In April, I rang in my 44th birthday with little fanfare. With a grateful heart, I felt more contented with my life than I had in many years. The past four years have been challenging, to put it lightly, and I finally had a sense that our worst days were behind us.
Perhaps it was our turn to glide more smoothly through life without hitting so many bumps in the road. As the world turned upside-down from a global pandemic back in 2020, our family began the fight of our lives as we faced Ty's cancer diagnosis.
In early 2023, after 15 months full of surgeries, chemotherapy, and radiation, the cancer was considered gone and we went ahead with planning our future!
We'd always dreamed of living abroad for a year but knew we'd need to carefully plan a trip of this size around Ty's Sabbatical and the kid's ages and stages.
With our oldest starting Junior High and our youngest not yet in elementary school, we knew we had a small window of opportunity to work with, so we made plans to rent out our home while we lived abroad. Valencia, Spain caught our attention as the place we'd like to call our home-base for the year, but we'd spend weeks at a time living in different cities all over Europe.
We told our kid's teachers and principal that we'd be un-enrolling them for the next year, and we even gave up our youngest daughter's coveted spot in her preschool.
I researched homeschool programs that we'd use to keep our children learning abroad. We dreamed of walking along the Seine River in France during October and spending our mornings walking cobblestone streets in Seville, Spain while soaking up precious time as a family.
Bad news never has good timing though, and a week before summer break 2023 began, Ty's oncologist called with the worrying news that cancer was detected in his liver, which meant it had begun to spread.
I remember those tender first weeks, as we tried to keep our feet firmly on the ground as the devastating news sunk in. We still did not give up hope that our plans to live abroad could happen!
Ty was adamant about it; and asked the doctor how quickly he could get started on surgery and more chemotherapy.
"If I can be done in three months, we can still salvage part of our plan!" He said. My Ty, always an optimist, even when the worst is happening to him.
Surgery would happen soon, but he'd need several weeks to heal completely before they felt he was strong enough to handle the aggressive chemo they had planned for him. When we learned he'd need chemo for six months, at least, we knew it was time to let go of our dreams of living abroad. Instead, we begrudgingly walked the scary path laid out before us, which was the only one that might save Ty's life.
As summer turned to fall, we longed to be spending our days being silly at Octoberfest in Germany rather than managing the awful effects of chemo Ty endured. The kids and I stayed afloat as best we could, keeping ourselves busy with school, sports, and work.
At Christmastime, they asked if we'd ever get to see the streets of Italy in all their festive glory as we'd talked about doing, and I tried my best to suppress my sadness that we didn't get to spend Christmas in the snowy mountains of Switzerland.
I knew how fortunate we were that Ty's cancer was still curable, and also what a wonderful life we already had here in Santa Barbara, so before long, I had fully accepted our reality and focused on the wonderful silver-lining blessings instead.
That is why I was in complete disbelief on my 44th birthday when Ty casually handed me a small canvas bag to open.
Watch the fun video to see how completely shocked I was!
This would be a scaled-down version of our plans to live abroad, but when I learned our Trip-of-a-LIfetime was given a second chance, I was beaming!
Now all we needed was for Ty to get his second chance, which meant getting a clear CT scan.
He completed 6 months of grueling chemo treatments and countless pokes and prods back in February, and the upcoming CT scan in May felt eerily similar to last year when our lives took a major detour.
This is when my anxiety went into hyperdrive, as Scanxiety took over. This is what I call the waiting period between when you know a cancer scan is coming up.
My tummy starts to do flip-flops at the mere mention of the doctor appointments now, and my breathing quickens. When I learned the dates for Ty's next scan, I realized it was scheduled for just three weeks before our flights were scheduled to depart from LAX to Madrid.
It felt like Deja Vu in the worst kind of way.
We could barely talk about our backup plan in case the scan revealed the worst, so we prayed for the best outcome instead. We stayed busy and remained positive until the day of the scan results arrived. Then, there was no denying our worries as we had no choice but to face whatever the facts were.
It's hard to describe what it's like to walk into a cancer center, but for me, it's like time slows down and I become acutely aware of everything around me. The sound of the trickling fountain as we enter the double doors, is meant to calm the nerves of those who walk inside. The smell of the elevator that takes us to the third floor and paintings on the walls as we waited for the nurse to call Ty's name.
It is all so familiar to us, as we've been here countless times throughout the past few years, and though our minds would choose to block out any trauma that happened here, our bodies most certainly remember.
His name is called, and weight and blood pressure are taken. We sit side by side in the small room surrounded by medical equipment. Time slows to a halt, so much so that I notice every hair follicle on my arms and can feel the pounding of my heart through my sweater. Both of us are well aware that our life can easily shift on its axis again, depending on what the doctor is about to tell us.
The door swings open and in walks Dr. Gupta, who has seen Ty through this cancer since the very beginning, planning every part of his treatment with the utmost care and precision. Ty and I even made up a little song and dance for "The Gupe" if you ever are lucky enough to hear us sing it!
This doctor is a pillar in the colon cancer community and we feel lucky to have access to his knowledge. He also has a serious demeanor, so when he burst into the room with Ty's file in hand, he didn't waste a second making us wait as he exclaimed with gusto, "It's Clear! The scan is all clear!"
Clear. This word carries more weight than any other in the cancer world.
Clear scan, clear skies, and finally a clear path with no cancer in our way.
That is why this trip to Spain we are about to embark on feels like the start of something new. We truly believe that Ty was given a second chance at life, and he is renewed in both body and spirit.
We can't pretend like it will always be smooth sailing for us from here on out, but we know that we can do hard things.
I like to think that as we settle into our seats on the plane in L.A., we are buckling up for a ride that will take us to the starting line for our next chapter. During this next chapter, we will be more fully present to those around us, ready to give back to the world in ways that we feel God made us uniquely for, and simply enjoying the sweetness that life is.
For the next few weeks though, you'll find us sipping sangria in San Sebastian, Spain, and eating every Spanish and Italian delicacy we can get our hands on!
Nos vemos mas tarde y avidos, amigos!
At Ridley Tree Cancer Center, holding proof of a cancer-free scan!
Finally popping the cork on this beauty to celebrate the good news when we got home. Our dear friends, the Mcguires, bought it for us months ago with specific instructions to pop it on this milestone day.
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