A Spring of Joy

So here we are… or rather, here I sit, in the dark of the night trying to figure out just how to explain where I am without it being boring or tedious. But how can I write something other than what is? Because this all seems so boring and tedious to me.

Because waiting seems tedious.

And that’s where I am.

Waiting.

Waiting on phone calls and insurance companies and explanations.

And here I am.

I spent way too much time on the phone Thursday and Friday to hear, “Well, the doctor wants you to have the biopsy and not the PET because insurance might not cover it because it’s more expensive.” Soooo… can we find out?

I talked her into just scheduling it to see if insurance would approve it. In the meantime, I’m to discuss it again with Brian and take my time because, in the nurse’s words, “There’s no urgency here.”

I went crazy in my mind (because we all know I’m not. quite. there. yet.) with a, “WHAT?!” How is there no urgency here? I still don’t have an answer to that one… but I do have a PET scan scheduled, so I’m just gonna go with it.

Yesterday the nurse called to give me my appointment time (and it’s at the hospital I prefer–praising God for that), and I asked her if insurance had approved it. She still didn’t know, so if they don’t approve it, they’re going to call me and let me know.

So here I am.

Waiting.

Thursday morning at 8:30 is the PET scan pending insurance approval.

And I sit here in the dark and I pray… I pray for peace and strength, for my family, for friends. There are so many hurting people in my life. I pray to know God more and more. I pray for truth.

Because isn’t this what I need? What I want?

I want comfort, but I need the comfort that truth brings. I need truth to speak into the darkness. I need to dig deep into the wells of God and Who He is and what is true in His Word. And as I sit here in darkness, the truth shines the light and the fountains of grace overflow.

And I find that this place of waiting… well, it isn’t tedious or boring. It’s hard yes, but it’s beautiful, too.

“Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.” (Luke 12:27)

(Written March 31, 2011)

What follows is a long and possibly tedious update for those of you wondering where we are and what’s happening…

I had blood work yesterday to make sure my clotting factors were all fine for the biopsy, but feeling unsettled and confused about some communications, I called my endocrinologist with some questions and too see about moving the biopsy to our local hospital.

The nurse that called me back is awesome. She read the ultrasound report over the phone to me to be sure I understood everything.

The ultrasound found an enlarged lymph node (it’s 2mm) but did not find any thyroid gland tissue. That is a good thing.

The enlarged node looked normal. That is also a good thing.

Then she read, “Patient has two options. Needle aspiration biopsy or PET scan.”

Wait. You mean I can have a scan and NOT the biopsy, and it will show if there is cancer there?

Yep.

AND if I have a PET, they may be able to order full body so it will look at the abdomen to double check and make sure there’s no cancer there that’s causing my abdominal pain. Also, the PET would eliminate the need for a thyroid scan and depletion of thyroid meds in February.

The down side to the PET is that it’s more radiation exposure. I’ve had one other PET. The other down side is that if it shows something, I’ll have to have a biopsy anyway. Although if the biopsy were to show cancer, I’m guessing they’d scan me to see if it spread.

So.

We have a decision to make. She is going to talk with my doctor and I am to call her after lunch today to discuss further.

I also asked her about moving it up to our local hospital because of the negative experiences I’ve had at at the hospital where my endocrinologist works. Once I explained what I had gone through last week (long story, but it wasn’t pleasant and instilled no confidence in that hospital), she said she’d do whatever it took to get me up to our local hospital if we go the biopsy route.

So. There you have it. I’m still in waiting mode. I’m still in a lot of pain.

But my fears are alleviated to some degree. Things look good… or at least promising… hopeful that this is not cancer again.

Still.

If the sky darkens with bad news, life is full of good things.

Too many to count.

Thank you for praying, my friends…

I’ve written about them before… these patches of Godlight as C.S. Lewis calls them. Those moments when in the woods of our experience, we see God’s hand.

These days, it seems the woods of my experience look a bit like this:

It’s easy to get bogged down in the brambles and thorns and briars and miss what this life is really all about.

Then yesterday happened.

I got a call in the morning from the hospital, “Angela,” her tone seemed a bit sheepish, “This is the radiology department. We scheduled your biopsy on a date when they are going to be doing routine maintenance on the machine. Are you able to move your biopsy?”

I almost dropped the phone. Instead of having to make multiple phone calls, try and chase someone down from the right department to move everything so Brian could be by my side, God just handed the date change to me.

Once again He was showing me He is in this.

No matter the results.

He is in this.

He always has been.

And He is showing me huge swatches of Godlight–beautiful reminders that He is with me, with us. Even when I can’t see His hand, it is always moving for my good and His glory. It makes me want to laugh and cry and worship all at the same time.

Thank you for praying, my friends, for the small details like getting my appointment moved. He chose to answer, “yes,” to your prayers. My biopsy is Tuesday, November 5. It is a long time to sit in this waiting period… but He is with us here.

One must learn to walk before one can run. So here, we–or at least I–shall not be able to adore God on the highest occasions if we have learned no habit of doing so on the lowest… Any patch of sunlight in a wood will show you something about the sun which you could never get from reading books on astronomy. These pure and spontaneous pleasures are “patches of Godlight” in the woods of our experience.
(from Letters to Malcolm by C.S. Lewis)

On Monday, I spent three hours at the hospital having an ultrasound on my neck and a barrage of blood work. All went well at the appointments, although the ultrasound was painful. I wanted to feel happy about that. I wanted to be thankful. I stopped by to visit a friend, a quick hug, a few moments of sharing life, telling each other stupid jokes to make us laugh. But as I left her, all I could feel was the overwhelming sense of fear and dread, the “what if?” of the results of it all. Until…As I began the drive home, the sun was just beginning to set, and I found myself almost intoxicated by the beauty of Fall in the Valley. And my lament turned to worship.

Today I learned that there is indeed an enlarged node in my neck, and I have a biopsy scheduled next week. I caught my breath as she told me and felt as if the rug had been pulled out from underneath me. How many times do I have to experience this before the surprise of it all stops impacting me? I called my Bri, and the heaviness in his voice broke my heart. I called my parents and wept, and when Daddy got on the phone and I heard the break in his voice, I could bear it no more.

It’s the “not again” of it all. It may be clear, and I am working to not borrow tomorrow’s troubles. But I know the biopsy will be painful. Very painful. I’ve had three before, so I know I can do this. But I don’t want to do this. I want to just curl up in a ball and cry. Then I want to jump up and fight. And I wrestle with this manic flux of emotions.

I know a large part of my struggle is an exhaustion that is all-encompassing. I am not sleeping well. I am wrestling the dark thoughts and fears that wash over me; chanting prayers all through the night. I am in pain from the swollen node. I am in pain and have surgery scheduled in November on my abdomen to repair a hernia and clean up scar tissue from my other surgeries. I am still in pain from treatment, even from chemo years ago. I am spiritually weary from the battle… mentally, emotionally, physically.

Y’all these days are hard. I am a roller coaster of emotions. Satan wants to rob me of all joy. He doesn’t want me to see the beauty in each day, to be grateful, to grow. He wants the ugliness of cancer to impact me not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually and mentally. He doesn’t want me to live life. He wants me self-consumed and miserable.

Psalm 42 isn’t a happy psalm. He is in depression. He is struggling with questions. He is in agony. He is battling the enemy.

BUT

He is fighting for hope.

He still sings.

He preaches truth to himself.

And so I follow his example and I preach truth to myself. I may feel alone as I face the biopsy, but He will never abandon me. I may be exhausted, but He is my strength. I may feel like a failure, but He will never fail me. I may buckle under the weight of the blows of the enemy, but He is my shield. I may let go to steady myself, but He will never release His hold on me. I may not be able to sing the harmony, but He is singing over me with a melody more beautiful than any on earth. I may feel death in my body, but He has conquered death. I may feel as if life is against me, but He is FOR me.

And like the psalmist, I turn to truth. I read His Word–sufficient for all things. And I sing my song of desperation, how “when my soul is downcast, and my voice has no song, for mercy, for comfort, I wait for the Lord.”

And like the psalmist, I am fighting for hope.

And hope does not disappoint.

(I covet your prayers, friends. The enlarged node is deep in my neck, and the biopsy is scheduled next week. My Brian, my steady love, is out of town the day it’s scheduled, so I am working to move it so he can be there. Would you ask God for no cancer? Would you pray for my heart as I wait? For my family? The children do not know at this point. And would you pray for my fear to not consume me? Our hope is in HIM alone.)