From Depths We Rise Page 4

  And then…

  We went in to the doctor’s office for one of Joel’s routine appointments. Every time before these appointments, I would get knots in my stomach. When you have been dealt such devastating blows in the past, it is normal to brace yourself for it to possibly happen again. What wasn’t normal was the fact I was now six months pregnant and in full waddle glory as we walked into the doctor’s office. The most excruciating part is waiting for the doctors to come into the room. When they finally do enter, they have a poker face. You can’t really tell what’s coming. But in a moment, it all became clear.

  “I am going to do a small physical examination of you,” the doctor said. “Can you breathe in and out?”

  She asked Joel to take deep breaths, then small ones, then deep ones. Over and over again she examined his lungs, moving around her stethoscope. She finally finished and looked at the ground. I knew what was coming next. I braced myself and held my breath.

  “On your CT I am noticing a few areas of concern on your lungs.”

  No, no, no, no! An area of concern. I knew what that meant. They thought the cancer had returned—not in his kidney area, but this time spreading to his lungs.

  Joel looked over at me. I immediately put my hand on my belly and looked to the floor to try to keep the tears from pouring down my face. Not now. It couldn’t happen now. We thought we were done with cancer. We were pregnant with our first child and about to move into our newly built home. If there was ever a time when this should not happen, it was now.

  I continued to look at the floor as she talked with Joel. Right now the areas of concern were so small that they were not able to be biopsied yet. The best course of action was to wait ten weeks and then come back and get another CT scan to see if the areas had grown. From there, he would have a biopsy to confirm if it was cancer. With that timeline, it put all of this happening right around my due date. Talk about bad timing. I was dumbfounded. We politely thanked the doctor, made our follow-up appointment, and walked to the car.

  Joel sat down in his seat, quiet. I knew what he was thinking. He had waited so very long for this moment in his life—to have a home, a job he loved, and a family that he adored. Was he going to get all these things only to not be there to enjoy them? For once neither of us had any words. We had beaten this disease once. How would we fight it again? Why now? This was supposed to be our time of joy after heartache. Hadn’t we endured enough?

  He looked at me and saw the tears trickling down my face as I once again subconsciously rubbed my belly.

  “You know it’s going to be okay, right? It has to be a glitch on the CT scan. It just has to be. I feel fine. There is no way I have cancer again. I promise you, it will be fine,” he said.

  I nodded slowly and even managed to get out a small smile. While I acted like I agreed, I didn’t. Deep down in my heart, I knew the cancer had returned. Call it a gut feeling or just someone who knew that life can be wildly unpredictable, if not unfair. As much as I wanted it to be nothing, the Lord was preparing my heart for the worst. We had another battle on our hands.

  The next ten weeks passed rather quickly. I was in the last trimester of pregnancy. We moved into our new home, had multiple baby showers, and prepared to meet our new baby boy. It wasn’t that we didn’t know what we were facing—it was the unspoken shadow in the corner of the room. We had just waited so long for this moment in our lives, and we were determined to forge ahead, hope for the best, and live in hopeful anticipation for what was to come. Maybe it was all just a mistake in the scans. Maybe it was nothing. Truth is, we didn’t know, and we wouldn’t for a while. In the next ten weeks, there was nothing that could be done about it, so we made a choice to try our best to enjoy these last few weeks as a family of two while gearing up to become a family of three. While we certainly weren’t pretending to know or even understand why this was happening (and why it was happening now), we made the choice to trust. Yes, I was always afraid of losing my husband, but it just seemed as if our battle couldn’t possibly end that way. We had conquered so much. There was no reason to believe the Lord would not continue to fight on our behalf.

  Before we knew it, the time had come. It was time for our follow-up appointment for Joel. We walked into the doctor’s office, where they told us news that was not surprising but very devastating. The areas of concern had grown since the last scan, and the doctors were now 90 percent sure this was a cancer reoccurrence. There we were again, in a delicate dance between sorrow and joy. On one hand our dreams were coming true; on the other hand, our fears were coming true. It was as if our lives were a rip current. Each time we would manage to find our way to the surface, an unseen force was pulling us into the depths over and over again. It was unrelenting and exhausting.

  They scheduled Joel a biopsy for the following Tuesday. My due date was Friday. This was the worst possible timing. We were trying to remain excited about the birth of our son, but this dark cloud was looming ahead. It was hard to feel excited about our future when there were so many scary unknowns about just what exactly that future entailed. We were being pulled out further into the sea and clinging to each other like never before.

  The morning of the biopsy arrived. We walked into the hospital holding hands. I was wearing one of the only dresses that fit and a pair of flip-flops on my swollen feet. As I sat back in the surgical waiting room with Joel, I was physically uncomfortable from my pregnancy, but more than that, I was incredibly nervous about what these tests would reveal. Nurses walked by and would look in, see me, and smile. I could tell their smiles were half-pity. They all knew what Joel was there for, and seeing a hugely pregnant wife with him seemed to have a sobering effect on everyone in that room, myself included.

  I believe firmly that coincidences are God’s way of manifesting Himself to show we are never alone. We had many “coincidences” we encountered during this journey, and that day was no different. The nurse who was taking care of Joel was asking about his story. He shared it from start to finish as she listened and nodded.

  After he finished, she told him, “Joel, do not give up hope.” She continued, “I have had cancer that has jumped around to three different places in my body. I have had surgery, and I have had chemo many times over. But I will never stop fighting and never give up hope, and neither should you.”

  I turned to look at my husband. He had always had a fighting spirit in him, but he was now nodding vigorously. I knew there was no doubt he would fight, and at the moment I had no doubts that he would beat it. No, it was not the audible voice of the Lord telling me it would be okay. Rarely is it ever. It was more like a still, small voice inside, telling me to continue to trust. To rest in hope.

  They took Joel to the back room for a quick biopsy, telling him to call our doctor on Friday, my due date. The results would be in by then. But a little something happened before we could get to Friday. I just so happened to go into labor.

  It was Thursday, the day before my due date, July 5. I started to feel intense contractions on my way to work. Since I’d had so many false labor alarms, I didn’t think this could possibly be the real deal. I told Joel to go ahead and drop me off at work and I would time my contractions for an hour and see where I stood. I sat there at my desk in extreme pain, breathing through my contractions and timing them via an app on my phone. An hour later on the dot, I picked up the phone to call Joel.

  “Um, honey?” I started in.

  “Yes, what’s up?” he answered breathlessly.

  “I timed my contractions for an hour, and they are averaging two minutes apart….” I trailed off.

  “What!” was his high-pitched reply. “I will be right there!”

  Right there he was, the entire time. When we got to the hospital, he made a big deal of getting a wheelchair and wheeling me up to my room. I took the easy way out and went ahead and got the epidural. From the moment they gave it to me, I instantly relaxed. I was as calm as could be, and Joel, my family, and I sat and watched HGTV for eight ho
urs until they came in and told me it was time to push. Joel held my hand but mostly stayed quiet. That was on my direction. I had playfully said to him one time, “Don’t you dare tell me that I’m [air fingers] ‘doing great’ while I’m pushing. I just might break your hand.” He gave me a look that said duly noted. When the time came, his presence by my side was all the help that I needed.

  Finally, the long-awaited moment arrived when we got to meet the baby we had dreamt of for so long. He was a stout eight-pound, eight-ouncer with lots of dark hair, beautiful in every way. His cry was magic. It was amazing all the things he went through during the pregnancy to get to us. He was a little soldier for sure, the meaning of his name held true. Milo Andrew Rodriguez, our most perfect gift.

  As they were cleaning me up, I had my eyes fixed on Joel. He was absolutely smitten and completely in awe of this new life. He kept going back and forth between checking on Milo and checking on me. In that moment, what was to come in the days ahead didn’t matter, and neither did what had transpired in our family with Joel’s cancer. We had our family, and life couldn’t get any better. I only wish in the midst of our joy there wasn’t a lingering apprehension for our future. The purity of the moment as it should have been was robbed from us as we knew in our gut we might not receive the good news we were hoping for from Joel’s biopsy.

  The next day was Friday morning. Joel had slept at the hospital with me, and Milo had done an excellent job sleeping his first night in the world. As I sat on the bed, Joel was holding Milo in his arms, smiling and taking phone pictures. I didn’t know if he had forgotten what day it was.

  “Joel, you know it’s Friday, right?” I started in hesitantly.

  “I know,” he said, not taking his eyes off Milo.

  “I’m sure those results will be ready by now if you want to call,” I said.

  “Babe, do you think it would be okay if we wait until Monday to find out?”

  I knew what he was thinking. He was hoping for the best but realistically preparing for the worst. Even in this moment of sheer bliss, holding and taking in the beauty of our son, cancer was intruding on us like a dark cloud. It still makes me angry to this day that we were both having to bear the weight of such a heavy load.

  “Yes, baby. Let’s just wait until Monday.” I sighed and went back to looking at my son’s gorgeous little face.

  Our first weekend home was a blur of activity. Diapers, feedings, burpings, sleepless nights—repeat. We were in the haze of new parenthood, filled with wonder at the life God had entrusted to us. We cooed at our perfect baby, dreaming together about snow cone stand runs with our boy, evenings spent at Little League games, movie nights as a family, and exploring the world together. There was talk of many future things but never about what was right around the corner that following Monday.

  It came far too quickly. This time they didn’t wait for us to call; the doctor called us. Joel went to the master bathroom for privacy. I gave the baby to my mom and followed him in. He looked up at me as if he wanted to protect me but was grateful for my support at the same time. I sat quietly on my bed and stared at the fibers of my comforter listening to him.

  “Yes. Yes. Okay. Yes. Um-hmm. Oh…it is …”

  Joel looked over to me as he slowly nodded his head yes. The cancer was back. Floods of tears slipped down my cheeks, so I left the room and sat on the couch to let him finish talking to the doctor.

  “It’s back, Mom. It’s back,” I said to her as the sobs started to spill out of my body.

  She came and handed me my son. My little baby boy. He was sleeping so peacefully in my arms, completely unaware of the chaos around him. As I looked at him, a million thoughts filled my head. Will he have his father in his life? Will his father get to watch him grow? Will I be raising him alone? How will I ever do this alone?

  Joel came out of the room, his face white. My heart was aching and broken for him. This should have been one of the happiest, most carefree moments of his life, and once again cancer took that from him and also our entire family. I got up from the couch and hugged him. I didn’t know what to say other than it was going to be okay. He looked in my eyes and looked at our son. Joel had lost both his parents to cancer. I knew that thought was never far from his mind, especially now as a new parent. Milo upped the ante. He was now our reason to fight harder than ever before.

  “Yes, babe, it will be okay,” he said.

  In that moment joy was continuing to battle sorrow as fear took the throne from peace. We had been here before—too many times before. Every time hope began to rise, we were pulled deeper into the depths. And on this day—well, we just wanted to pretend that life couldn’t possibly be that cruel again.

  The very next day Joel underwent a surgery to have a chemo port put back in. The worst part was since it was in his chest, he was not allowed to do anything strenuous. That meant that for two days he could not hold our son. When you wait nine months to finally meet this amazing little person, all you want to do is hold him. I absolutely could not imagine being told I could not hold my child. I always tried to be strong, but that week I allowed the tears to freely flow. I was sad for my husband for what he had to walk through. I was angry at this stupid disease for constantly wreaking havoc on our lives. I was still tired from the last battle and unsure about how we would go through this all again. I was scared at what we had in front of us and what the future would hold. While the early moments with Milo held joy for our family, stress, fear, and heartache were equally present in our lives.

  The very next week after that, Joel started his second course of chemo. It was really different this time. The first time it was just him and me. I never missed a chemo appointment or a doctor’s appointment. This time I had a brand-new baby, and as much as Joel needed me, Milo did, too. Joel did his best to relieve me of the burden.

  “I am going to be fine,” he said to me through tears. “I have been through this before, I know what to expect, and I will be fine to go alone. Trust me, the most important thing you can do for me right now is take care of our son. He needs you.”

  “But you need me, too, JoJo!” I said.

  I felt pulled in two different directions at once, yet there was only one of me. In the end someone was going to get less of me, and we both knew it. In true Joel fashion, he wanted to make sure his wife and son were taken care of, number one and number two. That left him as number three. Slowly I started to understand this is just how it would have to be. I would not be able to be at every single chemo treatment, and there might be a doctor’s appointment I would have to miss every now and then. Our biggest priority had to be our son, taking care of him, and making him feel loved and secure. I didn’t want cancer to compromise his first year of life any more than it already had.

  Joel made the decision for us that he would do chemo treatments on his own this time while I watched the baby. For doctor’s appointments we would find someone to watch Milo, and I would go along for support. Another decision Joel made was to keep this quiet from his work. He wanted to continue working while doing chemo. He had only been back on the job a year at that point, and he didn’t want to lose it. He wanted to continue to help provide for his family. I tried over and over again to talk him out of it. I told him that we would be fine if he went on disability again. We could find a way to make ends meet. I had respected this man before, but seeing his determination to beat cancer again while working so hard took my admiration to a completely different level. He was unrelenting. God had given me the man of my dreams and my son the most amazing father. My greatest fear was that Joel would get everything he ever wanted in life but not be here to live it out. I could not imagine my life without this man, and I didn’t want to.

  We told very few people the cancer had returned—only family and close friends. He kept his secret close to the vest. We were going to have to battle it out again for his life, but we were determined to continue to live our life in the process. Cancer had taken too much already, and we were determined not
to let it take away everything we had. We tried our best to enjoy our baby while also fighting for Joel’s life. It wasn’t easy.

  One moment we would be laughing at the silly face my son would make, and in the next my eyes would fill with tears at the thought of all we were facing. One moment I was confident the Lord would swoop in and save the day, and the next I feared He was not even hearing my prayers. It was a merry-go-round of emotions—up, down, round and round. Never before had I known so much heartache, yet so much joy, could exist all at once.

  CHAPTER 3

  Time Stands Still

  My nerves threatened to overtake me as I walked into our doctor’s office to get results from Joel’s most recent scans. He had endured chemo all the way from August until January. We would continue to go in for scans every other chemo round, delighted to see with each scan the tumor was shrinking more and more. Joel continued to work despite the fact he was undergoing very difficult treatments. We still kept what we were walking through quiet, trying desperately to enjoy our time with our new son. By the time February rolled around, the tumor in his lung had shrunk down to where it was no longer visible. Our doctor recommended we take a three-month break to see how Joel’s body would respond.

  Taking a break? No complaints from us! I thought.

  We used that time to be a family in the way that you should be together the first month of your child’s life. We even took a family trip to Colorado, one of our favorite places on the planet. We also dramatically cleaned up Joel’s diet and tried any and every natural remedy we could find that might be helpful.