Just When

 September 25, 2025

Just when I began to hope that the pleural effusion was due to my bronchitis, reality stepped in with the brief statement from the initial cytology report: “Right pleural fluid, thoracentesis - - Positive for malignant cells. - Metastatic carcinoma, compatible with a breast primary tumor”

Now I wait for today’s PET scan results.

September 26, 2025

That was quick! The PET scan was negative, meaning that no growths or tumors were found. That’s a Hallelujah!

Next week I have two appointments with my oncologist. On Monday, I’m going in for a consult. I want to find out what kind of treatment he plans to do, if it is curative or palliative. Then on Thursday, I may have a six-hour treatment (an infusion). I don’t know what follows that.

In the meantime, I’m breathing much better due to the liter of pleural fluid taken out on Tuesday.

. . . And Again?

 My second four-month cancer check-up did not go as planned. Dr. Moussa has ordered a PET scan and a thoracentesis.

Let me back up for a minute. I’ve had a terrible bout of acute bronchitis since the end of August. I’m on my second round of antibiotics, having just finished a six-day pack of oral steroids. Because of abnormal lung sounds, my primary care physician ordered a CT scan with contrast of my lungs back in August. That revealed mild to moderate pleural effusion on the lower right lobe, so she ordered a second scan to take place at the end of September.

In the meantime, I had another follow-up appointment with her (Dr. Frances Horn) last Wednesday, though I felt better than before. I was surprised when she listened to my lungs and immediately said I needed the second round of antibiotics. She asked if I would like to listen with her stethoscope, so I did and was shocked by what I heard: low, loud rumbling sounds that mimicked my stomach when it is busy digesting food. I go in this Wednesday for another follow-up.

So, when I had my vitals taken by a nurse before I saw my oncologist, Dr. Moussa, last Thursday, I was sure to tell her about the scan, and she looked it up for him to see. His concern was immediate. Did I have chest pressure? Yes, on my right side, and I had assumed it was from the mastectomy. Fevers or chills? No. Coughing? Yes. He looked at my arms and said he saw mild edema in my right arm, which neither I nor my physical therapist had noticed.

He said he wanted me to have a PET scan and a thoracentesis ASAP. (Of course, insurance must approve first.) The PET scan will be at OCSRI (Oklahoma Cancer Specialist and Research Institute) in Tulsa, hopefully yet this week. The thoracentesis will be done tomorrow at St. John’s in Tulsa.

Just in case you don’t know what a thoracentesis is: a long needle is inserted into the pleura, which is a lining around the lungs, to extract some of the fluid. Then the sample will be sent to a lab to test for cancer cells.

On Friday, my blood work results were posted on my patient portal. Two of them are not encouraging: my platelet count and tumor antigen count are high.

Is there a silver lining to this story? Well, only that I won’t need the second CT scan since I will be having a PET scan.

I’m still numb with shock. Here are the three scenarios that I can think of, from best to worst:

1.       1, The pleural effusion is caused by the infection in my lungs.

2.     2.  The pleural effusion is caused by lymphatic fluid ending up where it shouldn’t. (Yes, that swelling in my arm is lymphedema.)

3.       3.The pleural effusion is caused by cancer recurrence.

Number 3 is the worst-case scenario. Survival rates for persons whose breast cancer has metastasized into the lungs tends to be measured in months, not years.

Pray with me. Pray for me. Pray for my children, who are devastated by this news. Pray that we will be upheld by the Holy Spirit. (And a p.s.: we are not yet telling the grandchildren.)

After the Bell Rings

Last week I did better than usual after my infusion, even driving on Saturday to pick up my online Walmart grocery order. The crash came Sunday morning after a restless night.

At first, I wondered if I was simply expecting to feel worse, but a complete loss of energy plus dizziness kept me from doing my lymphedema prevention stretches. I shuffled out to the recliner and there I stayed until I went back to bed for a nap later.

The back pain had commenced, so I took a pain pill, which put me into a twilight zone type of sleep: doze for five minutes, wake up, doze again. That’s how I spent the morning. I don’t know how to explain the overall discomfort, but it did not reach the point of pain. That’s pretty much how I spend Sunday and Monday, in a haze.

On Monday I hit a new emotional low and shed many tears after my son did not come through for me on a simple task. I’ve not cried about this cancer once; perhaps, I simply needed the release. I called my daughter, and having her listen to me helped a great deal.

Finally, on Tuesday around 1:30 pm I came out from under the cloud long enough to take a shower, which I had not done for several days because of my poor balance. That helped me so much. The next two days I slept away the mornings and stayed in my pajamas all day.

The bright spot in each day this week has been listening to Fernando Ortega’s album, Come Down O Love Divine. Each song speaks to me, drawing me into worship and praise and reminding me Who is in charge.

The truth about cancer treatment is that once you’re done, you’re still not done. The immediate chemotherapy effects linger on as well as the fraught question: will the cancer come back?

I’ve had several people ask me if there will be a scan now that I’m done with the infusions. The answer is no. The mastectomy removed all the visible cancer from my body, but there is always the possibility that stray cells linger somewhere in waiting. There simply is no sophisticated enough imaging technology to detect rogue cells. Other types of breast cancer have targeted therapies in the form of pills to take to reduce the recurrence risk, but triple negative breast cancer does not.

So that leaves me at the end of cancer treatment with no guarantees. But I do not wish to live the rest of my life worrying about a recurrence. The last song in the album, “Aaron’s Blessing,” repeats the words of Numbers 6: 24-26, which give a promise I plan to cling to:

“The Lord bless you and keep you;
²⁵ The Lord make His face shine upon you,
And be gracious to you;
²⁶ The Lord lift up His countenance upon you,
And give you peace.”

The promise of God’s peace is enough. His peace is not dependent upon circumstances. His peace will carry me through whatever the future holds. Of that, I am sure. 

Last Times

January 8, 2025

Last July and August as I waited to find out if I really did have breast cancer again and for what that would mean as far as treatment went, God gave me inexplicable joy and peace. Yes, some worry and anxiety were sprinkled in as well, but those I never attribute to God, just to natural human emotions.

One example of that joy and peace occurred on the last Sunday of August as I stood before our congregation to preach for the last time for months to come. You would think I would be filled with sadness of last times, especially since I have been so blessed to preach, usually twice a month, since 2019. But instead, my heart bubbled over with joy as I looked out over the beloved congregants who gathered that day and delivered my sermon.

I remember blogging in the fall about the Holy Spirit presence I enjoyed in the summer, assuming it would continue unabated during my cancer treatment. But here’s the truth: it hasn’t. I’ve had to learn again that in my walk with God there are dry spells, though he has continued to bless me with intermittent times of sensing and rejoicing in his presence during the months of my cancer treatment.

I find a paradox: God sometimes breaks in with his love just because he wants to, with no regard to whether or not we are prepared to receive. On the other hand, consistently pressing into Jesus through prayer and the Word allows us to hear and receive him more.

As I head out later this morning for my fourth and final chemotherapy infusion, these are good things for me to think about. I’m so grateful for the feeling-almost-normal week I’ve just had, and not looking forward to how exhausted and sick I will be for the next few weeks. I hope that by mid-February I will regain enough energy to start helping my daughter with some of the transportation of getting the boys to or from school a couple days a week. And then by March, in addition to spending time with newborn Annabelle and the older five grandchildren, I hope to be able to work ten hours a week doing pastoral care, leading our morning prayer Zoom group twice a month, preparing to start up our women’s Bible study again, and preaching my first sermon the fifth Sunday in June, just ten months since the last time.

                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

January 9, 2025

Eight years ago, I rang the bell at OCSRI Tulsa. Yesterday, I rang the bell at OCSRI Bartlesville. My hope and prayer are that I’m done with bell ringing.

 

Not What I Expected

 

It’s been a while. Christmas break turned out to be not what I expected.

The expected part was perfectly lovely. I was able to attend church on the 22^nd and read the Advent Candle liturgy. On the 24^th there was a late afternoon Christmas Eve service. On Wednesday, my son and I went over to Christmas Day brunch and opening presents at the Hemminger household.  That was wonderful. The grandkids had all been sick a week or two before, but now everyone was doing fine except Benjamin, who was still tired and droopy.

Unfortunately, it seems that invisible viruses were still lingering around. I got sick the next evening and Joseph the following morning.

It’s been rather rugged, but both of us are on the mend now and hope to be back to almost normal by tomorrow.

Friday morning, I put out a “please pray” post on Facebook that received so many encouraging comments and promises to pray. Dana picked up some flu supplies for us Friday morning, and Sylvia came by Saturday afternoon to deliver more. (I must remember to always keep chicken noodle soup and 7Up or Sprite on hand in the future.)

I’m grateful for the prayers, encouragement, and help. And I’m still hoping to have a week of feeling good before my last chemotherapy treatment on January 8.

 

Discouraged

 The last two weeks have sort of sloshed on by, the first week all at home except for a lovely lunch out late in the week with friends. This week has been marked by brief daily excursions to exciting places such as the grocery store, the pharmacy, and the doctor.

I love going places. The driving part is fine. It’s just the getting out part that involves walking that exhausts me.

Yesterday’s outing turned out well. I had a less-than-20-items list for Walmart that I leisurely filled in less than an hour. Deciding I deserved a treat, I drove over to my favorite coffee shop (Jude’s, for you locals) to pick up a coffee protein shake and a scone. A friend called, and from there, I drove to the duck pond (Jo Allyn Lowe Park) to enjoy the view and phone conversation along with my treat. I spent the rest of the day resting.

I’ve let myself fall into a funk. I’m tired of being tired despite sleeping 10-12 hours a night. Motivation to do the little things that I can runs low.

Before I sink into a true pity party, though, perhaps some thankfulness will help:

·         I’m thankful that the physical pains of the first week after chemo have subsided.

·         I’m thankful that there is only one more chemo treatment (January 8).

·         I’m thankful for my friends and family that help me and encourage me along the way.

·         I’m thankful for my home. (Recently, I learned of an individual who is homeless and going through chemotherapy. I cannot imagine how difficult that must be.)

·         I’m thankful for meals and protein drinks from Hopestone Cancer Support Center.

I’d rather post when I am not discouraged (that’s the reason for my silence of late). But since discouragement is a part of any lengthy medical treatment that takes you out of the mainstream, I might as well voice it.

And the next two weeks promise to be better. Those are two more weeks than I usually get between treatments. I should feel well enough to attend church services. There will be Christmas with my entire immediate family—and how I’ve missed the grandchildren since I last saw them on December 3.

Now is a good time to remember this quotation by Julian of Norwich, a well-known Christian mystic and anchoress of the Middle Ages: “All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.” I like the emphasis on “well”!

Light in a Foggy Day

 

At 5 am I wake up, recognizing the stabbing shoulder pain that signals the need for my medicine. A protein drink and cinnamon bread accompany the pill, and I go back to sleep for another few hours.

Outdoors there is fog, and my brain matches it today. My personal fog unsteadies my balance and makes me list to the left. I need to be careful, but I make it through morning shower and getting ready for the day without incident.

Retreating to my recliner with a cup of rooibos tea in hand, I open my Kindle to Advent for Everyone: A Journey with the Apostles devotional by N.T. Wright. Therein I find wise reflections by Timothy on what I was pondering yesterday. How amazing it is when God affirms and confirms through His Word what I wondered!

And another part of the message involves staying true to God’s call. Let me explain.

There have been more than a few times in my life in which I knew God was giving me a definite assignment. One was back in 2008 when I was offered the opportunity to leave teaching to go help my youngest brother care for Mom, whose dementia was worsening. I gladly did, leaving Kansas to live with her in her home on John’s Whidbey Island, Washington property. It was like moving into paradise. Yes, caregiving gradually became more challenging, but living a peaceful life in the woods brought spiritual and emotional healing I needed in my life. A book was born out of the five years that followed, Three Corners Has My Cat: Caregiving in Alzheimer’s Time.

Last July, when I learned that my breast cancer of eight years ago had recurred, I realized that God was moving me in an unanticipated direction, away for a time at least from the part-time pastoring he had dropped into my lap back in 2019, and toward a deepening of faith. I knew from my last encounter with cancer that it would be a difficult road ahead, but one that would push me into relying on God much more than I usually do. What else is there to do when suddenly all your plans and projects get stripped away by disease?

That’s where I’ve been since September. First, the mastectomy, and now the chemotherapy. Believe me, I would not have chosen this, but I trust my Savior in allowing another time out from a busy life to teach me lessons in his grace. My hope and prayer are that through my blogging that helps me cope with the endurance test called cancer, you will benefit as well.