Keep Fighting

Laura’s Story

Last month I celebrated my one-year “tumorversary.” I know it sounds odd to celebrate the day I was told that I had a five cm mass on my parietal lobe that was most likely cancerous, but given my grim prognosis,

I chose to celebrate the fact that I’m still alive one year later.

I vividly remember the day and all the details that encompassed that moment. I specifically remember what I was wearing. I can picture myself lying on the MRI table in my butter-colored t-shirt from my school, the shirt that, to this day, the sight of almost gives me PTSD. For my tumoversary, I wanted to be able to wear it again to show this thing that it doesn't control me, but, to be honest, it still kind of does. I decided to take it to work and have my friends write encouraging words and Bible verses all over it to turn something that stirs negative feelings in me into something positive. I can’t describe to you what this did for me. That day could have very easily been a day of doom and despair, but instead, it ended up triggering thoughts of hope, healing, and unity. 

When I first heard the title of the magazine “Voices Over Cancer,” I fell in love with it. It resonated to my core. The voices started for me in August of 2020. When people think of 2020, they most likely think of the global pandemic. For my family and myself, we think of GBM: Glioblastoma Multforme. Level 4. A very aggressive and incurable form of brain cancer. Along with the diagnosis also come many voices. Sometimes they are screams that I will only be a rose on a pew at the weddings of my children, sometimes they are shouts that I can’t keep going, and most often they are whispers spewing, “You know it’s going to come back, don’t you?” So real that I can almost feel the heat of its breath in my ear. I learned VERY quickly, that if I listened to these voices they would destroy me way before the cancer did. I had to find a way to not let the venom cripple me.

I had to wear a mask over my face and head while getting radiation for six weeks. Lying in the room on the table all by myself, feeling like I was being smothered at times, alone with my thoughts and feelings was a battle within itself. The second day of my treatment, I learned that I could listen to music while I received the treatments. The compassionate women working with me asked what I wanted to listen to, and I immediately told them Kari Jobe. Her angelic voice had been the one that had serenaded me the night after my brain surgery. I awakened in the hospital room and recalled that the Lord had her sing to me throughout the night “I Am Not Alone.” I knew that hers was the voice I wanted to hear “over the cancer” as I was lying on the radiation table GAME CHANGER!!! She and I developed quite a relationship over the next six weeks with several of her songs like  “The Blessing,” and, of course, “Healer.” 

Here I am 13 months after my diagnosis. I endured six weeks of radiation, seven months of chemotherapy, and six months of wearing Optune (a medical device requiring me to shave my head and wear battery-operated magnets on my head for basically the whole day.) Initially I had to get MRI’s every two months, and now that all of the scans have, thankfully, shown “no new growth,” my doctor has moved them to every three months. I was excited about this at first, but I’m now finding it’s actually harder mentally to go longer especially with no more treatments. 

Recently I was trying to go to sleep and the voices crept in and started to haunt me. They love to attack me when I am alone and things are quiet.  As my husband was beside me sound asleep, I was sobbing uncontrollably but didn’t want to wake him. I started praying, asking the Lord to please come hold me and sing to me like He did in my hospital room after surgery. A little later that night, I was in that in-between- wake- and sleep stage and realized that I was calm and peaceful. I started hearing in my subconscious “You are Jireh, You are enough,”  by Elevation Worship. I knew He had heard me and this was the answer to my prayer! I had heard this song plenty of times before, but I remember thinking that night that I needed to look up the meaning of it the next morning. I was overcome with emotion when I discovered that Jireh means “The God who provides.” The Lord, indeed, had provided for me the previous night as well as the entire past year.

I’ve learned that the mental battle with this disease is excruciating and the voices never really go away; however, I've also learned that there are voices out there pleading with you to keep fighting.

Whether it’s words of encouragement written on a t-shirt with a Sharpie, a song sung over you in the middle of the night, or the kindness in just a simple smile stating that you are not alone and urging you to stay strong. Listen closely for these voices and FOCUS on them. These are the voices that will be the antidote you need to counteract the venom of the blaring noise.