When you live 11 hours and 45 minutes ahead of the time zone that your family is in, it may be Thursday for you while it's still Wednesday for them, but you're still behind. When I went off-the-map (as they say) on November 14th, to the best of my knowledge, my mom's last chemo treatment was scheduled for December 1st. After that treatment, she had a few weeks of getting stronger, and then a pet scan that was going to give me the first official evidence of the promise God gave me in August: That when I get home next August, my mama's gonna be stronger than ever.
The update I got when I returned to the interwebs is that her CA-125 (the blood test that measures ovarian cancer cells) is still not stable enough to confidently stop chemo, meaning there are still cells in her body that could potentially mutate and be a breeding ground for the cancer to come back; BUT her oncologist has assured her that she IS cancer free and that the sixth treatment she's been prescribed is just to make sure she stays that way, so this is a celebration to her health and the amazing work Papa's done to restore it.
Mama, this one's for you. for your courage, strength, and commitment to find joy in every day. I can't wait to wrap my arms around your neck and tell you in person how proud I am of you for fighting so hard. I love you and hope it makes you smile (since you KNOW how I feel about letting people hear me sing).
Disclaimer: don't worry about how obviously distracted I am, there were just Nepali children staring at me and chickens walking around and crowing. The usual.
