Four days into In-residence Physical Therapy, Erica is thankful for the food and her new friends. The food being far more edible than the previous hospital, it actually is very good. Her appetite, enhanced by steroids, has her often requesting seconds. Her new “friends”, the trainers and nurses, have already learned Erica’s quirks, specifically, that she needs two vanilla ice cream cups between dinner and bed.

We already see improvement in Erica’s cognition and mobility. She is able to feed herself, move from sitting to standing on her own (with balance assistance) and is taking longer strides while using a walker. Her conversations are much more complete – usually including a statement about how badly she wants to go home. But she’s not ready yet. More work to do. Ten more days.

Six nights in the hospital. Five days in a ten by ten beige room waiting for a doctor to tell you if your worst fears are valid or not. This room is stripped bare and will reduce anyone to their lowest emotional point. Only thirteen channels on the TV projecting sound from tiny holes in the same remote that has the nurse call button. In the corner are two stiff chairs that discourage guests from staying too long. Conversation is limited to Erica’s condition unless someone intentionally changes the subject. This is the most uninspiring room for someone who needs to be inspired. It is easy to forget the comforts of life when everything around you reminds you how fragile life really is. It’s a wonder anyone ever gets better in the hospital. I’m just the spouse and I feel worse for being here. Erica is going stir crazy and just wants to be home. I guess this is a good sign because her energy and awareness are up enough to get pretty emotional about it.

Unfortunately, Erica is not going straight home. She will be transferred to In-patient Physical Rehabilitation Care at another hospital for the next two weeks. This is definitely worth celebrating because it means that the doctors and therapists believe that she can get better. But it also means that she will have to work and want to get better. Erica is weary and I feel it with her. The past two months have been a roller coaster seeming to have more downs than ups. And the past two years have taken a toll on her body. We are learning that all of the radiation and medication is having a lasting effect on her brain. Her treatments moving forward will need to be carefully coordinated between the radiation and medical oncology teams. But we can praise God that currently, the treatments have been very successful in fighting the tumors in her brain. Many are gone or reduced to a size so small there is no immediate concern. This will allow Erica to focus on physical therapy and getting strong again.

We praise God that the tests that she was hospitalized for have come back negative or normal and that improvement (should) start tomorrow. We thank the many friends and family that have stopped by. We cheer shrinking tumors and renewed hope!

Back in the hospital, that is. Another multi-day, waiting for tests, results and treatment plans. Another round of doctors we don’t know.
We know we are in the best hands, but this place is draining. Erica does say that being here makes her feel safe (Yay!).

We are here with renewed hope. After consultation with Erica’s radiation oncologist yesterday, who also consulted with our medical oncologist and neurosurgeon, it was recommended that we come in for a series of tests. The specialists agree that Erica’s sudden drop is not typical of the slow cognitive decline from radiation. Recent PET, MRI and CT scans are not showing progression that causes immediate concern. In fact, we are celebrating that the body is clear of any evidence of disease and many of the tumors in her brain have actually decreased or disappeared! Miracles and Medicine!

The leading theory is that the cancer may have effect on the ventricles and the pressure of the brain fluid. A lumbar puncture (spinal tap) will help determine this. Unfortunately, we were not able to schedule that procedure today, so we will continue to wait and celebrate that we still have options.

We scheduled an appointment with Erica’s neurologist just to be sure that we were covering all perspectives of the brain situation (perhaps one day I’ll write a retrospect of her first experience with the neurologist and the amazing outcome of that episode). We truly expected the neurologist to say that Erica’s condition was related to the tumors or brain swelling and would improve if we took care of those. Unfortunately, that may not be the case. Over the past two years of radiation, medication and the cancer itself, Erica’s brain has been significantly damaged and is failing throughout. This has real potential to be the root cause of her challenged cognition and mobility and clarifies why her symptoms reflect those of dementia. As mentioned in the prior post, this horrible reality is devastating to Erica. Treatments, the cancer and time alone will continue to worsen the condition. We are stunned, sad and facing very difficult decisions as we anticipate more radiation on existing tumors.

I did not expect that our second blog post would be this difficult. I nearly dropped the whole project knowing that they may only get harder. But we recognize that we have been praying to understand what is causing Erica’s condition. This news brings us closer to an answer to that prayer and closer to decisions and plans accordingly. So carry on.

Our youngest son, Bram, returned from college yesterday. This is not the circumstance we planned to greet him with. As we share his mom’s news, he brings joy to her with a big hug, and then goes on to tell us of the shenanigans of his most recent work shift. We are all laughing out loud and immediately experience the mood-changing truth that laughter is the best medicine.

Eight p.m. Saturday before Mother’s Day, sitting at the dining table with Erica, her mother and mine. The perfect pre-mother’s day moment? Could be, except that the mothers did not come for the celebration, they are here to assist Erica… and me.

For the past few weeks, Erica has been incapable of independence. Unable to stand without assistance, unable to walk, unable to deliver her thoughts or find her words. Having recently lost her father to dementia, this feels too similar. Too hopeless, like we know how this will end. But it’s not dementia, it’s cancer – metastatic breast cancer that found it’s way to her brain. And she was not like this six weeks ago. And the physicals and blood tests are not concerning. And the tumors do not match the symptoms. So what is going on?! My exhaustion is only surpassed by my will to fight for her and against the non-stop waves of panic attacks that wash over me.

It was March 22, 2025 when Erica checked in to the emergency room due to a brief moment of double vision, a symptom that 2 years prior lead us to discover the brain metastases. This time, we find no significant change to her tumors, just minor swelling around that area. Four days later, numerous tests and scans, dozens of doctors and nurses and heavy doses of steroids and seizure preventatives, Erica was determined stable and released. Follow ups with her oncologists confirmed that she was on the best treatment, the same treatment that one week ago she was living a normal life. The days that followed spiraled down a slide of fatigue. She slept almost all day for nearly two weeks. She ignored her phone, no texts, no email, no social media, no shopping. Clearly something wrong. When she began to move it was weak, slow and confused. Weaned off the steroid and seizure meds, she showed minor improvement.

It took two of us to help Erica to the table this night. We sit down, pray, and Erica vomits. And not just a little. The moms flash into super mom mode. Like the hulk when angered, but instant and gentle. I was the one that turned green. Frozen. Pushing back another panic attack. Knowing exactly what was happening – either more brain swelling or the tumors. Within minutes, the moms have the table and floor clean and Erica in the bathroom. And with a deep, calming breath I dial her radiation oncologist. Yes, 8:30 on a Saturday night, I dial the personal mobile phone number of her doctor. Because I am not taking Erica back to the emergency room. Within minutes, the doctor calls back. She asks if I have any dexamethasone left, the steroid Erica just weaned off of. I had one pill. Give it to her. The doctor begins to call pharmacies. All closed. I agree to watch Erica closely through the night and pick up more steroids when they open in the morning. She sleeps very well. I do not.

I am writing this post three days after that event. Erica’s coordination and cognition show improvement. I celebrate that Erica’s oncologist called me back at 8:30 on a Saturday night. I celebrate that I had one steroid pill. And I celebrate the moms!

We walk through valleys and face the shadow of death.
And yet we say “Yay!” – intentionally.

The often quoted Psalm 23:4 reads, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; For You (God) are with me.” But I challenge that a simple yea, or yes, is not enough. We want a Yay!, a deliberate celebration of bright victories in the dark moments. We want to cheer God when He shows up in the low times. We have to believe that these moments exist. And we must purposefully seek them out.

To be clear, this is not about James 1:2, “Count it all joy when you fall into various trials,” another often quoted scripture. We are not aiming to find joy with the trial (of course there may be some of that), rather we are looking to find joys in the trials. Most lessons have been revealed with time, not by questioning in the moment. Try not to dwell on what lesson God is teaching during a trial. Instead, be in the moment and train your brain to recognize the small joys throughout the journey.