Cupcake Cancer Reveal Party

Since Joella's surgery last December, it's been a rocky road for her. Getting through the surgery and recovering from just the surgery is one thing. But she's also still dealing with side effects that became more pronounced from her immunotherapy treatment that started in 2020.

We're not out of the woods on that yet, but it's definitely been much, much better for her of late. We've even been able to do a couple of one-night getaways, which have been great for her. And we've been so thankful that she's been able to continue working from home through all of it... and because she's been feeling good, she's been able to go into the office for extended lengths of time. In fact, as I write this, she was at the office for an entire day today!

And we are so thankful for her and that she's doing better.

We are also looking at the calendar, and we're reminded that in a few weeks, it will mark the 5-year anniversary of her original diagnosis. A diagnosis for a cancer that has an average 3-year life-expectancy for those diagnosed with it. I knew Joella was awesome when I married her, but she's so far above average in every scale of measurement, and here she is redefining what the average life-expectancy is for her cancer... every. single. day.

(Yeah, they have to update their statistics because of her... she's that awesome.)

But here's the thing... (and you could just feel that "but" coming, huh?), Joella's cancer is not a wimp. And her doctors have been good at keeping tabs on it and doing regular scans and tests, which has helped them find any new "hot spots" and craft a plan of attack to remove them, whether through medicine or surgery or both. And we know her cancer is relentless and unforgiving.

So as Joella began to feel better, we were touching base with her doctors to get a new scan scheduled. And we were highly optimistic that the outcome would be good news.

Alas, that's not what happened.

Her latest scan revealed at least ten (yes, I said ten, as in nine plus one, and I said "at least," implying there could be more too tiny for the scan to detect) small spots on a different section of Joella's liver. (As a reminder, her most recent surgery removed about 25% of her liver.) The spots are clustered together, but there's definitely ten of them. And after discussion with her doctors, the plan is for a different type of immunotherapy treatment that has been effective against the kind of cancer mutation Joella has. Of course there are pros and cons with that treatment, and they still have to "clear" Joella to participate in it, which is partly a precaution because of the current side-effects she's dealing with, but this is where the cupcakes come in.

One of the things we have been intentional about doing is keeping our girls up to date on Joella's health and treatments. And you may think what I'm about to say is sad, but it wasn't to us... the road of cancer kind of skews your perspective on things... sometimes for good, sometimes not.

Our girls knew mom had a scan, and when we told them the results, the responses were:

"I figured," and,

"Shocker" (insert eye-roll), and,

"Okay."

Just another day in the life of cancer. And it stinks that their memories of mom are her being in and out of the hospital and doctor's offices... but at the same time we are so thankful they are still making memories with mom, who is beating the odds of most people diagnosed with mucosal melanoma.

And then it happened. One of our daughters suggested that next time mom has a scan, we need to have a Cupcake Cancer Reveal Party. If the cake inside is one color, mom has cancer, and if it's another color, she doesn't. And maybe some party-poppers. And balloons.

Now, while you may be horrified at this suggestion, all of us belly-ache laughed because cancer has become a normal topic of conversation in our house... sometimes it's serious, and sometimes it isn't. And no, we don't like talking about it, so please don't misunderstand, but it's now intertwined in our everyday, walk-around lives. And yes, we laugh about it sometimes.

Because living with cancer has made us deeply thankful and grateful for each day.

Tomorrow isn't promised. But today? Today we have. So we're going to make the best of it. That means we make jokes and laugh about it... because we know there may come a day when all we have are tears. But today? Laughter.

And who knows, maybe after our next scan we'll do a Cupcake Cancer Reveal Party with our girls. But we will for certain savor every moment between now and then, starting with today.

Yes, my wife has cancer. And our family can choose to brood in it, or we can choose joy.

"This is what I have seen to be good: it is fitting to eat and drink and find enjoyment in all the toil with which one toils under the sun the few days of life God gives us; for this is our lot."

(Ecclesiastes 5:18)

So... we choose joy.

And maybe some cupcakes.