Raising Awareness

There's been a rash of silly Facebook statuses recently ranging from $7000 scratchy wins to subbing socks for toilet paper--I finally came to the bottom of the weirdness a few weeks ago when a friend explained to me that it's some sort of breast cancer awareness campaign for 2014. It's been stewing in my mind since that time and my thoughts have only grown as I see more of the culprit statuses. Not to be rude to those of you who have participated in the "campaign," but I have to admit that I'm very put off by the idea; I'm honestly not sure what good it does to raise awareness in that way. I mean, we all know breast cancer exists, right? Do we need reminders from obscure posts? And what does it mean to raise awareness anyway? Is it a way of poking your neighbor and saying, "Hey, don't forget--breast cancer is a disease that a lot of women struggle with." Um...I think we know that--what purpose does that conversation serve? What can we do to really raise awareness for something that costs lives and puts many women through months or years of grueling treatment?

In the course of my cancer journey, I've had a lot of people tell me that I'm too young to be going through this. At first, I appreciated the sympathy, but now it just seems a little odd to me--obviously I'm not too young, because it happened. And it's been a strange and surreal journey with no doctors being able to give me a satisfactory reason for why it happened--I had absolutely no genetic predisposition and none of the typical risk factors beyond a high level of stress. And so here's where the real awareness comes in, friends--any woman currently reading this blog could find herself in my shoes some day. It can happen to any of us. I don't want to freak anyone out by saying that, I just honestly wish that I had known it could happen to me. Because if I had known, then maybe I would have done something about it much sooner. That, my friends, is awareness. And while I don't want to consider myself an expert or an authority on all things breast cancer related, I do want to offer a couple suggestions on how we can be aware and make a real difference.

Perform Self Exams
I hope this section isn't awkward for my readers, because before being diagnosed (and even shortly afterward), I never would have dreamed of discussing something like this in a public forum. Somehow, the shyness leaks out after repeated exams and discussions with a panel of doctors. Anyway--here goes nothing...

Mammograms aren't usually recommended for women under 40, so where does that leave the unfortunate young souls like myself who are still at risk for breast cancer? Well, I want to tell all young women out there that they need to be performing regular breast self-exams. Because you know what? I never did--not once. And maybe many of you are wiser than I was, but perhaps you are similar to me. I vaguely remember a seminar for ten-year-old girls where they talked to us about breasts and menstruation. I think exams were probably mentioned. Of course I thought it was silly and embarrassing and wouldn't have dreamed of doing it. I was increasingly aware of the idea as I got older, but I still dismissed it as unimportant. I mean, what woman in her twenties is thinking about getting breast cancer? Honestly, it's now the biggest regret of my life. If I had been more aware of my breasts, I could likely have saved myself a few months' worth of treatment instead of feeling like an idiot when the doctors discovered a hugely swollen tumor that had been ballooning inside my chest for at least several months. Please catch it early, girls--the full treatment plan that I've been subjected to is not a lot of fun. And I was beyond blessed that the tumor still stayed localized in spite of its size and other characteristics--not everyone will have that same outcome. This disease can kill even young women--don't mess around with it.

Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure

If you aren't already familiar with the Susan G. Komen foundation, it's an organization dedicated to raising real awareness and funding research grants to better understand treatment and prevention of breast cancer. Each year, the foundation has a 5k run/walk that raises a lot of money for their cause. I believe that every state has a race attached to the foundation, and I'd invite you to look up information for your local run and to sign up for it this year. The one in Utah is on May 10th, and you can sign up for $35 right now as well as pledge to raise further funds to benefit breast cancer research. Run it for a friend or a family member who has been affected by breast cancer. Run it for yourself in an attempt to contribute to research that could save you someday. Run it for me, if you really want to. Just know that contributing money to the foundation and participating with people whose lives have been hurt or maybe miraculously helped by breast cancer is something that truly matters. I dearly want to participate in the run myself, but because of where it falls in relation to my last chemo treatment, I'm not sure if I'll be well enough to make it--even walking. So maybe I will be a little selfish and reiterate asking you to run it for me. :)

The Bassett Foundation
Shortly after my diagnosis, my dear cousin created a foundation that he'd been thinking of starting for a number of years. His own father passed away from colon cancer a few years back, and my cousin created the foundation in an effort to help defray the costs associated with cancer treatment. It's not exclusive to breast cancer, as my other two recommendations are, but it's a wonderful foundation that could truly bless many lives. They will also be having a 5k/10k on June 14th for all of the Utah folks. I'm hoping to be well enough to actually participate in this one! Please check out the site for more information on other ways to contribute.

So there it is--my two cents' worth of breast cancer awareness advice. Be aware that it can happen to anyone and be aware that while survival rates for breast cancer are typically quite good, treatment for cancer stinks. Beyond that, once you've had cancer, it has a way of lurking in the background of your life for a number of years--there's no way around it. And whether you're diagnosed at a stage one or a stage four, it's a scary thing to live with. So while I can't save anyone from getting cancer in general, I hope this post generates some ideas on what we can do to really campaign against breast cancer in 2014. There's something out there that can prevent cancer from happening, friends. Let's try to find it.

Travels, Trials, and Everything in Between

I've taken to gardening recently. There's something truly therapeutic about pulling out weeds and clearing last year's dead growth in order to make room for the new little flowers shooting out of the ground. In so many ways, it feels like fighting cancer: getting rid of the bad stuff in order to make way for healthy growth. I've become almost fierce about protecting our regenerating herbs and flowers.

In spite of the ever-improving (although still finicky) weather and the signs of spring everywhere, I've had lots of reasons to withdraw into myself these past months. First, I spent the beginning of February being terrified about my surgery--was I going to wake up in severe pain? Were they going to discover that the cancer was still spreading? How would a mastectomy affect my emotions? I had a lot of questions that no one could really answer, so I just stewed and worried about it until it was all over. Then, once I was well on my way toward recovery, I had another thing to keep me locked up inside myself--we had to make the hard decision to send Roby back to Italy for a little while in order to resolve some visa issues. He left on March 26 and won't be back until May 13. I can't even express how much I dreaded him leaving and how hard it's been now that he's actually gone.

Understandably, I haven't had the heart to write lately. I've been feeling very sorry for myself and struggling to find those fabled silver linings in my life. I'm not done with my treatments yet, and the one thing that was helping me stay happy and grateful--i.e. having Roby with me--isn't even a reality at present. So why did I finally muster the courage to write today? Well, two things happened this weekend that have helped me change my perspective. First, I listened to dozens of awesome and inspiring talks this weekend during our General Conference, and one in particular shook me out of my gloom. President Ucthdorf, with his irrepressible optimism and fabulous German accent encouraged us to choose to be grateful no matter what our circumstances may be. Gratitude, he said, doesn't have to be tied to tangible things--it's a way of life. I cried during the entire 20 minutes of his talk. Then, as if to reinforce the idea of being thankful in all things, I've been reading Corrie ten Boom's The Hiding Place--a remarkable holocaust memoir that I always intended to read and just now managed to borrow from the library. And you know what? If Corrie and Betsie ten Boom can thank God for the fleas jumping around the straw in their extermination camp beds, then I can definitely be grateful for chemo even without my husband by my side. After all, as nasty as the side effects can be, it's ultimately saving my life.

So, enough of the explanations and emotions--how about a little update? Because you know what? There are more awesome things that have happened since I last wrote than most people might expect. :)

In an attempt to get my mind off the impending surgery, we took a road trip down to St. George where we stayed with my uncle and aunt for a few days. It was a brief trip, but we enjoyed some much-needed warmer weather, a trip to a temple that I hadn't visited before, and a fun (though brief--owing to my decreased energy level) hike through some lovely red rocks. It's amazing the difference a small trip can make on your mood. I came back much more prepared to head into the unknown world of major surgery.

A mastectomy can be a pretty scary thought--especially where I'm still just trying to get used to needles and IVs. But you know what? All things considered, it was honestly a breeze. I mean, I hurt a medium amount for several days, I was incredibly tired for weeks, and I've just barely gotten back my full range of motion in my arm, but the pain level was not that bad. Of course, that's actually because I've lost all sensation on the left side of my chest and even under my arm, but if nerve damage means I don't have to feel deep incisional pain, I think I'll take it for now! And as for the emotional impact, because I opted for immediate reconstruction, I don't feel that abnormal. I'm currently equipped with a rather uncomfortable tissue expander (it's something like a hard-edged balloon that they periodically fill with saline) until I can get my implant post-radiation, but it actually doesn't look too weird.

A few days post-surgery--not looking too bad!

And, of course, there was more awesome news that came with the surgery: the pathology report showed that the cancer was almost undetectable! There were only a few "pre-cancer" cells lurking about, which basically means they were individually mutinous cells that hadn't done any recruiting yet. Admittedly, though, I struggled to be excited when we got the news. You see, it doesn't change anything about my treatment plan--I still have to do more chemo and radiation, and while radiation doesn't seem so very dreadful, the thought of doing more chemo was extremely discouraging. Why would I want to put myself through even harder treatment and stronger drugs when I was finally feeling well and my hair was even sprouting in fluffy fuzz all over my head? We prayed about it a lot and even got a second opinion before committing to further treatment, but in the end, we decided that for everyone's peace of mind, it was best to bite the bullet and bring on the chemo.

At this point, I have one treatment behind me and two more to go--and the thing that's getting me through the 12 sick days out of every 21 is the thought that when Roby gets back, chemo will be OVER! Now that is something to be very excited about--the return of all good things at one time! Besides, the positive pathology report means that my chances of complete remission are very good. And you know what? I've had a deep reassurance through all of this that this cancer isn't going to haunt me forever. I've always known that, in spite of the scary initial prognosis, I was going to get through it okay--I still have a lot to accomplish in this life. And if that isn't a silver lining, then I don't know the meaning of the phrase.

Happy in spite of everything!

...So Every Moment Was Magical.

Remember how I said this story was very related to faith? Well, before heading off to my unknown fate in Switzerland, I had a very strong feeling that something truly right and wonderful was about to happen. Funny how that sense of rightness can get buried in our worries and we easily forget what God has been whispering to us. I still have a lot to learn about taking counsel from faith rather than fears.

Bern Temple Celestial Room

After every temple session, everyone filters into a beautiful room known as the Celestial Room--it's seen as a symbol of heaven and is generally one of the prettiest rooms inside of a temple. I got in first and carefully selected a spot where Roby was sure to see me and sit next to me. I had a few moments to decide exactly how I wanted to lay my cards on the table before he came in.

Finally the moment arrived--Roby came up the stairs and took his place beside me. We both shifted awkwardly in our seats, attempting to return to our comfortable conversation from before. Trying to help things along and not yet ready to be bold, I asked him to finish telling me about that dream he'd mentioned. He began talking about how we had been together and someone was trying to hurt me. In an attempt to protect me, he had grabbed my hand--and right at that moment in his story, his hand was suddenly holding mine in reality.

I don't know about all of you, but in my world, holding hands is tantamount to saying "I want to date you and no one else." And, fortunately, I didn't have to guess at Roby's intentions because he accompanied the hand holding by asking if I'd be his girlfriend. Funny how I had half expected him to ask a weightier question...

I have no idea what we talked about after that, but whatever it was, we spent two hours discussing it. Somehow, my brain has created a golden haze around the rest of our time in the Celestial Room--like one of those sappy old movies that switch to soft focus during the love scene. Or maybe it's just that I'm becoming like Jane Austen and zooming out of the first-acknowledgement-of-mutual-feelings moment. Either way, I do remember that everything felt almost magic. And I can't imagine a more perfect place in the world to officially begin a relationship than in one of the most sacred rooms in creation.  It finally occurred to me that no one else was in the room and that we probably ought to find my friends and get some lunch.

We went our separate ways to change into normal clothes, planning to meet out front. I made it out before he did to find my friends impatiently waiting, but the big news would have to come out later. Roby soon joined us and we decided that since he had to leave soon, the two of us would wait on lunch and let the others go find something to eat while we took a little stroll.

They were primroses--I'll always love them now...And
actually, all yellow flowers have become a special
symbol to the both of us. :)

As we were walking, I noticed that one of the yards of the surrounding houses was covered with beautiful yellow flowers springing spontaneously out of the ground. I stopped to comment on them, because where I come from, flowers don't really grow unless people plant them--I loved how in Switzerland they grew on their own right in the middle of someone's yard. And as I turned to tell him how much I loved those flowers, I realized he was going to kiss me.

Now, you have to know that kissing someone on a "first date" is not my style at all. But somehow, I knew it was the perfect moment. Besides, I already felt that we had known each other forever. And that perfect moment and all of the emotions I'd been feeling throughout the day gelled into the sweetest, gentlest kiss I could have imagined.

Though I took this picture months
later, it actually looked just like
this on our little walk.

We continued our walk through a nearby forest--another wonderful thing about Switzerland is that large clumps of very tall trees are never that far away. We found a small grove and stopped to talk and enjoy the newness of our relationship with a few more gentle kisses. After only a few minutes, however, one of his friends found us and told him they needed to leave as soon as possible.

Before I knew it, he was gone. We had just enough time to snap a quick picture to send to my mom before he hopped in the car and drove away. I was left to talk everything over with my friends, who of course wanted to know all of the details. My head felt detached from the rest of my body. Had that really happened or had I imagined the whole thing? We had only spent a total of eight hours together, and everything was as new and delicate as those primroses. In most situations, a new couple wants to spend every available moment together to cultivate the budding relationship, but in our case, that proved to be impossible; Lyon is as far from Lecce as San Francisco is from Salt Lake. I wouldn't see him again for six weeks.

The happy couple on that glorious day

Hey! Remember Me?

Yay! We just got MARRIED!!

Well, friends, let's start with some business: Merry very be-lated Christmas and Happy somewhat late New Year! The past month and a half has been more than eventful for me--holidays, my wedding, a whirlwind trip to Italy...living that charmed life again, I suppose. And while I know many of you would love to hear all about those details, they will actually come down the road several posts...because...by popular demand...

I've decided to start up the love story again!!

Hooray! I figure we are all dealing with some January blahs right now--why not make things more interesting with a dash of fairytales? So starting next time, I'm going to put away some of the cancer updates (although those may come in sporadically, assuming they are of interest) and pick up right where I left off in October. I recommend coming to class prepared by reading this post first: To Be Together. :)

In the meantime, let's look at the current update! I apologize that it's been so long in coming, but I not only turned over ideas in my mind several times recently, I also actually wrote a complete blog post that I almost published last week. However, when I re-read it, it struck me as so boring and depressing that I scrapped the whole thing and started over. I've been a little self-conscious about my posts of late, because my audience has increased quite a bit these last months. I don't want to disappoint anyone! That said, here's a more upbeat look at the past month's highlights.

I got married 
Like I said, details on this one will be forthcoming! But the wedding was wonderful. It was sunny and snowy and sincerely magical--a fitting conclusion to the first part of our fairytale! We had our one-month anniversary yesterday (Roby dubbed it our monthiversary), and my cute husband surprised me with some lovely roses. Married life is AWESOME! :)

The Return to Europe
A lot of people mistakenly thought that we went to Europe indefinitely right after the wedding. Unfortunately...my treatments are just beginning, so we only had a week-long, honeymoon-esque adventure. But it was so good for both of us to go back even briefly! Things didn't have a particularly auspicious beginning--first my wallet was stolen in the Milan airport, and then we missed our flight down to Roby's hometown the next day and had to re-book a new flight without the benefit of my credit card--but we made up for it with an awesome few days with Roby's family and friends. This, of course, included lots of good food--not the least of which was during our big, fat, Italian wedding celebration! But we'll hold on to the details of that one for later as well.

You'd never know it's not attached to my head!

My wig arrived
This actually happened before the previous two things--magically, I got my wig on Christmas Eve. It is sincerely one of the best "presents" I've ever gotten! Even though I actually gave it to myself... It's unbelievable what a difference it makes to my morale to have my own hair again. And actually, it's not just my hair--even with the huge quantity I had, it usually takes a couple heads of hair to make a wig. One of my sisters chopped off her own one day to send along with mine--she's awesome like that. With that much hair, the wig can be pretty heavy and has taken some practice and, oddly, foam strips wrapped around my head in order to keep it from falling off. At any rate, my sisters and sister-in-law did an awesome job fixing it up all fancy for the wedding, and I honestly love brushing it and playing with it a little each time I put it on.

Treatment Phase 1 Concludes
This actually won't really happen until Thursday when I get my fourth round of chemo, but I figure it's still appropriate to put it in here! It'll be nice to take a break from chemo for a little bit (I'll stop during surgery time and then begin a new regimen with different toxins...erm medicines...once I've healed a bit). Rounds 2 & 3 were a lot better than the first one owing to a wonderful immune booster shot, but it's still not a picnic. I pretty much don't feel like myself for two weeks and then once I'm finally feeling normal again (food tastes good, I'm not super grumpy, my nose doesn't hurt like the devil, and my energy level is climbing back up), I get to start all over. And while I felt mostly good during round 2 (a serious blessing considering that the wedding fell during that time), I lost almost all of my hair during that cycle--there's nothing left but some wispy straggles. I keep my head covered with comfy little hats and my wig, but...looking at myself in the mirror did take getting used to.

His straggles are longer than
mine, but my complexion
looks WAY better!

A friend of mine who recently went through the same thing said she felt like a monster--my heart hurt for her, and yet what she said really rang true with how I felt. Sometimes, I think that I look like the Crypt Keeper, but Roby (who is the only one to have even momentarily glimpsed my head) is sweeter and says I look more like a baby. But on the very bright side, my tumor has completely disappeared. YAY!!! You might ask, then, "does that mean you can be done now?!" Sigh...we've asked multiple doctors this same question...and we keep asking it...but it looks like the answer is no.

I never mentioned it on this blog, but the cancer was a stage 3B--that basically means that the only thing it hadn't done was spread to other organs, muscles, or bones (which is still a very good thing). It was in my nearby lymph nodes and it was approaching the size of a small continent...sort-of. We never got a clear measurement, but at its largest, we were told it was around 9 cm (3.5 inches) in diameter. For the sake of perspective, the best-behaved tumors are less than 1 cm and anything larger than 5 cm is considered quite serious. Long story short, all of the doctors want to take the most aggressive approach possible (considering how many years I have ahead of me in which the cancer could come back), and my treatment will have a total of 4 phases: chemo #1, surgery, chemo #2, and radiation. But we're still hoping to cut back on at least one of those phases...

We found awesome surgeons
A dear friend of mine hooked us up with a seriously fantastic surgeon for my upcoming mastectomy (icky blah--I don't love saying mastectomy next to "my"). She answered all of my questions before I could ask them, she was super nice and yet professional, and she was ready to schedule me right away for February 19. We next met with a great plastic surgeon just yesterday (happy monthiversary!) who will step in right after phase 1 of the surgery to start the process of making me look normal again. We spent the afternoon looking at before and after pictures as well as a book in which one patient photo-documented the whole healing and reconstructive process. Admittedly, it was a little awkward...but it was also helpful to know what's going to happen and how it will look in the end.

So that's pretty much where we're at right now! In some ways, we live a lot like a retired couple since neither of us can work (a green card isn't an option for Roby unless we plan to live here at least 3 years). I spend a lot of my time these days reading as well as exploring the world of vegan cooking (apparently, animal proteins are a no-no for cancer) and Roby likes to study psychology and counseling. To mix things up a bit, we've decided to try going on a few road trips when I'm feeling well enough, which means surgery isn't the only adventure we have coming up soon! So I guess I'm still Mary Poppins in a way--hunting down those spoons full of sugar. :)

In the Land of Miracles

Enjoying the last few moments of my long
hair...the dread is palpable!

I've had dozens of post ideas rolling around in my mind for the past three weeks, but I kept vetoing all of them before they made it to the page. I considered writing a eulogy to my hair the day we cut it to have a wig made, but I decided that would only be meaningful to me. Then I thought about giving a running list of chemo side effects but figured that would be intensely boring. Next, on a particularly rough day, I almost wrote about how I was feeling a distinct kinship with good old Biblical Job. That, however, sounded depressing. Besides, things really aren't all that bad--I still have an amazing family and incredibly supportive friends. And in fact, that's part of what I wanted to focus on today. I can't tell you all how impressed I've been--overwhelmed, really--by the amount of love and support we've received. Your prayers are definitely helping, friends. I feel them every day, and I have never felt so surrounded by miracles at any time in my life. In fact, when I went for my second round of chemo yesterday, the doctor was honestly floored at how the tumor seems to have disappeared after only one treatment. Things are going incredibly well!

After a couple of rough weeks with a variety of crazy side effects, I started feeling like my normal self about a week ago. This freed us up to hit wedding preparations really hard, but that brought on a new set of worries and troubles. Last Monday, after purchasing two plane tickets that we wouldn't have had to buy if it weren't for a tumor we've "affectionately" named Amalickiah, I started feeling really stressed about money. With a wedding, medical bills, and a variety of other unanticipated expenses, money has been flying out of my bank account at a frightening rate. As Roby and I discussed possibilities and tried to decide what expenses we could start cutting back on, the doorbell rang. To our complete amazement, some

anonymous soul had left a jar full of coins and topped with two $20 bills on the doorstep. This unexpected gift was simply accompanied by a cute Christmas card wishing me a Merry Christmas and expressing hopes that things were going well. The timing was incredible; the love behind the gift nearly made me cry. Whoever that kind soul was (most likely a young family), that simple gesture changed my perspective on how God has been lifting me constantly these past weeks. Minutes later, I got a call from one of my brothers saying they wanted to reserve and pay for a nice hotel for our brief honeymoon (three days in Salt Lake). Heavenly Father really knows our hearts and our troubles. He really does listen. So rather than a list of downer days and depressing moments, here's a slightly more uplifting catalogue of some of the things I've learned recently as we walk through a land of miracles.

1. Cutting my hair was extremely difficult, but as much as I still miss it, it wasn't as hard to get used to not having it as I thought it might be. And while I hung out in a hat for the first several days, nobody thought I looked ridiculous either with or without the hat. Lesson learned: physical traits really don't have to define us--even if it's hard to deal with being forced to change some of our favorite things about ourselves. PLUS--the awesome wig-making place promised to have my wig done before the wedding! YAY!! It normally takes almost two months, but they were willing to pull a few strings under the circumstances... I'm excited to have my hair back, and it'll be particularly special to have it for my wedding day.

2. Chemo can do really weird things to your body--there were days when I felt lightheaded and swollen, days when I couldn't seem to remember even simple things like my credit card number, days when I ached all over as if I'd climbed a mountain, and days where I hovered through fevers and insomnia. But amazingly, it still wasn't as awful as I thought it might be. Don't get me wrong--it was HARD--but none of the side effects last that long. And my favorite part was when I started feeling normal again and learned to appreciate the benefit of good health.

3. Mouth sores are seriously awful business. When the doctor mentioned that as a potential side effect, I dismissed it thinking, "I've had plenty of cankers in my day--not a problem." Oh man...I got only one mouth sore on the bottom of my tongue, but it was a beast. It got infected, and with zero white blood cells to fight it, that thing hung around for days in an extremely painful state. I couldn't eat anything but bland purée for almost a week, and I developed a lot of empathy for people who get jaw surgery or who regularly struggle with painful sores in their mouths. And the good part inside this hard thing? It eventually did go away--and I learned to take better care of my mouth. We are now well-equipped with all sorts of mouth washes and medicines, and we are going to fight those suckers the instant they give me trouble in the future!

Sporting my temporary fake wig at the shower

4. People are really awesome. I got flowers three times in the past couple of weeks, cards from all sorts of kind souls, surprise visits from friends, family, and neighbors, and a truly special Thanksgiving with foods tailored to my special chemo diet. My family is a marvel--my mom in particular makes a huge effort to find fun things for me to eat and keep me healthy and happy. I also had a wonderful bridal shower last weekend with so many dear friends braving a crazy snow storm to be with me. I continue to receive kind messages of support on Facebook and through email, and everyone always mentions they are praying for me. It means a lot, friends. I've cried a lot in the past weeks, and it's only rarely been from sadness.

5. I started losing my hair about a week ago, and it's a little gross. I feel like I'm wearing extra furry sweaters all the time--especially around the collar. Poor Roby quickly learned that kissing my head is a bad idea unless he wants a mouthful of fluff. But, in spite of the hairiness, I'm actually relieved about the way it's been falling out. So many people told me it would fall out in clumps, and I was terrified to wake up with huge bald spots. Apparently, though, the particular chemo I'm on causes hair to thin in a more natural way. So while it's falling out a lot (especially since I have a ton of hair), it's still just looking progressively thinner. It's a lot less of a shock this way, and I'm really grateful it hasn't been worse.

6. I love snow--especially in December. It makes everything look clean and beautiful and magical. And this year, it's been even more fun than usual, because Roby has been transformed into a little boy by it! He doesn't see a lot of snow in the south of Italy, and he is constantly overjoyed every time it starts snowing. Even though it's too cold to play around in it much or even go for walks, Roby still bundled up a few times to stand outside in the falling snow. He's too adorable.

7. Being in love is wonderful--no matter how I feel physically, having Roby around always makes me feel better. And of all the blessings and miracles I've witnessed recently, his support is one of the most invaluable things for me. I'm pretty excited to get married in 15 days. :) Who wouldn't be with a guy like this?!

Even chemo days can be happy days.

Seven is a good number, so we'll leave it at that. Just know, friends, that things are good because God is good. I feel His support and love through your support and love. Thank you for being there for me.

Wrong Roads

I've heard several Utahns say that this year has been one of the prettiest falls they've ever seen. I have to agree with them--I don't think I've ever seen so many brilliant colors lining the streets and dotting the valley. I've also discovered that there is something strangely satisfying about raking up all of those beautiful colors into manageable piles. In some ways, uncovering the still-green grass is like cleaning up a messy bedroom. Or maybe it's more like finding some order and sense when nothing else seems neat or tidy in my life.

Since I last wrote, things got tipped a bit upside down. Although the Huntsman Cancer Institute was amazing, we got a call from them a couple days after my visit to inform me that my out-of-pocket cost would be astronomical because they weren't part of my insurance network. Friends and family started donating funds almost immediately, but I just felt confused and unsure what to do next. That same week, we also met with a reproductive endocrinologist to discuss my chances of infertility post-treatment, and I was unexpectedly faced with two extremely difficult decisions that never would have crossed my mind: is it worth the money to receive the right treatment? And did I want to risk never having children? My first wave of optimism started to dwindle a bit, and everything began feeling terrifying and wrong and generally like everyone was talking about someone else that I'd never met.

Have you ever done something that seemed perfectly logical but that a very deep part of you just didn't feel right about? It's a disconcerting feeling and honestly makes me really grouchy. In a way, I feel like time stood still for weeks when all I wanted was to be quickly progressing forward and getting all of this behind me sooner. We spent so much time with doctors and exploring treatment options that I began to feel like I had a new part-time job. Frustratingly, though, we couldn't seem to get things to match up with the right treatment at the right price. So, as we explored care options, Roby and I decided to head down the path of embryo preservation, even though we were unsure it was the right decision. We also tried to keep things light by taking advantage of the beautiful fall--raking leaves regularly, having photo shoots with my sister, getting my bridal pictures done before I lose my hair.

Waiting, though, was terrible. My type of cancer, HER2 positive, just so happens to be the kind that grows like a wild thing and has a hankering to spread everywhere. Every time I had a slight pain in my leg or back or stomach, I'd panic and wonder if that meant the cancer had spread. Being a tense person, headaches aren't an unusual thing for me, but suddenly even the smallest twinge in my temples had me thinking of the horrors of brain cancer and Gamma Knife therapy. (Yeah...I've done a lot of reading and research...) I remember telling Roby one night that I felt like by waiting and undergoing the long-ish process to save embryos, I would be choosing between the possibility of metastasis with its lifelong problems and not having children. No one should have to choose between death and creation. And while I recognize that that's being a bit dramatic, I felt pretty awful.

Fortunately, after many prayers and fasts from more people than I ever believed possible, things started to come together last week. Following some failed doctor visits, we were leaning towards switching back to Huntsman and dealing with the cost. We had also received a packet of hormone shots to begin prepping my body for an egg harvest. But I still felt like something was off. On Monday night of last week, Roby and I watched this video clip by one of my favorite LDS leaders and speakers, Elder Jeffrey R. Holland. As he talked about right and wrong roads and the confusion of finding the best path, I realized we were on the wrong road--a couple of them, to be precise. It was hard to let go when I felt like so much was riding on these decisions, but I turned to Roby and tearfully told him that I felt we needed to change directions. He had felt the same thing. After watching that movie and coming to that conclusion, everything felt better, and the pieces began to fall into place.

We had found a doctor that we really loved who wouldn't cost a fortune, but she hadn't prescribed the chemotherapy that we felt good about. We visited with her again last Wednesday in hopes she'd change her mind, and the first thing she said when she walked in to see us is that she had reconsidered. After researching the new treatment I wanted (it's only been available for about a year), she felt it would be both good and right for me. She also confirmed that my chances of infertility were not as high as we were originally told, and she felt that owing to my younger age, we would be fine as long as we were careful. I immediately felt like there was nothing left to do but schedule my first chemotherapy for a week later--that day being today.

So here we are--D-day, as it were. Part of me is relieved to finally get on the path to recovery, because even though a scan last Friday confirmed that there isn't a wild cancer-spreading party going on inside of me, the tumor is still a nasty little beast that is starting to cause increasing pain and discomfort in its localized area. But the other part of me is very frightened. I still have so many questions and unknowns: will I feel nauseated? What's it like to be too tired to walk up a flight of stairs? Will it get that bad? How will I feel when I have to look at myself in the mirror? Is it bad to want to avoid seeing myself without hair? I can't be brave all the time--there is still a little girl inside of me who has never before been sick with more than a cold or stomach flu, never been hospitalized, never even broken a bone or had stitches (until two weeks ago when they put in my chemo port). And now, here I am, scheduling the days when I'll feel horribly sick and lose the hair that has been a significant part of my life and identity for 29 years. There have been many times when I've lain my head on Roby's chest and

cried until I couldn't cry anymore. I'm intensely grateful that he's an emotional and psychological counselor (as in literally--it's his chosen profession).

I know that this is a challenge that God wants me to take on with faith. I also still know that He is in charge and is guiding all of our steps and even missteps. Of course, that doesn't mean that things will always be sunny and cheerful and awesome. It just means that we are embarking on an incredible journey that will teach us many crucial life lessons. Friends, I'd like to invite you all to come along on this journey with me and Roby. I can't promise to post everything, and I don't know how often I'll feel up to posting. But I do know that having your support along the way will make everything feel better.

Welcome to the 5%

I'm sorry to interrupt our scheduled programming and I'm also sorry for leaving you all at a moment of suspense in my little story. I've been caught in a bit of a whirlwind these past weeks, and nearly all my thoughts and energies have been consumed in its wake. I promise to resume the love story soon, but right now, I'm wide awake at 4 a.m. with a desperate need to tell you all about something else.

Did you know that October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month? I didn't, actually, until last Monday when I was sitting next to Roby on the Paris/Salt Lake City flight, and the stewardess accompanied my orange juice with a pink-lettered napkin. "Take flight in the fight against breast cancer," it said. How ironic--because that's exactly what we were doing.

No surprises or cliff-hangers here, folks: just the overwhelming truth. Last Friday, I was diagnosed with a malignant tumor in my breast.

Roby was in Lyon with me. We'd arranged his first visit there over a month before, and somehow all I can think is that God knew I would need him desperately that day. I'd recently completed a cycle of antibiotics to treat what the doctor assumed was an unusual infection. But when the swelling didn't completely disappear, he ordered a biopsy. The results sent both me and Roby to the States within just a few days. He only had a week's worth of clothes and had to make special arrangements with a police officer friend to get his passport sent to him. Miraculously, everything still fell into place for us to be together--just as it always has. I have no doubt in my mind that I'm marrying the best man in this world. If you hadn't already guessed the end to my love story, I apologize for spoiling things a little...

We had an appointment at the Huntsman Cancer Institute yesterday--it's the premier location in the West for those needing treatment and all that goes with it. I arrived at 10:30 with a small entourage--Roby, my mom, one of my sisters--clutching a shiny, red folder filled with half-translated exams and images and results. Medical French is complicated...but I've learned a fair amount this past month. Six hours later, completely exhausted and in a bit of pain from having become a temporary pin-cushion, I left. All of our minds were spinning with the information that had bombarded us all day: starting chemo therapy treatments as soon as possible, getting surgery in a few months, undergoing genetic testing because 29 year-olds don't usually get breast cancer, learning that treatments could make me infertile. And then, for me, the real kicker: facing the reality of losing my hair. I think that last one deserves a post of its own. I'll go there another day.

I'm still struggling with jet lag right now, and can't believe I'm having to make decisions that I never even knew people had to make. I'm not even supposed to be here. I should be in France, missing my fiancé following his first visit to our future home. I should be teaching a math or a French or a history lesson. I should be sending messages to my mom about what kind of flowers I decided to have for my wedding. Nothing seems real. To be honest, I've been running away inside my mind. But I guess I can't run away forever when I suddenly have dozens of people telling me what I have to do and what's going to happen.

Apparently, only 5% of breast cancer patients are under the age of 40. I don't know how I won those odds. I've never won anything.

But that's enough. Let's get all of that awful, depressing stuff out of the way. I have to tell you, friends--wholeheartedly and without hesitation--that even though this is very hard and frightening and derailing, I don't doubt for one moment that God is aware of me. I want you all to know that I am not bitter about this. I'm scared out of my mind at times, but I am also unendingly grateful to be surrounded by people--angels--who love me. And while I could be asking why this is happening now--two months before our wedding--I'm mostly just grateful that I don't have to go through any of this without the love of my life by my side. God knows what He's doing;
I am grateful for His timing.

Remember how I said my love story is all about faith and healing and learning to trust? It's all still true. I just didn't know that I had a new plot twist around the corner which would further try my faith, build my trust, and add a different layer to the idea of being healed.

Six years ago today, I met a brand new 25-year-old Italian missionary. Now, in two months and two days, we will be getting married. Everything else is just a wrinkle in our plans. We are going to make it. In the meantime, we would love your prayers.