Finding Joy in the Waiting

Waiting. It’s something we all have to do, but it’s never easy—especially when what you’re waiting for holds so much weight. I find myself in that space again—the space between the "before" and the "after," waiting for answers that will determine the next steps in my life.

As I sit here, I’m trying to make sense of the rollercoaster that is living with cancer and navigating the complexities of adoption. Everything after February 12th is up in the air. Is it planning a child’s room? Is it heading to conferences, traveling, or making memories? Or is it spending my days in treatment, hospitals, and doctor’s offices? There are so many unknowns, and it feels like I’m trying to make plans in a fog.

So, I did what any anxious person would do—I reached out to my nurse. I asked if there was any possibility of moving my scan date up by a week or two. I had a feeling the answer would be no, but I had to ask. I just needed some clarity, some control, over this feeling of being stuck.

The nurse replied with a piece of advice I’m sure was meant to be helpful: “Perhaps you and your husband should have conversations about what it looks like to put those things on hold. Everyone experiences this scanxiety every three months, and I’ll send you some tips on how to manage it.”

Have you ever wanted to reach through the phone and punch someone in the face?

I know she meant well. I know she deals with this all day long. But it didn’t land well with me at all. I felt like she didn’t truly hear me. She didn’t understand that what I was asking wasn’t about the scanxiety—it was about the waiting. The unknowns. The uncertainty of what happens next.

I’ve been living with scanxiety for years. I know all the tricks, all the tips. I’ve had my fair share of these waiting periods, where the next scan dictates the course of everything. But this time? This time it’s different.

I’m not just waiting for scan results. I’m waiting for clarity on my future. I’m waiting for results that could change our lives forever with the adoption process. And here I am, trying to plan, trying to move forward when every step after February 12th feels like it’s suspended in midair.

Still, Nelson and I are finding ways to live in the waiting. We took a quick trip to NYC to celebrate his birthday. We had such a great time—walking the city, eating too much, and going to a Broadway show called Left on Tenth, starring Julianna Margulies and Peter Gallagher.

Little did we know that one of the major themes of the show would be cancer treatment. Seriously, we had NO idea. We were absolute teary-eyed disasters during and after the show. But in a way, it was cathartic. It was comforting, even, to see someone else’s cancer journey represented so honestly, to feel seen in the emotions and frustrations that so many of us share. It reminded me that I’m not alone.

And honestly, as long as I’m distracted, I feel okay. I feel hopeful.

I am so thankful that my anxiety has been relatively low recently, and I don’t think that’s just because of distractions. I attribute it to my walk with Jesus.

Because even if the news is “bad” news… isn’t that still good news?

Ultimately, I’m on my way to a place with no more cancer, no more tears, no more suffering. And, most importantly—no more mosquitos! (Seriously, that alone makes heaven worth it.) My human nature, my flesh, wants to stay firmly planted on earth. I want to live. I want to adopt. I want to see what the next chapter looks like. But my goal—our goal—should be heaven. And to bring as many of our family and friends with us as we can.

Maybe what’s truly scary isn’t the news itself, but the process—the treatment, the suffering. No one wants to suffer. We want to enjoy life. We don’t want to feel pain or sadness. And yet, we live in a world where those things exist, where waiting and worrying feel inescapable.

I’m a week out from my scan, and so much is unknown. We don’t dare plan beyond the 12th. If it’s bad news, does that mean we can’t adopt? Does it mean all the thousands of dollars we’ve put into this process are wasted? The human side of me grieves at the thought. But the eternal side of me knows—no, that money doesn’t go to waste. It goes toward another couple, another family, someone else who has been waiting, wishing, and hoping to add to their family. And isn’t that a beautiful thing, too?

I told Nelson, if it’s good news, we’ll celebrate like crazy.

But also—if it’s bad news, won’t we celebrate like crazy?

Because either way, the story isn’t over. Either way, we are held. Either way, we are loved. Either way, heaven wins.

And that-- That is joy in the waiting.