Trusting through the Unknown

Biopsy – April 17th

My mom took me to my biopsy appointment that morning, while Andy went with Graysen to another doctor’s visit. He met us at the hospital just before my procedure.

When Dr. Longo—a very young-looking doctor—walked into the room, she began explaining what to expect. As she talked, she mentioned they would be taking a sample from my right lumbar vertebrae. I waited until she stopped and then asked, “Is there a reason you’re taking it from the right side when it’s my left side that’s been hurting?” She stopped for a moment and said, “No, you’re absolutely right—it is the left side.” 

Well… if that didn’t do much for my confidence.

I also asked what it actually meant to do a bone biopsy. She explained that it would be a needle biopsy using imaging guidance, and that they would take two small bone samples. She had a great sense of humor and reassured me that everything was precisely programmed, so she really couldn’t miss the spot.

As the nurse came in to get me ready to go back, Andy—true to form—kept talking and asking questions. Anyone who knows Andy can probably picture that. Finally, my mom stepped in and said, “Andy, you need to stop talking so they can take her back.”

When we got into the procedure room, the mood lightened a bit as we started chatting. I mentioned that my daughter was having three friends over that night for a sleepover to celebrate her 13th birthday. I’m usually the one who makes the cakes, but this time Grandma was stepping in to make our favorite oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. One of the nurses asked if I had ever had tres leches cake and started describing it—it sounded amazing.

Then it was time to get into position. I climbed onto a very narrow exam table, unsure where to put my hands as I lay face down. Since they needed to reposition me during the procedure, they had me lift up into a sort of plank so they could slide a sheet underneath me. Then they wrapped me up tightly—like a mummy—so I wouldn’t move.

As everything was getting set, I heard someone say, “Okay, we’re doing the right side.” At that point, I wasn’t sure if they were joking, but I quickly said, “It’s the left—the left side.”

I was awake during the procedure, though I must have drifted in and out because I don’t remember much—not even seeing Dr. Longo.

When they wheeled me back to recovery, I remember asking the nurse again for the name of that cake. We had to stay a few more hours before I could go home. My mom gave me a hug and headed back to help get things ready for the birthday sleepover, while Andy stayed with me. I ended up napping for a couple of hours, and before long, they were getting me ready to go.

We asked how long it would take to get the results, and they said typically 3–5 business days—which meant waiting through the weekend. But they also mentioned that Dr. Hake tends to move things along quickly. Since we already had an appointment scheduled with him the following Wednesday, we were hopeful he’d have answers by then.

Surprisingly, I wasn’t too sore afterward. Before bed that night, I asked my mom what the biopsy site looked like. She said, “I think I can see it,” which made me realize it was much smaller than it had felt in my mind.

We kept things pretty low-key over the weekend. My dad came down on Saturday after state bowling, and on Sunday, my cousin Brian and his wife Jen stopped by for a visit. Monday, I had an MRI of my head to check for any cancer in that area. Tuesday was the first day with no appointments, and I was able to just be present and enjoy time with my parents.

The waiting in all of this has been the hardest part. There are so many unknowns—so much that’s out of our control. Letting go and trusting God has truly been a test for me. I’ve been incredibly grateful for all the messages, prayers, and encouragement. My friend Cindy shared a song with me that I listened to right before the biopsy, and it brought me a sense of peace. 

Katy Nichole - "In Jesus Name (God of Possible)"

Holding on through the Unknown

PET Scan – April 15th

The days leading up to the PET scan—and the unknown that came with it—were truly agonizing. I can honestly say I had rarely seen Andy cry, but during those days, he held me with tears in his eyes. He kept reassuring me that everything would be okay, and that no matter what, he would keep our children grounded in faith. We held each other often, but it felt different this time—heavier, as fear quietly settled in.

The PET scan itself wasn’t too bad. It was at least much quicker than the MRIs I had the week before. When it was over, I sat up slowly and took a moment before standing. I said a small prayer and asked the technician how long it would take to get the results. She mentioned it was already late in the afternoon, so it might not be until the next morning before Dr. Hake called.

When I got home, Andy came home right away instead of going to track practice. We were all waiting, anxious and on edge. Then, just a few hours later, my phone rang—Dr. Hake.

As Clara handed me the phone, I told her to go get her dad. We stepped out onto the deck together, and I put the call on speaker so we could both listen. Dr. Hake began gently, “I am so sorry, Sheila…” and then the words that changed everything: metastatic bone cancer. He explained it had been found in multiple areas—my left hip, lumbar spine, ribs, scapula, skull, and femur—but there was no evidence in my liver, lungs, or brain. He repeated how sorry he was.

Tears filled my eyes, and I didn’t know what to say. Andy immediately began asking questions. I don’t even remember what he asked—I felt frozen in that moment, like time had stopped. Dr. Hake told us they would schedule a biopsy for Friday to determine whether this was a recurrence of my breast cancer or something new. He ended the call with his gentle voice saying, “Hang in there. We’ll talk again soon.”

After we hung up, the kids came out to the screened porch where we were sitting, holding each other. We shared the news with the kids. With tears in their eyes, they wrapped me in the biggest hugs. Andy tried to reassure them that this was something we could treat. But in my mind, I couldn’t help but wonder—how could this be treatable when it was in so many places already?

Looking Back: The Signs I Didn’t Yet Understand

Looking back, I can’t help but ask myself—what symptoms were early warning signs that something more serious was going on?

In early March 2026, I began experiencing episodes of pressure in my left arm along with numbness in my fingers. However, I have cording at my surgical site and this can cause tightness. Most of the time, I can manage it with stretching on my own. This was followed by chest pressure and a constant tightness in my arm. Naturally, this raised concerns about my heart, and I went to the emergency room. My bloodwork came back normal, and the CT scan of my chest didn’t show any vascular issues.

Then came the pain in my left hip and lower back, also beginning in March. It felt like a deep ache—tender to the touch and hard to ignore. I was starting to not sleep on my left side because of the pain—even though that’s the side I’ve always slept on. Over spring break, I decided to try running to prepare, even just a little, for the upcoming track season. I ended up walking more than running. Every time I tried to pick up my pace, I felt intense pain in my hip and back. It got to the point where I could barely lift my left leg as high as my right. After about a quarter mile, I had to stop and walk, even considering calling my son, Gavin, to come pick me up.

At the time, I assumed I had pulled a muscle. I tried everything—ice, heat, ibuprofen, stretching—but nothing touched the pain. I called the MHS Health Clinic and was able to get in right away. They prescribed muscle relaxers, but those didn’t help either. The following Monday, April 6th, just after Easter, I called again. That’s when they recommended an MRI along with starting physical therapy.

I wasn’t able to get in until Friday, April 10th. That day was long—nearly three hours for the MRI, both with and without contrast. Looking back, I remember asking the technician if it usually took that long. She told me they needed to image three different areas and repeat everything with contrast. At the time, I didn’t think much of it—but I do remember the look in her eyes. There was a quiet sympathy there that now feels different in hindsight.

That same afternoon, I went to physical therapy. During the evaluation, it was clear I had reduced mobility on my left side due to the hip and back pain. The therapist also noted that my hips seemed misaligned and thought we could work on that over the coming weeks. He gave me one exercise I could do without pain, and I went into the weekend not thinking much beyond that.

Then Monday, April 13th changed everything.

I received a message to call the clinic about my MRI results. After my third block class ended, I made the call. The nurse’s voice was gentle but heavy as she said, “Unfortunately, the results show that your cancer is back.”

I felt numb. Completely in shock. How could this be happening again?

I broke down on the phone, and she cried with me. At that point, they didn’t yet know where it had originated or how far it had spread, but she assured me they had already contacted Dr. Hake and that next steps were being put into motion.

I sat there in my classroom, sobbing, unsure what to do next. Eventually, I walked down the hallway and went to a coworker’s room. When she opened the door, all I could say was, “My cancer is back.” I felt like I was going to collapse. She held me as I cried uncontrollably.

The questions flooded my mind: How is this happening? Why? Is this a new cancer, or is my breast cancer back? Where else is it in my body?

After some time, she gently said, “Let’s get you out of here.” She gathered my things, walked me out of the building, and assured me she would take care of my next class and inform the track coaches.

When I got home, I was on the phone again with a nurse, trying to process everything. My son Graysen was home sick and could tell something was wrong. When I got off the phone, I went to him, and he held me as we both cried.

I called my parents and waited to reach Andy. When he called before track practice, he said he was coming straight home.

That evening, we still went to Gavin’s home track meet—it was senior night. We walked out onto the track with him, and I held onto that moment as tightly as I could. Watching him race brought a sense of normalcy, even in the middle of everything unraveling.

After the meet, we told Andy’s parents in the parking lot. Later at home, we told Clara, who cried and held me tightly. When Gavin got home, we shared the news with him. He didn’t say anything—he just turned and walked downstairs. Later, Andy went to him and reminded him that he didn’t have to be strong right now. When Gavin came back upstairs, he wrapped his arms around me, and we both cried together.

Tuesday, I went to work. I didn’t have appointments yet, and I felt like I needed to prepare—just in case it would be my last day in the classroom for a while. Throughout the day, the calls started coming in. By then, I knew I had a PET scan scheduled for Wednesday.

I made sub plans, copies, videos—everything someone would need to just press “play.” By the end of the day, I had prepared enough for the next week and a half. After school, I gathered my math team and administration and shared the news. They were incredibly supportive, immediately stepping in to help—taking my quizzes with them to grade and telling me not to worry about school they will take care of everything. 

As they left, I hugged each of them. Then I finished a few last things, stood in my classroom, and closed the door with tears in my eyes—knowing this might be my last day there for a while.

The fear of the unknown is overwhelming. It’s hard to trust that God has a plan when your world feels like it’s been completely turned upside down. I was—and still am—angry, confused, and scared.

But I’m here.
Taking this one breath at a time.
Navigating this next chapter as it comes.

Intro at 46

I always thought I had a pretty good life. I was blessed with incredible parents who supported me in everything and pushed me to be the best version of myself. My two older brothers were always there—protective, steady, and looking out for me. I grew up, did well in school and sports, went to college, and married my best friend. Together, we built a beautiful life and were blessed with three amazing children.

At 34, everything changed. The words no one ever expects to hear stopped me in my tracks and turned my world upside down. But somehow, through the fear and uncertainty, life moved forward—and I was given 12 more years to watch my children grow, to make memories, and to hold onto the blessings I once feared I might lose.

Now, at 46, I hear those words again: your cancer is back. The same heaviness settles in, the same sense of disbelief. How can this be? How can life feel so full and steady one moment, and so fragile the next? I’m still trying to take it in—but my story doesn’t end here. Even in the uncertainty and fear, I know I am not walking this path alone. This is not the end; it’s a place where my faith is stretched, deepened, and where I learn to trust Him more fully.

Update and Info for ParkWalk 2017

2016 ParkWalk - Sheila Strong

Just wanted to quickly share out how I've been doing.

I've had quite a few ups and downs with work, and have been struggling with some other things.  I've been struggling with post cancer depression and have had multiple anxiety attacks.  I know most people will not understand, but for whatever reason I just feel like I have to have cancer somewhere and I just have to find it.

My headaches were getting more frequent.  In December, the fingers in my left hand kept going numb and I felt lots of pressure in my upper left arm.  I went from diagnosing myself with carpal tunnel, to having lymphedema, to having a heart attack.  Early January, I went in to see my oncologist and told him I was going crazy!  He ensured me that I wasn't, but did suggest that I start on an antidepressant.  They also did a head scan for my headaches (which came back clear), and also had me start back at physical therapy to work on my arm.

Overall, I do feel a little bit better.  I did 4 weeks of physical therapy and have been trying to make more time for myself.  I've been heading to my "Beat Cancer Bootcamp" once a week and am hoping that I continue moving in a positive direction.

Consider joining us for this years ParkWalk on May 6th.  Register to join the Sheila Strong team or consider making a donation.  Thank you to everyone for their continued support!

http://events.phci.org/site/TR/Walks/General?team_id=1610&pg=team&fr_id=1133

A week ago I went to a Casting Crowns concert in Milwaukee with my friends K8 and Jessy.  We had such a wonderful time and it really is uplifting listening to K-Love radio (christian rock).  As I'm driving in the car it is so cool to have my kids singing along with me and praising God.  He truly has been by my side throughout this whole thing and somedays he knows exactly what I need to hear.  The last song of the concert Unspoken, Danny Gokey, and Casting Crowns came out and together sang, "Glorious Day".

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VXp6xcY5IqU

May we all remember what sacrifice Jesus made for us, and truly how blessed we are!  

Until the day he returns or calls us home, may we all praise his name!

Med Port Removed and Surgery

This surgery definitely snuck up on me this summer.  We kept very busy so it wasn't on my mind to much.  I was very excited to get the med port finally out, but was nervous for the breast augmentation (aka: repositioning surgery).

Surgery was scheduled for Tuesday, July 19th at 1:30.  As soon as we got there they started getting everything moving and we went into surgery early.   Surgery lasted for about an hour.   As Dr. Sonderman worked on suturing the pocket higher on the right side, he didn't like the way the implant was looking.  So he ended up putting in a whole new implant in on the right side.  Surprisingly enough, I came out of anesthesia the best I ever have.  I was able to eat a couple crackers, get some fluids in, make a bathroom stop, and walk in the halls.   I was ready to be discharged and on my way home by 6, which was way earlier than I anticipated.

I did struggle trying to get comfortable the first night and the pain was a little more than I anticipated.  I'm not going to lie, I did cry.  I was pretty diligent about taking my pain pills.  I even woke Andy up at 4 AM to see if I could take any yet.

Med Port Removed!  Yeah!!!!

Over the next couple of days things did get easier.  The hardest part was just getting out of the recliner or the bed.  I was able to walk around outside, took lots of naps, and read books with my kids.



Now I'm moving around quite well and back to doing most of my normal activities.  For those that know me, I was able to take a zoo trip yesterday, so I'm definitely moving in the right direction.  Hoping in a couple of weeks to get back to running again.

Thank you again to my mom and Grandma Getter for coming down and helping make things go easier on the home front.  I'm very blessed that you were able to come and be here for me through this.  Thank you to my amazing husband Andy.  You have shown me that I can accomplish things I never thought I could.  You always believed in me.  I love you more and more with each day.

To all my family and friends.  Thank you again for all the support given to me over the past week.  The cards in the mail, a ton of text messages and emails sent with loving support.  You are all amazing, and I am so very blessed to have you all in my life.

Update and Parkwalk Info 2016

So apparently I get to be famous for one more year!  I don't think I realized just how many people would see my face on this years pamphlet for the ProHealth Care Walk for Cancer. I've had tons of people from church, school, and even in my community say, "Hey were you on a pamphlet for a walk coming up?"  Pretty cool thing.

 I will not be talking in front of everyone, but will be walking among so many amazing people.  If you are interested in joining my team this year we would love to have you come out and support me, and everyone else that has been affected by cancer.  


Team name is Sheila Strong. 
You can sign up at prohealthcare.org/walksforcancer.   

February has been a month of checkups and meeting with all of my Doctors.  Earlier this month I met with my oncologist Dr. Hake.  I had found another lump (3rd one now) that had me a little worried.  After meeting with Dr. Hake, he assured me that he was not concerned but that we would still need to investigate it just to be sure.  Two days later, I was in again having another ultrasound done, but this time on my right side just below my port.  Thank you again to my cousin Rhonda for coming along with me!  It was nice to have someone along for support, just in case.  Results came back right away showing at this time there was NO sign of cancer.  Most likely it is either fluid buildup or fatty necrosis.  However, in 2 months I will have more imaging done on the 3 areas to make sure they are not changing.  

At my appointment with Dr. Hake, we talked about many different things as far as what would be the best for treatment options for me moving forward.  My blood work came back, and my hemoglobin levels are still really low so they have started me on some iron supplements.  I'm still on the Tamoxifen pill, but have also decided to try being on the Lupron shot.  Lupron typically is used to reduce the risk of hormone-receptor-positive breast cancer from coming back in premenopausal women after surgery and other treatments.  It basically will shut down my ovaries, however, with every medication comes the wonderful list of side effects.  The worst ones have been the hot flashes and mood swings.  I told Dr. Weyers when I met with her last week that I feel like I can't control my emotions.  I'm all over the board.  She assured me that they are messing with the chemical balance in my body, and that it's not me.  

I also met with my plastic surgeon this month.  I will be having a "revision" surgery sometime over summer to adjust my right breast.  Radiation tightened the left side, and in my eyes I look uneven.  I figured if it bothered me enough, I should probably go through the surgery.  It sounds like it will be about a week for recovery, and in 3 weeks I should be back to normal activities.  During this surgery they will also remove my port.

Adjusting back to life after cancer has had its many ups and downs.  The thoughts of having a recurrence are in my mind everyday.  I'm always thinking about what I can do to help prevent it from happening.  I try to remind myself that as much as we would like to know what God has in store for us, I have to trust in his plan.  I do appreciate the moments I have with my friends and family, and will always be wishing for more.

Quotes:
"You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face.  You must do the thing which you think you cannot do" - Eleanor Roosevelt

Deuteronomy 31:6 "…Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of them, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you.”