It's been a minute since we've last posted a medical update on Ashley's. Lately, the attention has been focused on When I Hold You and its release. The unfolding of that blessing has been nothing short of an encouragement as of late. We are truly thankful that the Lord opened so many doors along the way and continued to provide opportunities to speak to His nearness and gentleness.
Like all good things though, we can't live in those moments indefinitely. Reality has a funny way of knocking on the door. The truth of the matter is, these past few months have been both incredibly rewarding, but also incredibly sobering.
Ashley has steadily declined in her general function. Before you take that last sentence and get caught in a somber mood, let me walk you through what I mean. A couple of months ago when Ash had her last set of scans there was a visual difference in the imaging as compared to the previous scan. It was a bit of a gut punch and we thought we were headed down a dark road. The somewhat surprising, albeit welcomed news, was that the radiologist continued to classify the tumor as stable though with a note regarding an area of concern. We were cautiously thankful when we heard that news. At that point in time, regarding her day to day operation, we'd noticed that her short term memory was worse than it had previously been. We'd also had concerns over her physical stability (or lack thereof). There were also moments of confusion, inability to process conversations, speak with clarity, reading (in general) and significant fatigue among other ongoing issues. All in all, her condition was not drastically failing, but it was more so in a state of general decline; a trend downward.
Isaiah 64:8
Over the past two months, we can say with certainty that the downward trend has continued. Often times when someone is so close to a situation they can miss the forest for the trees, but over the past couple of weeks Ashley, herself, has recognized these moments of decline. It's funny (relatively, and probably only to us), six months ago we thought we were in a state of decline; about three months ago I started to notice the decline and about two weeks ago, she could finally see it. I'm not sure if there are more frequent moments of being able to see it or if it's truly declining at a sharper rate and that's why she can now notice it, but in any case, we are all on the same page that general function is not where we'd like it to be.
What we have to remind ourselves of (and have done so on many occasions recently) is that none of this should come as a surprise. We know what this disease means regarding the daily struggles. Barring a miraculous, medical victory, we know what the endgame is. What we have to focus on is not the how's and what's but on the Who. We've had some hard moments lately; conversations that have been challenging; emotions that have been on full unload... but there has been some incredibly tender interactions to come out of those difficult times. God has been gracious to provide opportunities where Ash and I can just talk and work through tough moments and enjoy and appreciate just being near to Him and each other.
The reality of where we are, though saddening at times, is not without Hope. The disease of cancer, though difficult to manage and walk through, is not the end of the road. It's at best a blip on the radar. Through some pivotal moments in my own life, this verse has hit home to bring some confidence in God's provision for those who love Him:
This passage has come back to the forefront of my mind a fair amount over recent weeks. I've found myself more readily 'losing heart' in recent days. I don't know if it's the daily work grind, the five thousand things I feel like I'm juggling, raising two girls (who are also working through their emotions as they grow up), trying to lead my household well, or some massive combination of all of the above. I can honestly say, though, that I understand the sentiment of 'losing heart'. It's defeating. It's heavy. It's a snowball that tends to affect every other aspect of life. The good news (and I mean that quite literally), though, is two sentences away. This light momentary affliction is but the preparation for an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison. Those are HEAVY words, not a burdensome kind of heavy but the kind of heavy that brings strength and comfort much like a battle hardened suit of armor or a solid piece of wood used to hold up a leaning wall. This is what I've had to dig into and lean on through some of these recent, tough conversations.
Tomorrow is a scan day. We'd be lying if we said we weren't concerned. We don't know what to expect, but we know that the 'area of concern' has us concerned. The dichotomy of the whole situation is interesting; the very thing that has us concerned is the same thing that continues to strengthen our faith. Perspective is such a funny animal.
Tomorrow will be a long day. We would appreciate your prayers for our family. Please pray that the logistics of the day run smoothly. Pray for my bride; that she would be strengthened physically and emotionally. Pray that her medical team would be clear in thought and in their communication. Pray that, regardless of what we learn, we would trust in Him at all times.
I lift you and your beautiful wife and children up in prayer to the Savior of the universe.
ReplyDeleteYour blog was just shared with me as I have a wife battling Gastric Cancer and this morning she is under anesthesia as they biopsy her liver and flush her abdomen to decide what stage she is at. I thank you for your faith and hope that I too will be able to share with others how you have done here that our God is bigger then cancer. Peace to your family.
ReplyDelete