Oh dear. I continue to be neglectful of this blog. My sincere apologies, because I feel like I really did a teaser last time I wrote. I provided an update, left on a cliffhanger, and then never returned to tell you what is happening!

Lets just blame COVID-19. I think everything in 2020 can eventually circle around to that excuse, right?

Seriously though, my last post was just before everything got crazy and blogging fell down the list of priorities, especially with the increased amount of time the children were at home thanks to schooling at home. And as I’ve always said, once you’ve lost your groove, it’s kind of hard to recover.

So to recap. Prior to Easter I had discovered that even though the Keytruda was working on the main thymic carcinoma tumor, I had lesions growing on my lungs. A PET scan soon after I wrote the previous blog revealed these lung cancers were continuing to increase in size, so it wasn’t pseudo growth like I’d hoped. Not good news. Thank goodness we have access to amazing medical procedures in this country. I received a very short treatment of highly concentrated radiation which was very targeted straight into the actual tumors. I needed to travel to Brisbane four times within 2 weeks for this, but the good news is that my oncologist was thrilled with the results as the cancers on the lungs are practically gone. The smaller of the two is completely gone and we are hoping that the next scan will show no activity left for the larger of the two lumps.

So that leaves me continuing immunotherapy every three weeks. That scan also showed some slight shrinkage around the outside of the central tumor, so it was encouraging to see that it is continuing to work. I’m praying that next time the scan shows increased shrinkage. (Hopefully a bit more than just “slight”.) I still receive it every three weeks. The most exciting development here is that in June we have finally reached the financial cap set by the drug company that produces the medication. Once we had reached $60 000 (plus some more in pharmecutical fees) the drug company has a compassionate fee exemption, so now I will never need to pay for Keytruda again. It is a huge relief that our families savings will not continue to plummet, so I’m very thankful for Merck’s compassion. Especially since the treament may last the rest of my life. (Which will hopefully be a very long time!) We feel very blessed that we were able to find the money to receive the treatment, but I hope that in the future in Australia it will be included on the PBS so other families will not have to take such a huge financial hit. Even without having to pay for Keytruda, we will have hospital excesses to pay and I also need to pay for PET scans which aren’t covered for Thymic Carcinoma, yet are vital for tracking my progress. The covered CT scans just don’t show enough information to make informed decisions about treatment. Then there’s all the added medical expenses. (Like radiation which cost a pretty penny.)

Please don’t be worried about us, but I have mentioned numbers just to increase awareness of the huge costs associated with having a rare cancer as opposed to a more common cancer. There are some people out there who can’t access the funds to receive their choice of treatment, and I can only imagine the heart ache for them and their family.

The other good news is that I have been able to move my treatment to my hometown. It does mean Skyping my doctor rather than seeing him face to face, but so far that has been working fine. I think I will still travel to Brisbane to receive scan results. It has made life much easier. As nice as it was driving to Brisbane with friends and family and spending extra time with some people I love, it is so much easier not to inconvenience anyone and not to lose so many hours travelling. This way I can put a load of clothes on the line, pop up to hospital, call into the grocery store on the way home, then come home, do some chores, pick up the kids and spend the afternoon with them. Once I even did a meeting at night, but I’m not in a hurry to repeat that. I am exhausted after treatment and will often go to bed early that day, so I felt like I needed toothpicks to keep my eyes open in the end after going out at night. But altogether the quality of life that I am experiencing is amazing. I can sometimes have mild fatigue, but other than that it’s business as usual! It is so good to feel healthy while undergoing cancer treatment.

The other positive about receiving immunotherapy during 2020 is that I am not immune compromised, so I am not at increased risk of contracting COVID-19 when I am in the community. Of course I have more reasons than most not to want it, because it would halt my treatment during recovery time. However I have been able to continue with life which would have been very complex for a busy Mum if I needed to take shelter within the home for the last several months.

So apart from all those health things, life has been our usual sweet happy mess. Alex wouldn’t describe my mess as sweet or happy, so maybe that’s not a great descriptor. Let’s just say family life is happy and messy, and so is the house. After a period of schooling at home the children are very happy to be back at school with their friends and excited about learning in a classroom again. Some of my children did better at schooling at home than others, but all prefer the classroom context, so we are loving that they are at such an amazing school which creates a learning environment which is such a source of enjoyment for them.

Soccer season has begun again. Alex and I did kind of enjoy the break from the sidelines, but it’s great for the kids to be back running around again. We only have two playing this year. A third is loving gymnastics and the remaining two children need to choose another sport to participate in.

The Accountant is keeping himself busy. Business is doing well at this stage, but he’s always on the lookout for small business clients, so we’re always praying that the right people find him. I’m on the teaching circuit again and enjoying relief teaching work. Of course this has been in very short supply this year, but hopefully I can pick up a few more days before the year concludes.

One of the highlights of the year since I last wrote was travelling to Cairns to belatedly celebrate my father-in-law’s milestone birthday. It was so good being able to travel, and Cairns is always such a beautiful location to escape to.

I hope you have all been doing well during this crazy year called 2020?

I’ve just been googling videos to try and find out what animals look like when they emerge after hibernating. I thought perhaps this might be a good analogy of me writing this blog post? Here I am, popping my head up out of the hole like this arctic ground squirrel, looking all around and surveying the territory. To tell you the truth I thought when one awakes from hibernation you might be a bit bleary eyed and groggy, but that little guy gets straight to work, so perhaps it’s not a good analogy. I might take a little bit longer to find my groove.

I got bored of watching animal videos to find out if  my emerging from a blogging hibernation is a good analogy so let’s just pretend there’s a loose correlation.

The truth is that if I have been in blogging hibernation, I still dream of blogging. I still miss it. I can remember when I did blog more regularly people would ask how I found time to do it. Now I ask myself that same question and wonder how I can incorporate it into my life again. I certainly have not been sleeping while my blog has hibernated, I have been doing life in a very busy and noisy fashion. (My children are not quiet!)

I’ve realised I like an audience, but I’m not writing for an audience. I write for myself and with the hope that perhaps it may be of interest to my children at some point in time, and in the meantime if others get something out of my writing, I’m delighted. But right now, I’m not thinking stats or strategies. I’m doing old school blogging, something resembling an online diary or just a platform to share about something I’d like to share about. I’m not trying to target a niche and things might be clunky and inconsistent.

To whoever is reading and not spam, “Hello”! I’m stumbling out of my blogging void, blinking furiously and hoping that my blog behaves itself and let’s me write, because I have things to say. Thanks for those who might listen through reading. I hope there is more to come!

2017 was a big year for me. I had two major surgeries and a 3rd minor surgery. I was diagnosed with cancer and received radiation and chemotherapy. As the year concluded lots of people made comments to me about how I must be glad to kick 2017 goodbye after such a crap year.

I refuse to label last year as a crap year. I’m not going to pretend that it was easy. But… How can I possibly label it as crappy when during that year I saw so many bright moments during the darkness or witnessed and experienced some of the kindest, selfless and skilled actions of our world’s amazing humankind?

How could I possibly call 2017 a crap year when I witnessed so much beauty from people, events, resources, moments?

A husband who stays by your side no matter what.
The life changing transformative power of skilled surgeons and their supporting medical teams.
The dedication and care of amazing nurses.
The privilege of exemplary medical facilities and services.
The stupendous power of painkillers.
The excited faces of children each time they are reunited with their Mummy.
Family and friends who visit to cheer you up or just to be present.
A GP who is an amazing support during post-op care.
A church who cheers you on, lifts you up in prayer and helps out in practical ways.
A husband who doesn’t complain with all the extra jobs he needs to do because you can’t do much at all.
People who arrive at your house to scrub your toilet, wash your floors, do your ironing, clean the mould from your bathroom roof, etc. etc. etc.
School teachers who send emails to update you of your child’s progress during your absence and send you a get well card from a class and flowers from the school.
The kindness in the tone of a surgeon who tells you for the first time that there is cancer in your body.
Friends who decipher your gobblededook texts when you are high on meds asking for prayer.
Friends and family who pray.
People who pray for you even though they don’t know you.
Answered prayers.
A GP who will return your call within 2 minutes after hearing you have been diagnosed with cancer and give you all the advice you need.
People who send little gifts to cheer you up.
People who watch out for your kids and make sure they are OK when you can’t do it.
People who deliver a meal or baked goods that keep you and your family sustained.
Parents, Siblings and In-Laws who pause their lives to be there for myself, the kids and hubby.
People who offer grace when you are being unreasonable or short tempered.
A husband who loves you through the good, bad and the ugly.
Children who are resilient and strong.

2017 proved to me that I am strong. It’s a powerful thing to have your strength proven.

I was strong enough to plan for my temporary absence from family life and set up strategies for my family to carry on in my absence and reduced capacity.
I was strong enough to walk into a hospital and submit my body to painful experiences knowing it would result in greater good.
I was strong enough to lay in ICU and allow myself to be completely cared for knowing that weakness leads to strength.
I was strong enough to be a nice patient.
I was strong enough to sit, stand and start walking (and go to the toilet) only days after a 6 hour operation where two titanium rods were screwed into my spine.
I was strong enough to be genuinely interested in others even when everything was hurting.
I was strong enough to know that laughter is a good medicine.
I was strong enough to know that tears are sometimes necessary for healing.
I was strong enough to have determination to do all I physically could to heal.
I was strong enough to pause and do nothing so I could heal.
I was strong enough to imagine my children without a mother even though I pray it will never happen.
I was strong enough to discuss with my husband what life would be like without me in it.
I was strong enough to accept help.
I was strong enough to gracefully reject offers to help when I knew it wasn’t going to be helpful for my family or I.
I was strong enough to celebrate my children’s birthdays even when I was physically exhausted to the max.
I was strong enough to make super dooper birthday cakes and presentable costumes for school despite being in the midst of tiring chemo and radiation regimes.
I was strong enough to apologise for the times I did things the wrong way.
I was strong enough to laugh.
I was strong enough to never stop loving fiercely.
I was strong enough to never stop believing and find strength in my faith.

There were multitudes of challenges throughout that year. Not only myself, but also for my family to walk through. Cancer and major health issues don’t affect just an individual, especially when you’re a Mum. We muddled through them together. The name on this blog rings true. My heart is happy. (But I am grateful that 2018 hasn’t been as challenging as last year!)

If you are walking alongside a loved one who is having a hard time right now or watching someone from afar. Be assured that there is so much you can do to help. Don’t underestimate the power of  kindness. Be encouraged that sometimes all you need to do is turn up listen, help or do your job well and it will make all the difference in somebody’s life. Go the extra mile to show kindness even when it’s inconvenient.

If you are going through a rough time, be reassured. Suffering can be a gift. It makes you realise all the blessings in your life. It can increase your faith or give you faith. It makes you stronger. It can give you hope in Eternity. It can give you confidence in the existence and reality of God.

We are half way through 2018. What can you do to make the world a better place for those around you? Whether 2018 is a remarkable year or a tough year for you, pause. Appreciate the beauty. It is easily found when you stop and look. All around us, every day, there is always enough joy to create some happiness in your heart.

“I feel sorry for husbands whose wives don’t make them homemade jams and pickles,” my Gran remarked to my cousin and I. “There’s nothing like having a cupboard full of jars that have been made with love that you can eat together. It’s just not the same as the store bought jams and pickles.”

As she walked out of the room my cousin looked at me. I looked at my cousin. As Gran’s footsteps padded down the hallway I whispered, “I’ve never made a pickle or jam before in my life.” My cousin whispered back, “I’m far too busy to make my own pickles and jams.” And then we laughed. Oh how we laughed. But without hesitation, the next day we happily took home multitudes of jars of pickles and jams and our respective husbands ate those little jars of love with us, and God bless them, they never did complain when the lovingly made jars ran out and we returned to eating store bought jams and pickles. (We must have bought them with love.)

This Friday I realised with a panic that I had not bought a Father’s Day present for my Dad. The panic was not because I had no present, I still had time to do that. The panic was because my father is horrendously hard to buy presents for. All of a sudden I had a brain wave! I would make him a chilli chutney! Something with a little kick to put on his sandwiches. I congratulated myself on having a plan, and as I thought about how to execute it, I started thinking about Gran and the conversation we had so many years ago. I then had another brainwave, I should make Dad some of his mother’s pickles! Dad particularly liked getting jars of pickles off Gran every visit. It would have to be a sentimental favourite for a gift. #Winning

I went searching through a recipe book I had of Gran’s. No pickle recipe. But there was a tomato relish recipe. That would do. But just in case, I sent a quick note to my Aunty asking if she had Gran’s pickles recipe. I went ahead with the relish plan when I hadn’t heard back from her and I went shopping, with five kids no less. I would declare myself supermum, but it would be untrue. I was a frazzled worn out wreck. Particularly after one child swung from the fruit and veggie scales like a swing, and before I could get there to stop the antics, his identical brother, oh yes, I am not protecting their identities, had started to use it like a bungee cord. I took their hands firmly, brought them back to the trolley and was giving them a good scolding when someone I don’t know very well recognised me. Gulp. Turn on friendly face! I also ran into another friend who I know much better, but the conversation was brief. I just wanted to get home!

I immediately started skinning tomatoes and roasting capsicum and chillis when I got home. I knew I had limited time before we had to go out to a soccer break up. While I’m busying in the kitchen, I received a photo from my Aunty of Gran’s Sweet Mustard Pickles recipe! It was around this time that I also realised that I had miscalculated how many tomatoes were in a pound, (I’m a metric girl, imperial confuses me) so I decided I should use my excess tomatoes to make the pickles as well as the relish and the chutney.

It was at about midnight that I questioned why I was being such an overachiever. I maybe should have paid more attention to the remark on my other grandmother’s recipe book. She gave me a recipe for Plum Jam but then wrote next to it, “It’s easier to buy a jar.”

On into the early hours of the morning I realised why it was sacrilege at Gran’s house to throw out an empty jar as I searched in vain through the recycle bin for an empty jar. When it was time to move Grandad out of their house, we had to smuggle the hoards of empty glass jars into the trailer to go to the tip. He just couldn’t cope with seeing any glass jars thrown out, even though Gran had passed away quite some years prior. When my wheelie bin search proved futile I started examining my fridge and happily found an almost empty bottle of olives that were able to be relocated into a Tupperware container. I also emptied a jar of chocolate coated peanuts, which didn’t really help as the jar was plastic, but at least I have more room to put pickles in the fridge, right?

And here I sit, waiting for my olive jar to sterilise.

I can tell you this. Those pickles, chutneys and relish sitting on my counter top right now are made with love. So much love. Somehow I am sure they will taste better than store bought. Every stir of the pot I have been thinking about my Dad’s face when he sees those pickles. I am wondering whether the chutney is going to have enough kick in it to delight Dad and my husband. I have relished making the relish and when I got sick of peeling tomatoes I kept on peeling thinking of how much better it was going to taste because of the effort. But the most delightful part of this whole process has been the memories of Gran while I have cooked. All afternoon, and into the evening, Gran’s voice has been echoing in my head. Long lost conversations have been remembered. As I stand at the saucepan and stir I can picture Gran doing the same in her cluttered kitchen. When my husband walked into my kitchen and remarked that it smells like Gran and Grandad’s house, I only felt pride.

Happy Fathers Day Dad! On this Father’s Day I’m particularly grateful that your mother fed and raised you to be such an outstanding man and that has made you a beyond excellent father.

(Post script: I’ve had a few difficulties posting this blog, so Father’s Day has been and gone. Alas, Dad came down with the dreaded man flu, so I’m still waiting to give him my gift!)

What gifts did you give on Father’s Day? Have you ever made pickles, relish or chutney? (Or Jam?)

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Cancer. It’s not a word that you want in your life. You hope “cancer” will stay as a peripheral experience: others get cancer, but never you or your closest loved ones.

And then one day there is a doctor sitting in front of you saying that dreaded word.

Recently it happened to me. I now have a cancer story. It’s only beginning. I’m praying for a happy ending.

The last time I blogged was on the dawn of my scoliosis surgery. We knew that this year was going to be a big year for me healthwise. We had no idea how big. There’s been a few curveballs.

So here is the story. I had the back surgery. It hurt. A lot.

I spent four days in intensive care before moving onto the ward. I spent another week in the ward. When I was in ICU they took an x-ray of my chest to check for pneumonia. It’s a routine thing. I didn’t feel like I had anything wrong, so I wasn’t worried. I was just excited to see what my new back looked like! It was impressive. The nurse glanced over at the X-ray, froze, then let out an awed, “Woah. That is awesome!” It always amuses me what turns on medical people. He then send with great reverence, “You are totally Optimus Spine now.” Thanks nurse! I am! I totally own that. I’m proud of my straight spine, it hasn’t been easy to get and the large scar down my back now is a badge of honour.

While I was celebrating my straight back that could be seen in the x-ray, I didn’t notice a cloud looming. The cloud was in the X-ray. A cloudy white mass on my lungs. Once I was on the ward, I learned about it from a lung specialist. He came to visit me and told me what they had seen on the X-ray that my untrained eye had not noticed. They thought it was a collapsed lung, which sounded scary but with his explanation I was quickly comforted. It didn’t sound like it would make a big difference in my life, unless I wanted to run a marathon. Which I certainly did not. No drama.

On his way out the door, he paused and said that he and my surgeon are both confident it’s nothing too serious and it wouldn’t be cancer or anything like that. He walked out the door as I froze. Cancer? Huh, what? I hadn’t once thought of that, he’d immediately said collapsed lung and that is what I instantly presumed, not another scenario entering my mind. I quickly became annoyed that he would even mention the word cancer if he didn’t think it was cancer and shrugged it off.

Later that day I was wheeled in my bed down to X-ray and had a CT scan of my chest and also had a full spinal X-ray to confirm my Optimus Spine status.

The next morning I was visited by a cardiothoracic surgeon. He asked me if my ears were burning? Apparently he had just come from a meeting of surgeons and oncologists where I had been discussed at length. I had become, or rather the cloudy mass behind my sternum, had become an enigma. The CT scan showed it wasn’t a collapsed lung but the question was how to diagnose the enigma. This new surgeon informed me that they decided on a biopsy and a PET scan. He told me it was going to be a big day, but the good news is that tomorrow we would have answers.

Later in the day my bed was wheeled down again to the X ray department. I knew how much it had hurt the day before getting onto the table for the CT scan. (Remember I still was recovering from major spinal surgery and had about 200 staples down my spine. No exaggeration.) I asked for something to help me through. A nurse was very obliging and injected me with morphine before I left. Which turned out to be very handy because there was a delay and my bed was in a parking bay, (for real, hospitals have parking bays for beds), for three hours so the morphine gave me a great sleep while I waited. (Morphine completely knocks me out.) After the biopsy, which was quite quick and not as painful as I expected (once again grateful for morphine) I was in the parking bay for another two hours waiting to go to the PET scan. This time I was given a gourmet food magazine, which was good because I like food mags and I was coming a little bit more lucid, although not enough to stay awake for long,   It turned out that the food magazine may not have been the best selection. I hadn’t eaten much lunch and I was starting to get hungry. My taste buds were salivating as I read an article about fancy doughnuts. It took me over an hour to read the article because I kept falling asleep and then waking up and examine the picture once again and then fall asleep dreaming of fancy doughnuts.

When I was finally wheeled in for the PET scan it was evening and as the shadows started to fall in the hallways of the hospital they also started to form in my mind as I was pushed through giant doors marked with radiation symbols. As I said, cancer has only been a peripheral experience of mine. No one I have been really close to has ever had cancer. I hadn’t realised the PET scan was solely checking for cancer, which I should have because the possibility of lymphoma had been mentioned to me. My heart rate began to increase, my hands started shaking. I was put in a dark room alone I closed my eyes and decided that I was not going to focus on the what ifs. So I shut my eyes and thought about my kids. Which made me start crying. So instead I shut my eyes and thought about fancy doughnuts and all the exotic locations I could eat gourmet doughnuts in.

Because the surgeon had said we would have answers the next day, Alex drove down and hung out with me in my room. You never know when doctors are going to appear when you are in hospital. It’s a bit of a lottery. By 6pm we realised that it seemed our number was not going to be called. A nurse rang and talked to the surgeon who appeared to have no recollection telling me that I would receive results today. Alex went home to Toowoomba and I had another doughnut dream.

Thankfully at 6am the next morning the surgeon arrived in my room with the results. It was a thymoma and the biopsy showed it was benign. Phew. But it was still dangerous. It meant another major surgery as soon as I had healed sufficiently from the surgery I was currently recovering from. A thymoma is a rare tumour (that explained why it was such an enigma) that was located just behind my sternum. My thymoma was a particularly large one and had potential to continue growing, with potential for rapid erratic growth and was dangerously close to my heart and major arteries. I would need a sternoctomy (sliced down the breastbone and ribs pulled apart) to remove it. I couldn’t help but feel a little fear as he had previously told me that lymphoma would be easier to treat than operating on a lump in this area. However now that the task was at hand the doctor was sounding positive so I decided to be positive too and breath a sigh of relief that it wasn’t cancer.

Fast forward to the days after the chest surgery. The thymoma was removed. I had survived the most pain I’d ever felt in my life when I woke up from that surgery, and after that was under control, was relieved that the ICU experience wasn’t as bad this time as when I had the back surgery. The 2nd morning I was in ICU my surgeon came and sat by my bed. Not a good sign. He started with, “This thing is not at all what any of us has expected.” Also not a good sign.

When the tumour was sent for analysis at a lab, it was discovered that in fact there was only a small portion of the tumour that was benign. The biopsy was just a fluke that saved me from a little less worry for 6 weeks.  Which I am semi-grateful for because my worrying about the chest surgery was quite sufficient. The majority of the tumour was B2 cells that are pre-cancerous. 10% of the tumour were B3 cells, a rare aggressive cancer called thymic carcinoma.

When the tumour had been removed it was a about 10cm in length and diameter and rock hard. It had pressed against and become entangled with a whole heap of arteries and was difficult to remove. Some of the tumour was stuck on the sides of one of my major arteries into the heart. The surgeon made the decision to leave small spots of the tumour there rather than risking a major bleed. The tumour had also started growing into my lungs. He had sliced the tumour away from this and took a bit of my lungs with it, but he had assured me that I would not really notice this. We hope the cancer was only there and is now removed, but now there was a possibility of microscopic cancer cells within my lungs.

Chemotherapy and radiation are needed. Once again I’ve been playing the waiting game before starting another round. My body needed to heal sufficiently before we start the next round because the radiation will slow down or halt the healing process. I’ve now got the all clear and am waiting for my first round of treatment next week.

For the first week I was fine if we talked about the medical side of things. If I thought about my children or Alex, I would be a puddle of tears. It’s not nice to speculate about your children growing up without you.

As I said, I’m praying for a happy ending and we have every reason to believe there will be one. We are so fortunate that it has been caught early. In fact it may be that there is no cancer there at all, that the spots left are benign and the cancer cells haven’t spread. It’s not a risk I’m willing to take. The thymoma was slow growing, we can see it on x-rays dating back to 2014, and I can recall side effects that would suggest it was around as far back as 2012.

I have prayed that I will see my children get married, my grandchildren and even great-grandchildren. And also a gourmet doughnut. I still haven’t encountered one.

Whatever the outcome, I have full trust in God that he cares for me and His will is going to be accomplished in my life.

I can’t remember how or when we found out I had scoliosis. It was sometime when I was 16. A long time ago after living with adult scoliosis for many years now. I can remember the horrifying first x-ray that confirmed my young body housed a spine that was bent and twisted like an ancient olive tree. I have what is referred to as a “S shaped curve.” (Some scoliosis patients alternatively have spines shaped like a “C”.) That teenage X-ray became a defining moment in my life. The beginning of visits to doctor’s and surgeons, chiropractors and physios. In the initial days, there were merely hints of the pain I would become all to familiar with in the future and recognition that there were certain physical limitations creating boundaries for the life I lived.

Boundaries can create barriers but they need not limit achievement. It has been over 25 years since my scoliosis was diagnosed, and I have lived a productive life despite the limitations my bent spine has created. But the time has come to take action. As an adult in my early 40’s this is the eve before I have surgery to correct the curve in my spine. It was a surgery that was recommended during those teenage years, and the decision not to proceed with receiving Harrington rods was made with a great deal of thought and consideration by my parents. In the end, they were not prepared to accept the risks associated with surgery.

At the time I was relieved I would not miss large chunks of school and risk not graduating with my class. I was also a little fearful of living with scoliosis, I had been listening to the doctor’s descriptions of life with uncorrected scoliosis certainly did not sound entirely appetising for youth’s insatiable appetite for unbridled freedom. I accepted my parent’s decision, knowing they had made it in love and then got on with living.

Pain was a given, but didn’t hinder me at first. As the years marched onwards the pain weaned me to its ever increasing presence. Like all things gradual there was mute acceptance of the ever present presence of pain, just as there was acceptance of my increasing limitations due to the recurrent existence of pain, my travel companion in life. As a Christian I prayed and was prayed for that my back would receive a miraculous healing. I believe 100% that it is entirely possible that God has the power to straighten my spine and there have been countless mornings when I have woken feeling my spine to check if it perhaps had straightened overnight. I do believe that God cannot answer every prayer, if he did there would be no such thing as free will to believe Him. If you knew that God would automatically heal if you believed, what choice would you have? I also believe in God’s intricate plan for all that believe and that there are reasons that we may not understand here on earth for the answers of our prayers sometimes being “No”. I have seen plenty of my prayers answered over the years. A straight spine has not been one of them and I still think my God is a good God.

A bit over two years ago, my back had a complete meltdown. Moving was agony. I couldn’t drive, I could hardly walk. At one stage I crawled across the room like a tortoise trying to move as little as possible in order to reach the bathroom. My chiropractor helped me recover over a couple of weeks, but it scared me thinking of how I would cope living with crippling chronic pain. It was around this time, that I realised that in one year I had lost 5 cm in height. An X-ray confirmed spine was collapsing. The degree of curvature always increased over the years, but suddenly the bends were not so gradual. It was then the realisation came that I should not accept this continual increase of pain as if it were non-negotiable.

I booked a doctor’s appointment and got a surgeon’s referral. The surgeon once again recommended inserting rods in my back. He said that it was essentially the same surgery that was offered when I was 16, but surgical procedure is always improving and instead of the one Harrington rod from the 90’s I would receive two rods that would be fused into my spine. The doctor made it clear that even though surgical methods have improved in the past 20+ years, there were increased risks operating on an adult. Even though I’m not exactly over the hill, my bones have seen degeneration and damage over the years, aren’t as strong but are more brittle and my body will take longer to heal compared to a teenager.

The surgeon is a congenial fellow. I trusted his expertise and booked myself in. He said that I should pick a time that would best suit our family, even leaving one to two years. It’s a huge operation and it will effect all of our lives for a time. I opted with getting the surgery within the maximum time frame because this co-incided with the triplets beginning school. There is no easy time to do this for our family, but I felt that once the children were not needing care from me all day it would be easier to recover.

It’s been a long wait to get to this point, but here I sit thinking of a million things before I need to leave home today knowing that this event is happening tomorrow. In simple terms, the surgeon will be making two long incisions down my back and in my side (a rib will need to be broken to gain access) to correct my crooked spine. Over 6-8 hours he will remove two vertebrae and then untwist what remains before using screws to fuse my spine to two rods. When I wake up I will be in ICU overnight in the commencement of a long recovery. It will take 12 months to fully recover. The first 3 months will be intense, and I am dreading those first few days and weeks, especially as I begin to walk again.

The surgeon said this operation is no guarantee that I will live without pain in my spine. I am hopeful that it will be lessened. The surgeon said that as he lifts the vertebrae apart, they shouldn’t be rubbing against one another anymore which should mean I won’t feel the extensive arthritis my spine is riddled with. Well that’s got to be a good start for decreasing pain! If you see me at the end of a long day, I will be leaning over to one side, throughout the day, without even realising I am constantly forcing myself to straighten up. The surgeon said that I will be surprised how much energy this takes and the new stability that the rods will bring will mean that’s one less chore for the day. Mostly I am going into this operation believing that this will help brighten my future by halting the degressive progression of my curvature.

It’s no small thing for a mother to walk away from her husband and children knowing that I will be unable to help them for an extended period of time and will be fully reliant on others to run my household. I am blessed that I have a wonderful support network of family and friends and a supportive school who are all committed to helping us all through this time. I am ever so grateful for this as I contemplate what lies before us this morning.

If you believe in the power of prayer, I would appreciate your prayers for myself and my family over the coming days. I am awake super early today, a bundle of nerves and slightly panicked knowing the list of things I would like to get done before tomorrow morning will not be accomplished. I also know that my terrific husband is more than capable to step up to the plate and nurture the children and I and fill in the gaps, even if it’s relying on the support of others. This knowledge helps the nerves dissipate quite a bit.

So for now, I can start my day tomorrow confident that I can straighten up and fly right. This will be a difficult year, but after this year there is a brighter future to soar into.