We flew to Guadalajara at the end of October. The plan was to spend three months with Caleb and Hector before returning for a scan in January.

We left Carmen, Wayne's mother, with a live-in caregiver. Carmen had been bedridden for a couple of years, but her mind was still clear most days. She was a strong christian woman who had often lamented that God had left her in the world in such poor physical condition. She had told me many times that she was ready to go home to Jesus. Holly had been with us for some time and took excellent care of her.

The first few weeks of our stay overlapped with Hector's mother, Yaya. She is from Venezuela, and this would be our first meeting. Despite having never met me in person, Yaya and the rest of Hector's family had been praying for me ever since the cancer diagnosis. We were both excited to meet, despite the fact that she spoke only Spanish and I spoke only English.

When we arrived, there were hugs and kisses all around. Hector and Caleb acted as translators while Yaya and I exchanged gifts. I was touched greatly because she had knitted me a shawl and some scarves. She had also brought me gifts from her extended family.

Shawl Yaya Knitted

Wayne had been studying Spanish with an App on his phone called Duolingo. He had learned enough to get across some concepts to Yaya. When that failed, if the boys weren't around, we used Google to translate on our phones and tablets. The results were sometimes hilarious as the translations were not always accurate.

Andi and Yaya

Once Yaya left, Wayne and I started Spanish lessons with Hector. Wayne was much more advanced than I was. He progressed quickly. I learned very little in the few weeks we took lessons. Unfortunately, the lessons were cut short by a call from Louisiana. Carmen had passed away in her sleep.

The call came just before Thanksgiving. We had reservations to spend Thanksgiving week in Ajijic, a town an hour out of Guadalajara. After talking with the grandchildren and the surviving spouses of Wayne's siblings, we decided to continue with our plans and then return to Louisiana for ten days.

Carmen was going to be cremated, and we were able to make arrangements for that by phone. Her ashes would not be ready for at least a week. Much of the family was coming from Florida for the memorial service, and they needed time to get there. Our middle son, Micah, was going to fly in from Hong Kong, which also takes time, so there was no need for us to rush back immediately.

Carmen's 90th Birthday Celebration

Carmen's memorial service was a celebration of her life. Children and grandchildren shared memories at the service. While we all missed her and regretted that we had been unable to say goodbye, we knew we would see her again. We rejoiced that her bedridden body was no more; it had been replaced with a new one like Jesus' resurrected body. We knew she was reunited with her three children and her husband who had all died of Huntington's Disease.

Once we said goodbye to Carmen and took care of the myriad paperwork that is the result of a death, we returned to Guadalajara. Micah and Daniel flew in from Hong Kong for Christmas. We spent the first few days they were there on the beach in Mazatlan. It was wonderful to be with two of my boys and their life partners. We walked the beach, played table tennis, shopped, ate, and played games.

At the end of January, we returned to Louisiana for my next scan. It had now been eight months since my last chemo treatment. I was feeling good. My strength had returned. Wayne and I had been walking most days for up to an hour. My toenails had started to grow back. My hair was growing and curly.

The only thing that continued to plague me was neuropathy in my feet. The skin felt like it was shrink wrapped onto my feet. I was aware of my toes all the time. The doctor had told me it could take up to two years for my feet to return to normal. Although I didn't care for the constant reminder that I had toes, it was a small price to pay for eradicating the cancer. And while it may have messed up my toes, chemo gave me curls, something I had wanted for years. I had been the only girl in my family with straight hair.

The results of the scan were unchanged. I still had four small nodules in my lungs that ranged in size from 2 millimeters to 4 millimetres. The plan was to watch them and see if they started to grow. That they were cancerous was assumed, since they had shrunk with chemo. They had never been large enough to biopsy.

After the scan, I immediately went to see Dr. Legarde and scheduled the lumpectomy for mid-February. A phone call from South Dakota put that on hold. My mother was going downhill fast. She was not eating and was not expected to live for very long. I called the doctor and postponed the surgery until March. We got plane tickets to fly to Sturgis immediately.

We did not arrive in time. Mama passed away before we could get there. My two sisters, Myra and Rhoda, were there with her at the end.

Daddy was buried in the Blackhills National Cemetery for veterans. Mama would be piggybacked on top of him. Like Carmen, she was cremated and her urn buried. My brother, Oliver, arrived from Tennessee after I did. We had a memorial service, a celebration of Mama's life similar to that we had held for Carmen.

Ellie Lee Marson

Although Oliver and I did not make it in time to tell Mama goodbye, we had both seen her in the fall. I had felt at the time that I might be seeing Mama for the last time in this world and had said my goodbyes in my heart at that time.

Rhoda, Andi, Myra, Oliver Marson

We were able to spend several days after the service helping Rhoda go through the things Mama had accumulated over the years. We were surprised to find momentoes that she had carried around for years as she moved from Louisiana, to Mississippi, to Alaska, to Montana, and finally to South Dakota.

She had letters, awards, programs and diplomas from her high school and college years. There were letters we had written her over the years. So many memories had been hoarded and jealously guarded. It was among them that I found the mother's day poem I had written for her.

On March 4, I finally had the lumpectomy. Dr. Legarde removed approximately 2 inches of tissue from my breast. I didn't have much to start with, and removing that much would make me noticeably lopsided, but I didn't care. My self esteem had never been tied to my feminine body.

The surgery was outpatient. I had the port removed at the same time. I was sent home with a bottle of pain pills, which I did not need. I took one the first night. The next day the pain in the breast was gone. The port removal site was a little sore, but not sore enough to need medication. The incisions healed nicely.

On March 29, we got the results from the tissue that had been removed. In the center, there was a small spot of active cancer, but the margins were clear, meaning the doctor had removed what was left of the cancer.

I was surprised when the results showed that some cancer had remained in the breast. I was sure that the test would show that the cancer had been completely destroyed by the chemo. Despite that feeling, I had scheduled the surgery just to make certain the cancer was gone. Now I was glad that I had the surgery.

This result, though, did not bode well for the nodules that remained in the lungs. If there was still cancer in the breast, the chance that the spots in my lungs were cancerous was greater, which meant they would probably eventually grow.

After the January results, Wayne and I had made plans to return to Mexico. This time we planned to spend three months in Ajijic. We were considering retiring there. We both were fairly certain that this was where God wanted us to minister.

We owned a house in Washington Parish, a rural parish with a depressed housing market. We had put it on the market in August. Aaron, our youngest son, was a real estate agent and listed the house. He warned us that the house might not sell for a long time because of its location. One couple had attended the open house he held. No one else showed any interest in the house.

In February, I asked God to sell our house if he wanted us to move to Mexico. Two weeks later, a realtor in Washington Parish showed the house to a couple. They made a cash offer and waived the inspection if they could move in by the end of the month. On March 1, we closed on the house. I couldn't have gotten a clearer answer from God.

My next scan was scheduled for late April. We had tickets to fly out shortly thereafter. We had rented a place to stay at an Air B&B. On April 26, we went to see Dr. Hanson to get the results of the scan. I could tell from his demeanor that the results were not what we hoped.

The nodules in my lungs had started to grow. The one that had been 4 millimetres was now 7 millimetres. The other three were now 4 millimetres, and there were several new spots. Both lungs were involved.

"I think you need to consider more chemo," Dr. Hanson said.

"Now?" I asked.

"In my opinion, the sooner the better."

"But my blood levels are barely low normal. We have plans to return to Mexico for three months. Will it hurt to wait?"

"You can wait for three months and then get another scan. If growth continues, you will need more chemo."

Wayne and I discussed our options and told the doctor we had decided to wait. I knew my body was not ready for more chemo. We knew that God wanted us in Mexico. We would continue our plans and assume the risk.

"All right," Dr. Hanson said. "But if you start to lose weight or become short of breath, call me. You might have to cut your vacation short."

I had a peace with our decision. The Bible says that Jesus provides a "peace that passes all understanding."

In just over a year, we had undergone major stressors. I had retired. I had been diagnosed with cancer. I had moved to a new place and had taken up residence with my mother-in-law. Wayne had changed jobs and then later retired. I had undergone chemo, which ravaged my blood, even though the other side effects were negligible. And both of our mothers had passed away.

According to psychologists, these stressors were enough to cause major health issues, as well as mental and emotional issues. Yet, I was at peace. I was not worried about the progress of my disease or the future. I knew God was in control. He loves me and wants what is best for me. I left for Mexico secure in the knowledge that He was leading.