Waiting Well
I’ve been feeling impatient lately.
It’s been over two weeks since I saw my neurosurgeon—the appointment where I was given the all-clear and told I should be hearing from my oncologist soon. Since then, it’s just been… quiet. On top of that, I’ve had a few rough nights of sleep, and lately, those take twice as long to recover from.
I know the tumour board at the hospital meets on Thursday mornings, and I’m likely on some kind of two-week rotation—I’ve been down this road before. So maybe they just haven’t discussed my case yet. That’s what I keep telling myself.
Just be patient.
I’ve been repeating that over and over.
This is an invitation of patience and trust, I want to say, I’m ready now, Lord. But if I’m honest, waiting like this stretches you in ways you don’t expect.
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Trusting in the Waiting
Maybe this season isn’t just about getting to the next treatment.
Maybe it’s about trusting that no matter what treatment I do—or don’t—have, it doesn’t have the final say in my life.
I am grateful there is a treatment option. Immunotherapy could help slow the growth of the tumour, and that alone is something to hold onto. But even still, I find myself setting little timelines:
“If I don’t hear back Thursday, I’ll call Friday.”
I said that last week. And now I’m saying it again this week.
Lately, I’ve been sitting in Isaiah 40, and this verse has been anchoring me:
“But those who trust in the Lord will find new strength.
They will soar high on wings like eagles…”
Waiting isn’t wasting.
It’s where strength is renewed.
Waiting on God isn’t about standing still—it’s about staying anchored. It’s trusting that even when nothing feels like it’s moving, God is still doing something in you, preparing you for what’s ahead.
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The Reality of Healing
I’ve been doing everything I can to prepare for immunotherapy. Mentally, physically, spiritually—I feel ready.
The only unknown is fatigue.
But honestly, fatigue is already part of my life post-surgery. So I don’t know how much more it will affect me. Everyone’s experience is different, and I’m learning to hold that loosely.
What I have come to terms with is this:
This past year has been traumatizing.
That’s not an overstatement.
Three surgeries. The loss of my dad. Learning how to live in a body that feels different. That’s not something anyone just walks through like it’s easy.
I think I’ve gotten really good at putting on a brave face. But lately, that strength has started to crack—and maybe that’s not a bad thing.
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When It All Catches Up
Andrew and I went to a dinner recently at someone’s home. It sounded like such a nice, normal thing to do.
But I ended up having a complete breakdown.
I still don’t fully know what triggered it. Maybe it was the noise—multiple conversations happening at once. Maybe it was the echo in the room. Maybe it was the vulnerability of being around people while not feeling like myself.
Or maybe it was all of it.
I just burst into tears.
People were kind—they asked if I needed space, suggested I step into another room for a bit. I did, but even then, I couldn’t stop crying.
And if I’m honest? I hate attention on me. So I think part of it was just getting stuck in my own head, feeling overwhelmed and exposed.
But moments like that remind me of something important:
I’m still healing, and I’m not done yet. I’m not giving up.
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Moving Forward
I haven’t had a week like this in a long time.
So even in the heaviness, I’m choosing to count my blessings and keep moving forward—because it really has been a week.
And I’ll leave you with this:
There is still hope—sometimes in the most unexpected places.
I found myself asking God why more than once this week. But then I remembered why I started this website in the first place.
To remind myself—and anyone reading—that He is able.
He is able to heal.
He is able to provide hope.
He is able to bring joy.
He is able to give peace.
He is—and always will be—able.
As it says in Ephesians 3:20–21:
“Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen.”
