Author: Adam Wright

Here we are three weeks after a successful craniotomy. It’s still a bit surreal to think that I had brain surgery. A lot has happened in the world around us including the death of Pope Francis and the beginning of the conclave to elect the 267th successor of St. Peter. Yet, it seems as if the world has been moving in slow motion as I’ve been sitting on the sidelines.

Update on the Brain

We were very happy to follow-up with my neurosurgeon last week. The official report came back that no cancer was detected in the brain mass that was removed. Pathology shows that it was indeed a cavernous malformation of blood vessels. He said the surgery went incredibly smooth and quicker than anticipated. My recovery is progressing nicely. Both the doctor and Beth reminded me that I am recovering quickly even if I don’t feel like I’m making much progress. We will begin weening me off the anti-seizure medication over the next month and then will follow up with another brain MRI in August. The hope is that I will be discharged from his care following the post MRI visit and put this chapter of my health saga behind us.

Side note: I got to see a picture of my brain taken during the surgery. I geeked out. It was pretty cool. I would share it if I could, but that is not possible at this point.

Update on My Overall Neuroendocrine Cancer

You may recall that I visited my oncologist a few weeks before the surgery and learned that the metastasis in my liver was stable on my most recent liver MRCP (enhanced MRI) scan from February. There have been some lab results over the past few months that aren’t concerning, but are high enough that we are keeping an eye on them in future tests.There have also been some symptoms that, combined with the lab tests, give us reason to be suspicious that something is brewing. My oncologist ordered a new PET scan for diagnostic purposes in light of this. It also would, hopefully, provide some peace of mind. I went in for the PET scan a week before surgery. Yesterday, we followed up with my oncologist to review the PET scan and discuss what lies ahead.

Let’s start with the good news. This was the highest resolution PET scan I’ve received (the machine was only the third in the country when it was installed at Siteman last October). It showed no evidence of progression and my cancer is described as “stable disease.” I’m still on track for another MRCP in September before having hepatibiliary (liver) surgery to remove as much metastasis from my liver as possible. It’s good news and we are grateful for it.

You would think that I would be ecstatic given last week’s report from the neurosurgeon and yesterday’s report from my oncologist. I’m learning through experience what I have read from many cancer patient stories. I’m spending a lot of time “in between.” Yes there was good (actually great) news. There is often the lingering question of “but what’s next?” It’s a question to which the doctor’s can provide some answers, but at a certain point they are like meteorologists. “All conditions point to ‘x’ but conditions could change at any point.”

We had a frank discussion about the potential avenues we will encounter as we move forward. One thing is clear: every scan that comes back with no evidence of progression is a gift and should be celebrated. Each passing month decreases the odds of that happening and increases the chance that we will see evidence of progression. It’s important to remember that neuroendocrine tumors are very slow growing (a good thing). They are also difficult to cure (not so much of a good thing). Treatment is aimed at surgical resection/removal of disease and stopping the growth/spread of disease.

My oncologist brought up the subject of treatments yesterday and the potential to resume the first line of defense, the one that brought “intolerable” side effects the last time we tried them. Yesterday was the first time we noticably talked in terms of “ten years.” We began focusing on what we need to be ready to do now so that I’m not in a place where there is a poor outlook with limited options ten years from now. It was a sobering experience. We talked about his perspective on the potential liver surgery, how invasive it would be, the associated risks, the difficult/long recovery period, and the potential benefits.

Thoughts on What Lies Ahead

I wish I could tell you that I walked out of yesterday’s appointment filled with confidence and ready to charge into pre-op for the liver surgery. The reality is that my cross is particularly heavy right now. I’m dreadfully scared of the pain and recovery associated with the liver surgery. I have an acute sense that, in terms of difficulty, the brain surgery I just experienced is likely the easiest surgery from a patient perspective (the colon surgery being second and liver being the most difficult). I keep coming back to a phrase that I uttered this when we received the stage iv cancer diagnosis a year ago, “I’m not ready, but let’s go!” It’s safe to say that we’ve gone some of the way and I’m better prepared to keep going. I am also more and more reluctant to keep going.

Thank God it is not solely up to me to keep going. Our wonderful support structure of family, friends, parish, and local community have been a great support for us each step of the way. It’s clearly evident to see Christ at work through the Church helping our family carry the cross of my health. Through you I find the strength to face the challenges and charge ahead.

I keep thinking of the cinematography at the end of “Lord of the Rings: Return of the King” where Aragorn has assembled the troops to face the armies of Mordor head on, against overwhelming odds and little chance of success, ready to fight “for Frodo.” I think of our five children when I think of this imagery. I’m not just fighting for my survival in this life. I’m fighting to be here for and with my children for as long as i can. I firmly trust that God will take care of Beth and the kids if I meet my end on this earth, but I also recognize that there is a design in the vocation of marriage that I am a primary vessel for God to work in their lives as husband and father. I look at our children and hear the words of Aragorn when he says, “there may come a day when the courage of men fails, but it is not this day!”

Where is God In All of This?

This is a question I have been asking for quite some time. There was a tangible sense that He was right there with me as I was in my hospital bed in the ICU following my brain surgery. Lately, I feel like He has been asking me one question: “Do you trust that I am making you holier through this?”

I had the fortune to feel well enough on Good Friday that I was able to attend the Service of the Lord’s Passion at our parish. My energy was quickly fading as quickly as my pain was intensifying when we arrived at the moment to venerate the cross. I can’t remember which particular reflection I had been reading in the prior weeks, but the moment in the service was a visible reminder of the witness of the Church and countless saints. No matter what lies ahead in my journey, God has gone as far as death so that I could follow Him with the assurance that there is something more beyond the final moments of this earthly pilgrimage. I couldn’t stop thinking that He was saying to me, “I’ve gone here [to the Cross] so that you wouldn’t have to go to your cross alone. I am with you. Do not be afraid.” As I began to stand up, I had to lean heavily on my cane and on Beth to be able to make it to the cross setup for veneration. Several people told me before and after the service that I certainly had a reasonable excuse to stay home, or at least stay in my pew, but how could I do that when He had gone to the Cross for me?

I’m still failing to articulate how, but I can wholeheartedly say that this was the most impactful Good Friday I’ve ever experienced in my life. Sadly, I did not make it back to Church until our youngest daughter’s First Communion Mass about a week later.

I’ve heard the voice of Jesus say to me, in everything from a serious tone to a lighthearted chuckle, “Adam, your Easter celebration is coming, but let’s stick with the Passion and Good Friday for a little longer.”

Isn’t that what this life is all about? We are made for the glory of the resurrection, but we aren’t there yet. We linger in a tension during this life where we have a foretaste of Heaven, all while still experience the pains inflicted in the wounds of sin. It’s as if we are perpetually in Good Friday, but with the assurance that Easter is coming! In short, we have HOPE!

Final Thoughts

The world has certainly slowed down for me during this time of recovery. Like many, I was somewhat surprised and saddened to wake up to the news that Pope Francis had died on Easter Monday. Much has been written about his impact on the Church and I don’t really have anything to add to what’s been said. I continue to pray for the repose of his soul and to pray for the Church.

I was listening to some commentary today as the cardinal electors processed into the Sistine Chapel to begin the Conclave. One of the panelists was speaking about the hope that each pope would show Jesus to our broken world. That’s where my prayer is today. I could not walk the journey I am on without Jesus by my side. I am grateful for the parish priests, youth ministers, friends, and colleagues who have helped me see Jesus working through His Church and in my life.

I was privleged to spend some time in prayer with Pope St. John Paul II (and ~14k youth) when he came to St. Louis in 1999. I will never forget his words and can still hear his voice saying, “Remember Christ is calling you, the Church needs you, and the Pope believes in you and expects great things of you!”

For most of my life I thought I would be living those words out through parish ministry or the radio program, but here I am living them out through a journey with Neuroendocrine Cancer. It is my prayer that you see Him working through my story and find Him working in your life. Jesus is with us. We are not alone. Let us never forget that. Let us pray for all who do not know it. Let us forever strive to conform our lives to the Cross in the hope of the new life of the resurrection.

Happy Easter.

-Adam

“To know that the Father’s Wisdom is in every cross is faith. To trust that everything that happens to us is for our good is hope. But to express our love for Him in the midst of darkness and aridity is the purest love.” -Mother Angelica

TL:DR Version: Surgery & Tests are Scheduled. Help is Appreciated. God is in control!

Health & Logistical Updates
Several things are in motion right now and things will start happening quickly in the next few weeks. Here’s a glimpse of what’s about to happen.

• I report soon for PET scan #2 to see if my Neuroendocrine Cancer has spread beyond the known liver metastasis.
• I then report for pre-operative testing and procedures with anesthesia to prepare for the craniotomy.
• We are less than three weeks away from the scheduled craniotomy date of April 16.

Reflection
Today is the ninth anniversary of the death of Mother Angelica. Mother founded EWTN and the Poor Claires of Perpetual Adoration. I have enjoyed the grace of praying at her tomb with Beth at the Shrine of the Most Blessed Sacrament in Hanceville, Alabama (also the home of Our Lady of the Angels Monastery home of her religious order). Hopefully you saw the quote from Mother Angelica at the beginning of this post.

“To know that the Father’s Wisdom is in every cross is faith. To trust that everything that happens to us is for our good is hope. But to express our love for Him in the midst of darkness and aridity is the purest love.” -Mother Angelica

I remain incredibly grateful for the faith I’ve received that has assured me God is working through my particular crosses over this past year. I am grateful for the virtue of hope that has allowed me to trust that what He is working through these crosses is for my good. And I am grateful that, at some point in my life, someone taught me that love is “more than a feeling.” Love is an act of the will.

Perhaps, like me, you have found it difficult to love God. While I’ve been edified by the many kind words thanking me for my witness and inspiration through my journey, I would be lying if I said this was easy and comes naturally. When I first shared my diagnosis, I phrased it by saying “the Lord has invited me to walk a particular Way of the Cross with Him.” A friend sent a message reminding me the our Lord fell three times on His Way of the Cross and that I should not be surprised or discouraged when I fall on mine. The Lord knows I have fallen multiple times.

I think I’ve shared the quote from Fr. Mike Schmitz that “all sin is an attempt to be happy apart from God.” There have been multiple times throughout the past 10 months that I have not immediately found comfort or consolation in my cross. I have been impatient and I have been selfish. I have taken it upon myself to seek happiness, comfort, consolation, or some other form of distraction from suffering on my own terms. Providentially, God has worked through the grace of our marriage to have Beth remind me to STOP trying to find this on my own and TRUST in His plan. Thankfully He has also provided us the Sacrament of Reconciliation as well as the graces found in the Holy Eucharist and Anointing of the Sick to bring me back to Him.

Once again, Mother Angelica provided a good reminder about God’s plan. “God always forgives when you are totally repentant and you desire to change. He forgives… and He never gets tired of forgiving. Never. You may get tired of asking. I hope not. He never, never tires of forgiving. Never.”

This is perhaps one of the hardest demands of love. Having the humility to swallow my pride and ask for forgiveness is never easy. How many of us actually like to say “I screwed up… again…” I get tired of admitting it. I am tempted to give up. I am tempted to say it’s pointless because I’m never going to be perfect. But that is an incomplete view.

We may never be perfect on this side of Heaven, but we have a God who is willing to perfect us so that we can be with Him in Heaven. He does not tire of this work. It’s okay to tell Him that the cross is getting heavy. It’s okay to ask for help carrying the cross. He will not leave us abandoned under the weight of our crosses. Let us pray for the grace to see Him with us at the foot of our crosses.

I pray that you and I will continue to exercise the “spiritual muscles” needed to love God daily so that we can continue to love Him when the cross is heavier than we can bear alone. I cannot tell you how, but I can assure you that He has continued to pour out grace to sustain me under the weight of my cross. Please pray for me that I will continue to trust Him and love Him. Please know that I will pray for you that you may do the same.

Prayer Requests
Please continue to pray for CL who is undergoing cancer treatments (and for CL’s family). Please continue to pray for our parents who are about take over the logistics of sheltering, feeding, transporting, etc. of our children while I am in surgery and recovery. Please pray for my surgery team and the doctors and nurses who will care for me following the craniotomy. Please pray for all those who have been and will continue to carry my duties at Covenant Network when I am unable to do so. Please continue to pray for Beth who carries far beyond a fair share of the load for our family during this time (she truly is giving >150% in our marriage). Finally, please continue to pray for those who need the grace to see that God is working through their sufferings.

BONUS CONTENT

• This TobyMac song is one I often turn to when it is challenging to love.
• An episodeof EWTN Bookmark featuring my friend Fr. Joseph Mary Wolfe talking about Mother Angelica on Suffering and Burnout

TL:DR Version: I’m having brain surgery!

PRELUDE
Before I begin this update, could I ask you to pray for CL & family? CL is undergoing cancer treatments and her family could use your prayers.

THE MEDICAL UPDATE
A few weeks ago, I shared that I was hospitalized after a new mass was discovered in my brain following an ED visit due to some concerning symptoms (mild paresthesia of the face, new migraines, moderate to severe vertigo). The four weeks between discharge and last week’s follow up MRI were easily the longest four weeks of my cancer journey. It’s a rather unsettling thing to have an unknown mass in your brain and for the plan to be, “let’s wait and see what we see on the next scan.”

Well, last Friday marked four weeks. Beth and I had an atypical day date: she drove me to get an MRI, we went to lunch at Bread Co., and then rounded out the affair by chatting with my neurosurgeon. We went through the images, discussed the options, and walked away with more questions than we had at the beginning of the appointment. We decided to wait another 4-6 weeks, scan again, and make a decision about surgery at the next appointment. We knew we had some questions we wanted to ask my oncologist before making a decision on brain surgery.

We met with my oncologist this past Tuesday. We talked through a few different possibilities. It’s fair to say that Beth and I walked into the appointment confident that I would elect to have the craniotomy offered by the neurosurgeon, the only questions were how any potential cancer spread could affect the timing. We walked out of the oncology appointment ready to call the neurosurgeon and proceed with scheduling the craniotomy.

It still gives me pause to think about it. I literally messaged someone this week to say, “I would like to have a doctor cut open my skull and operate on my brain.”

When will it happen? I do not know. It is all in the hands of the schedulers at this point. We anticipate mid to late April, but that’s just a guess based on what was said at my recent appointments.

Unintended Conversations
One of my favorite saint quotes comes from St. Philip Neri who said, “Find joy in each day.” As weird as this decision has been, it has led to some fun conversations in our house. I was sharing what’s going to happen with the kids and went into some detail about the procedure. At some point, a portion of my head will need to be shaved to allow surgical incisions. The kids are now debating whether I should only shave the portion necessary, shave the entirety of my head, or shave the sides and keep a mohawk. God has provided a generous amount of joy and laughter in the midst of everything.

Finding God In the Midst
I’ve been thinking a lot about a quote that my dear friend Fr. Wade Menezes, CPM, shares frequently in our radio conversations. “The God who willed to create you without you, does not will to save you without you.” (attributed to St. Augustine)

I wouldn’t fault anyone going through a journey of suffering for asking why a loving God would allow this suffering to happen. Nor would I fault them for asking how God can use this for salvation. I’ve even had times in prayer when I’ve asked “God, are you there? Do you really want to heal me?”

The Book of Job is a great example of a few things for us to remember. Sometimes we suffer as a consequence of our choices. Oftentimes, we do not. Sometimes God permits us to suffer, but then works through that suffering for our redemption. How? We do not always know. In fact, God gives Job a fairly stern reminder that God knows the plan and that there are things happening that Job has not seen. But Job has a choice to make. Does he trust that God is at work?

You and I will encounter that same choice in our sufferings. Why has God allowed me to have cancer? I do not know. Why has He allowed this mass to grow in my brain? I do not know. How will He work through what lies ahead? I do not know. But I have glimpses of what He has been about while I’ve been in the thick of it all. I have not been alone.

God gave me a choice last April: “Do you trust that I can transform you through your medical journey?” Through some grace I said, “yes.” He has responded generously to that “yes.” His grace has better focused me on the call to sainthood than I’ve ever been in my life. My time with family and friends has taken on new and deeper dimensions. What about you? Do you trust that God is working through the difficulties in your life?

I recently spoke with a friend of Michelle Duppong and asked how she thought Michelle would respond if God offered to take away all of the suffering of her cancer journey, but at the cost of losing all of the lessons and personal transformation she received from Him as a result. Her friend firmly believed Michelle wouldn’t make that trade. Through God’s grace, everyday brings me a new understanding of why she felt that way and why I wouldn’t make that trade either. It’s been difficult, but the fruit of what God has done far outweighs the cost.

“The lesson is that unless there is a cross in our lives, there will never be a resurrection.” -Venerable Servant of God Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen

TL;DR Version: Yes, there is sadness in this life, but hope points to something bigger than melancholy. (Please see the end of the post for a prayer intention.)

Melancholy
Early on in this journey, there was a moment where I stopped in prayer and said, “I’m not ready, Lord, but let’s go.” This is a prayer that I have frequently recited throughout the past ten months. There are days I wish I could look back at everything I’ve been through and say, “now I’m ready,” but that is not the reality. Don’t get me wrong, I’m better prepared for what is happening and for what might be next, but I’m still not “ready.”

I’ve been feeling a certain melancholy lately. Beth and others have asked if there is something in particular such as a doctor’s appointment, lab results, ED visits, etc. that is at the root of the melancholy. I do not think anyone would fault me, or anyone going through a similar trial, for feeling a pensive sadness during periods suffering.

St. John Paul II taught that “Christianity proclaims the essential good of existence and the good of that which exists… Man suffers on account of evil, which is a certain lack, limitation or distortion of good. We could say that many suffers because of a good in which he does not share, from which in a certain sense he is cut off… He particularly suffers when he ought – in the normal order of things – to have a share in this good and does not have it.” (Salvifici Doloris p. 7 [bold emphasis added])

In my particular case, the good in which I do not share is good health. This is not unique to me and it is not unique to physical health. It is entirely reasonable to say that each of us can look at our lives and identify a period of suffering due to “a good in which [we did] not share.” Melancholy is a perfectly normal emotional response to this deprivation of a fundamental good.

Hope
Many Catholics are devoting particular attention to the word “hope” this year. Pope Francis declared this year to be a Jubilee Year of Hope. We can have a discussion on jubilee years at another point in time, but let’s take a moment to focus on hope.

“Hope is the theological virtue by which we desire the kingdom of heaven and eternal life as our happiness, placing our trust in Christ’s promises and relying not on our own strength, but on the help of the grace of the Holy Spirit…

The virtue of hope responds to the aspiration to happiness which God has placed in the heart of every man; it takes up the hopes that inspire men’s activities and purifies them so as to order them to the Kingdom of heaven; it keeps man from discouragement; it sustains him during times of abandonment; it opens up his heart in expectation of eternal beatitude. Buoyed up by hope, he is preserved from selfishness and led to the happiness that flows from charity.”
(Catechism of the Catholic Church 1817-1818)

If faith expresses our belief that God is who He says He is and that heaven is real, then hope is the trust that God wants us to be there when this earthly pilgrimage has ended and is working to bring us to Heaven!

Suffering reminds us that we are not currently in heaven. Hope reminds us that suffering does not have to be the final destination. This is why prayer and the sacraments have been so important to me throughout my particular “Way of the Cross.” They don’t necessarily stop the suffering, but they do point towards the hope of heaven.

Anointing of the Sick
I was privileged to receive Sacramental Anointing of the Sick yesterday from Archbishop Mitchell Rozanski. It is important to remember that the Sacrament is a source of grace each time it is received, whether it is from a priest or bishop. The ritual includes asking for God’s mercy, asking for healing, and asking for assistance to bear the burden of suffering. We ask God to heal us of our ailments, if it be His will, and to prepare us to be with Him in heaven when this earthly life has ended.

I am always struck by the beauty of the prayers of anointing:

“Through this holy anointing may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit. Amen. May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up. Amen.”

Notice how the prayer does not ask God to remove the cancer from my life. Rather, the prayers ask God to bestow the grace needed to bear this cross and prepare me for heaven. It doesn’t close the door on physical healing, but it orients us on a goal bigger than physical healing. I would happily accept physical healing, but I pray daily that I would always desire heaven more than healing from cancer.

Conclusion
It has been a long post. I will conclude with this thought. At the beginning of the prayers yesterday, the Archbishop said a familiar phrase: “Peace be with you.” These are not just “nice” words or “beautiful symbolism.” I firmly believe that Archbishop Rozanski, through the Sacrament of Holy Orders, is a direct successor to the Apostles appointed by our Lord Jesus Christ during His earthly ministry. His words “peace be with you” are efficacious. He has the authority to bestow the peace of Christ. You and I might wish each other peace (I hope you find peace in this situation). The Archbishop literally granted the peace of Christ as one literally gives a gift on a Christmas or a birthday.

I later received a text message from my friend who had arranged for yesterday’s anointing. I shared with him that I was tired, but very much at peace following the anointing. This was not coincidental. It was the efficacy of the Sacrament. It was the power of prayer. It was the trust that hope gives, reminding us that Heaven is greater than any melancholy or suffering we might be enduring at the present time.

Prayer Intention
Many times we think of our (arch)bishops as administrators. While governance is a principal component of their office, it is rooted in their priesthood. It’s easy to armchair quarterback the work of our Church leaders, but in doing so, we often risk separating their governance from their priestly ministry. Please pray for the priestly vocation of your (arch)bishop. Pray that it permeates the whole of their ministry. Their priestly vocation is not just an honorary title or office, it’s an indelible mark on their souls that grants graces through their ministry. Our Lord says “my yoke is easy and my burden light,” but it is safe to say that our priests and bishops carry a significant portion of that burden. They need our prayers too.

It’s been about two weeks since my hospitalization. And there have been some updates.

Neuroendocrine Cancer Update
Let’s start with the good news. I met with my new oncology team this past Monday and we reviewed my most recent liver MRCP scan. Another three month interval has elapsed with no growth of tumors and stable disease in the liver metastasis. This is most welcome and incredible news in light of my other recent adventures. Stable disease with no growth may change our approach to treating the liver tumors in 2025. The tumor board will meet in the coming weeks and I am on the list of patients to discuss.

Brain Update
The brain mass adventure has taken a few twists and turns since my hospital discharge. My care team is leaning more towards cavernous malformation of blood vessels than metastatic tumor, but nothing has been ruled out. Certain symptoms have been worsening and ultimately necessitated a “just in case” visit to the ED at Barnes Hospital. This was an adventure and we would be happy to never go through it again.

There is a concern that I had some mild partial seizures over the weekend and on Monday (hence the ED visit). They have adjusted my meds and we continue to watch and wait until the follow-up MRI in mid March. In the meantime, I’ll be taking more naps as drowsiness has been the biggest side effect of increased dosage.

A Moral of the Story
A great lesson in all of this has been the reminder that a time will come each day where I end up saying “I can’t.” Whether its lack of energy, unpleasant levels of nausea, or destabilizing vertigo, something happens each day that pushes me to my limit and I have to stop. This can be difficult to say out loud. I struggle with pride. I don’t want to admit that I cannot do something. But let me tell you a little secret: when your body reaches a point that it cannot overcome, no amount of pride is going to change the reality.

Have you ever heard the Gospel story of Jesus asleep in the boat as the storm raged in the surrounding waters (Mark 4:35-41)? I think of a talk I heard at the National Eucharistic Congress last summer. Sr. Bethany Madonna of the Sisters of Life gave a beautiful talk in which she shared an experience of the Lord “asleep in her boat.” Sister shared how a priest saw her in tears and asked “Sister, is Jesus asleep in your boat? … Do you know what St. Therese would say? ‘Get Him a pillow.'”

It’s great advice for all of us. If I truly believe that God is working through my suffering, then I should remember that He will continue to work even when I cannot. The world will still spin without me, but it will not continue to spin without Him. Letting go may not be easy. Seeing my “to do” list get longer due to my inability is not fun. Perhaps I should not only get Jesus a pillow, but grab an extra one for myself! Any time spent in prayer is not wasted time. Laundry needs to be done, but it won’t get me to Heaven without Jesus. Jesus can get me to Heaven without laundry.

So what is it you need to let go of right now? Have you spent some time thinking about your priorities and commitments? Every “yes” we say to one thing usually requires us to say “no” to something else. Is something pulling you away from your core mission of holiness? How can you adjust your schedule to make sure the urgent isn’t crowding out the important? I urge you to spend some time pondering this each day and don’t be shy about making adjustments as necessary. And when things get overwhelming, don’t ever be afraid to grab some pillows for you and Jesus to rest together in prayer.

(photo: “The Storm on the Sea of Galilee” by Rembrandt, 1632)

TL;DR Version: Something showed up in my head. We need to figure out what it is and what to do about it.

Hello, everyone! This is without a doubt an update that we never thought we would be writing. If ever there was an “out of left field” update to my health journey, this may be it! It’s a long one that I’ve enjoyed writing. It’s been quite therapeutic to put this one out there. And in case you’re wondering, we now have clinical confirmation that I’m not right in the head!

What Happened?
In early February, I began experiencing some odd symptoms. I was picking up some of the kids from after school activities when I suddenly got very nauseous and experienced some mild paresthesia in the right side of my face (imagine you had some dental work done and the numbing medication is starting to wear off). We couldn’t help but wonder if we needed to do the stroke checklist, but a quick review of what was happening didn’t cause too much alarm. Symptoms subsided after a few hours. I made an appointment with my PCP for the following day.

The next day saw a return of the paresthesia accompanied by a mild headache, mild pain in my right leg, and a deep pain in my right elbow. All of these dissipated after an hour or so. I saw my PCP who did a cursory neurological exam. Luckily, the paresthesia and a little dizziness presented while I during my exam. My PCP was confident that I was having migraines and not a stroke. He gave me some migraine medication samples and told me to report back the next day to let him know if they worked. He mentioned that scans may be in my future if the drugs did not work. The symptoms persisted off and on over the course of a few days, but did respond to the migraine medication. The persistence was enough for my PCP to continue investigating the cause of the migraines. He ordered an outpatient MRI and advised that I keep taking the medication.

A Trip to the ED
We thought we had a plan. The MRI was scheduled. The drugs were working. We were going about life as usual and I had called Beth on my way home from work to ask if she wanted to go with me to the grocery store. I picked her up and we headed to the store. As we pulled into the parking lot, a bit of dizziness suddenly hit. I parked the car and told Beth what happened. I took the medication the doctor prescribed and we went about our shopping knowing it would take up to an hour for the drug to work.

Walking through the store was an adventure. The dizziness quickly became overwhelming. I was to the point that I could not walk without holding onto the cart, Beth, and/or the store shelves. Could we have been wrong? Was I possibly having TIAs (transient ischemic attacks) leading up to a stroke? We made the decision that this needed to be checked out and left the store with the Emergency Department as our next destination.

It’s an odd thing to be in a place where I have symptoms and side effects that I wouldn’t bat an eye over if I wasn’t on this cancer journey. Going to the ED to have things checked out has become a reality of my life as they could either be serious or nothing, but you have to check.

ED visits have become tolerable and somewhat predictable. I know that there is going to be waiting. I know that the bed is the least comfortable bed I’ve ever laid upon. I know that the drugs administered can make you feel more than a bit odd. To say that I couldn’t get anywhere near comfortable with telemetry wires and patches all over my abdomen, a blood pressure cuff, a pulse oximeter, and an IV would be an understatement. This visit was definitely the most discomfort I’ve felt since I had a bad drug reaction last summer. But I knew it would not last forever. They were quick to do an EKG and head CT. I was back in a curtained off bed before they could stick an IV in my arm. I wasn’t surprised when they ordered an MRI, but I was ready to go home. I was to the point where the discomfort made me question whether we should have come in the first place. That would quickly change.

We fully expected the ED doctor to say “Mr. Wright, you are not having a stroke. You’re having a migraine, but it’s good that you had this checked out…” Instead, the doctor said, “Mr. Wright, you are not having a stroke, we’re pretty sure you’re having a migraine, but the scans show a mass on your right occipital lobe that wasn’t on your previous scans. We’re going to admit you to the neuro floor.” By this point, my mom and dad were at the ED with us. Beth’s parents had our kids, and away we went up to the neuro floor at about 2:00 am.

The Neuro Floor
Here’s a fun fact that I wish I didn’t know. The Stryker beds at the hospital are much more comfortable than the Hill-Rom beds. I was beyond relieved when they wheeled me to a room with a Stryker bed waiting. I knew there was a chance I might get some rest.

I slept for a few hours with minimal interruptions for vitals and neuro checks. At about 6:00 am they came to get me for what I thought was going to be a repeat MRI. The doctors had changed the order to a head CT. It was quick and easy.

I tried to rest a bit after the CT, but I was awake at this point and couldn’t get back to sleep. We knew rounds were beginning and it was only a matter of time before a parade of doctors would come to see me. The day included a parade of visits from the hospitalist, a neurosurgery PA, a neurologist, my oncologist, occupational therapy, physical therapy, speech therapy, Beth’s parents, and our pastor (I texted him sometime in the morning). Beth was able to go home and rest for a bit. I was able to rest for a bit. There was another brain MRI. It became a full day.

DIAGNOSIS?
The big question we all have been wondering: what is going on. Unfortunately, we are not sure. We know that I have a mass in my right occipital lobe that measures approximately 5x6x8 mm. We know it has evidence of bleeding at some point. We’re confident the dizziness, paresthesia, etc. are indeed symptoms of new migraines. They shouldn’t be happening on the same side of the body as the mass, but they are (usually a problem on one side of the brain affects the other side of the body).

The doctors are now working to determine if this is a new tumor or a cavernoma (cavernous malformation of blood vessels). Neuroendocrine tumors rarely metastasize to the brain. A random cavernoma without preceding head trauma is also unusual. It’s going to take some time to determine what we’re dealing with and what to do about it.

In the meantime, my oncologist has fully transferred my care to a neuroendocrine tumor specialist. I have a follow-up brain MRI in a few weeks. We hope that the blood shown on the first scans will be reabsorbed by then and give us a better picture. There are surgical and radiation options available to treat the mass. I have a feeling we are going to have a few weeks of “hurry up and wait” followed by “hurry up and hurry up.”

Conclusion & Prayer Request
Brain metastasis of NETs are rare and usually a involve a poor prognosis. A cavernoma is treatable, but it’s never a great day when you have to operate on or radiate the brain. I’m also at an increased risk of stroke and seizure. We have a checklist of symptoms that would now require us to call EMS and have me taken immediately to the hospital by ambulance should they occur. I’m still dealing with the migraine symptoms on top of this. Vertigo has been insurmountable at times and I’ve already missed some work because of it. To once again quote Tom Petty, “the waiting is the hardest part.”

Please pray for my health. More so, please pray for Beth. She is living out our marriage vows to the full. More responsibility for the kids, chores, cooking, and life fall on her than normal. She also is caring for me on top of everything. Please pray for our kids. This whole experience has been unsettling for them. Please pray for our parents who have been filling the gaps for us when we cannot.

Finally, please pray for those who suffer who do not see the beauty of how our Lord works through suffering to help us love Him more. I remarked to a friend who texted me in the hospital that I was “out taking another stroll along the Way of the Cross.” I’ve said many times that this entire experience has been a great blessing in the sense that it has forced our family to reorient our priorities. I still have every hope for decades of life with Neuroendocrine Cancer, but the past few weeks are a sobering reminder that I might not. I want to become a saint. I don’t want to waste the time I have left on things that don’t matter. The Lord has worked through this Cross to draw me closer to Him and I am grateful for it. I look forward to sharing that message through some upcoming talks. Suffering is not wasted if it leads to a greater good. Don’t waste your suffering!

“What’s new? How’s the world treating you?” -Frank Sinatra (Johnny Burke wrote the lyric)

It has been an eventful few weeks since the last update.

I had a rough weekend before Christmas. I mentioned at a card game with some friends that I wasn’t feeling particularly great and that my goal was to stay out of the Emergency Room. I made it all the way to Sunday, December 22, before I had to head in for a potential bowel obstruction. The doctor shared the best radiology results we could ask for, “no acute findings.” I was sent home with a regimen of Miralax and instructions to eat some bacon or White Castles to help get things moving.

We weren’t too sure how Christmas would be different in the midst of our cancer journey, but it was good. We had to scale back on our normal activities and prioritized four things: Christmas Mass, Christmas Dinner, enjoying a quiet Christmas Day, and spending time with both the Behan and Wright extended families. A particular joy was that I was asked to substitute for one of the accompanists at our parish and I played organ and piano for Christmas Eve Mass for the first time in five years.

SURPRISE! Our van died the day after Christmas. We were coming home from running some errands when the van downshifted hard, and then struggled to go. I’m confident all seven of our guardian angels were outside pushing the van as we somehow made it from the exit ramp uphill to a parking lot. After weighing the starting cost of repairs against the life and worth of the van, we decided it was time to bid farewell to the van and look for a new vehicle. Keep in mind, the last time we shopped for a vehicle of any sort was in spring of 2013. Things have certainly changed. By the end of the day on the 27th, we ordered a vehicle and are currently shuttling all seven Wrights where they need to go through an odd dance of logistics (and with the help of my parents and Beth’s). When will the new vehicle arrive? Not soon enough. How are we paying for it? We’re not 100% sure, but we’ve learned a lot of lessons in trust this past year and we’re ready to trust again.

The new year started off with a fun and exhausting, work trip that was luckily cut short. I was in Salt Lake City for the FOCUS Seek25 Conference and was able to conduct several interviews and record a few podcasts on location. A heavy mix of snow and ice forecast for St. Louis led me to cut the trip short and fly home a day and a half early. It turned out to be a very wise decision. A particular highlight of this trip was getting to spend some time visiting with Servant of God Michelle Duppong’s parents and with the postulator and president of Michelle’s Cause for Canonization.

The kids started the new semester a few days late thanks to the snow. This was not unwelcome given the van situation. They are back in classes though, and the “normalcy” is appreciated. We’re still battling the snow and ice. Hopefully it will melt today.

Here is the unexpected part. I noticed that one of my doctors added a telemedicine appointment to my schedule. I’m always happy to participate as I usually have a question or two I’m saving for a future appointment. I don’t want to go into too many details, but the bottom line is this: I’ve had 9 months of MRCP scans that have showed zero change in the tumors in my liver. They are the same in number, size, and location. New doors for treatment may open up this year if my March scan yields the same result.

I don’t want to put the cart before the horse, but I’m asking everyone to pray for stable disease with no growth/no new tumors. It could lead to some game changing options.

As always, thank you for your prayerful and financial support of our family during this time. We’ve had to dip into the GoFundMe as we settled up all of my insurance claims for missed work during 2024. It was a great comfort to know we had a safety net as we navigate medical bills, reduced income, and the expenses a life with five kids entails. Please keep praying for us. We will keep praying for you!

Sincerely,
Adam Wright

It’s been a big week. I went into the hospital on Tuesday morning for my 3 month follow-up MRCP. I knew that I would have to wait a few days to receive the results. There have been some new symptoms. There have been some new questions. Are the symptoms drug related? Perhaps stress related? Or are the tumors growing and causing problems. Any questions would remain unanswered until this morning’s oncology appointment.

The biggest news is also the best news. The MRCP showed NO signs of growth and NO new tumors. The disease is stable. The new symptoms appear to be a side effect of a new medication and can be addressed by changing the medication. Needless to say, this news was an early Christmas gift.

So what’s next? We will continue to watch on a three month interval. I’ll be scanned again in March and go from there. In the meantime, the next three months will be three worth celebrating!

Thank you to everyone who has been praying for this result. Thank you again to all who have offered temporal assistance to our family. It’s a blessing to enjoy the support of so many friends, family, colleagues, and beyond!

It has been more than a few weeks since our last update. The update has been a lot to process as it has contained a lot of good news and bad news.

The good news is there have been no complications from the October surgery. The bad news is the lack of complications is because the surgery never happened.

We went in for a consult with the surgeon in early October. She shared the bad news that my September scan shows 8 tumors in my liver, a number higher than the count in late April. She also said that upon further review of the April scan, there were 8 tumors present even though they only counted 5 at the time. The good news was that none of the 8 tumors had grown in size since the April MRCP (enhanced MRI). Unfortunately, 8 visible tumors on the scan almost certainly means 16-20 tumors in my liver. Several of them are only milimeters in size. The surgeon was confident she would not be able to get everything and stated that it was a zero sum game. We either get everything and reset the clock or we don’t get everything and the clock stays the same. I elected not to proceed with a risky surgery and long recovery based on the surgeon’s recommendation.

The surgical consult was quickly followed by a visit with my oncologist. We had a lengthy conversation about where things stand and what the best course of action would be. My oncologist assured me that, so far, I don’t seem to have super agressive tumors. We settled on a plan to forgo treatments for the months of October and November (having skipped September thinking I’d be having surgery). The next step in the plan will be another MRCP in early December following three months without treatment. Our hope is that the tumors will stay the same in number and size. We would then scan again in a few months and repeat this cycle for as long as we can.

Of course the possibility remains that something new will grow. My medical team has used the term “intolerable side effects” for the first line treatments. My oncologist said we have some options for second line treatments, but that we will discuss those when the time comes. This could be next month or in several years. We are hoping for the latter.

Anxiety has been a new adventure throughout all of this. Several members of my medical team have reiterated, “IT IS ENTIRELY NORMAL FOR YOU TO HAVE ANXIETY.” After all, they recently told me I have cancer in my body and we are going to leave it inside. I’m learning to manage this like everything else in the adventure.

On a positive note, we were able to arrange a screening of a film that was a great inspiration for me. The film “Radiating Joy: The Michelle Duppong Story” was in theaters for one night on November 12. We were able to fill a 150 seat theater thanks to the generosity of a benefactor and the help of a friend. I hope that everyone who saw the film walked away inspired and willing to embrace life’s sufferings with joy and trust. If you don’t know about Michelle, visit https://michelleduppongcause.org/ and learn about this amazing person (maybe offer a prayer for me while you’re there if you’d be willing).

On another positive note, our friend Cori Nations was able to squeeze us in for some family photos. Cori is an amazing photographer and we are grateful that we were able to get family pictures before another plot twist could happen in this story.

That’s the update. For now we continue to wait and watch.

From my previous post
“It’s been a while since we’ve had an update. I thought I would take advantage of feeling decent enough to write one and do just that. I am going to split this into two posts. This one will focus on the medical situation. A second post will focus on the emotional/spiritual outlook.”

This is that second post

Where Things Stand
One of the difficulties I, and many others, face in times of turmoil is the uncertainty of what will happen next. Wouldn’t life be at least a little easier if someone could say with 100% certainty, “this is what will happen next and this is how you will react and move on from it”?

I have been blessed by an overabundance of prayers from family, friends, colleagues, school families, radio listeners, neighbors, and more! I have lost count of how many times I’ve been enrolled in the prayers of religious orders and cloistered communities. Masses and rosaries have been offered for me and my family. All with one common request of God: healing.

I shared in my medical update earlier today that I had an MRCP (detailed MRI) scan on Saturday to prepare for surgery to remove the tumors on my liver. The surgeon requires the most up to date information so that she can best prepare for what will happen in the operating room.

The way I see it, there are three distinct outcomes from this scan: 1) a miracle has occurred and the tumors are gone (how amazing would that be?!); 2) the therapies have worked and the tumors have not grown since my first scans in May; or 3) the tumors have grown in number and/or size.

It has been important to me that I write this post before I receive the results of this scan. I’ve been blessed with the graces of detachment and trust. It’s not that I want the tumors to have grown or that I am opposed to a miracle. I wanted to say this out loud. I have a desired outcome, but I trust that God can and will work through whatever circumstance He wills (either through His positive will or permissive will).

I was joking with a friend recently that “I definitely would not recommend cancer to a friend.” But I would recommend that a friend not run from the crosses that we carry in life.

Cancer has taught me a new degree of detachment from the things that really don’t matter in life, for no other reason than I just don’t have the time or energy to give to them. I’ve had to prioritize everything in life because I spend more time feeling sick than I do feeling well.

Cancer has taught me to be thankful for the moments, no matter how brief, where I do not feel sick and to not waste those moments.

Cancer has taught me new depths of St. Ignatius’s Prayer for Generosity, in particular “to give and not to count the cost.” If something is worth doing, it may take a heavy toll on my energy levels or impact my health through nausea, cramping, fatigue, etc. Then again, it may not. There are no guarantees. There is no conditional giving (“I’ll only do this if I can guarantee I won’t have ill effects…”). I’m either giving with no guarantees or I am not. End of story.

Cancer has taught me to slow down and savor the moments of grace in life. Whether it’s as simple as time spent holding hands with Beth, watching the kids play, entertaining conversations around the dinner table, or a moment of quiet watching the sunset, it has been a gift not to waste these moments.

I could go on, but I must return to the business of the day (it is also a gift that I have the energy to do so). I will leave you with one last thought.

Cancer has radically helped me to refocus my end goal: heaven. I firmly believe what the Catholic Church teaches about creation, humanity, and our ultimate calling to be with God in Heaven. If it weren’t for this supernatural view, the sufferings of cancer would seem like a waste. But with this supernatural view, the Cross is a gift if it helps get me closer to Heaven. I’ve said many times on my radio show, “you can’t get to Heaven unless you’re willing to walk the Way of the Cross. It’s non-negotiable.”

If there is a miraculous healing? Praise God that He gave such a gift. May He be glorified by it! If there is not? Praise God that He has given a Cross to help draw me closer to Him.

It’s been a while since we’ve had an update. I thought I would take advantage of feeling decent enough to write one and do just that. I am going to split this into two posts. This one will focus on the medical situation. A second post will focus on the emotional/spiritual outlook.

A Quick Recap
As I think we’ve shared, the original plan post diagnosis was to consult with a colon & rectal surgeon for a probable hemicolectomy (bowel resection) to remove the primary tumor, as well as a consult with the hepatobiliary surgeon (liver) to determine surgical options for the metastatic tumors on my liver.

To our surprise, the hemicolectomy became an urgent need after a partial bowel obstruction developed at the primary tumor site. That surgery took place in the final days of May.

We then met with the hepatobiliary surgeon who wanted me to receive six injection therapy shots of a somatostatin analogue (hormone) called Lanreotide spaced twenty-eight days apart before having surgery to debulk (remove) and ablate (burn) the tumors in my liver. The tumor board agreed with the plan and it was set in motion. The goal was to have surgery by the end of the calendar year. We followed up with a neuroendocrine tumor specialist who also concurred with the treatment plan.

A Plot Twist…
My oncologist went through the treatment plan the day of my first injection therapy. He was very clear that somatostatin analogues (SSA’s) are very different from chemotherapy. They typically do not shrink or destroy neuroendocrine tumors, but are very effective at stopping their growth. Few patients have side effects, and even fewer have moderate to severe side effects. It turns out that I am in the “even fewer” category.

Side effects from my first two injections were severe enough that I had a few unplanned visits to the emergency department to mange them. My oncologist then switched me to an alternate SSA called Octreotide in hopes that I may have fewer side effects, but was clear that more people experience side effects from Octreotide than from the Lanreotide I was originally receiving. Unfortunately, there was no significant improvement in my experience from the switch.

During my August visit, we made the decision that a lack of significant improvement in my side effects would be good enough reason to alter the treatment plan and move forward with the liver surgery sooner than planned. The “official” decision to do so was made a week after I received my Octreotide injection. My oncologist contacted the hepatobiliary surgeon and a series of events was set into motion to prepare for the surgery. This includes:

-MRCP (detailed MRI) of the liver on Sept. 14th completed
-Medical team receives MRCP results hopefully today
-Tumor Board convenes on Sept. 23rd and reviews the changes to my treatment plan & MRCP to recommend whether or not we proceed with surgery
-Meet with hepatobiliary surgeon following tumor board to finalize surgery date and other details

Another plot twist…
We had an additional scare these past few days that we think is the result of a drug interaction from the many drugs I take to manage the SSA therapy side effects. The best way I can describe what happened is by saying I had a shortness of breath very similar to the times I’ve travelled to high altitudes. I told my oncology nurse that I felt like I was standing on Pike’s Peak minus the breathtaking view.

A chest CT on Monday ruled out concerns of a pulmonary embolism, pneumonia, etc… We are removing one of my drugs in hopes that it sorts out the problem. So far it seems to be working.

Conclusion
I’m not sure “conclusion” is the most appropriate word to use. This is the conclusion of this update, but I think it would best to say “To be continued…”

Dear supporters,

I am enjoying a few moments this evening with what has become a rare combination: I’m not super tired, I’m not in a distracting amount of pain/discomfort, and the kids are all settled into various activities (well, almost…). I didn’t want to let this moment pass by without writing an update to say “Thank You!”

The past few month’s have been an incredible journey in many ways. A few weeks ago I turned to Beth and said, “I think I’ve felt all of the emotions today.” It sure feels like that quite a bit. There has been no shortage of fear, anxiety, depression, etc. But beyond all of that, we have been held up by the overwhelming outpouring of support we’ve received from our friends, family, our family’s friends, and even our friend’s families! I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve teared up (in a good way) when Jake or Dad have updated us on the progress of this gofundme. We will never be able to adequately express our gratitude for what you have done for our family. Thank you.

As I write, I’ve been thinking about the saying “life’s not ended, it’s changed.” This week is certainly a reminder of that. Fourth of July is one of my favorite holidays. It’s been interesting to try and plan our celebration this year. Where can we go see a major firework display with ample access to actual bathrooms? Luckily, we’ve got some options. My cancer diagnosis has made it clear not to take these moments for granted. Right now life has changed, and while we have every reason to hope for a good prognosis following liver surgery, there is no guarantee that “we can just celebrate next year.” Your gift has allowed us to worry about how we will go see fireworks instead of worrying about how we will pay my most recent hospital bill.

So in the end, thank you. Thank you for your financial contribution. Thank you for your prayers. Thank you for being there for our family. To those of you whom we’ve never met, it is my prayer that we will always be inspired by your charity and pay it forward to those whom we have not yet met.

Sincerely,
Adam Wright

Dear supporters,

I am enjoying a few moments this evening with what has become a rare combination: I’m not super tired, I’m not in a distracting amount of pain/discomfort, and the kids are all settled into various activities (well, almost…). I didn’t want to let this moment pass by without writing an update to say “Thank You!”

The past few month’s have been an incredible journey in many ways. A few weeks ago I turned to Beth and said, “I think I’ve felt all of the emotions today.” It sure feels like that quite a bit. There has been no shortage of fear, anxiety, depression, etc. But beyond all of that, we have been held up by the overwhelming outpouring of support we’ve received from our friends, family, our family’s friends, and even our friend’s families! I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve teared up (in a good way) when Jake or Dad have updated us on the progress of this gofundme. We will never be able to adequately express our gratitude for what you have done for our family. Thank you.

As I write, I’ve been thinking about the saying “life’s not ended, it’s changed.” This week is certainly a reminder of that. Fourth of July is one of my favorite holidays. It’s been interesting to try and plan our celebration this year. Where can we go see a major firework display with ample access to actual bathrooms? Luckily, we’ve got some options. My cancer diagnosis has made it clear not to take these moments for granted. Right now life has changed, and while we have every reason to hope for a good prognosis following liver surgery, there is no guarantee that “we can just celebrate next year.” Your gift has allowed us to worry about how we will go see fireworks instead of worrying about how we will pay my most recent hospital bill.

So in the end, thank you. Thank you for your financial contribution. Thank you for your prayers. Thank you for being there for our family. To those of you whom we’ve never met, it is my prayer that we will always be inspired by your charity and pay it forward to those whom we have not yet met.

Sincerely,
Adam Wright

Thoughts from Adam

The first 24 hours after treatment have been incredibly rough. One element of my cancer journey has been the back and forth with brokenness. It manifests as grief, depression, anxiety, fear, and the many unpleasant physical side effects. This Cross was a gift from the faculty at CPOP. It is made from shards of a mirror I broke during a retreat talk. I broke the mirror and then used a disco ball to show that God can still do amazing things through us when we are broken. The teachers fashioned it into a cross so that I would never forget the message I shared. I need to hear that message today.

Adam

Today’s update provided by Adam’s brother Jake:

Today was Adam’s first course of infusion therapy, which is intended to make as many of the currently invisible tumors on his liver visible to MRIs and PET scans before his liver surgery. He said that the therapy left him simultaneously exhausted and as though he had been in a particularly brutal fistfight. Hopefully, he’ll feel better soon, but I imagine it’s not fun to know that these days are scheduled every four weeks for at least the next several months and potentially into the indefinite future. But as he said, knowing he had the support of everyone who has stepped up for him so far made today much easier. For that, he (and we) are very grateful.

With immense gratitude,
-Jake

 

I’ve long thought that God has a plan. For just as long, I’ve also thought He has a sense of humor. I’ve been in love with a document called “Salvifici Doloris” (“On the Christian Meaning of Human Suffering”) for about twenty years. It was written in 1984 by St. John Paul II. There are many great points in the document, but one consistent theme is that suffering can be used to help us grow deeper in relationship with our Lord, coming to know Him better through our own trials.

I was in Jefferson City, Missouri, on April 20th for the Men of Signum Crucis’s “Heart of a Hero” Men’s Conference. Providentially, and humorously, I gave a talk rooted in “Salvifici Doloris” encouraging the men not to waste the little sufferings in their lives, but to use them as training for the bigger sufferings that may come. Little did I know that I would end up in the hospital just a few days later. After much reflection, I’ve decided to share the talk on my YouTube channel.

Guest Post by Philip Wright

Adam has Stage IV Neuroendocrine Tumors. They’re sometimes called NETs and used to be called carcinoid tumors. His primary malignant tumor was located at the terminal ileum (where the small intestine meets the colon). Doctors also found metastatic tumors in his liver and lymph nodes.

Cancer. It’s a word I’ve heard before. I’ve had friends, colleagues, and family diagnosed with cancer. Some suffered little. Others suffered greatly. Some recovered. Some did not. Now it is my time to receive this diagnosis.

I have to admit, it’s been a surreal few weeks. What started as back pain that radiated to my abdomen turned into a hospital stay, multiple scans, two biopsies, and now a diagnosis. There has been a great deal of “hurry up and wait” that is now quickly transitioning to plain old “hurry up!”

I broke down in tears shortly after the first time I heard the words, “the scans show a mass…” It was supposed to be an inflamed disc from lifting that darn cooler or pancreatitis that would go away after a few days on a restricted diet. It wasn’t. More scans revealed multiple lesions on my liver. A liver biopsy was ordered and the results came back “positive for malignancy…” But God is a good and there was a great peace in that moment.

About 20 years ago I bought a DVD of Fr. Stan Fortuna, CFR, titled “Everybody Got 2 Suffer.” I enjoyed his music and thought I would enjoy the DVD. Little did I know that it would include a ten part breakdown of St. John Paul II’s 1984 apostolic letter “Salvifici Doloris” (“On the Christian Meaning of Human Suffering”). Little did I know then how much I would fall in love with this document and our Catholic teachings on the redemptive power of suffering. The topic quickly became a passion of mine and has worked its way into many conversations, my previous parish ministry, and talks both on the radio and in person. My friend Mary Ann mentioned that maybe it wasn’t God giving me this love to share with others so much as it was Him preparing me for this moment in my life. I’m starting to think that’s true.

We were gathered as a staff to pray the Rosary on Monday morning about an hour before I received confirmation of malignancy. There was a great peace about two thirds of the way through our prayer. I remember thinking “God, if this cup can pass, by all means, please let it pass. But if cancer is the cross I receive, please give me the grace to carry it well. Please give me the grace to walk with You on the Way of the Cross.” That’s the attitude I pray I can keep throughout this journey. The Way of the Cross may not be pleasant, but it is beautiful.

So am I ready? Not really. Are we going anyway? ABSOLUTELY!