Hello, Plot Twist
One of the most stunning parts about getting my diagnosis was the timing of it. Over the last year, Aaron and I have had countless conversations about when we thought would be the “right time” to start trying for children. We read books, listened to podcasts, prayed for clarity, and sought counsel and experiences from many people in our community who are wonderful parents. We felt like we were closing in on taking that leap of faith and that 2024 would hopefully be the year for us.
Then January came and my first symptom appeared, and truly we THANK GOD, that Aaron took it seriously. He said let’s hold off on trying to get pregnant until we know what this is because the worst-case scenario is that it turns out to be cancer. At the time, part of me recognized that was a wise choice, but my brain also just didn’t register that as a likely outcome. There was some false encouragement along the way from medical providers that reinforced my self-preservation mindset and I had avoided spiraling on Google to look at all of the possibilities. Aside from my swollen lymph nodes and significant fatigue (which I attributed to a full and active schedule), I felt strong and like myself. It wasn’t until we got my official diagnosis on March 15 that we had a new reality to accept.
I had been optimizing my diet, exercise, prenatal supplements, sleep quality, home and personal products, all the things — in anticipation of pregnancy in the coming months. Research on epigenetics during pregnancy is super cool and motivating. Parents can do a lot to benefit their future kids by implementing many healthy lifestyle habits ahead of time, and we were acting on this opportunity in earnest.
We envisioned our life changing a lot this year. A positive pregnancy would be a miraculous blessing, but it also would prompt a season of transformation. I knew I would have to accept changes to my body and my health. I’d have to modify activities I love (thoughts like… ok, last volleyball season for a while, probably no 14ers this summer, and yeah, realistically I won’t be climbing during a third trimester ha). How would a child affect our marriage? Our relationships? Our work? Our finances?
Our next season was intended to be TTC — as in trying to conceive, not what it is now, which is trying to cure. So many of these questions loom over me still, just not for the reason I hoped.
We will be praying fervently that chemo doesn’t result in long-term damage to my fertility, and as of today, we’re optimistic that my treatment will conclude by the fall of this year. The highest incidence of relapse occurs in the first two years following treatment, which is a time frame that informs many cancer patient’s outlook on life decisions. The current recommendation we’ve been given by my oncologist is to allow a minimum of one year for my body to recover from chemotherapy before trying to get pregnant, which gives us a new starting date of September 2025. If all goes well quickly from there, that means the absolute earliest we could expect a child would be the summer of 2026.
I know we all run calculations like this when attempting to make plans for our lives, even if our circumstances and goals vary greatly. We’re trying our best to use good judgment, and it can be difficult and devastating when reality doesn’t line up with our intentions and deep desires.
For those who know and trust God, a change of plans becomes a matter of moving forward in faith. It means adopting a perspective that waits expectantly for God’s purposes to prevail, remembering and trusting that He makes everything beautiful in its time (Ecclesiastes 3:11).
Can something truly be an interruption to your story if it’s actually the next chapter that God always intended to write?
Fortunately, God has been immeasurably gracious in the ways He’s used my past experiences to prepare my mind and soul for this. He has already sustained me through several decades of plot twists that I would, at first, label as disappointments, delays, and detours — only to find through those trials more evidence that His promises still stand, His ways are indeed higher than mine, and that His truth really does set me free (John 8:32).
I’ve witnessed God work through sin and suffering many, many times in my short life. Addiction, abuse, divorce, depression, disease, and death — all that grief exchanged for glory. On this side of heaven, the ideal of a flawless life cannot match the miracle of a rescued and redeemed one.
“So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.” - 2 Corinthians 4:16-18
On Sunday, March 15, 2020, Aaron proposed at Wash Park, a place that holds a lot of significance for us and is also my favorite spot in all of Denver. During our celebration lunch afterward, I can recall the server telling us that this was likely going to be her last shift; management was informing the staff that they were probably going to be closed starting tomorrow... That next day began the two-week-long “flatten the curve” period of COVID, and well, we all know how that turned out. I remember the fear, the sickness, the lockdown isolation, and for us, the canceled wedding plans. Our illusions of control were freshly shattered. It was one massive, collective experience of having expectations, routines, and plans pulled out from under us.
I like to tell people that 2020 was the worst year for a wedding, but the best time for a marriage. At least, that was true for us when we eloped two months later. To this day, Aaron and I are SO grateful for how things unfolded. Hindsight really, really is 2020 — and there are seen and unseen graces in how the timing worked out, and how certain details came to pass. Sometimes you have to hold tight and wait for that hindsight vision.
I mentioned this in my note about getting my diagnosis, but a test result from the evening before gave us an indication of what was coming, and my ENT doctor confirmed the news on March 15 of this year (et tu, immune system?!). I know it sounds strange — but I felt gratitude, thanks be to God! That in His kindness, he’d orchestrate each step to have this terrible news come on a day that He’s already marked with faithfulness. Because there was something familiar here to notice.
A new great unknown stretched out before us. It would mean canceled plans (instead of Yosemite this time, it was our trip in May to Scotland and Norway), it would mean illness (instead of COVID, it’s cancer), and it would mean sharply slowing down the speed of life and taking every fear and anxious thought captive to make it obedient to Christ (2 Corinthians 10:5).
I don’t know what God plans to teach me through this next season, but I know to ask the question, with faith that it will be answered in God’s timing:
What treasure of sanctification is hidden in the here and now that I must slow down and look long enough to see?
