Our Next Adventure, Metastatic Melanoma

When we stood in the sanctuary and said our vows to Pastor Darrell, Pastor Grandpa Selmer and a church full of friends and relatives 20 years ago, we hadn’t a clue about what better or worse, richer or poorer, or sickness and health would look like in real married life. That’s amazing grace, for sure.

So when things started to get really hard in the summer of 2004, just six years into our marriage, we pressed into those vows and learned what it looks like to love in the midst of significant life trials. Trial after trial, we made it through. 15 years in, our marriage started showing signs of fatigue, but we kept pressing on, leaned into God and each other, and made it through.

Then came a major career change and three mission trips for me, an eye cancer diagnosis and treatment for Seth, and a lung transplant for my dad. We had lice in our household four times over the course of two years, and I landed in the ER due to a panic attack I thought was a heart attack. Seth was impacted by a massive corporate reorganization, which was followed by a great job offer and a huge cross-country move from Minneapolis to Seattle for our family of five.

But our next adventure was coming.

In early March 2018, I began contacting Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, as Seth was due for his regular eye cancer follow-up appointments, and we needed to get them on the calendar ASAP.

After a long wait to get in, Seth found himself back at Mayo for three days of eye cancer follow-up appointments on May 30th, 31st and June 1st, 2018. On May 30th, while Seth was sitting at Mayo with his parents, I was at our new house in the suburbs of Seattle for one last walk through with our realtor and the construction manager before we were scheduled to close and receive keys on June 4th.

So that afternoon of May 30th, right after I’d completed the final walk through our new house, I received a call with good news and bad news from Seth. For better or for worse. For richer and poorer. In sickness and in health. Mayo tests indicated that Seth’s eye was doing well, but the CT scan revealed a lesion on his liver. They needed him come back for a MRI on day three, June 1st.

On June 4th, our new house closed and we received keys. It should have been a joyous day, but it was filled with questions and unknowns.

On June 6th, while I was on my hands and knees sealing the grout in our new house, I received a phone call from Mayo. The MRI revealed 8-10 hemorrhagic lesions on Seth’s liver, approximately 1 cm in diameter. They suspected it could be metastasis of the choroidal melanoma diagnosed and treated 3 1/2 years ago. They needed a biopsy within 1-2 weeks, no later.

I literally felt sick.

I called Seth to share the news, we brainstormed a game plan for how you’re supposed to continue putting your all into a new job WHILE moving into a new house WHILE dealing with a significant medical concern WHILE being 1,700 miles away from friends, family and the treatment center of choice. And then Seth reminded me in his normal, but unusually optimistic tone that “This is just another adventure for us.” I tried calling Seth’s parents, but they were on the road, on their way from Minnesota to help us move into our new house in Seattle. I called my mom. Then I heard back from Seth’s parents and shared the news with them.

While Seth’s primary doctor at Mayo was out on vacation for a handful of days, there was debate as to whether we could get the biopsy done in Seattle or whether we would need to fly back to Mayo. But when Seth’s doctor returned, he was adamant that the biopsy be done at Mayo since they’ve seen more of this than anyone else in the country. So by Friday morning, June 8th, our flights were booked to Minnesota for a biopsy and an appointment with medical oncology, “just in case.”

That night, I frantically began packing loads of belongings from our two-bedroom town home into my car. There was no way we were going to stay another night in that stuffy, dark, two-bedroom town home. The lease was going to expire soon anyway. I was bound and determined that we’d start sleeping at our new house THAT NIGHT, even though we didn’t have beds yet. We had the keys. That’s all we needed. We shared the medical news with the kids, had a massive family crying session in that town home, and drove over to the house for our first night’s stay.

On Monday, June 11th, at 9:00 am, the moving truck and three movers arrived at our new house in the suburbs of Seattle. All of our belongings had been in storage for six months, as we’d lived extremely minimally in a two-bedroom town home while our house was being built. This was all part of the relocation package Seth received when he accepted the job in Seattle, but this was all feeling very odd and unsettling, not to mention incredibly difficult to know HOW to FEEL with a major medical concern looming in the background.

Monday we moved in. Tuesday we tried to get as much unpacked as we could. The living room, kitchen and kids rooms were first priority for functional, practical living. By Wednesday, June 13th, at 1:30 pm, we were at the airport making our way to Mayo Clinic in Minnesota for Seth’s biopsy.

Two days of me, Seth and my mom at Mayo and a slough of changes and unknowns, we got in with a world-renowned oncology doctor who was supposed to have his Friday afternoon of June 15th off. We had had an answer.

The “biopsy shows melanoma. We are dealing with a misbehaved tumor,” said Dr. M. On one hand, “there’s not a lot of trouble” in the liver, but this could be the “tip of the iceberg.” “Looks like we need to get busy,” he said. “We don’t have great treatments for this, but we have treatments that work.”

Dr. M asked us what our plans were for this coming week. “Well, we were scheduled to fly home tomorrow (Saturday, June 16th), but we want to get moving on this ASAP, so we can stay if that’s what you determine is best,” I said, though the truth was I didn’t want this to be happening in any way, shape or form.

Dr. M got on it. While we were still sitting there, he placed orders for a MRI of the brain, more blood work, a full-body PET scan, another mid-week medical oncology appointment with him, and a first treatment at Mayo.

Dr. M gave us a brochure about Metastatic Melanoma and told us to read it at our leisure when we could process more effectively. He explained that this is a metastasis of the incredibly rare choroidal melanoma Seth had 3 1/2 years ago (diagnosed in 6 in 1 million people every year). He went on to describe three treatment options, then quickly concluded they’ve had the best success with immunotherapy, a new arm of cancer treatment in which they turn on the immune system to fight the cancer. Immunotherapy tries to break control and turn tables on the cancer. Seth is healthy and strong, so this is the best treatment option.

Treatment is every three weeks. Typically, they do 2-3 rounds of treatment and then repeat imaging to determine the efficacy. For Seth, they will do two rounds of treatment and then repeat imaging.

Dr. M gave the scheduler a list of appointments that needed to be made ASAP. We returned to the waiting room and shared the updates with my mom. As we made our way back to central Minnesota where my parents live, we called Seth’s parents who are in Seattle caring for our kids and provided them with updates. A few hours later, we made individual calls to our three children, sharing the news at a level that was developmentally appropriate for each one.

So here we are. In central Minnesota for two days with my parents, then back to Mayo in southern Minnesota for another week. We just moved into our new house in Seattle, Washington, FIVE days ago. Our kids are there, 1,700 miles away, with my in-laws. And our 20th wedding anniversary is in ELEVEN days. We will be at Mayo Clinic for tests and treatments at least FIVE of the next ELEVEN days leading up to our anniversary. What more can I say?

Right now, I don’t claim to know anything about the world, how it works, and WHY things happen the way they happen. But if I had to say what it is that I know for sure, I’d say that we can make all the plans we want, but it is God who establishes and ordains our steps. I have no idea in heaven or on earth as to WHY God would allow this to happen after ALL we’ve been through the past 14 years. I am having a difficult time processing all the WHY GOD questions. I DON’T. UNDERSTAND. This doesn’t feel good, and it doesn’t feel like it’s coming from a God who is good. But I also spent the past 14 years developing a sturdy faith, so the Lord keeps spinning me in circles back to Him. I must trust, even when I can’t see, even when I have NO CLUE as to why this is happening.

And then I circle back to the vows.

For better, for worse.

For richer, for poorer.

In sickness and in health.

We hadn’t a clue 20 years ago, but here we are. We’re still kicking. The show must go on. This is what we vowed. This is what we promised. This is the truth.

So we ask for prayers to lift us up during this trial. For us and for our three children. We ask for the high-skilled, world-renowned doctors at Mayo and in Seattle. We ask for clarity as we journey this trial and determine each next-best step. We ask for our new home to become a place of refuge. We ask for new friends to come alongside us in Seattle. We ask for old friends and family to support us while we’re here in Minnesota and when we return to Seattle.  We ask for peace and positivity along the way. We ask for stomach aches to be eased, and tears to be shed and then wiped away with the softest of tissues. We ask for support in whatever way, shape or form we need. Coming off of a 9 1/2 month layoff, moving to a city that has a sky-high cost of living, then moving immediately into a major medical crisis is not easy on the finances. We ask for your friendship, your love, your care. We ask for your patience and understanding as we return calls, texts, and messages…or maybe we’re NOT able to return them at all. We ask that you bathe our marriage, our children, and our family in all the prayer you can muster. We ask that we will come through this. We ask these things with deepest humility, with deepest regard for each human being who knows us and has seen us through 20 years of marriage.

If I could’ve written my own story, I wouldn’t have written it this way.

But so begins our next adventure.

  1. Lynne Kellerman says:

    So very sorry to hear this, Amy.  You and your family are in my prayers.  Lynne K

  2. Susan Frykman says:

    Blessings to you and your family, Amy.

  3. Nicole says:

    Praying for you all, Amy!

  4. Carol nelson says:

    I am so very sorry for this news. So glad you have faith and that you work together on this . You kids will be richer in strength with the way you handle this with them . Prayers for you all, Blessings upon you for strength in the time ahead . 

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.