Not Done Yet.

Celebrating my 14th cancerversary a few weeks back felt incredible as I have had so many great years of health and God's promises since that dreaded day back in January 2007. Ironically, it was right around that date this last January that I started to not feel well. I chalked it up to pandemic life and that I was feeling the weight of the worldly stuff leaning in on me. But the nagging voice continued. I needed answers as to why I was not feeling whole, especially since I had started the year with health and wellness in mind. 

After countless tests and so many medical appointments, all was showing within normal ranges, yet I have felt far from normal. And this last week, my gynecologist ran the blood work again, showing there was a small spike in my CA-125 (my ovarian cancer marker) from the previous test a few weeks back. My number had gone from 18 to 30. Though the spike still showed within normal range, I continued to advocate for myself with my doctors that something was off. Thankfully I have had great medical care and support from my health team along the way. I was sure hoping my instincts we wrong, but I am glad that my worries have been validated by the discovery of what looks to be two cysts on my remaining right ovary in addition to fibroids I already knew I had. 

The oncologist feels the best course of action is a full hysterectomy. We will now await a surgery date and with confidence, we believe that the results will show these are only cysts, with everything contained and easy to remove. We pray that God is using this another as a testament of His mercy and His healing so that I can be the best mom and wife (daughter, sister, friend, etc.) for many more years to come. 

I don't consider it a coincidence that Thomas woke in the middle of the night last night, which these days is a rarity. When I went in to check on him, he was crying asking me to hold him and rock him. I covered us both in his "dirt-dirt" (blanket) and rocked him to sleep. Best hour of my life as I held him close. It is that feeling of peace I pray continues in this next chapter. It is the same way I now approach God as I want Him to hold me close assuring me that all will be ok as I find refuge in His arms. I am beyond grateful that I get to be a mom to Thomas. He is and always be the most treasured gift in my life (along with Jack). I pray for so many more nights that we get to snuggle close. 

At this point, all of the love and prayers are greatly appreciated as we navigate next steps. We also ask that you trust with us that God is at work and that we will get the best news at the conclusion of the surgery. I will use the blog here to keep everyone updated so that we can streamline communication for the time being, but please feel free to text or call which I will answer as I can. Again, we move forward with great hope and confidence that all will be well. 

With love, peace, and hope and so much life ahead. 

.ellen.

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.

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.

Joy.

Call it an epiphany. A revelation. An awakening. A moment. It was probably just intended to be a compliment, but regardless, it was a moment I won't soon forget.

I frequent our company bank almost daily. Truthfully, I take joy in the bank visits, but that is a story for another day. 

All to say, after 6 months of visiting the bank and getting to know the group of Suits, yesterday, the Boss Man Banker asked me to step into his office after I had finished my transactions. Stepping into his office felt like I was being summoned to the office of the principal and we know I'm not a fan of most of those guys, so this was unusual.

As I sat in the chair across from his desk, we exchanged our pleasantries in his glass box of an office. And it was then he said that he needed to tell me something. Oh boy... 

But there was a method to his madness when he said that there is a stereotype to people of the O.C. and that I'm the antithesis. He alluded to the snob culture commonly associated with our neighborhood. Boss Man said I come in to the bank daily bringing JOY. He said that he (as well as the others working at the bank) look forward to my visit as I have energy and reflect positivity. Ironic that I've battled such depression and now this is my victory. The smile in my eyes makes him and others want to know me, so he claimed. And that he sees I have such a story to tell. My laughter and energy is contagious, making me a person that is attractive to others. Wow. I'll take the compliment. 

I am thankful for this particular conversation. But more importantly, I'm beyond grateful that Boss Man Banker took the time to say this. I don't thrive off of the opinions of others, but when life feels amazing and it is noticed, you can't help but feel joy. I am thankful that I can wear my years of sadness and stink face as a badge of honor that I've been able to retire. 

Boss Man Banker, thanks for the compliment. Hopefully it wasn't just fluff to gain business as I'm not interested. And you really aren't my type.