On Friday, June 13th (our 6th anniversary (Go, us!), and my little sister's 21st birthday (Go, Laura!)), I called my oncologist to see if he had the results from two MRI's I had gone in for earlier in the week. He hemmed and hawed and asked if I could come in on Monday to get the results, "Oh, and bring Adam."
That bodes well, right?
The weekend was spent doing mental "worse-case-scenario" exercises, all while trying to distract ourselves from those ever-darkening thoughts. We went bowling, had pizza, played at the park, and attended church.
Monday morning we showed up for our scheduled execution, or at least that's what it felt like. The news was, as expected, not good. The last year of radiation, chemo, surgery, more chemo, more radiation, and boatloads of various medications seems to have missed a couple of key areas: my spinal cord, and my brain.
As we left the doctor's office, the clouds opened in a heavy downpour, as if the world itself wept alongside us. My oncologist doesn't expect me to last even six more months. It could be as few as two or three.
We are so grateful for the people who have rallied around us during this difficult time. Our wonderful ward has lifted and strengthened us. Our families have sent prayers, love, and financial support, as well as offers to come help. We have basically canceled all future plans and as soon as possible we'll be heading back to Utah to spend time with family. A huge thank you to everyone who has helped us with meals, packing, childcare, emotional support, prayers, and thoughtful notes. We don't know what we would've done without you.