Oh, the results.

Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,

You seemed to have been pretty proud of yourself this past week what with all the pain you caused and the scary prospect of the future you gave me. But today, I can't help but delight in wiping that smug grin off your face. Let me start off by asking you a question, sir: have you ever heard the verse Psalm 30:5?  It simply says this, "Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning."  As you may or may not know, there has been plenty of weeping.  Don't act quite so surprised, Mr. Hodgkin's, since your attacks aim not to please.  The unknown of the future and what you could possibly do to me would drive me to my knees and my soul would cry out the words of Psalm 69:3, "I am weary with my crying out; my throat is parched. My eyes grow dim with waiting for my God."  But do you remember my resolve to take God up on His Word?  This past week, in the stillness of the night, I picked up my sharpie, and with the creative flow of my hand, I scripted these words out on my sketchbook: "Wait, my soul, for His hand to move."  So I waited.  Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday,.... Friday.  Finally here.  And this is where we begin today:

I shut the door of my Alero and as it creaked shut (my baby's getting old....), I was grateful to see both my parents walking towards the entrance of the oncology center. I quickened my pace to catch up with them and as we made our way into the lobby, I again scanned the room to see if there was anyone my age. With a sigh, I realized yet again the answer was no. Why would someone in their 20's be in an oncology center, you ask? Real funny, Mr. Hodgkin's. I will not dignify that with a response. 

After I checked in and right as I was about to sit down, the nurse called, "Heidi?"  Wow, no waiting? This was a first (it's a possibility I may be feisty in the afternoon too...).  We followed her back to a slightly larger room than the first, where she took my temperature.... and the moment we always look forward to, my blood pressure.  She looked up at me and with an impressed nod, said, "Very good!"  I glanced over at my mom and dad as we exchanged wide grins.  You see, in the Stoltz household, we are very proud of our extraordinary blood pressure.  Simple joys, sir - just embrace it.  Once our claim to fame was stated, she left the room and we assumed the position to once again talk with my oncologist.  Since this was the day we would hear all the results from this week's tests, the pressure and anxiety began to build.  Before it could escalade, we bowed our heads and prayed to the God who was not worried by this appointment and who was Lord over all things. Sometimes, Mr. Hodgkin's, all it takes is a little prayer to realign back to His perspective, and thus, peace flows. 

With a knock, my oncologist walked in ready to shake my hand and greet my parents.  As he did, I studied this man once again. I couldn't decide what I thought about him. His serious manner seemed intense yet I realized the situation called for a serious discussion.  Hmmm, looks like time will tell.  He made his way over to his chair and once again made himself comfortable in my personal space, but only this time, I didn't seem to mind.  It was then that we dived right in.  As he took out my scans, he said, "I have good news.  Your tumors are limited to one area and there is nothing of concern below the upper diaphragm... which means Stage 2."  I realized I wasn't breathing and with a grateful sigh, I defaulted back into my regular patterns of respiratory.  Thank you, Lord Jesus in heaven.  Of course, in matters apropos of you, there's never straight-up easy news. You must love to keep me on my toes because here came the blow: "With stage 2, we will have to do a combination treatment of chemotherapy and radiation." Since radiation was not in the picture before, he then went on to explain the potential risks/side effects concerning this treatment method (one being damage to my thyroid which would put me on replacement pills for the rest of my life).  I understand they are liable to communicate these items to me, but nevertheless, my shoulders droop and my heart still sinks.  Again, Lord, please protect me. Please. 

After these painful words were spoken, he looked straight into my eyes and moved from the negatives to the full-fledged positives, "The benefits far outweigh the risks.  With this combination, there is an 80% chance it will go away forever.  This combination plan causes a much better response accompanied with the best end results. See, the tumor cells are very smart, and with chemo, they can change and find a different way to attack.  However, with targeted radiation, it kills the cells completely; they don't have time to think or how to survive.  We would not be able to do this if the tumors were spread throughout your body, but since they are congregated in the neck/upper diaphragm, I'm very confident in this for you and this is very good news."  Hmmm, you are more brilliant than you let on, sir; it sounds as if you are very precise in your attack.  Well, beware: your cocky approach may tribute to your demise, Mr. Hodgkin's.  Hmmm, no actually I take that back - nothing but the power of my God and His firm grasp on me will mark your defeat.  One word: sucka.

Here comes another cause to celebrate.  Just last week, I was informed treatment was projected to last up to 6 months.  However, I, along with numerous others, have been praying all week against you and for the healing power of my God to do His work.  No one wants you to inhabit my body any longer than deemed necessary. Now, here is a little lesson on how prayer works, Mr. Hodgkin's. It's actually quite simple. I cry out to my God.  I share my heart.  He hears me. He delights in answering me. And He moves for my good because I am called according to His purposes (if you don't believe me, read Romans 8:28).  So today, this is how my God answered my prayers: "Because the tumors have stayed in the one area, you will only need to go through 4 months of chemotherapy and then 6 weeks of radiation."  Better... but wait for it. As we walked out to the lobby, we were passed off to a care coordinator to begin scheduling the appointments for my treatment sessions - beginning with this coming Monday.  All the while, my oncologist met with my radiologist to confirm the treatment plan.  They then decided together, "Actually, only 3 months of chemotherapy followed by 6 weeks of radiation are required."  Concerning chemo, my God took their calculated 6 months and cut that in half; do you not see His hand in all of that?  With only 3 months of chemo, the risks are minimal and the side effects reduced (even if radiation is it's own beast).  He also shared the results of my other tests: how my heart was in mint condition, my pulminary test came back normal, and my blood levels reported regular.  He then pointed at the only area of concern in my blood tests (a weird name I cannot account for) and shrugged his shoulders saying, "You may just have to eat more vegetables."  I looked at him without missing a beat and because I'm incorrigible, firmly stated, "I have a poor diet."  He looked away with a huge grin and it was then that I decided: I like this guy.

So after another day at the doctor, I hopped in my car and as I pulled out of the parking lot, I gazed up at the bright blue sky ahead.  With tears brimming along my eyes, I thanked my God who hears me and changed events in my favor.  Not only changed them, but restored them in a way that made my future seem far less scary than it once had only days before.  Even with my music turned on low, I caught a chord that amplified the joy in my heart and made me turn the volume up as loud as it could go.  Mr. Hodgkin's, with my fists pumping in the air and tears then streaming down my face, I raced down the freeway singing this at the top of my lungs: "I shout out Your Name from the rooftops I proclaim that I am Yours!  All that I am, I place into Your loving hands... and I am Yours!" (Like I said before, I have to be a bit more careful when my emotions are high and I'm driving... but seriously, this was a day to hoot and holler... and I shamelessly did just that. Because, sir, joy certainly did come in the morning.)

Yours Truly,
Heid