Halfway

As I sit here trying to force the "perfectly enlightening" blogpost, I struggle with the reality of where I am. Though many would consider the halfway point to be the "breakthrough" I seem to dread what is still to come. 

 I would like to break down the halfway point into two sets of realities. 

First off, the reality of what lies ahead.

Though I have fought through seven months of treatment, it seems to only get harder. Instead of my body adapting to chemo, it is only breaking down. My cell counts continue to plunge with no sense of urgency when it comes to bouncing back. Mentally, I am growing to despise treatment. Sometimes, the more you do something- the better it gets. However, with chemotherapy it is the polar opposite. With every treatment the nausea worsens. It's like my body knows what is coming, and "throws a fit" before I even begin.

With the harsh realities that chemo brings, it seems best to ignore myself and just press on. Though I could sit here and wallow in the grief and pain of it all, I'd like to move on to the second reality.

The reality of what I have gained.

Through this journey, I have been incredibly humbled at the support that has been shown. Whether meals from our neighbors, letters in the mail, messages on Facebook, or the thousands of prayers- you all have been there from the beginning. I cannot thank you enough! I have come to know many other cancer fighters, nurses, and friends along this pathway. You all alone are priceless!

Secondly, the memories that have been created are amazing! When you live with a disease that steadily claims 70% of those effected, you learn to cherish every day. I owe an incredible thank you to my family who has supported, cared, and loved me through every step of this journey. Whether going to a Josh Groban concert in Chicago, or simply working for my brother's business, I have found that being thankful for every day God gives brings more happiness than the cancer can take away!

(An incredible supper before our concert!)

For myself, cancer has taught me to cherish the moments that God gives to me. Learning to live like there is no tomorrow isn't necessarily a bad thing. Though cancer would like to strip normalcy from me, I have found that doing the "most normal" things will help to get me through this.

(Josh Groban in the Chicago Theatre!)

Warped Normalcy

Hello my dear friends and family. 

As many of you know, our family has been hit (yet again) with another major diagnosis. 

(My beautiful, always protective and caring Princess)

This past week we found out that the youngest Type One Trio member has been diagnosed with JME (Juvenile Myoclonic Epilepsy). For the fifth time in five years we have been blindsided. Normality continues to be warped into a jumbled mess of grief and hardship. I look at our life and momentarily wonder if there is any control in the chaos? If there is any relief in the pain? 

Obviously, epilepsy is even more complicated with Type One Diabetes. Low blood sugars alone can send Hannah into a seizure. Complications come with this new diagnosis as well. It's not just "simply" Type One. It is now fighting the reality that every night we watch Hannah head to bed, there are two diseases with the ability to send her young body into danger.

I live for hope. 

It's what I must do. Without it, I drown. 

Within the harsh and overbearing realities that overwhelm and flood our lives, a light stands bright. In darkness, light shines the brightest.

Is this life easy? Is this life comfortable? Is life convenient? Not at all. 

However, the wisest move to be made is that of trusting that this isn't what we live for. 

YOLO - you only live once. A popular statement, no? 

But afterwards... our destination arrives. Only security in eternity provides security in this life.

Due to the fact I haven't had chemo in three weeks (bad blood counts), I have had the opportunity to show my face in public. The most common statement I hear is, "Wow! You look way better than I imagined! I can't believe you are out!" I always respond with a kind "thank you" and resume enjoying the freedom. However, please understand. Though I present myself in an alive manner, it is because I fight for that. I fight to remain myself. At the beginning of this journey, I found that without consciously working towards a state of normality, cancer would beat me down. It would strip me of who I am and the personality that defines me. So simply, thanks for the kind remark - but if you were able to enter my body for one hour you would be overrun with a flood of physical and mental pain. This is what cancer is and does. Yet, I plan to withhold the opportunity for cancer to steal the show! ;) 

I want to thank everyone for the amazing support that you have given. Letters, meals, and kind gestures of love have flooded the Hatchett home!

 (Friend and neighbor Sheriff Otterbacher took me for an awesome day of radiation!)