Marissa Henley

Encouraging weary women to hope in Christ alone

I Never Could Have Survived Cancer Without This One Thing

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Five years ago today, I first heard the words: “It’s cancer.” I was standing alone in my bedroom, but I wasn’t alone for long.

Within hours, a few family members and friends came over and joined me in my shock and grief. The next day – my 34th birthday – a larger group of friends gathered for a surprise birthday party full of prayers and tears. And over the coming months, a multitude of supporters came together with love, prayers and service that sustained us. The Lord used these people to demonstrate His daily care for us. I’m positive that I never could have survived cancer without this community.

In fact, I didn’t survive cancer. We survived cancer.

One of the most impactful stories of support during my illness occurred the week after my diagnosis. My husband tried to persuade me to seek a second opinion at MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, but the logistical challenges overwhelmed me. I told him, “Maybe if we had a private jet, we could make that work. But I just can’t imagine how I could go to a doctor in another state when I can barely make it to a hair appointment across town.”

Within two hours of that statement, a family friend offered the use of their private plane for our initial appointments at MD Anderson.

That moment is not only an example of the generosity of our community. It was also the moment that I realized God was going to meet each and every one of our needs, just as He had promised. He used an army of friends, family, acquaintances, and even strangers to provide tangible, emotional, and spiritual support as we battled for my health and for my life.

Most of you don’t have a private plane that you could loan me. But you gave what you could – a meal, a prayer, a card in the mail, a ride for my kids – and God weaved your thread of support along with thousands of others into a beautiful tapestry that provided for all our needs. I know it’s cliche, but it’s so true: we couldn’t have done it without you.

At the risk of leaving someone out, I want to describe all that was done for us during those months. As I celebrate five years of surviving angiosarcoma, I can’t think of a better way to mark this day than to acknowledge all of you who loved us through my illness.

I hope you’re comfortable, because if this were the Oscars, they’d never get me off the stage. We were well-loved, as you’re about to see. And I hope it will inspire you to love someone who is hurting in a way you might not have thought of before.

Our family and friends provided endless support. My husband, parents and in-laws made constant sacrifices to care for me and the kids. Lynette kept my kids often, drove them to school and piano lessons, and took care of countless details I was only vaguely aware of. Becky drove my kids to school and spent hours on the phone with me when I was lonely in Houston. The two of them also did my grocery shopping. Rachel organized a “Scripture shower,” asking others to send me notecards with Scripture and other encouragement. Staci, Anna, Marilyn and other friends called and texted me often to encourage me.

Allyson coordinated several months of meals and decorated our home for Christmas. Jenny cleaned our house regularly. Callie faithfully showed up every Tuesday morning to take Will to preschool. Alison made gingerbread houses with my kids at Christmas. Ginny and Alyse were our go-to babysitters, and an anonymous friend paid Ginny whenever she was at our house. (I know who you are, Anonymous Friend!)

Then I started spending two out of every three weeks in Houston. Penny left a stable job with benefits to take a leap of faith as our nanny. She loved our children well during a painful time for our family. During my first stay in Houston, Sara picked me up at the airport and helped me find housing. On my second stay, I met Greg and Blair, and I’ll never forget the day Blair asked if I would stay with them from then on. We both cried a little as I agreed – I was already starting to think of her as my “Houston Mom.” She treated me like a daughter, housed me and my friends, fed me, listened to me, and even picked me up from the airport in the middle of the night when my flight was delayed.

Jennifer and Catherine – who were each a friend of a friend – took the time to befriend a cancer patient and made me feel like I had friends in Houston. Becca left infant twins at home and drove hours to spend time with me in Houston. Friends flew in when I needed assistance during chemo – Marilyn, Amanda, Jenny, Melissa, Andrea and Tara each spent a week away from their jobs and families to care for me at my worst.

Our church family and my parents’ church family rallied around us with enormous amounts of food. Friends brought us dinner three nights a week for about seven months. Some friends even asked for a copy of my kids’ favorite recipes and prepared a family favorite. A group of Noel’s colleagues had pizza delivered to our home every Tuesday – our kids loved that! Our Providence Academy family provided freezer meals immediately following my diagnosis.

We received donations of cash and airline miles. Friends sent me treasured, thoughtful gifts. Several people made hats, including a pink knitted cap I wore every night. Nicole and Sarah fixed Sarah Kate’s hair on Sunday mornings when my husband dropped her off at Sunday school with a brush and bow in hand. Carol ironed our clothes. Friends visited me at chemo and during blood transfusions. My memory is a little fuzzy, but I remember visits from my mom, sister, mother-in-law, Crystal, Lynette, Evelyn, Laureen, Jamie, Eva and Jan. The “Henley’s Homies” participated in the Race for the Cure in my honor. The Mothers of Providence spent time on their knees praying for me.

My medical team was superb. Dr. Pope and Dr. Emily Hinton made a quick diagnosis that probably saved my life. Dr. Ravi and his staff at MD Anderson gave us hope of a medical cure. Dr. Vadhan and her attentive research nurses cared for me during the clinical trial. Dr. Rosenfeld, his fabulous nurse, Aimee, and the nursing staffs at Highlands Oncology and the infusion center all cared for me back home in Fayetteville. Dr. Hunt successfully removed the tumor after a team of compassionate radiation techs zapped the life out of it. Years later, Dr. Atwood put me back together again with reconstructive surgery.

In the years following treatment, friends continued to provide support. The Cancer Posse is an amazing source of encouragement and friendship. Mary Grace showed up just when I needed her. Carrie gives wise, compassionate counsel as I process the impact of cancer survivorship.

I wish I could list the names of everyone who brought us food, wrote a guestbook message online, commented on Facebook, emailed, texted, called or sent a card. I’ll never even know all those who prayed for me and put my name on church prayer lists.

Each and every one of you are a significant and meaningful part of my story. Together we are five-year survivors!

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Three Short Sentences to Say to a Friend With Cancer

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Imagine you are walking down the road one day, and you see a friend at the bottom of a large, dark, unescapable pit. How would you respond? What would you say or do?

 

You could shout down something encouraging, like “God has a good plan for your life!” and go along your merry way.  (And your friend would probably wish they could get out of the pit just so they could punch you in the face.)

 

You could throw yourself into the pit and curse God for putting both of you there. You could commiserate about how terrible the pit is and wonder what in the world God was thinking when He put this pit in your friend’s way. (Your friend wouldn’t be alone, but she wouldn’t feel encouraged.)

 

Or you could jump down into the pit with her and hold her hand and pray with her. While acknowledging how difficult and sad and scary the pit is, you could gently remind her that the truth about God is just as true at the bottom of the pit as it is at the top. As you weep with her in the pit, together you could call to mind God’s past faithfulness and promise to redeem your life from the pit and crown you with steadfast love and mercy (Psalm 103:4).

 

This is how I think about encouraging a friend who is going through cancer or any other crisis.  Your friend is in a large, dark, unescapable pit. How can you love your friend when she’s in there?

 

There is the “God is good” approach.  There is the “this sucks” approach.  And there is my favorite:  the “this sucks – God is good – I love you” approach.  This is what I try to communicate to my friends.

 

1.  This sucks.  

My parents taught me not to use that word. Sorry, Mom, but “cancer stinks” just doesn’t cut it. Your friend needs you to acknowledge the reality of her situation: her life has just been turned upside-down and forever changed by the diagnosis of a life-threatening disease. If you fail to recognize this reality, you will lose credibility as a safe friend who understands what she is going through.

 

2.  God is good. 

After you’ve cried together at the bottom of the pit for awhile, gently remind your friend that God’s promises are still true. God’s Word is the anchor your friend must cling to while the storm rages around her. Speak the truth to her.  Pray the truth with her. Write the truth on notecards for her, write it on her bathroom mirror, text her Scriptures – whatever you can do to constantly keep God’s promises in her mind. She is battling cancer, but she is also battling fear and despair. She is walking through a time of grief.  Those difficult emotions will be pushing the truth out of her mind, and you can help push it back in. Remind her of God’s goodness, faithfulness, power, love, provision and peace!

 

Some of my favorite verses to share with friends include: 2 Chronicles 20:12, 15; Psalm 27:1-2; Psalm 34:18; Psalm 42:1-2, 5; Psalm 46:1-2, 10-11; Psalm 56:8-11; Psalm 62:1-2; Psalm 73:25-26, Psalm 103:1-5, Psalm 112:7-8; Psalm 121:1-2; Isaiah 26:3-4; Isaiah 41:10; Isaiah 43:1-2; Jeremiah 31:3; Lamentations 3:22-23; Nahum 1:7; Habakkuk 3:17-19; Zephaniah 3:17; Luke 12:7; John 14:27; John 16:33; Romans 8:37-39; Romans 15:13; 2 Corinthians 12:9-10; Philippians 4:6-7, 13, 19; I John 4:4; Revelation 21:1-5.

 

3.  I love you. 

When I was diagnosed with cancer, one thing I found strange was that everyone started telling me they loved me. Not just family and close friends – people I never would have expected to say those words were suddenly saying “I love you.” At first, it felt a little weird. Was I supposed to say “I love you, too”? Just say thanks? Were they saying it because they thought I was about to die?

 

But once I got used to it, I found that it was very comforting and encouraging to hear how many people loved me. I felt loved. And when you are facing something difficult, it is great to feel loved! 

 

You may or may not feel comfortable saying the words “I love you” to your friend. But you can communicate your love by letting her know you’re thinking of her often and praying for her. You can tell her you care about her and are in this fight with her. You can show your love by visiting her and serving her. All of these demonstrations of love will communicate to your friend that you care about her and what she’s going through.  She will feel loved!

 

Note:  I’d like to credit an episode of The West Wing for inspiring my analogy about a friend in a pit (Season Two, “Noel”). I love that show! 

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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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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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