Answer #1

I am in awe of the incredible support and love already being poured out to me and my family after sharing about my health junk. There is this recurring feeling that so much goodness is in store. 

I am overwhelmed with gratitude to report the first huge answer to prayer! There has been a cancellation in the surgery schedule which has been offered to me for 03.17.2021. That is NEXT WEEK! It is also the 3rd anniversary in which Jack and I got married in the church. What a relief as the anxiety has gotten the best of me in many ways, along with the pain and sleepless nights. The scheduler said it had been a really busy morning but she felt that I needed to be the one to take the date. Through my tears, she knew it was the right call. Answered prayer. 

There is so much more in store. And we now pray that the surgery is a success with absolutely no evidence of disease. I look forward to sharing all of the ways that God is (and has been) orchestrating such amazing details. 

But for now, I am saying a prayer of thanks. A prayer of thanks to and for all of you as well as for the God of details managing every step of the way.

Can't wait to celebrate on the other side!

Twelve.

Today marks my twelfth cancer-versary. TWELVE years ago, a phone call from my doctor, diagnosing me with Stage III ovarian cancer, forever changing my life. That moment will never be lost in my memory bank. In the first year, there were so many days and moments to process emotions and to get my game plan in place. However, every year after, I have chosen to "celebrate" this day. In some ways it feels like an additional birthday as it is a reminder of another year that the cancer has stayed at bay.

I used to do a little campaign to friends and family on this day to wear teal (#fortheloveofovaries). Scrolling through my Facebook memories, it has been a sweet reminder of so many that have walked in this journey with me. The countless folks that wore teal, or sent photos of something teal, or inspirational quotes. The power of those gestures will always spark a feeling of such joy, strength, and encouragement.

And so today, once again, I set aside some time to think, reflect, and count my blessings. I choose to see this day as a day to stand in solidarity with those fighting in the cancer battle and to honor those that have passed on fighting the good fight. I think of the caregivers. I remember the doctors. And I pray for the families that have lost loved ones to cancer. I know your pain. There aren't words to take that pain away, but I can tell you that cancer can't ever rob you of the memories you shared with those loved ones. Honor them by keeping their stories alive.

Rather than let cancer rob me of joy, I have continued to allow it to be part of my story as a survivor, but survivor's guilt is real. There are often more questions than answers. And the emotions are still a constant navigation.

It seems like yesterday, I was recently engaged and trying to get a fertility plan in place. And so this year takes on new meaning in my cancer journey as I stare at my newborn on the baby monitor while I jot down these thoughts. There is a physical reminder that sleeps in the next room adding another chapter to my continuing story. I guess sometimes things do go as planned (or even better than the plan). This newborn I was told would most likely never come to be, is here and healthy. This miraculous gift of motherhood, I will never take for granted. This baby boy is yet another reason to never give up hope and to know that stories often take unexpected turns that can lead to some of the most rewarding and precious chapters.

So here is to year twelve. For the love of ovaries and another year with gratitude.

3,653 Days.

Ten years. It is crazy to think it has been a decade. I need to let that sit for a minute. Today crept up on me. I mean, I knew the day was coming, but I think I was desperately trying to ignore it. It is hard to admit or even accept that 10 years ago today, I was diagnosed with Stage III Ovarian Cancer, and just a few weeks shy of the huge decade milestone (the day after we got engaged actually), I have learned that the jerk is back. My remaining ovary has joined the cancer party and got itself a tumor and has decided to party it up in there. Jerk.

So as we are in the midst of engagement bliss (no, seriously--this is such a great chapter), we are also facing some serious decision making for our future family. As much as we would love new dishes, towels and pots and pans, can we register for new ovaries? Eggs? Can that please be a thing? It is a strange dichotomy to be planning a wedding but also undergoing fertility treatments. I am trying to keep it kind of out of site, out of mind, but the fridge full of medications is not easy to ignore. Our hopes are to harvest my remaining eggs before having my remaining ovary removed, which also means surgery before the wedding. Not ideal, but it is the best plan of action as of now.

In reflecting on the past decade, I am thankful for all of you that have lent support in these years. For those that sported teal proudly on this day to show your love and to also bring awareness to this silent beast. Each year has been a mixed bag of emotions. Early on in this battle, my support system was small and sporadic. I spent many days (and months) in a fog, feeling ashamed for a diagnosis in which I had zero control. Today, I am fighting my battle with an army. I am blessed by those that have been added to my life to make this journey a joy. I am not fighting this battle alone or behind closed doors. I get to warrior on with battle scars to show that I am a survivor. This jerk doesn't get to win.

We are getting married in April (eeeeeeek!). I get to live a dream. I have the most amazing partner to share life. I will wear my wedding dress even if I am fresh from surgery and my body is not the ideal shape I had hoped for such a day. Who cares? Instead, I am going to focus on God's blessings, all of the good vibes, light, and the love around us. I get to dance with my favorite human surrounded by my village of people that I love and adore. I can't wait.

I am sure that there will be some rough roads ahead with this pending fertility process (while wedding planning). But joys. I will count it all joy.

And to you cancer, I hate you. Your party is almost over. I will conquer it so that a new party can begin.

xo.

Rest Required.

So I am now in the cancer recovery zone from my surgery and barrage of doctor appointments. With an unexpected turn of being put on disability, I have been forced to rest from Dr. K for a few weeks. With skyrocketing blood pressure and the reopening of two incisions, I am now taking in the doctor's orders and find myself now at home most days, watching Netflix and writing, but also pouring my energies into resurrecting my need to create, draw, and paint. Alas, the birth of Paper Velveteen.

On a few attempts, I have tried to pursue my dreams to be an illustrator and children's author, but it always seemed as though life got in the way. Though that dream has evolved some, I am allowing my brush to do work once again. My new space has also been inspiring to do so along with the undivided time to devote. My work desk sits under two windows which gives so much natural light. As well, I find myself having dreams of new ideas, which is welcomed after weeks of restless sleep due to incisions, stress, and other such worries. (Still feels strange though not being in the office each day.)


It feels good to be back in my creative element. To listen to the still, small voice telling me that I can do this. That I can create something from nothing. That dreams come true with some ingenuity and hard work. And they aren't to be ignored.

So with that being said, I am in need of prayer as there are still some changes that need to be made. Some healing that is still underway. And a small dream starting to ignite into something quite undefined at this point.

Looking forward to this next chapter once again. After all, isn't this to be the year of adventure?!

p.s. If you are not yet following, give @papervelveteen some love. And please, tell your friends! There is more to come!

{The epic logo of Paper Velveteen was designed by the one and only @hat_daddy. Thanks, homie.}

My Hallelujah Shoes.

January 28, 2016: Hallelujah shoes.

I do declare that these are my hallelujah shoes. In all that has been happening, I have intentionally been taking shoe photos, whether in the doctor's office, waiting for blood work, walking Stella, or just running an errand. Because no matter what is going on, I am going to find ways to celebrate by documenting the shoes I wear on that particular day or moment. I commemorate with one thing that I can control in all of this...my choice of shoes. I can't control the outcome, but I can control how I react (and of course, what shoes I wear). Bear with the idea that this is my journey. This is my story. And these are my hallelujah shoes.

Yesterday gave plenty of reason for a hallelujah. At the eleventh hour, during my pre-op madness, my pathology report had come in. Coincidence? I think not. And Dr. L asked me to wait so we could discuss. I didn't have the nerve to tell him I was trying to rush out as I didn't really want to hear the news and I was trying to squeeze in my EKG before work. Oy vei.

But I waited. And in he came with a smirk on his face (and what I think was a tear in his eye). He said,  "I don't know what you did, kid, but there is no trace of cancer here." NO. TRACE. OF. CANCER. After 3 different doctors were all preparing and assuming for this to be breast cancer (especially with my health history of already being a Stage III survivor and a likely candidate of carrying the BRCA gene), I was preparing for the best outcomes as it all appeared to be in early stages, but...there is NO. TRACE. OF CANCER. I had an army of people praying over me. This is God's answer. I didn't have to do anything, Dr. L, but trust and hope.

Even Dr. K's office called to tell me "Congratulations" as they had gotten word that my pathology showed no trace of cancer. Lumpectomy = cancelled. So Monday, I will have only one cancer surgery rather than two. Crazy to celebrate such things, but I am thankful that my recovery will be half of what I was expecting. (Plus, I wasn't sure I was mentally ready to have a hat trick on cancer.)

As I have to go under for this surgery, prayer appreciated for a routine procedure and no issues with my heart as that was a concern in my last surgery. I have two weeks to lay low until the wounds are healed up.

There is joy in the journey. In whatever your situation, put on your hallelujah shoes, people.

The J Collection.

xoxoxo for the well wishes.

It is no secret that somehow along the way, I have collected a handful of J's, many of which I hold near and dear. And two of my favorite J's sent some gorgeous flowers to my house in well wishes. Note, the flowers were all in shades of orange, which I know was purposeful as they coordinate with the city in which I now live. **insert fluttering heart for that attention to detail**

I am ready to get this chapter underway. I have come to terms that I have cancer, yet again. The tiresome days are starting to wear as we are in the nitty gritty days of moving as well as the overall feeling of just knowing what is to come. I am 100% ready to kick this thing. As well, I am reveling in the creativity that is starting to flow. Crisis has a way of awakening the sleeping giants. And let me tell you, this cancer journey (times 3) is a story in the making.

January 30 will mark Cancer-versary #9, marking another year to wear teal. If you choose to join in on the teal on that day, please use #fortheloveofovaries on your social media and tag me in any posts as I am still making my yearly collage to mark the day of life and celebration, as well as bring awareness to ovarian cancer fighters and survivors.

xoxoxo.
.ellen.

Sidenote: I am forever grateful for the outpouring of love, calls, visits, offers to help. As there are moments that this is all quite overwhelming, please forgive me if my response time is delayed slightly as I am still working full time until surgery, in the midst of moving, and scheduling a large handful or pre-op and post-op appointments as well as preparing for the few weeks out of the office.

More Ice Cream.

I am almost positive I heard Dr. K tell me to celebrate with ice cream and a Powerball ticket after my appointment yesterday. Ok, so maybe it was just to buy a lottery ticket as I am due for some good luck, but ice cream was still needed. And I may or may not blame the fact that my sister doesn't have Rite-Aid/Thrifty ice cream in Idaho, she *needed* to have a big fat scoop (or two) of chocolate malted crunch with me. It has been really fun having her in town. Definitely was good for my spirits (but not for my waistline).

I can't lie that today feels like a new day after a good night of rest (finally) and after meeting my new oncologist. Dr. K is gifted in all of the right areas, specializing in breast cancer and melanoma. Can't go wrong that she is also a UCLA grad. (of course, divine intervention) Dr. K has given a very clear action plan, so now it just feels like we need to put it in place. And until that plan takes action, I can sleep that much better knowing we've got this.

Diagnosis is definitely melanoma. And as cancer is cancer, she said we are looking at a curable situation as we are still in early stages (praise be). And based on pathology, we are assuming breast cancer as well, but again, at an early stage that can be cured with a lumpectomy. Thankfully, Dr. K can perform both surgeries so I only have to go under once. (I swear I will eventually conquer my fear of needles.)

Dr. K has already been in conversation with Dr. L to make sure there is a good knowledge of my health history. Their conversation was actually quite tender as Dr. L expressed his concern for wanting to make sure that I am ok and Dr. K telling him she has a genuine heart for me. You really couldn't ask for doctors with any better bedside than these two.

Surgery is set for February 1. I will be out for a few weeks to recover if all goes as planned. As I have a few weeks from surgery, this will give time to get pre-op done as well as finish moving. (yes, I am moving again.) Timing will be good for things on the work front as well as getting Stella adjusted to our new house to avoid a pee monster situation. And as I will be adjusting in the new house, I will have a chance to get settled since I will not be allowed to leave the house much after surgery to avoid potential infections.

There will be a handful of co-pays to handle, but should be manageable and thankfully, I have insurance. I will need help doing life for a bit, but I have good people and family around me that will make this so easy. And it is a good excuse to hang out with folks as life often gets in the way. Plus, I have Jack. And he comes with one heck of an army ready to help.

All to say, I feel very fortunate to have such an amazing doctor, but also to feel such love and support from everyone. It is another one of those chapters that reminds me of God's faithfulness. I am feeling such peace in what should once again be a time of incredible fear.

Cancer, thank you. We are going to kick you this round too.

2016: The Year of Adventure.

I had no idea when the year started with a pending motto, that my declaration for 2016 to be The Year of Adventure that it would mean that my adventure would begin with some major unexpected news.

Almost to the date of my January 30, ovarian cancer-versary (the diagnosis date of my Stage III ovarian cancer), that I would once again be marking a new cancer-versary date on my calendar: January 6, 2016--Melanoma. I don't know if I am even ready to claim it, but I am now battling skin cancer. This is going to be a roller coaster of new emotions and battles. A bit of background to all of this...I had not been feeling well and I had taken a bit of a sabbatical from doctor visits as it gets tiring being their pin cushion. I got my new insurance underway and made the trek to my childhood doctor, Dr. Longnecker. He is good. He knows my family, my health history, and I trust him. Little did I know that the visit would uncover many looming medical conditions.

"Your life is an occasion. Rise to it."

I am not yet ready to go in to detail of all of it, but the main concerns focus around the confirmed melanoma diagnosis and pending tests for breast cancer. If I am a cat with nine lives, I am looking at borrowing a few as I am running out.

Where this all stands...I have an emergency appointment with a melanoma specialist on Tuesday, January 12. Surgery is most likely to happen then to see if we can clear the margins. I am going to have my entourage with me to help me hear the important details at the appointment.

What I have learned in this thus far...I have the most amazing support system in place. Jack is my superhero. I am forever grateful that God has blessed me with the very best man to be my partner in all of this. Family has rallied around in love. I have friends that are my prayer warriors, cheerleaders, partners, and advocates. I work with incredible people that are holding me up in love, prayer, support, and positive energy.

It is no question that once again, God has my attention. That just when I felt like I was on the mountain top, I find myself in a new valley. I have to believe that this will be another miraculous victory. And I also have to believe that it is just another chapter in my story. It won't end here. I am coming back with a vengeance and ready to chase new dreams after we tackle this big bump in the road. Though it may not be the adventure we had planned, we are taking it on to be the best adventure yet.

Prayers welcome. Medical updates to come...

Scars.

In church on Sunday, Todd talked about scars. It is a rare occasion that I don't cry in church. Today was no exception. As Todd shared about physical scars of his past, he said there are some scars we have in life that we should be proud of as it is proof we are living.

And as I think of my physical scars, I think of my cancer scar. It is a crooked line etched into my stomach. It is not beautiful in and of itself. However, it is beautiful for the story it tells. 7 years ago I was diagnosed with Stage III Ovarian Cancer with less than a 20% chance of survival. Thankfully, my scar shows that indeed I have survived by God's grace. 

There are scars harder to see. The ones of the heart. Though they are easier to hide, they often hurt worse than the physical scars. I have wounds that are healing still. Yet as Todd encouraged, after a while, you will look, and the scars will have vanished. Though you've been telling the story so long, you may not have noticed. There are stories of my past I've carried for so long that I don't want to carry them any longer. And in fact, the pain has lessened and the scars are starting to vanish.