MD Anderson Archives - Marissa Henley

When Motherhood Meets Cancer {Guest Appearance at Risen Motherhood}

July 11, 2018 by Marissa Leave a Comment

In October 2010, my husband and I sat on the floor in our boys’ bedroom as they ran around us in a pre-bedtime frenzy. Surrounded by bunk beds, toys, and trains, we told our young sons I had cancer.

When the doctor called earlier that afternoon, I expected him to say the lump in my breast was breast cancer or not breast cancer. Instead, I heard a strange new word: angiosarcoma. When I typed it into Google, I quickly understood why the doctor’s tone had been so serious.

Angiosarcoma has a five-year survival rate of 30%. My boys were six and four, and their little sister was 18 months old. I closed my tear-filled eyes and started begging the Lord to give us those five years. I wasn’t bold enough to ask for more.

Over the next several months, I endured seven rounds of chemotherapy, most of which involved a clinical trial at a Cancer Center, 600 miles from home. Chemo was followed by five weeks of radiation and then surgery, all out of town. I spent a total of fourteen weeks away from my family, sacrificing months with the hope of gaining years.

I wrestled through many questions during my cancer battle and the tenuous years that followed.

Could I trust the Lord to care for my children even if losing me was part of their story?

Would he meet their needs when I could not?

And at the end of this, would they be emotionally scarred or would they be spiritually stronger?

The Lord met me in that questioning place with the truth of his word. The questions never vanished, but he taught me to cling to his promises as the uncertainty raged around me.

To read the entire post, head over to Risen Motherhood – it’s one of my favorite blogs. I hope you’ll take a look around while you’re there and check out their podcast for some wonderful, gospel-centered encouragement for moms!

The One Who Called You By Name {No Matter What Monday}

May 7, 2018 by Marissa Leave a Comment

*** My new book, Loving Your Friend through Cancer, releases at the end of this month! To celebrate, each Monday devotional in May will feature one of my favorite verses from my cancer battle several years ago. I hope you will be encouraged by these scriptures and add them to your list to share with a friend who is suffering. ***

The text came from a friend as I recovered from chemo in Houston in 2011. She wanted to know my favorite verse. I had a hard time choosing from my long list of favorites, but there was one that had become so precious in my suffering.

When I battled angiosarcoma, there was no guarantee of a happy ending from my worldly perspective. No one could promise me I’d get my old life back. I definitely wasn’t getting my old body back. And I wondered if life after cancer would ever come close to normal for my family and me.

One thing I knew for sure: God’s presence with me was absolutely guaranteed. The fire was hot. The waves were high. But I was not alone.

“But now thus says the LORD, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: ‘Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.’” (Isaiah 43:1–2)

The Lord gives us a reason not to fear: our redemption, His calling us by name. We belong to Him. He knows us. He cares for us. We are His, so we have nothing to fear.

Our suffering may feel like giant ocean waves tossing us into the air and then plunging us into the depths. But the Lord will hold us fast. Even when our future here is uncertain, our future with Him is secure, because He said, “You are Mine.”

No matter what you face this week, the One who called you by name will never leave you.

Steadfast Love that Gives Us Hope ~ Guest Appearance at Women Encouraged

March 28, 2018 by Marissa Leave a Comment

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!

When You Don’t Have Any Answers {Guest post at (in)courage}

March 13, 2018 by Marissa Leave a Comment

Facebook is a terrible way to learn a friend has died.

A heavy feeling settled in my chest as my newsfeed swarmed with strangers writing messages to Julie about shared memories.

When I saw the first “RIP,” I crumpled into a mess of tears.

Julie and I met in the radiation waiting room at MD Anderson Cancer Center. In May 2011, I reported to Waiting Room J each weekday at my assigned time. It didn’t take long to recognize the familiar faces of those with similar appointment times.

Julie struck up a conversation with me during my second week of radiation. She was about my age and recognized me from the 9th floor Sarcoma Center waiting room. (Cancer demands a lot of time in waiting rooms.) Although she was clearly in pain from the growing tumor in her leg, her smile was brilliant, shining from a face adorned with a spunky, color-streaked wig.

We bonded quickly over the chemotherapy regimen we’d both endured and the experience of being moms with cancer. We shared our life stories and cancer stories, and I learned that while chemo caused my tumor to shrink like a snowball in a frying pan, Julie’s tumor grew steadily and ominously.

We celebrated the end of Julie’s radiation, and she stood proudly beside me as I rang the bell at the end of mine. We planned to see each other when I returned to Houston six weeks later for surgery. But by then, Julie was gone.

I never found out exactly how she died. When you make friends in a radiation waiting room you don’t know each other’s people. I never met her friends or family. I had no one to grieve with, no one to share common memories with, no one to answer my questions about her final days. Did she suffer? Did she die in the hospital? Did she have enough warning to say good-bye to her son? I’ll never know.

I shared this piece over at (in)courage . . . a beautiful community of women seeking connection with each other as they follow Christ. I’d love for you to head over there to read the rest of the piece about my struggle to trust God in an answer-less place.

While you’re there, check out their site and subscribe to their daily emails–they are such an encouragement to me!