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.

 

From Minions to the Middle East

 The mitochondria factory minions have decided to take the day off, but perhaps I can still eke out some thoughts on the late Kenneth E. Bailey, ordained Presbyterian minister and research professor fluent in Arabic who spent forty years living and teaching in the Middle East. Check out his Amazon author page for more credentials.

I had never thought about Arabic being an important language for New Testament studies, but it is. Bailey was able to read and study the Arabic Bible and ancient manuscripts. That, plus his close friendships built over the years with Arabic Christians living in rural villages where ancient customs still prevail, allowed him additional insights into the texts and first-century cultural influences.

I don’t remember how I came across his articles and books, but I’m glad I did. The online articles are not as challenging to read as his books, three of which I own: Jesus Through Middle Eastern Eyes: Cultural Studies in the Gospels, Paul Through Mediterranean Eyes: Cultural Studies in 1 Corinthians, and Poet and Peasant Through Peasant Eyes: A Literary-Cultural Approach to the Parables in Luke.

I cannot speak adequately to an important part of his scholarship: the close analysis of Bible text structures. Basically, he explains patterns of writing used by first century Hebraic writers, setting up the passage he is examining in a line-by-line format with explanatory notes on its structure. From that, I learned how exquisitely, for example, Jesus told his parables and Paul’s 1 Corinthians was written. Those patterns of writing help uncover emphases that can otherwise be missed.

But the parts that I could easily understand were his explanations of the culture of the times, which bring out even more beauty within the Scripture passages and sometimes puts a whole new spin on them once we understand their cultural context. For example, the family dynamics in the Prodigal Son parable, and architecture of first-century homes in the Nativity story. That “whole new spin” does not change the meaning of the texts but enhances and deepens our understanding of them.

I’ve often wondered over the years how much of the Bible we don’t quite get because we are reading through 21^st century eyes and are not aware of customs and traditions of the first-century Middle East. What I’ve found from Bailey’s books as I prepared sermons over the past few years were insights that demonstrated repeatedly just how God-inspired and magnificent God’s Word is.  It’s amazing to me that the Bible speaks God’s truth throughout time despite changing cultures, and I love getting “the rest of the story” through understanding more of it through Middle Eastern eyes.

For now, though, since my minions are still on break, I think I’ll take a break, too.

So Grateful

 

This morning, my heart was filled with gratitude for so many tiny things:

• ·         The soft feel of my new fleece bathrobe
• ·         The vegetable glycerin soap that soothes my dry, eczema-prone skin
• ·         The shower of hot water on my bald head
• ·         The comfy clothing I have for colder days
• ·         Feeling good enough to get a few things done around the house

Sometimes it seems like God opens my eyes to joy in the littlest things. It was a glorious way to start the day.

I’ve called cancer treatment the ultimate endurance test. It is so very hard. But for whatever reason, this morning God gave me a joyful reprieve through experiencing deep gratitude.

Chemo Brain Alert!

 Today’s appointment went longer due to various delays. I went in at 10 am, and I was done at 2:45 pm, about an hour later than usual.

The brain fog crept in gradually. First was the weird feeling from the steroids. Then the fog grew deeper with the two chemo infusions. I noticed it as I played a particular Kindle game. The “very easy” level on the Scrabble copycat game got harder and harder.

But despite my chemo brain, I wanted to mark this third treatment day, Wednesday, December 4, because it is exactly three months after my mastectomy on Wednesday, September 4. It’s been a long journey, but there is only one more chemo treatment left. It will be on January 8.

It was lovely to celebrate Thanksgiving, followed by Elijah’s third birthday (December 2, though we celebrated on the first), and Shawn’s 40^th birthday on the third.

The next two plus weeks will be devoted to resting as my body requires.  And then comes Christmas with my family. Fortunately, I did my Christmas shopping early, so all I must do is wrap presents.

And indulge in some favorite old-time Christmas movies such as It’s A Wonderful Life.

 

Interlude

 Have you ever read something that seemed to explain your life with God? That was the case for me when around ten years ago I started reading books by the late Dallas Willard. He was a philosophy professor at the University of California for over forty years. And he was a devoted Christian in the Southern Baptist tradition. That combination surprised me and piqued my interest. If I remember correctly, the first two books of his that I read were The Divine Conspiracy and Hearing God.

Why has Willard’s writing affected me so deeply? Because they spoke to the deepest longing of my heart: to know God more.

One of the things The Divine Conspiracy talks about is a fatal error in modern Western Christianity: the lack of teaching to encourage spiritual growth in the life of the believer. It seems that the modern church lost this vital aspect of the Christian faith. I remember as a teenager longing for more. After accepting Jesus as Lord and Savior of your life, what then? It seemed that the only means of renewal came through a recommitment of your life in an altar call. What then? Once the emotional exhilaration of that moment passed, it was back to life as usual.

The church’s exclusive focus on evangelism (saving souls) neglected the necessary follow up of discipleship. Sure, there were Sunday School classes or small groups that concentrated on learning what the Bible says and teaches. And, yes, those were essential. Life applications were discussed as well as admonishments to read the Bible more and pray more. At the time I didn’t realize it, but I needed a spiritual mentor. I needed help with prayer and with developing a devotional life. Though I didn’t know the verse at the time, I was looking for the inner transformation spoken of in Romans12:2.

Hearing God focused on a big question for believers: how does God speak to us through the Holy Spirit today, and how can we tune in to what He is saying? As I read through the book the first time, I was exhilarated to recognize the various ways God has nudged me along in my quest to know him better. If I were to roughly summarize what Willard wrote, it would be that first and foremost, God speaks through the Bible. He can also speak to us in a variety of other ways, such as nature, circumstances, and people. And he speaks to us quietly through nudges and whispers to our souls. Practices such as spiritual disciplines help us learn the art of listening to our Creator.

I recognize that I may be writing what could seem like a whole lot of nothing in my attempt to not box God into a certain process. His Truth is eternal, but he has limitless ways to convey it to each individual because he knows us so well.

Why am I writing about two Dallas Willard books in a cancer blog? Because his spiritual teaching has mentored me. You see, my life in Christ is what sustains me through the ups and downs of cancer treatment. I’ve had a week of feeling almost better. Tomorrow starts the cycle again where my brain will be fogged by the poisons administered to kill stray cancer cells; and my body will be plagued by exhaustion, pain, and neuropathy. It is hard. It is very hard. But I have peace because of what Jesus has done for me and how he has faithfully drawn me closer in the past and in the present.

The Panda and the Pillow

 Since September started, the panda and the pillow have adorned my recliner: panda to my left and pillow to my right. Along with the ergonomic lower back pillow behind me and the super-soft fleece blanket over my lap, I’m well tucked in.

My granddaughters felt that I needed a stuffed animal to hug. Panda started out perched on the left armrest but soon found her proper place slid down to the side where my arm drapes over her. Occasionally, I must adjust her, pulling her up out of the grip of the chair.

The small rectangular pillow came from Hopestone. After my mastectomy, I found that placing the pillow between my upper arm and body worked like a charm for relieving some of the muscle pain. For the first weeks after surgery, the pillow traveled with me throughout the house and even to bed at night for a little extra support. By the end of September, though, it found its permanent spot tucked against the right armrest.

I like to snuggle into my recliner early each morning and listen to music. With a cotton cap on my head to make earphones more comfortable, I plug them into my Kindle, recline to a perfect position, pull the blanket up over my arms and shoulders, and put my arms down by my sides with my hands slightly curved around Panda and pillow. So comfy!

Last night, I wondered if it was time to retire Panda and pillow from the chair. So, this morning I settled in to listen to music covered up with my blanket. It just wasn’t the same. When I’m reading or playing Scrabble, Mah Jong, or Solitaire, perhaps Panda and pillow can have a break. But morning dozing still requires their presence.

Musings

 When my son gets home from work after 3 pm, I will take the car and go grocery shopping at Walmart. The last time I drove myself anywhere was on November 5.

I made it through the pain phase and successfully weaned myself off the pain medication which, I thought, would mean going places again. Not so. Fatigue has refused to leave and keeps me home. You see, Joseph and I share my car. Having the car for the day requires me dropping him off at work or school in the morning and picking him up at the end of the day. That sounds too strenuous to me.

In the past couple weeks, my sleeping schedule has shifted due to a big eczema outbreak. It’s hard to go to sleep and stay asleep at night due to extreme itching. (I think I’ve tried every remedy there is. Applying a cold damp washcloth to the itching area for 5-10 minutes seems to work the best, but have you ever tried to sleep with a cold washcloth on your arm?) It turns out that my best time for sleep is all morning. After an early morning light breakfast and an hour or so listening to music as I relax in my recliner, I go back to bed.

There in bed this morning, I mused about mitochondria, which provide energy to cells. (Don’t worry, this is as close to biology as I get. You can Google the term and find an incomprehensible definition--for non-science majors, that is.) I began to imagine my personal mitochondria cell factories operating at sub-optimal levels since chemo began. Are they understaffed? Or lobbying for better working conditions? Workers’ complaints about the unknown force (chemo) that interferes with their best efforts have not been addressed by management. In my imagination, the workers look just like the ones in Despicable Me.

Okay, so that was a rabbit trail.

Here is what all this staying home and being so tired makes me think about: the many people who are stuck at home due to things beyond their control. A phone call or a visit means the world. Make the phone call, do the visit and brighten their worlds.

And here is another thing to remember when life slows down due to illness: be grateful for the little bits that you can do and be kind to yourself.

p.s. I slogged through the Walmart crowds wearing my mask. The cashier at the less than 20 items lane was very nice and loaded my cart for me. Joseph unloaded the car and put the groceries away. I’m all done in. My expedition this afternoon was a little more than I should have done, but now I can rest and count my blessings.

Notes

November 15

Earlier this week, I gave up on trying to use the pain medicine the doctor ordered. I couldn’t stand the zombie feeling it gave me during the day, and at night it kept me awake. So, I made my request and disposed of the pricey Vicodin at the pharmacy when I picked up the inexpensive Tylenol #3.

That change did not yield the title of game changer, but it was a step in the right direction. My body’s response to chemo seems to be an ever-changing landscape. New things keep popping up, most recently an intense sensitivity to odors and sounds, even to the music I love so much. At times, I need silence. My brain overreacts to stimuli.  But this morning, I was able to listen to music, for which I am grateful.

Sometimes the fatigue forces a full stop. But it’s my brain I miss the most. I know I am not thinking clearly.

November 16

I woke up feeling almost normal and decided to write. However, forgetting that the “almost normal” feeling likely had a time limit, I wasted some time online. Unfortunately, that hour used up the sense of well-being and bit of brain power I started out with. Back to the recliner to rest.

November 17

The good news from a few days ago is that I’m getting an extra week between treatments due to Thanksgiving week, making my next treatment in the first week of December. That automatically gives me another extra week before my last treatment, which will now be the week after Christmas.

One evening recently, as I lay in bed listening to music, I was swept up in the glory and beauty of God’s love. Such moments are pure gifts from the Father’s heart.

Saturday

 And here it begins again: wobbly knees and shaky hands (likely peripheral neuropathy) and muscle and joint pain. But this time I am prepared. As pain twinges started up yesterday, joining the sheer exhaustion from chemo, I started on regular Tylenol. With the gradual arrival of muscle complaints in my back, I’ve graduated to Vicodin. Unfortunately, it makes me spacey and sleepy, but I find that far preferable to pain. Clearly, I’m not going anywhere for a few days.

But I do have choices: recliner, bed, office chair at computer; music, social media, and games on my Kindle. Reading books depends upon the level of concentration I can achieve. Oh, yes, and phone calls. I’m catching on to the fact that phone conversations are good pick me ups.

The thing about cancer or any chronic illness is that it can isolate you rather quickly. I like being alone but, you know, there is a limit.

And here, at this moment, my brain has hit its limit on concentrating enough to blog, so I stop for now . . .

Now evening, and I’m still spacey, but not quite so bad since I cut my pain med dose in half at supper. That plus about an hour with the heating pad seems to have worked nicely.

Reading today was confined to social media and news. Hopefully tomorrow, I’ll get back to a chapter a day of N.T. Wright’s study, The Heart of Romans. Even without chemo brain, it would be a bit above my head, but at least I can follow the broad scope of his commentary on Romans 8. It’s inspiring and good.

I start and end my days with music. The two albums I listen to the most, both by Christian musician Fernando Ortega, are Give Me Jesus and The Shadow of Your Wings. They are peaceful and inspiring. They help me remember whose I am and keep me grounded. God is good all the time, and all the time God is good.

My Good Week

 This past week was a welcome reprieve. I felt good enough to drive and leave the house on my own. True, for most things, one hour and just one errand used up my energy, but it is quite amazing how refreshing everyday things can be:

• v  several shopping trips to Walmart and Aldi.
• v  picking up prescriptions from CVS.
• v  browsing at Goodwill.
• v  enjoying a delicious lunch at Jude’s just because.
• v  picking up four more caps in different colors from Hopestone.
• v  working at my Good Shepherd office for an hour one day.
• v  going to church Sunday, for the first time since October 13!

Best of all, I did two 4+ hour visits with my grandchildren (and their parents, of course). The kids were fascinated by my lack of hair, especially Ava (6) and Elijah (almost 3). Those two wanted to touch and rub my head a lot, which was fine with me. Ava was the one who asked if I would please take off my cap. Josiah inspected my head as well. Benjamin did not recognize me at first. Joelle, being a more grown-up 11 ½ year old, was not as focused on my bald head.

You might wonder why I did not do anything with friends . . . because I didn’t feel like I could plan ahead.

To be perfectly honest, there were also some struggles. My hands and forearms itched intensely several times a day and during the night. The only thing that helped was ice packs. Yesterday, the itching stopped thanks to the steroids I take the day before chemo.

Also yesterday, while Joelle and I were playing charades, I decided to act out being a cheerleader, which I was in eighth grade. I stood up to do the Saugatuck High School song and cheer, which I have remembered all these years. Except I didn’t even quite remember the first move, and the rest was simply gone. And, in the evening when I was doing my stretches, which I had finally memorized a couple weeks ago, I couldn’t remember the whole sequence and had to look at the printout to do them.

All in all, though, it was a great week. Today I do chemo treatment #2 and will take it really easy at least for the next week (and remember to take my pain meds when I need them). Just think: two down, two to go.

A Precious Blessing

 Last Saturday evening, I saw an offer to help on my Facebook page. It occurred to me that instead of simply responding with a “thank you,” I could do what is harder for me and make a request. All week I had been thinking of how soothing watermelon is for a sore mouth and sensitive stomach. So, I asked, and the happy result was a Sunday delivery to my front porch. In a bag decorated with a bow were two items: a container of watermelon chunks and a tea towel.

The drop-off was accomplished by the ring of my doorbell. I hurried to the door in time to see Cindy and her husband in their truck ready to pull out. She blew me a kiss as her husband smiled. I sensed God’s blessing on them as they shared in this moment of ministry.

In the house, I put the watermelon in the refrigerator and unfolded the tea towel imprinted with a verse from a favorite hymn:

When peace, like a river,

attendeth my way,

When sorrows

like sea billows roll;

Whatever my lot,

Thou hast taught me to say,

It is well, it is well

with my soul.

 I read the verse and remembered that Horatio Spafford had penned these words during a time of profound grief. I thought about times in my life when God has given me inexplicable peace amid great sorrow.

And a little later, I savored every soothing bite of watermelon.

Cycles

 Just over a week ago, I was in the grip of intense pain. I finally called the triage nurse, who kindly reminded me to drink more fluids and take my pain medicine. I’m still asking myself how I could have completely forgotten about taking pain medicine when I was in such excruciating pain.

So, I followed her orders and found blessed relief from the pain if I took Tylenol #3 around the clock, which left me in a codeine haze. I dozed and slept, dozed and slept for the next few days, waking just enough to keep drinking water and protein drinks, and eating small meals.

I am grateful to have eased out of that cycle and hope to never repeat it.

Yesterday, I finished another cycle: completing the second of two physical therapy appointments that covered best practices to avoid lymphedema. I’m doing the daily stretches to help my lymphatic system keep up its good work. I know to do a daily visual check of my arms and hands to see if there are any changes, and I’ve learned how to measure my arms each month to keep track of any swelling that may occur.

And today, October 30, my hair started falling out as I shampooed it. Though I’ve been expecting to lose my hair any time now, the handful in the shower drain still shook me up. Within the hour, I went to Great Clips to have my head shaved. It was the first time I’ve driven in over a week. As I backed out of the driveway, I started to sing, and God buoyed me up with joy as I thanked him for feeling well enough to drive, joked with him, and praised him. “Give Me Jesus” is one of my favorite songs. Each short stanza ends with these words: “You can have all this world but give me Jesus.” I sang, “You can have all my hair but give me Jesus,” and laughed out loud.

Who would think of joy and laughter about getting my head shaved? That was God’s gift of joy in the moment. I got to share that joy when my friend Veloy called, and in interacting with the Great Clips staff. That’s the neat thing about God’s joy: uncontainable, it bubbles up and spills out to others.

Back at home, after a delicious lunch supplied by Hopestone Cancer Center, I’m ready for a nap and looking forward to grocery shopping later, covering my freshly shaved head with my pretty purple cap (also supplied by Hopestone).

 

 

 

 

Brutal

 Cytoxan and Taxotere are doing a number on me. Brutal beyond anything I ever imagined. My back feels knotted up in cramps with occasional knife stabs of pure pain. I hobble around with unsteady knees and achy hips. There is no comfortable position, even in my memory foam bed and recliner. The back of my neck is stretched. My shoulders hurt. All is pain.

Last night was endless. Sleep for an hour, wake up in terrible pain, ease out of bed to use the bathroom, lie down again to cramping and knife stabs, somehow sleep another hour.

The cramping and pain attacks started Saturday, were in full force yesterday and overnight, and continue this morning. It is 6 am and here I sit at my computer, which is another pain perspective. Headache, with occasional icepick stabs, my spine wearies from sitting up.

Yes, it is bad. My arms are dead weights, my legs are kind of floppy. And the pain does not stop.

Earlier, I put myself in the surround sound of my headphones listening to Give Me Jesus, a Fernando Ortega album. His soothing voice helps as does the praise, though I don’t know that I can praise when I’m in such pain.

When I attempted breakfast at four am, my cinnamon keto bagel was not so good as usual. I ate it for the high fiber content. Coffee was blah. I may need to give it up. I need to eat vegetables, but they sound too harsh and gross. Heartburn pressure resides in the center of my chest. My knuckles hurt as I type.

Yesterday I gave up on the range of motion exercises, though I did my stretches to prevent lymphedema.

Later I will call a triage nurse for suggestions. Heat? Ice? Distraction, if possible?

Just to let you know . . . usually, side effects get worse with each treatment. Please pray for me.

PS. Now it is close to 10 am and I’m trying to understand what has happened. After writing at 6 am, I retreated to my chair, slept for a while, and then got up to go rest some more in bed, eventually waking up around 9 am. Here’s what I don’t understand: during my sleep it was like a switch was turned off. I’m left feeling beat up, achy, and sore, but the pain attacks seem to be turned off for now. I hope this continues!

Balance

 Yesterday, I went to see my grandchildren. I didn’t realize how exhausted I was until I got there (a mere ten-minute drive). The normal course of action is for me to talk with my daughter a bit and then go back to the girls’ room to play pretend. I was too tired to do that yesterday, and poor little six-year-old Ava just didn’t understand. She began to cry. Dana explained that sometimes Grandma would not be able to play, and I offered to read Ava a book of her choice. That helped. But near the end of my hour plus visit, Ava had an idea. Could I be a mountain for her to drive a toy car on? “Why, yes!” I said. So, for a few more minutes I sat there comfortably on the couch while Ava drove her car up my arm to the top of my head, and Joelle quickly created a small house out of magnet shapes there. It was sweet. My granddaughters’ imaginations always amaze me.

I keep assuming that my reactions to chemo will be the same as eight years ago even though the drugs are not. This first go-round has been filled with surprises. I felt pretty good, though tired, on chemo day (Wednesday) and Thursday. Yesterday I became exhausted, and today the exhaustion increased with the addition of bone, muscle, and joint pain. I pretty much slept until noon and lounged around for the rest of the day. By early in the evening, I felt like I could get some needed supplies at the store if my son took me, so off we went. Now back at home, I have a headache and will probably go to bed soon.

You see, I expected to start feeling better by the weekend, and that did not happen. I don’t know what to expect. And that brings me to my point. As with the recovery from my mastectomy, each day brings the unexpected. I may feel better or worse than I thought I would. And things are always changing. Many of those changes are happy mini surprises, such as being able to extend my arm further or not needing some tiny habit I developed to compensate for discomfort.

My takeaways from yesterday and today are to be very intentional about my protein intake and keep up with drinking lots of water. The short trip to the store reminded me that walking around a little more than I think I can is also good. Balance is the key, and isn’t that true of most of life?

Chemo Day One

At just about every medical appointment I have, my blood pressure is quite high. I attribute that to anxiety. To my surprise, when one of my chemo nurses took my blood pressure this morning, it was close to a normal reading for me. Low anxiety for my first round of chemotherapy? That’s interesting.

After hearing that my mastectomy was just six weeks ago, she did not feel comfortable with subjecting my right arm to the chemo IV. So, to my surprise, she quickly found a vein near the top of my left wrist and successfully got the needle in on the first try. What an expert!

While I still remember the sequence, I’ll share it here. First infused is a saline solution, followed by a longer infusion of steroids. Then, after a 30-minute wait (I think) comes an injection of anti-nausea drugs in the belly that will slowly release for the next five days. It is a big needle, so I was given ice to apply so the shot wouldn’t hurt so much. I believe there was another wait before the first chemo infusion was started. That took an hour, followed by another wait, and then the other chemo drug took an hour as well. A short saline flush followed, the IV was removed, and I was free to go. Sylvia was waiting for me when I got out around 1:15 pm.

I brought more things to my appointment than I needed. Instead of reading the chemo notebook, I played solitaire on my Kindle, steadily drank my flavored water, and ate the snacks I brought: packaged peanut butter crackers and plain Greek yogurt with frozen berries. I asked for a warm blanket once the last infusion started. The IV entry point had started to feel more uncomfortable, and my nurse had the perfect solution: she wrapped a second warm blanket around my forearm. Instant relief!

I’ve been home for over three hours already. I had lunch (a Hopestone meal from last week) and relaxed in my recliner, which is more comfortable, I must admit, than the chemo room recliners. I’m tired and a little fuzzy in my thinking, but hey, neither of those are entirely new to me! Tomorrow afternoon will likely be worse after the injection to keep my white blood cell count up. At least, that’s how it was eight years ago.

Here is the comfort OCSRI offers for the next three weeks until my next treatment: I have the anti-nausea prescriptions on hand; there is a triage nurse on call 24/7 if I have a question or need; and I have the assurance from Mezha (the ARNP I saw yesterday) that she will meet me at the clinic during working hours if I need immediate attention.

Pretty soon I’ll eat the meal Sylvia prepared for me, and Rita will bring dinner tomorrow night. (This is Hopestone’s week off.) Do you see how blessed I am with so much care and support given me?

  

Tired and Grateful

 My brain is tired tonight. Let me tell you about today.

Bev drove me to Tulsa this morning to my appointment with Muse Intimates for a mastectomy bra fitting. There was much more to it than I had imagined—an hour and a half’s worth. The initial measurements were repeated for each bra and prosthetic she had me try. Let me make it clear: I was not picky; the professional bra fitter was. She was super nice and oh so patient, wanting to make sure I had exactly the right fit that was also comfortable. To my surprise, she told me that Medicare plus Medicare supplement (I have both) will cover six bras and one prosthetic for year one. She prefers to do four bras (plus prosthetic, of course) at the initial fitting, so that’s what I got. Within a year, I can go in for two more, and thereafter, Medicare pays for two bras every two years.

Because it was the store’s 17^th anniversary, I received a gift bag. The mesh bag for washing bras and the toiletry bag for traveling are nice. I do not want to divulge the other items, rated X, which were geared to young women with husbands or partners. Those I tossed.

We got back to Bartlesville two hours before my next appointment, so Bev and I enjoyed the yummy salad she had made along with wide-ranging conversation. She dropped me off for my 2:45 pm appointment at Bartlesville OCSRI (Oklahoma Cancer Specialists and Research Institute), where I had blood drawn and an educational visit with my ARNP, Mezha.

Because my surgeon, Dr. Flynn, had told me that recent research shows that there is no risk of having blood drawn from the arm on the same side as a lumpectomy or mastectomy, I gladly offered my right arm for the first time in eight years. You see, my left arm has lousy veins and usually requires multiple sticks before a suitable vein is found. The phlebotomist quickly located a vein and had the needle in before I knew it. I was so impressed!

Then came my appointment with Mezha, who is a delightful person. She shared LOTS of information with me and answered my questions clearly. Plus, I gladly received all of it in writing in a notebook that OCSRI gives patients. I guess I know what I will do during chemo tomorrow.

As lousy as it is facing chemo again (and I could lose my hair as soon as ten days from tomorrow), all the OCSRI staff make it less so because of their upbeat attitudes, kindness, and professionalism. After my appointment, I called Bev, and she got there within ten minutes. During that brief window of time, my chemo nurse for tomorrow came out to the front where I was waiting, introduced herself, and checked with me to make sure I took my steroid prescription today.

I think my brain is tired from change and new experiences, from appointments and new information, and from being away from home for eight hours today. I almost didn’t write, but then realized I would regret it later if I let this big day go by without writing.

I am grateful today to a friend who gave up her whole day to get me to my appointments; for the capable, friendly fitter at Muse; for bras to wear paid for by Medicare; and for the staff at OCSRI.  I am grateful that I have excellent medical care and support for my chemotherapy treatment. I am grateful for the free hats I picked up at Hopestone Cancer Support Center yesterday. I am grateful for the meals Hopestone provides weekly and for the meals my church supplies the occasional week when Hopestone does not. I am grateful for the weekly housekeeping from Elder Care. I am grateful for my family and friends who love me and pray for me. And, of course, I am grateful for my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

On this night before chemotherapy begins, I am a bit anxious, knowing how hard the next few months will be from its side effects. I pray I will be able to sense the comfort of the Holy Spirit amid my days and nights, though I know by faith that God is seeing me through.

 

Blessings

One of the convenient things about having my chemotherapy in Bartlesville is that my son can drop me off at my morning appointments. Yesterday, I received the schedule and appointment times for the first two rounds of chemo, which gets me to the halfway point. Then OCSRI will schedule me for the last two rounds.

Getting treatment involves three separate appointments. Tuesday will be getting my labs done. Wednesday will be chemo day, which takes about four hours. Thursday will be injection day (a shot to help keep my white blood cell count up). Then I get three weeks off.  

The first round will be October 15-17. The second round will be November 5-7. Round three will be near the end of November, and round four will be completed before Christmas.

I’m enjoying doing various errands around town. Knowing that I will be “down” for at least a few days after each chemo session makes me appreciate the ability to get out now. Today I took my son to and from work, went to a few garage sales, went to the pharmacy, and browsed at a local clothing store.  Yesterday I went to WalMart, which normally isn’t on my list of fun things to do, but it is now. I’m reminded to thank God for all the little things that I normally take for granted.

Each day I gain a little more ground. It is a happy surprise when I reach for something with my right arm, and it doesn’t hurt. I’m thrilled to be sitting here typing instead of using speech to text. Yesterday I saw all five of my grandchildren, which was a real treat. It’s so nice to be able to do more things, even the twice a day stretching exercises to keep my lymphatic system in good shape and to improve my range of motion.

I couldn’t stand my shaggy hair another moment and got it trimmed this morning even though in 3-4 weeks it will all come out. I plan to have my head shaved before I start to shed, though. But I’m sure enjoying these last weeks of having hair!

All Things Considered

Considering my circumstances, the news yesterday couldn’t have been better. Not only will I have just four rounds of chemotherapy, but all of it can be done here locally in Bartlesville. Chemo will be once every three weeks, starting next week. I do not have the exact schedule yet, but I should be done before Christmas.

Here are a few more details to help you understand why this is such good news. First, I will not have a port. Chemo will be administered in my right arm, which should be able to handle four infusions. Plan B--if there is a problem with finding a good vein for the IV--is to have a pic line put in for the infusions. Second, three months of chemo is about half the length of the treatment I expected to have. And, of course, the huge plus is getting this done locally instead of having to go to Tulsa (an hour away).

I must admit that I did not feel happy after yesterday’s appointment, though. Once I was back at home, the reality of starting chemo settled in. Reading the information about the drugs I’ll be receiving, including the long lists of possible serious side effects with the worst one being death, was sobering. It brought back memories of just how sick I was last time. The “sick” is hard to describe: bodily pain, exhaustion but inability to sleep well due to the steroids that fight inflammation, nausea, difficulty eating and drinking, and the foggy “chemo” brain. There was also a strange sense of not feeling like myself.

It's sobering, depressing, and another reminder of my mortality. Without Jesus, I could not bear going through all that again. I never “fought” cancer the first-time round. All I could do was lean into Jesus—I don’t know how to describe that, but it was very real—and trust all possible outcomes to him. That is the only way I know to get through this.

October 3

 

On Saturday, October 3, 2009, my sister died from ovarian cancer, having survived just three years after her diagnosis. Thus ended my short trip to see her that turned into a 66-day bedside vigil. The first month was at UNC Women’s Hospital, a truly excellent facility in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. The last month was at a skilled nursing facility, Kindred, in Greensboro, North Carolina. Kindred was a god-awful place but the only one covered by her insurance.  (It was her medical insurance that forced her move.)

I never could have guessed that fifteen years later I would be in my second bout with breast cancer, receiving good news on October 3, a Thursday: Today I was given the green light to start using my right arm more and even drive again.

A nurse removed the steri-strips and did an ultrasound to check on the bit of fluid retention under my scar. I was relieved to learn that I would not need a needle poke to remove the fluid. Dr. Flynn gave me the good news, sent a referral to Muse Intimates for an appointment in the next week or two to be fitted for a mastectomy bra and prosthesis, and sent me on down to the fourth floor of the Mary K. Chapman Breast Center to see the physical therapist.

There, the physical therapist measured my right arm’s range of motion and spent the next hour giving me instructions on exercises to facilitate a healthy lymphatic system to prevent lymphedema. These fourteen exercises (all brief) I will do twice a day for the rest of my life. With my mastectomy, I only had four lymph nodes removed, but still, any time lymph nodes are surgically removed, there is a chance that the lymphatic system could get backed up, resulting in painful swelling that does not go away.

In a few weeks I will see her again for further instructions. She will teach me how to measure the circumference of my arm in three places, which I will do once a week to make sure there is no start of swelling. And I will get a prescription for an arm compression sleeve to use for travel (flying or going to the mountains) and just in case I experience any start of arm, hand, or finger swelling. The trick is to catch and treat the swelling right away.

Next Tuesday, October 8, I have an appointment with Dr. Moussa, my oncologist. I believe he will explain what my chemotherapy treatment will be, when it will start, and when it will end.

It seems to me that good news during cancer treatment is usually mixed with sobering realities. But ever since my sister died at age 56, I’ve felt that every year I get to live beyond that age is a bonus year. I’ve made it to 69 already, and I’m hoping for many more years to come.

 

Speech to Text: Progress

 

Yesterday the drain was taken out! What a relief! The other piece of good news was that I could discontinue the antibiotics I have been taking since my surgery on September 4.

Before I got any crazy ideas of resuming a normal life, the nurse quickly informed me of remaining restrictions. I am still under the rest, eat, and self-care rule. By the way I am doing very well on the resting and eating part. Surprisingly, I have lost a little weight, despite the scrumptious meals that Hopestone Cancer Support Center provides for me. The self-care rule is that I may use my right arm just for personal hygiene. (That’s good, because I’ve never been successful at brushing my teeth left-handed.) There have been a few times I try to use my right arm without thinking—like reaching for something in the cupboard--but usually a sharp pang in my chest stops me. When I asked about taking a short walk down the block to enjoy the fall weather, she said, “no, but you can sit outside.”

The best good news of all, however, is that I get to take showers again, starting tonight. I wonder what my hair will look like with all the grease removed. Using no rinse shampoo like they do in hospitals or dry shampoo just doesn't cut it.

Next week I will see my surgeon. Besides taking the steri-strips off the surgical incision, hopefully she will clear me for more activity. I will also see the physical therapist to learn exercises for my arm.

It is nice to be making progress. This recovery from surgery is taking much longer than I had anticipated. Having so many restrictions has been hard, even though I know they are for my own good.

Many years ago, when I was suddenly faced with chronic illness that robbed me of my energy and heaped on what I called “traveling pain,” I wrote a brief poem that included the following line: “life narrows to the marrow.” I discovered then that the loss of stamina and energy as well as the presence of pain forced me to make choices every day about what I could and could not do. I also found out that when life became more restricted, I leaned on Jesus more. He is my hope and my strength.

Speech to text: Grief

 

On Sunday the 15th, Pastor Katrina came to visit. She brought prayer beads and a book. The Anglican prayer beads are in the form of a wristlet. But what I want to talk about is the book. Its title is Grief Undone: A Journey with God and Cancer, by Elizabeth W. D. Groves.

Katrina said that to her, the book seemed to have my name written all over it. However, she added that I may or may not wish to read it right now. I wasn't sure if I would or not.

But I did. A few days later when I opened it up, I wondered if I would get past the first page or two. I didn’t know if the topic of grieving for a spouse dying of cancer would be hurtful or helpful. Not that I ever had a spouse die of cancer, but I did sit bedside my sister for two months in 2009 as she died from ovarian cancer. And now, here I am with a recurrence of triple negative breast cancer, which has made me start to think more about my own mortality.

I finished the book last night. Reading it was a profound experience with God. The author’s faith resonated with me. She, her dying husband, and their family experienced so many moments of God's nearness, his beautiful mercies, and his glorious love. That was life affirming for me because I have experienced so much of the same. Like her, I have had people say I am so strong, but I am not. It is Jesus who is strong, my rock, my savior, and my Lord. I have found again, amid cancer, a closer, more precious relationship with Jesus.

The book brought me to tears a few times as I felt the author's profound grief mixed in with the hope of heaven. That doesn't say it strongly enough. Not just the hope of heaven but a glorious inner vision of the reality of believers’ eternal life with Jesus Christ.

The first tears I cried over having cancer again happened during Pastor Katrina’s visit. Those came about as I spoke with her about my grief over this cancer. I hope to live, of course, but if I do not my heart aches for my family. I want to see my grandchildren grow up. I want to be a supportive mom to my daughter and her husband. I want to see my son launched into independence with his own apartment and a stable full-time job.

Right now, I am looking forward to seeing my grandchildren in person again once I am sufficiently healed from my mastectomy. Facetime is nice but not enough. Oh, how I miss them!

Speech to Text: How I Became a Rebel

Last Sunday evening, I rebelled. I was so hot and uncomfortable that all at once I got up, went to my room, and took the compression bra off. That is what was bothering me: I get too warm easily, and the compression bra was just too much. I had two reactions: relief and dismay. It was the first time I had taken a close look at my missing breast. I had not expected my chest to be concave. Enough said.

The relief was so great that I spent the next 24 hours without compression. That gave me enough time to launder the bra. Reluctantly, I put it back on.

On Wednesday yeah it's my weekly appointment, I confessed to the nurse. She was not happy. Neither was I because my drain was still producing. The goal is for the drain to run dry and get it taken out So that I can take showers again. Taking off the compression bra increased the drain output. Hopefully, with my renewed determination to follow all the rules, The drain will be removed next week. However, I learned that I must still wear the compression bra 24/ 7 For a full month after the drain is removed. That deflated my sails.

Actually, I had two appointments yesterday. The first was with a radiation oncologist. It was a consultation about radiation. There I learned why radiation is not not given for a recurrent breast cancer: because the potential side effects are horrific. They include fracturing of the ribs, the affected skin becoming leather like, and lymphedema. However, he said, that a more focused radiation can be used if cancer recurs in the chest. He said that after chemo is finished, I should check the area on a weekly basis, running my fingers lightly across the area which should be smooth. If I would find a lump or a bump, then I would contact him and if that small area was malignant, then a focused radiation could be used to kill off that small area of cancer. I  fully intend to follow those instructions.

Today I am worn out from yesterday's appointments. I was away from my house for about four hours. No, make that 5. As I compose this blog, I am correcting some of the stranger's errors, but by using my left hand. By the way, the word stranger’s was supposed to be stranger.

There is a lovely new development that will help me keep my mind off the discomfort. My brain has decided I can read again. I am so thankful for the return of that ability, and I am thankful for friends and family who provide such wonderful support for me.

  

Speech to Text: Findings

 It was a relief yesterday to get the gauze bandages removed.

I was told that everything looked good. I am healing well. After the area was wiped down with an antiseptic, new gauze was placed.

The nurse went over the pathology report with me. A new section had been added. No mention was made of stage so I asked her if she knew what it was. Her best guess, since the final determination is made by the surgeon, was stage 2B. Later in the day, I decided to read the copy of the pathology report she gave me. It took a while because there were terms to look up.

Here is my summary:

Stage 2B, grade 3 invasive ductal carcinoma. Grade 3 indicates that the cancer is highly aggressive.

Skeletal muscle is present and involved. Carcinoma invades skeletal muscle. All regional lymph nodes negative for tumor.

The type of breast cancer present is triple negative, which is the same type I had eight years ago. Triple negative is considered to be one of the most aggressive forms of breast cancer.

The report gave my recurrence score estimate of 40.2. That is within the possible range from 9 up to 55. What does that mean? There is an increased likelihood of early systemic recurrence. That is the statement that really gets to me.

As all of that information sunk in yesterday evening, I became depressed. Is this what I'm facing for the rest of my life? Treating this local recurrence? And then facing at some point a systemic recurrence? Is the rest of my life going to be defined by cancer treatment? I went to bed depressed and woke up depressed this morning.

It did not help when I accidentally spilled the drainage poured into the little measuring cup. I empty the drain bulb two times a day. And I record the amount drawn to show the nurse at my next appointment. After cleaning up the mess, I had to guess how much had been in the cup. I guessed 15 ml.Hopefully, by next week's appointment, the drain will run dry so that I can have it removed and take showers again!

I was tempted to either try to sleep again or get lost in a solitaire game. Fortunately, I remembered that it was important 2 turn to Jesus for help. Before opening today's devotional from the book sailboat church, I asked God to please speak to me. What I did not expect was how perfect today's devotional would be for me.

This devotional is one that our church’s session is reading to seek God's will for our small church moving forward. The format is like this: a scripture is named, followed by the focus text, which is quoted. Then follows a brief paragraph titled listening to God. It is written in first person, like God is speaking directly to you. What is said relates to the text. Here it is, in quotation marks, and followed by my response.

“Your lack is never the end of the story.”

How I needed to hear that. With cancer treatment, I lack energy. I lack the ability to do much of anything. I wonder what will happen to the plans I have for my future.

“When your resources run out, if you are in the flow of my will, all the resources of heaven are available to you. It grieves me when you forget that I am your source of supply.”

Immediately start to pray. Forgive me for forgetting this so quickly. Thank you for reminding me that I've given my life to you and that you are in control. Open my eyes moment by moment to your will. Help me to fully rely on you, ohh God.

“Praying in the name of Jesus is not magic. It means that you surrender yourself to my will and are willing to be used for my purposes. Let me work through you to do miracles in the lives of others! Together, we can do more than you could ever ask or imagine.”

It seems that surrendering myself to God's will takes place day by day, and often moment by moment. I know that it is easy for me to slip into depression rather than to submit myself to God. Help me, God, to keep coming back to you, for in you alone is abundant life even for someone with cancer.

This morning's experience reminds me that Jesus is my lifeline. It reminds me that he is faithful. It reminds me to keep searching, to keep praying, to keep reading his word. I do not know what the future holds, but i know this: God loves me and God will use this time for his glory. And beyond that, he will keep blessing me with his love.

Speech to Text

 

September 10, 2024

Speech to Text

last Wednesday was long.. We arrived at St. John's at 10:00 AM for surgery at 1:30 PM. As it turned out, my surgery started at 3:30 PM or so. The high point in the day was getting to drink a 12 ounce bottle of apple juice yet 11:30 AM, a new protocol for surgery preparation.

Because it takes me so long to wake up after a general anesthetic, we we're not ready to head for home until 7:00 PM.

Since Wednesday, the days have blurred together. The first couple days I spent napping day and night, getting up 2 use the bathroom or take another pain pill. A couple days ago, I cut way back on the pain pills and started to stay awake for a good part of each day.

Several women from church provided meals. And oh have I eaten well! I've been trying to follow the doctor's orders, getting up to walk around the house every few hours and doing my best not to use my right arm. Not using that arm was very easy the first couple days because it hurt so much when I moved it. That is not the case now come on which I'm happy to announce. And I'm having less drainage in my drain pump every day.

My brain power is slowly returning. I have added scrolling Facebook or playing kindle games 2 just listening to music. I'm still not focusing very well, so reading, as in a book, is still out of the question. Morning get space delete. OK what I meant was

 

delete delete space delete

I'm having a few problems navigating speech to text, as you can see.

My son is handling details for my day each morning and evening. Things like filling glasses of water from the heavy water pitcher and preparing glasses of iced coffee. Plus, of course, doing dishes. End my laundry. You lying

I am choosing not to make corrections for two reasons. First, because I'm just learning speech to text and don't want to use my right hand to physically make corrections. Second, to let you see how this speech to text writing works for me. When you see something that does not make sense, it is simply what the computer typed instead of a command I tried to give. I will say that speech to text works way better than it did 20 years ago.

My daughter came by on Saturday morning, and it was so nice to see her. We keep in touch during the week through phone calls.

Many thanks to the ones who have provided meals this week, into hope stone for the meals they will provide again starting tomorrow. And sanks to those who have already given me rides to appointments and who will be giving me rides to appointments.

During July and August, I experienced so much joy and peace bubbling up from my soul. That definitely was the gift of the Holy Spirit. Since my surgery, I have not been feeling that joy and peace but I recognize that God is with me even when I do not sense his presence. I think that right now my body he is using all its energy to feel. End my mind and my heart are still digesting the information trauma the reality, that the road ahead will be long and hard. You see, last night I looked up my pathology report. I had to look up medical terminology to understand just about every single line of the report, and i'm not sure did I thought it all even then. What I do definitely understand though is that this cancer is a grade 3, meaning it is highly aggressive. A bit of it had already spread into my chest muscle. The report said that the surgeon removed 4 lymph nodes. From other things said in the report calm huh i am guessing that this is a stage 2A cancer. We will see tomorrow, when I see my surgeon again, if I am correct or not.

To say that God seeped joy and peace upon me to the overflow this summer to help me prepare for the journey I had. This fresh knowledge that God is always near is encouraging. I do not have to rely on feelings to know it. Please continue to pray for me, for my medical team, for my family and friends. Remember that God is good all the time, and all the time God is good!

 

 

Here We Go

September 3, 2024

Tomorrow’s the day: total right mastectomy at 1:30 pm. The next time I blog will be by dictation, hopefully within the next two weeks. I have no idea how soon the urge to write will hit me.

But today was filled with “last times.”  I’ll follow the day’s chronology.

I got in to work at my church at 11:30 am, following a home visit from Elder Care to initiate their weekly housekeeping service, which is funded by a grant. The two and a half hours I spent in the office today were the last ones for a while: I’ll be out of the office for a month or so for recovery from surgery and for an undetermined start and end date once my chemotherapy schedule is determined.

From there I went to pick up Tango, my cat, from the vet (where she boarded for the weekend and got her vaccinations up to date) to take to ARF (Animal Rescue Foundation). That was hard, to say the least. I’m glad that ARF is such a wonderful place. Tango gets her own room for a few days to acclimate before moving into the common space for cats. The side facing into the common space is clear glass; on the other side is a generous window facing out to a lawn with wooded area. The cat tree by the window gives her a clear view outside. Water, food, cat bed, and kitty litter box are all provided. The staff and volunteers clearly love cats, so she will get good attention. I pet her for at least ten minutes, telling her I was sorry to be letting her go. But by the time I left ARF, I was ready to start coughing from all the fur and cat smell.

After returning my neighbor’s cat carrier, it was time to go see the grandkids one last time before surgery. Because there are five of them, all rambunctious and totally in love with me, I will not be seeing them in person until I am well-healed from surgery. I sang songs to Benjamin a few times. What good is a grandma visit without “Wheels on the Bus” and “Patty Cake”? Eleven-year-old Joelle showed me educational videos on the iPad—one on Abraham Lincoln and the other on the Harvey homes of the 1850s (the original motels and restaurants every 100 miles on a westward bound train route). At one point, I had both Josiah (9) and Ava (6) cuddled up with me on the rocker recliner. Two-and-a-half-year-old Elijah proudly carried around one of the construction paper stars that Josiah brought home from school today, and when I gave him one of my business cards, he was over the moon with happiness.

Dana and Shawn prayed for me before I left. I feel both loved and bereft, thinking of the next weeks without my Tuesday and Friday visits. We will do Facetime, and Dana will visit me on the weekends when Shawn is home to care for the troop while she gets a little break.

A little while ago, Joseph and I went over two simple but very important tasks he will do each morning before leaving for college or work: filling big glasses of water from the pitcher water purifier to put in the refrigerator and making a couple glasses of the iced coffee I love. Sounds a little over the top? This falls under the category of not using my right arm and minimizing stretching and lifting of my left arm.

While being away from my part-time pastoring, giving away my cat, and not seeing my grandkids twice a week like I’m used to (yes, I know I’m spoiled) are what I’m grieving right now, I also have the sense that Jesus is preparing some sort of new beginning for me. My guess is that it involves getting closer to him. What I know is that I can trust Jesus for the present and for whatever the future will hold. That’s enough for me.

 

Stressed AND Blessed

 My emotional capacity is overloaded.

·         My car has broken down three times in the past few weeks: two sensors and my battery failed, all at different times, of course, but fortunately all at home.

·         I’m giving my seven-year-old cat back to ARF (Animal Rescue Foundation), where I adopted her as a kitten: it was a hard decision, but for the best. I’ve become allergic to her fur; plus, I don’t want to take the chance of her hitting my incision when she jumps up on my lap.

·         In addition to a pre-op appointment, this past week I had a physical therapy appointment which went over post-surgery instructions. I need to do one breathing exercise plus a few leg exercises three times a day and walk around in my house every couple hours. These things will help prevent blood clots and make the amount of time I’m draining shorter.

Drain instructions and not using my right arm are the biggest concerns for me. The thought of emptying my drain twice a day worries me. Not using my right arm (and, of course, I am right-handed) is going to make for a dull couple weeks: no writing, no reaching, no lifting. Well, I am allowed to lift a maximum of five pounds with my left hand, but the less lifting the better. The point is that the more I use my right arm, the longer it will take for the drain to run dry, which is the goal. To prepare for being one-handed, I’ve cleaned and decluttered my bedroom and made changes: pajamas and outfits (must be button-up) are hanging in my closet; underwear and socks are in two containers on the bench at the end of my bed because my antique dresser is hard to open.

Before my son leaves for college or work each morning, he will need to pour my water for the day (I use a water purification pitcher and container with spigot.) and two cups of iced coffee from the cold brew pitcher. If I want to have my bed made, he will have to do it. In the evening, he will have to fill the water chamber for my CPAP machine. There are probably other details I’m forgetting, but I’m sure I will remember them after he leaves each day. Plus, of course, he will have to do grocery shopping, laundry, dishes, etc. while I lounge around in my bed or the new lift recliner.

And that leads to the many blessings that have come my way already, which include these:

·         My pastor made me a purple prayer shawl.

·         My brother and his wife sent me a soft throw and a Ninja air fryer.

·         My daughter and son-in-law’s church purchased a lift recliner for me since I will be unable to pull the handle on my regular recliner.

·         My daughter has taken care of phone calls and arrangements for my cat, Tango, and for setting me up for housekeeping services through Elder Care, a local nonprofit.

·         She and her girls gave me a lovely pink box filled with snacks, personal care supplies, a soft throw, and a panda bear. The next day she gave me some additional clothing for my post-surgery recovery.

·         People from my church have already provided rides for me and signed up last Sunday to take me to my four post-operative appointments. One couple is taking me to surgery this Wednesday. And another person has offered to pay a local errand and transportation service if I’m in a pinch to find a ride to a medical appointment.

·         Hopestone Cancer Support Center is providing gas cards and meals. I also received a large cloth bag filled with all kinds of useful things for this cancer journey.

I feel loved and taken care of by family and friends. And by God, of course. I keep getting reminders from him in daily devotional readings that he is near. For example, today’s reading included Isaiah 30:15, “in stillness and in staying quiet, there lies your strength.” That pretty much describes the next month to six weeks of my life.

Whether I blog or not for the next few weeks depends on if I am successful in using the speech to text feature in Microsoft Word. Thank you, friends, for your prayers and your encouraging words.