hosted the annual donor memorial service. Families of all of the bodies we dissect are invited to a funeral-like event in honor of the sacrifice their loved ones made when they chose to donate their body to science. It is a way for us as students to express our gratitude and another form of healing for each family. We were warned prior that it can be an emotional afternoon. And that became evident rather quickly.

Prior to the service, an older gentleman with cerebral palsy spoke to us first-years. No words will do him justice, but to put it briefly, he has his table down in our lab picked out for when he passes away. He made the decision 10 years ago that he would be donating his body to the medical school. His story, faith in God, and appreciation of the blessings he's received despite his severe medical condition, were all incredibly inspiring. I will never forget one of his comments:  "Each of you possesses the gift to change the lives of all of your patients." Now I'm honestly not sure why that struck me so powerfully that afternoon, because it wasn't fancy or even something I didn't already know. But seeing his condition, and hearing his weak yet mighty voice produce words straight from his heart, brought me back to the reality of why we are investing countless hours each day in the lab. A bold reminder that we are here for others, not ourselves. The smells that never fail to hit you like a brick, loads of memorized information, only to find none of our bodies are like the textbook, cursing every nerve and artery, and continually overcoming the bewildering fact that we are sawing and slicing away at a once living human being--has all blurred the big picture for each of us over the last few weeks.

Then if wasn't enough of an emotional roller coaster, it was on to the service. Once again another lesson far greater than the lectures on cardiac function only hours prior. I was captivated while watching each set of family members; analyzing their reactions as they listened to student speakers from the prior year, the tears formed in response to the music, and the evident pride as they lit a candle and stated the name of their loved one. After the ceremony, we spent time talking to the families. Not surprising, each was anxious to share their stories. I have always said one of the driving forces for myself personally when choosing to go into medicine is that every heart has a story. Things are rarely what they appear on the outside. When speaking to the families, this burning desire and passion to care for others was rekindled inside me. Something I admit I had temporarily pushed out of the way and replaced with feelings of frustration and stress.

Our first patient lying on our table down in the lab has a heart. And no, not just a heart with signs of previous hypertension, but one that has a beautiful story. One that beat faster at the sight of the love of her life. One that she listened to when deciding on what choices to make. A heart that endured pain, again not from internal dysfunction, but rather the suffering that comes with life.

Every heart has a story. One of the simple things I have so easily missed lately. I'm positive our sweet lady is looking down from above at the mess we've been making in the lab. I can guarantee she's had a few choice words to say in regard to what she's seeing us "perform on her" daily. And trust me, we have had our share of choice words while working on her as well. But now I just smile and laugh. What a brave soul she must have been knowing us rookies would be attempting to learn every single aspect of her body. So to our frustrating, abnormal, time consuming, and yet remarkable woman, I would like to say, thank you. If you only knew how much your sacrifice truly means to me and each one of my fellow classmates. Also, a thank you for the reminder we all needed; that life is full of ordinary miracles every single day. Maybe it's while discovering metastasis of cancer to the brain on a special lady in the lab, that I now also acknowledge the emotions she must have felt. Or perhaps, the simple rising of the Harvest Moon. Whatever it may be, the little things truly are the big, beautiful things and we cannot miss the opportunity to embrace each moment.

Humbly, yours.
xoxo

Transitions & Teeth

Hello, from a little farther north!

It always seems as if something prompts me to write. For instance:  my musculature and vascular pictures we draw during anatomy lecture have been rather detailed this week. Using my colored pencils to carefully blend the colors (in rainbow/chromatic fashion) of the overlying muscles, and not just writing the identifiers in, but creating a scripted appearance. Plus, my doodling on notes was entirely too mind consuming in one class today. Then, while talking about a specific nerve and its role when playing instruments, all I could think about was how I wanted to be sitting at my piano back home replaying old sheet music. And finally, each night I've needed random varieties of music filling the empty space while I study.

Clearly the creative part in me has had enough of being pushed out of the way by the five heavily scientific and analytical classes that consume 83% of my day.

Normally my time at the gym is where I can find some sort of escape. But even while in yoga class, my mind is full of random thoughts about which vertebrae are allowing the positions I'm molding my body into. And then what part of the brachial plexus the specific nerve stems from that is sending signals to the activated muscles holding me in downward dog...

So. As you can see, I need some sort of outlet. After cadaver lab today, completely overwhelmed, I blurted in the locker room that I just need to play tennis! Something about smacking the ball back and forth seems to be the catharsis I long for, but I have yet to find someone in the medical building that plays and is capable of hitting with me. So until then, writing is going to serve as my break; still using my brain, yes, but the opposite side.

Overall, the transition into Physician Assistant school has been fairly smooth. It takes "full-time student" to an entirely different level. I wake up and begin classes at 8am and usually end around 5pm. Then I sneak in a quick workout, eat something, and head back to the school for the evening, only in a study room versus lecture hall. And the cycle repeats. But the fact that it totally consumes your time isn't bad. It's the mass amounts of information that we cover in a single day that can swallow you whole if you let it. And then once you have todays info "mastered," you must quickly move on because there's a quiz the next day over a new load of material that will be introduced in the lecture to follow.

There's nothing easy about it, but regardless I truly enjoy all of my classes and instructors. Our major sciences are with the medical students and PT's. Talk about being surrounded by brilliance. Getting to know so many different people from a variety of backgrounds has been exciting. And trust me, you really get to know people quickly when you're elbow deep in dissecting for hours down in the cadaver lab! Our first round of tests starts next week, which currently has everyone spinning.

In terms of how my heath has been since the move, it wouldn't make sense for it to be "normal" for even just the first couple weeks, would it? I had some work done on my teeth a couple days before moving. My nonexistent thyroid can be credited for excess calcium leakage, therefore weakening the enamel. I was fine afterwards for about three days. Then progressively over the past two weeks, it got to the point that I could no longer eat, drink, or sleep. The pain in both areas of my mouth was one I've never experienced. Hydrocodone pills from previous surgeries didn't do a thing for relief. The first Sunday I was here, I was to the point that I could hardly function. No dentists would return my emergency line messages, so I drove myself to the ER, only to leave with a narcotic injection that didn't touch the pain, a new Rx for hydrocodone, and still no access to a dentist. I finally spoke to one that night (out of town), and the following morning was in his office an hour away, reviewing things. To make a long story short, he couldn't find anything wrong. Everything appeared normal. None of my symptoms were textbook. I was his "once a year situation" patient. A few days later with no relief from a variety of attempts, I was referred to an endodontist in that same town. He agreed that things seemed normal for the most part, but my symptoms didn't make any sense. However, he did proceed with surgery that afternoon. Once he cleared the way and got down in each area, infection came "shooting" out. When it was all over, he explained everything to me and shared how shocking it all was. He did not expect the results he found. Moral of the story? I don't have the best luck and an even crummier immune system. But thankfully this week has been remarkably different. I'm healing as I should and am back into my normal routine (aside from still some troubles eating)--just playing a lot of catch up from the time I lost on a diet of pain pills and merely going through the motions.

As horrible of an experience that entire ordeal became, I continually kept the notion that things can always, always, be worse. Because they can. And in many ways, I was remarkably lucky. Things could have progressed much further, causing other serious problems. And, two wonderful medical professionals were eventually placed in my path. This past Sunday, both my daily devotional and the readings/homily at mass was exactly what I needed to hear. Each talked about how an easy life is not the life Jesus intends for each of us. He brought turmoil into the world for a reason; because without struggle and difficulty, one would not seek assistance from the Man upstairs. Those times of adversity are reminders of our inadequacy, which is the perfect place to encounter God in His glory and power. A chance to give up the fight and let Him take over.

From the day I moved in, I knew I was in the right place. And that sense of contentment has only increased the further along I get into the program. Don't ask me how I know, I just do. Maybe this is one of those "weird feelings" that people always talk about. You know how the saying goes, "Well when you know, you just know." Trust me, I secretly laugh each time someone shares those words of wisdom too. But, I might sort of understand it now. And even more so, "I just know" I'm exactly where I should be because His plan for me is far greater than one I could ever draw for myself--even if it was every color of the rainbow, blended perfectly, and written in calligraphy. (See my anatomy drawings for an example.)

Unfortunately my phone is going off with texts from classmates stating the commute back to the medical building is underway and the studying must begin again...

Have a Happy Hump Day!
xoxo

Fireworks

Let's take a quick walk down memory lane since my last post. (Plus a little self esteem boost for the guilt I have for putting this off until now...)

• Booking a flight 2 weeks before a mission trip to St. Lucia. 
• Finding out lab results & the plan in the Miami airport.
• Endless paperwork, emails, errands, and phone calls in preparation for moving/PA school (24 days from now, but who's counting??)
• Countless creative DIY projects. The Home Depot guys just laugh each time I enter the store. 
• Annual week of memories at the College World Series. Already miss my LSU family.
• Nanny adventures with three adorable children who continually warm my heart. 
• Quick trips to Kansas to cheer on my favorite baseball player.
• Wedding showers on bachelorette parties on weddings on repeat.
• And then that one thing called "life." It's happening too.

I was hoping that by actually "writing" all those things down, I would have a better sense of what to post about. But I think it actually did the opposite. In front of me sits a blank screen like an open sky, with thoughts shooting off in bursts of colors for every emotion. Fireworks. Where do I even start?!

Everyone loves simple smoke balls. Let's start there and then move towards the more explosive topics. The mission trip with my parish was remarkable in so many ways. We spent most days at the Marian Home for the elders, ran by nuns. Painting, performing eye exams, washing and clipping toenails, tiling the kitchen countertops, listening to their stories, praying with them, and soaking up the endless outpouring of love they have for Jesus. Nights were spent reflecting as a group about our experiences that day and what we thought our individual purpose was that was the driving force for how we ended up more than halfway down the globe, on a tiny island, north of Venezuela. Except, like other missionaries could probably attest, it's not always a slice of heaven. I, myself, struggled for the first three days. It wasn't the moments and work that was causing a problem; I was having a wonderful time. But for the life of me could not figure out why I was there. My ticket was booked 14 days prior to takeoff. And to be honest, I had not once asked myself why I was going. I just was. So, each night at reflection I was silent. Just listening to the others. And for those of you who know me, I am not one to remain quiet! Then later in the week it finally hit me...

On to lighting off a parachute. Our last night there was spent at an orphanage. We picked up 13 pizzas (tuna as a topping, included) and pop to take with us. The children absolutely loved it. But rewind to the moment we arrived. I eagerly walked into the home ahead of the others. In front of me was a boy, who I later learned was 8 year old Orlando, doing handstands down the hallway. But the instant he saw me, he darted down the hall to a different room. I followed his trail and could tell right away he was very shy and possibly a little afraid. After introducing myself and asking his name, age, and commenting on his awesome handstand, I walked back out of the room, giving him time to process everything. When I reached the end of the hall I looked back. There was Orlando poking his head around the corner, waving at me to come back. And that's the moment we clicked. A bond was forming that I would never forget. 

Time for sparks. Let's ignite a fountain. Soon after meeting Orlando, his friend Joshua came running up. We were the three best friends that anyone could have. Both boys only ate one piece of pizza. I thought it was because they were anxious to have their eyes examined. So after the check was complete, I offered them more. Both objected. I was confused. I told them we had plenty and they should at least have one more slice. Orlando quickly said, "I want to know it will be there for my lunch tomorrow." I was taken aback. Here this lively 8 year old was worried about the food he would eat the next day; something no child his age should have to mentally process. I quickly acted and picked out the two pieces they had the first time, wrapped them up, and put them in the fridge. Evidence for them that there would be a piece for each waiting the next day. This was enough to ease their minds about having seconds. This was when my heart started to crumble like the remains of a firecracker. 

But it only got worse. Both boys asked if I had ever been to England. I responded, no. Then they asked if I had ever been to Disney World?!! The emotion in the way they asked reflected the fact that going to Disney was the ultimate dream. Something no one on the island would attain. And then there was me. Sitting there thinking, "Yes. I've been to Disney World twice, and Disneyland once as well." The stinging pain felt like a BlackCat exploding in my hand. Fighting back my sadness, I simply said "yes," then tried to lighten the mood by explaining how cool it was that the city Disney World is located in is Orlando, just like his name! So we spelled it out together and diverted from the pain. Oh how badly I wanted to buy them each a plane ticket back to Florida with me and spend days on end at Disney together. Unfortunately, the questions didn't stop there. Next, each boy wanted to know when I would be back to play with them. Tomorrow? No? Alright, how about Sunday? Not until next year. So, 2014? At that one, I said yes, because it's true. Our church goes each year. But in reality I knew it wasn't possible for me to be back in a year as I would be in school. Another explosion to the heart. 

Once the pizza was eaten, we ran off to play some more. Except that right away I heard one of our leaders call out that it was time to leave. The boys tugged and pulled at my arms. Asking for just one more minute. I explained to the best of my ability that I wanted so badly to stay, but that it was late and we had to travel back to the Marian Home. I can still feel their little bodies holding tight onto mine. Never wanting to let go of me. And I too, never wanted our hugs to end. It took every ounce of me to not let the welling tears fall from my eyes. I held their hands and asked them to promise me with their perfect eyes that they would study hard in school. To promise me they would never give up. Because I knew education was their only chance for hope. My prayer each day now is still the same. It's so easy for children down there, especially orphans, to get in with the "wrong crowd" and lead a disastrous life. I miss my Orlando and Joshua every day. What I would give to be able to adopt them...

After that blow to the heart, it's time for the artillery shells. My lab results. I have said before that I have a love/hate relationship with my medical background and knowledge. And this held true again the day before we set flight for St. Lucia. According to my calculations, the blood samples I had drawn and sent up North should have been processed and read by that day. So naturally I logged onto my Mayo Clinic app and checked it out. Tapping and scrolling. I reached the specific one I was looking for; the one I mentioned last time my doctor wanted to go down and was labeled a potential "false" reading due to the mis-dosed medication the pharmacy gave me. Instead, a big, red arrow. Pointing up. The number had gone up even higher since my appointments in March. What does this all mean? The cancer is creating activity somewhere. The plan initially if it went up was that I would undergo surgery in June to remove my thymus. But the next day right after landing in Miami, my doctor called. She wants to wait. Lab work begins to ignite the firework. But only scans can cause it to explode. Her reasoning for waiting is that we aren't exactly sure where the activity is going on and exactly why it is. Therefore, the new plan is to wait until early November and run through all blood work and scans again. That will show exactly where the cancerous activity is taking place (potential areas of concern: thymus, lymph nodes, and/or lungs), with scheduled surgery over my Christmas break. The only way that will change is if my symptoms progress for the worse. Then things will need to be bumped up. But not really because I'll be full blown into PA school at that point and don't necessarily have the option to push pause. Only time will tell. All in all, nothing new in terms of my health. Just, waiting. So for now, I'll keep racking up a bunch of virtues with all this accumulated patience! 

Now for the grand finale. What was my purpose for being in St. Lucia? After my night at the orphanage I finally spoke up during reflection. I had fought the tears the entire time with the boys and during the ride home, so with the first few words out of my mouth, the flood gates opened. I was there to love. And to be loved in return. Simple as that. Nothing extravagant, yet the most remarkable thing one can feel and experience. A true love for another and knowing they love you just the same. One of my favorite Mother Teresa quotes is this: 

"Being unwanted, unloved, uncared for, forgotten by everybody, I think that is a much greater hunger, a much greater poverty than the person who has nothing to eat....I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love."

And boy, did that love hurt. So badly. I can still feel that hurt today.

To close, the 4th of July is my absolute favorite holiday. The sights, sounds, and smells of fireworks, BBQs, and time with family and friends are unbeatable. It's centered around being together and enjoying the moment. So share some love this weekend. And be forever grateful for the freedoms we have in this country. For just a few thousand miles away there are two boys saving their food to see another day.

Snap, Crackle, Pop!

Keri Ellen

Balance & Baseball

Today, two things reminded me that it has been too long since I last posted:

1. Singing the calendar song with my Kindergarteners today taught me that tomorrow is May 1st. The start of the month that my labs are drawn again, and the verdict is decided. How it has almost been two months since my visit to Mayo Clinic is beyond me. And I'm afraid life is not about to slow down...at all.

2. The school I was substitute teaching at today was my old elementary school, and many of the incredible teachers I had back in the day, are still there. Naturally, we spent time catching up and having the "Where are you these days? What is your plan? How have you been?" conversations. I guess that also prompted me to sit down and spend a little time posting.

But what about? I don't have much to update health-wise. The only thing that has changed is I was diagnosed with viral pneumonia a week ago. I had been fighting something for quite a few days, and I knew it wasn't my standard sinus infection. After four days of having my students ask me if they could call me "Mr. Simonds" or "Kermit the Frog," I decided I should probably get in and get some meds. After my appointment, I was reminded of exactly why I had been putting off the clinic in the first place. Because of my health history, nothing is "routine" anymore. For example. I should have been able to just waltz right in, go through an H&P, have a chest x-ray, review the diagnosis, and pick my meds up at the pharmacy. Piece of cake. However, that was not the case. All of that happened, except after going over the diagnosis, it was decided I should be sent to the hospital for a body scan--checking for any possible clots or other unusual findings in relation to the cancer based on my symptoms. Oh, joy. I quick ran back to the middle school where I was teaching, finished a couple more classes, and went over to the hospital after school. (Not at all what I had planned that day.) The nurse was reviewing the process, I told her I was used to it, no questions. Until she was inches away from putting in an IV. "Excuse me, ma'am. Why are you placing an IV?" It wasn't a standard scan. They needed contrast. I should've known. Ugh. Fine. Here's my arm. Stick me and send me home. But no, that couldn't happen either. I was a "hold and call" case; meaning, I was not allowed to leave until the radiologist read the scan and my doctor reviewed the report. At that point, I kissed my planned afternoon goodbye and read a Martha Stewart magazine in the waiting room instead. (For the record, grey's are the new black.) Finally the results came. All was clear. (Exactly like I knew it would be.) And I was on my merry way to the pharmacy.

But like I said, other than that, nothing has changed. Which is neither good, nor bad. Somewhere around the 10th of this month I will go in for lab work. Mayo won't let anyone else touch the samples, but they are at least letting me get it all drawn here and sent up there for processing. If things are still elevated as suspected, surgery will be scheduled and a plan will be made.

Now on to the reasoning behind the title of this post. After talking with past teachers today, and deciding I should blog, I thought it would be nice to share a little something other than medical updates. Which leads me to my decision last summer to apply to PA (Physician Assistant) school versus medical school, like I had planned on doing since the first vivid memory I have of going to my pediatrician as a child. I could write out my reasonings, but it seems more logical to just share the personal statement I wrote as part of the application process. It explains it all. Additionally, I chose baseball as the overall theme, and considering the season is in full swing, timing is perfect. Enjoy!

Life threw me a curve ball. It was not Rawlings; instead “cancer” crossed the plate. Like a batter stands frozen on strike three, time stopped January 9^th when my nurse revealed my pathology report:  “Keri, you do have cancer.” I was taught to refrain from giving important information after you say the “C” word. I can now say I have experienced that first hand. I tried to snap out of the trance, but I have no idea what my nurse said next. Regardless, her words proved powerful enough to change my life.

            Yet striking out never kept Mickey Mantle from playing. My diagnosis of follicular and papillary thyroid cancer was not about to hold me back. I informed my family and close friends, and met with my medical team. Together we created a game plan. With surgery over, radiation was on deck. Appointments were scheduled, except there was still one major area to address. My last semester of college was left blinding me with uncertainty like stadium lights in a midnight sky.

            Most of my professors understood, but some felt I should withdrawal. Forfeit? That never crossed my mind. I had one semester between a diploma and myself. Cancer was not about to prevent that moment. We reached agreement on all I would miss for appointments and the 2.5 weeks of radiation and “isolation.” Finally plans were set and it was time to play ball.

            The semester flew by. I spent only two weekends out of sixteen in Lincoln. When I was around, I was catching up on classes, leadership obligations, and unpacking only to repack my bags days later. Graduation arrived out of nowhere, and after the roar of the crowd quieted, I processed everything. The Lord, relationships with loved ones, and my education have always held greatest importance in my life. Being diagnosed with cancer undoubtedly reinforced those priorities. I have been asked what makes me so strong. Simply, I have the greatest coach. God will never give me something I can’t handle. And no matter how unfortunate a situation, it can always be worse.

After reflecting, it was obvious that while I may have inspired others on my journey, it was my support team that helped reaffirm what truly means most. Going to medial school did not align right anymore. I always imagined being a doctor, so I’ll admit my change in heart was unchartered territory. But while that was once a great aspiration, life, especially now, is about more than numerous years in school and conducting the latest research. What matters is the relationship you form with each patient and compassionately helping them fight through the batting slumps in their lives. I want to be the medical professional that everyone believes in and loves as much as their family, because that’s how I will treat them. Physician Assistants fit this role as they are well known for connecting with their patients and providing individualized care. I currently experience this daily at work. Performing workups and finishing details after the doctor leaves, builds trust through listening to patients’ concerns and the stressors in their lives. Each has a unique story, and everyone has hardships or times when life changed without notice. Simply empathizing and putting a smile on their weary face is unbeatable.

Additionally, just as 9 players on the field must work together to succeed, I believe in teamwork in the medical arena. One thing I appreciate about my job is that if I’m uncertain, I know help is near. Often coworkers and I discuss assessments and plans to achieve the greatest result. As a Physician Assistant I will not be going to a job, but instead a chance to provide hope and the highest level of care. To achieve that, referrals and consults with specialists may be necessary. But those are learning opportunities. In the end, it’s about what is best for the patient. I’m also excited to share my nutritional knowledge. Many diseases can be prevented with simple lifestyle changes. After majoring in Nutrition, my confidence in the correlation between a healthy diet and its benefits medically has only increased. By choosing to be a PA, there’s the chance to implement more patient guidance.

Again, family will always be one of my top priorities. As ready as I am to dive into the miraculous science of human life, I’m just as anxious for the day when I get to raise little miracles of my own. I cannot think of a better way to have perfect balance between a rewarding career and the gift of being called “mom," than what being a Physician Assistant will offer. Driving for field trips, coaching sports teams, and being there in times of need, are priceless moments that can’t be taken for granted.

That curveball thrown at me was a blessing in disguise; the perfect reminder that the game of life is short, and you have to make the most out of every inning. Majority of things are not going to be easy, but having faith and supporting teammates, unfortunate circumstances can be hit deep over the left field fence. I have turned cancer into a home run.

Mother Mayo

“Mother may I?”

         “Yes, you may.”

One of my favorite games as a child was Mother May I? Anytime friends came over, or there was a neighborhood block party (and we were done playing wiffleball and waiting for it to get dark for capture the flag) we would play Mother May I? Some favorites were:  Fly like an airplane three times. Take ten baby steps. Hop like a bunny five times. Do the scissor four times.

I hadn’t recalled those sweet memories for quite awhile. At least not until two days ago...

Due to the familiar uncertainty of my last appointments at the med center, I was recommended by many to go to Mayo Clinic in Rochester. I’ll be honest. I didn’t’ want to go at first. Not at all. I can say now, I am incredibly happy that I did! The professionalism, punctual perfection of their system, attention to every detail, and true compassion of every single person we came in contact with was remarkable.

My first appointment was with the Endocrinology department. Specifically, thyroid. And, yes. There was an entire floor devoted to endo, and moreover there was a specific thyroid team in one area. When my first doctor walked in the door she said, “I am Dr. Dean and this is my thyroid team.” In walked 4 other medical professionals! Incredible. And a little overwhelming at first. After we reviewed my entire past year and records, she announced, “Alright. You’re here because you want the Mother Mayo treatment, correct? Well let’s get started and figure all this out.” Hence why I reminisced about some of my favorite summer days and nights as a child—when life was as easy as the cool breeze and your only worry was what team you would get picked to be on in flag football. If only I could go back!

But ok, back to reality. I’ll skip over a bunch of details. The next few things I did though were lots of blood draws. An ultrasound was scheduled. I had an appointment with the entire Pulmonology team reviewing my thymus and different breathing problems I’ve been having the past few months. Then a CT scan was scheduled along with pulmonary function tests. Mother Mayo wanted me to stay for an entire week of tests and scans. However, that was not ideal with our schedule. So we compromised with what was most important at the current moment and would do more things later if needed.

Which leads me to the next part, my results. The plan was that if all initial tests looked alright, then we would head home Tuesday after my morning appointments. That didn’t sound bad at all, until I continued to wake up with a migraine. For the sixth day in a row! I also had a bunch of other awful things happening while we were there. Tuesday started to seem like forever! Unfortunately all of that was a result of my pharmacy giving me the wrong dose of one of my meds last week. My poor mother. She got to witness a lot of frustration and hurting on my part. I’ve said it before and I will say it til my last day, my beautiful mother is a Saint on this Earth! And I debated sharing this, but one night I was in so much pain, she just cuddled with me and scratched my back until we both fell asleep. It was the only thing that finally helped. I love you, mom!

Finally we woke up and it was Tuesday morning. Dr. Dean had asked that we be taken to a different room. (Which I instantly knew is not something you want to hear as a patient.) She walked in immediately and said, “We’ve got a lot of stuff going on here. And a lot to figure out. Let’s just start at the top and work our way through.” Yikes. Also not something you want to hear! Long story short, one of my most important lab numbers shot up from 0.2 in January to 24.0 that day. It’s the value that indicates that there is cancer somewhere. She was unhappy though because it’s possible my medicine mess-up flawed the results. (But that med has a 24 hour half life and I stopped taking it last Friday morning…) So. We enter round 103 of not having a definite answer. Again. All this patience has to be loading up my suitcase full of virtues!

The game plan. Wait three months and re-do labs. Then if they are still high, she said she would instantly want me in the OR to get my thymus out. Thinking the enlargement is because of the cancer. (Side note:  the enlargement was also seen on their CT scan. All of my care team is unsure of why. There are a few possibilities.) She went on to say that the cardiothoracic surgeon she would want to do the surgery is booked out for the next year. But she would do everything in her power (which seemed to be a lot!) to get me in ASAP. However, the problem I said right away with that plan is that I start PA school at the end of July. Timing just wouldn’t work to get the labs done, book myself in the OR, and recover for a month after surgery. She agreed that wouldn’t work and I asked if we could do the lab tests in two months instead? That is now the plan. If they come back normal, we will monitor my thyroid and the nodules they found on my ultrasound. If it comes back bad, we go in with our shields, armor, and weapons ready to fight.

Alright. I think I covered the most important things. I am going to attach a picture to this blog because we were in a big Minnesota blizzard while we were there and I took a cool picture of the famous “Mayo Clinic” sign on the Gonda building while we were sitting at Starbucks for a little break. For some reason the snow up there was beautiful compared to home. And maybe that was because Mayo has an entire world underneath all of their buildings connecting to hotels and a subway system that can take you all over. You never have to step foot outside! Just another reason that place is truly one of a kind.

My final note is a little inspiration I heard today. I oftentimes listen to the local Christian radio station. And today the radio host shared a story:  a famous Christian singer shared on twitter that he “#followsjesusbecause in every circumstance He shares a little surprise.” And that hit home. In a lot of ways. None of us are in control. So when our “plan” doesn’t work out the way we had hoped, we have to adjust. Just like the Welcome to Holland poem I shared in an early blog. And those situations can be upsetting, “wrong” in our minds, and create a mess. But, that is what God has intended. And it is so true, He always always gives us the grace and surprises we need to keep on His path and to fulfill His remarkable plan for our lives.

So. Smile. Hope. Trust. Adjust. And of course, Pray. 

                     

Déjà Vu

The results are in. And if you remember back to what I went through initially with my thyroid a little over a year ago, then you may as well just stop reading now because it's déjà vu… 

At my one year post-diagnosis appointments, the nodules in my lungs were stable. And so was my thyroid. Both great things to hear! However, my thymus gland showed up on the CT scan double the width it was on the previous scan back in March. My endocrinologist alluded to it briefly, but was quick to note that it was out of her league. She did say was that it could:  1. Be the cancer metastasizing 2. Rebound thymus hyperplasia (enlargement as a result of the radiation) 3. An autoimmune disease called myasthenia gravis (weakening of voluntary muscles throughout the body) or 4. Some other unknown problem. She would be sending my scan to a thoracic oncologist to view, ordered additional blood work for myasthenia gravis, and would call me with the update and the results of all my blood work the next week.

Fast forward to last week when she called with my results. I was substitute teaching in a Kindergarten classroom that day, so it wasn’t the best timing to take a serious phone call. But we managed to quickly cover things while I had a brief minute. My doctor told me that my tumor markers were undetectable (a good thing), no antibodies were present for the autoimmune disease (another good thing), and that the thoracic oncologist said that my thymus could be relatively “normal” in size for someone my age. She then went on to say, “We will just follow it over the next year and see how things go.” Right then I froze. Those same magic words were what I was told when my thyroid tests kept coming back inconclusive a little over a year ago. Long story short, I have very little trust in the whole “let’s just follow things” plan. But like I said, I was teaching and was not in the right medical mindset to process our conversation.

Late that afternoon as I was driving home, I replayed our discussion. I paused again. If the CT scan of my thymus from January could possibly be “normal”, then why did it double in size over the past 10 months? It doesn’t make any sense for a doctor to say an enlargement of the thymus gland is “normal.” Brief physiology lesson:  your thymus produces the immune system cells in your body. This process takes place from the time you are born until your late teens. At that time, the thymus gland (sitting directly behind your sternum) starts to die off or shrink. With that being said, I instantly knew there was no way the new thoracic oncologist had known of the first CT from last March. As soon as I got home I was on the phone with the med center scheduling an appointment with this new doctor.

Ok. If I haven’t lost you yet, now fast forward to yesterday when I had my appointment with this thoracic oncologist. One of the very first things he said was that he did not know there was a previous scan to compare to until I made the appointment. (I knew it.) He went on to say that nothing yet looked too alarming, just not normal either. His recommendation was to rescan in April and then again in July. Next at 1 year. A year and a half. And then finally at 2 years. If all of those came back stable, then I would be in the clear as far as the thymus goes. I smiled and said that I respected his opinion, but was not comfortable with his plan. I went on to explain that a year ago my ultrasound was inconclusive, so were my thyroid biopsy results, then they told me my chance of having cancer was less than 20%, and finally the plan would be to “follow things again in a year.” Had I agreed to that plan back then, today the thyroid cancer would have no doubt been all throughout my lymph system or in my bones and lungs, as it was already spreading outside of the gland capsule at the time of surgery in January 2012. He understood my concern and said he would gladly perform a biopsy if that were my wish. This was not an easy question to answer. To biopsy the thymus, I would be given an epidural for the pain initially, put under general anesthesia, incisions on my left side along the rib cage and below the breast. While keeping me under, they would send my tissue to pathology to examine. If it turned out to be suspicious, they would proceed with a couple more incisions and remove the entire gland. Either way, biopsy or full excision, recovery is not the greatest. A chest tube would be inserted and monitored in the hospital for a couple days. I would then be sent home for a week of recovery, followed by 3 weeks of additional recovery until I was back to “normal.” Now you see why his question was not an easy one to answer.

I asked him if we could combine the two options. I want to have things figured out before I start PA school this Fall, because the last thing I want to happen is to experience complications a year from now while I’m studying my life away and can’t be absent for a large chunk of time. But, I also don’t want to rush into anything if it’s medically unnecessary. He thought that sounded like a good plan. So here is what we decided:  In April I will return for a CT scan on a Tuesday. If there are more changes then I will go into the OR the next day. I am scheduled tentatively for surgery that Wednesday just in case. However if the scan is stable, then we will repeat this same process in the middle of June in time for potential recovery before I report to school in late July. So. All is set unless my symptoms progress. These being increased shortness of breath, more wheezing, extreme fatigue, or more continual chest pains. In that case, I would need to go in for the biopsy sooner. 

Another suspicion of mine is that I was told the left side of my thymus gland is larger than the right. This would mean I would have the incisions on the left side of my body during the surgery. If the enlargement was truly because of rebound hyperplasia post radiation, then the gland should ideally enlarge overall, not just more so on one half. And coincidentally or not, the left half of my thyroid was where the cancerous nodule was located...

We finished our conversation with my question of, “What could you find while you were in there operating?” The oncologist responded that there’s always a chance the thyroid cancer had metastasized, but that was rare. Myasthenia gravis is an option but also rare. The main thing seen in regards to the thymus would be a diagnosis of lymphoma. Which in that case, they don’t typically take the entire gland. Instead, radiation and chemotherapy are started.

Yikes. That was a lot of medical jargon. Hopefully I didn’t leave your head spinning. I did my best to provide enough detail that you understood, but not too much that it became a total mess. Basically, I play the waiting game some more. Like I mentioned in the opening paragraph, this is a mirror image of what I first went through trying to figure out what was wrong with my thyroid. Déjà vu. And while it is extremely frustrating, it’s one of those things that no matter how upset I get, or how much I choose to research medical journals online, things will not change. So instead, I am putting it all behind me and enjoying the start of this Lenten season. I took full advantage of Fat Tuesday yesterday. I’m giving up popcorn again this year (seriously not sure what I am thinking), along with sweets. And then a few lifestyle changes to enhance my faith life. It’s safe to say I am already experiencing withdrawal symptoms from not having any popcorn today. I’m officially an addict!

Oh. And little fun fact. When I got back into town from my appointment yesterday, I was quickly eating some quinoa salad before going into the clinic for work, and all of a sudden I crunched down on something sharp and hard. Only to find that one of my far back molars had chipped off in the corner! My dentist told me to come right in so she could smooth it out. Icing on the cake, right? All I could do was roll my eyes and laugh…I’ve NEVER had any problems with my teeth. What a day! Glad it’s over :)

I hope each of you have a wonderful Valentine’s Day tomorrow! My bible study is reading The Purpose Driven Life, and a recent chapter fits perfectly with tomorrow’s holiday:

“Your time is your most precious gift because you only have a set amount of it. It is not enough just to say relationships are important; we must prove it. Relationships, not achievements or the acquisition of things, are what matters most in life. Let love be your greatest aim. And the essence of love is not what we think or do or provide for others, but how much we give of ourselves.”

xoxo

1 Year Later

**Note** I am officially back in the USA after an unbelievable week with family sailing the Caribbean. What better to do on a layover in Dallas than upload my new post written a few days ago. Enjoy!

January 9th, 2013

Before I begin, I have to note that I'm writing this from the balcony of my room on our cruise ship. The sun has set, and we are sailing away from the island of Jamaica. The wind was quite strong today, so there are peaceful whitecaps crashing along side the boat. I'm not sure if this is real life. Not once has this trip felt "normal" (in a good way). I've caught myself thinking multiple times, "What day is it? What would I be doing at home right now? Am I really snorkeling in crystal clear water with stingrays??!"

But today more than anything, I can't seem to wrap my mind around the fact that it has been an entire year since I was told, "Keri. You have cancer."

That phone call Monday January 9th, 2012 from my nurse, feels like yesterday. I was supposed to be starting my final semester of college, but that Sunday before, I woke up still under the weather from surgery. I also had a weird feeling. Something was holding me back from moving. Immediately after my nurse called, I knew then why I stayed home. God knew being surrounded by family was what I would need the following day. 

I remember every detail. Where I was standing. What I was doing minutes before my phone rang. How my mom was headed out the door to go back to work, before I quickly rushed over and motioned with my hands to wait. Don't leave. And then everything was a process. I explained the details to my mom and Kyle. Called my dad while he was at work. Made special phone calls to my grandparents to make sure they were home; There was something I wanted them to hear in person. And finally my closest friends and extended family were notified. But after all of that was done, I can't remember what I did. I never cried. Or felt angry. I'm sure I researched every medical journal possible dealing with thyroid cancer. But other than that, the rest is a blur...

But here I am! One year later. Somewhere out in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico. Surrounded by my ever-loving family and paradise. I didn't bring up today's date at all today. We had talked about it a couple times the last few days, but not today. I think it was one of those things we all had in the back of our minds throughout the day, but were assuming we all knew and kept it taboo. Instead we spent the day zip lining atop the lush mountains and climbing the Dunn's River waterfall in Jamaica. Oh. And sipping on the local rum! 

I think it's natural for people to reflect on how much has gone by in a year of significance; Be it cancer, the first year of marriage, loss of a loved one, etc. However, I don't feel the need to do that. Yes, I've definitely looked back on what all happened and how majority of my "plans" changed without notice. But. None of that is necessarily going to put a smile on my face. Instead today, I've found myself looking forward to what the future holds. I have no doubt that the plans God has in store far exceed any that I could ever dream! And as strange as it may sound, I have cancer to thank for that. I remember my parents teaching this lesson in CLC class when I was in middle school:  A man is on a tightrope. Believing is the mindset knowing that he can walk across the rope. But having faith is closing his eyes and successfully making it to the other side. In my case, I've always believed. But now I have true faith.

The other thing that weighed heavily on my mind today was how blessed I've been in regards to the support I have in my life. You know your family really loves you when they put up with crazy, roller-coaster hormonal changes, and yet never hold it against you. Or when friends let you be "lame" and go to bed at 9pm versus a night out. And the moments that you just need to vent, and with a simple touch on an iPhone, the perfect person is on the other end all ears. Again, without judgement. (Usually a few laughs though. Sometimes my rambling gets a little crazy!)

As for where things stand medically; I will spend a week at the med center for blood work, injections, scans, and appointments at the end of this month. This is routine protocol for one year post-diagnosis. They will monitor the nodules in my lungs and make sure the cancer is still suppressed and non-detectable. If all is clear, then I don't think I have to go back for 6 months! What a relief that would be. So keep your fingers crossed and prayers coming. 

1 year. 365 days. 52 weeks. 525,600 minutes. (Thanks to RENT the Musical, for that number). No matter how you put it, the past won't change. It can make you bitter. Or it can make you better. This past year has been one that I would never wish upon anyone, and definitely don't want to re-do, but I can say with confidence it has made me better. My dad often asks, "Why you?" And I still can't answer that. Obviously God knew I could handle it and would use His grace, but also, I truly believe it has been a blessing in disguise. Like I've said before, there are many, many other hardships that are more devastating. So I say, why not me?

Bon Voyáge! 

Kaptain Keri