Aly's Fight Read online

  —JOSH—

  After a long time curled on the unfinished floor, Aly and I got up and drove back to my parents’ house. We were staying there while we built our house, but they were out of town that night. Aly’s mom and several of our friends met us there to show their love and support as the diagnosis sank in. None of us could believe it, and none of us knew how to act. I knew Aly was struggling, and I did everything I could to support her. But the truth is, I was falling apart inside. I wanted to be her rock, but I was crumbling. At some point denial crept in and I told myself it wasn’t as bad as we were making it out to be. I even let myself sneak off to a far part of the house and hang out with my lifelong friend Kyle for a little while. Everything was surreal, and I think I was trying to establish some sort of normalcy.

  After everyone went home, Aly and I were left in the big house all alone. We went to bed and held hands in silence as we each tried to get some sleep. Weird thoughts kept running through my head. Will she be sicker when she wakes up? Is cancer noticeably worse every day? We were so clueless.

  We got up the following morning and weren’t sure what to do. We knew we couldn’t go to work or school, but Aly’s appointment wasn’t until 2:00 p.m. We took a long morning walk, but neither of us said much. Our phone rang every two minutes with a friend or family member checking in. They asked a million questions, but we didn’t have any answers. All we could do was wait until the doctor’s appointment and pray for the doctor to tell us a single, simple surgery would take care of the problem once and for all. I think we both just wanted to get past this little bump in the road as quickly as possible so we could get on with our lives.

  —ALY—

  My doctor’s appointment was a wake-up call. Josh and I had been trying to convince ourselves that even though it was cancer, this wouldn’t be a big deal. The look on my doctor’s face was all it took to crush that hope. It’s a terrifying thing to see fear in your doctor’s eyes, but there it was. He was kind and compassionate, but there was no small talk; he was all business. He ran through the biopsy test results and mentioned different numbers and statistics, but it basically came down to this: I definitely had cancer, and it was extremely aggressive—actually, the most aggressive type of breast cancer. Things just kept getting worse.

  My list-making, action-oriented brain sprung to life, and I hit him with all the questions I could think of about what we should do next. Because of the severity of the cancer, the doctor said he’d only be comfortable if I went to the best cancer hospital around. As qualified as he was, he knew he was out of his depth on this one. He arranged for me to see a specialist at MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, Texas, as soon as possible. With that, he wished us well and said goodbye. There was nothing left for us to do except wait and pray—two things I did not want to do. I wanted to jump into action, to go to war and all-out attack the enemy in my body, but it wasn’t time yet. All I could do was wait and pray. I was devastated, frustrated, and yet still filled with faith and hope. God’s presence was still so real in my life, even though everything else seemed to be falling apart.

  We drove back to the house in a stunned state of silence. I remember crying on the couch and trying to explain the anxiety I felt at not being able to do anything except wait. Josh, God bless him, told me later that he didn’t know what to do at the time. He said he thought of several Bible verses he could have shared, but he chose to simply sit there with me and let me cry on him. That was such the right move. I love that his mind went straight to Scripture, and we’ve since spent countless hours talking about those verses and what they meant for my recovery, but I didn’t need a sermon that day. I needed my husband, and he was there for me. I remember thinking how blessed I was to have such a history with Josh for the fight ahead, as he knew what I needed and when I needed it.

  MD Anderson finally called and scheduled my appointment for October 26—nine days after my doctor first said the word cancer. Somehow just having that appointment on the calendar helped me relax a little. For the first time I felt like we had some kind of plan, like we were actually doing something. Sitting around and waiting was making me physically ill, but those days of waiting and praying were good for me. It was a hard-fought lesson in letting God fight my battles, a lesson I’d have to come back to again and again over the next few years. As Exodus 14:14 says, “The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still.” As hard as it was for me to be still, I knew this was a battle only He could fight—and win—for me.

  SHARING OUR STORY

  “Look! There are already fifty comments!”

  I woke up the next morning to Josh excitedly shoving his laptop in my face. I had no idea what he was talking about, but I hadn’t seen him genuinely excited about anything since we got the doctor’s first phone call. We were still waiting for our MD Anderson appointment and trying to make the best of each day without driving ourselves (and each other) crazy with worry.

  I asked Josh what I was looking at, and he explained that he had started a blog to document my cancer journey. It was his way of keeping everyone informed on what was going on and sharing specific prayer requests. The look on his face was precious. I knew he was expecting a big, sweet “thank you” from me. Instead, I thought I might throw up. I’m a private person by nature. It’s hard for me to share intimate details of my life with others, which is ironic considering we’re less than two chapters into this book and I’ve already told you about my breasts, pregnancy tests, and weird bowel movements. Oh, how cancer changes a person!

  Back then, though, I felt sick at the thought of the whole world knowing I had cancer. On the other hand, I was grateful for the chance to let people know how they could pray for me. As I struggled with Josh’s decision to start a blog, someone shared the phrase “prayers over privacy” with me. That became our family motto for the blog. I knew we needed the body of Christ to cover us in prayer for the journey we were about to take. So I made the willful decision to push aside my need for privacy in order to keep my friends and family informed and to give them the opportunity to pray for our specific needs. I also prayed and trusted that our blog would be a source of inspiration for others.

  Josh’s first post went online on October 20, 2011—just a few days after we found out I had cancer. I guess he was having a little trouble waiting and praying too. Should he have asked me first? Probably. But then, if he had, I most likely would have said no—and saying no would have prevented us from experiencing one of our biggest blessings throughout the whole cancer ordeal. The blog became a lifeline for us, a place to share our thoughts, prayers, fears, joys, and, in time, our encouragement to others going through the same thing. God has worked miracles in and through that little blog, and I’m so grateful to Josh for creating it. But seriously, babe. Next time, ask!

  PARTIES, PRAYERS, AND (FALSE) HOPES

  —JOSH—

  Aly’s cancer hospital was located in Houston, so we knew we’d be on the road a lot for the next several months. The Sunday before we left for that first appointment, our friends Angie and Julie arranged an old-fashioned prayer and encouragement meeting to give us a proper, prayer-filled send-off. There was singing, laughing, prayers, and a ton of food. Sweet friends, Amy and Ron, led worship and sang songs of faith over Aly. At one point Aly had a chance to speak. In what she later described as a “naïve, Holy Spirit bubble,” she actually said the words, “I am excited for this journey.” I’d seen a lot of emotions over the past week, and excitement wasn’t one of them. But Aly was doing the best she could in an impossible situation.

  As we left the party that night, we talked about how cool it was for Angie and Julie to do that for us. Angie is a leukemia survivor and she and her husband, Richard, became mentors for us as we walked through our own cancer fight. Aly and I decided that after Aly beat this thing, we would open our home like that for others walking through cancer. That, we agreed, is what mentorship is all about—helping others get through something you’ve been through yourself. And we w
ere determined to get through this.

  Aly, myself, and Aly’s mom, Cyd, hit the road the next morning heading to Houston for the first of what would be many appointments. On the way, we made a pit stop in Baton Rouge to get another opinion from a respected oncologist there. As we walked into that office, Aly was visibly uncomfortable. The cancer patients in the waiting room looked sick. Is Aly really a cancer patient? I didn’t even know what to call her. I couldn’t associate her name with cancer, but I also had to face the reality of the situation. As we waited with the other cancer patients, I realized Aly was now one of them.

  When we finally walked into the doctor’s office, he was reviewing a sheet with Aly’s name on it, but it was spelled “Allie.” We told him it was misspelled, and he got a strange look on his face. He looked at the birthdate on the sheet, and it was for a woman born in the 1930s. He was confused and said this was the paperwork that was sent from the doctor who did Aly’s biopsy. Suddenly we were given a glimmer of hope. Could what we prayed for be coming to pass? Did the wrong Aly/Allie Taylor get the cancer diagnosis? We prayed, Please, God, make them realize that the biopsy, the cancer, the severity—everything—was wrong! The doctor told us not to get too excited, as it probably was just a typo. So we waited. And waited. And waited.

  The doctor returned with the correct paperwork, but his dire expression hadn’t changed. Despite the mix-up, Aly—my Aly—had cancer. After a rush of false hope and what felt like a cruel joke, we were right back where we started. The Baton Rouge doctor echoed everything we’d already heard. He told us Aly would most likely need a mastectomy and additional treatment, but we wouldn’t know for sure until more surgeries and scans were done.

  Sitting there in that doctor’s office, having already been to one doctor and on our way to seeing another, it dawned on me that every doctor might say something different. How would we know which one to trust? How would we know which one had the best plan? What if we screwed up and made the wrong decisions? As these questions were swimming through my head, I had to call a friend—himself a doctor—to ask for a favor. While we were talking he asked me for an update on Aly’s situation, and I told him we had stopped for another opinion on the way to Houston.

  That call turned out to be crucial in our cancer journey. My friend lovingly but forcefully said, “Josh, if you keep hearing different opinions and don’t settle on one, you will drive yourself crazy. You have to choose to follow one.” He was right. We were surrounding ourselves with experts, and after hearing what the doctors had to say at MD Anderson, it would be time to pick the best course of action using the facts available and the leading of the Holy Spirit. This was a critical reminder for me that I couldn’t fix this situation. I couldn’t heal Aly; not even the doctors could heal her. Only God and God alone could heal His sick child.

  A BIRTHDAY BLESSING

  —ALY—

  We woke up in Houston the next day. My big doctor’s appointment was the following day, but this day was Josh’s twenty-seventh birthday. I love birthdays, and I always go all out on Josh’s birthday to make him feel as special and loved as he is. But here I was, waking up out of town and without a gift for my husband. That had never happened in all the years we’d been together.

  With no other options, I grabbed a piece of printer paper, folded it in half, and made him a homemade birthday card. I expressed how much I loved him and how sorry I was about him spending his birthday like this. Of course he thought my apology was ridiculous. This was when the guilt process started for me, though. I grew extremely guilty for what Josh was going through and what he was about to encounter. Instead of giving him a baby, I was giving him a nightmare of stress and worry. Time, perspective, and God’s grace have given me a different view of things now, but that’s where I was in those early days. I loved this man more than anything, and I felt as though I was ruining not only this birthday but his entire life.

  —JOSH—

  Aly’s mom had been with us since the beginning of Aly’s diagnosis and here she was with us in Houston too. She offered to take us anywhere I wanted for my birthday. She had come with us so she could go to her daughter’s appointment, not to celebrate my birthday, but she still had a way of making me feel special. I chose a nice steakhouse for dinner, and the three of us headed off. I dropped them off at the front of the restaurant while I hunted for a parking spot. Just a few minutes later I walked inside and saw them sitting at a booth. As soon as I got near the table, I saw that it was covered in confetti and Happy Birthday signs. Oh, these two, I thought. I should have known they’d do something for me! Even with the uncertainty of the next day’s appointment hanging in the air, I couldn’t help but thank God for the blessings He’d brought into my life.

  —ALY—

  Here’s what Josh didn’t realize about his birthday dinner: My mom and I hadn’t planned anything. No confetti. No signs. Nothing. The hostess at the restaurant showed us to a table as Josh parked the car, and the three of us were surprised to see the table covered in birthday decorations. The hostess said, “Oh, I am so sorry! We just had a birthday celebration in here. I’ll have someone come clean it all off for you immediately.”

  My mom and I, practically in unison, exclaimed, “Don’t take it off!” We looked at each other with tears in our eyes, thanking God for this simple sign that He loved us and was there with us. When Josh walked up and saw the table, the look on his face gave me so much joy. I eventually told him that we didn’t decorate the table for him, but the truth made the whole thing even more special. We knew it was God who decorated the table that night. He was there in Houston with us, and we were trusting that we would soon have another party to celebrate our victory over cancer. More confetti would be in our future, in Jesus’s name.

  THE APPOINTMENT

  The next day was the day we were both looking forward to and dreading: my first appointment at MD Anderson. A big crowd had joined us in Houston, as Josh’s parents and several friends came to support us and sit with my mom while we were back with the doctors. They weren’t the only people there who knew me, though. The entire staff at the hospital already knew all about me; I felt like the most popular patient around. However, while popularity usually has its perks, you do not want to be the most popular patient at MD Anderson Cancer Center. If everyone there knows everything about you the day you show up, there’s a good chance you’re going to be hanging out with those people for a long time.

  The team told me immediately that I would need additional testing before they could come up with a full treatment plan, but from what they knew from the biopsy, they expected a mastectomy and most likely chemotherapy and radiation. I wasn’t sure what all those words meant other than I would lose my hair and my breasts and that I was sick. I quickly underwent lots of tests and was ushered from one room to another for several different appointments. In between, we checked in with our family and had to keep telling them more and more bad news. The day wasn’t totally without a little humor, however.

  —JOSH—

  Aly had about a million different tests and scans that day. After her mammogram, MRI, and CAT scan, she was taken up for a bone scan to see if the cancer had spread to her bones. They sat Aly in a huge mint-green pleather chair as the technician explained the procedure. She was a sweet woman, and it was clear she knew her stuff. However, she had a thick Indian accent, and Aly and I couldn’t fully understand everything she was saying. The tech told us they would inject contrast dye into Aly and then Aly could “pee.” Aly and I looked at each other, not fully catching what she meant. I repeated, “Aly is going to pee?”

  The tech replied, “Yes, go pee. Do not try and hold it. Just let it go.”

  “Let it go?” I asked. Suddenly it became clear why Aly was sitting in a large pleather chair. Apparently she was going to pee in it as soon as they injected the dye. I thought, Is this the “pee chair”? How is this okay? And even remotely sanitary? I am a bit of a germaphobe, but this was crazy. Aly asked me to go get a set of clothes
from the car, and we both wondered why no one warned us to bring some clothes she wouldn’t mind peeing in. As we were having this conversation, the nurse burst out laughing.

  “No, no! You will have an hour from the time the dye is administered before the actual bone scan. So if you need to pee during that time, go pee. Don’t hold it. But… go in the bathroom.” Aly and I cracked up. She told me later that she probably would have filled that chair with pee as soon as they injected the dye out of pure placebo effect if they hadn’t cleared that up.

  It may seem strange to tell such a silly story from what was an altogether terrifying day, but that is a precious memory for us. It was a powerful reminder that God gives us joy and laughter even in the midst of heartache. We get to choose whether we will laugh and smile or become bitter and angry. Aly and I chose joy. We knew there wouldn’t be many opportunities to laugh during those days, so when we had the opportunity, we took it.

  You may be facing a nightmare of your own right now, and laughing may seem impossible. Give it a try anyway. Embrace the precious moments of levity even when facing extremely devastating times. As the Bible says, “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance” (James 1:2–3). We considered the joy—because we needed perseverance.