Tiny Nodule, Heavy Heart, Big Faith

On December 18th—our wedding anniversary—Nelson and I were back at Moffitt Cancer Center for my routine surveillance scan. It’s funny how these scans have become such a normal part of our lives that I wasn’t even nervous this time. I felt great, and the day seemed like just another check-in to confirm I was still on the road to recovery. We anticipated getting good results (no evidence of disease), that my next scan would be my second to last one, and a year away!

But the results caught us off guard. Since my Whipple, every scan has been "clean." This CT scan however, revealed a new, tiny nodule in my lung—around 0.03 centimeters in size. To give some context, I’ve had a few nodules in my right lung since my first CT scan at Moffitt, before treatment. They’ve always been stable, likely just scarring from old infections like bronchitis or pneumonia. This new finding, though, was described by the radiologist in their report as a "concern for metastases." A word I've been dreading.

My oncologist reviewed the scan, and my nurse reassured me: they’re not concerned but would like to do another CT in eight weeks. They asked if I’d been sick or had any recent infections. The truth is, I’ve been feeling pretty darn good—so good, in fact, that I almost forgot what it felt like to worry about a scan.

But now, here I am, waiting for a follow-up CT February 12th to see if this new nodule has changed.

At first, I handled the news well. I focused on the facts: it’s small, and it could be nothing. Lung nodules apparently pop up for various reasons. But after a day or two, the weight of it all and the "what ifs" started to settle in, and I felt like my world was crashing down around me.

It’s not just the possibility of a recurrence that scares me. It's the thought of going through treatment again—the chemo, the side effects, surgery, the endless blood draws, appointments, hospital visits.

But even more heartbreaking is the potential impact on our adoption.

If this nodule turns out to be cancer, we won’t be able to move forward with adopting a little girl.

Years of waiting, countless hours of preparation, lots of money, and all the love we’ve poured into the dream of expanding our family—it could all be taken away in an instant. And that’s the part that hurts and scares us the most.

I’ve always trusted in God’s plan, even when the path was unclear. I tattooed "Do Not Fear" (Isaiah 41:10) over my port scar as a reminder of His faithfulness through every trial. But right now, the fear feels so heavy. Every morning, the anxiety thuds in my chest. It's hard to describe the despair that comes and goes throughout the day.

But here’s what I’m trying to cling to:

• This nodule could be nothing.

• My medical team isn’t alarmed.

• God’s gotten me through so much before.

  
  

I’m sharing this because I know we're not alone and I hope that you will be praying for me and Nelson today and in the coming weeks. Thank you for being here with us, for being a wonderful support system, and an encouragement.