Faithfully Fighting

The conversation I’ve been having with myself over the last few days:  “I need to blog.  I’ve promised to blog more often and I have info to blog.  Get up and blog.  Stop knitting and blog.”  It has continued along that line for several days.  I’m not really sure why I’m having so much trouble walking up to my PC and typing away.  It’s usually therapeutic and wonderful.  So today I’m doing something I rarely do, I’m forcing myself to type a blog.  I hope it doesn’t turn out to be boring. 

I have been knitting.  I’m not a very good knitter, and I’m a little embarrassed to even discuss it, but it’s incredibly therapeutic for me lately.  It uses enough brains that it’s distracting, I can’t concentrate on too many other things, and yet it’s repetitive enough that my mind doesn’t have to be completely focused.  It’s kind of like watching a documentary on TV, only productive.  I’m working on an afghan that is made up of 20 different squares.  There are something like 60 square patterns in the book, which is really good because there is a lot about knitting I don’t know how to do.  I do get on the internet and watch the youtube demos, but I still don’t get some of it.  So I concentrate on the squares that I can actually manage to make and they look, at least a little, like the picture in the book.  I’ve got six squares done so far and am working on the seventh, that is called valentine hearts and actually has little hearts knitted into it.  I’m kind of proud of myself because you can actually see the hearts in mine (a small miracle in my book).  My next square will be one of the easy ones that doesn’t take too much brain power.  I’m trying to insert some pictures in this blog (my first effort at that) so you can see a few of the squares.  See below: 

afghan pics.docx

I think I knit to avoid the 800lb gorilla on my back.  I should tell you something creative, like I’ve named it and it helps me count stitches, but really, I spend most of my time trying to ignore that it’s even there.  Honestly, it’s not really even on my back, it’s under my arm and spreading across the right side of my fake boob.  For the second time (first being my last biopsy) I’m really glad that I have no sensation under that arm.  This node is really ugly and it looks like it would be really irritating if I could feel it.  As a matter of a fact almost every doctor that has seen it asks me “does it bother you?”.  That’s a signal that they think it should be irritating.  Thank you again Lord for your mercy, grace and numbness under my arm!  Everyone says I should be most concerned about the tumors on my liver, that this big, ugly, gross, node isn’t going to matter in the “big picture”.  Of course I know that, but it doesn’t escape me that if I didn’t have the tumors in my liver everyone would be all over this node, now it’s an afterthought.  Accept for me, because I see it, and touch it every day.  My oncologist said that it would be more bothersome in my head that on my body.  He’s starting to be more bothersome in my head when he predicts the inevitable.  

I’ve said all that to say this.  I’m starting radiation on the node tomorrow.  I had a choice, leave it alone and watch it mess with my head as it grew and spread, or hit it with some radiation and see if it will stop growing, maybe die off.  What kind of choice is that?!?!?  So we went home, and prayed about it.  I actually hoped that I would be sure that I shouldn’t have the radiation.  Of course that was my selfishness stepping forward.  I didn’t want to drive to the hospital every week day for three weeks, change into the hospital gown, lay on the table and get zapped.  It doesn’t take long, but the process messes with your head.   I also didn’t want to show my oncologist that he was right about my state of mind.  Yeah, petty I know, so what!  I’ve done this process before, in 2006 I got six weeks of radiation across my entire boob after the initial lumpectomy.  This would be a lot easier, but I know that I’m not the woman I was then.  I’m not as physically strong.  Wow, that was hard to type.  Let’s shove that gorilla back in the box it came from too! 

Ok, so I start tomorrow.  I went Thursday to get “marked”.  Usually they tattoo little dots on the area to line up the red laser lines that bulls eye where the radiation is shot.  I’m getting a small area radiated, in an area that I have no feeling in.  I thought it would be great, I wouldn’t even feel them putting the black dot on me.  But they decided they wanted an entire circle, so they marked it with a sharpee marker and covered the area with a clear tape.  Then the very nice treatment person told me not to get the area wet.   Ok, I would have chosen the tattoos over not getting my underarm wet!!  She told me to use baby powder.  Now due to the several surgeries in that area I don’t have a lot of lymph node left (although enough for the cancer to grow there), so I don’t really sweat very much, but still!!  Am I going to have to struggle through three weeks of no water in that area?  That’s just insane.  I could still back out of this right???

Of course I could, but would that be obedience?  Would that be walking in the direction the Lord wants me to go?  I know it seems like my decision, but it’s not really , is it?  How do you know what direction the Lord wants you to go in?  That is the magic question isn’t it.   Well, prayer is a BIG factor and reading the Lord’s Word (which I do daily in my devotions, but need to do more).  Walking in the Lord’s path for your life is sometimes perfectly clear, but more often it is hard work.  I know the Lord wants me to do this treatment.  Everything fell into the path, it shows my obedience to fight on.  More hard work.  I’m so glad I’m not in this alone.  I guess the gorilla isn’t really on my back, thank you Lord for carrying my gorillas.  P.S.  It’s be ok with me if there weren’t quite so many gorillas.

What a truly blessed and wonderful week it has been!! I have felt strong for most days and didn’t have one doctor’s appointment this week!  On Thursday I even did 5 loads of laundry, up and down the stairs, folding and changed the bed sheets, and started a new knitting project (a squares afghan).  As I write this it reads like small accomplishments for a woman who was used to working 40+ hours a week, doing all that, and running to other function.  Although I feel stronger every day, I have to admit that I’m not the person I was just two short years ago.  Some of the other cancer fighters I know call it the “new normal”.  A different level of strength that you have to accept as the level you are at right now.  It’s kind of like going from 45 years old to 75 years old in two years.  Oh well, my Mom is doing pretty great for 75 years old, so I’ll be happy with that!

Last night Mom, Katie and I drove over the mountain, through snow flurries (once again), to Jessica’s house for a Pampered Chef party.  If you don’t know Pampered Chef it’s a company that people do home sales of cooking stuff.  I’m not a party person, but it’s actually the one kind of party I don’t mind going to too much because I enjoy watching them cook and seeing all the products.  At this point, though, I have pretty much all I need, but it was at Jessica’s (who I never get tired of spending time with) and the more I bought the more free stuff she gets.  It was a really nice party, the demonstrator didn’t talk to long and it was nice to see all Jessica’s friends and in-laws.  I really love her Mother-in-law and sister-in-law; they are wonderful to be around.  Katie had a great time playing with some young girls and entertaining Ella.

While I was preparing for the party (make up, doing my hair, picking out a top, putting on my boob) I kind of was going through who might be there, and how long it had been since I’d seen them.  Some of them wouldn’t know I was fighting cancer, but some of them had been praying for me and would know.  I started to prepare myself for the “unfinished sentence”.  It’s not a bad sentence, actually its very kind and sweet.  I hear it all the time at church and when I meet friends from work.  It goes “You look really great. . .” or “You look so good. . .” or “How wonderful you look. . “.  I actually might get worried if I didn’t get the unfinished sentence from some people, because they use it so consistently.  The sentence is unfinished because they always leave off the end of it  “. . . for someone fighting cancer.”  No one would ever finish the sentence, that would be rude, but many of them are thinking it or possibly just feeling it, I know I would be if I were in there shoes.  You can even hear it in their voices, “You look so good. . “  becomes a raised high note of wonder and awe like they can’t believe it’s possible.  Other folks have a desperate hopefulness in their tone that is just willing me to keep looking well and strong because the stronger I look the more I will improve.  Sometimes you even get the grabber, someone who says it and takes your arm and squeezes tight holding on as if their life depended on it.  I usually answer the same way politely smiling and thanking them with the biggest smile I have.  I have to answer the same way because, a lot like their sentence, I don’t really know what to say either. 

I’m not being critical of the unfinished sentence, by any means.  It’s lovely to hear how nice you look.  But I do hear the end of the sentence every time someone says it thought, sometime my head screams it.  I will never again, whether true or not, think someone is just complimenting me on my outward appearance.  I will always think they are totaling up what they think I should look like from the battle they know I’ve been through.  It is easier for me, though, than the second most popular question I get “How are you doing (or feeling)” or “How are things going”. 

This question leaves me in a deep quagmire of indecision and analysis.  Do they really want to know?  Do they really care?  Are they just being polite?  How much information is too much information?  Do they even know what they are asking?  Usually my answer is a bright smile and a “fine”.  After all, if it was me, would I really want to hear how the cancerous node under my arm feels like a reminder rock every time I touch it, and when I look at its ugly redness I want to cry?   How when I walk or sit or stand too long the muscles in my thighs, that have been pounded with a variety of caustic chemo drugs, start to twitch and tell me they won’t hold me any longer?  How, the chemo has caused neuropathy in my feet and I no longer have feeling in 6 of my toes?  How, because of my rebuild surgery, I have constant stretching pain across my back, especially when I stand too long?  How every morning I decide if I want to put on the bra with the fake boob in it because if I wear it all day my back aches?  No, no I know I wouldn’t want all that information thrown at me.  People have their own issues and they don’t need mine.  Everyone has burdens and aches and mountains to climb.  Why in the world would they want to even begin to wonder how mine are going?  Because they are kind, and loving, and praying for me, that’s why.  Ok, there probably are some who don’t really care, but the majority are so generous to pray for me, and love me so much they earnestly want to know.  Thank you so much for your kindness.

I read in my devotion this morning about strength in weakness, one of my favorite topics.  The author says “I prefer the illusion of strength to the reality of weakness” then goes on to say that’s not how God prefers us.  There are times I have become the master of illusion of strength.  That’s what we are taught, isn’t it, don’t let them see your weak.  But God doesn’t consider surrender to Him weakness, He considers it obedience.  Looking to God for guidance requires that we become “weak” people.  Surrendering to Him is an act of total obedience that sometimes requires that we ‘appear’ weak to people around us.  Sometimes, God’s path goes against our own will to ‘stand strong’, and leads us into humility and the appearance of being weak.  Like when Jesus walked away with the soldiers without a fight, and stood before Pilate barely uttering a word.  He could have fought back and won, but that wasn’t what God wanted.  We have battles like that too, where we know if we fight we could win.  But we have to ask ourselves, is that what God wants us to do?  Sometimes the answer is yes, fight on, but sometimes the answer is, to show His Glory.  The devotion left with this thought: “God’s greatest power can be displayed in our biggest weakness.”

A few days ago Katie and I had an amazing conversation.  We were sitting at the kitchen table eating soup and sandwiches while it snowed feverously outside.  I can’t remember where Pete was, probably outside shoveling as he had done steadily for days.

Katie started the subject out of the blue, Heaven.  She started as she usually does by asking a question that starts the ball rolling.  “Mom, if we get new bodies when we go to Heaven will we recognize each other in Heaven?”

Once again, as often happens with Katie’s questions, I feel my inadequacies.  I sometimes wonder how old she will be when she realizes my deficiency and has the revelation that her mind is so much more logical and analytical than mine.  I answered as honestly as I could.  “I don’t know honey, but I am sure in my heart that we will instantly know each other.”  I continued, “You know here on earth everything in our lives has a beginning and an end, a start and a stop, I don’t think Heaven will be like that.  I don’t know how we will measure time and space, but it won’t be the same and all those questions will be answered.”

She shook her head and started to hop excitedly in her chair (if you know my darling Katie you can picture her doing this).  “Yes, yes, that’s what I think too!!  It’s like we feel each other, we don’t have to see each other to know them.  Like I’ve never met Uncle Ricky (my brother who died in 1981), but I’ll know him.”

My heart filled at how much she accepted this.  She didn’t question why we don’t know exactly how it will be.  She had reasoned an explanation that she could understand in her head.

“You know,” I said, “I often have wondered how there could be no sadness in Heaven, like the bible promises.  I think that’s because I think of our lives and how time is in our lives; how can we not miss people we leave here when we get to Heaven?  Then I read a phrase in a book that helped remind me how different it probably will be.  It said it will feel like just an instant and the believers we love will be with us.”

I could see her mind working and she seemed to be debating on whether to tell me something.  Then she leaned forward.  “You know, Mom, I have an idea.  I think that when yo (then she stopped and started again). . . people we love die they never really leave us.  We just can’t see or hear them, but they’re right there beside us whenever they want to be, and especially when we need them the most.”

In one split second, one tiny slip of a nine year old’s tongue, I realized we were talking about something in her head she should never have to think about.  But apparently she had really been thinking about it.  I could feel the tears burning my eyes as I dug my spoon into the soup.  No way could those tears escape, but I had to fill the silence.  Somehow I gathered myself, I have no idea how I did that, and I looked up and smiled brightly.  “I don’t know honey, but I sure do hope you’re right.  That would be awesome.”  I leaned over and kissed her forehead and laughed at her surprised face.“

Do you think we’ll have pets?  I can’t imagine Heaven would be as much fun without pets.”  I sighed, I hate this question.  My oldest daughter had asked me the same question, at about the same age.  “I know there are people who don’t think so, but I think there are a lot of things we don’t know about Heaven.”  I answered. 

Katie nodded her head.“I think we should talk about something else now.”  Katie said typical of when she is ready to move on to another subject.

I cannot believe that yesterday was my grand-daughter, Ella’s, 2^nd birthday.   The years really do fly by don’t they?  Her party for Saturday has already been canceled.  We aren’t fooling ourselves here, the weather people are calling for 17-25 inches of snow starting this afternoon.  Not only would half the guests not be able to get there, but her Daddy would probably be out plowing snow as well.  I guess at 2yrs old she probably doesn’t even notice.  As long as her Mommy and Daddy are there and she gets sung to and cake, Ella is happy.  Besides she’ll get lots of little parties now, when she gets her gifts.  I can write it here, because she doesn’t read yet (just give her a year or two), but GG, Papa, Pete and I went together and got her a big wagon with seats and cup holders and a long handle.  It should work great when her Mommy takes her to festivals, or craft stuff, or anything a stroller doesn’t get around as well.  Plus she can just use it as a wagon too.  I still haven’t wrapped it, it’s a little on the big side, but I’m determined to get the Dora paper around it somehow.

Yesterday was also Oncologist day for me.  I haven’t seen Dr. William since December.  It was probably a nice break for both of us.  We talked about Hopkins and how they were optimistic about the liver mets.  I could tell he really wanted to see the MRI films, but I had forgotten to ask for them this time (when did I become the medical records go between).  I asked him a lot of questions he couldn’t really answer, because he hadn’t seen the films.  I guess I should ask Hopkins about those things, but they aren’t always easy to communicate with.  I did show him an area under my right arm that I’ve been keeping to myself since December.  I actually had thought it was just a small rash, but in the last few weeks a hard lump has developed.  I was hoping he would say it’s probably scar tissue from the 3 surgeries I’ve had there to remove nodes, he didn’t.  He looked at it closely and then said he wanted me to have a CT scan of the area, and the abdomen, and the pelvic.  He said that Hopkins was focusing on the liver, because that is there job, but we need to make sure that the cancer hasn’t spread to other areas.  Being the eternal optimist that I am (LOL), I didn’t find the conversation encouraging.  I know, I know, I need to wait for the test before jumping to conclusions!  It’s just that he started talking about options if it was cancerous; radiation, another surgery, more chemo.  It made me concerned that he already thought it was more cancer.  Kind of brought me down a little.  Plus I was in some pain. 

My craziness for the week, whatever gave me the insane idea that I should clean the bathroom.  Well, you know you are feeling better when you start looking around the house and certain things start making you nuts.  The stuff thrown in the corner of the bedroom, just because there is an empty corner.  The cat hair on the blankets that are on the rocking chair (the blankets put there for the cat hair, so it doesn’t get on the rocking chair directly).  All the shmootz on the bathroom floors.  So if you are feeling better, that means you can start taking care of this stuff right??  Cleaned up the junk in the corner of the bedroom, hah that felt good.  Shook out the catty hair blankets, not perfect, but better.  Cleaned both bathrooms top to bottom including all mirrors, the top of the showers, top of the cabinets (don’t tell anyone I was climbing on the toilets), and scrubbed the bathroom floors on my knees, really, really nice.  I love that feeling of satisfaction when you look at your work and it looks good.  The only problem was about 3 hours later the pain in my liver (which had been getting better every day), suddenly became fierce.  I couldn’t understand it, why was it flaring up?  It had been getting better, it just didn’t make sense.  Until I remembered the rug shaking, and the blanket folding, and, of course, the bathroom cleaning, including the hands and knees stuff.  Could it be possible that all that bending and stretching and reaching and shaking and scrubbing could have irritated the sore spots in my liver??  But Hopkins had said I could do anything I normally would do.  I’d been carrying laundry baskets for a week, how is this really that much different.  Apparently it is, because I had to take 2 pain pills just to get through the night Weds night.  I missed church again, because I don’t really feel comfortable going to church stoned and Pete also was in pain with a tooth ache.  So that’s why I was a little grumpy at the doctor’s on Thursday, I was still hurting a bit.  When I’m hurting I forget to be gracious and tough and loving sometimes.  I try, but it doesn’t always work.  Some folks ask me what the pain feels like.  It’s kind of like someone sticks a knife in my side when I take a deep breath.  The penalty for breathing is a sharp pain.  You can probably see how that’s a bit irritating.

That’s enough complaining what I wanted to say is that one of my new facebook friends reminded me this week of my most leaned on verse; Isaiah 41:10 Don’t you be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you. Yes, I will help you. Yes, I will uphold you with the right hand of my righteousness.  I love that verse.  The promise comforts me in my darkest times.  God is with me, aah, never ever am I alone.  Not only will He strengthen me (which I need lots and lots of help with), but he’s going to help me, stand right beside me, and hold me in his hand.  Not from a distance, not from across the room or in a distant place I can’t even imagine, but right here beside me.  While I’m laying on that table, or in that CT scanner, or in that hospital bed, or sitting in that exam room, I just have to reach out and there He is.  Sometimes you just need to be reminded, ok I need to be reminded over and over again about that promise.  What a relief!!

My CT scan is 2/9 and I see doc William again on 2/19 for the results.  Thanks for the prayers!!Love and Blessings