Numbers
For those of you who don't know, I've spent the past seven years working for UVA Medical Center as the data analyst for Patient Care Services. How I came to be a data analyst when I majored in English is something only God could have orchestrated, but that's a story for another post. When you're a data analyst, people assume you like things such as math, statistics, and numbers. You get nicknames like "Numbers Girl." I don't love math and statistics, but I do love the truth and finding realities that aren't readily apparent to the naked eye.
When you're making decisions your life depends upon, it is comforting to understand the odds. You feel like you've uncovered the truth and knowing the numbers makes you feel like you are making an informed decision. How else are you supposed to decide whether or not you should drink poison in the hopes that it will kill the cancer but not kill you?
When I was first diagnosed with cancer, after I'd had my double mastectomy and my tumor had been evaluated, my oncologist ran numbers for me. He knew I was "Numbers Girl" and that I wanted as much evidence as possible to inform my difficult treatment decisions. The numbers said that without chemo (which I was loathe to do) my chance of the cancer returning was 50% (due in large part to the fact that I'm BRCA 2+). 50%! Even after they had surgically removed my breasts! With chemo, I could lower that chance of recurrence to 15%. The numbers had spoken, loud and clear. I did the chemo.
But sometimes numbers are just numbers. For every average, there are people above and people below. There are outliers. Four years later, here I am again, diagnosed with breast cancer and considering my odds. I, apparently, am the 15%. While the numbers said recurrence was unlikely, in reality my risk was 100%. "A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps" (Prov. 16:9).
Numbers say I should get 22 months without progression on my current drug combo. I'm friends with women on Facebook who have gotten much longer than that. I'm sure there are some who have gotten less. What does the future hold for me? Only God knows. Oh that I may have faith to rest in that and not chafe against the unknown.
When you're making decisions your life depends upon, it is comforting to understand the odds. You feel like you've uncovered the truth and knowing the numbers makes you feel like you are making an informed decision. How else are you supposed to decide whether or not you should drink poison in the hopes that it will kill the cancer but not kill you?
When I was first diagnosed with cancer, after I'd had my double mastectomy and my tumor had been evaluated, my oncologist ran numbers for me. He knew I was "Numbers Girl" and that I wanted as much evidence as possible to inform my difficult treatment decisions. The numbers said that without chemo (which I was loathe to do) my chance of the cancer returning was 50% (due in large part to the fact that I'm BRCA 2+). 50%! Even after they had surgically removed my breasts! With chemo, I could lower that chance of recurrence to 15%. The numbers had spoken, loud and clear. I did the chemo.
But sometimes numbers are just numbers. For every average, there are people above and people below. There are outliers. Four years later, here I am again, diagnosed with breast cancer and considering my odds. I, apparently, am the 15%. While the numbers said recurrence was unlikely, in reality my risk was 100%. "A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps" (Prov. 16:9).
Numbers say I should get 22 months without progression on my current drug combo. I'm friends with women on Facebook who have gotten much longer than that. I'm sure there are some who have gotten less. What does the future hold for me? Only God knows. Oh that I may have faith to rest in that and not chafe against the unknown.
Praying for you dearheart...as you walk by faith, you are never alone.
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