"Just enjoy it" There is a phrase that I have heard repeatedly over the past three weeks. For the past 18 days, for the first time in two years and 5 months, I have not had a Dr's appointment. I have not had any blood drawn, no tests run, to treatments given. I have not had an eighteen-day break, much less what will be a five-week break, from some sort of medical something since December of 2005. It is very strange and I have to say, a bit like going through withdrawal. For now, the drama, dread, anticipation, compassion, caregiving, empathetic and even joyous experience of active treatment has ended for me. It feels inactive and passive. It just feels weird.
I have gone through some dark hours trying to stay faithful and true to God and my path. It is so hard to trust when you feel like you are doing nothing. But my part of the path now is to do nothing. Nothing but trust, enjoy, believe. These times are the best of times and the worst of times. The best, for obvious reasons, the worst because suddenly, after years of intense attention from scores of wonderful people, I am alone. I am alone in the fact that the trust, the faith, the belief is entirely up to me right now. I am trying so hard to enjoy this respite, only to find that I am jaded, suspicious and cynical. Yikes!
When one of the nurses or my friends and family tell me to "enjoy it", I can't help but think that they all have a second, unsaid part to the sentence......"because you'll be back for treatment soon enough". They know this disease like I do. They, too, have been fooled before.
Only my daughter remains as the one person who does not know enough, does not want to know enough about what is and what could be to be jaded. She does not want to have anything but absolute trust that her mother is ok. She chooses to stay on the fringes of the medical details, the tests, the prognosis. She is happier that way and sometimes I wish everyone of us could stay that naive for a time....any time. All she knows is that I am living my life like always. Going and doing, loving and laughing, praying and praising.....living life to the fullest....enjoying it. A lesson to be learned from her. She believes I am still who I have been, still able to be there for her, still able to cook, kayak, boat, show dogs, show up when needed, provide funds and a shoulder and reassurance. Her position of never wanting to know the cold, hard facts and only paying attention to the mother who is before her on any given day allows her to enjoy me and believe I am enjoying myself.
So the next time someone tells me to enjoy this time, this little breaky-break, instead of having the "....." of the unsaid darken the back of my mind, I will have the child-like trust of a daughter come to the forefront. I will remember that she believes that I enjoy myself every day, because that is what I tell her. I will do as I tell her as long as I can, and show her every day that I can. If only for her, I will enjoy every second. Shame on me for being so jaded.
"....Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean." Jesus reached our his hand and touched the man and said, "I am willing.".........immediately he was cured." Matthew 8:2,3
Friday, May 30, 2008
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
The Abduction
I had a dream last night. I dreamt about a woman who lived next door to me. Not in reality, but in wherever I lived in the dream, the woman was my next door neighbor. I went to see her about something I can't now recall, but during this visit, her night gown top fell open, and I noticed she had a tube coming out of her chest. It then dawned on me that she was sick or had been hurt. I asked about her condition....was it a surgery, had she been shot or in a car accident? She turned to me, this faceless, nameless, woman and said "No, I've been kidnapped."
I was so stunned by her answer. I turned to see her husband nodding in the background. I wanted to sit down and hear her story about such a terrifying event...find out how long had she been gone....why the tube in her chest? But, as most dreams do, it was gone in a blink, a whisper, a split-second, sub-conscience thought.
Of course, I realize in the glow of this morning's dawn, that this woman was me. Even though she had no face or name, she was me and the people like me, who at some point in their
smooth-sailing lives, got wrapped up in a blanket of fear, pain and disbelief, shoved into a dark van full of medical procedures, tests, and treatments, and held captive, against our will, for months, sometime years, wondering what it was going to take to get back home again. We are wondering if our captors will ever go away and leave us alone on the side of the road....wondering if our ransom will ever be paid. We wonder if our loved ones, who have tried so desperately to get us back, to have us return to a normal life...the way things were before our abduction by cancer.... can continue to hold up during the strain, the agony and anxiousness of knowing we are
in such a dire and life-threatening situation. We wonder and we worry and we wade through the days of our bodies being held hostage.
Sometimes, the position of being the captive is exhausting. The captor is always looking over my shoulder, watching my daily moves, reacting to how free and active and happy I am that day....waiting to ambush me with a pain, a twinge, exhaustion, a small headache. It is then that I know I am still under the thumb, still being held in a dark, dank basement somewhere in the back of my mind by the cancer who came in 2001, set me free in 2002, and kidnapped me again in 2004. This time, I am still waiting for my freedom.
I have all the faith that freedom will come. I will not live in bondage forever. One day, one way,
I will be free from my kidnapper. We hope, pray, and try everything possible to gain my freedom, to satisfy the conditions of my release, here on this earth...in this life. I have walked this path with absolute certainty that my destiny is to bring great things to the glory of God in my triumphs from the evil that hunts, holds, and haunts me....that the ultimate victory will be ours.
The dream about the kidnapped lady aptly described and reminded me that for now, I am still a hostage. That me and those who love me are waiting, hoping, praying for my release and safe return. That we will continue to try to find the right amount of ransom, to figure out what it is exactly that will break the hold and set me free.
Until then, in case you know me and worry about me and pray for me, please remember that in reality, unlike in dreams, my ransom has been paid. It was paid on a hill on a cross on a Friday.
I am just trying to patiently wait for the kidnapper to live up to his end of the bargain. Like all kidnappings, the evil offender is not to be trusted. There are no guarantees from the captor's side, we can only do what we can to fulfill the demands on our side. But freedom, sweet freedom, has always been mine for the taking, for the asking, from a man who was crucified for me and home sweet home has always been just around the corner. I have no doubt, my friends, that one day, I will walk out of the dark, dark basement.
"the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many." Matthew 20:28
I was so stunned by her answer. I turned to see her husband nodding in the background. I wanted to sit down and hear her story about such a terrifying event...find out how long had she been gone....why the tube in her chest? But, as most dreams do, it was gone in a blink, a whisper, a split-second, sub-conscience thought.
Of course, I realize in the glow of this morning's dawn, that this woman was me. Even though she had no face or name, she was me and the people like me, who at some point in their
smooth-sailing lives, got wrapped up in a blanket of fear, pain and disbelief, shoved into a dark van full of medical procedures, tests, and treatments, and held captive, against our will, for months, sometime years, wondering what it was going to take to get back home again. We are wondering if our captors will ever go away and leave us alone on the side of the road....wondering if our ransom will ever be paid. We wonder if our loved ones, who have tried so desperately to get us back, to have us return to a normal life...the way things were before our abduction by cancer.... can continue to hold up during the strain, the agony and anxiousness of knowing we are
in such a dire and life-threatening situation. We wonder and we worry and we wade through the days of our bodies being held hostage.
Sometimes, the position of being the captive is exhausting. The captor is always looking over my shoulder, watching my daily moves, reacting to how free and active and happy I am that day....waiting to ambush me with a pain, a twinge, exhaustion, a small headache. It is then that I know I am still under the thumb, still being held in a dark, dank basement somewhere in the back of my mind by the cancer who came in 2001, set me free in 2002, and kidnapped me again in 2004. This time, I am still waiting for my freedom.
I have all the faith that freedom will come. I will not live in bondage forever. One day, one way,
I will be free from my kidnapper. We hope, pray, and try everything possible to gain my freedom, to satisfy the conditions of my release, here on this earth...in this life. I have walked this path with absolute certainty that my destiny is to bring great things to the glory of God in my triumphs from the evil that hunts, holds, and haunts me....that the ultimate victory will be ours.
The dream about the kidnapped lady aptly described and reminded me that for now, I am still a hostage. That me and those who love me are waiting, hoping, praying for my release and safe return. That we will continue to try to find the right amount of ransom, to figure out what it is exactly that will break the hold and set me free.
Until then, in case you know me and worry about me and pray for me, please remember that in reality, unlike in dreams, my ransom has been paid. It was paid on a hill on a cross on a Friday.
I am just trying to patiently wait for the kidnapper to live up to his end of the bargain. Like all kidnappings, the evil offender is not to be trusted. There are no guarantees from the captor's side, we can only do what we can to fulfill the demands on our side. But freedom, sweet freedom, has always been mine for the taking, for the asking, from a man who was crucified for me and home sweet home has always been just around the corner. I have no doubt, my friends, that one day, I will walk out of the dark, dark basement.
"the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many." Matthew 20:28
Thursday, May 22, 2008
I couldn't stay away.
I couldn't stay away. Even when I want to stay away from this journal, it calls to me. Things happen to me, something is said, a small, intimate act of compassion is shown, something ignites the story in my head. And the story will stay there in my head, getting told and retold to myself until I write it down. This story had to be told because I couldn't stay away from another place.
I couldn't stay away from the dr's office. I was in Raleigh on business, had finished up with plenty of time to visit my daughter and maybe do some shopping. But I found myself inexplicably driving down Tryon road. Suddenly, I was buying Dunkin' Donuts coffee and telling myself I needed to go by the office and pick up my "Fight Like a Girl" t-shirts from Courtney. The truth was, all of that could have waited. I could have stopped by another day, another time, but I just couldn't stay away. I couldn't stay away because I missed them....I missed them all.
I don't miss getting stuck or having my port accessed or having a good spoonful of metastatic disease reality given to me. I don't miss the waiting, the sitting, the steroid buzz, the squeaking of the vinyl chairs or the beeping of the IV pump alarms. I don't miss that whole process. I miss my girls. I miss Maha and Janet, Jennifer and Jan, Gail and Lynn, Caraleena and Courtney, Rebecca and even the girls in the lab. I miss them because they are the one group of people who really knows my heavy, crushing world of cancer. They understand from the depths of their hearts to mine what it is like to deal with the devil, face the darkness, fight the battle. When I walk through the glass doors into the offices on Asheville Avenue, no matter what the reason,
I have sisters waiting for me. We have been bound by something terrible and made into a family that is wonderful. Their dedication to me and those like me takes a raw deal and makes it an extraordinary experience. I just couldn't stay away because when I walk out those glass doors after a visit like yesterday, I am inspired, uplifted, and believing more strongly than ever in our paths, our destinies....and that I will be taken care of.
And I cannot stay away from the writing because they read these words. I cannot stay away when I know it touches their hearts...not when I know they shed tears....not when I know they find meaning in my words. As long as I can bring something to the table for them by writing, I will write. I need for them to know the depths of my respect and love for them. I need for them to know that I think of them almost every day and cannot find enough good things to say about them. I need for them to know every time they touch me and ignite yet another story in my head that goes round and round up there until I write it down. I need for them to know that even though they may look at me every now and then and think that my time with them is limited that they are one of the reasons that my time has been expanded, enriched, and made so meaningful and precious. They help me choose life and choose to live it flat out.
Janet gave me another blank journal yesterday. She knows the written word is my solace, my outlet, my therapy. She heard one of my very first journal entries way back in 2002, when she and I attended a writing workshop during a breast cancer symposium at McKimmon Center. I read it out loud to everyone who was there. I did not know Janet then like I know her now, and vice-versa, but she came up to me after the workshop was over and told me I needed to be a writer. She was the first to say it, even though I have heard it a lot since then. I have always poo-pooed that, as you know, until I broke down last fall and started these entries. She was right. This book starts the eighth journal of hand-written entries and she has given me four of them. I needed to be a writer.
So, you see, how can I stay away from all this.....the writing and the relationships. As much as I thought I needed a break, yesterday convinced me that I can never stay away for long. What would I do without my journaling??? And what would I do without my girls??? I cannot stay away for long because without them I am missing a deep part of myself and life is not colored quite so beautifully. And though I feel like I have fallen short of being able to describe how I feel about all the girls, God has the words for me:
"(I) continually remember before our God and Father your work produced by faith, your labor prompted by love, and your endurance inspired by hope..." 1Th 1:3
I couldn't stay away from the dr's office. I was in Raleigh on business, had finished up with plenty of time to visit my daughter and maybe do some shopping. But I found myself inexplicably driving down Tryon road. Suddenly, I was buying Dunkin' Donuts coffee and telling myself I needed to go by the office and pick up my "Fight Like a Girl" t-shirts from Courtney. The truth was, all of that could have waited. I could have stopped by another day, another time, but I just couldn't stay away. I couldn't stay away because I missed them....I missed them all.
I don't miss getting stuck or having my port accessed or having a good spoonful of metastatic disease reality given to me. I don't miss the waiting, the sitting, the steroid buzz, the squeaking of the vinyl chairs or the beeping of the IV pump alarms. I don't miss that whole process. I miss my girls. I miss Maha and Janet, Jennifer and Jan, Gail and Lynn, Caraleena and Courtney, Rebecca and even the girls in the lab. I miss them because they are the one group of people who really knows my heavy, crushing world of cancer. They understand from the depths of their hearts to mine what it is like to deal with the devil, face the darkness, fight the battle. When I walk through the glass doors into the offices on Asheville Avenue, no matter what the reason,
I have sisters waiting for me. We have been bound by something terrible and made into a family that is wonderful. Their dedication to me and those like me takes a raw deal and makes it an extraordinary experience. I just couldn't stay away because when I walk out those glass doors after a visit like yesterday, I am inspired, uplifted, and believing more strongly than ever in our paths, our destinies....and that I will be taken care of.
And I cannot stay away from the writing because they read these words. I cannot stay away when I know it touches their hearts...not when I know they shed tears....not when I know they find meaning in my words. As long as I can bring something to the table for them by writing, I will write. I need for them to know the depths of my respect and love for them. I need for them to know that I think of them almost every day and cannot find enough good things to say about them. I need for them to know every time they touch me and ignite yet another story in my head that goes round and round up there until I write it down. I need for them to know that even though they may look at me every now and then and think that my time with them is limited that they are one of the reasons that my time has been expanded, enriched, and made so meaningful and precious. They help me choose life and choose to live it flat out.
Janet gave me another blank journal yesterday. She knows the written word is my solace, my outlet, my therapy. She heard one of my very first journal entries way back in 2002, when she and I attended a writing workshop during a breast cancer symposium at McKimmon Center. I read it out loud to everyone who was there. I did not know Janet then like I know her now, and vice-versa, but she came up to me after the workshop was over and told me I needed to be a writer. She was the first to say it, even though I have heard it a lot since then. I have always poo-pooed that, as you know, until I broke down last fall and started these entries. She was right. This book starts the eighth journal of hand-written entries and she has given me four of them. I needed to be a writer.
So, you see, how can I stay away from all this.....the writing and the relationships. As much as I thought I needed a break, yesterday convinced me that I can never stay away for long. What would I do without my journaling??? And what would I do without my girls??? I cannot stay away for long because without them I am missing a deep part of myself and life is not colored quite so beautifully. And though I feel like I have fallen short of being able to describe how I feel about all the girls, God has the words for me:
"(I) continually remember before our God and Father your work produced by faith, your labor prompted by love, and your endurance inspired by hope..." 1Th 1:3
Monday, May 19, 2008
I'm Taking a Break
Janet called me last Thursday at 5:45 in the afternoon. I was sitting on a second-floor balcony, overlooking the waters of Banks Channel, drinking a delightful Pinot Grigio. I felt my reverie was not being interrupted for bad news, and I was right. A day earlier, the day after the waiting day, she had called to say my marker was up 30 points. Not the best of news, but nothing to get excited about. It was expected....I had been taken off chemo and put on an aromotase inhibitor...they expected a flare-up. Still, as always, the number haunted me through the rest of Wednesday and all Thursday. Thursday, at the beach with my daughter. Thursday, walking the 2-mile loop with her at Wrightsville, Thursday, eating Robert's chicken salad. Thursday, on the balcony, sipping wine and enjoying the view at 5:45. Thursday, when Janet told me that my circulating tumor count was 1. At one time, all I wanted, all we were praying for was something lower than 5. It had been 4 in March. It was 1. A number as stunning as the view I was seeing when she told me......when she had made a point to call me while she was working late.....suddenly, the haunting left with the warm early evening breeze. Suddenly, I could breathe again. And I have time again.
For you see, a circulating tumor count is used for prognosis....life expectancies.....a rough predictor of time. It is a tool that Maha will be using to see how long I can go without chemo,
but I view it as a validation of yet another miracle God has given us. One of so many. Another medical number to confirm the great faithfulness of the Lord. Janet said to take the number with a grain of salt, (always cautious), but I am taking it as a marvelous, wonderful sign.
So, for just a little while, my journal entries will not be as numerous. While my body gets its well-needed break, while nails mend and hair grows and stamina returns, my mind, heart, and soul will concentrate on other aspects of my wonderful beautiful life besides telling of the cancer wars as often as I have. I also need a break from the intimacies and intensity of sharing the battle. If I only check in once a week, don't think anything is wrong.....know that everything is totally, absolutely right.
"Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus." 1 Th:16-18
For you see, a circulating tumor count is used for prognosis....life expectancies.....a rough predictor of time. It is a tool that Maha will be using to see how long I can go without chemo,
but I view it as a validation of yet another miracle God has given us. One of so many. Another medical number to confirm the great faithfulness of the Lord. Janet said to take the number with a grain of salt, (always cautious), but I am taking it as a marvelous, wonderful sign.
So, for just a little while, my journal entries will not be as numerous. While my body gets its well-needed break, while nails mend and hair grows and stamina returns, my mind, heart, and soul will concentrate on other aspects of my wonderful beautiful life besides telling of the cancer wars as often as I have. I also need a break from the intimacies and intensity of sharing the battle. If I only check in once a week, don't think anything is wrong.....know that everything is totally, absolutely right.
"Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus." 1 Th:16-18
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
What do we fear
Today is a waiting day. Today is the day after my blood was taken, loaded into a blue-topped vial, and sent off to some unknown place where a nameless person will run my all-important tumor maker. The results should come back today. Good, bad, or indifferent, I should get a call sometime today....so I just have to wait. It is an excruciating, repetitive process. The waiting day has existed every 21 or 30 days for the last four years of my life. It is always a day of anxiety......mixed with a bit of fear.
There is that "F" word again. Fear. What is it exactly that we, as chronic cancer patients are afraid of??? I know the first thought into your head is probably that we are afraid of dying, but for me, that is not it. I found it hard to put my finger on until I saw a documentary on PBS about a month or so ago. Dawn and I had talked about this documentary. It followed four cancer patients in different stages of their journey. At least two of the patients were terminal. I did not watch but a few minutes and then changed the channel to more uplifting subjects like crime scene investigations. Dawn watched the whole thing. It bummed her out, to say the least.
But in the few minutes that I watched, someone asked a patient with pancreatic cancer (who was desperately trying to find treatment options because standard treatment wasn't working), what
she feared the most. Her answer, without hesitation? Letting the people she loved down......having to disappoint them with bad news. Losing the battle that those around her expected her to win. Cheering your heart out the whole basketball game and losing on a last-second shot.
Bingo
That is my fear. That is what makes the waiting day so hard. That is why fear grips me when the phone calls are bad. The burden of being the warrior, the survivor, the winner is sometimes too much to bear.
I am so afraid that one day I will have to tell my 21 year old daughter that, try as hard as Mama
did, she can no longer stay in the fight.
I fear the guilt I will experience if I have to call my prayerful, faithful friends to say that our miracles have ended.
I am so saddened by the thought of leaving a husband alone in a big house with so much stuff that will scream out reminders of our life together that I wasn't strong enough to continue.
I cannot stand the thought of my medical team spreading the bad news among themselves,
disappointed that I wasn't "that one patient" who beats the odds. Regretful of the fact that they have grown to love me like they do.
Ask a cancer patient. Most of them can tell you about this fear and guilt. The strong desire not to disappoint. The guilt of not being able to be strong enough, determined enough, positive enough, and most importantly, faithful enough.
I have been so blessed in this journey....a journey no where near its end....that it seems strange that I am still gripped by fear on this day of waiting. I know that it is because I am so surrounded, so covered with love, support, effort, prayer and medicine, that failure would be devastating to us all. To be the cause of such disappointment, sadness, and defeat is what I fear most of all. People tend to wonder how I continue to live like I do, fight like I do, have faith like I do. There are many facets to the answer to those questions. One my motivators just happens to be a strong fear of failure.
So, as always, when I am afraid, I turn to the God who strengthens me. He brings me comfort and peace, no matter what day it is. He will remove my fear, yet again, never tiring of His soldier having chinks in her armor. Just as David did, when the enemy was near and he was tired, I will turn to a loving and faithful God who understands my battle better than anyone.
Like the Psalmist, I will say of the Lord, "He is my refuge and my fortress, my God in whom I trust. (I) will not fear the terror of the night nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness." Ps 91:2,5,6
And suddenly, the day is bright, the sun is calling, the fear of the day is lifted.
There is that "F" word again. Fear. What is it exactly that we, as chronic cancer patients are afraid of??? I know the first thought into your head is probably that we are afraid of dying, but for me, that is not it. I found it hard to put my finger on until I saw a documentary on PBS about a month or so ago. Dawn and I had talked about this documentary. It followed four cancer patients in different stages of their journey. At least two of the patients were terminal. I did not watch but a few minutes and then changed the channel to more uplifting subjects like crime scene investigations. Dawn watched the whole thing. It bummed her out, to say the least.
But in the few minutes that I watched, someone asked a patient with pancreatic cancer (who was desperately trying to find treatment options because standard treatment wasn't working), what
she feared the most. Her answer, without hesitation? Letting the people she loved down......having to disappoint them with bad news. Losing the battle that those around her expected her to win. Cheering your heart out the whole basketball game and losing on a last-second shot.
Bingo
That is my fear. That is what makes the waiting day so hard. That is why fear grips me when the phone calls are bad. The burden of being the warrior, the survivor, the winner is sometimes too much to bear.
I am so afraid that one day I will have to tell my 21 year old daughter that, try as hard as Mama
did, she can no longer stay in the fight.
I fear the guilt I will experience if I have to call my prayerful, faithful friends to say that our miracles have ended.
I am so saddened by the thought of leaving a husband alone in a big house with so much stuff that will scream out reminders of our life together that I wasn't strong enough to continue.
I cannot stand the thought of my medical team spreading the bad news among themselves,
disappointed that I wasn't "that one patient" who beats the odds. Regretful of the fact that they have grown to love me like they do.
Ask a cancer patient. Most of them can tell you about this fear and guilt. The strong desire not to disappoint. The guilt of not being able to be strong enough, determined enough, positive enough, and most importantly, faithful enough.
I have been so blessed in this journey....a journey no where near its end....that it seems strange that I am still gripped by fear on this day of waiting. I know that it is because I am so surrounded, so covered with love, support, effort, prayer and medicine, that failure would be devastating to us all. To be the cause of such disappointment, sadness, and defeat is what I fear most of all. People tend to wonder how I continue to live like I do, fight like I do, have faith like I do. There are many facets to the answer to those questions. One my motivators just happens to be a strong fear of failure.
So, as always, when I am afraid, I turn to the God who strengthens me. He brings me comfort and peace, no matter what day it is. He will remove my fear, yet again, never tiring of His soldier having chinks in her armor. Just as David did, when the enemy was near and he was tired, I will turn to a loving and faithful God who understands my battle better than anyone.
Like the Psalmist, I will say of the Lord, "He is my refuge and my fortress, my God in whom I trust. (I) will not fear the terror of the night nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness." Ps 91:2,5,6
And suddenly, the day is bright, the sun is calling, the fear of the day is lifted.
Monday, May 12, 2008
A Funny thing
A funny thing happened on my way to Perry, Ga. Perry Ga. is the site of a very large dog show at the Georgia State Fair grounds. People come from all over in RVs, Travel Trailers, Fifth-wheels, and campers because the grounds are so beautiful and there are plenty of places to plug-in your motorhome or whatever you have and enjoy camping out and showing you dogs. It has always been one of my favorite things to do if I have a motor home to stay in. This year, one of my good friends and a co-owner of one of my show dogs brought her RV, so there I was on Wednesday, making my way south, driving for seven hours to get down there, when the funny thing happened.
My phone rang. My phone rang and I looked at the caller ID and for a second fear gripped at me. The display showed the number for my oncologists's office. Uh-oh. Why would they be calling? Was there some test run on my blood that I didn't know about? What was wrong?
Had a patient I was close to lost the fight? All this ran through my mind in a span of about 2 seconds before I said "Hello." The funny thing was......it was nurse Jennifer, just calling to see how I was. She said she had been thinking about me and wanted to see how I was doing. She told me she gave a patient this blog address for encouragement. We chatted for a few minutes and I wished her a happy mother's day. I hung up the phone feeling a little foolish about my initial reaction to the phone call and the caller ID. I thought about her call the rest of the way to Perry and a lot over the past four days. Such a short, unexpected occurrance, with two huge significant blessings.
The first blessing I got from Jennifer's call was the realization that she and those around her
truly care about me, no matter where I am or what I happen to be doing. I am on a new course of treatment, will not be spending as much time with them as I have over the past two and 1/2 years. They could all just tuck me away in the backs of their minds because they have plenty to do, countless other patients to see every week or two, a world of intense medical care to walk into every day, and yet, on that Wednesday at some moment during her busy day, Jennifer thought of me. Something was said or done that made her think to pick up the phone and call me. As short of a call as it was, that gesture was filled with care and concern and love for me.
I am forever intertwined with them and they with me because God put us all together on this road, on this journey. A simple phone call made to me affirms that I am never going to be alone on the journey. Not only will God walk with me and my family and friends and Maha, but the rest of the girls are still up for the trip, still blessing me with their involvement in my life. We are forever woven together by the terrible thing that put me at that office. And as terrible as cancer may seem, the hidden blessings of battle continue to amaze me.
The second blessing of the phone call came toward the end of our conversation. I had been telling Jen that being out of treatment was a little scary, that I hoped I could take a nice long break from chemo, but the unkown was frightening. And she replied without hesitation. "Enjoy yourself," she said. "And if you need to come back, we'll all be here to take care of you." Wow. Such a simple statement. Such powerful words. Just like my God will always be there for me whenever I wander off and stumble back home, my angels will be waiting for me in Cary if need be. From the divine One to the back treatment room, my world, my journey, my walk is filled with people waiting to take care of me whenever I need it, no matter what the circumstances. After we hung up the phone, I had to ask myself....how can I even be scared a little bit. Love really does remove all fear.
"There is no fear in love, but perfect love drives out fear...." 1Jn 4:18
My phone rang. My phone rang and I looked at the caller ID and for a second fear gripped at me. The display showed the number for my oncologists's office. Uh-oh. Why would they be calling? Was there some test run on my blood that I didn't know about? What was wrong?
Had a patient I was close to lost the fight? All this ran through my mind in a span of about 2 seconds before I said "Hello." The funny thing was......it was nurse Jennifer, just calling to see how I was. She said she had been thinking about me and wanted to see how I was doing. She told me she gave a patient this blog address for encouragement. We chatted for a few minutes and I wished her a happy mother's day. I hung up the phone feeling a little foolish about my initial reaction to the phone call and the caller ID. I thought about her call the rest of the way to Perry and a lot over the past four days. Such a short, unexpected occurrance, with two huge significant blessings.
The first blessing I got from Jennifer's call was the realization that she and those around her
truly care about me, no matter where I am or what I happen to be doing. I am on a new course of treatment, will not be spending as much time with them as I have over the past two and 1/2 years. They could all just tuck me away in the backs of their minds because they have plenty to do, countless other patients to see every week or two, a world of intense medical care to walk into every day, and yet, on that Wednesday at some moment during her busy day, Jennifer thought of me. Something was said or done that made her think to pick up the phone and call me. As short of a call as it was, that gesture was filled with care and concern and love for me.
I am forever intertwined with them and they with me because God put us all together on this road, on this journey. A simple phone call made to me affirms that I am never going to be alone on the journey. Not only will God walk with me and my family and friends and Maha, but the rest of the girls are still up for the trip, still blessing me with their involvement in my life. We are forever woven together by the terrible thing that put me at that office. And as terrible as cancer may seem, the hidden blessings of battle continue to amaze me.
The second blessing of the phone call came toward the end of our conversation. I had been telling Jen that being out of treatment was a little scary, that I hoped I could take a nice long break from chemo, but the unkown was frightening. And she replied without hesitation. "Enjoy yourself," she said. "And if you need to come back, we'll all be here to take care of you." Wow. Such a simple statement. Such powerful words. Just like my God will always be there for me whenever I wander off and stumble back home, my angels will be waiting for me in Cary if need be. From the divine One to the back treatment room, my world, my journey, my walk is filled with people waiting to take care of me whenever I need it, no matter what the circumstances. After we hung up the phone, I had to ask myself....how can I even be scared a little bit. Love really does remove all fear.
"There is no fear in love, but perfect love drives out fear...." 1Jn 4:18
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Shifting Shadows
I have been thinking a lot about the perfection of last Thursday. When things fall in line so sublimely, it is so easy to know you are where you belong, you are walking in God's will, you are fulfilling His purpose. The further apart from the perfect happenings you get, the easier it is for the darkness to creep back. Particularly at night, when you wake up alone in the darkness, with nothing but your brain working away, and everyone else asleep.
Then the questions come slinking in. Like the scene from the Ten Commandments where the curse is creeping through Pharaoh's village, taking all the first-born sons, the dark mists of doubt seem to lurk around every corner and sneak under every doorway. The more distant you are from God and his evidence of perfect will, the more doubtful you become of your place in His plan....and you begin to stray from the path.
Straying from the path for me sounds like this:
"why is my leg hurting so much today?"
"what is that odd twinge under my right rib?"
"are my breaths as deep as last week?"
"why do I keep writing the word 'no' for 'know'?"
"they really don't think this break will last long for me."
"who am I kidding.....one day the darkness will overtake me."
"if time is limited, I should be living at the beach."
Doubt and fear, fear and doubt. Satan's tools......faith dimmers.....coming through the darkness at 4:00 in the morning.
So what do you do? When the perfect day seems so long ago and reality steals your joy? You cry out to the Lord who saves you every time. You say through the dark of night, "He is with me, He is with me even till the ends of the earth" You remind yourself of His promises and the fact that God does not change...He does not lie. And you look to the Book.
I found a lot in that Book this morning after a night of shadows. In one of the smaller Books of the New Testament, James, I found words so right and so real, well, you got it, they were perfect.
James 1:2 "Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance"
What do you get for developing perseverance? That's found further down in 1:12.
"Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life..."
It's obvious to anyone who has read one page of this journal that I am going after that crown with everything I've got....with all that is in me....I will persevere. I will push through the darkness and doubt that creep up on me like they did last night. James also had something to say about the shadows of doubt in 1:16
"Do not be deceived, my dear brothers. Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows." Perfect gifts from God, heavenly lights....just what is needed to chase away darkness.
As always, with the rising of a new day and sunlight, God has given me the encouragement I need to get past the dark. He never changes and He blesses those who persevere. I'm counting on that, and hoping for one night soon when sleep will be perfect and no black mist will creep into my dreams of the future.
Then the questions come slinking in. Like the scene from the Ten Commandments where the curse is creeping through Pharaoh's village, taking all the first-born sons, the dark mists of doubt seem to lurk around every corner and sneak under every doorway. The more distant you are from God and his evidence of perfect will, the more doubtful you become of your place in His plan....and you begin to stray from the path.
Straying from the path for me sounds like this:
"why is my leg hurting so much today?"
"what is that odd twinge under my right rib?"
"are my breaths as deep as last week?"
"why do I keep writing the word 'no' for 'know'?"
"they really don't think this break will last long for me."
"who am I kidding.....one day the darkness will overtake me."
"if time is limited, I should be living at the beach."
Doubt and fear, fear and doubt. Satan's tools......faith dimmers.....coming through the darkness at 4:00 in the morning.
So what do you do? When the perfect day seems so long ago and reality steals your joy? You cry out to the Lord who saves you every time. You say through the dark of night, "He is with me, He is with me even till the ends of the earth" You remind yourself of His promises and the fact that God does not change...He does not lie. And you look to the Book.
I found a lot in that Book this morning after a night of shadows. In one of the smaller Books of the New Testament, James, I found words so right and so real, well, you got it, they were perfect.
James 1:2 "Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance"
What do you get for developing perseverance? That's found further down in 1:12.
"Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life..."
It's obvious to anyone who has read one page of this journal that I am going after that crown with everything I've got....with all that is in me....I will persevere. I will push through the darkness and doubt that creep up on me like they did last night. James also had something to say about the shadows of doubt in 1:16
"Do not be deceived, my dear brothers. Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows." Perfect gifts from God, heavenly lights....just what is needed to chase away darkness.
As always, with the rising of a new day and sunlight, God has given me the encouragement I need to get past the dark. He never changes and He blesses those who persevere. I'm counting on that, and hoping for one night soon when sleep will be perfect and no black mist will creep into my dreams of the future.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Perfection
I had two moments last Thursday when things were just perfect. One of those moments where something happens or something is said and you think: that couldn't have been more perfect.
To have two in one day, well, that's just divine.
The first perfect thing that happened last Thursday was something that was said. I was meeting with Maha. We were discussing the coming months. Months of being on hormonal treatment;
months of rest from chemo, months of just every thirty days getting markers taken and seeing if we can just keep things in check without anything else but hormone pills and Zometa. The coming months of a new type of faith. Faith in a little white pill. Faith in restoring my body,
doing what was once so far out of reach we were grasping at straws. We talked about how stunning it was to be at this point with this opportunity....with these results. We made an appointment date for me way out to June 23 and said "Wow". As things were winding down in the exam room, she told me that she had no doubt that nothing she had done here had made any difference in my outcome of that day, that place, that time. That she and I were meant to walk on this path together, God had put us on this path together and we were walking it side by side,
faith to faith. God has know all along that we would be standing there, on May 1, 2008 looking at a calendar and saying "wow".
Maha is hoping for months of success with my new treatment regimen. I know she is already looking down the path, planning her next steps somewhere out there in my medical future, still trying to figure it all out. She also knew that last Thursday was a little scary for me....to let go of the strong stuff, to come off the drug that had such a huge part in the science of my survival. She also knew that above all the talk of what we might do, what may happen, what hope there still is...she needed to tell me about her faith and the path. It was the perfect thing to say. All fear, doubt, and questions fell by the wayside, for they do not belong on our path. Our path is one laid out by the Perfect One as part of His perfect plan. Just perfect.
The second perfect thing that happened was something somebody did. Even though I did not have to go to the back to get a shot I needed, Rebecca told me I had to go to the treatment room. That was okay anyway, because I got to see Lisa, who inspired me to write my journal entry "This is what you get". She just happened to be there, getting Herceptin and looking forward to her last treatment of heavy chemo. She was coming through it with a smile, still surrounded by her family. That was perfect to see, but it was a side bonus. The perfect thing that I found out that someone did was that Jan had painted "The Curtains" for me.
"The Curtains" is a journal entry written somewhere back in February or March, but it is an analogy of going through the dark days of doubt during treatment that I have used when offering encouragement to those who are trying find their way through the darkness. The curtains start out dark and heavy and you have to part each one aside as you navigate through the cancer treatment experience. Finally, one day you realize you can see light through the curtains and then, you get to the last set of curtains and there is daylight in front of you. You can part the last set of curtains and step through them out into a new dawn, a new day. So sweet Ms Jan went to the CCNC support group art night and painted the curtains. Her painting shows the curtains in the forefront, a path just outside the window, a path that leads to a beautiful sunrise and glorious sky. Beautiful, beautiful. But without even knowing...she couldn't possibly have known....not only had Jan painted my curtains, but she had painted the path....the path that Maha had just talked to me about.....our path is also in the picture. How perfect is that?
One last footnote: After getting home yesterday from a three-day trip to Charleston with my friend Jennifer (also near-perfect), I took the painting of "The Curtains" out of my car and into the house. When I laid it face-down on the bed I noticed something for the first time. There, in the upper left corner on the back of the canvas Jan had painted an eye, a heart, and the letter "U". I love you. Perfect.
"Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is--his good, pleasing and perfect will." Romans 12:2
To have two in one day, well, that's just divine.
The first perfect thing that happened last Thursday was something that was said. I was meeting with Maha. We were discussing the coming months. Months of being on hormonal treatment;
months of rest from chemo, months of just every thirty days getting markers taken and seeing if we can just keep things in check without anything else but hormone pills and Zometa. The coming months of a new type of faith. Faith in a little white pill. Faith in restoring my body,
doing what was once so far out of reach we were grasping at straws. We talked about how stunning it was to be at this point with this opportunity....with these results. We made an appointment date for me way out to June 23 and said "Wow". As things were winding down in the exam room, she told me that she had no doubt that nothing she had done here had made any difference in my outcome of that day, that place, that time. That she and I were meant to walk on this path together, God had put us on this path together and we were walking it side by side,
faith to faith. God has know all along that we would be standing there, on May 1, 2008 looking at a calendar and saying "wow".
Maha is hoping for months of success with my new treatment regimen. I know she is already looking down the path, planning her next steps somewhere out there in my medical future, still trying to figure it all out. She also knew that last Thursday was a little scary for me....to let go of the strong stuff, to come off the drug that had such a huge part in the science of my survival. She also knew that above all the talk of what we might do, what may happen, what hope there still is...she needed to tell me about her faith and the path. It was the perfect thing to say. All fear, doubt, and questions fell by the wayside, for they do not belong on our path. Our path is one laid out by the Perfect One as part of His perfect plan. Just perfect.
The second perfect thing that happened was something somebody did. Even though I did not have to go to the back to get a shot I needed, Rebecca told me I had to go to the treatment room. That was okay anyway, because I got to see Lisa, who inspired me to write my journal entry "This is what you get". She just happened to be there, getting Herceptin and looking forward to her last treatment of heavy chemo. She was coming through it with a smile, still surrounded by her family. That was perfect to see, but it was a side bonus. The perfect thing that I found out that someone did was that Jan had painted "The Curtains" for me.
"The Curtains" is a journal entry written somewhere back in February or March, but it is an analogy of going through the dark days of doubt during treatment that I have used when offering encouragement to those who are trying find their way through the darkness. The curtains start out dark and heavy and you have to part each one aside as you navigate through the cancer treatment experience. Finally, one day you realize you can see light through the curtains and then, you get to the last set of curtains and there is daylight in front of you. You can part the last set of curtains and step through them out into a new dawn, a new day. So sweet Ms Jan went to the CCNC support group art night and painted the curtains. Her painting shows the curtains in the forefront, a path just outside the window, a path that leads to a beautiful sunrise and glorious sky. Beautiful, beautiful. But without even knowing...she couldn't possibly have known....not only had Jan painted my curtains, but she had painted the path....the path that Maha had just talked to me about.....our path is also in the picture. How perfect is that?
One last footnote: After getting home yesterday from a three-day trip to Charleston with my friend Jennifer (also near-perfect), I took the painting of "The Curtains" out of my car and into the house. When I laid it face-down on the bed I noticed something for the first time. There, in the upper left corner on the back of the canvas Jan had painted an eye, a heart, and the letter "U". I love you. Perfect.
"Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is--his good, pleasing and perfect will." Romans 12:2
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