Well, it’s a new year, and things are moving forward. Tuesday marked another terrain lab draw day, and I‘ve had quite a bit on my mind lately.
Over the past few months, I’ve thought of many things I wanted to share, but I never quite sat down at my computer long enough to follow through. As the final months of 2025 wound down, we were feeling hopeful that 2026 would be a year of easing off the gas pedal—a season where the final stages of healing could truly take hold. My labs were looking good: cancer markers and inflammation markers were trending downward. My weight was returning to a healthy place for me, and I’ve been sleeping better than I have in years. The overall trajectory felt encouraging. The plan was to complete a few more terrain labs and an MRI, then talk about the possibility of scaling back parts of my protocol. I was genuinely happy at the prospect and felt good about where things were headed.
I have been doing some detoxing and also increased my Ivermectin dosage, so when my gut began acting up, it seemed reasonable to assume I might be experiencing Herxheimer—or detox—symptoms. That has made the last few months a bit tiring. On another note, my last MRI was in January 2025, and I was hopeful that the new results would reflect the encouraging lab trends we had been seeing. Instead, the day before Christmas Eve, I received a disappointing report.
One thing I’ve learned on this journey is not to get worked up over a report alone. Doctors have a much deeper understanding of the many variables that influence what the body does, and more than once my concerns have been eased after further explanation. I muddled my way through the holidays, which turned out to be some of the quietest and calmest ones we’ve had in many years. We shared beautiful times with family, and it was such a joy to mostly sit on the sidelines—watching our adult children come together to make the holidays special, while I soaked up time with the grandbabies.
Once the holidays were over, I sent my MRI results to both of my holistic care providers. Dr. Cochran responded quickly with his thoughts. It appears that the work I’ve been doing over the past 20 months has slowed the cancer, but it hasn’t stopped it. When I read his suggestion to consider chemotherapy, I felt an unexpected sense of peace—it felt like the right time to consider this next step. This was never the path I wanted to take, but I know without a doubt that I gave the “holistic-only” approach my full effort. If I move forward with chemotherapy I won’t be left with “what if” questions about whether I should have tried longer or harder.
With all of this in mind, I still have many questions for my oncologist—and some praying to do—before making a final decision. On Monday, January 12, I will meet with my oncologist to discuss low-dose chemotherapy options. Based on our early conversations, it’s likely that I would have a port. That was something I was not comfortable with when it was first mentioned back in May of 2024. At the time, the idea filled me with fear.
With time, experience, and conversations with others who either currently have or have had a port in the past, I’ve begun to feel more at ease. My IV nurse is certified in working with ports, and it was comforting to ask her a few questions on Tuesday. One of my biggest concerns isn’t so much the medical side—it’s whether having a port would require me to be more cautious around my grandbabies. The thought that it could somehow limit my ability to hold them or be fully present with them matters deeply to me. Priorities.
Over the past few nights, I haven’t been sleeping as soundly. I’ve been waking with a full mind and having quiet conversations with the Lord. I’ve been believing that I would receive a NED (No Evidence of Disease) report by or before my two-year anniversary, and I’ve sensed the Lord inviting me to continue clinging to Him and believing for that outcome. At the same time, I’ve felt His gentle assurance that even if my expectations aren’t how things unfold, His plans for me are always good.
While I still have much to consider and don’t feel 100% certain about the direction ahead, I’ve noticed a shift—a nudge—regarding chemotherapy. My perspective has moved from “this isn’t for me” to “this may be what I need.” I’ve felt prompted to take old thoughts captive and replace them with new ones: thoughts of healing through chemotherapy and holistic protocols working together. This was something I was open to before my diagnosis, though I strongly wanted to avoid it afterward.
One clear thought that has come to me is that there is no guarantee of outcome, regardless of which path I choose. That realization has drawn me into a deeper focus on living my life fully—while also finding peace in knowing that my Father in Heaven already holds my final day in this life.
All of this has brought a surprising clarity of mind and a growing sense that I am leaning toward chemotherapy—not with fear, but with resolve. It feels like the beginning of a new phase of life, and a new chapter in this cancer healing journey.
Thank you for reading along and for hanging in there with me. I am truly grateful for the encouragement and support I’ve received. There are so many thoughts, ideas, and opinions about how to approach and manage cancer, and I’ve felt supported in many different ways—some people fully affirming my choices, some holding mixed feelings yet still offering kindness and support, and others… well, it is what it is. I choose to believe that even when understanding may be lacking, the heart behind it is for me.
I would love to share a bit of praise and gratitude to one of my children. Today, I was especially blessed when my daughter, Tiana, approached me and let me know she wants to help in any way she can knowing that chemo can be hard to go through—driving me to appointments, running errands, cooking meals, whatever is needed. That is the sweetest gift a mama could ask for, especially knowing how full her own life is with work, business ownership, and so many other responsibilities. My heart is full and she is a true treasure.
We continue to be deeply grateful for the financial support we’ve received throughout this journey. Every single dollar has been helpful and sincerely appreciated—whether through one-time gifts or ongoing donations via GoFundMe or private more personal contributions. It’s humbling to ask for help in this way and even more humbling to receive such generosity. Giving has always come more naturally to me than receiving, so this has stretched me in meaningful ways.
We are also profoundly thankful for your continued concern and prayers. Dan is often told by friends in his circles that I’m being prayed for, and every so often someone reaches out to check in on me—and I truly appreciate it. Knowing that so many people, both those I know well and others I barely know, are praying means more than I can adequately express.
If you are praying for me and for us, I would ask for prayers for wisdom—to ask the right questions of my oncologist and all of my doctors—and for clarity of mind as we consider these next steps. We would also appreciate continued prayer for provision, as our medical care is increasing again and bringing additional financial strain.
We remain deeply thankful and continue to trust the Lord—for healing, for provision, and for His steady presence in every part of this journey.
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