Intersection

I always find it interesting when my daily Bible reading intersects with something in the secular world. Such was the case today.

Psalm 13 begins with lament and ends with rejoicing. Verse 2 says this: “How long must I suffer anguish in my soul, grief in my heart, day and night?”

In 1991, as a newly divorced mother of two children, that verse described my daily inner experience. I was overwhelmed with the responsibility of raising my kids alone, emotionally burdened with unresolved trauma, and unknowingly deeply depressed. This was all despite recently coming back to faith in Jesus Christ. I continued in that state, ever leaning on Jesus but still depressed, for years.

But in the past decade or so, my inner reality has profoundly changed from despair to hope. Yes, I still deal with depression of a milder sort. Lack of motivation to do things and fatigue seem to go hand in hand with depression and with chronic illness. However, verses 5-6 are now true in my life: “But for my part I trust in thy true love. My heart shall rejoice, for thou hast set me free. I will sing to the LORD, who has granted all my desire.”

I don’t know how to explain that change, except to say that over the years I kept seeking, and God kept leading me into more healing. Not to say I’ve reached complete healing: I have not. (And who has, this side of heaven?) But through his generous grace, he has brought peace and joy into my life.

Later this morning, a magazine article I almost scrolled past on my phone turned out to be an intersection of Psalm 13 with the secular world. This statement stood out to me:

. . . being reliably held by someone else makes it possible to relax into oneself. It creates enough internal safety to play, to improvise, to stay present without constant supervision. Over time, that experience of being accompanied continues inwardly, becoming a way of being with oneself. *

Let me explain. According to the article, “being held” means having others in your life who are dependable and supportive. It means not feeling like you are the only one who is holding things together, not being hypervigilant. It allows you to relax, to be fully in the present moment, and to be friends, so to speak, with solitude.

Here’s the thing. It’s not only people that can hold us. God does. Both are important.

I am blessed to have people in my life who are holding me during this cancer journey. My son who lives with me. My daughter, son-in-law, and their children. My church family. My blog readers. Excellent doctors and nurses. Hopestone Cancer Support Center supplying home-cooked meals. Elder Care housekeeping. Friends. People, known and unknown, who pray for me. I appreciate them. They make my life richer and easier.

But without God holding me as well, I would not have inner peace and joy regardless of my circumstances. I am grateful beyond words.

*Donald Winnicott, quoted by Elizabeth Burns Dyer in psyche: know your self, “The capacity to be alone depends on the sense of being held.” 27 March 2026.

Results

Yesterday, I had my fourth PET scan. Previous ones were in August 2024 and September & December 2025. These are standard fare for me now, every three months. On the drive to Tulsa, I admitted to Bev that I had some anxiety over what the results would be.

Today, the first verse in my daily Psalm reading gave me comfort: “In the Lord I have found my refuge.” I journaled briefly:

I had some anxiety yesterday over my PET scan that lingers today: fear over the possible results. What if the scan shows active cancer? Here’s the answer: God will be with me. If the results are good, God will be with me. He has seen me through so much in my life. I can trust him; he is my ever-present help in trouble and my refuge. (Psalm 11:1a)

Early this evening, my scan results showed up in my patient portal:  all clear. I am thankful!

March 17th and 19th

Last week, I sensed a nudge to start reading and reflecting on a Psalm a day, adding that to my daily practice of a brief New Testament reading in my English Standard Version journal Bible. I’m using the New English Bible translation for the Psalm readings, one that my mother loved, and was also used in the New Testament class I took so many years ago at Grinnell College.

The language used in the Psalms is beautifully poetic. And I have always loved the Psalms anyway.

At Christmas, my daughter gave me a journal and mug, each with a Monet print on them, so using the journal for my reflections is extra special, too.

I found out right away that I cannot read my NEB Bible at the dining room table because the light is not bright enough, so I sit in my recliner (also a gift from Dana and Shawn) where I have a bright reading lamp.

That little bit of extra time in God’s Word each day yields so much peace. I’m grateful to be able to relax, read, and reflect. And pray.

 

My head is buzzy today. The tinnitus is doing its thing. I’m a little off balance (and I’m sure my brother John would say I’ve always been that way!) And I’m extra sensitive to sound.

Regardless, I slowly and carefully took a walk down the block this afternoon, enjoying the hot sun on my back. (Eighty degrees today.) Just before that, I took out the trash and put my sheets in the washer. And just before that, I reclined in my chair and scrolled Facebook after lying down in bed for close to an hour. And before that, I played some Kindle games.

Which takes me back to this morning. I had an appointment with Hearing Life to get my hearing aids cleaned and have a hearing test. I realize that the purpose really is to sell me new hearing aids—my current pair dates back to the spring of 2017.

Before that appointment, I realized that I wanted to be snarky about my cancer in a passive-aggressive sort of way to get out of the usual sales pitch. (And this, despite praying most days that God would use me to show kindness and spread joy.) He so gently helped me note my bad attitude and I repented.

Naturally, the cancer is immediately apparent due to the cap that covers my bald head. I learned that the audiologist has an aunt with stage IV cancer and is doing well with her treatment, too. (So happy that my snarkiness had been dealt with and put aside earlier.) We did the hearing test and, though my hearing is much the same as it was last time, my hearing aids are worse. The microphones are gradually going out, causing some static. She told me about the hearing aids she put in my ears right after the test (standard procedure), which worked really well, and then explained the current discounts that would bring the price down from $9,000 to $6,000. I explained, nicely, that there was no way I could afford them or the convenient $276 per month payment plan. To my surprise, she dropped the sales pitch immediately. I really appreciated that.

From there I did a quick Aldi run, limiting myself to two shopping bags’ worth. Then I drove on home, put the groceries away, ate an early lunch, and rested in my recliner.

But here is what I intended to write about: the intersection of various health issues and how I cannot tell which one is acting up on any given day. With cancer, fibromyalgia, and diabetes to choose from, I’m hard pressed to say. I’ll guess that all three contribute.

Since my treatment a week ago, I’ve been discouraged with my lack of motivation, how little I am doing, and how much my brain and body just need to chill. Yes, today I did more than usual. But it still was not much. I’m hoping I will have more energy in the two weeks between now and my next treatment.

In the meantime, I am going to try for a little more physical activity each day and remember to be gentle with myself.

  

Good News!

Yesterday (March 11) I had my regular labs and appointment with my oncologist, Dr. Moussa. He had some good news for me. Because the Trodelvy infusions are working very well, he is placing me on maintenance treatment. What does that mean?

Instead of receiving two treatments plus an injection to boost white blood cell count within each 21-day cycle, I will now receive just one treatment every three weeks. What that means is I will have two weeks off each cycle, which is likely to yield less fatigue and more energy for me. More feeling good days.

At my next appointment with him on April 1, I will also have another PET scan.

Think about it: today, I had my treatment here in Bartlesville as usual. The next time I will have a treatment will be April 2. Wow!

Thank you, God, for how well my treatments are working. Thank you!!

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.