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