The Future Isn't 20/20... It's More Like 20/Mud

My original plan was to make a blog post next week. In part, we were hoping to hear some news that would have informed some of what I would have written here. But a few things off the bat:

1. This will be an exercise in self-discipline as I've promised Joella "no jokes" on this post, which is really hard for me to not point out the humorous in the midst of chaos... but I'm gonna try.

2. I was once told that when you have bad news to share, just lead off with, "I have some bad news to share."

3. I have some bad news to share.

4. "Bad news" doesn't mean "hopeless." One thing faith provides is hope, even when you're looking at a future that is scary or unknown or just plain painful. So even in the midst of things, we still hold on to God... how else could we possibly do this?

So let's start with the elephant in the room. About four weeks ago, Joella noticed that her left eye was giving her issues. Things were a bit more blurry or distorted than normal. It was right before a big event she leads (Harbor, formerly the Pepperdine Bible Lectures), so she made an appointment with our family eye doctor immediately following Harbor, thinking that perhaps her prescription had changed a bit and she just needed a new pair of glasses.

Unfortunately, that wasn't it. He found a growth, a tumor, a melanoma... call it whatever you like... on the back of her eye.

We got a referral, and she went to a specialist within our medical network. They ran more tests. And yep, they confirmed the same thing. Tumor / growth / melanoma on the back of the eye.

That same day, we got a referral to a doctor at UCLA who specializes in eye cancer, and we have appointments for lots of tests (4-6 hours worth on Tuesday, June 28) and then a consultation with the doctor on Thursday to determine next steps. So my original intent was to wait until after the appointment so we could include news of next steps in this post... but we don't know those at this point, which means any questions you have are exactly the same ones we have:

• Does this mean surgery? Don't know.

• Will they just do radiation? Don't know.

• Could Joella lose her vision, or even her eye? Don't know.

• Will the current medicine Joella's on help her eye? Don't know... she's only been on it for a few weeks.

• Will they try new medicine for her eye instead of surgery? Don't know.

• If they do surgery, will it be invasive or using lasers? Don't know.

• Will our insurance cover the tests and procedures since they are "out of network" even though referrals were involved? Don't know.

• Is this the same cancer or a different one? Don't know.

• Is there anything anyone can do to help? Don't know.

There are two things we do know for sure:

1. Joella has reached out to a group of other cancer patients, and she has received nothing but rave reviews for the doctor we have been referred to. Apparently, she is one of the best ophthalmologic oncologists in the country.

2. Joella's scared about the possible outcomes. With her cancer, we had expected liver, kidneys, lungs, and about every other organ... but not eyes. This was, ahem, unforeseen.

And that's one thing I probably haven't talked much about in this blog over the years is the pervasive fear that just infuses everything when cancer is part of the reality.

A new doctor? Fear.

A new treatment? Fear.

Current treatment? Fear.

A new scan? Fear. ...not because of the scan, those are easy... but because of what the results might yield as a result.

A new test result? Fear.

A new physical ailment? Fear.

How will our girls react to the news? Fear.

How will we get through tomorrow? Fear... so let's just focus on today.

Everything is wrapped and shrouded in fear. Mostly, this has to do with the unknown because if you're like me, anything unknown can be a bit scary.

But what's really scary? Especially in scary movies?

The things you can't see.

...umm... I'm probably not going to have to draw the connections on this analogy with Joella's eye.

So yeah. Fear.

And you just kind of come to live with it. It's not a welcome companion by any stretch of the imagination, but it's not an unexpected guest either. More like an expected intruder.

So we are fearful of the week ahead. Joella's worried she's going to lose the use of her eye. I'm worried she's not going to be able to fully take in the visual awesomeness of my physique. (That's not a joke!!)

Of course, we are also hopeful for good news, so our expectation is on the positive side. That it's still early and that there is a high chance of removing this specific tumor and restoring Joella's eyesight in her left eye. That they'll be able to treat it and get Joella back to her normal-ish vision. That might mean radiation treatment, which Joella really doesn't want to do--we have up to this point avoided radiation treatments... but we might be crossing that bridge. But we do know that whatever treatments are recommended, we'll deal with them as they come.

Again, we don't know much of anything at this point. There's actually so much more we don't know. We do know it's a tumor / growth / melanoma of some kind that's warping the shape of her eye, thus causing the blurriness and distorted vision. We do know it's on the back of her eye. But we don't even know if it's the same type of cancer because mucosal melanoma doesn't usually go to the eyes... usually... (of course, Joella's whole journey has been a case-study for contradicting the usually with mucosal melanoma) ...so that outcome is a whole other can of worms.

In the meantime, Joella's vision has gotten to the point that for her to see better, she has been wearing an eye patch.

And JUST TO BE CLEAR... PIRATE JOKES ARE OFF-LIMITS. Truly, don't do it... it's hard enough not being able to see or drive and trying to come to terms with that unexpected twist in the narrative of Joella's cancer. So please don't go there.

And if you see us out and about (because we are still trying to live and enjoy life as we are able), you might see Joella wearing an eye patch. It's her new normal, and we're hopeful it's a temporary normal.

But this next week we are still choosing hope in that we'll go see the doctor, they'll run tests, employ a treatment, Joella's vision and eye will get better, and we'll move on.

That's the hope.

Of course there's all the other stuff we don't know about. And the fear. And something else could happen entirely. And we'll walk that road if that's the one God wants us to walk (doesn't mean we will like it, but being faithful isn't always about liking the path we are walking... it's about walking the path faithfully, no matter what).

I wish this post was ending more positively, but it's where we're at. Scared. Straining to be hopeful. Trying to see through the muddy waters in front of us. And next week we will get some more information that will allow us to see a little more clearly, but until then, it's just prayer.

Lots and lots of prayer. For clarity of vision.

...a prayer that probably should be prayed more often by all of us.

(I'll try to post an update on what we learn when I'm able.)