I almost did something I would have regretted the other night. I was searching for a website with helpful information on metastatic breast cancer and almost tripped over figures that estimate how long I have to live.

Almost, but stopped; I didn’t want to open that door to fear. I’m holding onto something facts and figures won’t show me, or you. I have hope.

What a powerful word it is.

Hope energized my heart after seeing a breast cancer specialist at McGee Women’s Hospital who others call the best in the country. He says there’s a chance we can get this thing under control and extend my life in meaningful ways.

Sounds like hope, to me.

I completed cancer treatments in 2017 but I never said I was cancer free or cured. That vocabulary made me uncomfortable and was unnecessary to feel fully alive. Instead I said, “I’m a survivor.”

I still am.

Fred, a State High classmate, wrote: “I learned so much as an oncology nurse. One being, don’t live by numbers. So many times I heard my favorite doctor say to a patient, ‘Clinically, according to your numbers, you should be sick’ then he’d throw the lab reports out and say ‘This is why I say I don’t treat by numbers all the time.’”

Thanks, Fred. I’m trying hard not to let stats and reports pull me down. Hope doesn’t ignore reality but I feel like there are greater forces at work on the cellular level, forces for good (faith) and for evil (fear).

As a believer in life on both sides of the grave, faith always wins.

My medical team hopes to zonk lesions by decreasing hormones this kind of breast cancer cell feeds upon. There are possible side effects that sound scary but friends remind me nothing surprises God. No contingency will arise where the Three-in-One is not already there, waiting for me, cheering me on.

I’m skimming The Biology of Belief, by Bruce Lipton, PhD, a cellular biologist who says what happens in my mind and spirit profoundly influences what happens on a cellular level. So I’m telling tumors they’re shrinking because my doctors, my treatments and my faith tell me this can happen. An Old Testament song says of Jehovah Rophe, “I am the God who healeth thee, I am the God your healer.” My times are in His hands.

Right after we first learned about the tumors some church folks prayed verses from a psalm over Jim and me. A few days later I messaged my hairdresser (who invited us to that church before I received the bad news): “Brenda, one of the Scriptures you all prayed was Psalm 103. I took my travel Bible to Blue Spruce Park, opened to the bookmark, and it was Psalm 103. What a powerful God we have!”

Taste the hope packed into this mighty psalm:

“Praise the Lord, my soul;
all my inmost being, praise his holy name.
Praise the Lord, my soul,
and forget not all his benefits—
who forgives all your sins
and heals all your diseases,
who redeems your life from the pit
and crowns you with love and compassion,
who satisfies your desires with good things
so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s” (103:1-5 NIV).

I’m not exactly soaring eagle-style, but my spirit is flying high and steady. I’m soon starting five doses of radiation to help with pain control and posted this on my blog (janwoodard.com):

“Relieved and hopeful after our appointment yesterday with Dr. Adam Brufsky at McGee Women’s Hospital! A few weeks ago I thought I had a UTI, only to learn breast cancer fractured my pelvis and spread to my liver and elsewhere. . . but the nurse practitioner says I can expect to be around for a long time! The goal is to starve tumors scattered through my body by eliminating estrogen and progesterone with injections and an oral pill. An infusion every three months will strengthen my bones against further breaks and help fight cancer cells in my bones. I started treatments right away. And I get to keep my hair.”

Thanks for every single prayer prayed and thought sent my way. God gathers them all in a bowl and is blessed by their fragrance. So am I.

Sending prayers and love to fellow breast cancer warrior, Louise. You’ve encouraged me to be my own advocate – to make calls, ask questions, request treatments and expect answers. Your hope, laugh and courage are contagious.

To the little girl next door who wrote, “God is watching over you, always! ‘The Lord did not give a spirit of fear but of power and love and a sound mind,’” – God bless you, dear. You’re right.

All will be well.

Texting Thru Recovery/Indiana Gazette 3.30.19