Boy this particular post has been a challenge. I’ve started and stopped it at least half a dozen times. So much I want to convey.

So let me get this out before I get bogged down again: Things are looking up for Anne. Much more than we originally believed.

See, that wasn’t so hard, Van! Sheesh.

Because of Anne’s specific type of breast cancer, she required what’s called neoadjuvant therapy, a fancy term for “chemo before surgery.”  One of the benefits of this therapy approach is that doctors are actually able to see how the cancer responds to chemotherapy prior to surgery.

Despite learning that the ninja medicine didn’t completely kick cancer’s arse, Anne’s chemotherapy was still very effective. As I mentioned in an earlier post, the tumor all but vanished. The pathology report also showed that the infected ducts, lymph nodes, and surrounding tissue all had good therapeutic responses to the ninja medicine.

To put this in context, around 80% of breast cancer patients undergoing neoadjuvant therapy display remaining tumor cells in tissue sampled prior to surgery. What we initially considered disappointing news has become a normal, to-be-expected outcome.

Yet, the objective remains clear as day for Anne: K.C.A.

She’s young, healthy, and can handle more treatment, so now that the tumor and infected breast tissue are gone, Anne has green-lighted additional treatment at the recommendation of her physicians.

On Friday Anne has surgery to remove remaining infected lymph nodes.  Those lymph nodes sit under her left armpit, so the surgeon will simply reopen the incision from her last lymphadenectomy (performed at same time as mastectomy) and go to work.

Following her surgery, Anne will begin another course of chemotherapy for 12 weeks with a drug called Navelbine (Nav-ul-bean). Fewer side effects, which is welcome news. I chuckled when I heard the name of the drug, telling Anne that I’d mix her a glass Ovaltine to go along with her Navelbine. As a side note, Navelbine is partially derived from the vinca vine, commonly known as periwinkle. Little did I know we are growing Anne’s cancer drug in our front yard.

After chemotherapy ends, Anne will undergo radiation five days a week for seven weeks, which should clean up any trace of the cancer in the previously infected lymphatic area.

In the time between my last post and this one, Anne and I have learned a great deal more about the nature of her cancer, the trajectory and specifics of her treatment, and most importantly, reasons to be hopeful.

As you all continue to love and reach out to our family, two questions come up the most often: How can you help? And how are we doing?

Regarding help, a couple of things come to mind my friends.

1. Dinners. Guys I can’t express what a huge ministry this has been to our family. With surgery on Friday and another course of chemotherapy through January, we would still love your help with family meals. Here is the sign-up link, which I believe Manning has updated in light of our extended road: Fletcher Meal Sign-up.
2. You know what else blesses our socks off? Taking our kids for fun outings. They LOVE it.  Anne and I feel so encouraged when we know our children are being cared for and loved by our village of friends and family. It’s the best feeling.

As to how are we doing? I’ll give it to you straight: weary. I chuckle as I type that because if I weren’t so doggone tired I would elaborate.