You may have noticed this space has been quiet for a while.
It wasn’t because nothing was happening.
It was because everything was.
Somewhere along the way, I made a quiet decision that if this cancer was going to be part of my story, it wasn’t going to be the whole story. I didn’t want to spend all my energy documenting appointments and lab values. I wanted to spend it living.
And living, for us, meant growing our family.
Over the past three years, life has been beautifully full — including walking through another pregnancy and welcoming our daughter, Ellie, into the world, just over one month ago. A miracle I don’t take lightly. A gift I once wasn’t sure I would be here to experience, let alone for a second time.
Last week’s bloodwork showed a noticeable increase in my markers — the same kind of increase I experienced after I had Luke. Everything points to it being hormone-related again, connected to pregnancy, not progression.
Even so, it’s always a little jarring to see numbers climb on paper when you’ve lived with cancer long enough to know what they can mean.
And yet.
The scans show no disease progression.
The tumors — if that’s even what they are — have barely moved in six years.
And today, ten years after diagnosis, my oncologist called to say I no longer need oncology as my primary team.
Ten years.
3,541 days.
Countless blood draws and scans.
Four pregnancies.
Two children.
And I’m not just surviving — I am thriving.
That doesn’t mean cancer didn’t take things. It did. It changed me. It reshaped how I see my body, my time, my future. There are still moments where the weight of having a “forever cancer” settles in unexpectedly.
But somewhere along the way, grief stopped being the loudest voice.
Gratitude grew louder.
Faith grew steadier.
Life kept unfolding.
I’ve learned that living with a chronic diagnosis isn’t just about fighting. It’s about building. Building a family. Building rhythms. Building joy in ordinary days. Choosing to celebrate even when the story isn’t perfectly tied up with a remission bow.
When I hung up the phone, I cried.
Not because it’s over. It isn’t.
But because ten years ago I was bracing for the worst — and today I’m standing here watching God’s faithfulness written across a decade of my life.
I am so deeply grateful — for the doctors who have cared for me, for the people who have prayed for me, and most of all, for a God who has carried me through every unknown.
Today feels like a sacred milestone. Not an ending. Just a marker in the middle.
And I don’t want to rush past it.
All glory to Him.
