Track 2

Just some of that fab support network & fav wedding pic. 

Jason has always been an incredible man to me. Why else would I marry him? I didn't need to see him combat cancer over and over to know what he was capable of, I knew he was worthy of this life! He and I fell in love becoming best friends in college, as we both were figuring out how to manage our lives and become adults in this world. I went to Michigan State University and graduated in the College of Education. He decided to fulfill his lifelong dream of fighting crime when he heard the criminal justice program and Police Academy at Lansing Community College call his name. We both pursued childhood goals and had remarkable friends and family to love and support us all along the way. Nobody was surprised when one Christmas Eve, Jason finally popped the question and we were set to get hitched. It was just meant to be from the start.

December 2010 - A chemo we will go. 

Jason and I actually waited quite a while to have the wedding, though. Much like a lot of things with the two of us, we don’t rush into much. We tend to bide our time, wait for the right moment, make a plan. It was important to be sure school was out of the way for me, a job was lined up, my master’s degree was in progress, and my first year of teaching was under my belt before we walked down the aisle. Everything needed to be just right so when we decided to have that houseful of babies we dreamed of we’d have no worries, or when we wanted to travel, we could do just that, or just in case we wanted to remodel the kitchen in our first home, it was no problem. Little did I know, the track we were laying out, the one we’d been planning for all this time, wasn't the one that we would necessarily follow. The plan was in place, though and that was enough for me back then – I had my guy and we were very happy together.

Enter cancer. And it had other plans for our life.

Summer of radiation, 2011. Maddy was turning 6. 

In the year of Jason’s diagnosis everything we’d ever known about our lives, ourselves, and our future was challenged. I think Jason confronted some old beliefs about himself, even – about how much he could endure, just how brave he could be, and what he could and would do in order to survive this disease. We learned, we loved, and we grew together into a family living with cancer. We've grown stronger for it and that is a great thing.

After Jason’s lung surgery in September of 2010, chemotherapy was once again in order. So, that December , he began the next six month bout of cancer-killing drugs, a lighter round this time though, since it didn't contain the harsh drug oxaliplatin like the first round, though other ones that complicated life a bit, to be sure, were added. Dr. Rapson added a new infusion treatment called Avastin, which would continue even after the 12 cycles of chemotherapy were complete. Avastin’s job is to slow the growth of new blood vessels that feed tumors, essentially to stop the spread of any cancer through the body. The drugs may have been a little ‘lighter,’ but they did affect him and his body, and of course his mind and emotions. He had symptoms, but as always – he didn't complain - to you, to his coworkers, or to his boss – he worked through it, he lived through it, he raised Maddy through it because if he did not, life would have gone on living without him through it and that would not do, it just wouldn't. The track we were on seemed to be a good one for the time being. We had a plan with Dr. Rapson and we felt good about it.

A true Avett fan! 

Unfortunately, that time was short lived. Though Jason’s PET Scans during and right after chemotherapy had shown good results, promising results even, the June scan was not in our favor. The results showed an increase in activity in his lung - again. Another day that will go down in our cancer history was when Jason called me, yet again on one of the final days of school. With tears in my eyes and a quiver in my voice, I had to let some good friends & co-workers know things were ‘just fine,’ because at that point I had no plan, we didn't anticipate this at all. Just an increase in activity and a bunch of ideas swirling in my head. if I started to speak, those ideas would become a weepy mess of tears and snot.

The activity increase wasn't a lot, but enough, of course. Just enough to be bugged about, to look into, to worry about, and yes, to treat. This time, that summer, the summer of 2011 – now two years from the initial diagnosis - Jason’s treatment was radiation.  So Jason began a six-week course of daily radiation therapy, which was said to be very effective. In fact, two PET scans later proved just that – activity in the lung was decreasing. All was right in our world and we were back on track ready to make plans - yet again.

Our family has a favorite band, as many of you know. Jason and I have seen The Avett Brothers in concert a number of times and we've even taken Maddy to one of their shows. Maddy and I share a favorite song on their most recent album called Live and Die. She never remembers the name of the song and instead calls it Track 2, its place on the album, which is perfect. Every time I hear this song, I consider how perfectly it aligns with my life. The Avett Brothers, unbeknownst to them (unless of course they've read all the stalker mail I've sent… just kidding… hee, hee… hee), have gotten me through a lot of emotional situations these last years; they are my go-to band for emotional rescue and that song is a great reminder of our journey and our growth.

On the surface & in the first lines the song reminds us, “all it'll take is just one moment, and you can say goodbye to how we had it planned.” The path Jason, Maddy, and I were on was far different than the one we originally planned and because of these deviations we could not control we've made some huge adjustments to our life plan. And we've learned a lot along the way - every time something new has been thrown our way, every time life has handed us a lemon – or a scan with increased activity, we've adjusted. More than anything we've learned a lot about each other, about other people, the human condition – and about how to survive by leaning on each other. And like the song continues to remind me, we always have each other. Just about the only thing that has gotten us through all of this, is to always come back to us, our center, to find one another, love one another and push through it – much like when Jason first popped the question way back when and we knew that it was just meant to be – our family, our friends and the people we love are about the only certain things we have in this uncertain world and so we know we must lean on each other during the most difficult times -

and these have been our most difficult times.

No matter what cancer throws at us, or life gives us. No matter which track we are on, we will always have each other.

The Cancer Club

At some point when Jason was going through the first round of chemotherapy, I met a woman whose husband had been battling cancer for five years. Five years, I thought, that is incredible. And at that time, I actually thought, Wow, I am so glad that Jason will be done after this round. So naïve. I had no idea what we were up against. The power cancer has over the body, and the mind.

Our little tumor, the one that had stowed away up in Jason’s lung for we don’t know how long had to be taken care of – the sooner the better. Dr. Rapson had allowed us the time to take our vacation (our biggest and only real vacation ever was just like Disney told us it would be – a Dream) and the little bugger had been biopsied. It was clear that the tumor was not new disease but the same old colon cancer nestling itself further into Jason’s body, so we were ready for the next steps – surgery. We were set up with a thoracic surgeon and we were ready to fight – again.

Surgery was scheduled for the end of August. Once again, Maddy and I were starting our school year with Jason under some sort of medical duress.  Just the year before Maddy had started preschool and a few weeks later Jason began chemotherapy. This year it would be her first year of kindergarten and her Daddy would be recovering from lung surgery. As a teacher, I know how the stress of a child’s home life can be a concern, so it was important for me to speak with her teacher about the happenings at home even though we, thankfully, had so much support for her. As I explained to her teacher and classroom aid the events of our life in the last year, I started out smooth, then blubbered through the tears in the last half of my account as they hugged me and let me know that they would be sure to tell me if Maddy acted strangely, seemed needy, or odd in any way. With all of our supports in place, were ready to get this show on the road!

First lung surgery, 2010. 

So we went. To surgery. One more time. Again our family, some friends, and our pastor, too, found ourselves huddled together in the hospital waiting room - praying, making small talk, pacing, shedding quiet tears -  after Jason was sent behind the scenes to have the lower left lobe of his lung resected in order for the malignant tumor and margins to be removed. Hours later he emerged, the carcinoma gone, but a chest tube attached to his body that wouldn't be removed for days as it would need to continue to drain fluids & aid in the healing process. And Jason in a lot of pain would continue to work toward healing for days. 

The challenges for Jason in the days ahead were many, most not even up to him to get over, but for his body to work through. The tube attached to his body and that followed his every move was not easy to maneuver, not easy to work with and sleeping was near impossible. At the same rate, he wanted to get home, so he worked hard to take his walks, work with the nurses and techs, and do what needed to be done to rebuild his health. After close to a week, the chest tube finally came out and he was released, even though his body held a slight fever earlier in the day. Little did we know, that fever was a sign, possibly one that said we should have stayed. Certainly a forewarning, we now know that for certain. 

In the days ahead there were some bright spots for Jason. Being home provided him with a few opportunities that he wouldn't have had if he’d been at work or in the hospital. The week ahead was Maddy’s very first day of kindergarten and he was able to be a part of that - he got to see her at her first day of school, off the bus and hear her stories all week – quite needed after a week in the hospital. But, as the week drew on, it became evident he wasn't feeling any better since his surgery, in fact he was worsening, every day. He had developed a cough, a deep pneumonia – like cough that was worrisome and he complained of a pain in his chest that simply wouldn't go away, no matter how much he tried. Worry set in for both of us that something had gone terribly wrong with Jason’s recovery.

Off the bus for the first time, 2010.

Finally, we decided to go to the ER late one evening. We sat there all night while they ran some tests, and was finally admitted into the hospital. Sure enough, something was wrong. And as the night wore on, Jason wilted. His health seemed to get worse as the minutes ticked on. In fact, he barely remembers the night at all. The time we spent in the ER, he was in and out of consciousness, and I was in and out of my mind. Jason’s lung, the one that was operated on less than a week before had a post-op complication - an abscess. At the time of admittance nobody would tell us, maybe they didn't know, what the abscess was -  just that he would need to undergo a second incision to drain it. Another surgery.

Eventually Jason perked from the fluids and the meds, some of his family gathered with me and we prepared ourselves for yet another round of prayer and meditation to get him through surgery. And we did. And he did. And here he was again with a chest tube in, constantly waiting for the meds to kick in & get the right pain medication balance, and hoping to get home so he could move on with his life. Unfortunately, this stint in the hospital was not as smooth as the first, if you could say the first lung surgery was smooth – his pain management was a disaster, requiring much more this time around given that this was his second surgery in less than a month, and also requiring a patient advocate to help with many issues that were endured. Our daughter, just five years old at the time, though very well taken care of with her grandparents and family friend was having a really hard time with us being gone and her daddy in the hospital again and we both were feeling saddened over it all. It was a terrible time for us.

Eventually the doctors let us in on the secret - Jason had two types of bacterial infections causing the abscess in his lung - Staphylococcus & Streptococcus, though how he got them we will never know. Due to the nature of the infections, he was immediately started on heavy antibiotics in the hospital and was required to continue the medications at home. After a week of pain and discomfort and Jason was finally discharged, a visiting nurse came to the house to administer the first doses and to show me how to manage the antibiotics intravenously through Jason’s port - one of the most nerve-wracking things I have ever done! So each day for two weeks I ran home after work to get there in time to get those IV antibiotics in his system in time. What a time that was, another blip in our cancer story for sure. 

First day of kindergarten, 2010. 

I had no idea when I heard about that woman and her husband where our story would take us, but never could I imagine it would be the chapter I just retold. Who could envision these painful details for themselves or their loved ones? Unfortunately, after five years of battling cancer, her husband lost his fight with cancer and boy do I ever think of them often - pray for both of them and wish it wasn't so. Cancer not only has a power over the body, but the mind as well and I know what they must have gone through in those years. Cancer patients and those that care for them belong to a unique club that nobody wants to be admitted into, and those that are in it understand each other and their adversities very well.  Unfortunately this club isn't one you apply to, one you don’t ever ask to be a part of and once you are in, you constantly pray that you are somehow one of the lucky ones, and for others in it, as well. Because prayers don’t run short in this club.

Unfortunately, our story still doesn't end here. Like that woman and her husband, our diagnosis was just the start of a long journey. And we are still praying to get out of this club.

Here We Go Again

Our first & only real vacation together as a family! 

When chemotherapy came to an end in late winter of 2010, we felt that we could breathe again. Winter was rough, as I’d said in my last post. We took each chemo cycle one at a time, bit by bit and just as we got it figured out, just as Jason understood how to manage those symptoms – we were just about finished. That was fine with us, we couldn't wait to have the whole experience behind us, and move on with our lives. Little did we know, it wasn't done with us – as much as we wanted to move on, we had more work to do.

Chemo ended close to Jason’s birthday that year, so for me it meant a lot that we had him done with chemo and that well, we had him. Even when Jason said to me, “I’m not going to die from cancer,” worry tore through me each time I saw him in those chemo chairs tied up to those machines, or even in the happy times, playing with Maddy – wondering every time just how many of those times we had left. My mind did go there from time to time and it killed me to think about what would happen to Maddy, to us, to me - without him. My heart still breaks when I think about it. And I’ll be honest - it still goes there from time to time. Unfortunately.

En route to Disney - we took the long way!

As people do when they “hit it big,” we wanted to do something big. People asked us, “Now that you've had cancer, what are you going to do?” How else can you answer that - “We’re going to Disney World!” And so we booked a trip, then scrimped, and saved and planned to take Maddy for her 5^th birthday, as a big surprise to her and all in celebration for “getting over” the worst year of our lives. Something we all deserved. We felt like we’d won the lotto and we had so much ahead of us, much to rejoice!

It was a wonderful spring. We spent time with family and friends and Jason let his hair grow back. We involved ourselves in church, in the community, and in having fun… and we planned for that Disney trip. Jason was able to go to work symptom free for a while, and I was able to end the school year without the stress of making sub plans every other week in preparation for his treatments or without worry or the pressure of having a sick husband at home to take care, or so I thought.

So glad we had these memories. 

Fast forward to the very last day of my school year, 2010. Jason called with results from the most recent PET scan that had been ordered from Dr. Rapson. The PET scan covered his whole body from neck down - a small bit of activity had been found in his left lower lobe of his lung. And to think I thought we were all done with this cancer thing.  I literally quit talking for a moment.  What could I say? Even as I type this it takes me back to that moment in time. I can see exactly where I am, exactly what was happening as if I am outside of my body. My friend Tanya and I share a wall between our classrooms that collapses. That day it was separated. I remember getting off the phone and avoiding her because I simply didn't know what to say, didn't know how to say anything just yet. Tanya and I rarely quit talking.

Eventually I had to speak and tell. Telling made it real. Real made it awful.

The next few weeks Jason may as well have been abducted by aliens, he was poked and prodded so many times. His next step was a biopsy of the lung and then a number of other scans and tests. It was necessary to determine where that little spot came from – was it metastasized from the colon cancer or was it newly developed lung cancer?  Dr. Rapson wanted an MRI of his brain to check for possible tumors there – a scary thought to be sure, and a few other tests to be certain he was clean, that there were no other tumors anywhere else in his body.

I've said it before and I’ll say it again – the wait that comes with cancer is dreadful! At this time we were waiting for so much at one time. We hoped that the cancer wasn't a new one, for if it was it seemed anything was possible. We prayed that there was nothing growing in his brain (I tried to tell them the answer to that one!) and we had faith that nothing new was in his colon or surrounding organs. But still, the wait was insane!

Involving ourselves in everything!

In my life, only a few times have I melted to the floor in sobbing tears. Because of Jason’s illness and this life we've been living, I've shed many tears – plenty of times I have just cried and cried. I've cried silently, I've blubbered tears of stress, I have wept with Maddy, with Jason, with family and friends, and plenty of times I've suddenly burst into tears - letdown from it all, I suppose. I have held many back as I have cared for him and cared for Maddy. It is amazing how a person is able to wipe tears away when a job needs to get done, saving them for later. But when Jason called me to tell me that his brain was clear, there were no tumors, I got off the phone with him and sobbed. There was a weight on my shoulders that when I sat down and let it out – it all came out, in great, big sobbing waves of tears. It was such a relief!

Within days we found out that Jason’s tumor was quite small, barely able to even have biopsied. Nevertheless, it was and it was cancer. The results were in his favor as far as cancer goes, I suppose. As it turns out the colon cancer had metastasized and made its way up to his lung. Darn cancer. The other good news was there were no other tumors to be found. And something had to be done and the quicker the better. 

Once again our life would be turned upside down all thanks to cancer.

Major surgery number 2… here we go again.

Life Doesn't Get Easier, You Just Get Stronger

Prior to Jason beginning chemotherapy, a lot of healing needed to occur. His body required healing, and our hearts needed a rest, too. We had just been through so much emotional upheaval in our home and it had been exhausting. In just two months, Jason was diagnosed with colon cancer, had undergone one surgery to remove a good section of his large intestine, another to procure possible future Gooleys, and even another to place a port in his chest for chemotherapy. We had been under a lot of stress already, needed a break and had a lot yet coming. We knew the next six months we needed to rally to support each other – life was about to get tough!

At work, many don't even know he is sick. 

When we spoke with Dr. Rhapson we were happy to know that she was very well received with her peers and patients alike. She had an amazing reputation and an awesome bedside manner. I’ll never forget the first time we consulted with her. She said, “So colon cancer, huh? Well, crap!” We had an immediate bond with her and have appreciated her ever since. Not only do we respect her opinion, but we know that she is moving forward with our future in mind. The ‘Doc,’ as she is often called in office, treats her patients with compassion, dignity and respect - and hires & trains staff to do the same, that all her patients have great esteem for her. We were relieved to find a doctor we felt comfortable with, especially since we had such a haul ahead of us. 

Jason was ordered 12 cycles of chemotherapy, for his particular type of cancer – Colon Cancer, Stage III. The tumor removed had grown quite large, the size of a walnut, had invaded the colon wall, and had invaded the lymphatic system – it was in two lymph nodes. His cancer was a beast.

A rub for luck. 

Jason began chemotherapy September 23 of that year with Eloxatin, brand name for a chemotherapy drug called oxaliplatin, a platinum-based anticancer drug. Oxaliplatin is given in combination with other drugs, 5-fluorouracil plus leucovorin (5FU/LV) and has some pretty nasty side effects.  He went in every other Wednesday where he sat in the infusion center at Red Cedar Oncology and was sent home with a pump. He came back the next day, Thursday, for a few more hours of infusion fun and was sent home again with another pump. Finally, after a full 48 hours of being infused with toxic drugs to kill the cancer cells in his system, the portable infusion pump was taken out of his port, his port was flushed, and he was sent home free of the tether that bound him to the drugs that made him ill - though he wasn't free from sickness for the weekend, or the week for that matter. He would try to battle the nausea, exhaustion, and the irritability that came with the chemotherapy drugs, the steroids, anti - nausea medications, other treatments and all the other issues that came with the management of this disease. It was a wicked time for all of us, especially since we had a four year old to try to make life somewhat normal for at home.

A tender moment. 

For six full months, Jason completed chemotherapy and then tried to bounce back to normal the following Monday morning for work - through the pain and side effects of it all. Every Monday morning. Six Months. Chemotherapy.  He was pretty miserable, to say the least, but managed to take as few sick days as possible yet very few people heard about the nauseousness he was feeling at the beginning of the week, the  neuropathy, (tingling & numbness) in his fingers and toes, or about the gastrointestinal issues he had nearly all the time. He just didn't complain, especially at work.

This first round of chemo, there were a number of officers in his department that donated sick days to him. Jason had been an officer there just about five years so did not have enough days to cover lost time & wages from a surgery and all that was needed to get him through the chemotherapy, too. Those sick days were a blessing to our family and we are forever grateful to those who donated. At the same time, at my own job, teachers throughout my district did the same for me so I could take him to treatments and appointments.

Love & laughter - Daddy Warbucks

Incredible, giving, beautiful people we work with! We are thankful for them daily!

Jason’s ability to manage this life has always astounded me, especially given the side effects of the different treatments. He has faced this head on and we have stood by him, of course will stand by him every step of the way. Just before this first round of chemo, our friends, in honor of Jason, shaved their heads in anticipation of Jason losing his hair. People say in times like these they find out who their friends truly are. We did. They haven’t let us down.

Our life did get tough. And I think our skin got thicker right along with it – we got stronger. We cried a lot, but we didn't stop laughing, either. I’m not going to lie – this first round of chemo was nothing I’d ever prepared myself for and nothing I’d ever imagined my life to be. But, we had each other and a great bunch of friends and family and we were working our way through this one day at a time together! Thank God for each other!

Twists & Turns

Just before Jason's surgery. 

 When you share your life story, it is hard to determine just what to hold back and what to tell those around you, even those that want to listen. It’s been easy in sharing Maddy’s story, on my Maddy’s Seven Year Itch peanut desensitization page, because that one is easy. Our daughter has recently 'overcome' her peanut allergy that she’s had all of her life. She’s been insanely brave - to eat the very thing that was poison to her in order to trick her body into tolerating it. The whole process was completed with a board certified allergist and has been a blessing for our family, especially for her – no more worry of losing her to a peanut or cross-contamination with peanut butter! That story has been nothing short of miraculous, pretty easy to tell, really! Our cancer story, on the other hand has not been easy, a little more delicate and quite difficult to tell. It has been downright hard at times, actually. Right from the get-go it has been a difficult process – an emotional roller coaster with twists, turns, and lots of highs and lows -  with plenty of stops for maintenance, too!

The whirlwind of events after Jason’s colon resection surgery was unreal. The first thing we needed to do was find an oncologist that could help us create a plan for Jason’s wellness. The tumor that had invaded Jason’s body was a pretty rotten thing – about the size of a walnut, had invaded the colon wall, entered the surrounding lymph nodes, and as we would find out later - had spread to other organs in the body. This disease had not just attacked Jason’s colon; it attacked our life and we needed to prepare ourselves for a fight!

Dr. Carol Rapson of Red Cedar Oncology came highly recommended. We’d had some bad luck with doctors recently, so even as high as our hopes were for her, our expectations were low. We went in thinking and knowing that if we didn't like her or didn't like the plan, we’d walk away. Jason’s health is simply too important, our family too important, for us to mess around with incompetent doctors. Fortunately, though, that is not at all what we found there.

August 2009. 

Before this diagnosis, Jason and I finally felt that we had a few things in our life figured out – Maddy, nearing four years old, wanted a sibling and after unlocking the combination on some fertility issues, we were ready to expand our little family. We’d been in our careers for a number of years by that time and Jason was ready to try for a promotion. We were to the point in our lives, finally, that we could maybe start a few projects in our home and had even gotten a family dog just the previous year. We were settling into our lives. Cancer not only was disrupting that entirely but we didn't have a cancer plan - who does? Dr. Rapson looked at us and immediately understood what mattered to us and knew that we were concerned for our future.

Unfortunately, that plan had to include a few other surgeries, a number of other doctors and specialists and a lot of discussion. A lot of big discussions about the future of our family. Here’s where we start to get into those delicate details that may make people uncomfortable. Flashback to Dr. McKenna, ‘local surgeon extraordinaire.’ When we had gone to him we had great big hopes, obviously. He also had been recommended to us by both our family doctor and a family member who’d asked her friends for personal referrals. We felt comfortable with this move but also felt rushed as this tumor ate away at Jason’s colon. As I said in my last blog entry, this surgeon let us know about possible complications of the colon resection surgery during our consultation appointment. The only complications he spoke of were ones related to frequency and urgency in using the bathroom. I specifically asked him about complications of this surgery and he said that the only complications Jason would have were these, and then continued to speak of the surgery specifics. As we went in to the surgery less than a week later, we never considered the fact that we would need to think about the future of our family or that this particular surgery would or could alter that outcome.

As it turned out, Jason’s surgeon neglected to mention to us a fairly common complication of his colon resection surgery – nerve damage. I’ll spare you the specific details of what it means exactly for him, just know that Dr. McKenna’s slip up in the operating room, took away our chance to expand our little family naturally. This nerve damage never occurred to us. At. All. At this time, with everything else going on, it was another blow. Another dip on that roller coaster ride. There were so many slopes that this ride was turning my stomach more and more and more than anything, I just wanted to get off the ride.

June 2009 - Our little family!

The fact that Jason was about to begin chemotherapy meant that his reproductive health could be compromised anyway, that was clear, and as Dr. Rapson would suggest later, arrangements should be made in case his fertility became affected anyway, but Dr. McKenna created issues that made this a much more complicated, difficult, and a far more expensive situation. This surgeon, took something away from us much quicker than we anticipated and without letting us know any options before we could make plans. We set up a meeting with a urologist and another surgery was scheduled and completed. Again, we found our hopes, and options were not made clear and as I found out – after the surgery and much too late, our ‘bank’ is not as much as I’d hoped. Enough for a few rounds of in vitro fertilization, certainly not enough for artificial insemination – think test tube vs. turkey baster. Test tubes are much more expensive and take much more ‘bank’ than turkey basters and when you have no ‘bank,’ (either sperm or money), than your options are limited. Our roller coaster was looking to have far more downs than ups. 

At that point we had to let the ride keep moving,though,  even if it was a little shaky and simply not what we were expecting, Jason’s health, and the happiness of the child we had at home were of the utmost importance. So, we counted our blessings and we moved on; and we continue to count them each day as our journey, our roller coaster ride, continues. We knew that we needed to figure out the next step for his well-being and start chemotherapy. We would determine what was right for us and our family as life happened.  Little did we know that we would be hopping on and off this roller coaster ride a number of times in the next couple of years. That is the way living with cancer works, though. Heck, that is the way life works – it keeps surprising you, twists and turns and all!

Best Laid Plans

4th of July with friends!

I’ll never forget the day, even if the exact date escapes me - July of 2009 – after the 4^th, but a few weeks before Maddy’s fourth birthday.  Jason had been having some strange symptoms which were getting worse and had finally peaked Fourth of July weekend at a friend’s cottage, our annual get-together with our college buddies. So, a few interesting doctor visits were scheduled. First of all, some blood loss he’d had from these “strange symptoms” resulted in a worried conversation with a nurse that simply couldn’t believe he was able to stand. He had ridiculously low hemoglobin levels so was to go in immediately the next day for a blood transfusion and his first trip to the gastroenterologist was also scheduled. This particular doctor visit is the day that is etched in my mind.

Breakfast in bed - a Gooley tradition!

Jason, his mother and I traveled together to Michigan Gastroenterology. She was nervous but I wasn’t – how could anything be wrong? Jason had made the mistake of looking up worst case scenarios on the internet and quickly decided it wasn’t in our best interest to continue that way of thinking, as a detective he is a worrier by trade and habit, but we talked ourselves out of that, a little.  We were fairly positive that his issue would be fixed quickly and we’d move on easily from this; we had a life to live.

Our questions were answered in a matter of minutes. Dr.Weatherhead is not only a great doctor, but an efficient one as well. He had Jason in and out and answers for us in no time. Unfortunately, they were answers we simply did not want to hear, ones that did not fit into our life plan. Cancer. The Big C.

The doctor quickly explained that he’d found a mass in Jason’s colon that was much larger than a polyp and that surgery would be required. Within minutes, our entire world changed. 

1st skates for her birthday!

This didn’t make any sense to us. We had a three-year old at home. We'd been trying for a second baby and though had been having difficulties, had just been given the all clear from the fertility specialist after my own minor surgery. We had plans and CANCER did not fit into those plans. Jason was 32 years old and had no health problems; just your average guy whose 30’s were suiting him just fine - he was a great dad, husband, son, and friend. Cancer just was not going to work for us!

Immediately we were set up with a recommended surgeon, Timothy McKenna, DO, from Mid-Michigan Surgeons. Dr. McKenna explained the surgery and told us his understanding of possible outcomes and we set a date for Jason’s colon resection surgery. July 29^th, just a day before Maddy’s 4^th birthday. Had I to do this over, I would have slowed  this down a bit - for us, for Maddy, and because of the actual outcomes, some we wouldn't know or understand until well later. 

Thankful for Aunt Laura & Grandma who made her day special!

Madeline obviously was just fine having her birthday party anytime – she was going to be 4 - balloons, cake and gifts were on her mind! But as a mommy, uncertainties tore through mine. It was her birthday and she would have to share it with the memory of Daddy in the hospital - what if she remembered that, what if she was upset by that, what if the absolute UNTHINKABLE happened? Worries on my mind, unable to verbalize it all, but weighing me down nonetheless. All I could say was, “but it’s Maddy’s birthday.”

July 29^th came and the anesthesia took Jason down into a deep sleep. The surgeon reported hours later. A number of nail-biting, toe-tapping hours, that even now, make my stomach turn, my heart ache, and create wells of tears in my eyes. Family and friends gathered in those hours offering food, conversation, hugs, shoulders- anything to take my mind off the fact that the love of my life was under the knife. And just like that Dr. McKenna, with very little bedside manner, more of a bedside swagger, said, “Everything went great. As good as we could expect.” 

A treasured memory - at the hospital.

In those hours, about 18 inches of Jason’s colon, or large intestine, were cut out of his body in order to eradicated the walnut-sized tumor eating away at his system. The good news was that he was able to spare the very lower part of his colon, so he would not need a colostomy bag, one of Jason’s greatest fears. The bad news was that the tumor had moved into the colon wall. We’d have to wait to hear if the cancer had spread to the lymph nodes.

One of the very worst parts about cancer is this anticipation - waiting for someone in surgery, expecting your doctor’s call for next steps, the delay between giving blood and getting the results, waiting for PET scans and CT scans, hearing from doctors or nurses with results of any kind. In this case, we were waiting for the pathology report. This report would give us more direction in care, though we were already fairly certain that chemotherapy was going to be the next step – that tumor was a monster! By the end of the week, we were given a more solid answer – of the nine lymph nodes biopsied, two had cancerous cells. To chemo we go!

That was just about four years ago this summer, right as our cancer story began. None of us would ever believe that we would still be fighting this fight, battling cancer, that Jason would be on his third round of chemo today, fighting his third tumor, or staring down the barrel of yet another surgery, yup, his third to remove a tumor. They say three is a charm. Let's pray that it is. Prayer seems to be a recurring theme in our life. Oh yeah,and laughter. Lots and lots of laughter!