Thank you for your prayers, emails, cards, financial support and love.  Dusty and I are so humbled and grateful for all of it.  People we don’t know are praying for us, sending us messages and cards.  It’s amazing.  If you ever started to lose your faith in mankind, ask us and we’ll re-establish it.  People have big hearts.  I don’t feel deserving of it. 

We are flying to Mayo today.  We’ll spend the evening settling in and tomorrow I meet with the radiation oncologists, nurses and other various people who need me to sign papers.  On Wednesday I report to the hospital at 5:30 a.m.  I don’t know what time the procedure will be so we’ll post something on Facebook once we know our schedule. 

When we met with the doctors at Mayo and Duke I asked them if my prognosis will change once we get rid of the brain cancer.  The answer was no.  I need to be watched very closely because my cancer is aggressive and invassive.  So I need to live my life either fighting cancer or watching for it to come back.  That is where fear likes to settle in and get comfortable.  Fearing when the cancer will return.  I need to focus on the other F word.  FAITH.  I need to have faith that God can and will heal me COMPLETELY.  He can heal me for the rest of my life here on earth.  I 100% believe he can do it.  I just need to crush the doubt that he won’t do it for me.  I don’t feel worthy. 

Thank you to everyone who signed up for a prayer time slot this Wednesday.  It’s comforting to know that we’re being supported in prayer. 

We’ll try and keep you updated as we get closer to the big day. 

Love you all!

We’re home!  It’s been a long week.  Our journey began with a slight hitch in our giddy-up.  It was too windy to fly on Tuesday so we drove to Mayo.  It’s a good thing too because when we went past O’Hare, we could tell planes were struggling with their wings dipping left and right.  We even saw a jet abort their landing.  Never saw that before.  I wouldn’t have wanted to be in a single engine plane in those winds.  Thank you Randy!  The drive went well and I had no idea that Wisconsin and Minnesota were so pretty.  The Mississippi River is beautiful. 

We never expected to be at Mayo for as many days as we were.  We almost had to stay one more day (today) and come home tomorrow.  Then God worked another miracle.  I saw God in small ways and big ways this week. 

Dr. Goetz was the doctor we were scheduled to see.  He’s an oncologist.  After waiting two hours to see him, he gave us 5 minutes of his time (two of which were taking a phone call) and told us we need to see a neuro oncologist and have an MRI.  He acknowledged the MRI would be early, but necessary to make a decision.  Needless to say we were frustrated, disheartened and discouraged. 

God moment:  They got us in with the neuro oncologist the following day!  Typically it takes months to get in with them, but we got in the following day! 

One more night at Mayo.  Unfortunately we checked out of our hotel expecting to go home after seeing Dr. Goetz on Wednesday.  So while I was having an MRI, Dusty found another hotel which had one room for one night (God moment).  Busy town. 

Thursday our appointment was scheduled with Dr. O’Neill (neuro oncologist) at 2:00 p.m.  We were in his patient room until 5:30 p.m.!  First we saw Dr. Chang who ran me through what I lovingly call neuro Olympics.  Follow her finger with my eyes, touch my finger to my nose, resist her push/pull, etc.  I passed in flying colors. 

After a stretch of time, we saw Dr. O’Neill who was very personable and informative.  He and Dr. Chang compared my end-of-July MRI to the MRI I had on Wednesday.  There was a significant difference in the tumors.  The huge one in my cerebellum (affects balance, etc) is the one that’s of concern.  They determined that it is bleeding slightly (not hemorrhaging).  He wanted us to stay another night and meet with the neurosurgeon today.  When they left the room I could’ve cried.  I was planning on being home Thursday.  I missed my kids like crazy.  God moment:  Instead of coming back to the room with an appointment for today, they came back to the room with Dr. Ian Parney, Neuro Surgeon. 

Dr. Parney explained that I had an excellent response to radiation even on an MRI done early.  He said it was amazing.  I call it a miracle.  (God moment)

Dr. Parney gave me three options: 

1.  Wait four more weeks, have another MRI to see if the tumor has shrunk more.  He didn’t think it would since there is blood present.  Risks are slight hemorrhage (balance and headaches) to a large hemorrhage (life threatening). 

2.  Open me up and operate on the tumor.  Many risks involved.

3.  Gamma Knife Surgery.  This is his recommendation.  It involves screwing a metal cage to my skull in four places.  Two on my forehead and two on the back of my head.  You would think they’d knock me out for this.  Oh no.  They give me local anesthetic where they put the screws and some “I don’t care” medicine.  They better double the dose because I really care.  Then I have an MRI with the cage on my head so they know precisely where the tumor is in relation to the cage.  Then I go to surgery, which isn’t really a surgery at all.  It’s a very high dose of radiation (laser) given in a very precise, specific location of the brain (my tumor) and will knock it out. 

We then asked the question everyone skirts around.  Life expectancy.  He would precede all of his opinions with “I don’t have a crystal ball”.  He goes on averages.  On average, someone with brain mets (me) lives about a year.  However, I have a few things going for me.  I’m young.  I don’t have cancer elsewhere in my body.  I’ve had a very good response to radiation which tells him I’ll have a good response to the Gamma Knife Surgery.  I had a good response to breast cancer treatment.  He has seen women who had breast cancer mets to the brain live for years.  He also forgot to mention that I’m a child of God and He will heal me. 

We felt like we had the complete Mayo experience yesterday.  Wednesday was just a bad day. 

We were nervous about going to Duke because we didn’t want a repeat of Wednesday (a doctor trying to brush us off).  We wanted to be sure we were seeing the right type of doctor.  After calling Duke and talking with them, they assured me I was seeing the right doctor so we decided we’re still going to Duke.   

We are SO THANKFUL we at least have an option at Mayo.  I feel better if I get a second opinion before going through the surgery. 

Thank you for your prayers.  The week went well and it was great to see God show up in so many ways. 

Brooklyn is doing well at school (loving it) and Max and Samantha had fun with grandpa’s, grandma, their aunt Becky and Kathy Timmer.  Thank you everyone for watching the kids and continuing to do so.  We couldn’t do it without you. 

Dusty is not your typical adult when it comes to birthdays.  Oh no.  He doesn’t pretend it’s not coming.  He doesn’t dread turning another year older.  He doesn’t deny that it’s his day.  He LOVES his birthday.  He looks forward to it.  He reminds me weeks in advance when his birthday is coming.  If he receives a birthday card in the mail before his birthday, he will save it to open on his birthday.  He loves his birthday. 

Dusty’s big day is this week Saturday, September 4.  He is turning 36.  I’m writing this because I want to make his day great.  If you see Dusty between now and then, please tell him a big Happy Birthday and give him a slap on the shoulder or a great big bear hug or something.

Thank you.

On Monday, July 26, 2010 I was on the platform of a train station boarding my train to the end of breast cancer.  I sat down on the nice commuter train, had a clean, comfortable seat and there was even some nice music playing overhead.  There was good lighting and everyone was in good moods.  I was on my way to meet with Dr. Song in Chicago for the last time before my procedure.  I had my best friend and our kids with us to make the most of the day at Shedd Aquarium.  I was excited about having reconstruction done by one of the best plastic surgeon’s in the field who was doing the best procedure for me.  We had everything lined up.  Our cousin’s sister graciously offered their Chicago basement apartment for Dusty to stay in while I was at the hospital.  We had childcare lined up for the six weeks following the procedure.   The train dropped us off the hospital.  I had a good meeting with the doctor.  I had a good meeting with the anesthesiology department and that was it.  I was looking forward to having my new, old body rebuilt – tummy tuck was the bonus!  One pesky thing kept creeping in during the day…headaches. 

Onward…we hopped the train to Shedd Aquarium and had a fabulous day.  The kids loved it.  We took in all the sites and made some great memories.  Drove home that night, tired, but happy we had such a fun, successful day.

On Tuesday, July 27 I went to physical therapy because I’ve been having problems with frozen shoulder since my mastectomy.  My PT also knew about my ongoing headaches and nausea and we assumed it was because of all the adjusting we were doing to my shoulder and neck area.  After PT I had such a bad headache that I called Dr. Hoberman (my surgeon) and she prescribed Norco (narcotic).  I took the pain pills, got through the day, but couldn’t seem to get rid of the headaches. 

On Wednesday, July 28 I began vomiting because the headaches were too severe.

On Thursday, July 29 I called Dr. Hoberman explaining the pills weren’t helping and the vomiting is bad.  She immediately conferred with Dr. VanderWoude who sent me to Holland’s Emergency Room.  Jill drove me there and it was there that I had tests run, including a CT scan.  I didn’t hear it then, but the second train was pulling into the station. 

ALERT!  God Moment:  Dusty happened to meet an old friend for lunch that day and as he was driving by the hospital on his way back to work he popped in so we could joke together about how silly my little ER visit is.  Stupid headaches. 

Jill met him in the hall and remembered telling him that we waiting for the results of the CT scan.  CT scan?  She needed a CT scan?  Dusty came into my room and a moment later Dr. Nicely came in to tell us of the two tumors the CT picked up.  All color washed away from Dusty’s face.  He looked like he was punched in the gut.  This wasn’t expected. I think my eyes were closed with my jaw on the ground and Jill was bent forward with her head in her hands.  This isn’t happening!  At the worst it was going to be meningitis.  That’s what Dr. Hoberman said!  Pesky meningitis.  Not brain cancer.   

Dr. Hoberman walked in the room and I swear as she did I could hear the train start up.   She explained that I could be admitted to get the tests going right away or go home and schedule the tests as an outpatient.  We wanted to get it done.  Get these tumors out of me NOW!  I was decided to send me to Spectrum because they have a bigger pool of brain surgeon’s to work with and that’s also where one of Dr. VanderWoude’s offices is. 

So I boarded the train.  This train was darker.  Not cheery.  Not comfortable.  Cold.  As I rode the train to Grand Rapids it was dark and as light fell through the windows I saw signs before me “Brain Cancer”  “No new body for you”  “How much longer”  “What about your family”  “What do I do now”.  There was no overhead music.  No brightness.  Disbelief.  Dispair. 

We arrived at Spectrum where we were well taken care of.  We had many well wishers and great nurses who took care of us.  The first night at the hospital was busy.  I had an abdominal CT scan at 10:30 at night and a head MRI at 12:30 a.m.  I had a bone scan the next day at 3.  The CT scan and bone scan both showed no signs of cancer – PRAISE GOD!  The MRI, however, showed six tumors throughout my brain.  It was explained that our brains have a natural defense against poinsons (chemo) going to the brain so my cancer spread the only place it could – my brain.  I have three large tumors in my cerebellum, two towards the top of my head and one on the right side of my head.  So far I can do everything I used to do.  I’m mobile and can still type on my blog.  The thing I miss the most is driving.  I’ve decided not to drive because of my risk of seizure.  But thanks to the great support I haven’t had a problem getting anywhere.  Aside from being very tired I’m okay.  I know I wouldn’t be this good if it weren’t for the prayers that are being said on my behalf – thank you. 

I was released from the hospital on August 3 and have been undergoing full brain radiation treatments in Holland.  When I’m finished with radiation (roughly 9 more visits) I will begin exploring Mayo Clinic and some other options that have been presented to me.  I plan on working closely with Dr. VanderWoude and greatly respect her advice for my next steps.

Please pray that God will continue to hold our family and friends up the way only he can.  Things are working really well for us right now.  Dusty is in a deep peace of mind and that is so comforting to me.  Brooklyn has been spoiled with a social calendar unlike anything I’ve seen before and the babies are doing great with grandma and grandpa.  Samantha is even showing interest in potty training!  YIPPEEEE. 

If you haven’t had a chance to read my post to my dad about his last day of work and would like to do so, please do it.  I would love if you could share a memory or story in the comments section so I can print those for him.  He will love to read them.  It will make his day! 

P.S.  There were no train rides.  It was just a metaphor.

Prayer Requests:

No Nausea

Good sleep at night

No Headaches

Continued energy for my parents, family and friends as we walk through this together. 

Thank you to all the radom acts of kindness that are being given to us – gift cards to restaurants, Captain Sundae, fundraisers, bake sales, the list goes on and on and I just don’t feel worthy.  God has been good to our family.  I believe he will carry me through this too. 

My goal is simple:  Stay alive.  Raise my kids.  Nothing else matters. 

This morning my dad did something I never thought I would see.   He went to work at Genzink Plumbing where he has worked for 40+ years and put in his last hours.  It’s hard for me because I wanted him to do it on his own terms. 

My dad is a worker.  That’s who he is.  It defines him.  In the best way…it defines him.  He works.  That’s what he does.  It’s what he has done his whole life.   It’s what he loves to do.  He never worked at our expense.  He always included us.  He always taught us along the way.  He took us beside him and showed us what he was doing and if we were lucky, he would let us do it ourselves.  From milking a cow (I never actually did this – yuck), to stacking hay, to sodering a pipe, to sweeping a floor properly, to changing oil in our cars when we were 16. 

He grew up on a farm in South Olive, Michigan and has always been a farm boy at heart.  There is something that lives inside him to work hard for what he has.  Everything my parents have is because they’ve worked hard and have been conscientious with what they do.  They are kind and generous.   They have never hurt anyone to get what they have. 

I have many memories growing up of him receiving phone calls from neighbors, friends, family members, church members or someone in need a plumbing fix.  You know the perils – the water heater is broken, clogged toilet, overflowing something-or-other, the Mr. Fix-it’s trying to do their own work and now need the advice off a master plumber.   No matter what time of day or season – dinner hour (we always ate dinner as a family), or 9:00 at night in the dead of winter.  He would always go and help.  Not with a grudge.  He wouldn’t stomp his feet out the door shaking his head side-to-side mumbling under his breath.  He would do it with a SMILE.  He was happy to help.  He would say so-and-so needs some hot water or their toilet is clogged and they have company coming for the holidays tomorrow.  Off he would go.  Happy as a clam to do something he loved to do.  Work. 

I have more memories of job sites as a kid than what most kids would.  Genzink Plumbing has employed him well over the years and, if I may be so bold, my dad was a good employee.  I remember spending evenings in the warehouse at Genzink’s while dad would organize random parts from boxes to make the boxes complete again.  I remember going along at night with him to job sites while he worked.  I would pretend the poured concrete walls of the new homes were my balance beams and take my roller skates along to ride on the fresh poured floors.  If we were good and well behaved we would stop at the closest ice cream shop for a cone on the way home.  Yum!

It physically pains me to know that he worked his last hours today at a job he has held very well for many years.   I feel like he did it before he was ready because of me and my cancer/prognosis.  I didn’t want it to be like this.  I wanted it to be on his own terms and on his own time.  When he was ready and when he wanted to.  He deserved that much.  He earned it.

Thank you Russ and Rethea, Ross and Rick and the entire Genzink Family and team for working with my dad.  You have blessed him and our family. 

If you happen to see my dad, give him a hand shake, pat him on the back or give him a hug for what he has done. 

Even though his official days at Genzink’s may be behind him, he has a lot of work left in him and I think he’s saving it for his grandchildren. 

I love you dad.