Time to start…

Wednesday, August 27th

For the longest time, I had counted on this day being the day of my double mastectomy. Instead, it became something different—the day I had my port placed. This small device, tucked under the skin, would make it easier to draw labs and administer chemo in the days ahead. Mine was placed on the right side since my cancer is on the left.

I’ll be honest—I was nervous and emotional. It had been 18 years since I was last put under anesthesia. The last time was after having my twins, when I needed my gallbladder removed just two weeks later. That memory weighed heavy on me, so before surgery they gave me something to calm my nerves. Once I was wheeled back, though, the next thing I knew I was waking up—telling the anesthesiologist over and over again that he had done a really good job. Haha.

In recovery, I rested for a bit before heading back to my room where my mom was waiting. She sat with me while I had some toast with jelly, and for a little while I started to feel okay. But that evening was rough. Because the line for the port went through the muscle in my neck above my collarbone, any tension made it painful, especially when I tried to lie down. Sleeping in bed wasn’t an option, so I curled up in the chair instead. Surprisingly, I slept through the night, which was a blessing, because the very next morning I would begin my first chemo treatment.

Even in the middle of the fear, pain, and uncertainty, I kept reminding myself that I am not walking this road alone.

Aug. 28th: Day 1 of Chemo

Today was the day—the day I prayed I wouldn’t have to face. I had hoped that maybe chemo wouldn’t be part of my journey, but sometimes God calls us to walk through the hard, the uncertain, and the unknown.

My appointment began at 9 a.m. and I was thankful to have my own private room. The nurse removed the bandages from my port surgery the day before and used the existing needle to draw labs. Just seeing it made my stomach turn, but thankfully it was quick and over before I knew it.

Soon, another nurse came in to explain the chemo drugs, possible side effects, and give me a “fridge sheet” of instructions in case symptoms came up. That’s when the tears began to flow. The reality hit me all at once, and I told her I didn’t want to hear all the side effects, to me I didn’t really have a choice. She kindly explained that she had to share them so I would be prepared. So, while I cried, she gently walked me through it.

After I gathered myself, the PA came in to go over the treatment plan. I’ll be receiving Carboplatin, Taxol, and Keytruda, along with pre-meds Benadryl, Pepcid, Kytril, and Decadron to help with side effects or reactions. For the next 3 months, I’ll receive weekly treatments-Carbonplatin and Taxol every week, with Keytruda added every third week. After this, the plan will shift, but for now I’m taking it one step at a time.

The first part of treatment began with the pre-meds—two pills and two doses through my port. After giving them time to settle in, the nurse came back and said it was time to begin. That moment opened the floodgates again. I felt ready but not ready. Ready to start so I could finish, but not ready for what it might bring.

The first infusion was Keytruda, an immunotherapy that strengthens your own immune system. It took about 30 minutes. Then came Taxol—the strong one, the one that can cause neuropathy and most likely hair loss. I asked to ice my hands and feet to help reduce the risk of neuropathy. The nurse started the infusion slowly to check for reactions, but thankfully I tolerated it well. The infusion lasted about an hour and a half. Around this time I started feeling very tired—probably from the Benadryl. We laughed because it had been over 2 hours since she gave it to me and she was surprised I was still awake! They also provided lunch during treatment, which was such a blessing. I kept my mind busy with prayer and conversation while I sat in the chair.

The last infusion was Carboplatin, which took about 45 minutes and had fewer side effects.

After 5 hours, Day 1 was complete. I was emotionally exhausted. It was a long day filled with ups and downs, but I was grateful. Grateful that it went as smooth as it did, grateful that I tolerated it well, and grateful that God carried me through.

All throughout this day I repeated God’s Word over and over, imagining His power flowing within me. I reminded myself that nothing could harm me because no weapon formed against me shall prosper (Isaiah 54:17), His power is at work within me (Ephesians 3:20), and by His wounds I am healed (Isaiah 53:5).

Day 1 of chemo may be behind me, but this is only the beginning of God’s testimony through me. I don’t walk this road alone—He goes before me, He is beside me, and His strength carries me forward. What feels like weakness is only a stage for His power to shine through. And so I will keep pressing on, not with fear, but with faith-trusting that every step brings me closer to healing, hope, and His glory being revealed in my story.

I find strength in Paul’s words:

2 Corinthians 4:8-10

“We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.

We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also, be revealed in our body.”

Week 1 Reflections & Chemo #2

The first week after my very first chemo treatment on August 28th was a mixture of hope, exhaustion, and grace. Right after treatment, and even the next day, I felt better than I expected. I even went back to work on Friday, which felt like a small victory. But by Saturday, the weight of it all caught up with me. I was completely drained—so tired that I slept nearly the whole day and night.

On Sunday, though still moving slowly, I made it to church. Being there—surrounded by worship and God’s presence—lifted my spirit and refueled my soul in a way nothing else could. By Monday and Tuesday, I noticed small glimmers of strength returning. By Tuesday afternoon, I even managed to mow the front yard before heading to watch Addyson play volleyball. But as I sat in the gym, I could feel my body wearing down again. By the end of the night, I wasn’t feeling my best and had a low-grade fever.

By Wednesday morning, that run-down feeling lingered. I tried to push through and went to school, but by 11:30 a.m., I had a fever of 100.7. In the world of chemo, anything at or above 100.4 is concerning. I called the clinic, and they told me to come in. So off to Yankton I went.

When I arrived, they drew labs right away and asked me a series of questions. Thankfully, my labs came back good, and I didn’t have any other concerning symptoms. They sent me home and advised me to take Tylenol and call if anything changed. But that evening, my fever spiked to 102.8. I called the 24-hour line, and they told me to take two Tylenol and recheck in an hour. In that hour, my temp dropped only one degree. Another hour later, it was still at 101.9. I called again, and they said they would consult my oncologist.

Fifteen minutes later, the phone rang with her recommendation: 600 mg of ibuprofen. Normally, they try to avoid ibuprofen because chemo can thin the blood, but she felt with only one treatment so far, it was safe to take. Since my labs had been good earlier and I wasn’t showing other alarming symptoms, they felt it was likely viral—or simply my body adjusting. After taking the ibuprofen, my temp came down to 100.8. I went to bed praying it would finally break overnight.

But at 4 a.m., I woke to find my fever had climbed again, back to 102. My heart sank. My mind raced: I can’t have a fever—I’m supposed to get my second treatment today! What if I can’t? What if I have to wait another week? The “what if’s” were loud, but I took more Tylenol, hoping and praying that it would be better by my appointment.

By the time I arrived for my appointment, I was emotional and weary. I told the nurse I still had a fever, so the PA ordered new labs, a chest x-ray, and a UTI test just to be safe. Results came back quickly: labs stable, UTI negative. They did note my potassium was a little low, and with the fever, I was also dehydrated. They started IV fluids, added potassium, and gave me my pre-meds. Once the fluids began to run, I felt a wave of relief—my body started to relax, my fever dropped to 99, and hope returned. They decided I could still move forward with treatment. So onward to treatment #2!

First up, Taxol. Just like the week before, drip by drip. Then the PA came in with the x-ray results. Overall, everything looked fine—but they noticed what might be a small nodule. Radiology thought it could be just a shadow, but they recommended a CT scan to be sure.

Hearing that, I broke. Tears came quickly. My thoughts spiraled. The “what if’s rang loud again..What if there’s something in my lung? In that moment, all I knew was that I needed to talk to someone in faith—that was the only thing I felt I could control. With a shaky voice, I asked the nurse if I could talk with the chaplain, knowing that what I needed most was God: to surrender, to hear His Word spoken over me, to feel His presence. While I waited, I called my sister—her voice always reassures me—and she gently reminded me that I will be okay, that I will get through this.

The chaplain soon arrived—soft-spoken and kind—and he asked me to share some of my story. Through tears, I told him how I discovered the cancer, how I believe God is using this journey for a greater purpose, and how—even with faith—I still wrestle with fear. I shared how my minister had reminded me of the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, and how their unwavering faith in the fire had spoken to me so deeply. (If you want to read more about this, I wrote about it in an earlier entry).

The chaplain reminded me of God’s endless love and faithfulness. As he spoke, I felt the very peace Philippians 4:7 describes—“the peace that passes all understanding”—settle over me. In that moment, I knew no matter what the CT revealed, I would be okay, because God was with me (Isaiah 41:10). We prayed together before he left, and my heart felt lighter.

Soon after, the nurse unhooked me so I could head down for the CT scan. Thankfully, it was an open machine, which eased my claustrophobia. The dye brought warm, uncomfortable waves through my body, but the scan itself was quick—only about ten minutes. Then I went back upstairs to finish chemo while waiting for the results.

About 20 minutes later, the PA walked in with a smile. The CT was clear—the spot was only a shadow. Praise God! That’s all I could say!

After 6 long hours of labs, fluids, imaging, and chemo, it was time to go home. I was exhausted but deeply grateful. My first week of chemo had been a whirlwind of highs and lows, exhaustion and grace, fear and faith, tears and unexpected peace. As treatment #2 began, I could already see that this journey will bring both pain and beauty.

Today, September 10th, I have completed my full second week of chemo. By God’s grace, this 2nd week has gone well, and all glory belongs to Him. Jesus reminds us in Matthew 6:34, “Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.” These days have slowed me down in ways I didn’t expect, but they’ve also taught me and reminded me not to worry about tomorrow, to release the fear of what’s ahead and to truly treasure and embrace the gift of today.