Today I returned to Sloan Kettering for my 7-month follow up appointment and monthly labs. Each month, as I go for blood work, I once again enter the waiting room - this month it was the physical waiting room of Sloan - but no matter where I am, the 24-hours leading up to the labs and the time I spend waiting for my results to appear on the patient portal, I am holding my breath.
Why do I hold my breath? I've been feeling great. My strength and hair have returned. In fact, I am sporting an ultra-long 3 inches of hair currently - which for a cancer survivor is an achievement, I assure you. I've been taking the stinking magnesium supplement that my mother frequently reminds me I should be taking (I have one of those geriatric large print pill sorters on my counter to keep me on task). But in spite of my steadily improving health, I still get a little antsy with the waiting...
Waiting in traffic to get into New York City...
Waiting with all the other patients to get in to see the doctor...
Waiting for my name to be called so I can schedule my next 2 months of lab work and my next appointment in 3 months...
Waiting in traffic to get out of New York City...
Waiting for my results to get posted online so I can finally stop WAITING!
You would think that by now the waiting would have gotten easier; and in a sense, it has. That's because I am no longer waiting for the other shoe to drop. That shoe hit the floor with a resounding thud last August and life has not been the same since. Now the waiting is just a little bit of a held breath. A little bit of reassuring myself that everything is fine - that if something were wrong I wouldn't be feeling this good. It's knowing that I am healthy, but just needing to see the numbers confirm it so I can release that breath and get back to normal, everyday life.
So, the numbers are in and they are good. I can happily say that I am now 7 months cancer-free. In fact, it felt so good to type it that I'll do it again. I AM SEVEN MONTHS CANCER-FREE! (clearly the all caps indicates my joyous, shout-it-from-the-rooftops declaration)
Now back to living and breathing and not letting little niggling doubts creep up and try to rob me of any of this victory. I celebrate my hair and all its returned cowlicks. I celebrate being able to squat and get up without muscle-fatigue causing me to crumple to the floor. I celebrate all of the things that cancer tried to rob me of but could not take from me. I celebrate getting through one more day of waiting.
Oh, and the real kicker in today's wait - after faithfully taking all of those stinking magnesium pills in my I-am-too-young-to-have-one-of-these pill sorters, they didn't even bother to check my magnesium levels today. One more thing to celebrate!
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Two Months Out
I can very happily say that I am two months post-chemo and feeling like my old self again. Actually, scratch that, my "old self" went through too much and has emerged as a new and improved self.
I have maintained an hcg level of ZERO, yep that right Z-E-R-O since January and I'm loving my cancer-free life! So, if I'm finally cancer-free how can I continue to blog under the heading "What to do while you wait?". I'm so glad asked, it's because for the next 3 years I will be in follow-up mode with my oncologist at Sloan Kettering. For the first year I go back once a month for labwork and a little chat, then we'll cut back to once every three months for the next two years. Now this waiting is altogether different from my prior waiting because each time I go I am not dreading the news, but it is waiting nonetheless.
In my last post I blogged about lessons I had learned. I am still learning new lessons everyday. My newest lesson is on bringing hard-won hope back to the very battleground I survived. With the help of a small group from my church, I will be returning to Sloan Kettering on my next follow-up appointment (March 6th) with a donation for the hospital. As a patient I came to see the great need for hope. Hope is imperative in the fight against cancer. So hope we will deliver. We're donating hope-filled, inspirational books, dvds, and other goodies such as board games, scarves, lotions, and encouraging notes to the patients, as well as thank-you notes for the nursing staff. I'm looking forward to walking back onto the 10th floor - when I left the last time it was in a wheelchair and with a walker to take home. I will get to present the items to the wonderful staff who made my time there bearable. In particular I am excited to visit the patients in the isolation rooms (where I spent quite a bit of time), bring them balloons, hope-in-a-jar (moisturizer from philosophy) and encourage them that if I could get through this, so can they.
I realized yesterday that in my next 3 years of waiting I have been given a unique opportunity to make hope-drops each time I go in for an appointment. As I wrote in earlier blogs, God entrusted me with a story I did not request, but now that being a cancer survivor is a part of my story I plan on sharing the hope that He gave me in the midst of it all.
Even as my body goes about the work of repairing itself and my hair grows back in, I do not want to forget what it was like to be in that place of extreme weakness. The place where I had no choice but to depend on God for strength to make it through each day.
My most challenging lesson yet may be to continue surrendering control of my life even though my strength is being restored. It's a good thing I trust my Teacher completely.
I have maintained an hcg level of ZERO, yep that right Z-E-R-O since January and I'm loving my cancer-free life! So, if I'm finally cancer-free how can I continue to blog under the heading "What to do while you wait?". I'm so glad asked, it's because for the next 3 years I will be in follow-up mode with my oncologist at Sloan Kettering. For the first year I go back once a month for labwork and a little chat, then we'll cut back to once every three months for the next two years. Now this waiting is altogether different from my prior waiting because each time I go I am not dreading the news, but it is waiting nonetheless.
In my last post I blogged about lessons I had learned. I am still learning new lessons everyday. My newest lesson is on bringing hard-won hope back to the very battleground I survived. With the help of a small group from my church, I will be returning to Sloan Kettering on my next follow-up appointment (March 6th) with a donation for the hospital. As a patient I came to see the great need for hope. Hope is imperative in the fight against cancer. So hope we will deliver. We're donating hope-filled, inspirational books, dvds, and other goodies such as board games, scarves, lotions, and encouraging notes to the patients, as well as thank-you notes for the nursing staff. I'm looking forward to walking back onto the 10th floor - when I left the last time it was in a wheelchair and with a walker to take home. I will get to present the items to the wonderful staff who made my time there bearable. In particular I am excited to visit the patients in the isolation rooms (where I spent quite a bit of time), bring them balloons, hope-in-a-jar (moisturizer from philosophy) and encourage them that if I could get through this, so can they.
I realized yesterday that in my next 3 years of waiting I have been given a unique opportunity to make hope-drops each time I go in for an appointment. As I wrote in earlier blogs, God entrusted me with a story I did not request, but now that being a cancer survivor is a part of my story I plan on sharing the hope that He gave me in the midst of it all.
Even as my body goes about the work of repairing itself and my hair grows back in, I do not want to forget what it was like to be in that place of extreme weakness. The place where I had no choice but to depend on God for strength to make it through each day.
My most challenging lesson yet may be to continue surrendering control of my life even though my strength is being restored. It's a good thing I trust my Teacher completely.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Lessons I've learned while waiting
For those of you following my blog that don't already know - I have reached the end of my chemo treatments, which have been successful (and incredibly challenging), and am now on the road to recovery. ******Pause for a celebratory dance********
So I thought I'd take a minute to reflect on some of the lessons I have learned on this journey through the battlefield of cancer.
1. I am not the world's most disciplined blogger. I set out to at least chronicle my journey on a weekly basis. Oh well, sporadic as it was, the blog provided a means for me to vent, mull over, and digest what was happening to me during one of the most trying periods of my adult years and it kept me connected to others so I didn't totally shut down emotionally.
2. I did not survive cancer because I am strong or have incredible faith - I survived cancer because God gave me strength and because He is faithful. There were plenty of times when I just did not have it in me to believe that I would ever be cured of this disease or that I would even be able to physically make it through one more treatment, but thankfully it wasn't about my belief level. I know that there were so many people praying and believing for me. I just had to rest in the knowledge that God was and is bigger than cancer and He had the situation under control. The burden was not on my shoulders, but on His.
3. I am loved beyond belief. My family, friends, neighbors, co-workers all poured out love in such amazing and humbling displays that I am still at a loss for words as to how to thank them properly. I can only promise to try to do the same for anyone I know when they go through difficulties.
4. Surrender is not easy, or pleasant, but it is necessary. I had to surrender in so many different ways - control of my kitchen (which if you know me may have been one of the hardest things I have ever done), control of my situation, control in general - but if I had tried to maintain control, especially of the unnecessary things that may have seemed important at the time, I would have just drained myself of the little energy I had.
I know I learned a lot more, but I'll reflect on those things as they come to me. What I know right now is that I am grateful. Grateful to be finished with chemo. Grateful to have had such amazing support. Grateful to be getting stronger each day and slowly reclaiming pieces of my life. Grateful to be alive.
I saw this on a sign at my follow-up appointment at Sloan last week. It was in a bathroom that I used each time I went for treatment, but it had never been there until this last time.
What Cancer Cannot Do
Cancer is so limited.
It cannot cripple love,
It cannot shatter hope,
It cannot corrode faith,
It cannot destroy peace,
It cannot kill friendship,
It cannot suppress memories,
It cannot silence courage,
It cannot steal eternal life,
It cannot conquer the Spirit.
I'd say that about sums up what I have learned.
So I thought I'd take a minute to reflect on some of the lessons I have learned on this journey through the battlefield of cancer.
1. I am not the world's most disciplined blogger. I set out to at least chronicle my journey on a weekly basis. Oh well, sporadic as it was, the blog provided a means for me to vent, mull over, and digest what was happening to me during one of the most trying periods of my adult years and it kept me connected to others so I didn't totally shut down emotionally.
2. I did not survive cancer because I am strong or have incredible faith - I survived cancer because God gave me strength and because He is faithful. There were plenty of times when I just did not have it in me to believe that I would ever be cured of this disease or that I would even be able to physically make it through one more treatment, but thankfully it wasn't about my belief level. I know that there were so many people praying and believing for me. I just had to rest in the knowledge that God was and is bigger than cancer and He had the situation under control. The burden was not on my shoulders, but on His.
3. I am loved beyond belief. My family, friends, neighbors, co-workers all poured out love in such amazing and humbling displays that I am still at a loss for words as to how to thank them properly. I can only promise to try to do the same for anyone I know when they go through difficulties.
4. Surrender is not easy, or pleasant, but it is necessary. I had to surrender in so many different ways - control of my kitchen (which if you know me may have been one of the hardest things I have ever done), control of my situation, control in general - but if I had tried to maintain control, especially of the unnecessary things that may have seemed important at the time, I would have just drained myself of the little energy I had.
I know I learned a lot more, but I'll reflect on those things as they come to me. What I know right now is that I am grateful. Grateful to be finished with chemo. Grateful to have had such amazing support. Grateful to be getting stronger each day and slowly reclaiming pieces of my life. Grateful to be alive.
I saw this on a sign at my follow-up appointment at Sloan last week. It was in a bathroom that I used each time I went for treatment, but it had never been there until this last time.
What Cancer Cannot Do
Cancer is so limited.
It cannot cripple love,
It cannot shatter hope,
It cannot corrode faith,
It cannot destroy peace,
It cannot kill friendship,
It cannot suppress memories,
It cannot silence courage,
It cannot steal eternal life,
It cannot conquer the Spirit.
I'd say that about sums up what I have learned.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Be thankful
I've fallen behind on my blogging, not because there hasn't been anything to write about, just because I didn't really feel inspired. Well, this morning I am semi-inspired so I'll just work with that.
Quick health update: I have made it through 10 rounds of chemotherapy. I was initially hoping to be finished after 12 rounds, but that will not be the case. I have just 5 more rounds to go so I am in the home-stretch. My body has been experiencing a more difficult time processing the toxic effects of the treatments and I am really ready to rediscover what it feels like to feel like 36 again when this is all said and done. I am looking forward to having energy, to being the full-time mom that I don't feel like most of the time right now. I am also looking forward to a list of foods that I have determined I will eat in the month of December when my normal appetite returns. This list includes such delicacies as: tea, scones & savories at one of my favorite tea houses; a crab pretzel from Bill Bateman's in Baltimore, my mom's crab & corn chowder, Outback cheesy fries & salad with tangy tomato dressing, Houlihan's chicken parm shared with my honey, and of course Christmas cookies made with my boys. My mom said that my list may have to take me into January - we'll see.
So, what does any of this random prattle have to do with the title of this blog post? Be patient people, it is a virtue after all. (Chemo may have slowed me down but it has not robbed me of my sarcastic sense of humor).
An amazing gift that I have been given in the midst of all of the struggles with cancer treatment is the opportunity to be thankful. Let me explain. I am blessed by God to be surrounded by neighbors, family, a church family, and friends that have poured out love, support, encouragement, and prayers on me and my family. There have been monetary donations, grocery store gift cards, gas cards, help with my children, rides to my appointments, cards, encouraging texts & phone calls, flowers, care packages, home-made meals, and more expressions of compassion than I can begin to say thank-you for. Each time someone blesses my family with the gift of compassion I am humbled to be the recipient of such love. I am constantly reminded that God, my Heavenly Father, has taken the time to prompt each of these people who have blessed us to reach out and do so. Because if we are honest with ourselves, it just isn't in our nature to take the time out of our incredibly busy lives to help someone else when we can always use help ourselves. Who of you isn't going through something difficult right now? It may not be cancer, but it may still be keeping you up at nights or eating away at you. I challenge you, as my very good friend Melissa once did for me, in the midst of her pain she reached out to me in mine upon the suggestion of her husband that they should find a way to bless someone else. She was mourning the loss of her mother, I was mourning the loss of another miscarried child. She taught me a valuable lesson - don't wait to offer compassion until you are on the other side of your own hurt. Offer it from right where you are. I hope to do the same through this blog and through individual interactions I have been having during this journey and I look forward to exercising a new level of compassion in the future.
Thank you for taking the time to read this. Thank you for any part you have played in walking with me through this journey.
Quick health update: I have made it through 10 rounds of chemotherapy. I was initially hoping to be finished after 12 rounds, but that will not be the case. I have just 5 more rounds to go so I am in the home-stretch. My body has been experiencing a more difficult time processing the toxic effects of the treatments and I am really ready to rediscover what it feels like to feel like 36 again when this is all said and done. I am looking forward to having energy, to being the full-time mom that I don't feel like most of the time right now. I am also looking forward to a list of foods that I have determined I will eat in the month of December when my normal appetite returns. This list includes such delicacies as: tea, scones & savories at one of my favorite tea houses; a crab pretzel from Bill Bateman's in Baltimore, my mom's crab & corn chowder, Outback cheesy fries & salad with tangy tomato dressing, Houlihan's chicken parm shared with my honey, and of course Christmas cookies made with my boys. My mom said that my list may have to take me into January - we'll see.
So, what does any of this random prattle have to do with the title of this blog post? Be patient people, it is a virtue after all. (Chemo may have slowed me down but it has not robbed me of my sarcastic sense of humor).
An amazing gift that I have been given in the midst of all of the struggles with cancer treatment is the opportunity to be thankful. Let me explain. I am blessed by God to be surrounded by neighbors, family, a church family, and friends that have poured out love, support, encouragement, and prayers on me and my family. There have been monetary donations, grocery store gift cards, gas cards, help with my children, rides to my appointments, cards, encouraging texts & phone calls, flowers, care packages, home-made meals, and more expressions of compassion than I can begin to say thank-you for. Each time someone blesses my family with the gift of compassion I am humbled to be the recipient of such love. I am constantly reminded that God, my Heavenly Father, has taken the time to prompt each of these people who have blessed us to reach out and do so. Because if we are honest with ourselves, it just isn't in our nature to take the time out of our incredibly busy lives to help someone else when we can always use help ourselves. Who of you isn't going through something difficult right now? It may not be cancer, but it may still be keeping you up at nights or eating away at you. I challenge you, as my very good friend Melissa once did for me, in the midst of her pain she reached out to me in mine upon the suggestion of her husband that they should find a way to bless someone else. She was mourning the loss of her mother, I was mourning the loss of another miscarried child. She taught me a valuable lesson - don't wait to offer compassion until you are on the other side of your own hurt. Offer it from right where you are. I hope to do the same through this blog and through individual interactions I have been having during this journey and I look forward to exercising a new level of compassion in the future.
Thank you for taking the time to read this. Thank you for any part you have played in walking with me through this journey.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Sing a song
This week's musings have been a little harder to put into words for me, but here goes.
Last week's in-patient treatment was one of the hardest to date. I entered the hospital on Tuesday, October 11th, feeling pretty week and discouraged. I had spent all of Monday in pain with one of the worst back-aches of my life and it left me feeling depleted. I asked my husband, Ray, to take the day off and go into the city with me rather than having a friend take me. I just needed him - and to his credit - he knew it and made me feel like I was the most important thing in his day.
Turns out it was a good thing he was with me. We found out that I had a bacterial infection in my gut (just your run of the mill bacteria that had gotten out of hand) so I was moved to an isolation room and chemo was delayed. I wasn't sure how many days I would have to be in the hospital, but I knew it was more days than I wanted to be there. There were plenty of tears and I just felt defeated. Frankly I am sick and tired of chemo. I am tired of having my body rebel against it's intended purpose. I am tired of weak muscles, nausea, sore bones, daily injections, multiple medications, and I am really tired of my bald head.
As I slept in the hospital that night, it came as no surprise to God how I was feeling. And just as I have said, even when I may not always feel it, He is Faithful. My friend, Michele, sent me a text at 2:12a.m. She later told me that she had planned to text earlier but didn't want to wake me if I was sleeping, but just couldn't sleep until she sent the text. It was a text of encouragement. It contained these words from Isaiah 54:10, "Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed." She also reminded me that I was not alone even though I was in isolation and that I was surrounded in prayer. This text was a life-line. So many have been thrown out to me just when I need them most in this journey.
I spent the next hour and half just knowing that God was very much with me and He had not forgotten where I was. I stood against discouragement and defeat (well actually I was laying down, but you know what I mean) and invited the Lord to just fill my hospital room with His presence and peace. So are you wondering yet when I'm tying in this whole singing title to my blog with what I'm actually writing? Here's the connection. After I read the text and talked things over with the Lord, I just felt like He put song after song in my heart to sing. The first one came out in a very soft, cracked, tear-filled voice. I could barely get through it. I mean, praise is not an easy thing when you're in this place; but as I sang each song that came to my memory I began to feel such a tremendous release and peace. It was when I began to sing an old hymn, "Blessed Assurance," that I really got the message of what God was doing for me. Here are the words to the verse that meant the most to me:
"Perfect submission, all is at rest
I in my Savior am happy and blest
Watching and waiting, looking above
Filled with His goodness, lost in His love.
This is my story, this is my song
Praising my Savior all the day long.
This is my story, this is my song,
Praising my Savior all the day long."
I would not have chosen this as my story. I would not have penned these words to be part of my song, but God, in His infinite wisdom, has entrusted me with this and I will sing it out for all to hear. My voice may crack and the tears may flow down my face, but I will sing the song and share the story that He is writing as long as He gives me breath.
Last week's in-patient treatment was one of the hardest to date. I entered the hospital on Tuesday, October 11th, feeling pretty week and discouraged. I had spent all of Monday in pain with one of the worst back-aches of my life and it left me feeling depleted. I asked my husband, Ray, to take the day off and go into the city with me rather than having a friend take me. I just needed him - and to his credit - he knew it and made me feel like I was the most important thing in his day.
Turns out it was a good thing he was with me. We found out that I had a bacterial infection in my gut (just your run of the mill bacteria that had gotten out of hand) so I was moved to an isolation room and chemo was delayed. I wasn't sure how many days I would have to be in the hospital, but I knew it was more days than I wanted to be there. There were plenty of tears and I just felt defeated. Frankly I am sick and tired of chemo. I am tired of having my body rebel against it's intended purpose. I am tired of weak muscles, nausea, sore bones, daily injections, multiple medications, and I am really tired of my bald head.
As I slept in the hospital that night, it came as no surprise to God how I was feeling. And just as I have said, even when I may not always feel it, He is Faithful. My friend, Michele, sent me a text at 2:12a.m. She later told me that she had planned to text earlier but didn't want to wake me if I was sleeping, but just couldn't sleep until she sent the text. It was a text of encouragement. It contained these words from Isaiah 54:10, "Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed." She also reminded me that I was not alone even though I was in isolation and that I was surrounded in prayer. This text was a life-line. So many have been thrown out to me just when I need them most in this journey.
I spent the next hour and half just knowing that God was very much with me and He had not forgotten where I was. I stood against discouragement and defeat (well actually I was laying down, but you know what I mean) and invited the Lord to just fill my hospital room with His presence and peace. So are you wondering yet when I'm tying in this whole singing title to my blog with what I'm actually writing? Here's the connection. After I read the text and talked things over with the Lord, I just felt like He put song after song in my heart to sing. The first one came out in a very soft, cracked, tear-filled voice. I could barely get through it. I mean, praise is not an easy thing when you're in this place; but as I sang each song that came to my memory I began to feel such a tremendous release and peace. It was when I began to sing an old hymn, "Blessed Assurance," that I really got the message of what God was doing for me. Here are the words to the verse that meant the most to me:
"Perfect submission, all is at rest
I in my Savior am happy and blest
Watching and waiting, looking above
Filled with His goodness, lost in His love.
This is my story, this is my song
Praising my Savior all the day long.
This is my story, this is my song,
Praising my Savior all the day long."
I would not have chosen this as my story. I would not have penned these words to be part of my song, but God, in His infinite wisdom, has entrusted me with this and I will sing it out for all to hear. My voice may crack and the tears may flow down my face, but I will sing the song and share the story that He is writing as long as He gives me breath.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Realize nothing has been left to chance
This week has been a good one. Other than some pain in my hips and legs (a result of my bone marrow production being forced into overdrive by my daily injections) I have been able to function at my new normal levels. This means I've been able to get up each morning, get my kids ready for the day and off to school, then come home and rest with the occasional burst of energy required to make myself something to eat or finally put my kids dirty clothes in their hamper instead of the living room floor.
My HCG levels have dropped to 23 and will hopefully reach 5 by next week or very shortly thereafter. Once they're at 5 then I'm down to my final 6 rounds of chemo. My white blood cell count is up to 3.5 - still considered low but a heck of a lot better than the 0.5 I was at just 2 weeks ago. My veins have actually improved over the last 2 rounds, which is only attributable to the power of prayer, because that just doesn't happen. This leads me to the title for today's blog. It was something I heard in a Beth Moore dvd series that I've been watching. She stated that as a child of God we can be certain that nothing in our lives has been left to chance. We may come through some incredibly difficult times but we can be assured that none of the rough things we have experienced will be wasted. I can say that I agree whole-heartedly.
Now, whether you believe the way I believe or not, let me explain why I believe this. This is not the first difficult journey I have made in my life. In fact, when posed the question, what was the year that changed your life? I would have to answer 1990-1991. That was the year I was 15 and my world turned upside down. I don't mind sharing with anyone who reads this that it was the year I was raped by an acquaintance. I was not held at gunpoint, I was not beaten, I was given a spiked drink, naive and scared. I struggled and finally, wearily gave up as he took advantage of me. The idea of "date rape" was a fairly new concept at that time and even though the man who did this to me was over the age of 21 and I was a minor, I did not seek legal recourse. Sadly, my parents were out of the country when all of this happened so I did not have them to lean on or to defend me. For that's what it was at the time, defending my actions to prove I had not deserved what happened to me. I share this story only to highlight that at the age of 15 I could not possibly see how any good could ever come out of this situation. I did, however, have something in my heart prompt me to utter the prayer to God, "If you can ever bring something good out of this, then it will have been worth it."
I have seen God do just that over the last 21 years. He has brought beauty out of the ashes. He has used my experience and His healing of my life to speak to several different girls that had gone through similar things. He has given me the courage to be vulnerable and share things many of us try to keep hidden because shame has taken its toll; and in being vulnerable it has opened a door for others to walk through. God redeemed what appeared to be an irredeemable event and has used it for not just my good, but the good of others.
I share this to say that just as a 15 year-old girl could not begin to see how God could use a potentially devastating experience for good; could not glimpse 21 years into the future; this 36 year-old woman has no idea just what God's plans are for the journey I am on now, but I know they are for my good and for the benefit of others. I have come to know him as my Redeemer. I trust Him with the situations that seem to be left to chance because He has proven time and again, that if I will allow Him to use my pain He will turn it into something far more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. Just wait and see.
My HCG levels have dropped to 23 and will hopefully reach 5 by next week or very shortly thereafter. Once they're at 5 then I'm down to my final 6 rounds of chemo. My white blood cell count is up to 3.5 - still considered low but a heck of a lot better than the 0.5 I was at just 2 weeks ago. My veins have actually improved over the last 2 rounds, which is only attributable to the power of prayer, because that just doesn't happen. This leads me to the title for today's blog. It was something I heard in a Beth Moore dvd series that I've been watching. She stated that as a child of God we can be certain that nothing in our lives has been left to chance. We may come through some incredibly difficult times but we can be assured that none of the rough things we have experienced will be wasted. I can say that I agree whole-heartedly.
Now, whether you believe the way I believe or not, let me explain why I believe this. This is not the first difficult journey I have made in my life. In fact, when posed the question, what was the year that changed your life? I would have to answer 1990-1991. That was the year I was 15 and my world turned upside down. I don't mind sharing with anyone who reads this that it was the year I was raped by an acquaintance. I was not held at gunpoint, I was not beaten, I was given a spiked drink, naive and scared. I struggled and finally, wearily gave up as he took advantage of me. The idea of "date rape" was a fairly new concept at that time and even though the man who did this to me was over the age of 21 and I was a minor, I did not seek legal recourse. Sadly, my parents were out of the country when all of this happened so I did not have them to lean on or to defend me. For that's what it was at the time, defending my actions to prove I had not deserved what happened to me. I share this story only to highlight that at the age of 15 I could not possibly see how any good could ever come out of this situation. I did, however, have something in my heart prompt me to utter the prayer to God, "If you can ever bring something good out of this, then it will have been worth it."
I have seen God do just that over the last 21 years. He has brought beauty out of the ashes. He has used my experience and His healing of my life to speak to several different girls that had gone through similar things. He has given me the courage to be vulnerable and share things many of us try to keep hidden because shame has taken its toll; and in being vulnerable it has opened a door for others to walk through. God redeemed what appeared to be an irredeemable event and has used it for not just my good, but the good of others.
I share this to say that just as a 15 year-old girl could not begin to see how God could use a potentially devastating experience for good; could not glimpse 21 years into the future; this 36 year-old woman has no idea just what God's plans are for the journey I am on now, but I know they are for my good and for the benefit of others. I have come to know him as my Redeemer. I trust Him with the situations that seem to be left to chance because He has proven time and again, that if I will allow Him to use my pain He will turn it into something far more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. Just wait and see.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Adjust to the new normal
I don't know how much I really have to say today, but I felt it would be good to just put some words down to document this past week as part of the overall journey.
I guess I'm adjusting to a new type of normal. Don't get me wrong, this is not a normal I'm prepared to put up with for very long, but I've got to accept it for what it is right now. Let me explain. I'll be going about my daily routine - wake up, take meds, wake kids up, get them fed, dressed, lunches packed, out the door, dropped off at school, come home, eat something, rest, read, take some more meds, do whatever household activity I have the energy for, rest, pick up kids, make snacks, talk about their day, spend some quality time with them, rest some more, make dinner, eat, give myself a shot in the stomach, rest, get the kids to bed, spend some time with Ray, take more meds, go to bed. And somewhere in the midst of all of this it will dawn on me; this is actually happening to me. This is my life right now. All the medications, all the hand-sanitizing and careful hugging, the bald head, the fatigue - this is my life. It's not happening to someone else, it's happening to me.
I don't feel like I have a whole lot of control these days, which for someone with control issues is not the easiest place to be; but I guess the one thing I can control is what I do with all of this. I can let it drag me down - that would be pretty easy from an emotional and physical standpoint. Then I think about Maria. No, not Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music, Maria the chemo nurse at Sloan Kettering. This past Tuesday, after my first chemo nurse tried and failed twice to find a viable vein for my treatment, they called in Maria.
By this time I had tears in my eyes, not because the pain was so intense, but because the memory of my last treatment and the five different places where I was poked for good veins was just a little too fresh. Enter Maria. She could see I was unraveling. She reassured me that she would find a good vein on her first try. She wrapped my arms in hot packs and warm blankets. She told me my job was to just relax. In her soothing and confident manor she proceeded to get me hooked up, as promised on her first try, to my IV line. She told me that whenever I come in for out-patient treatment, she will be the one to help me. I felt hope.
Maria helped me see that I have another option, surrender and trust. I realize my point was that I could still control something and that is still my point. I can control who I give all of this up to. I can give up my control to the chemo that is killing the disease and wreaking havoc on my body. I can give up control to each new situation I find myself in. Or I can give up control to my Savior, Jesus Christ, who is well acquainted with sorrows and bears more than just a few needle marks on his body. I choose to trust him. I choose to let him carry me through this and to continue to provide Marias for me along the way. I choose to let Him use this somehow for His greater purposes. I choose to invite you along for the ride.
I guess I'm adjusting to a new type of normal. Don't get me wrong, this is not a normal I'm prepared to put up with for very long, but I've got to accept it for what it is right now. Let me explain. I'll be going about my daily routine - wake up, take meds, wake kids up, get them fed, dressed, lunches packed, out the door, dropped off at school, come home, eat something, rest, read, take some more meds, do whatever household activity I have the energy for, rest, pick up kids, make snacks, talk about their day, spend some quality time with them, rest some more, make dinner, eat, give myself a shot in the stomach, rest, get the kids to bed, spend some time with Ray, take more meds, go to bed. And somewhere in the midst of all of this it will dawn on me; this is actually happening to me. This is my life right now. All the medications, all the hand-sanitizing and careful hugging, the bald head, the fatigue - this is my life. It's not happening to someone else, it's happening to me.
I don't feel like I have a whole lot of control these days, which for someone with control issues is not the easiest place to be; but I guess the one thing I can control is what I do with all of this. I can let it drag me down - that would be pretty easy from an emotional and physical standpoint. Then I think about Maria. No, not Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music, Maria the chemo nurse at Sloan Kettering. This past Tuesday, after my first chemo nurse tried and failed twice to find a viable vein for my treatment, they called in Maria.
By this time I had tears in my eyes, not because the pain was so intense, but because the memory of my last treatment and the five different places where I was poked for good veins was just a little too fresh. Enter Maria. She could see I was unraveling. She reassured me that she would find a good vein on her first try. She wrapped my arms in hot packs and warm blankets. She told me my job was to just relax. In her soothing and confident manor she proceeded to get me hooked up, as promised on her first try, to my IV line. She told me that whenever I come in for out-patient treatment, she will be the one to help me. I felt hope.
Maria helped me see that I have another option, surrender and trust. I realize my point was that I could still control something and that is still my point. I can control who I give all of this up to. I can give up my control to the chemo that is killing the disease and wreaking havoc on my body. I can give up control to each new situation I find myself in. Or I can give up control to my Savior, Jesus Christ, who is well acquainted with sorrows and bears more than just a few needle marks on his body. I choose to trust him. I choose to let him carry me through this and to continue to provide Marias for me along the way. I choose to let Him use this somehow for His greater purposes. I choose to invite you along for the ride.
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