A Spring of Joy

Today at lunch I was reading the story of Noah to my children. We talked about how the first thing Noah did after he exited the ark was to build an altar of thanksgiving to God for His goodness. The boys began listing all the things that God had given us as we talked about how good He is. “Our house, my brother, my sister, our toys, our lunch, the trees…” all bubbled up and out as the they tried to outdo each other with rejoicing in God’s blessings.

Then the conversation took a turn I wasn’t quite ready for as Asher looked at me, cocked his head, his huge eyes pools of concern.

“Mom? I’m thankful that your treatments are over.”

‘Me, too, buddy. Me, too.”

Micah chimed in with, “God took good care of you, Mommy.”

“Yes, He did, Bear.”

Asher looked at me, long and hard, “You could have died, Mom, couldn’t you? God didn’t let you die.”

Micah turned to me, eyes huge, mouth open, as a realization dawned on him. “Mommy? You could have died?” Green eyes filled with tears. “But you’re here, Mommy. You’re here.”

Yes, boys and little girl obliviously licking her yogurt spoon, I am here and God is good no matter what. I got the phone call this afternoon that my chest MRI came back normal, and I promptly fell into a heaping puddle of sobs. Another clear scan and another reminder of my Lord’s sweet protection over me. Won’t you rejoice with me and my family today?

This morning dawned drizzly and dreary and seemed to match my mood. Bri and I had to be over the mountain at the hospital by 8:00 and y’all know what a morning person he is, so you can imagine how thrilled he was when the alarm woke us this morning. I have been suffering from a cold and spent the night coughing rather than sleeping, so I curled up in our heated seats and listened to the droning of NPR for an hour while we drove through fog so thick you could only see 2 feet in front of you. Although I am prone to exaggeration, that is not one. I actually heard them say it on the radio.

Halfway through the drive, I sat up and told Bri how awful all this stuff is. This cancer in our life. This screening and scanning and wondering and waiting. I was feeling pretty miserable and enjoying my pity party. Then we talked about living in the moment and how horrible it would be if all we focused on was the hard parts. The pain and disease and death and dying and what if’s? It is good to not have to go through this alone. Even if it’s riding in a car with a quiet man who doesn’t talk much in the mornings. It was good to just have his presence. And it is good to just have God’s presence, too.

Bri’s coffee must have helped perk him up, because he started talking once we got through the pea soup fog. And you know what we talked about? Politics. Oil prices. NAFTA. China. Free trade with Columbia. Stuff that on a normal morning would blow my mind, much less on a morning when my brain hasn’t started working yet. I am so glad I married a brilliant man who can explain things to me. I am so glad he is patient and willing to help me understand. I guess he has to. Civics and economics make my head explode, and I’m sure that’s not something he wants to have happen in his car.

Once we topped the mountain, the sun started peaking through, and I started looking around. The dogwoods were breathtaking. The spring green of new buds on trees surrounded us. Old-fashioned, civil war era homes stood strong and proud with their lush lawns. I breathed it in and thanked God for this day. Another day to live. Even if it included scans and questions and fears, it was still a gift from Him.

Arriving at the hospital registration center, I wrote down my life story. Then we were led back to an office and plied with more questions. As I answered, my eyes were drawn to an 8-x11-inch sized paper tacked to the registrar’s wall. It read, “Don’t forget to send MRI patients to the lab first for bloodwork and IV’s” or something like that. All I saw was MRI and IV. It was then I became like an insane animal, nostrils flaring, eyes wide and rolling, erratic breathing. Nobody told me anything about IV’s, and my last experience with them was not pleasant. In case you’ve forgotten, it included 5 hours of them trying to find a vein. (In case you were wondering, my port-a-cath can’t be used for contrast imaging dyes used in scans.) I maintained my composure until we hit the elevator and then I clung to Brian, my strength, yet again.

After making our way through the labyrinth of hallways, we found the MRI waiting area, watched something inane on television and waited. They called me back, and the IV nightmare began. After 3 tries of shoving the needle in further and deeper while my veins rolled underneath, a blown vein, and me almost passing out twice, she finally succeeded in impaling me and sent me on to the imaging room. The worst was over, and all I had left was to lie unmoving in a large metal tube with my earplugs in because those machines are LOUD. Banging and clanging and ringing in my ears. What? What was that? Did you say something? I can’t HEAR YOU.

As I lay on the table, it was a great time to breathe and pray and thank God for getting me through yet another scan and ask Him that it would be clear. A time to lift up my friends who are going through their own trials… it can be overwhelming to think about them all, but it is never overwhelming to pray for them and place them in the most capable hands in the universe. So, if you’re one of the ones struggling, remember… He loves you and so do I.

(I should find out the results some time this week, and my doctor told me that he would call me as soon as he knew something so I wasn’t to worry. He’s such a good doctor. I’ll let y’all know what I hear.)

I’ve been getting a lot of questions about where I am with treatment. What’s happening in my life? How am I feeling? So consider this my attempt to answer your questions… my deep-dark secrets will be revealed, all the things you ever wanted to know about me, those frequently asked question about who I am. My dorky life in middle and high school. My 80’s hair. The WAHM club. Well, no, not really. But if you have a question (about my health update, because I refuse to touch the 80’s) that I don’t answer, feel free to leave a comment and ask me.

So, the frequently asked questions. With my responses, of course.

1. Are you finished with treatment now?
A resounding “No!”. I am finished with the big 3–surgery, chemo and radiation–but am still facing a lot of treatment down the road. I go every three weeks for Herceptin treatments. This is IV-treatment like chemo was but with much less toxic side effects. I will have those treatments through December. Usually the day of and the day after I feel like a truck ran me down, but then I am back to my functioning self. I am also beginning oral medication that I will take for 5 years to control estrogen levels in my body and help prevent the chance of recurrence.

2. Have you been declared cancer free?
That’s a question I just asked my doctor today. I am scheduled to have an MRI on Monday, a Dexa Scan on Wednesday, and another bone scan in May. The MRI and bone scan are to see if there is anything of concern. The Dexa Scan is to get a baseline on my bone density, because one of my new meds can cause osteoporosis. They will do more scans down the road to keep an eye on whether or not cancer has returned.

The two year mark from my first surgery is a good mark. It means I’ve passed the point of highest recurrence risk. 5 years is another milestone. If I were to get breast cancer again in 7 1/2 years, it would be considered a new cancer. One doctor I read put it this way, “Once you die of something else, you know you’ve been cured of breast cancer.” I say that realistically not pessimistically. They will always be watching, scanning, waiting. Opportunities for me to throw myself in God’s hands over and over and over again. That being said my prognosis is very good, and I consider myself as someone who had cancer not someone who has cancer.

3. What is lymphedema and do you have it?
Lymphedema is an abnormal collection of fluid that can occur in my arm because of the number of lymph nodes I had removed. My body doesn’t have the flushing system it needs to fight off infections. Or if I overuse my arm it can cause swelling. I did not have lymphedema until this week; however, Monday my hand and arm started swelling. It has gotten better, but is still there. It is very painful and interferes with the use of my dominant hand. I will go see a Physical Therapist for treatment with this.

4. How are you feeling?
Tired. Bone tired. Weary. Sleeping 8-10 hours a night and then napping during the day and still feeling exhausted. Anxious. All these scans could come back and say “there’s something there” and I would have to start this all over again. It’s brought back a lot of fears. Overwhelmed. Trying to reclaim my home and get back to a new normal is hard. I struggle to wrap my mind around each day. Restless. I want to be back doing my routines, but my body won’t allow. There is a constant emotional, spiritual, mental and physical battle I am working through. And how I am doing can change in a second. This just adds to my weariness. But “I’ll fix my eyes upon the Savior, all other things I count as loss.”

5. Is you hair growing back?
Yes indeedy. I have about 1/2 inch of hair and it’s BLONDE! Ha ha ha. No. It’s just as dark as it ever was. My eyelashes are nowhere to be found yet, but my eyebrows are putting in a scattered appearance. I look every day. Obsessing over my eyes in the mirror. Oh look, a new eyebrow hair today. Hooray! These are the little pleasures I get out of life.

6. When are you coming back to… ?
My heart longs to be back doing all the things I used to do. But I am tired. I need time to rest, write, recoup, to reclaim my home. I am a different person than I was 9 months ago. My perspectives have changed. And being in ministry doesn’t necessarily mean service. I refuse to do ministry just for the sake of doing ministry. I want to be in ministry because I know it’s where I’m called and I know it is where I can serve God best. Right now, first and foremost, I can serve God best in my home and caring for my family. This transition back to our new normal life is hard. I am emotional. I am weary. I am physically unable to do much of what I used to. I am grieving a lot that’s been lost. I am looking to an unknown future. Every time my shoulder or back aches, I immediately wonder, “What if…?” We need to discern where our focus is to be before we jump back into our previous life. In fact, we’ll never jump back into our previous life. We aren’t the same people.

7. What can we do?
That has been a question B and I have struggled to answer throughout this whole process. Sure, we needed meals and people to clean the house and care for our children. But people wanted to do more. And I love that our friends wanted to serve us so much. It is encouraging. So what can you do? I have two answers. For us, you can pray. Pray for peace, protection, guidance, wisdom, and joy as we reenter a world that is much the same, but we are very different. Don’t think that just because the “big 3” are over that we don’t still need the support and encouragement. That’s been one of the hardest parts for me… I am still very isolated. In fact, more so because I’m home with my children myself more. I see less of you. I hear from less of you now. I am busier, so it’s not as easy for me to return contact as quickly as before. I no longer have the weekly support system of all my doctors and nurses and interns. It’s feeling as if I’ve been cut adrift in a sea of new normalcy, but I’m still searching for the oars in order to steer my vessel and find my rowing rhythm. I guess what it boils down to is that while I don’t have the physical energy to pursue right now, we still need you in our life.

The second answer to that question is for you. What can you do? Well, for starters, you can tell the people you love how much you love them every single day. You can eat healthy and exercise and care for your body. You can get scans and do exams and take the precautions advised by doctors to ensure your health. You can laugh a little more each day. You can let go of the need to control and lay your life in God’s hands. You can stop worrying about how you look or if you have the right clothes or shoes or hairstyle. You can find things to be grateful for that you never would have noticed before. You can stop worrying what other people think of you and just be who God created you to be. You can stop comparing or worrying or stressing and start breathing in the sweet aroma of God’s heart for you. You can stop being human doings and become human beings. You can soak in the gifts of each day that God has blessed you with. You can live. I mean really live each day. That’s what I plan to do. Won’t you join me?