by Aly Taylor
Like David, there were times when I felt my enemy, cancer, “assail me on every side.” Even though I was cancer-free, the shadow of cancer was always present, often making us worry and second-guess everything I felt in my body. I never lost faith that God had healed me… but some days it was hard to hold on to that faith.
The hip and back pain eventually took us back to Houston for a checkup with my doctor and a bone scan. Thankfully, the scan was clear, but we did discover a bulging disc in my back. It wasn’t cancer-related—yay!—but you can see how exhausting it was to always have to ask the question, “Is this a cancer symptom?” That’s a question that became even more real to me when I got a heartbreaking piece of news during my back ordeal.
Early in my cancer journey, I got to know two women who had walked the road of breast cancer before me—Donna and Amy. Their diagnoses weren’t as dire as mine, but it meant the world to me for them to reach out and offer their guidance. They gave me advice on shaving my head, came over to my house to show me their mastectomy scars, and talked me through the ups and downs of reconstruction. These ladies were also great sounding boards for all the fears I had about cancer.
As my back pain first became an issue, I got the heart-wrenching news that Donna had a breast cancer recurrence. I wish I could say that I rallied around her and supported her, but I didn’t. Fear entrenched me. I was so scared for her—and scared for me. Would this same thing happen to me? Why is this happening to her? I didn’t understand. I don’t understand cancer at all—why some people are healed and why some people aren’t. I know we live in a fallen world full of illness and disease, but still… watching people you love go through the hell of cancer is something you can’t put into words.
My friend passed away a few months later. I couldn’t bring myself to go to the funeral; it was just too hard. I honestly thought I might pass out, or at the very least cry uncontrollably if I were there. My heart broke for my friend and the husband and daughter she left behind. She had been such a shining light for me, and now she was gone. I was mourning and angry. And scared. Scared that this could happen to me too. It was too much for my heart and mind to bear at times.
PARALYZING FEAR
Eventually, after a few months of physical therapy, my back got better. I had to keep reminding myself that my body had been through the wringer, and I was probably going to have a lot of aches and pains for a while as a result of all the surgeries and treatments. But dealing with these new pains while managing my fear of a recurrence and mourning the loss of a survivor sister… this wasn’t exactly the normal life I thought I’d go back to after cancer. Josh and I started to realize that survivorship could be a rough road.
Then, as my back finally stopped hurting, a new symptom jumped up and kicked me in the gut—quite literally. I began having severe stomach pain, and it hurt all the time. I complained to Josh about it nonstop, and he did his best to try to calm me down. He’d say it wasn’t cancer, he’d pray for me, and he encouraged me to get it checked out. But I was so tired of going to doctors. Was I supposed to go to a doctor for every pain? Doctors and doctors’ offices had become such a huge source of anxiety for me. I couldn’t bear the thought of spending one more minute in a doctor’s office. But not going freaked me out just as much, because it made me worry that the cancer was growing inside my body again.
It was like a war was being waged between my body and my spirit, and I didn’t know what to do anymore. I was afraid that going to the doctor at the drop of a hat meant that my faith was weak, that I didn’t really believe in the healing God had given me. That may seem silly, but it became a huge obstacle for me. How could I trust in God’s healing and run off to the doctor for every ache?
I ultimately decided to get my stomach checked out. While we were waiting for the results of my colonoscopy and endoscopy, I was secretly crumbling inside. I have no doubt that Satan was attacking me pretty hard that week. I couldn’t find any rest. When I was awake, I was scared of a cancer recurrence. When I went to sleep, I was assaulted by the most horrible nightmares you can imagine. I would never say it out loud, but I was terrified the cancer had returned. As the fear grew greater, I tried to speak words of greater faith. I believed Proverbs 18:21: “The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit.” This conflict between my faith and my fear was driving me crazy!
The colonoscopy came back clear, and the doctor said everything looked fine. It was still hard for me to believe that, though. The pain was so intense, I was convinced there was something wrong with me. A few people suggested that it might be anxiety-related, but I dismissed the idea. I think I had always thought of anxiety as imaginary pain. The pain I was having, though, was real. I wasn’t making it up. So I scheduled a CT scan to get to the bottom of it. I prayed through the entire scan, singing praise songs with tears streaming down my face. I kept saying over and over again, “Please heal me, Jesus. I know I’m healed. Please keep me well.”
Two days later, a nurse called with the results. “Mrs. Taylor,” she said, “the results showed nothing abnormal.” I fell to my knees on our living room floor, shouting and crying, praising God for this news. We had done every test possible to make sure nothing was wrong with my stomach, and we now knew for sure that it wasn’t cancer. Yes, it hurt like crazy, but it wasn’t cancer!
I rejoiced, but I also prayed more than ever for some relief. Relief from all the pains and fear. Relief from all the symptoms that may or may not be signs that cancer was returning. I was tied up in knots. Looking back, I realize my stomach pain was most likely due to anxiety. I had been through so much with my cancer, I had just lost my friend to her cancer recurrence, and—let’s not forget—I was still working on my PhD through all this. I was drowning and didn’t realize how much I was letting the pressure build up.
I’m a little embarrassed that I didn’t even consider anxiety as a cause of the stomach pain. I am a therapist, after all. I know how serious anxiety is and how powerful its affects are on the body. But before that experience, I’m ashamed to say I thought patients often exaggerated their symptoms. Boy, was I wrong. As much as it hurt, I’m glad I got that new perspective on anxiety. It’s real, and it causes real pain. And sadly, I was about to learn how bad depression can be too.
DOWNWARD SPIRAL
—JOSH—
Figuring out what life was supposed to be after cancer was rough. I felt like I should have been the most grateful person on earth, but it was more frustrating than anything. We were lonely. We felt as though our lives had been on pause while everyone else had moved on. Aly and I had spent so much time in Houston, huddled together fighting this battle, that our friends had developed tighter bonds with each other—bonds we weren’t a part of. I’m not saying they did anything wrong; they absolutely didn’t. Those things just happen when you are away for as long as we were. Our friends were great friends to us when we needed them, but they had their own lives. Even our main cancer mentors, Richard and Angie—the godly couple we mentioned earlier who had become such a big part of our lives—were at a different stage of life. They were older and had teenagers and a full life. It was hard for Aly and me to find our place among all these new dynamics when we got back.
It was a continual battle for me to stay focused on my work. I had been nursing other business ideas, but I felt strongly that God was telling me to set those aside and only focus on Aly and on my school job during that part of our journey. There were times, though, when I longed for an escape. It would have been so easy for me to get lost in a new real estate deal or some other business opportunity. As much as I loved my wife and wanted to be there for her every step of the way, it was hard to see her in pain all the time and to hear this nonstop flood of fear and worry. I wanted so badly for life to be normal, but neither of us even knew what that meant anymore. Every time we got past one hurdle, we ran headlong into the next. First it was the cancer, then the reconstruction, then the back pain, then the stomach pain. Next stop: de
bilitating headaches.
—ALY—
First Peter 5:8 warns, “Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.” For a while, it seemed like the devil only had eyes for me. We kept getting hit by one thing after another, and the enemy kept attacking the things I feared most. After my stomach pain got under control, I started getting headaches. But these weren’t normal headaches; the pain was excruciating, like nothing I’d ever experienced before. My entire head hurt from front to back, side to side, and inside out. I’d had headaches before, but nothing like this. Of course I was scared. This was new, and I knew what I was supposed to do when I experienced a new, troublesome symptom. But I couldn’t mention it to Josh or anyone else at first. I was so tired of having “symptoms.” I desperately wanted to be able to honestly answer, “I feel great!” whenever someone asked me how I was doing. But that day never seemed to come.
I told Josh about the headaches after a few days of suffering alone, and we started the rounds to figure out what it was. I took medicine. I went to an acupuncturist. I went to the chiropractor. I got several head and neck massages. I considered getting shots. Once again I was in continual, nonstop pain. I was done.
All the physical torment of the past couple of years finally took its emotional toll on me, and I fell into a deep depression. I was in so much pain I didn’t want to get out of bed. Then I would feel guilty that I didn’t want to get out of bed. I would tell myself, “I’m healed of cancer! Why would I not want to get out of bed and celebrate every day?” But then I’d get a flash of fear that the headaches were a sign of the cancer returning, and I’d spin off into a deeper depression. It was a horrific cycle, and I could tell Josh was caught up in it too. We’d been trying to “go about life like normal” (funny that we were still using this phrase), but we weren’t paying attention to the growing threat right in front of our faces.
I needed help. I knew I was in a dark place. I had always been a very positive person, always seeing the glass half full. Not anymore. All the glasses were empty. I saw only two options before me: I either had cancer again, or I was going to live in excruciating pain for the rest of my life. Having been trained in depression and suicidal ideation, I knew I had to talk to someone.
One night I got out of bed and walked into the living room where Josh was sitting. I tried to explain my pain to him and how I felt like I was suffocating. Suffocating from fear and pain and not wanting to live. He stopped me and repeated, “Not wanting to live?”
With tears streaming down my face and my voice quivering, I answered, “Yes. I cannot live like this. I don’t want to live like this.” I told him I didn’t have a suicide plan, but I was in a very dark place. Let me tell you, I never, never thought those words would come out of my mouth. I was the positive, cheerful, action-oriented, goal-minded woman, remember? I could do anything I set my mind to! But I couldn’t do this. Not anymore. It was a stark reminder that we are all vulnerable, and we must all stay on guard against the enemy’s schemes. He wants to devour us, and he will—if we give him the chance.
Josh looked like he’d seen a ghost. He never expected to hear those words come out of my mouth, but there they were. He immediately called Angie and Richard. I didn’t hear what he told them, but he apparently let them know it was urgent, because we headed straight to their house.
As we sat there with them, they asked how we were doing. I just sobbed and sobbed. I couldn’t stop crying. I told them of my head pain. I told them I didn’t want to do this anymore. Then Richard asked a question that is forever engrained in my mind. He said, “Aly, what is your biggest fear?” I took a minute to think and compose myself a little.
“Dying,” I said. “Getting cancer again and my family watching me die.”
There was just silence. I honestly don’t remember what anyone said after that, but there was freedom in simply saying my fears out loud. No one had ever asked me that, and I guess it was something that was always on my mind. It was an awful lot to carry; I felt lighter just getting it out. After processing and praying with Angie and Richard, I assured them I was not going to take my life, and Josh and I went back home.
Angie and Richard did encourage me to get a brain scan to find out what was going on. Another test, another scan. Ugh…
—JOSH—
When we got home that night, I felt a tremendous responsibility to pray over Aly. Sure, I was dealing with a lot of emotions myself, but my wife was considering ending her life? What in the world? I knew I had to take action, and it was a reality check for me about how much Aly was struggling. She needed me more than I could have imagined. I felt led by God to anoint her with oil, so I got some olive oil from the kitchen (it’s okay to laugh) and prayed over her like I’d never prayed before. James 5:14 says, “Is anyone among you sick? Let them call the elders of the church to pray over them and anoint them with oil in the name of the Lord.” I’m not a church elder, but God had appointed me the spiritual leader of our home, and it was time for me to step up. I confessed Jesus’s blood over her life, and we rebuked Satan and told him he had no power over our lives. We recognized we were in a spiritual battle, and we knew we already had the victory in Jesus Christ.
We went to sleep that night exhausted from a long day of pain, honest (but frightening) discussions, eye-opening revelations, and spiritual warfare. All we could do was pray for Aly’s brain scan and continue to believe the healing that Jesus had brought about in her.
—ALY—
Before long, I was back in the hospital for a brain CT scan. Every time I’d had any type of scan before then, I’d spent the whole time praying or singing songs, trusting God for the results. By now, though, I had no words left to pray. My mind was blank. I knew I’d go crazy if I didn’t do something to keep my mind busy during the scan, so I did something I’d never done in any of the dozens of tests and scans I’d been through before. I simply said the name of Jesus over and over. My mother-in-law had recently suggested that, when I didn’t know what else to pray, His name was enough. His name is all-powerful, far more powerful than any prayer my human mind could string together. More powerful than any song I could sing or scripture I could recite. His name, the name of Jesus, is enough. So over and over, throughout the entire scan, I repeated His name in my head and out loud. “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.”
The first part of the MRI lasted about twenty minutes. Then they pulled me out to inject the contrast dye for the second half of the scan. As the technician inserted my IV for the contrast dye, he looked at me with a smile and said, “You can relax.” I’ve heard that from a lot of lab techs, so I tried to relax as much as I could with a giant plastic thing stuck to my head and half my body still jammed inside an MRI tube. Then he touched me and said again, this time a little more forcefully, “Aly. You can relax… if you know what I mean.” It dawned on me what he was trying to communicate. He was telling me, even though he technically wasn’t supposed to, that he didn’t see anything to worry about on the scan. I lost it. Tears poured down my face, but I couldn’t move my arms in the tube to wipe them off. I finished the scan praising God for reminding me who I am. I proclaimed in that little metal tube, “I am Aly Taylor, child of God, and I am cancer-free!”
The doctor followed up afterward to let me know that the scan was indeed clear. No obvious problem in my brain. No cancer! That was such a relief, but the headaches continued—until they vanished. For six whole months—from April through October 2013—I had a debilitating headache every single day. One amazing October morning I woke up and my headaches were gone. Completely gone, and they never came back. Praise God! There is truly power in the name, the simple, all-powerful, healing name of Jesus Christ! I just had to hold on long enough.
If you are still waiting for your breakthrough, keep holding on. Keep walking in faith. And when you can’t find the words, say His name. Jesus. Call on Him. He is there.
—JOSH—
It was such a relief f
or us when Aly’s headaches disappeared. Finally—finally—things seemed to be looking up. For the first time in two years, my wife was able to get up and face the day without pain. You can’t understand how that feels unless you’ve lived it.
We were also coming up on the two-year anniversary of Aly’s cancer diagnosis, a key milestone in cancer recovery where the chance of recurrence drops significantly. Slowly but surely, the darkness started to lift, and we began to see the sun peeking through the clouds again.
Those days of recovery weren’t without pain of their own, though. You’ll remember that Aly had two key cancer survivors, Donna and Amy, who reached out to her during her treatment. Donna had recently passed away from a recurrence. And as Aly recovered from her headache episodes, I got word that her surviving friend, Amy, had also been diagnosed with a recurrence. I had to call Aly and tell her on the phone, and the news was met by silence on the other end. I knew she was glad I told her, but she was so heartbroken, confused, and scared for her friend. And maybe scared for her own life again too. We hate cancer so much.
CANCER PTSD
—ALY—
As a therapist I have worked with many people who were formally diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). It’s usually associated with people who have returned from war or have survived similarly traumatic events or abuse. As I went through the painful daily struggle of cancer’s aftermath, I realized that PTSD is a real and present danger for cancer survivors as well. If I smelled a certain smell, heard a certain sound, or felt a familiar pain (or unfamiliar pain, for that matter), I would get this feeling of panic and fear. Or when I heard of someone getting a cancer diagnosis for the first time or of a survivor having a recurrence, I would find myself overcome with an indescribable darkness.