Yesterday

After a week of being home trying to avoid outdoors because of my cedar pollen allergy (and because my son needs the car for his afternoon part-time job), I was ready to get out of the house.

In the morning, I went to the pharmacy to pick up some more 12-hour Sudafed. Okay, not exactly the most exciting thing, you may think but think again. I took great delight in driving to CVS, in browsing in the store, and in traveling on to Jude’s, where I ordered my favorite protein coffee drink to go: Java Monkey.

Pretty much since the fall of 2024, I have limited such outings to one in a day because that is all I have had the energy to do. But yesterday turned out to be different.

Joseph and I went grocery shopping in the afternoon: first to Aldi and then to Walmart. As usual, I went back out to the car when we were ready to check out while he took care of the rest. We even stopped by Braum’s on the way home, me for the ice cream cone I had been craving for weeks and him for a sandwich and drink.

I even did all the driving.

Was I tired when we got home? Yes. Was I happy? Yes. Did I experience any ill effects from more exertion than usual? No.

I am so grateful to have been able to do much more than I usually can. It’s quite amazing how enjoyable simple errands can be when they have been out of reach for a long time.

 

Ringing the Bell

Tonight, I took to Google to look up how ringing the bell at the completion of cancer treatment began. According to MD Anderson, 1966 was the starting point:

A rear admiral in the U.S. Navy, Irve Le Moyne, was undergoing radiation therapy for head and neck cancer and told his doctor, Kian Ang, M.D., Ph.D., that he planned to follow a Navy tradition of ringing a bell to signify “when the job was done.” He brought a brass bell to his last treatment, rang it several times and left it as a donation. It was mounted on a wall plaque in the Main Building’s Radiation Treatment Center with the inscription:

Ringing Out

Ring this bell
Three times well
Its toll to clearly say,
My treatment’s done
This course is run
And I am on my way!

— Irve Le Moyne

Ringing the bell is a celebration of finishing the hard and long journey of cancer treatment. On Thursday, one of the chemotherapy patients rang the bell. All applauded. Several of the nurses gave her a hug. And I had an unexpected inner reaction.

I’ve rung the bell three times: once in October 2016 for the completion of chemotherapy, then again in April 2017 for the completion of radiation therapy, and much later (after my first recurrence of cancer) for the completion of chemotherapy in January 2025. Somehow the act helps make the end of treatment seem a little more real.

My unexpected inner reaction yesterday was tears coming to my eyes. I suddenly felt grief that I will never ring the bell again. My treatment will either last until the end of my life, or if it stops working, making me near the end of my life.

What my reaction suggests to me is that I still hold grief over having terminal cancer. I’ve had lots of grief over leaving my family behind but little grief over how much my life has changed. Oh, I am very blessed for sure, but I live with fatigue that keeps me from doing much of anything. I used to visit my youngest brother on Whidbey Island every few years, but travel is out of the question now. I used to enjoy going to garage sales, but I’m not up to those now. Any errands I can do have to be short, and grocery shopping by myself is out of the question. I am immediately recognized as a cancer patient because wigs are not for me—too warm. In fact, this summer I may swallow the rest of my pride and go bald in public instead of wearing one of my turbans because they get too warm as well.

So, now I’ve gotten that out of my system and can go back to the blessings of family and friends; of reading, writing, and reflecting; of the comfort of my recliner and bed, and most of all, of drawing closer to Jesus. He brings so much peace and joy into my life each day. Pure gifts. Perhaps the antidote to grief is thankfulness for the blessings and continuing to simply accept that though my lifestyle is limited now, God still has purpose for my life. To that, I will say Amen!

 

Wednesday & Thursday

OCSRI (Oklahoma Cancer Specialists and Research Institute) is very good at minimizing patient waiting times. Thus, Bev and I figured that with my labs and appointment with Dr. Moussa’s nurse at 2 pm, we would easily be done by 3pm and be able to get back to Bartlesville in time for the 4 pm Ash Wednesday service at Good Shepherd.

Yes, you’re right. Things did not go as planned. The problem was not waiting times; instead, it was my port. It is usually a bit difficult to start the blood flow from it, but this time it just didn’t work. The nurse spent a good twenty minutes trying, having me get into various positions (turn on right side, turn on left side, arm or arms up, sit up and bend over, stand up and bend over) but none worked, though they did make me plenty dizzy. So she went to the last resort, loading a clot buster into the port.  No, not for a blood clot but to dissolve fibers that can build up within the line. Thus, I had to have blood drawn from my arm.

By the time I got to my appointment, the technician and nurse were wondering where I was. I explained even thought they could readily see that needle and syringe were still attached to my port. Because the blood draw had been delayed, only my white blood count was available, and it was high, which was no problem as far as getting my infusion the next day, so she tentatively approved it. I told her about my problems with sleep lately (which could be a side effect of Trodelvy) and she suggested some things for better sleep hygiene that I agreed to work on.

After that, I went back down to the lab to have the needle and syringe removed. I think we left shortly after 3 pm.

So far, so good, except for the stop and go traffic backed up for several miles on Hwy 75 due to a bridge repair. We finally got to the church about 4:15. The service ended around 4:30. Pam, our commissioned pastor, used a lovely liturgy, served communion, and imposed ashes on our foreheads. I’m glad we at least caught the last half of the service.

The next day, Thursday, was my infusion here in Bartlesville. Though my liver enzymes were high, they were still able to follow through with my treatment. It was a quieter and smaller group in the treatment room than the last time.

Getting home, I had the usual treatment day effects: drowsy still from the Benadryl and brain fog that did not allow much concentration. Surprisingly, I slept pretty well despite the steroids in my system.

And today is Friday. I am hoping that no one is sick in the Hemminger household so that I can hang out with them later today. . . and no one was, I’m home now and one happy camper.

 

 

Wasting Time

While it is true that God has given me so many blessings and great peace amid cancer, it is also true that I have “blah” days in which I waste hours away.

This morning (Saturday, Feb. 14), I woke up with motivation but, as often is the case, it quickly disappeared after my shower and getting dressed for the day. Until cancer, I never understood how much a shower can cause so much fatigue. I mean, I always experience a hot shower as a lovely luxury while I’m in it, but then my energy goes down the drain with the soap and water.

After my shower, it is time to kick back in my recliner. Seriously? I need time to relax so soon after getting up? My brain needs as much relaxation as my body. Reading takes too much focus, so I play a few easy games on my Kindle. There goes my intention to leave the house.

Yet today is higher energy than early on in my treatments last fall. Then, getting up from my chair to walk to the bathroom was an energy-draining event. Today, I am doing laundry. Three loads, in fact. Plus, I’ve emptied the dishwasher.

It’s a blessing that I have a fragmented sleep schedule. I’m often up between four and five a.m. because I can’t get back to sleep and am hungry anyway. So, I get up, eat a light breakfast, and then turn to some Bible reading and journaling. That is followed by going back to bed and listening to a favorite Christian album. I usually fall asleep again for a while.

So, the day has drifted by with me in the recliner most of the time, except for the one-hour nap I took in bed this afternoon.

I should have spent some time outdoors with this mild weather, but I didn’t. Cedar and juniper pollen are high and being outside results in more congestion and coughing.

Admittedly, I feel guilty about these do-nothing days. There are small, easy tasks I could do to declutter, some of them even from the comfort of my recliner.

Pretty soon it will be time to have supper. And then, before I know it, the evening will be gone.

One more thing. I noticed sometime back that my eyebrows have mostly disappeared, and my upper eyelashes are short and sparse. (The lower eyelashes went away with the first cancer in 2016-17 and have never come back.) I thought of doing a parody of a nursery rhyme on the subject, but only got this far: Oh where, oh where have my eyebrows gone? Oh where, oh where can they be?

Time to check the laundry and decide which meal to zap in the microwave.

That’s all for now, folks.

Thursday and Friday

The treatment room was extra spirited yesterday, and the three big conversationalists were all men! Two patients with spouses there, one spouse with wife the patient. Lots of humor and laughter. Admittedly, I had hoped to read, but couldn’t concentrate, so I resorted to Kindle games and listened to the talkers nearby. (Just close enough to hear some, but far enough away to make it hard to participate.) However, near the end of my treatment, I did have chance to talk with John Smith (not a pseudonym!) and his wife Sharon. We talked about our faith. Evidently, he does music performances—he plays guitar and harmonica—and some occasional preaching. I can see that he and his wife have a lovely, close relationship. He’s the sort of person who fills up a room with good humor and his striking appearance: in his mid-70s (you can’t help but hear everyone’s date of birth, which the nurses ask for whenever they change out an IV bag), way too skinny from illness, and an impressive handlebar moustache. 

So, like last week, I’ve had an easier response to the infusion so far: fatigue but not debilitating. Well, I kind of overdid it this morning. I emptied the refrigerator top shelf to wipe it down, then put things back in. And opened the lemon fizzy water box to put some cans in, followed by opening the box of Café Latte Premier Protein drinks that Hopestone provides for me and putting all twelve in the refrigerator, too. At the very most, that all took a half hour. Naturally, I did not realize I was overdoing until I sat down afterwards.

I laid down for the 45 minutes before I had to leave to get the injection that helps boost my white blood cell count. I wasn’t sure if I was up to the fifteen-minute drive across town, but I really wanted to do it instead of having my son take me. So, I did. It is a beautiful sunny day, temperature in the mid-60s. Such a lovely reprieve from the Arctic chill and snow at the end of January.

On the way back home, I stopped off at The Eatery, which has the most amazing bakery. I bought two things: a chocolate chunk scone and strawberry shortcake, to be enjoyed over the next couple days. And I learned, again, that my chemo brain is alive and active. Using a gift card, I managed to leave a ten-dollar tip on a fourteen-dollar purchase. When I realized what I had done, I was not happy, but the person who waited on me sure was! I best not try to do my income taxes until next week, when hopefully my brain will work better.

The Former Pain

How easy it is to forget the former pain.

When I see a woman struggling under the addiction and/or abuse of her husband, I remember how it is to feel stuck, trapped in a toxic relationship. The endless cycle: the wild swing of emotions from hope to desperation, followed by the emotional numbing to cope with the present, followed by the next wild swing, followed by the numbing, and so on. The terrible burden of responsibility and futility.

When I see a woman bludgeoned by the presence of cancer, terrified for the future and trying so hard to be brave as her world fractures, my heart goes out to her.

When I see a woman apologizing for her very existence as she receives chemotherapy, asking the nurse if she is allowed to throw up and determined not to if the answer is no, I want to tell her that she has worth.

When I see a woman blindsided by her husband’s betrayal, I remember the shock and gut punch of pain.

When I see these, I remember a past that seems so distant that I forget about all who still live within those prisons. I am humbled, profoundly grateful to be free. Freed by means I have yet to understand but summed up with these words: God’s grace. I am no special case deserving special favor, but I am wholly, joyfully indebted to Jesus.

And that he even spared me the horror of cancer. Yes, this is the third and final go-round with cancer. But somehow, throughout, he has spared me the horror, a miracle in itself. I don’t have to be strong and battle against the cancer. I am weak and, as the old saying goes, F.R.O.G. (Fully Relying On God).

I hardly know what to do when I see suffering. If there is opportunity, I can offer kindness, encouragement, and a listening ear. And when there is no opportunity, I can pray.

"Saving the Best for Last"

Pondering the title of Pastor Katrina’s January 18^th sermon, I find myself turning to a personal application of God’s work in my life. He has saved the best for last.

I have several answers to when “the last” began. Moving to Whidbey Island, Washington in June 2008 to help my youngest brother care for our mother was one definite beginning. My world had been rocked by unusually difficult times since 2000. I still was not sure where I would end up in my faith journey. The 5 ½ years that followed my move to the island provided a new beginning, gradually established with a firm foundation. To this day, I do not know all that the Holy Spirit did in my life during that time, save that he removed much of the fear of people that had ruled my childhood, teen years, and adulthood. And how that was done I do not know, just that I was gradually changed.

My move to Bartlesville in 2013 and being involved in my grandchildren’s lives was the start of another “best for last.” (Sadly, my own children did not have that experience, with grandparents hundreds of miles away. Nor did I after age seven when my maternal grandfather died.) I never expected that I would experience the blessing of living in the same community as my daughter, son-in-law, their children, and my son.

Serving as a pastor at Good Shepherd was another unexpected “best for last.”  It was the fulfillment of an almost lifelong call and dream. 

And here comes the shocker: three times with cancer is my final “best for last.” I would rather not have cancer, but the blessings God has given me while enduring it are enormous. Each occurrence has made me draw closer to God, enriching my faith, this third time especially. I always thought that having cancer, especially stage IV cancer, would be terrifying. It is not. I have found, much to my surprise, that I fully trust in Jesus and do not fear the end of life. I am okay with God’s timetable, whatever that is, though I would prefer more rather than less time. He has given me a peace that I could never manufacture. What the apostle Paul wrote in Philippians is true: “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.” What greater gift is there than that?

*To be totally honest, the day after writing this, I was smacked down by a wave of discouragement over my lack of energy even on a “good” day. (Doing two short errands completely depleted me.) Later, scrolling through Google news on my phone, I ran into an October 14, 2022, blog post by Joni Eareckson Tada titled “What Does It Look Like to Persevere in Trials?” She writes, “But if I run to God in my moments of need, he will provide endurance for my trials. Endurance is his gift to me!”

If you need encouragement today, check out Joni’s blog and read Romans 15:5 and James 1:12. God is faithful.