Halftime

 

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Arguably, we are in the midst of the best time of the year. The only reason I say “arguably” is because Andrew thinks Christmas tops March Madness. Clearly we’ve gone back and forth on this matter and we’re just going to agree to disagree. While brackets get busted and we dream of Butler’s miraculous back-to-back run to the NCAA Championship, we have our own kind of madness going on.

Andrew has officially completed the halfway point in his treatment. Granted, this is assuming that everything continues to go well and his body remains responsive to the chemotherapy, but hey, we’re feeling great about assuming that. To be frank, this past round has completely kicked our butts. Typically I don’t lump my feelings and weariness with Andrew’s, (after all, he is the one getting pumped with chemo every single day) but I’m right there with him for all of the twelve-hour days multiple times a week and we are exhausted. As always, Andrew has pushed and pushed and we will now take the next two to three weeks to allow his body to recover from the absolute demolition it’s been through this past month and then gear up for the second half.

So, halftime. Andrew and I both have reflected on what we’ve learned thus far and what we want to continue to carry into the second half of this battle. Yes, we’ve got some adjustments to make, but we’re happy to make them and see this thing through until we see the final buzzer declaring our victory.

Here are the top five lessons Andrew and I have learned from the first half. I’ll cover the first two and then Andrew will round out the last three, (that’s right folks, I have finally coaxed him into his blog debut!) J

1. People are good.

-       Much thanks to many of you, our mailbox seems to always have an uplifting card and message of encouragement in it. Some from close friends and family, some from people we’ve never met and probably will never get the pleasure of doing so.  Regardless, the positive words and prayers lift our spirits and remind us of the incredible community supporting the Smith family.

-       I’ve never sat through one of Andrew’s treatments in an infusion room full of cancer patients without witnessing at least one random act of kindness. Even in the face of their own exhaustion, each patient is so quick to take care of another and remind each other that it’s going to get better.

-       We have a large envelope full of handwritten letters from an entire 8th grade class from St. Michael-St. Gabriel Archangels School of Indianapolis, all of which uplifted Andrew and melted my heart. Those kids will never fully grasp how much that touched us. From messages of, “you’re going to get through this” to “I want to be just like you when I grow up,” each letter reminded us of the bigger picture of all of this.

2. Nurses, though appreciated by many, are still undervalued.

I have yet to meet a nurse that isn’t kind, passionate, and understanding. I could never express my deep, deep appreciation for the men and women who have tirelessly and endlessly taken care of my husband. Though my respect has always been high for these caregivers, my admiration has grown immensely.

3. Live each day without expectations.

When people say that during chemo you can feel great one day, and horrible the next they certainly are not lying. Countless times Samantha and I have tried to make plans to go out to eat on the weekend or visit the Boston Celtics as they play the Indiana Pacers, but we were cut short. These are things that are really taking us awhile to get accustomed to. We are still so blessed that I have been able to do almost all of my chemotherapy as an outpatient, but it still is admittedly hard to not hope and dream to be able to do normal things (like make a trip to PF Changs without getting sick) when I can feel so good the day before.

4. Having cancer teaches you patience.

I am on a pediatric regiment of chemotherapy because of how well younger children usually respond to my type of cancer, so it is intense. We have been told that I am extremely blessed that my body has been able to hold up enough to do all of this as an outpatient. But as nice as it is to be able to come home and sleep in our own bed, we are still at the mercy of our doctors. Three twelve-hour days at the hospital in one week isn’t a rarity, and typically we will not know when those days are coming. As Samantha has been with me literally every single step of the way, we are being forced to learn patience.

5. The amount of Jimmy John’s that one can eat is absolutely amazing. 

As I have now been going through chemo for over two months I can rarely find foods that sound good to me, but for some reason Jimmy Johns is one of the exceptions. Even when my white blood cells are low enough to where I cannot have vegetables on my sandwich I still enjoy eating their sandwiches and chips to my heart’s content. Let’s just say that out of the last four weeks, twenty-eight days total, twenty of them at the hospital, I have probably had a sandwich fifteen of those days. I am often compared to a pregnant woman with my obsession with these sandwiches, but I do not mind the comparison because I cannot see my love for these delicious gourmet sandwiches changing anytime soon.

“When you go through deep waters, I will be with you. When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown. When you walk through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up; the flames will not consume you.”  (Isaiah 43:2)

Round Two: Treatment Eighteen

ImageI’d like to think we’ve created a new norm. Prior to diagnosis, we were more than comfortable with life and, as mentioned in our previous post, it was sad to realize those dreams and plans were altered significantly. But, true to our Smith style, we took a day (or seven) to be sad and then declared that we need to move on and create a new normal. Though our aspirations will continuously shift through various phases of our lives, cancer centers and Dr. Birhiray will always be constants. But we are learning, we are pushing, and we are believing that we are going to have an amazing life together beyond this.

 I am so happy to be able to share how well treatments are going for Andrew. His body is responding excellently to the chemotherapy, and our doctor couldn’t be more pleased with how “remarkably well” he is doing. But his body’s positive response certainly comes with ugly days. It is a double-edged sword. As the chemotherapy kills all of the bad, it also takes with it the good leaving Andrew with very little to get through the day with. We spend at least four days in the hospital each week and every evening resting in preparation for the next day full of nurses and needles. I won’t lie; it hasn’t been pretty & Andrew is taking a beating. But you know what? Things could be worse & we are incredibly, incredibly blessed.

 Last Thursday, Andrew and I were going through the motions of our routine- blood work, wait for two hours for results, office visits, chemotherapy for five hours. I cringe to admit my fatigue that day and Andrew’s concern for me and my lack of sleep and restlessness. In short, it wasn’t our best day. Feeling worn down, we settled into the infusion room with a handful of other chemo patients and began our many glances at the clock to see how much longer this day was going to go on. I couldn’t help but notice that we were sitting across from an older lady sitting through chemotherapy treatment by herself which, naturally, broke my heart. As the afternoon hours went by, we learned that not only was she battling cancer herself, her husband has Parkinson’s disease and the little family she had left lived far away. She went on to discuss difficulty in her day-to-day life with general functions, but not just her own, her husband’s as well.  She was carrying this burden alone. After asking if there was anything we could do but learning that she lived too far away for us to help and assist her, she left. I cried. Things could be worse. We are so blessed.

It has been weighing heavy on my heart to challenge readers to take a moment and recognize blessings. We are living and breathing, given another day on this earth! So many are struggling to make it through the days that we so casually wish to pass quickly. Our days and lives are temporary and fleeting, but we are so blessed to have them in the first place.

“The things you take for granted, someone else is praying for.” 

To Send Love to the Big Guy…

We have had many people ask for an address to send cards and gifts of encouragement our way. The kindness has just been astonishing and so humbling. Thank you for the well wishes. Andrew was even able to muster up the energy to make it court-side to the Butler vs. Providence game last night! I truly believe that Andrew is doing so well in the face of this mountain because of all of the prayers said on his behalf. He still has his days that are harder to get through than others, but his attitude and positivity have remained uplifted. We can be best reached at:

6295 Boone Ridge

Zionsville, IN 46077

 

With deep love and appreciation,

The Smiths

We Surrender!

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We are tired & feeling a smidge rundown. We have had long days and nights full of Clorox and clean ups. This road is so foreign and baffling that our expectations are all over the place & with that, disappointments are inevitable. There are many days we expect to be good and those typically turn out to be the worst. When will we learn? We have no control.

As a self-proclaimed control freak, you can imagine the toll these last 2 months have taken on me. Scratch that- the last 6 months. Andrew and I began our life as a married couple in the midst of chaos and uncertainty. He had just graduated from Butler University one week prior to our wedding day, and we were unsure of what his professional basketball career was to entail of.  We attempted to resume a “normal” married life, but let’s be honest, nothing about our lives have been normal. I worked hard as a full-time nanny 55 hours a week while Andrew went to 4 hours of basketball training each morning on the days that he wasn’t flying off for an NBA tryout. Each day, we (not so patiently) awaited a call from our agent letting us know where we were headed. Calls came and went, but we never felt good about the offers. Our prayer was to go where the Lord needed us, and we didn’t feel like any of the places calling checked that box. We went through this state of limbo for 3 months. Teams begin the first weeks of September, and we were still empty handed in the last weeks of August. Panic began to ensue. Again, we were reminded that we have no control.

Fast-forward to mid-December and all we knew was that Andrew had a swollen lymph node and that the doctors didn’t speak a lick of English. Through many trial and error with scans and tests and failed attempts with translators, we gathered it was time to go home. In the moment, there wasn’t a sadness to leave because we were too busy being panicked by the news of a tumor in Andrew’s chest. But now that we are removed from the situation and full-blown in the midst of an entirely different one, we do have our moments of realization that our dreams have changed drastically & that our lives will never be the same. Admittedly, that saddens me. We had such big dreams and hopes of invigorating escapades overseas, but we now realize that it will be years before we can claim victory over this disease and, well, we aren’t sure we’re sold on doing maintenance and treatments in a foreign country. Needless to say, we don’t have a clue what the future holds. But then I realize, we never have and never will. We thought we had our lives planned out, but then this mountain called “cancer” planted itself in the middle of that course. We were shocked, but God wasn’t. Why? Because HE is in control, not us. As much as I kick, scream, and fight Him for it He isn’t relenting control, and I am learning that is a wonderful thing. What in the world could I possibly do in the face of cancer? Nothing.  Even in doing things that feel like control to me, (taking care of Andrew) it doesn’t change his physical state. No matter how many Gatorades I hand him or a how many times I take the trash out after a meal doesn’t sit well, he still feels terrible.

Just like with life, we have to let this run its course. Does this mean we plan to roll over and let this thing kick our butts? Absolutely not. Andrew is a fighter through and through. He is already leaps and bounds beyond where our doctor expected him to be. But, we do have to remind ourselves daily that we can only pray and control our attitudes in the face of this; everything else is out of our hands.

“For I will satisfy the weary soul, and every languishing soul, I will replenish.” (Jeremiah 31:25)

Note of Thanks…

From the bottom of our hearts, we just want to say thank you. Thank you for all of the love, prayers, and support we have received over the past two weeks. The outpouring kindness and compassion has been such a blessing to Andrew, myself, and our families. Please keep the prayers coming- the big guy needs them!

The Beginning

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Every story starts somewhere, whether we realize it’s the beginning or not. Our story began before we knew it existed; three months before, to be exact. A foreign, unwelcome illness began to settle itself into our lives and, more specifically, into my husband’s chest. The chest that I had fallen asleep on night after night, the chest that supported wonderful, too-tight hugs that Andrew loves to give me, the chest that has encased five years of laughter thus far together, the chest that our silly dog had tread over one too many times because he thinks he’s a cat, the chest that holds my husband’s heart that I so proudly claim- a life-changing tumor was growing among us as we obliviously made our own kind of life-changing memories. 

Andrew is a baller. No, like seriously, he is a professional basketball player. In September, Andrew moved to Lithuania and, a month later, I followed suit. We embarked on a journey of completely unchartered territory that is professional basketball. To say we didn’t know what to expect is an extreme understatement. There were ups and downs, (and then some more downs) but through it all, we had each other. We were away from all of our family, all of our friends, and all of our favorite foods- but we had each other! We had God, and we had the one person on this earth that we needed in one another. Oh, and we had our dog, Charlie. His participation was a non-negotiable. This is all we needed to get through the constant windy-weather and the lack of hearing the beautiful and incomparable English language. Andrew travelled to so many parts of the world that he never thought he would step foot in; his passport is pretty impressive, to say the least. But an adventure that was supposed to kick off our marriage into a whirlwind of experience and culture was cut short when we were sat down at our kitchen table in Lithuania and were told there was a sizable tumor taking shape inside of Andrew. Shock, dismay, sadness, fear, and an emergency flight home were our next 36 hours. We had dreamt of the joyous day of setting foot on US ground once again, but this is certainly not what we had pictured. It was hard to be excited about reuniting with our loved ones because we knew that those hugs would be brief before heading straight to the hospital from O’Hare. 

A few days into tests, scans, and sleepless nights in the hospital, we received my sweet guy’s diagnosis. Andrew has a rare form of Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma that is more common (and curable) in young children. In hearing the diagnosis, we felt like we were taking blow after blow. And yet we knew that the one thing  the doctors would not factor into any sort of success rate or percentage is that we serve a mighty and sovereign God. We serve a good, just God who is the ultimate Physician. We serve a God who performs miracles every day, but also doesn’t always grant the miracles we pray for because His will for our lives is perfectly thought of. We serve a God whose plans are bigger and better than any of our dreams. No, not every day has been or will be easy for us, but a cancer diagnosis is easier to swallow when we know that this is no surprise to God and that He is in control. We are so joyous to know that the Lord will use this and deepen our ministry and testimonies. It is our hope and prayer that this blog is a tool and that the right person at the right time will stumble upon this in their time of need. Please read, share, comment, pass along, and experience this journey with us. We ask for your prayers in this life lesson and pray that we can all learn a little something from one another from this.

“The Lord will fight for you, you need only to be still.” (Exodus 14:14)