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.

 

Starting Up Again

 Last Thursday (January 8), I received my infusion. I’m continuing Trudolvy, which is a chemotherapy wrapped in antibodies that target the protein on cancer cells.

Soon after I arrived for my 9 am appointment, everyone was herded down to the basement due to a tornado warning. There we sat for the next 40 minutes or so until the danger passed. Even with the delayed start, I was done with my treatment by 1:30 pm.

The strange brain fog feeling plus fatigue stayed for a good part of the day, making it hard to think clearly. More fatigue followed on Friday and Saturday, then shakiness on Sunday. Yesterday (Monday) and today have been better. I hope I can drive tomorrow to have my labs done locally, then stop by Hopestone to pick up my meals for the week and visit with a friend who volunteers there. Thankfully, my son is always available to chauffeur me around town as needed. Thursday will be another infusion, and we’ll start the side effects again.

Acceptance, I find, goes a long way towards dealing with the side effects from my treatment regimen. Bemoaning the fact that I’m not up to par only makes things worse. I’m grateful that the side effects I’ve experienced since beginning treatment in October have been much milder than the first two times I had cancer. I’ve learned to adjust my activities (or lack thereof!) each day and am getting a clearer sense of when I can be up and around, when I need to relax in my recliner, and when I need to go lie down for an hour or so.

The one thing I can count on is starting each day with prayer and meditating on a few verses. Right now, I am slowly working my way through Ephesians. That time grounds me and reminds me that God is in control. I don’t need to worry because whether in life or in death, Jesus is my outcome!

What I Learned

 I spoke too soon.

These past few weeks since my PET scan, I’ve been happily cruising along and gaining a little more energy each day. But yesterday, I learned firsthand how a lack of knowledge can mislead you into thinking you know it all.

Calling in to Hopestone Cancer Support Center yesterday, I spoke with the director about my good news. She rejoiced with me but then filled me in with details I did not want to hear. They boil down to this: treatments must continue to keep the cancer at bay. Obviously, the Trudolvy is working very well, but metastatic triple negative breast cancer is aggressive and sneaky. Without treatments, it will come back even harder. Debbie has had years of experience with helping cancer patients, and maintenance chemotherapy is what prolongs the lives of those with stage IV cancer. As happened after my first and second rounds of cancer, stray cancer cells hung around and eventually got active again. (No one know what triggers that activity.) I was blessed to have eight years of remission after the first cancer. After the second cancer, I had a mere 8-9 months before it returned. Ouch.

It is so, so hard to think of being weak and fatigued now that I’ve had a taste of energy and hope of being cancer free. I’m glad she explained the need for maintenance chemo to me, though: otherwise, I would have been completely devastated when I see Dr. Moussa later today. . . .

Dr. Moussa was very pleased with the PET scan as well as today’s bloodwork. Though my cancer is in remission, treatments must continue to prevent any stray cancer cells from multiplying and spreading. We will follow the same treatment plan: infusion two Thursdays in a row followed by a week off. Tomorrow will be my fourth infusion. He says that after I have completed six infusions, he will look at a possible dose reduction and/or longer times between infusions.

Early this morning, I felt defeated and depressed, so I prayed, telling God all about my disappointment and asking for his strength to endure. Then, as I often do, I went back to bed for a few hours. I rested, maybe dozed on and off, and found myself thanking God for his help. By the time I woke up, the sense of defeat and depression were gone. You see, our Triune God is ever faithful. He will see me through.

My Report

 My brain is still trying to process something I read yesterday. I seem to be in a state of shock. What I read was my PET scan report. I spent a lot of time looking up definitions. The phrase, “Interval marrow activation,” gave me some pause, so I looked it up and discovered it can be caused by chemotherapy. I believe I understand the report. But it still doesn’t feel real.

If you have ever had a PET scan, you may know that the last section, titled “Impression,” summarizes the findings. Mine says this: “No evidence of metabolically active malignancy. Resolution of previous right pleural effusion.” What does that mean? There are no tumors, and the pleural effusion (which contained cancer cells) is gone.

I should be jumping up and down with joy. But I am still stunned. This is the best news I could ever get. I’ve been asking God for more time, and it appears I am receiving it. When I see my oncologist on January 7^th, perhaps that is when this most excellent news will fully sink in.