BEST URDU POETRY WALPAPERS QUOTES IMAGES

With another round of chemo complete, I try to look back and count the number of rounds Dad has been on, but I've lost count. I've also tried to look back at the number of MRI's, although I've also lost count of those too.  Dad's last round of chemo was a little tough, but we've somehow managed to get better each round at treating the side effects of the drugs. We know it could all be much worse, as I remember my Granny fighting through cancer, and I remember how difficult each round of chemo was on her body. I may have been young, but there are some things you never really forget. I thank Mom for not hiding her cancer from me as a child, for sharing with us the good and bad days with her cancer battle, and for teaching me how to take care of someone who is diagnosed with cancer. Granny's fight prepared me to be a caregiver for Dad. To be there for the doctor's appointments and difficult days, it prepared me to face the battle with courage and strength, ...

I currently follow the blog called "Becoming SuperMommy". Not because I can at all relate to her stories about children or attempting to become a "super mommy", but because I can relate to her battle and struggle to help beat her husband's brain cancer.  Her husband is 7.5 years past his initial diagnosis of stage IV brain cancer (Glioblastoma). The same type of brain cancer Dad was diagnosed with almost 19 months ago. And now, the cancer is back for her husband. Her recent post was titled "This is the Hardest Part of Getting Treatment for Brain Cancer." Throughout the post I found myself having tears in my eyes and a smile on my face. Because her words have been my exact thoughts these last 19 months.  The smile comes from these words, because I'm pretty sure I've thought exactly this- "I'm almost through it [discussing scheduling surgery and treatment]. I'm almost to that finish line where I look around for the medal I've ear...

Throughout these last 18 months, I've had the opportunity to connect and develop friendships with people that, from the outside looking in, it seems that we wouldn't have much in common, it appears there would not be a reason for such a deep bond or connection. But sometimes, when God hands you something as difficult in your life as cancer, the outside looking in similarities mean nothing, instead you look at one another, give each other a hug, and you just get it.  It's amazing how the talks about chemotherapy, the terrible side effects, the anxiety of scans/MRIs, and overall stress involved with fighting cancer become your new normal. And that's exactly what cancer has become in my life- my new normal.  I talk about cancer and chemotherapy as if it's a normal every day routine, which is exactly what it is. But, my friends are so amazing in understanding that some days I just don't want to talk about it. Sometimes I want to go back, if just for a few hours, to ...

"Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass, it's about learning how to dance in the rain." Or maybe I should change that last part from "dance" to "run", because that's exactly what we did yesterday morning in Houston to support Dad and brain cancer research- we ran in the rain.  As mile 2 hit in our run, and the rain was coming down a bit harder than I was anticipating, I sort of laughed to myself when I thought of that quote. And then quickly thought of another quote from a prior blog post- "Rain falls on the just and the unjust". Even when you have faith, you'll still have difficulties, but when the storms come, you will not be defeated.  And I think yesterday proved just that. Not only did we not allow the storms to defeat us, but I think we all had a chance to dance in the rain (ok, maybe not literally!). We were able to celebrate Dad's HUGE milestone of 18 months post diagnosis, and we were able to love and support ...

We heard the words from our Oncologist, Dr. Fleener: "I've never had a brain cancer patient do so well on Avastin for this long. So, we're a little bit in uncharted territory." Dad had been on Avastin since March 21, 2014. Later that day I asked Mom if she realized what Dr. Fleener meant by saying that, if she understood what that really meant about Dad. Mom looked at me a little puzzled, and I simply said, "Dr. Fleener is saying she's never had a brain cancer patient this long without the tumor returning. Mom, most patients don't live this long." But Dad's been beating the odds that have been set against him from day 1 of his diagnosis, which is why it breaks my heart when doctors give patients a time frame for their lives. I know lots of people ask the life expectancy, and I also know that doctor's have that responsibility to share with them the statistics and studies- but I also know that each and every patient is different. And Dad is pro...

Let me start by sharing the news of Dad's last MRI- it did not indicate any tumor growth or any stroke. We are on cloud 9! After lots of discussions, we decided to stop the IV (Avastin) treatment for right now. Dr. Fleener had a great way of giving us her opinion on the treatment and Dad's cancer, and she also said that sometimes we get divine intervention, sometimes something happens that makes us re-think our current plan- and I think Dad's mini-stroke was just that. The Avastin can cause strokes, both mini-strokes and massive strokes, and although the MRI did not show a mini-stroke, Dr. Fleener feels as though Dad did have one. The fear of a massive stroke in his future is too devastating to us, since we've come so far in Dad's brain cancer journey.  So the chemo will continue, and the MRI's a bit more frequent to monitor the changes in treatment, but overall Dad is feeling great! We are so incredibly blessed! Side Note: Run For The Rose is just a few days aw...

The grit of life.  The irritations of life. The aggravating, challenging circumstances we each face daily. And sometimes, we need a bit of a reminder WHY we see this "grit" on a daily basis. And sometimes this reminder comes from a wonderful friend who decided to email me a little analogy: "The grit of life, the irritations of life, the aggravating, challenging circumstances of life that create multiple layers of irritation...well to the oyster is just everyday life. The oyster seemingly takes this grit, without complaining, closes it's shell and oozes out a substance that is slowly refined by the grit to make a pearl. Making something so valuable and beautiful out of life's challenges. Or is it that something beautiful emerges from the grit of life? If we work with it, sit with it, roll it around, not spewing it out, but allowing it to be what it is, seeing it for what it is- the potential for beauty. Just think the pearl only exist because of the rubbing and ch...