Marissa Henley

Encouraging weary women to hope in Christ alone

Coping With Scanxiety (And Other Scary Things)

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In a few weeks, I will travel to Houston for my next cancer follow-up appointments. I’ll be honest and say that I HATE these appointments. I hate having to ask other people to take care of my kids for three days for something that isn’t fun. I hate having to travel down there. I hate the process of getting blood drawn, getting an IV, sitting around the waiting room, and laying in the scanner. I hate waiting until the next day to see my doctor for results. I hate walking the halls of the hospital and re-living the unpleasant memories. I hate those moments when I wait in the exam room for someone to come in and tell me whether or not I have recurrent, metastatic angiosarcoma.

 

I wish I could say that I waltz through all of this with joy, peace and complete confidence in God’s good plans for me and my family. But when they take my vital signs before I see my doctor for results, I usually end up having to tell the nurse that no, my pulse isn’t going to slow down unless she waits until after I get my scan results. Even just typing these words and thinking about being there makes my pulse quicken! The anxiety related to cancer follow-up scans is so intense that we survivors have our own word for it:  scanxiety.

 

A friend asked me recently how I deal with the anxiety related to these appointments. Since I’ve been doing this for 4 years now, I’ve given it a lot of thought! Her question got me thinking about my coping strategies for anxiety and how they might be helpful to others.

 

1.  Do the Next Thing

There are times when all I can do is just get through it. In the weeks before my scans, I know my focus needs to be on today and not on tomorrow or next week or three weeks from now. The Lord says to leave tomorrow to Him (Matthew 6:34).  So one way I cope with anxiety is to push the thoughts of the future aside and focus on what God has asked me to do right now. Put one foot in front of the other and do the next thing.

 

2.  Promises from God’s Word

I love, love, love God’s Word. God will never fail to keep His promises. There are many promises in God’s Word that have become especially precious to me in the midst of anxiety. Here are just a few:  Psalm 46:1-2, Psalm 46:10-11, Psalm 73:25-26, Psalm 112:7-8, Psalm 121:1-2, Isaiah 26:3-4, Isaiah 43:1-2, Jeremiah 31:3, Lamentations 3:21-24, Habakkuk 3:17-19, John 16:33, Romans 8:38-39, Romans 15:13.

 

3.  Prayer

I also take my fears and concerns to the Lord in prayer. I am so thankful that Christ made a way for us to come before our Father’s throne and ask for help (Hebrews 4:16). My prayers in the midst of anxiety are not fancy or articulate. They usually go something like this:  “Please, God, don’t let me have cancer. This is so hard. Please help me.”

 

4.  Asking Others to Pray

Our Heavenly Father doesn’t ask us to carry our burdens alone – He gives us a family, the body of Christ (Galatians 6:2). Often, I will share my struggle with anxiety with others and ask them to pray for me. I’m thankful for friends who are willing to share my burden and pray for me. It brings me great comfort.

 

5.  Remembering God’s Past Faithfulness

Lamentations 3:21-23: But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.

When I’m having a difficult time trusting God’s future faithfulness, I call to mind God’s past faithfulness.  Here’s a little math equation for you . . .

Past faithfulness + never changing = future faithfulness guaranteed! 

God has been faithful to me in the past. I could write all day about the ways He has worked in horrible circumstances for my good and for His glory.

God never changes.  Never ever, no matter what. Therefore, I can put my hope in His future faithfulness in all circumstances.

 

Doing the next thing, reading God’s promises, praying, asking for prayer and remembering the Lord’s trustworthiness don’t make my fears vanish. But these strategies remind me where to run when I am afraid:

When I am afraid, I put my trust in you. In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I shall not be afraid. What can flesh do to me? (Psalm 56:3-4)

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You might be a cancer survivor if . . .

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When I started brainstorming a list of experiences and feelings that are unique to cancer survivors, I thought it would be funny.  But when I was finished, it seemed more serious and sad than I expected.  I guess that in many ways, being a cancer survivor isn’t very fun.  It is challenging and scary and sad.  But it’s also beautiful and sanctifying and strengthening, as we continue to figure out what it looks like to trust our faithful Lord in all circumstances.

 

This list is based on my personal experience with being diagnosed in my mid-30’s with a rare cancer that is generally associated with a grim prognosis. It may not reflect the experience of all cancer survivors, and that does not lessen their survivorship in any way.

 

My goal is not to generalize or define what it means to be a cancer survivor.  I hope to shed some light on what cancer survivorship is like for me and possibly help you understand the cancer survivors in your life a little better.

 

You might be a cancer survivor . . .

  • if your goals include outliving the expiration date on your credit card
  • if you know how to apply eye makeup to make it look like you have eyelashes when you don’t
  • if you know what scanxiety is and exactly how it feels
  • if putting your hair in a ponytail makes you really happy
  • if you are quick to jump into photos with your kids and not worry if you don’t look perfect
  • if you’ve ever had an awkward encounter with a male TSA agent involving a breast prosthesis
  • if it takes you fifteen minutes to fill out a medical history form, but you can rattle off your medical record number and date of birth in two seconds flat
  • if you’ve ever held your toddler while she slept and begged God to let you live long enough for her to remember you
  • if you have a large box of wigs, hats and scarves somewhere in your closet
  • if you have plastic surgeons in two states and their work is covered by insurance
  • if you get super excited about each and every birthday (and expect everyone around you to do the same!)
  • if you can’t remember all your doctors’ names but know the normal ranges for CBC values by heart
  • if you love being there for birthday parties, piano recitals, school parties and holidays
  • if you date your photos by how much hair you have – before-cancer-hair, no hair, super-short hair, cute-short hair, three-years-post-cancer-shoulder-length hair, etc.
  • if you’ve ever asked a doctor how long you have to live
  • if you obsess over every ache and pain, bump and bruise
  • if you know what it’s like to have hundreds of people praying for you
  • if you are thankful for your healthy body, even with all its imperfections and scars
  • if you are convinced that God’s faithfulness is true because you’ve seen how He always provides
  • if you know that the peace of Christ is real because you’ve experienced in your darkest moments
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#this2015life

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My 92-year-old grandmother and I have a few things in common.  We both love Jesus and love our family.  We appreciate a good piece of chocolate and the challenge of trying to beat each other at Words With Friends.  And both of us are a little surprised to still be alive in 2015.

 

As many of you know, in October 2010, a radiologist called me with biopsy results and introduced me to a word I had never heard before:  angiosarcoma.  During our conversation, I said to the doctor, “I’m not sure if you’re telling me I’ve got one year or five years or what.”  And he replied, “We just don’t know yet.”

 

He wasn’t exaggerating.  The cancer I had just been diagnosed with is extremely rare, very aggressive, and comes with a 5-year-survival rate of about 30%.  In that moment, I realized that it was statistically unlikely I’d live to see the year 2015.

 

By the grace of God, I lived to see 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, and now 2015.  As this new year rolled in, I realized how very special 2015 is to me.  It is a milestone in my cancer journey.  I am alive and healthy in a year I didn’t expect to see.  Later this year I will celebrate being in that 30%:  a five-year survivor of angiosarcoma.

 

In 2015, I get to see my kids turn 11, 9 and 6.  I get to parent a tween, y’all! I get to see my kids grow and mature in their relationships with Christ.  That toddler I held at night and begged the Lord through tears to let her remember me?  She rolls her eyes at me and says, “seriously, Mom??” like she’s so grown up.  I’ve been here for vacations, piano recitals, basketball games, spelling bees, ballet performances, birthdays, holidays, first days of school, last days of school . . . they’ve all been so precious to me.  Years and years of gifts from the Lord.

 

When I document these memories, I’ve been using #this2015life to acknowledge how thankful I am for this year.  I want to be intentional about praising God for all these moments with friends and family–the big milestones and the small joys.  He has brought me safely to 2015, and I am comforted to know that all my days are in His loving and faithful hands.  If you are happy to be enjoying God’s gifts in 2015, please help yourself to my new hashtag!

 

Thank you, Lord, for #this2015life.

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What Cancer Feels Like, Two Years Later.

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On Easter Sunday, I was getting my kids settled in our pew when from the row behind us, a friend’s husband asked, “Did you and my wife have fun the other night?”  I stared at him, completely baffled at the question.  What had I done with his wife recently?  I had no idea.  I thought just saying that yes, of course we had fun.  But I took the honest approach and asked him to remind me what we had done.  The Wednesday before, his wife and I had carpooled to a church-wide women’s meeting.  It all came back to me then–and yes, we did have fun!

 

That’s part of what cancer feels like, two years later.  It turns out that having your body pumped with seven rounds of high-dose toxic chemicals makes you stupid.  My short-term memory isn’t what it used to be, especially when my brain is focused on a another task.  So if I should know your name but can’t remember it, please forgive me.  🙂

 

That’s one example of how my life is different.  I’m also still dealing with the emotional effects of cancer.  Yes, even two years later.  But I’m excited about the healing the Lord is doing in my life.

 

A year ago, I was a cancer survivor still living in Cancer World.  I thought about cancer every day, usually multiple times a day.  I talked about cancer almost every day.  I felt most comfortable around others who were intimately acquainted with the reality of cancer, because they didn’t mind my talking about it.

 

When I was in the Normal World, I wanted to run screaming from the room every time someone talked about raising teenagers or seeing our kids get married or retirement savings.  People in Cancer World don’t speak of such things.  I knew I would continue to learn how to cope with cancer survivorship, but I didn’t think there would ever be a day when I didn’t think about cancer.

 

My faithful and gracious God has granted healing.  In 2011, He healed me physically of cancer.  It took about another year and a half for the emotional healing to take place.  I still have scars–physical and emotional.  However, I recently had a fantastic realization:

I don’t think about cancer every day.  And I don’t live in Cancer World anymore.  

 

I visit there often.  I have friends who are battling, and it is important to me to minister to them.  A year ago, I would climb into the pit with them and stay there.  I would mentally live as though I still had cancer, feeling their emotions and pain, because I thought that was being a good friend.

 

Now I have learned how to visit Cancer World as a healthy person:  to commiserate, encourage, serve and love, and then to return to my normal life without being overcome by survivors’ guilt.  I can do this because I trust God’s faithfulness to my friends, just as I trust His faithfulness to me.  I may climb into the pit to love a friend, but I know where the rope ladder is, and I can reassure her that God has a rope ladder for her, too.

 

It took time to learn how to live in Normal World again.  But I don’t want to run screaming from the room when someone talks about life 15 years from now, and I’ve even joined in the conversation sometimes.  I’ve stopped trying to prepare myself and everyone else for the worst.  I’ve decided to leave it the hands of my capable, sovereign, powerful God.  I never could have prepared myself for Diagnosis Day in 2010, and yet the Lord was there, providing everything we needed.

 

There are many days when I think about cancer.  Some days, I even cry and beg the Lord to give me many more years with my kids.  My life has been forever changed, and there are constant reminders.  But healing has taken place–both physical and emotional–and I am thankful.

 

But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end;

they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. 

Lamentations 3:21-23

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