Marissa Henley

Encouraging weary women to hope in Christ alone

Five Years of Desperate Prayers Answered on One Tuesday Morning

by 6 Comments

On October 25, 2010, I was about to leave for my oldest child’s 1st grade parent-teacher conference when my phone rang.

It was THE call from the radiologist who had performed the biopsy the week before. I was expecting to hear that it was either breast cancer or not breast cancer, but instead he was talking about a rare cancer that I had never heard of called angiosarcoma. I had to ask him to spell it as I wrote it down and stared at the strange new word.

Stunned, I said to him, “I’m not sure if you’re telling me I have one year or five years or what.” His answer was not reassuring:  “We just don’t know yet.”

What does anyone do when they’ve just been diagnosed with a cancer they’ve never heard of?  I Googled it, of course. And one of the first things I read was that only 30% of those diagnosed with angiosarcoma live five years past the diagnosis. I slammed the laptop shut and burst into tears.

Then my confused brain struggled to do some mental math and fast-forward five years. All I could think was that in five years my 18-month-old daughter would be just 6 years old – first grade. That there was a 70% chance that my baby girl wouldn’t have me with her when she walked into her first day of first grade.

First grade become my earnest plea to the Lord. I spent many weepy nights begging Him for more years with all three of my children. But for my baby, I wanted time for her remember me. In my mind, walking her into 1st grade would mean not only that I survived angiosarcoma for 5 years. It would mean having five years of making memories with my children and being part of their childhood.

As the years passed and it looked more likely that I would survive five years, my prayers became bolder. Now I look past first grade and ask for the privilege of parenting teenagers, seeing them graduate, attending their weddings, holding their babies. I continue to plead for more time and for the faith to trust the Lord with our future. But I don’t want to let this answered prayer pass by unnoticed . . .

On Tuesday, I will hold my daughter’s hand as she walks into her first day of first grade.

Praise the Lord! To Him alone be the glory!

Share

You might be a cancer survivor if . . .

by 1 Comment

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
Share

What Cancer Feels Like, Two Years Later.

by Leave a Comment

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

Share