Africa...cancer?....Africa

So, now its the final leg of flights; tomorrow, Oct. 15th, I'll be departing Kampala, Uganda and arriving in my new home, the Patongo displacement camp in Northern Uganda. Home to approximately 30,000 Acholi people displaced by the 20 year war.

I've been moving around now for about 4 months, training in Geneva, tasting Morocco, enjoying and packing up life in Portland, Oregon, heading back to my home territory in the UP of Michigan, mom, dad, Amanda, Leah, baby Eli's birthday (1!), then in September, departing for a HQ briefing with Medair in Geneva, and directly from there onto Uganda, East Africa. Well, at least that last part was my plan, but clearly it wasn't the plan.

While in Geneva, on September 6th, 12 hours from catching my much anticipated flight to mark the beginning of my new home in Africa, I received an email from my dad. It contained words I didn't want to read, and once I did, I wish I hadn't, or maybe I just had hoped they wouldn't be true. They had just got a report back from the doctor and I did indeed have cancer in my neck, attached to my thyroid. I had to fly home immediately. So, holding a boarding pass for Uganda in one hand, and reading this news on the screen, my mind went blank, I couldn't speak, but I could feel tears rolling down my cheeks. Recycling my ticket to Africa, 10 minutes later I bought a flight home, and literally it was my ticket to life. Why? Because I realize that I was headed to this displacement camp, where if I was a 26 year women born and living there, I would have no access to a chiropractor, thank you Dr. Kalbeida in Marquette, who would have noticed a lump, nor would I have health care at my fingertips, surgeons who rearrange their schedules, endocrinologists who squeeze me in when they don't have openings, labs who rush order, radiologists and nurses who do a procedure on a weekend when they usually never do, and insurance to cover all of it. If I was born in that camp, it would be nearly impossible to have access to all of that, and I would probably just have been a person who died young. So why are we privileged to receive all that? And will they someday have the same care available? I have more questions than answers about this spinning idea.

With many conversations with the surgeon, doctors, research articles, my parents and I tried to make the best decision we could about the surgery to remove the cancer, thyroid, lymph nodes. Because most medicine is based on statistics, there wasn't a clear way to go with this situation, whether to remove 1/2 the thyroid or the whole thing. Both having pros and cons, it felt like I was asking for directions to a place that didn't exist. Every situation had 2 sides, and not a clear way to fall. My head felt like it was at the limit of processing what to do. The surgery day came and went, the 5 hour procedure going well, despite my nerves higher than I've ever felt them. Dr. Heichel is a phenomenal surgeon and took great care opening up such a delicate part on the body; vocal chords, jugular, and other major parts running through this area. Removing the cancerous tumor, 1.4 cm, a lymph node and the left side of my thyroid; I then was waiting for the results of the thorough biopsy of the 3 items they removed.

Perhaps I had thought of that question before, what would I do if I was informed that my life would be shortened? How would I take that news? Would I live differently now? Am I doing what I feel I should be, loving the people I'm with, serving those in the world? If the cancer spread to my lymph nodes, and my life would be cut significantly, what would I do in that time? I had to be ready to hear that....and I'm not sure that I was. The good news was that it had not spread farther than the tumor, and although I will have another surgery, it wasn't necessary now, and could wait awhile. So, pondering some of the hardest thoughts I've had to face, in a short period of time, hoping I made all the right decisions...as my mom told me "if you want to live an interesting life Kathleen, first you have to have a life to live". Recovering at home was peaceful; flowers arrived at the house everyday from loved ones, walks were taken among the fall leaves, canoe rides under the moonlight, laughs sitting my the lake, painting with my sisters, hiking with Eli. And I realize that just because I wasn't told that my life is going to end shorter, doesn't mean that it won't, or yours won't. But, what it does mean is that I have a new feeling inside of me about a "day", and it's hard to put words to it.

With mom and dad in Portland, Oregon

Mama Leah, with Eli Enjoying a night out with my sister Amanda, and friend Jason

I flew to Africa 10 days after my surgery, recovered enough to fly, and healed enough physically to make the long flight. The second goodbye to everyone meant something different from the first; the love and support was reached at a new level and I was now able to continue on my life plans, where as before, it was just a given. When something is questioned or disappears, it gives new meaning to it when you can safely hold it again, and this time with gentle hands. Life.

Eli with his "superstar" pose after a hike up Sugarloaf Mountain