Setting stones along the way
My Journey
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21 Celebrating Miracles & Full-Circle Moments
NancyRae
January 24, 2025
This long-overdue update brings incredibly good news.
As you know, at the end of October our dear Alisa was told to get her house in order. The Mucormycosis fungal infection was ravaging her body. After two surgeries to remove what doctors could from her face, they told her the infection had spread too far. In all likelihood, she had two weeks left to live. Her care was transitioned to palliative, and loved ones drove and flew in from near and far. Friends, family, and members of the community she had so faithfully poured into took turns visiting—each one believing it might be just one more time.
But God.
We prayed. You prayed. Hundreds—perhaps thousands—of people formed prayer circles around the globe, from England to Australia, all lifting up this mighty warrior. And Alisa rose up and fought in a way that, while astonishing, was also deeply familiar to those who know her strength and spirit.
Before Christmas, Alisa was discharged as an outpatient to a small apartment near the hospital. She has had 24/7 accompaniment and returns every couple of days for blood transfusions, labs, and ongoing care. Recent consultations with ENT and Internal Medicine confirmed that they see no active fungal infection in her sinuses. This is nothing short of a miracle.
Earlier this week, Randy’s doctor—who has been following Alisa’s story—asked for an update. When Randy explained what had happened, the doctor was stunned. He shared that in all his years of practice, he has only known of one survivor of sinus Mucormycosis, and that patient required a face transplant. Then he simply said, “This is a miracle.”
Last week, we were in Chilliwack getting the boys ready for bed. Elijah and Nic were outside on the deck looking at Jupiter through a telescope when Nic called Isaac over to see something amazing. I asked if I could see it too and stepped out into the darkness. As I walked toward the telescope… there she stood. Silent. Smiling.
Alisa.
Over the past few weeks, Alisa has been coming “home,” isolating in the suite at her parents’ house, while still traveling back and forth to Vancouver for bloodwork and treatment. She is now in the process of transitioning home. That Friday night, we shared a meal together—it felt like a dream. On Saturday, we experienced a true full-circle moment when I picked up a hockey stick for the first time since the fall that in turn revealed my tumour. Alisa and I played street hockey with Elijah and Isaac. With Elijah in net, it was Alisa and me versus Isaac, who beat us 10–7. The two of us together may not yet be a match for a six-year-old, but playing outside in the sunshine together is something I never dreamed to experience that day.
That evening, we said our goodbyes as we prepared to head home. Their family was gathered on the deck around a fire—laughing, chatting, eating pizza. Our hearts were full. During the drive home, we talked about how deeply grateful we are for the “everyday moments.” These quiet scenes—a family sharing a meal, being together—this is where love lives. This is where life happens. While the big milestones can be exciting, it is the day-to-day moments that we now cherish and will never again take for granted.
Please continue to pray. Alisa’s journey is far from over. Her blood counts remain very low, and she still requires constant medical care. There will be many challenges to navigate as she transitions home. But standing with her as she watches the boys’ riding lessons, seeing her beautiful smile, playing outside together, and hearing her make plans months into the future—this truly is a dream come true.
“You are the God who performs miracles; you display your power among the peoples.” — Psalm 77:14
Click here for ongoing prayer requests for Alisa
20 Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow
NancyRae
December 29, 2025
Each New Year’s Eve, Randy and I sit quietly together and reflect on the year that has passed. We acknowledge the difficulties and challenges we’re ready to leave behind. We pause to honour loved ones no longer with us, yet they continue to live on in our hearts. And we celebrate with gratitude the beautiful moments and people we wish to carry forward into the year that arrives at the stroke of midnight.
We spend time talking about the year ahead and all it may hold. We dream, we cast vision, and we look forward with hope—trusting that the coming months will bring more joy than hardship, more laughter than tears.
We keep a gratitude jar tucked away in our kitchen cupboard, where we jot down things we’re thankful for as they arise throughout the year. On New Year’s Eve, we empty the jar and read each scribbled note aloud, one by one, celebrating the beautiful life we have and all that we have to be grateful for. We then record a short video message for our kids, lift our glasses in a toast, and gently put the year to rest.
As 2025 comes to a close, it’s impossible not to look back and recognize that this has been the most challenging year of our life together. This past year has required us to walk a path we hoped we would never have to tread. We are tired and tossed, often bracing ourselves for the next blow.
We’ve said our final goodbyes to many loved ones this year, and we feel their absence deeply. Yet, through it all, our gratitude jar is fuller than it has ever been. Running alongside grief and suffering has also been joy and beauty. We are profoundly thankful for all of you who have prayed, encouraged us, helped in tangible ways, listened, and reached out to let us know you care. We have so much to be grateful for.
As we look ahead to 2026, we honestly have no idea what it will bring—but we step into this new year together, leaning on one another. We are weary, but we are not afraid. Our God sits on the throne, He is unchanging.
"Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever." - Hebrews 13:8
I realize it has been over three months since I last shared an update on my health. These past months have been very full, and I didn’t have the energy or capacity to keep track of everything beyond sending urgent prayer requests. Thank you to all who have asked for updates, and to the prayer warriors who continually bring our family before the throne. The Lord hears our prayers.
Here’s a brief update as we enter the new year.
Where Things Stand
Overall, I am tired but slowly gaining strength and energy. I am learning to
live within a reduced capacity—gently stretching myself when I can and stepping
back when I need to.
My Art Practise
In December, I was able to step slowly back into the studio and attend one
in-person event, which felt like a meaningful milestone. I’ve accepted a small
amount of commission work and plan to begin part-time in the coming weeks while
Randy remains off work.
Medical Updates
• In November, a full-body bone scan revealed new arthritis but no tumors or
bone lesions, a huge answer to prayer.
• The thoracic surgery team confirmed that the lung collapse is only partial
and occurred as a result of necessary surgical changes—removing part of the
middle lobe to achieve clear margins.
• Ongoing nerve pain is likely permanent due to damage to the intercostal nerve
system, and I’ve been referred to a pain specialist.
• The tinnitus and hearing damage caused by chemotherapy are also expected to
be permanent.
• The persistent cough I live with will likely remain indefinitely, caused by
compression due to repositioning of the bronchi during surgery.
• A second lobectomy to remove the middle lobe was discussed but is not
something I am pursuing at this time.
Tests & Follow-Ups
• I recently completed a Pulmonary Function Assessment and am awaiting
follow-up with my respirologist to review the results.
• In January, I’ll see an ENT specialist to investigate ongoing throat issues,
and I’ll undergo a gastroscopy at PRH.
• In February, I’ll have another scan for tumors and lesions as part of regular
surveillance.
Looking Ahead
At this time, no additional treatment options have been offered. We continue to
take things one step at a time.
19 Free Falling
NancyRae
December 17, 2025
Free Falling
Wind rushing—
a surge of outside forces
whirling around me.
Gravity pulls,
yet I am not undone.
No parachute.
No safety net.
Still, I brace myself
against the open expanse.
A rising draft lifts me higher,
and a strong wind from the side
carries me toward places
I’ve never dared to fly.
Will I keep drifting forever?
Will I hit the ground?
Where will I finally land?
Will I survive?
Perhaps I will arrive gently—
stronger for the distance traveled—
or maybe I’ll keep drifting on,
guided by every shifting breeze,
discovering I was meant to soar
far longer than I ever imagined.
nrd – Dec 15, 2025
18 Love Lives Here
NancyRae
December 10, 2025
Love Lives Here
Love lives here, in the stolen moments
Backgammon games with a 5 year old
Dice clicking like a rhythmic song
Backyard volleyball, drifting into dusk
Laughter in the living room
as if it could carry the whole house with it
Time with Mama at Long Term Care
Her teasing, her quiet still steady, still teaching me
Coffee with friends who know the weight
and the music of your days.
A tea party with grandchildren
their joy sweetening the afternoon
Chalkboard messages left behind—
small hands writing love into the day.
A prayer-filled text,
A gentle hand on your shoulder
Family dinners.
Grassland wanderings
Good-morning snuggles
before the day asks anything of me.
Doctors, scans, hospital rooms—
and always my love beside me,
a constant star through the darkening days
steady, shining, faithful
A sleepover with brother and sister,
remembering who we’ve always been.
Breakfast with an old friend, easy and unhurried.
Friends and family showing up,
offering help, offering hope.
And a frosty sunrise
the world hushed, bright, and brief
reminding me to look for the beautiful,
in these borrowed moments that shine like grace
Love lives here
- nrd, Dec, 2025
17 Find Me in the Forest
NancyRae
september 18, 2025
The forest has always been a place of comfort for me—a haven where towering trees and new growth offer peace and renewal. Each visit feels like a gentle embrace, the sights and scents a reminder of God’s presence woven into every root and leaf. Even among burnt carcasses of yesteryear, new life emerges: beauty from ashes.
After my oncology appointment last week, we escaped to the woods, letting quiet walks, waterfalls, and star-filled nights restore our spirits. Dan & Lisa joined us for days filled with laughter, prayer, and gratitude for these moments of grace.
Near Nakusp, our favourite forest became a sanctuary where, as smoke drifted in, the trees sheltered us and provided fresh air to breathe. Surrounded by filtered light and vibrant green, we felt held and never alone. It’s in this forest, nearly a year before my diagnosis, that I found words that still bring comfort today.
Find Me in the Forest
Find me in the forest
As I walk a path that’s worn
In the shelter of the ancients,
Dappled light of early morn
A burned-out carcass of her finest
New life springing from the earth
Create a vivid story
Of the journey to rebirth
She whispers in the silence
Words of wisdom to my soul
And invites me to return
When life is bound to take its toll
When my days on earth are waning
And I’ve breathed my final breath
Return me to the forest,
For she welcomes me in death
Carry me down the path of ancients
Where my heart and soul yearn
To find rest upon the woodland floor
Amongst the moss and fern
My framework has returned to dust
Now guarded by the trees
Shelter me forever more
My spirit soaring free
- Nancy Dearborn June 2, 2024
16 Navigating Uncertainty
NancyRae
Facing New Challenges and Searching for Answers
September 16, 2025
When you’re living with cancer, each scan and specialist visit can feel like a crossroad—sometimes bringing hope, sometimes new hurdles. Recently, my journey took us back to the stage of "wait and see"
What We Know
My CT scan on the 5th did not reveal any new tumours! This is very welcome news. It did reveal that the top of my remaining right lung lobes is collapsed. The surgeon advised no intervention since there isn’t chronic pneumonia and oxygen levels are stable; monitoring is the safest route for now.
The CT scan was conducted without contrast this time, making it less effective in detecting smaller changes to the lymph nodes. I will have another scan with contrast in February to compare any changes.
Throat discomfort: The last couple of months, I've developed a constricting sensation in my throat in the jugular area, and it is very tender. My doctor has ordered an endoscopy and referred me to a throat specialist for a scope of my larynx.
Oncology Appointment: On September 10th, I met with my oncologist, who confirmed what we suspected. Cisplatin, the chemotherapy drug I’d been receiving, was the culprit behind the acute pancreatitis and a host of other severe side effects: persistent tinnitus, kidney pain, mouth sores, dramatic weight loss, extreme fatigue
Treatment Risks: Acute pancreatitis is considered a life-threatening complication, and I am no longer eligible for treatment with Cisplatin. The risks simply outweigh the benefits.
Exploring Alternatives: Initially, my general oncologist in Penticton thought we might reduce the dose or try Pemetrexed alone for a year. After consulting my specialist in Kelowna, it became clear: the reaction to Cisplatin was so severe, even reduced doses weren’t safe. Pemetrexed, when administered without Cisplatin, wouldn’t be effective for my cancer at all.
Upcoming Appointment : I’m scheduled to see Dr. Campling, my oncologist in Kelowna, on September 26th. The hope is to seek clarity about any alternative treatments and chart the way forward.Alisa: Many of you are actively praying and asking about Alisa, Nic, and family. Unfortunately, the situation is very challenging. For the latest update on Alisa, please click here
What We Don't Know
Nerve, rib, and back pain and a persistent cough have recurred. Could time on the hospital stretcher be a factor? What is the root cause? Will this resolve? Is this my new normal?
Where do we go from here in terms of treatment?
Are there other oncology treatments available that might be safer or more effective?
Should we consider alternative medicine options?
Living in the Questions
Life right now feels like a series of unanswered questions. Each day brings new uncertainty, and we are learning to live inside that ambiguity. The collapse of my lung, the return of persistent pain, and the roadblocks in treatment have been difficult to process. Yet, through honest conversations with my medical team, I’m reminded that knowledge is power—even when that knowledge is incomplete. In many ways, it feels like we're back to square one. If there are no known treatments, the next five years involve monitoring symptoms and awaiting scans for any signs of tumor growth or lymph node enlargement. Although this is unsettling, it's no different than before this all started, none of us can predict what tomorrow will bring.
Looking Ahead
As September 26th approaches, I’m holding onto hope that my appointment with Dr. Campling will shed light on my options. We are open to exploring every pathway available—whether conventional oncology or alternative approaches—while remaining vigilant about my health and safety.
If you’re reading this and facing your own health struggles, know that you’re not alone in the uncertainty. Throughout this journey, we have been reminded in so many beautiful ways that we are not alone. All of you have been a key part in lifting us and reminding us that we are always better together. Stay tuned for more as we learn it, and thank you for walking this path with us. Today I set a stone of peace on the pathway. - nrd
"The Lord gives strength to his people; the Lord blesses his people with peace." - Psalm 29:11
15 The Best View in the House
NancyRae
Reflections on an unexpected hospital stay.
Rise up
14 Cycle One
Nancy Rae
August 8, 2025
Last week, we found ourselves back in Chilliwack. It was a gift to see Alisa at VGH, to spend time with our grandsons and Nic, and to reconnect with friends and family members. Alisa had her bone marrow transplant on July 23rd. Each day since has been marked by resilience and routine, as she continues to receive daily blood transfusions. We are holding tightly to prayer, asking for her blood counts to rise and for signs of tangible progress to appear soon. Every small improvement feels magnified in its significance.
While in Chilliwack, I received a call from PRH Oncology. They wanted to schedule bloodwork, a meeting with my oncologist, and place me on a wait list for chemotherapy. After sharing why I was in the Fraser Valley, they chose to fast-track my treatments, and for this, we are incredibly grateful. Yesterday I had my first chemo treatment.
I can’t praise enough the incredible team and the comforting environment of the new chemo treatment unit. The initial session lasted five hours, covering intake, education, and the infusion of chemo drugs. I’m told future treatments should be shorter going forward. My cycle follows a three-week rhythm, with week one often being the hardest in terms of symptoms. Thankfully, I received a “party bag” of anti-nausea medications, and so far today, I’ve managed a little food. Tomorrow, though, is expected to be a harder day.
Throughout this journey, your messages, visits, calls, and check-ins have formed a lifeline. Knowing we’re not walking this road alone changes everything. Your love and support lift us as surely as medicine and science do. We rise up, fortified by community and faith.
Today, I place stones of courage on the road we travel. nrd
"Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified....for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you or forsake you." - Deuteronomy 31:6
13 Brave
Nancy Rae
Brave
For Alisa
She rises before the dawn,
A whisper of hope in the hush—
Not armored in steel, but in spirit
She may tremble, yet she walks on.
Resolve woven in each breath,
Determination in the flick of her eyes—
She walks where the shadows gather,
Rebuking the world’s many lies.
Quiet confidence like a river of silver,
Courage that flickers and flares—
With daring that dances on ledges,
They shoulder what nobody dares.
Through sorrow and trial and heartache,
When pain sings its coldest refrain,
She stands Brave in the blaze of the moment
And faces the depth of her pain.
For courage, it burns in the marrow,
A light that no terror can stave—
The world finds its faith in a person,
In Jesus her spirit is Brave.
12 In A Nutshell
NancyRae
I’m recovering well from lung surgery—thank you for your prayers. The nerve pain is easing, and I’m feeling stronger. Hooray! Alisa was admitted to VGH on July 16th and had her BMT on Wednesday. It’s been a rough ride, and her path ahead is tough. Continued prayer, please. We snuck away for a quick camping trip by the Similkameen River with Dan and Lisa, which was a much-needed escape. I’m grateful for everyone checking in about my work—thanks to your support. I’ve been strong enough to take a few commissions. Hooray! I’ll be holding a clearance sale soon and hope it will be successful. At my oncology appointment, we learned a mutation was identified, but no targeted therapy is available. Immunotherapy isn’t an option, so I’ll be starting chemo soon. I’ll do 4 cycles in 3 months, and I’ll have treatments closer to home in Penticton. There are risks and anticipated adverse side effects, but we’re hopeful. My oncologist shared that I have a 50% chance of being alive without recurrence in five years, which is better than average. We are encouraged and optimistic. We’re taking a last-minute trip before my chemo starts, heading to Chilliwack tomorrow and stay a week, spending time with Nic and the boys, and will visit Alisa in Vancouver.
11 It's Complicated
NancyRae
July 6, 2025
It’s been a while since the last update, and a lot of people
are asking how I'm feeling, how we're coping, what the treatment plan is and when things will get started.
I’ll try my best to answer those questions, but honestly, it’s not
straightforward.
Recovery after surgery has been going well—each day I feel a little stronger. I can now lift up to 10 lbs, and I’m back behind the wheel. The nerve pain is still hanging around, but with the right balance of medication, I’m sleeping better and the pain is more manageable. When the burning sensation flares up, I know it’s time to take things easy and rest. I try to listen to what my body needs.
Emotionally, it’s a bit of a roller coaster, but in general, we feel positive. We’re doing our best to accept what we can’t control. Sometimes, waiting for answers is tough, and it’s easy to feel a bit down or impatient. But we’re focusing on what we have right now and being thankful for the progress I’ve made. This last few weeks have been sprinkled with joy. We celebrated my 63rd birthday, YAY I made it!! We celebrated being strong enough for outings, beautiful time with each other and with family and friends, quiet hours in the garden. Last week, our daughter Jessica’s family drove over the Rockies to spend time with us, which really lifted our spirits and gave us some great memories.
On Thursday, July 3rd, we had our first meeting with the oncology team at BC Cancer in Kelowna. It was a long day of paperwork and talking with the doctor. My case is now with Dr. Campling, who is the head of oncology. She was patient and took her time to explain everything. We’re still waiting on final pathology reports, so there are more questions than answers at the moment.
The diagnosis is invasive adenocarcinoma, acinar predominant (image above under microscope) which is a specific type of cancer cell pattern. More tests are in progress to see if immunotherapy might help, plus a molecular study to look for certain mutations. We should get these results in about four weeks.
Dr. Campling explained that they need all these details before coming up with a treatment plan, since there are a few options. She explained that the standard chemo for this kind of cancer is particularly nasty and most patients can't finish the course because it has many adverse side effects and white blood cells are depleted. The success rate is only about 5%. But, since lung cancer is the deadliest cancer in Canada, even small improvements matter. If immunotherapy is an option and works, the success rate jumps to around 35%. And if they find a treatable mutation—about one in three cases—they might be able to use a targeted oral treatment. The therapy is adjuvant treatment meaning it kills any remaining cancer cells after the lobectomy and prevents it from returning. This is different than targeting known, growing tumors/lesions.
Right now, we don’t know yet if the plan will be chemo, immunotherapy, targeted therapy, or some mix. We’re also waiting on more lab tests from Vancouver. Usually, treatment starts within three months after surgery. Since it’s been a bit over six weeks since my lobectomy, we’re expecting to start by the third week of August, or sooner if possible.
Good news: Dr. Campling will keep overseeing my treatment, but I’ll be able to get the actual chemo or other treatments at the new oncology wing in Penticton, which is a big relief. Follow-up appointments can happen over Zoom or at the local hospital, so we won’t have to drive to Kelowna every time. The new oncology unit opened June 23rd, and it’s a huge boost for the community. Take a tour by click here.
Randy will be away for work for the next two weeks. I thought about joining him in Vancouver to visit family, but the doctor heard some wheezing in my chest and I’ve started coughing, I’m honestly too tired to travel, so I’ll be staying home to rest. Fingers crossed the house is still standing when Randy gets back—ha!
For an update on our daughter-in-law Alisa, please check the prayer requests and support section here.
Thank you to everyone who’s been supporting us through all of this—your kindness, prayers, and encouragement mean the world to us. We truly appreciate each and every one of you.
This week I place a set a stone of joy on this pathway we are walking.
“Go and enjoy good food and sweet drinks. Send some to people who have none, because today is a holy day to the Lord. Don’t be sad, because the joy of the Lord will make you strong.” - Nehimiah 8:10
June's Highlites
10 Now What?
Nancy Rae
June 14, 2025
resilience, gratitude, courage, and hope
The Diagnosis
After undergoing a lobectomy surgery, the pathology results revealed that I have adenocarcinoma, a moderately aggressive form of glandular cancer. Dr. Coutsinos reassured me with some positive updates; The entire tumor was successfully removed, with good margins that tested negative. Additionally, both the air space and chest wall tested negative for cancer
However, not all news was uplifting. A few lymph nodes were removed during surgery, and one of them tested positive for cancer. This finding means that my journey doesn’t end here; instead, it pivots toward systemic treatment plans designed to address the cancer at a broader level. In the words of Dr. Coutsinos, “We’re going to treat you aggressively, hit this cancer with everything we’ve got!”
The Next Steps
I’ve been referred to BC Cancer, renowned for its commitment to throwing all available resources into personalized and aggressive systemic treatment plans. My care will be overseen by the Thoracic team at Kelowna General Hospital (KGH), professionals whose expertise I deeply respect. I’m grateful that my treatment will likely take place at Penticton Regional Hospital (PRH), thanks to the new expanded oncology services opening next month.
The Challenges Ahead
My diagnosis is a challenge, but it is also an opportunity to lean into strength and resilience. Again Dr. Coutsinos encouraged me, noting that I’m young, strong, and otherwise healthy—a combination that will serve me well on this journey. His confidence in the decisions we’ve made so far reassures me that we’re on the right path.
Gratitude Amidst Difficult Times
Though the road ahead is challenging, I find myself filled with gratitude amidst the trials. Knowing that much of my treatment will likely take place at Penticton Regional Hospital is welcome news.
Gratitude also stems from the support of my care team, family, and friends, all of whom have been unwavering in their encouragement and love. Your strength inspires me to face each day with courage and hope.
As I navigate this journey, I am reminded of the power of resilience and the importance of innovative care. Every step forward is fueled by hope and strength, knowing that I am equipped with the best resources and surrounded by unwavering support.
This path is not one I would have chosen, but
it is one I am committed to face with grace and determination. If my story
resonates with anyone who finds themselves at a similar crossroads, I hope it
serves as a reminder that even in the face of adversity, there is room for
hope, gratitude, and action. Together, we can confront life’s challenges and
emerge stronger than ever.
Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed,
for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you.
– Isaiah 41:10
09 The Path of Becoming
Nancy Rae
June 13, 2025
The Path of Becoming
Where
shall I wander?
What
sights await?
This
path unmarked
Yet
calls out my name
Will
the climb be steep?
Will
the trail twist and weave?
Take
me by the hand
Guide
me through the unknown
The
road might stretch far
I may
stumble, I may tire
But
your strength will raise me
Your
presence will steady my soul
Lost
in the shadowed turns,
You
banish my doubts
Illuminating
every step,
Shielding
me from harm.
On
this unwritten journey
I am
not alone.
As
each mystery unfolds,
I
am made new - what will I become?
ND
08 A Wild Ride
NancyRae
June 6, 2025
“Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you're gonna get.” The famous quote from Forrest Gump accurately summed up my week. The start of the week felt like my least favourite square, hard-filled centers, you know the ones, Ya bite into it and put it back in the box. As the week went on, it progressed into a majority of cream-filled more delightful offerings. By the time Thursday afternoon rolled around, there was a box full of nuts! Let me explain.
Just six days ago I was back in the ER with a heavy chest, shallow breathing, tachycardia, and neurological pain issues. In an honest moment, I felt discouraged. With Randy scheduled to leave before dawn on Monday, I knew it would be tough on us and prepared mentally. Enter Lisa; my sweet and bubbly sister-in-law who volunteered to hold down the fort and make me behave while Randy was gone (a tall order). Even though my body continued to challenge me, Lisa is a healing force. We laughed so hard, that there were a few times I thought I might cough up the remainder of my right lung. Laughing hurts, but not any more than coughing does and it’s certainly a lot more fun. The old saying “Laughter is the best medicine” is no joke, it’s science. Laughter enhances your intake of oxygen-rich air, stimulates your heart, lungs, and muscles, and increases the endorphins that are released by your brain. Laughter also triggers the release of other neurotransmitters like dopamine and serotonin, which further enhance feelings of happiness and well-being. Because I’m either allergic or have strong adverse reactions to most painkillers, the ‘happy chemicals’ that my body naturally produces are crucial to my recovery. I also received unexpected gifts, messages from loved ones, and a wonderful visit with my cousin Don, all of which contributed to my healing and well-being.
On Tuesday my surgeon confirmed that I would need another bronchoscopy and I wasn’t very excited about my throat and lungs being disturbed again. Thank you to everyone who prayed that Randy’s flight wouldn’t be delayed, it got in a bit early and he was able to be my trusted chauffeur and comfort. Although I was a bit apprehensive, I trusted my thoracic team and understood the bronchoscopy would benefit me. Yesterday’s procedure went remarkably well, much better than I expected. My middle lobe of the injured lung (which is now becoming the upper lobe) was struggling to expand as it had collapsed. There was a hydropneumothorax (fluid and trapped air) between my lung and chest wall which was likely the cause of the collapse. Dr. Coutsinos was able to go in and clean it all up with the bronchoscope in record time, 6 minutes. There was no need to intubate me as the procedure was done under heavy sedation rather than a general anesthetic. About that sedation……
Just as my body rejects and reacts strongly to pain meds that are meant to help me, it responds equally as strong to the ones that my system doesn’t reject. In our sleep-deprived state, we decided to leave my phone with me so I could contact Randy once I was awake after the procedure. Awake in this instance certainly is not a synonym for alert. I did message Randy when I was awake, but the message was incoherently entertaining. A dear friend messaged me at what we believe was the same time I was messaging Randy and thus started my attempts at response. Being very, very stoned from the sedation cocktail, (not a feeling I'm familiar with), I continued down the list of recent messages, texting four poor unsuspecting souls, complete with ‘selfies’. We are eternally grateful for Randy’s impeccable timing as he showed up before I could get to number five on the list, a client requesting me to create a memorial piece using her mother’s ashes.
If you were one of the four that randomly received stories of Bruce Springsteen, Jesus, tree frogs, confetti and purple shoes…. You’re welcome. And congratulations, you got to share the chocolate-covered nuts with me. This experience was certainly a wild ride, hopefully, one I won’t repeat!
Today as I ponder what I learned this week, I’m grateful that God has a sense of humour. Perhaps this week I’m setting ‘stoned’ of laughter.
I wonder what next week will bring? Thanks for walking this crazy path with me friends, wherever would we be without you? nrd
07 How Are You Feeling?
NancyRae
June 1, 2025
setting stones of hope
I'm grateful for our community of supporters who are concerned about our well-being and my recovery. In Western culture, questions such as “How are you doing?” and “How are you feeling?” have become common greetings. The typical response is, “Fine. How are you?”
Many have reached out to ask, "How are you doing?" Some will clarify with, "How are you really doing?" or "How are you holding up? Your family has a lot right now," acknowledging the mental burden of having two family members navigating cancer, pain, complications, financial strains, and all that comes with a journey of this nature. The question "How are you feeling?" could elicit numerous responses encompassing physical, emotional, situational, mental, and spiritual circumstances.
If I had to summarize my feelings in a single word, it would
be
In full transparency, the past couple of weeks have been challenging, more so than anticipated. I have faced excruciating pain, discouragement, fear, empathy, disappointment, and helplessness... but also joy, encouragement, contentment, gratitude, and kindness. However, the camp in which we choose to pitch our tent is hope. Hope is the foundation that allows all other emotions to coexist. We can visit all places for a time, and we must. But the place where we firmly establish ourselves remains hope.
In the darker places we’ve walked these past weeks, we could always see the light of hope. A medical team working hard on my behalf. The chorus of birds serenading me as I’m awake in the wee hours. Recounting memories of time spent with loved ones. The smell of the garden in bloom after the rain. A husband that serves me with joy even though he’s hurting and concerned. Friends and family showing up to help. Many of you taking time to reach out asking, with genuine concern, ‘How are you holding up?’ All represent hope and have the power to lift us. Today I set stones of hope.
We also have joy with our troubles, because we know that these troubles produce patience. 4 And patience produces character, and character produces hope. 5 And this hope will never disappoint us, because God has poured out his love to fill our hearts. – Romans 5:3-5
06 Turning the Tide
NancyRae
A Day of Hope and gratitude
May 21, 2025
The past week has been a little rough but today brought positive news. My surgeon informed me this morning that all biopsies and lab specimens submitted from last week's surgical procedure are negative for malignancy. Wahoo!!
Dr. Coutsionos told me that falling while playing hockey was very lucky as it led to early detection. With the information that we currently have, this is considered Stage 1 Lung Cancer. By far, the majority of lung cancer cases in Canada are detected at Stage 4, where the five-year survival rate is only 6.5-10%. Lung cancer accounts for 13% of all cancer diagnoses and represents 23% of cancer-related deaths annually in Canada. Stage 1 lung cancer has a 67-70% survival rate, but my doctor believes my chances are even higher. Dr. Coutsinos is confident that I am an excellent candidate for a successful lobectomy surgery and anticipates a good recovery. He described a best-case scenario and said, “When you wake up after the surgery on Friday, you will wake up as a winner!”
We are feeling so thankful and relieved. Despite having major lung surgery ahead, it seems manageable. We are not afraid, we walk forward with confidence into the unknown. Some may consider me lucky. We still believe in a God that went before me and made sure the light exposed what is lurking in the darkness, the intruder hiding in my lung. We are hopeful, we are grateful, and we feel loved and supported by all of you. Thank you all for walking with us. We will let you know more details as we learn them.
This was a particularly hard week for our dear Alisa, please see the prayer and resources section to see how you can support them. nrd
"The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” - Deuteronomy 31:8
05 The Shifting Calendar
NancyRae
Adapting to Life's Unpredictable Rhythms
May 16, 2025
Our May calendar is scribbled in pencil with an eraser handy, reflecting the uncertainty of these times. Camping trips and vacations have been canceled, and we are learning to adjust to shifting schedules. Randy canceled his flight to Toronto today, where he was to present a training program he worked on for months. Meanwhile, I am preparing for my first surgical procedure on Wednesday in Kelowna. The day will involve a scope, biopsy, and other tests under general anesthesia. While the procedure is only a day surgery, hospital schedules are unpredictable and we were warned it could be bumped. I hope Randy’s decision to stay home proves worthwhile.
Wednesday also marks a pivotal moment for Alisa. Her tentative admission for a bone marrow transplant is set for May 21st, following a demanding series of 12 preparatory appointments. Delays caused by illness meant adding many of these appointments to this week's already full schedule. Wednesday, she’ll be in Vancouver for a comprehensive day with five of these tests and appointments taking place in various locations. Once admitted, her journey will last months, with no guarantee of success, yet the BMT is the only potentially curative treatment available. Although the procedure carries significant risks, it remains the sole option.
Managing a large family in the early years required a complex schedule with constant activity. Once the van left our driveway in the morning, it often ran all day. Our schedules relied on everyone’s participation to stay on track. I recall believing that life would become considerably quieter once our five children left home to pursue their own lives. I’m not sure why I thought that, perhaps it was my exhaustion speaking.
Our family of seven has expanded to a family of twenty. Though no longer under one roof, we remain closely connected, sharing in each other’s lives. Our children live in five different cities across two provinces, and my mother lives in Alberta, which presents challenges for spending time with her. These days, Randy’s work and my art practice demand considerable travel, while our children and grandchildren lead busy lives, and we strive to be present for them. I’ve come to understand that a large family is never a quieter life, but I cherish every moment. The complexity of coordinating activities has increased, involving air travel, traversing mountains, and synchronizing the schedules of six families rather than just one. It’s rare for all twenty of us to be together at once; the closest we achieved was two years ago when we were a family of only nineteen. I would love for our youngest to experience the glorious chaos of all of us in the same place at the same time.
In those early years of juggling orthodontist visits, music lessons, basketball, youth group, and more, I learned flexibility but ran a tight ship. In recent years, Randy and I have had to collaborate closely, sometimes making difficult decisions, recognizing we can't be everywhere at once. However, my current situation presents an unprecedented emotional challenge. I long to be present for Nic, Alisa and their boys during this challenging time, and I yearn to visit my mother as she navigates her Alzheimer’s journey. Logically, I know it’s necessary that my own health take precedence, but my heart wrestles with choosing myself over my family, a difficult adjustment for someone who prioritizes family above all else.
Annual camping trips and days off can wait, we can reschedule those for another time. However, these pressing life events are impossible to delay or reschedule. This season teaches me to let go of the need for balance and control, accepting a schedule shaped by circumstances beyond my influence. While I struggle with feelings of helplessness, I am choosing to embrace flexibility, adapt to the unknown, and set stones of acceptance. These moments remind me that life’s complexity, though challenging, is also deeply meaningful.
04 Encouraging News & Next Steps
NancyRae
setting stones of gratitude
*Fair warning*
Today, we had a consultation with Dr. Dimitrious Coutsinos, one of the six thoracic surgeons assigned to my case. The appointment was conducted via Zoom, allowing Randy to join from his office and saving us significant travel time.
The news we received was very positive, exceeding our
expectations, and definitely an answer to prayer! The tumor was detected in its early stages, which is a miracle as lungs don't have pain receptors and I had no symptoms. The discovery itself is remarkable, and we are grateful for the events that led to it. (For more information on how it was
discovered, please refer to
The PET scan results suggest that the tumor has not spread
to or infiltrated the lymph nodes. To confirm this, I will undergo an
Endobronchial Ultrasound (
The surgical procedure will involve a Right Upper Lobectomy, which will remove the upper lobe of my right lung along with some lymph nodes. The tumor and lymph nodes will be sent to pathology for a definitive diagnosis through biopsy. Due to the tumor's challenging location, a specialized biopsy team is required, leading to a waitlist of 10 weeks followed by additional time for pathology results and scheduling the operating room. Given the high risk of delaying treatment for three months, immediate action is necessary. I'll therefore have surgery before the biopsy.
The extremely good news is that the surgery will be performed through VATS, a much less invasive surgery than the thoracotomy that was first anticipated. A small video camera and surgical tools are inserted through several small cuts in the chest. If there are no complications, my hospital stay will only be 3 or 4 days, rather than the couple of weeks that a thoracotomy might require. My recovery time will also be greatly diminished and less complicated. Hooray! Picture the happy dance over here that Randy won’t have to learn how to make homemade soup and nutritious meals and do all the laundry and all the cleaning for extended periods of time! Am I ever glad we got a robot a couple of months ago that vacuums and mops!
Dr. Coutsinos explained the potential risks of complications, including bleeding, infection, and even death, although he did not anticipate any issues arising. He noted that my lungs are very healthy, (other than the asteroid intruder hiding out in there) and stated that I am in strong physical condition with excellent pulmonary function, making me an ideal candidate for this surgery.
On a personal note, I have been grappling with self-blame for the development of this cancer, believing that I had not adequately protected myself while working with glass in my artistic practise. Dr. Coutsinos explained that the glasswork wasn't responsible for the tumor. They are more concerned about Silicosis, a lung disease caused by inhaling very fine crystalline particles of silicon dioxide found in glass. He assured me there is no evidence of Silicosis in my lungs. He confirmed I’ve done an excellent job of using protective measures and can continue sculpting glass. Cue second happy dance!
Another answer to prayer is the timeline. The thoracic team plans to start immediately. They expect to perform the EBUS within the next week or two, followed by the lobectomy approximately a week later. If no cancer is detected in the lymph nodes, all procedures should be completed, and I may be home recovering within four weeks.
We are profoundly grateful for the exceptional medical care I have received. Over the past few weeks, I have interacted with numerous professionals in the medical field at two hospitals, laboratories, BC Cancer, and various doctors' offices. This includes radiation technicians, porters, frontline workers, surgeons, pulmonologists, MDs, nurses, and laboratory personnel. Each person has treated me with kindness and empathy. We are privileged to live in a country that prioritizes excellent medical care for all people.
Many of you have asked what we need and how you can help. We sincerely appreciate the support from everyone who has reached out. At this time, we are processing, planning, and attempting to schedule an uncertain calendar, so we are not entirely sure of our specific needs. Randy is entering his busiest travel season at work, and I am in the process of restructuring my business. Practically speaking, I may need companionship when Randy is away or assistance with my garden. We will have more information as the situation develops.
Currently, the most helpful action you can take is to pray. Our family is facing several challenges simultaneously, which makes it more difficult for me to manage. Please visit the prayer request page for details.
As we look back over the path these past few weeks, we are extremely grateful for your support—our family, friends, the art community…our people. We also appreciate the empathy shown by strangers, the prompt actions of medical professionals, and the sci-fi-style, high-tech medical equipment used in my treatment. Above all, we are thankful for our faithful God, who shines light in the darkness, leads us in love, and gives us strength and joy in this journey. Today I set stones of gratitude. - ND
Give thanks to the Lord for he is good, his love endures forever. – Psalm 136:1
03 Living With Cancer
setting stones of love
April 30, 2025
For the past several weeks, I have been adapting to life with cancer. Similar to a child learning to walk, it has involved navigating various challenges and finding stability. My goal is to gain firm footing, move forward with confidence, and eventually thrive.
The most crucial aspect of living with cancer is the emphasis on living. On April 14th, while disembarking from a ferry in Victoria, I received confirmation that the tumor in my lung was malignant. This news brought an immediate shift in perspective and emotions. Despite this, Randy and I managed our responsibilities efficiently, mechanically conducting business as planned, packing my work, and informing our family members.
After attending to our tasks, we chose to appreciate our surroundings. On the ferry ride home, we walked on the sunlit deck, basking in the fresh sea air, and observed the ship’s wake as we made our way back to the mainland. I had no concerns about reaching the shore, confident in the captain's ability to navigate the complex route through the islands.
In the ensuing days, I’ve embraced numerous opportunities to truly *live*. Upon reaching shore, we returned to Chilliwack where our precious friends welcomed us warmly, offering a warm meal and a comfortable place to stay. The following morning included a meaningful visit with my aunt, who is also embarking on her own cancer journey before heading back to the Okanagan. We spent Wednesday at home, unpacking, repacking, and playing golf, before hitting the road early Thursday morning to drive to Alberta.
We enjoyed a rich Easter weekend with family. Donning bunny hats made by our grandchildren, we coloured eggs and competed in the 38th annual egg roll. We were witness to the excitement of the kids hunting for the treasures we hid in the backyard. We were treated to Easter dinner, cooked by our kids. I was thrilled to go on my first truck ride with my grandson behind the wheel! Visits with my beautiful Mama, her deep love and connection ever present to ground and encourage me.
Returning home on Sunday with our eldest grandson, we spent valuable time hiking, playing golf, and exploring. Sam and I flew back to Alberta together where I continued to relish moments with my family, including a peaceful afternoon by the river with Jessica and my granddaughters. As I watched the children play, I reflected on the beauty of being present for everyday moments, immersed in love.
I began setting stones on the sandbar, a reminder of the gift of everyday love when my mind wondered when or if I would pass this way again and pangs of sadness started to invade my sunny day. In that moment of shaky faith, I looked down at my hand to see a unique heart-shaped stone. It was decorated with stripes in white and stood out from the others on the beach.
Gently on the breeze, I could sense the whisper,
“I love you; I am mindful of you. This is the day I have made, rejoice and be glad in it.”
In the days that have unfolded since the ferry ride home, I’ve had many opportunities to live out the picture of trusting the captain to steer us in the right direction. It would be easy for my mind to focus on the obstacles, the many questions, and fears. I’m on this journey, but I’m not the one at the helm guiding the rudder. I look to my loving Heavenly Father who I trust will get us safely to shore. Today I set stones of love. - nrd
“And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” Corinthians 13:13
02 From Hockey to the Hospital
An unexpected discovery
Having our grandsons with us for a week during Spring Break is always an adventure. The day after their arrival, we went to Canadian Tire for hockey sticks and balls. On Friday, March 21st, while Papa worked downtown, the boys and I played a two-on-one game at the tennis courts. I quickly realized I was no match for a 5-year-old's stick skills. As I ran toward the makeshift net, I tripped on a crack and fell with a thud, hard on my chest. Game over. It was back into the golf cart and straight home.
The next morning, it was clear I was injured. With Randy heading to Toronto the next day, it was decided better safe than sorry, so I went to the ER for a check-up. The doctor was concerned about my internal organs and ordered a CT Scan with contrast. After the scan, he informed me that my liver, pancreas, and spleen were fine. I was deeply bruised and would be sore for a few weeks, but I would recover from the hockey fall.
"But sometimes," he continued, "we discover things we weren't looking for. In your case, we found a 'nodule' in your lung, and it's big enough to require a pulmonary specialist." The CT report later revealed the nodule was actually a mass. The following weeks were filled with tests, scans, and doctor appointments. On Monday, April 14th, while disembarking at Schwartz Bay, my specialist called to confirm that the PET Scan from the previous Wednesday showed I have lung cancer. We are now on an unexpected path into the unknown.
Many have asked how I am, and my response is "Grateful." Lung cancer is often deadly because it's rarely caught early, as the lungs lack pain receptors. Symptoms only appear when the cancer has progressed. When I told one my son Nic, his response was, "Mum, you didn't fall. God tripped you." Randy also joked that my guardian angels have been working overtime and one laid in front of my feet and the other pushed me from behind. Going to the ER was never about a hockey game, it was about revealing what was hidden. We are grateful that the ER doctor was extra cautious, that I was seen by a specialist and had my PET and brain scans so quickly. The PET Scan also showed the cancer is isolated in the upper lobe of my right lung. It is a decent sized, spiculated tumor, with a tether to the pleural lining, but it is not appearing in my lymph nodes yet. The mass is located in a difficult place that is not reachable for a biopsy.
What's next? I've been referred to a thoracic surgery team in Kelowna and am waiting for their call. It's highly likely they'll remove a portion of my right lung along with the asteroid-like mass. This would be the best-case scenario, as they won't proceed if it has spread. Once removed, my understanding is that pathology will identify the type and determine the treatment plan.
That's essentially all the information we have. We wait, uncertain of the duration, but as we wait, I continue to move forward. We relished the remainder of our sunny day, traveling back and forth to the island, spending time with friends and family. We traveled to Alberta for Easter, donned bunny hats crafted by the grandchildren, and savored a delicious meal prepared by my children. I finally experienced my long-awaited first truck ride with my grandson driving and took part in the 38th annual Easter Egg Roll. Life is beautiful, and each new day is a gift.
Today I place a stone of gratitude on this path, thanking the Lord for tripping me during the hockey game that changed the course of my journey. - nrd
Welcome To My Blog
Nancy Rae
She stood in the storm and when the wind wouldn't blow her way, she adjusted her sails.