Becca’s Story

Site created on October 9, 2018

My name is Becca. The last three months have been some of the most confusing, unnerving and helpless in my entire life. I began having headaches that would wake me up in the middle of the night, bring me to my knees mid-day and make me question what my new normal would be. It was a throbbing pain that would start in the back of my head and quickly but surely wrap around to the front of my head with an unbearable pulse. Much like a fire truck you can hear coming around the corner and, before you know it, it’s on your front step.

So I went to the eye doctor. They examined my eyes and saw nothing too peculiar upon initial inspection. Upon further inspection through dilation, a swollen and pressurized optic nerve was uncovered. I was sent immediately across the street to the hospital for a CT scan from the ER. My results from this were ones that never leave you the same. A large mass was found in the back of my brain. They didn’t know if it was cancerous, they didn’t know if it was anywhere else in my body and they didn’t know how long it had been there. I was immediately life flighted by helicopter to receive an MRI from another hospital where I was to remain on meds to help with swelling and pain until surgery.  It was determined that the best surgeons were at Barnes Jewish Hospital in Saint Louis.  So I was transferred there.  It’s been a whole lot of “hurry up and wait”. What I want to do with this journal is wait well. God is my rock, my king, my best friend and when I heard this news for the first time, I had peace, strength, hope, comfort and power flooding into my heart. I had no time to feel alone or powerless. My God was with me. God has been telling me that the waiting is just as worthwhile,  just as important,  as getting the tumor removed. So here I am. Waiting well and with a purpose. This mass will be a masterpiece.

Newest Update

Journal entry by Becca Jungers

Hey friends!
I know it’s been awhile since you’ve heard from me. I’ve been regaining my feet. My wits about me. What it looks like in my new normal. 
I’m currently in St. Louis for my 3 month check up. Had an MRI this morning and my consultation just now. 
My doctor said the 5% of my tumor that was left was undetectable from my MRI. Essentially gone. Donezo list. My blood clot isn’t a factor and will only rear it’s ugly head through headaches. Of which I’ve had none. He also said if there were any problems or setbacks we would see them by now. So he wants to see me back in a year. All good reports. 

Over the past few months it’s been harder than hard. I’ve been sadder than sad. Weaker than weak. Uncomfortable in my own skin at times. Self-conscious in others. Adjusting to hearing in one ear. Uneasy. Uncertain. My hope filled eyes have been tested. Everything has. Mostly my heart. I’ve listened to and believed lies from the enemy that I’m no good for anyone anymore - along with a lot of other things. I’ve believed it all at one time or another...if I’m honest. 

It’s been the darkest of dark times for me. 

At the beginning of all this, when I was flown to Springfield via helicopter, I remember having a ‘thou mayest’ moment. If you haven’t read the book East of Eden, don’t walk, sprint to your nearest book store. It’s my favorite read. The phrase, ‘thou mayest’, is one of serious and measured choice. Deciding what path you’re going to take and knowing when you decide, there’s no turning back. Accepting all that will be thrown at you, for better or for worse.

It gets real. 

I remember laying in that helicopter. The sunset was beautiful. Everything around me was just noisy enough I could be alone in my own thoughts. 
I knew I was in my moment of choosing. That how I responded to this situation would make all the difference. An opportunity so it seemed. It was a moment in time, the kind we all have. The kind that shape and define us. One I’ve recalled many times. 

I knew what I had to do. 

Stubborn hope came out of that moment. Resilience. Fight. Praise. A smile. I asked myself, “If I don’t have faith now, when will I? If I don’t trust God with this moment, this news, this CT scan, when will I? Where will my joy come from?”
The answers to these questions, and many others, have been threatened time after time.  You can feel beat up. Alone in the corner. 

But you hold on anyway. 

I decided who I was going to be on that helicopter. An Ebenezer if you will. What was most important to me. Who my king was.

When I have been tried, from what seems like every angle, stubborn hope is still there. Hope that God’s got this. He knows what He’s doing. All along. He’s been working everything together. Not just when I need Him most. 
All. Along. 

This isn’t a cop out, simply all I have. 

I’m not attempting to paint an overly negative picture here. Merely an accurate one that leaves no way for me to get myself out. Only Him. So when times seem like they couldn’t get any worse, know they can. And when they do. You. Are. Not. Alone. 

Sometimes we need to see how dark a situation is to see how much life and light is available in God. 

It’s been over 3 months since my life, and those around me, have come to a screeching hault. Everyday I’m getting a little stronger, a little faster, and more like myself.
I can’t believe I was living in so much pain before. I have been pain free (Praise God) since surgery. I put up with too much for too long. Don’t we all do that? As the new year has rolled around again, since we have passed go once more, it’s just time. Don’t delay what you have already been delaying. Longer than you should. The time is now. 

I’m still live-time processing. Nearly everyday. So my words are still a little messy, a little unpolished, possibly a little too raw. But I find talking about things, makes them less scary. Everything is when it’s brought into the light. 

‘Thou Mayest’. Be aware of the crossroads in your life. And know God is not absent from your situation. Closer than the breath in your lungs. 

Love you all. Thank you for praying, asking how I’m doing and all your encouraging messages. I haven’t tired of any of it.

Never forget how far you’ve come. It’s farther than you think. 

Don’t worry: This is mass will be a masterpiece.
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