Finally We Have A Plan

For months, it seemed like every answer led to another test.

Test. Wait. Test. Wait. Test. Wait.

CT scans. X-rays. MRIs. Biopsies. A PET scan. A bone marrow biopsy. Doctor after doctor.

And then more waiting.

But this week, something changed… we finally have a plan.

I met with the Radiation Oncologist to talk about what comes next. And for the first time since all of this started back in May, I walked away with actual dates on the calendar.

Not another test. And not another “we’ll call you when we get the results.”

Instead, WE HAVE A PLAN…

12 radiation treatments, beginning Thursday, August 20.

August 20–21.
August 24–28.
August 31.
September 1–4.

And that last date caught my attention.

September 4. There’s an END date I can circle on my calendar.

After months of not knowing what was going to happen next, I can’t begin to tell you how good that feels.

The doctor told me the side effects I am most likely to deal with are exhaustion, being very thirsty, and possibly not having much of an appetite.
(I kind of like that last part.)

I’m sure there will be some really crappy days mixed in there, but now I know what’s coming.

Not surgery. Not six months. Not twelve months.

Twelve treatments.

I asked the doctor if there would be surgery to remove the mass after the radiation was finished.

His answer surprised me. No surgery.

He explained that the cancer should be dead and what remains will simply show up as scar tissue. After that, I’ll have follow-up scans—every three months at first, then every six months, and eventually once a year for five years.

It was about noon when we left the doctor’s office, and Tony suggested we have lunch and talk about what we had just learned, and what questions we still needed answered.

Tasha picked Chicken Salad Chick. It was close, it was good, and I still wish we had one in Fort Smith.

By the time lunch was over, there was really only one big “undecided” left:

How am I going to get back and forth every day?

Highlands is about an hour and a half from my house. That means if I drive back and forth every day, I’ll spend about three hours in the car for a treatment that takes about 30 minutes, start to finish.

The J.B. Hunt Foundation offers free weekday lodging for cancer patients who live out of town, so I could stay there during the week and come home on the weekends. But cancer patients can only stay as long as they have an Advocate stay with them. So that doesn’t make sense.

There is also the option of a shuttle service, but I don'[t know how ofter it runs. Need to check that out.

Part of me says, “Of course I’m coming home every day.”

The more practical part of me says, “Cheryl, you might want to see how tired you are before you make that decision.”

We’ll see which one wins.

And in the meantime…

I’m still a Realtor with Keller Williams Platinum Realty.

But, apparently cancer, radiation plans, and 102-degree Arkansas heat are no match for a Realtor with a new listing that needs a sign put up in the yard and a lockbox on the door.

Sometimes you just do what you’ve got to do!

In this case, the ground was so hard I couldn’t get the sign up. So I poured bottles of water around the posts to soften the dirt enough that I could hammer them into the ground.

Mission accomplished.

I came home, fixed myself a big jug of unsweet tea, wrapped my feet in cold wet washcloths—something I learned from Granny—and sat on the sofa for about an hour just relaxing and cooling off.

And somewhere in that quiet hour, I realized something…

For nearly three months, so much of this journey has been about not knowing.

Now I know:

–I know what we’re going to do.
I know when we’re going to start.
And perhaps most importantly, I know the date we’re planning to finish.
September 4.

Twelve treatments. One day at a time. And finally… we have a plan.

If you’re going through something difficult—or you know someone who is—please hit SHARE and send this chapter to them. Sometimes just knowing someone else understands the waiting, the uncertainty, and the fear can make the road feel a little less lonely.

And if you’re following my journey on CherylLawWhite.com or here on Facebook, leave me a comment. I read them, and I promise you, your words mean more to me than you probably realize.

And just always remember… As long as God gives me another sunrise, He isn’t finished writing my story. And that means He’s not finished with yours either.