One year Later

     Saturday, Feb 17 hit the "One Year" mark since we sat in that cold, scary ER room and heard the devastating news that Jay had a mass, that was probably cancerous...the next few days seemed to drag on, and for some strange reason, I've relived them on their own one year mark this week.   Part of me has had to take the time to grieve, yet again, that we lost the ignorance of feeling invincible in our twenties, grieving the false sense of "good health" and grieving the timeline in which we had set for some of our biggest dreams coming true.  I remember laying on the couch one year ago, tears stinging my eyes, as I laid next to my husband not knowing if He would be on this earth 6 months, or a year from that moment.  I held our babies, I cried, and for the first time in my adult life, I surrendered my plans and accepted that I do not control the outcome of my next moment in this world.
     Jay's cancer diagnosis has been both the worst and best thing to have happened to our family.  We have learned so much about ourselves, our faith, our health.  We've taken the time to step back and be better parents, better partners, and better friends.  We've found out who our Village is, we made new friends, and we learned how to gracefully walk away from relationships that are not nourishing our souls.  This year has been a whirlwind of emotions, but I really have chosen to think of it as a year of triumph, and victory.  I am so proud of how much we have grown and changed. I'm glad of the chances we've taken and how much we've learned to just live in the moment.
      While I could sit and hate today,  it feels really good to know my sweet husband will be calling me on the phone soon to tell me goodnight.  We have a beautiful one year old baby girl, and two of the most handsome and kind little boys anyone could ever ask for.  I feel like over the next 4 months, there will be lots of thoughts and memories of Chemo, and the bad days we shared only between each other, but come June 2, the celebration of having one year of clean scans will be like celebrating a new "birthday" for Jay.  I'm so thankful everyday God blessed me with that lanky 15 year old boy 15 years ago, and I'm thankful for the journey we have shared together.  I could not have asked for a better best friend through the heartaches of my high school days, to being his caregiver through what I'm sure is the scariest journey of his life.  I would do it all over again if I had to, but I pray everyday that the next 70 years of our lives are full of health, happiness, and new adventures.  

The Waiting

     I talked a little bit about the anxiety that scan week brings on in my last post.  Today is results day.  We’ve already met with Jay’s urologist and he’s a really amazing practitioner, and he always gives us hope.  Today we meet with his wonderful Oncologist and this is always the hardest appointment of this mess.  We hope and pray that it’s going to be all smooth sailing.   After his scans we usually spend the weekend doing fun things to take our minds off of the stress, but by Monday, it’s an emotional hangover of avoiding the inevitable. We DO still have to know what the results of every scan and lab test are. We still have to spend the entire day trying to keep our stomachs from churning.    It’s a somber day in our house regardless of what we try to do to keep our minds off of everything.
    I have such a strong love-hate relationship with the oncologists office. I’m so thankful that these people literally saved my husbands life.  That these nurses loved on us while we missed our babies and Jay had lifesaving “poison” pumped through his veins for 8 hours a day while I idly sat by, wringing my hands, picking at my cuticles, keeping tabs on the nurses, trying to force feed Jay, and having to control my desperate need to scream and cry.  I still fight back tears when we walk through the door.  I sadly smile at people hoping they got the news they wanted to hear.   I usually can’t talk to Jay or look at him.   It’s all this total rush of emotional distress.   All these people dealing with the exact same emotions, and yet; we all sit calmly by, pretending to not be churning stomachs and racing hearts.
     The waiting is the worst.   You wait for the Day to arrive, and then the appointment time. You wait for the call back to the room, and then you wait for the doctor to come in.   You hang on every. Single. Word. He says.  Waiting - on some kind of indicative word as to what the results say. Y’all the anticipation is so thick that you feel like you might drown in it. But you sit and pretend that you’re calm and collected. That’s what’s required.  That’s what’s acceptable.  We’re waiting now, just like you are.

The waiting finally came to an end and all is well in the world again. Even if for just a minute.  We’ll breathe a sigh of relief for the next two months and three weeks.  Until the next scan week comes knocking on our door and the demon of worry raises it’s snarling face into ours for what seems like an eternity.



Thank you for all your prayers and well wishes.

Scan Week (Ooh ah ah)

         It's scan week in the Moore household again. Every time this week comes around I tell myself that it's going to be better, easier, that I'm not going to panic, I'm not going to let the anxiety creep in, I'm not going to worry. Yet, here I am, stressed out, sick to my stomach, can't eat, can't sleep, and very short fused.  A lot of survivors and caregivers have told me that you never really get over the "scanxiety", but I feel like some people do.  Jay doesn't seem to worry about it anymore, or maybe he's really really good at playing it off as being calm, cool, and collected. But if you've known us for long, you know thats basically the gist of who we are.  Even my meditations are short and interrupted by panic during this week.  I feel like the world is spinning 100 miles a minute and I'm standing completely still.  It's such a bittersweet week though, when you get good results it's like climbing Mt. Everest.  You accomplished something so big and intimidating, but getting there is absolutely grueling. I always want to celebrate and shout from the mountain tops, and but usually I just feel extremely relieved, and very tired.

     I can't speak for everyone's surveillance regimens, but Jay's is as follows; Labs, CT, Urologist (way less frequently than the rest of these appointments), and Oncologist.  Labs and CT are usually one day apart, and then we have to wait at least two days for the results.  Those two days are the worst.  They take me back to just three and half weeks shy of a year ago, when we sat around and wondered for days what was going to happen.  That was one of the heaviest weeks of my whole life, and an inkling of the fear and nauseating impatience creep in every time Jay has a check up.  Life has continued on as "normal" as we could have hoped at this point, but there is some serious aftershock that hasn't gone away.

     Honestly, I think the aftershock has been more confusing than I realized.   When we were going through the life surrounding treatments, and appointments, it was like walking through a dark forest; just reminding myself that every step forward was a step closer to getting out.  Life isn't like that now.  It's like running out of the forrest only to realize as much as you try to run,  it's always in the back of your mind. I remember how often people told us it would all be over soon, and we could go back to "normal" but i've said it once, and I'll say it 100x, a cancer survivor and their family's new normal, isn't very normal at all, and navigating that is super difficult because it's very foreign.

      I don't tell you my heart and fears on this to stir sympathy, but to give you an insight as to what the reality of our hopes and fears are now.  I hope that it gives someone else in this situation some hope, and maybe some belonging.  It's ok to be vulnerable during this tough time, you really don't have to act like you have it all together.  It's ok to tell people you're scared, and its ok to feel every emotion you need to feel to get through the day.  Just don't give up, keep going, keep living through this life, and keep finding joy and small victories.  Miracles happen everyday, and each clear scan is a miracle all on its own.

Until Next Time
Peace, Love, and Insight  
-Kayla

New Year- “Less” Me.

It’s New Year’s Eve, so I’m sure your newsfeed is FULL of posts about Resolutions; making them, making fun of them, or complaining about the people making them.  Either way, they’re there. I’ve been writing this post in my head for weeks. I LOVE Resolutions- maybe because I love goals, love change, love growth? Maybe just because I’m weird.  Both are highly possible.  But yes, this is a post about Resolutions.   I wish everyone made one or two, not necessarily to lose the extra weight, or to go to church more, but to challenge themselves in some way.
    If you know me in real life, you know I often take on too much.   I often say more “yes” than “no”.   I will volunteer, sign up, buy tickets to go, and then realize it’s too much, not enough joy, too much stress, and I just don’t want to go anymore.  This year I’m challenging myself, and I hope it will inspire other do-it-all’s like me to do less.  But, I won’t just be doing less, I’m going to resort to consuming less, buying less, taking less, hiding less. I just want less of so much right now.

  Less 
Commitment to things that don’t bring me true joy
Less shopping, buying, spending
Less clutter, less stuff, less waste 
Less sugar, less junk, less poison
Less distraction, less frivolous use of my time 
Less procrastinating
Less waiting for life 
Less planning 
Less chasing after bigger, better, faster material things

Because I truly believe that all the less, is going to give me more of what I really want.  

More
Joy
Peace
Love
Quiet
Growth
Confidence
Wholeness
Health 
Patience
Kindness
Quality time with my children, my friends, my darling husband
Celebrations 
 Huge, kisses 
Coffee, tea, and conversations 
Spontaneity
Allowing miracles or work for me
Grace 

Sure, some of my resolutions to “less” sound a lot like “more” - and not everyone’s columns will look the same, but how many of us, especially as Mom’s, can’t say we don’t need “more Less” in our lives?   Just figure out what’s keeping you from living your best life and do less of it, chase after your “more” because I will be completely honest with you when I tell you “more” is what saved me this year. 

Happy New Year, my friends.  

Love, Light, and Less,

- Kayla 

Here's to twenty-eight

I know I haven't blogged much lately, but I promise that is all about to change.  I hate that I don't dedicate enough time to something I truly love, life is too short to not spend enough time doing what you love.  I turned 28 Friday, seems so insignificant, yet, makes thirty seem like it's creeping up on me extremely quickly.  I have a lot of things I want to accomplish by 30, so I think now is as good a time as any to start trying to get my life together.   27 was an extremely hard year for me, and I'm ready to start a new year full of promise, life, and new goals.  So here's to making 28, great- with 28 things I hope to accomplish.


1. Do something I love every single day
2. Blog, at least once a week
3. lose 30lbs by January 1
4. Purge my house of everything that does not spark Joy
5. make and complete daily "to do" lists
6. take a chance
7. show up more
8. be real-
9. Show Love to those that need it the most- and those that show it the least
10. Forgive
11. Move on
12. Set a new goal every month
13. Play with my kids more
14. read a book every month
15. try 3 new activities
16. Learn about two new subjects
17.  Find a passion, and pursue it
18. take care of myself
19. fish more
20. stress less
21. save more
22. spend less
23. be confident
24. grow spiritually
25. create new relationships
26. be more graceful
27. spend more time outside
28. exercise more

I can't wait to look back a year from now and see where I'm at.  To see where I've grown and where I've failed.  Be prepared for more interesting blog posts from here out.


Until Then-
Peace, Love, and Twenty-Eight

When You Forget

This last week was full of ridiculous amounts of appointments, planning, and anxiety for Jay and myself.  We spent Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday in the Doctor's offices.   I had to get Jay to PET scans, oncology appointments, urology appointments, Lab draws, and Chemo Education meetings.   It seems as if most days I'm just walking in a fog.  That if I look too far forward, or anywhere other than directly in front of me, I start to lose sight of what is important in the here and now.  I've come to a lot of conclusions this week about the lifestyle of a caregiver.   About how immensely draining it is (and we're not even in the thick of it yet, so I'm completely aware that I have no clue how drained I'm about to be).  I've come to realize how deeply some of the things we're facing are going to effect Jay, Me,the kids, and our families; and then life gets busy and all of a sudden, a few hours have passed and I haven't thought about Jay's cancer once.  And I'm glad I wasn't obsessing over it for a little while, but I'm sad because it's the reminder that this is the new reality for our family.  This is the new "normal" and it's really not "normal" at all. I find myself trying to escape reality.  To get so wrapped up in anything that's going to make me forget for a while.  I crave company being at our house, I find myself looking for ways to help someone else in a tough time. I find myself wanting to host friends and family over every second of every day just so I can force myself to put on a happy face and forget.          Luckily, we had some pretty special new friends come to visit this weekend.  My house was filled with laughter, kids, friends, family and fun.  My heart was so full.   We went finishing, we are together, we laughed together, we talked about some of the hard stuff we're both facing, and we got a dose of "normal".  "Normal is absolutely intoxicating right now.  I take every ounce of it in, and when it's all over, I feel like I've found a new low.  In that new low is where I find myself sleeping less, fighting back the tears more, secluding myself more.  Being a caregiver sometimes feels like you're expected to carry the weight of the world on your own. Like the person who's been sharing your load of life with you is no longer able, so you have to pick up the slack, and pretend like you're doing it with ease.  Maybe that's just the -pressure I put on myself.   I don't want to be upset in front of Jay or the kids or our families. I've always been the kind of woman that tries to appear as a steel wall when things start to go haywire.  At the same time, I take on this new roll with a lot of pride and dedication.  I'm a nurse by calling, and now, I'm taking care of my most important patient. A patient I vowed to love in sickness, and in health, and although it's not always easy, it's definitely one of the most important jobs I'll ever take on.       This morning, the first day of chemo means there's no more forgetting for a while.  We are headed straight into the thick of this fight, and we're doing it full speed ahead.  Jay and I haven't had much to say to each other in the last 24 hours.  It's just a peaceful understanding that we both need silent affection, and sometimes our own space.  That's one of my favorite things about our relationship.  Sometimes we just fall on the same wavelength.  

Things We Wish You Knew

Jay and I are both pretty transparent by nature.  We're pretty honest and upfront with people about the way we feel, or the way we think, or just about situations in general.  We're not the kind of people to fall in to obligatory explanations about things. If we don't wanna talk about it, we'll tell you. Over the last few weeks we've both done a lot of soul searching on how this situation makes us feel. We come to the realization that the things people think would bother us, don't.  Last night as we laid in bed we talked about the things we wished people knew about the life of a family with a loved one fighting cancer.  I figured I would share the few things I felt were most important to us at this point.        Don't be afraid to call              We've had a lot of people mention that they didn't wanna bother us with phone calls, text messages, or coming by.  That they felt like they were bothering us...let me just stop you right there.   Jay and I (especially Jay) live for being surrounded by our friends and family.  We enjoy hosting people in our albeit tiny, home.  Jay appreciates, beyond compare the camaraderie felt when he's surrounded by people that care.   He definitely feels the love and support from everyone that has left Facebook comments, texts, voicemails etc.  in times like this.  No one wants to feel alone.   We really don't care if you're super close to us, acquaintances, or people from our past. Not a single caring thought or word has gone unappreciated in our house.      We're not afraid to talk about it         I often have people corner me away from Jay to ask me how things are going. They're embarrassed to ask about the situation in front of him. The conversation, I admit it is awkward.  Who really wants to talk about testicles.  Sick testicles. Surgically removed testicles.  But, testicular cancer is no more awkward to talk about than breast cancer, skin cancer, colon cancer or any other cancer.  If you want to ask, do!  If we don't wanna tell you every detail you're asking about, we won't. But I can guarantee, we aren't easily offended, especially not about this.     Don't get Down               Jay definitely isn't the type of person to let anything get him down.  He's an optimist. I'm a realist, and seeing as where the medical field is where I make my living, I have a hard time only thinking about the positive.  Jay constantly reminds me to just be positive about the whole situation. To believe that treatments aren't going to be too terrible for him. The positivity everyone has shared with us has changed the air for us. It's helped us nurture our hope.   We're REALLY bad about not asking for help       A lot of people have asked how they can help, besides not knowing WHAT we need right now, Jay and I are terribly proud people.  We would chew our own arms off before we asked for help.  It's not a great characteristic to have, but we own it.  The help that has been offered to us has been so greatly appreciated.  Don't think because we haven't asked for help, that we're against receiving it, we just struggle with asking.  This entire situation has been extremely humbling for both of us.  We're both used to being able to help other people out. To be supportive in everyone else's time of need so we're learning to walk before we run when it comes to being on the other side of things.          We really can't make plans        When we were leaving the ER the Friday night that they found Jay's mass, he asked me about cancelling a trip we had just booked to Mexico, sans kids, to watch one of his best friends get married.  I immediately lost it.  These might have been the first words we spoke after they told us what they found, or maybe it's the first thing that I was aware enough to hear, either way it was enough to shake me up. I immediately started bawling/yelling at jay to NOT talk to me about anything past Monday morning because my mind couldn't process anything beyond that part of our future.  What do you do in that situation?! Cancel the trip because of skyrocketing medical bills and the uncertainty of possibly not being able to make it, or hold onto the hope that you're both going to be able to enjoy that trip and make precious memories with people that mean so much to you. (PS, we still aren't sure what the right answer is to that question). Anyone that knows me, knows I plan my life months, hell, even years in advance.  Anyone that knows Jay, knows he doesn't plan for anything.  We are learning to balance each other out right now.  Making a decision on how to RSVP to weddings next month makes me crazy, because I don't know how he'll react to chemo, or when I'll be able to work in order to get him to his chemo appointments and take care of him and the kids and juggle normal life. I hate telling people we'll be somewhere if we can't.  My planner is covered in appointments for our family, with Jay needing to be at the doctor or the chemo clinic anywhere from 1-5 days a week.  If we can't give you an answer on our attendance to functions, just know we're trying. That we're facing the harsh reality of major uncertainty in every second of our daily lives. Though we seem to have it together most days, that's not always the case      I know that everyone doubts that Jay ever has a weak or vulnerable moment, trust me I don't believe it myself most of the time, but he's not always that way.  I guess that's the bittersweet part of all of this, even in this mess we share some completely intimate moments between ourselves that no one else gets to be a part of.  I on the other hand cry almost anytime someone speaks to me.   Don't take it personally, don't avoid me because of it, it's normal- at least for me.  I'm a crier. I cried when his friends packed our house with groceries, I cried when we were in the ER.   I cried when they took him back to surgery.  I cry because we're driving the boys to school and there's a song on the radio that even remotely speaks to me.   We stand in the hallways and talk to people at school with all the confidence in the world.  We hug our friends at church with smiles on our faces and assuredly talk about the treatment plan and our timeline. Don't get me wrong, we're hopeful, and we're faithful, but to say that we aren't EVER fearful would be a total lie.    Do we know our God has his hand on us? yes.  Do we know he has plans for our family? Yes.  Do we know what that plan is? No.  And that's the scary thing.  God uses all situations for his glory, even ones that don't turn out the way WE want, and yes he brings good from all suffering, but we're only human, and sometimes the fear is still there.  But it's not there without prayerful faith.     It seems as if in just a short time, everything has changed for us, and in a sense, it has.  I'm sure in 6 months, so much more will have changed, and will continue to change for years to come. We may not ever feel this way again about this situation, but maybe someone else will, and maybe they'll need the reminder that it's ok to not have all the answers or the "right" attitude about it all the time.  No matter what happens, we'll look back on these first few weeks with bittersweet memories.  Memories that we overcame the situation dealt to us, that we came our better, stronger, and more compassionate.