Exactly one year ago today, right in the middle of my very first “Red Devil” chemotherapy treatment, and less than 24 hours after having had both the surgery to insert a port and the first PET/CT scan of my life, my oncologist’s nurse practitioner walks up to my chemo recliner, closes the curtains around us and says “We need to talk.” I instinctively know that this can’t be good. (I am in a cancer clinic, lined up in a row alongside other cancer patients where we are concurrently being injected with our very own personally tailored IV chemo-cocktail mixtures, (ones that often come with horrible side effects that sometimes make you feel like you are dying, but which also might just save your life.)

But I digress.  Anyway… with the curtains now closed around my chair, she simply and sympathetically says “Your PET scan from yesterday shows activity in your liver and we are fairly certain that it is breast cancer that has metastasized.”

Fear literally makes your blood run cold. If you’ve never had a panic attack, here is what mine feels like: Heart is suddenly racing a hundred miles an hour; I am falling, falling, falling from a thousand feet up and there will never be anyone to catch me; I am starving for oxygen and I want to run far, far away from here and never, ever come back. But I can’t because I’m stuck, drugged within an inch of my life and attached to an IV with a chemo combination that is already scaring the crap out of me. Simultaneously I want to be hugged and comforted and don’t want anyone to touch me at all; and my brain cannot even begin to fathom how to slow the millions of thoughts of fear and terror all rushing, colliding inside my mind. And then, uncontrollable hot tears begin streaming down my face and I want my Mama. And I want my son. And then when the adrenaline has reached maximum capacity inside my body, I am suddenly numb and sickened with the shock of it all.

Less than 12 days earlier, that day when the first biopsy report had come out on my 52^nd birthday (“Happy Birthday, Julie! You’ve got cancer.”), that day when my “status” changed from that of a perfectly healthy woman to one with serious breast cancer, the experts said I was at stage 3. On August 31, 2018, in less than one minute, my cancer diagnosis instantly morphed from a serious illness to a certain death sentence.

I am a researcher; I know the statistics. There is currently no cure for stage 4 cancer. One minute ago, I had a 5-year survival rate of 72% and now I have a 5-year survival rate of 22%. And, the median survival rate of a woman with stage 4 breast cancer is only 3 years. Only three years! All I can think is that I will statistically be dead within three to five years. On August 8 I was healthy and whole and on August 31^st I received a death sentence.

In fact, that cancer diagnosis was already a stage 4; we just didn’t know it… In fact, it was probably stage 4 in July. In fact, I nearly ignored that hard little movable marble I found in July, laying on my mama’s sofa watching Midsomer Murders on a soft, sweet Saturday night. The lump was fairly small and it didn’t stick out; I could really only feel it when my breast was squished into the sofa cushion or if I pressed my fingers into the area. My breasts are (were) dense and have (had) always been super lumpy. But something told me that this particular little protuberance needed my immediate attention. I believe the prompting, the urgency to not ignore my gut feeling, was from the Holy Spirit. (Lesson learned – don’t ignore a gut feeling.)

In these past 12 months I have endured grueling chemotherapy, lost all of my hair, my eyebrows and eyelashes, both of my breasts and 20 lymph nodes. I have completed 30 rounds of radiation, lost my range of motion in my right arm, lost overall strength and mobility in my body, and many, too many times actually, my dignity and independence.  In these past 12 months I have also lived, and continue to live in chronic, debilitating pain.

In these past 12 months I gained a faith that is closer and different and deeper than I have ever known in my life. I gained closer and different and deeper relationships with my son, my Mama and my sister. I discovered who my truest friends on this earth are, and who are not; and I discovered that I am really, really, truly loved, even when I am not especially at my most lovable.

In these past 12 months there have been days where I have wanted to completely give up (yes, I am not proud of it, but will admit that I went there briefly) and I found a strength inside me that I never knew existed. Most of my life others have called me a “strong woman” sometimes as a compliment (and sometimes in condemnation), and I really tried my best to live up to that label, even when I’ve felt anything but strong. In these past 12 months I learned that I am strong only because my God is strong for me.

2 Corinthians 12:9-11
 But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

Although I still have the occasional dark day or two now and then, especially when fatigue and pain are at their worst, I am continually rediscovering an awareness and gratitude for the priceless gift of life that I never truly appreciated enough before my diagnosis. In these past 12 months I have learned (and relearned, and relearned) to surrender to the NOW; and I have discovered that there really can be a peace which surpasses all understanding existing in my soul – I only have to ask for it. With the diagnosis of a terminal illness, I have persistently encountered real, raw, abiding unconditional love from God, from my family, from my friends and most surprisingly, from complete strangers. I am not the same person I was on that August 31st morning in 2018 when I walked into that cancer clinic. I will never be that person again. My entire perspective on my life’s purpose and why I am still here on this planet has dramatically changed. Forever. My heart is raw and open and transformed and I have fallen in love with all of humanity.

With suffering comes clarity. It will bond your soul with all of humankind, especially with those who are suffering more than you ever will – and believe me, my friend, no matter what you may be going through, there are almost always going to be people who are suffering more than you; I promise. I meet them right here in Houston, I read about them and see them in videos in news stories around the world every single day. The world is suffering. All of humanity is suffering. And my suffering pales in comparison.

I have been incredibly blessed these past 12 months and I can see it clearly when I look back. (Hindsight is always 20-20, isn’t it?) For every miserable moment endured within these past 12 months, there have been so, so many more beautiful moments that brought joy, peace, contentment, gratitude, and love.

Those who know me well, know that I have never been afraid to speak up for the underdog, especially where ethics and morals are involved; but, more so than ever now, I find that I am unabashedly using my voice to promote social justice and human rights causes, and to advocate for compassion and acceptance for all of God’s creatures. It’s easy to speak truth with the gifts of lucidity and bravery that a diagnosis of stage 4 cancer begets. I have absolutely nothing to lose. Fear of rejection from others who might disapprove is no longer an item on my check-list of things to worry about. A terminal illness brings many, many things, both the bad and the good, and among them is the gift of fearlessness to speak truth.

My truth is rooted within the words of my Jesus. My Jesus, the original social justice activist – repeatedly declares in the gospels that all human beings have intrinsic value – especially the ailing and dying, the homeless, the disabled, the impoverished, the hungry and starving, the migrant, asylum seeker and the refugee – no matter what country they started out in and no matter what their socioeconomic status – the disenfranchised, the outcast, the mentally ill, the unborn, the elderly, who are way too often lonely and neglected, all sexes and sexual identities, all the races, all the colors, all the religions, and the non-religious too – every single one of “the least of these” – My Jesus tells me that all, ALL human beings are similarly worthy of my love, because they are ALL loved by God.

In the last 12 months I have come to realize that my primary mission in life is, and always was, to love my neighbor. I hope to continue to serve my community’s children and their families as a speech-language pathologist for as long as my body will physically allow. And I will carry on using my voice, both oral and written, to plead for us all to care about, take care of and love other each other, until the day when I leave this earth for good.

Mark 12:30-31
 Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no commandment greater than these.”

Dear God, I thank you for another year of precious life. Thank you that I am in remission from stage 4 breast cancer; I am grateful for the gift of life, and for all of your blessings and answered prayers during these past 12 months. I ask for forgiveness for those times when I have lacked faith, for when I was not an example of your love and light, for when I have failed to love you or failed to love others, and for when I have been ungrateful for your goodness. I love you. Amen.

Prayer of St. Francis
Lord make me an instrument of your peace
Where there is hatred let me sow love
Where there is injury, pardon
Where there is doubt, faith
Where there is despair, hope
Where there is darkness, light
And where there is sadness, joy
O divine master grant that I may
not so much seek to be consoled as to console
to be understood as to understand
To be loved as to love
For it is in giving that we receive
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned
And it’s in dying that we are born to eternal life
Amen