Challenge Accepted

My dad has long been a champion of my writing. He's also long been great at giving speeches and pep talks. Now, whether he would own that talent or not might be a different story, but I've been on the receiving end of quite a few of those pep talks in the last ten months and can vouch for the skill. 

 

But his speech last Christmas might be etched in my memory for years to come. 

 

Our family was gathered around my parents' living room just before Christmas - both of my brothers, their spouses, and their kids. My dad gets up to address us all, and I can already feel the tears coming. Something about my dad when he gives a speech, I immediately feel vulnerable and emotional. He starts by addressing the two youngest grandkids. He then moves on to my other nieces (my one nephew is the lone member of the male species among seven nieces, and now a great-niece was added to the mix this summer), exhorting batches of them as he moves around the room. He starts to say something to me, and then stops, points at me, and says, "I'll come back to you." We all kind of look at each other with raised eyebrows, trying to figure out what that comment was about. He then moves on to both my brothers and their wives, addressing them, offering up wisdom about life and marriage. Then he comes back to me.

 

"I have something different to say to you, Courtney. I have a challenge for you. You have a gift for words. And this is not the first time I've told you that. You know how to put words and ideas together. This time next year, I want you to come back to this family with a book of 52 devotionals, one for each week of the year."

 

The handwritten quote from Staples
in January 2024

At first I really didn't know if I could pull it off. It felt like a lot of writing to me, and I wasn't sure how to lay it all out. Do I pick a theme? Do I write ones targeted toward specific family members or stages of life? Can I really dump out that many words to fill 52 weeks' worth of devotions? How do I tie it all together so that it's not just a choppy bunch of separate entries? What would the title be? I started a note in my phone with some basic ideas that might work for entries, adding to it as ideas filled my head throughout January. I even went to Staples a few weeks before my diagnosis to get some quotes on what it would cost to get a completed product printed and bound, a copy for each family member.

 

But as it turns out, I didn't need to worry about any of that:

 

My previous post was post number 52 since I was diagnosed in February. 

 

I can assure you this was not intentional on my part. (Well, mostly not intentional. I genuinely was not paying attention to the count until about post number 48. Then I started reverse-timing things so that this one would fall around Christmas. But still.) I've been writing this whole time just for the sake of writing, not to achieve a number or to fulfill my dad's challenge. I had bigger fish to fry. After the diagnosis, I had so many things rolling around in my head, and it all needed somewhere to go. And all those words came effortlessly, entry after entry. All 52 of them.

 

When my dad issued that challenge at Christmas last year, neither he nor anyone else could ever have imagined the form those "devotionals" would take. They would take the form of updates on my cancer, reminding my family that their daughter/sister/aunt/niece/cousin was still here - alive. It would take the form of reflections on the sovereignty and faithfulness of God. It would sometimes come in the form of silence as I took a break from the frantic pace of existence. 

So, to my family: I pray these "devotionals" have been an encouragement to you. Perhaps in the sovereignty of God, I wonder if maybe these posts have really been for you all along. Everyone else reading them have just been beneficiaries of a plan that had nothing to do with their edification or encouragement, but yours. 

 

Yes, they have come at a price - for all of us, not just me. But maybe these were words you each needed to hear in some form or fashion.

 

I couldn't have weathered these recent months without each of you. 

 

To Mom and Dad, at 60-something years old and retired, you found yourselves with a new roommate in the form of your nearly-40-year old daughter, freshly minted with a brain cancer diagnosis. You served as my Uber drivers, my chefs, my mail checkers, my lawn care takers, and my hand holders when I had a seizure. You took me to nearly every single medical appointment, learning medical terms you never imagined you'd have to learn (oligodendroglioma, anyone?). I know you'd say it was no sacrifice and you'd gladly do it no matter what, but I know these have not been easy days and months.

 

To my brothers, my sisters-in-law, my nieces, and lone nephew, you all have played a role in my story, no matter how big or small. You have gathered around my deepest pain, wrapping me in your arms and in your prayers. Your presence and patience have mattered deeply to me as I sorted out life with a new version of my body and my brain.

 

So, Pops, challenge accepted. 

 

But do you think maybe we could skip out on any challenges for 2025?

_____________________

Functional updates
I'll try to carve out space in each post to provide updates on where I am in the process. So, if you're just here for the nuts and bolts, in the future you can slide straight here to the bottom and skip my idle wanderings above.

Since I last gave an update in November, I started round four of chemo, which is now winding down. (The goal is to do twelve total rounds.) This was also the first round that we opted to raise the dose of chemo, which is the max amount I can take because of my physical size (For those who saw me before all this started: If you thought I was tiny then, shave off another fifteen pounds, which is how much I've lost since April.)

The beginning of this cycle was by far the worst I've felt since starting chemo. It was down right miserable. At one point, I just found myself laying in the bathroom closet, which was near enough to the toilet but still on warmer carpet instead of cold tile. Nausea, vomiting, lots of sleeping, all of it. Even the taste of water made me want to gag. Nothing will top how miserable I felt post-surgery in April, but this was a close second. I struggled to eat because nothing sounded good, and drinking enough fluids was also a challenge. Things started to head down hill on the evening of day four and by day six, I was totally out of commission. (I take the pills only on days 1-5 of a 28-day cycle, and it seems to be trending that day six is a real whopper.) By day ten, I felt right as rain and then have had no issues since then. So, thankfully, the misery was not prolonged, but I'd still prefer it didn't happen at all. I'll see the neuro-oncologist again the first week of January to see what my blood counts are looking like and what the dosage will be for cycle number five.

I was thrilled to find another provider outside of my current healthcare system who focuses on a more holistic perspective than what my traditional providers offer. She was able to refer me out to a functional nutritionist and a functional medicine provider. They are not available until April and May, but I still booked them and asked to be put on the cancellation list should a slot become available sooner. I am a strong proponent of functional medicine, so I was glad to find this missing piece to my healthcare team who works in both the functional medicine space and oncology.

I also scheduled a neuro-psych test, which lasts four hours and will establish some baseline cognitive functioning abilities like short-term memory. We can then use this data in the years ahead for comparison. That originally scheduled out until June, but a slot opened up in March. 

One significant area that continues to be impacted by all of this is my ability to go to church anywhere. The combo of my seizure meds and the chemo still cause me to get drowsy in the mornings, making it impossible to go to church anywhere that doesn't have a service outside of the usual Sunday mornings. I haven't been to church on a Sunday morning since May, which was pre-chemo and pre-naps. I did make it to the Christmas service, but that was at 6:00 at night. I'm on the hunt for somewhere that either has a Saturday evening service or a later Sunday service. But even if that happens, I still have some sensory issues when there's a lot I have to take in visually and hearing-wise. I'm continuing to pray that God would lead me in this area to where I need to be.

All in all, I continue to be so humbled and in awe of God's faithful protection and provision through this process. Yes, even on the miserable days. Thank you to everyone for their continued prayers and support.