After the Bell Rings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Last Times

January 8, 2025

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

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

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

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

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

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January 9, 2025

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