I’ve been asked in recent weeks if I will ever write anything again. I have pondered doing so, but life has been a blur this past year. For those who don’t know me or my family well, it has been a year of supreme challenge. Our oldest son was diagnosed with Metastatic Gastric Cancer, stage 4 in January. He spent 4 months in a Utah hospital fighting for his life. I spent those 4 months praying, crying, laughing, and begging for a miracle as I stayed by his side. It tore my heart out to watch how our son suffered through radiation treatments, chemo, physical therapy and more tests than I care to remember. He went from being a strong, active young man, to someone who couldn’t even lift his arms, let alone walk. The cancer had morphed, skipping his organs (thank heavens) but it had attacked his entire skeletal frame. After his first PET scan, we were shown, highlighted in yellow, how much of his body was affected by this raging cancer. It went from his shoulders, down his entire spine, and into both legs. It didn’t help that we were told comforting things like, “He will likely live 3 months—there is just too much damage everywhere.” It was a dark time.
I can’t begin to describe how this mother’s heart shattered repeatedly as I watched my son suffer through indescribable pain each day. I will never forget how it felt to hear him scream as he struggled to survive the week he was in ICU, critically ill. But I also saw his determination grow each time he was told how limited he would be. In the beginning, they figured he would never walk again. We were shown a large electric wheelchair that they assumed would be the only way he would ever be able to move around. It took four people to help him move to a gurney that they then wheeled off for further testing/and/or radiation treatments. When they began talking about the care he would need when he returned home, I wondered how in the world we would be able to manage when he required so much help to move around.
The radiation treatments worked surprisingly well—his main oncologist called it “spot-welding.” With each treatment, he regained the ability to move his arms, and then his legs. By the end of his hospital stay, he could walk several yards down the hospital hallway with the use of a walker—something that amazed his doctors and nurses.
The chemo treatments made him so sick, but they also helped in the battle we were facing. Our son was becoming a warrior, courageously fighting each day for further movement and independence.
He spent two weeks in a rehabilitation center after he was released from the hospital. It was during that time that our son really began to regain the ability to utilize what they called core strength. This meant he could stand, supported, for a limited time using his hands to do simple tasks on a table.
After his release from the rehabilitation center, we were able to bring him back to his apartment that was ironically, ten minutes away from the cancer center in Murray. This helped greatly with his continued IV chemo treatments and further tests. He stayed in this location until May, when we were able to move him to our home in Idaho.
I’ve been asked repeatedly how we survived the past few months. It is a question I’ve pondered as well and I’ve come up with the following list:
1. Prayer. I’ve never prayed harder in my life. I prayed silently each day for comfort, guidance, and the strength to endure all that we were facing. I also felt comforting strength from the prayers of those who prayed for us. I learned during my own adventure with cancer in 2020 that there is strength in prayer. I’ve always had a strong testimony of the importance of prayer, but I learned in 2020 that there is an incredible power in prayer. That testimony was strengthened even further this past year. Prayer is a lifeline and I hold fast to it daily.
2. Family support. I will be forever grateful for my siblings, and other family members who sacrificed so much to help us survive this past year. My husband’s mother had shoulder surgery during our son’s battle with cancer, and Kennon spent a great deal of time at home, helping her. In his absence, my siblings took turns staying with me and helping me deal with difficult days. As I mentioned, our single son lived in a small apartment ten minutes away from the hospital which also had a cancer center next door to it. This proved to be such a blessing, since we could leave the hospital periodically to rest, knowing we were just a few minutes away if there was an emergency.
3. Recognizing tender mercies. These occurred daily, and I’ll probably never remember all of them, but each one was a reassurance that we weren’t alone in this battle. Having our son’s apartment so close to the hospital was a huge tender mercy. Having so many family members close by was another tender mercy. And incidents, like the day my clip came loose from my insulin pump. I didn’t realize it had happened until one of my siblings dragged me down to the cafeteria to eat a bite of something. (Let’s just say I didn’t have much of an appetite during that arduous time.) When I reached for my insulin pump (I’m a Type 1 diabetic), the clip was no longer attached. My clothing had help my pump in place. Frantic, I retraced my steps—that clip was important. I knew I could order a new one, but it would take several days to arrive. As my sister and I hurried through the hospital, looking for what was like finding a needle in a haystack, I silently prayed for help.
I felt impressed to go into the restroom I had used earlier. I entered the stall, and felt a strong impression to look through my jeans. I found the clip, inside one of my pant legs. It was such a relief! This may seem like a small thing to most people, but to me it was a huge sign that Someone was watching out for me. This small clip could’ve been easily lost, but it wasn’t.
4. Support from family members and friends. There is no way you can get through a trial of this magnitude without the loving support of family and friends. As I’ve already shared, my siblings sacrificed so much on behalf of our family during this trial. They took turns staying with me at my son’s apartment, and at the hospital so I wasn’t facing hard things alone. Kennon came down in between to help. Our second son did so much to help us sort through all of the paperwork/financial adventures during all of this. He provided a crucial service that quite literally saved the day. I also received so many text messages and phone calls from friends and relatives, it was overwhelming. But those messages were another lifeline.
Two close friends checked on my mother for me each week. My mother was living at the time in an assisted living center near our Idaho home, but I had been taking her to her appointments, and bringing her out to our home 2-3 times a week until our son went into the hospital. It was such a comfort to know that someone was checking weekly on my mother in my absence. One friend provided weekly Zoom chats for my mother and me so that she could visit with me almost in person. The other friend called me on her cell phone during her visits with my mother so that my mom could talk to me again. Both ladies then spent time with my mom, so that she didn’t feel like she was alone.
Another friend who lived in the area near my son’s apartment, brought us meals, kept in touch, and even invited Kennon & I to join her and her husband at the Jordan Temple to do sealings one night. This proved to be a much-needed moment of peace.
And I can’t begin to thank everyone who donated to a “Go Fund Me,” account that my brother and his wife opened on behalf of our son. The outpouring of support was amazing, and very appreciated.
Another friend was diagnosed with cancer during the time my son was in the hospital. We kept in close contact as we faced this dreaded disease together. Her messages were a source of comfort during our own adventure. We still keep in touch on an almost daily basis as we continue forward on this difficult journey.
A favorite aunt went with my husband to help take my mother to an appointment with her retinologist in Logan, Utah. This same lady also took my mother to a hair appointment, providing a needed act of service.
Another close friend drove down to Murray one day and spent time with me and my son at the rehab center. She then took me to lunch, and provided a huge boost to my sagging morale.
I could go on and on, but I think you get the idea. Letters, cards, and care packages were sent. People surfaced/stepped forward to help when we needed them the most, another indication that our Father was very aware of Kris and me during this fiery trial. I should mention that several of our son’s friends came to see him at the rehab center, and at his apartment, and even here at our home. Their visits were also deeply appreciated.
5. Family time. In the beginning, when we were told comforting things like our son was facing terminal cancer, we drew together as a family. Our youngest son flew into Utah to be with us during the first difficult week. This wasn’t easy for him as he was finishing up his residency in Rapid City, South Dakota. He also drove his family to Utah after Kris was released from the Rehab Center to his apartment. By this time, one of my sisters had helped us get a power-chair for Kris to use to get around in. He could walk on a limited basis, but needed a way to maneuver when his back gave out. The powerchair made it possible for him to go to a nearby park for a family picnic as our family gathered all together for the first time in nearly 2 years. (Another blessing, this power-chair breaks down into 4 pieces and fits nicely in our trunk.)
Kris put together a bucket list of sorts. At the top of this list was the desire to see the ocean. We made plans in May to make that happen and in July, our entire clan journeyed to San Diego and spent a week together in this location. We were able to take Kris to see the ocean several times that week in varied locations. It was a wonderful time, and something we will always treasure.
6. Keep hope alive. From the beginning, we refused to believe that all was lost. Even on the darkest night when all seemed to be going south, as they say, there was still a glimmer of light inside of my heart that persisted in glowing. I saw that same look of determination on Kris’ face each time he was told that he needed to accept what was happening. And as a result, we saw repeated miracles. The fact that Kris can now walk without his walker in our home is a miracle. Also, we have far exceeded the three month life-span that he was initially given. We are currently in month nine. Just saying. And his last PET scan showed that the tumor in his stomach is gone, as is the tumor in his lymph-nodes. The cancer was still in his entire spine, but it was shrinking. As a result of that test, we were told that Kris stands a really good chance of kicking this disease into remission.
7. Remember that attitude is everything. Someone told me that years ago. It is still very true. I’ve seen it in my own life with the battles I have faced compliments of Type 1 diabetes, rheumatoid arthritis, and cancer. I’ve also seen it play a huge role in my son’s life this past year as he has bravely faced an overwhelming diagnosis. We quickly learned to not focus on words like: terminal, stage four, or impossible. Instead we chose a positive approach, and that has made all of the difference.
There are days that are not fun. “Chemo-days,” as we call them. (Kris is still on oral chemo.) On these days, we strive to focus on upbeat things, funny comedies, and important items like chocolate or Coke Zero. We’ve learned to take each day as it comes and to do the best that we can. And we have learned to be grateful for the small things in life that we used to take for granted.
In short, this past year has been a time of heartache, pain, growth, hope, and love. We have constantly felt peaceful comfort, an indication that this life serves a purpose. There is a reason for all things, and we are never as alone as we sometimes think we are. And no matter what kind of journey we face, it’s important to push forward and follow the example my mother has set for us: never give up. We call her the Unsinkable Molly Brown (Molly Brown survived the Titanic adventure) for a reason. And I would have to say that her oldest grandson is living up to that legacy.
