The worst day of my most difficult year wasn’t when the doctor told me I had a rare cancer with a crushingly low survival rate. It wasn’t the day I learned I’d spend many weeks away from my husband and young children receiving a clinical trial drug in Houston. It wasn’t the day of my mastectomy.
The low point came unexpectedly, right in the middle of months of suffering.
It was January 24, 2011. I was in Texas starting my fourth round of chemotherapy. My middle child was celebrating his fifth birthday back home in Arkansas. And I was convinced that my tumor, which had been shrinking, was now growing.
The poison dripped into my veins, guaranteeing that I’d feel terrible for the next two weeks. I wondered if the treatment was working and whether I’d live to see my children celebrate more birthdays. I longed to be a healthy mom who busied herself with gift wrap and cupcakes and stood grinning beside the birthday boy as he blew out the candles.
As I watched my son open gifts over my laptop webcam, I pasted on a fake smile and forced the tears to wait. But I knew they would come as my battle-weary heart wrestled with the question: How much worse would this get before it got better?
I didn’t want to keep fighting; I just wanted to go home to my babies.
I’m sharing how God gave me up in the midst of difficult times over at the Women Encouraged blog. I’d love for you to head over there to read the rest of the post and check out the biblical encouragement they share!
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