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Round 3

As I head into round 3 of chemo, I am kind of amazed.  If you told me that one day I would have cancer, and the evening before a chemo treatment I’d be sitting calmly in front of my Christmas tree, listening to holiday tunes, savoring some homemade applesauce and feeling pretty content, I would have laughed.  I mean, this is one of your worst nightmares, right?  I have advanced stage, aggressive cancer.  It’s no joke.  

But a Scripture passage comes to mind.  The one where Paul says he has learned the secret to being content in all circumstances.  This guy was beaten within an inch of his life on multiple occasions and shipwrecked a few times.  And the one in the Old Testament where the three men are thrown into the fire by the king – they didn’t know whether God would save them or not…but they trusted Him anyway. David writes of walking through the valley of the shadow of death but not being afraid.  
What does this reveal? That spiritual maturity, or a deep connectedness with God allows us courage and contentedness in the face of unsettling, scary, upsetting circumstances.  I’ve got a long way to go.  But I’m beginning to see how it’s possible, by God’s grace.  
Please pray for me.  I need it.  And you need it (your prayers for me will bless YOU.  Connecting with God right now is the best way you can spend the next two minutes.  Promise.) But know that I am confident in God. I am floored by His grace.  By His mercy.  He certainly likes to keep things interesting.  
I’m going to do my part – let them put the poison in me and not be a baby about it. God is going to do His part – be right there with me no matter how sucky it gets.  And you can do your part – pray for me, ditch those mom jeans and maybe send over some non-Gmo vegetarian lasagna or something.  

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Cancer and Mom Jeans

Do you have any character flaws?

Hahahahahaha.  Of course you do.  Me too.  Lots!  Here are a few:
I enjoy being right a little more than I should
I am stingy toward people I think are foolish
I’m messy to a degree that is impolite
I have numerous double standards
I have the sense of humor of an 11 year old boy at times
I expect people to read my mind 
I often think people should just “suck it up”
I am stubborn and prideful
I buy too many black shirts
I care more about tasks than people when under pressure
I avoid disapproval of those I deeply respect
I am impatient with my daughter
I have a borderline unhealthy obsession with Bono from U2 
I judge you if you wear mom jeans

So, one of the things I am prayerful of during this wild ride of being a cancer patient is that these impurities will rise to the surface like those present in gold do, in the fire.  Cancer is the fire.  I’m the gold…granted, a sub-par, bargain basement variety, presently.  The intolerance for mom jeans, for example is the impurity that will rise to the surface to be burned off or scooped out and flung into the pile of arrogance, insecurity, rage, control, cowardice, vanity, etc.  
But how?  How can trials such as this make us better?  
I’m not entirely sure but I do know that knowing God in the midst of the suffering is the key.  Somehow our communion with Him is where it’s at.  
Not what He does or doesn’t do for us.  
Sometimes we think we’ll pray and He’ll answer in the exact way we want and that’s how we know and then our faith is strengthened.  That happens.  Now and again.  But that’s not the fullness of it.  We tend to think of God as this figure who either grants our wishes immediately and in a particular way like a genie or who doesn’t exist at all.  We come to the table with an agenda.  Heal the disease.  Keep me safe.  Free me from pain.  Give me the money.  Make him love me back.  
We can’t handle it that God is so much bigger and wiser and possesses much more full and accurate perspective than we do. Suffering in His presence, seeking to trust His ways, reaching out bit by bit in faith…that’s how it happens.  We see Him at work.  We feel more secure.  Our fears shrink.  Our hope grows.  Our eyes open more, our perspective shifts, our hearts grow bigger and softer.  We begin to desire His will more than our self-centered, immature, limited desires.  Because we begin to understand that even though it’s beyond our finite minds to fully grasp, that somehow, He is always hard at work for our good.  
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Suffering is necessary

Tim Keller, in his excellent book “Walking with God through Pain and Suffering” says that suffering is necessary.  That it’s an important way to grow.  That people who escape suffering are typically lacking in terms of resiliency, of knowing their strengths and weaknesses, of understanding the human experience with a depth of wisdom.  

Interestingly, the same devastating or traumatic experience can destroy one person, yet strengthen another.  We have to approach it in an effective way, specific to our particular variety of suffering (whether it be illness, physical pain, facing possible death, experiencing the loss of a loved one, suddenly imposed physical limitations, lack of basic needs, even a nasty break-up) to glean growth rather than bitterness.  Our hearts will be broken now and again in ways mostly small, but sometimes big.  My big one is cancer.  Some days that feels a little like this:

Maybe your “big thing” is totally different.  And maybe it’s from the past.  Or it hasn’t come yet.   Not trying to scare you.  But my hope is each of us can do a little “prep work” to help us be armed against suffering totally destroying us.
This is by no means an exhaustive list for how to deal with suffering…if you want that, start with Keller’s book.  However…
Some ways to prepare ourselves to be pointed in the direction of growth and away from the direction of bitterness:
Let’s expect that we will suffer.  Ok?  Something upsetting is going to happen at some point.  So let’s not fear or be overwhelmed by it but let’s notice that chances are, something devastating will occur in our lifetime.  That’s life.  Life is full of joy and fun and boredom and annoyance and tragedy.  It just is.  
Let’s deal with our illogical notions that if we are well behaved, we will escape suffering – it’s not Biblical, and it’s just not true if you look around.  You know perfectly nice people that have suffered.  
Let’s wrestle with the difficult reality that encountering suffering does not mean God does not love us.  Because, umm, like Jesus totally suffered and he’s God’s favorite.  
Let’s believe that suffering can produce many things: perseverance, character and hope, to name a few.  But also glory.  Straight up glory.  When all seemed lost, as Christ died on the cross…they must have thought “game over.”  A skinny naked teacher hung there dying.  A crude and tragic sight.  What fools they must have felt like, following him around for those years.  But little did they know what was happening. Little did they know the spell was being broken.  That Death was being defeated.  That God’s love was pouring out.  
Maybe God’s love is pouring out in the midst of your suffering and mine.  God can be quite subtle in His ways.  Look for the evidence.  I bet it’s there.  
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Cha-ching. Oh, yeah!

When you have cancer, you can fight it in a bunch of ways. You can do what your docs tell you and take the meds they give you. You can change your lifestyle in regard to food, physical activity and stress. You can pray. You can meditate. You can reasearch all of the different philosophies out there.

When you begin to look into the various options of eating differently or taking supplements or herbs, you can fall down quite the rabbit hole. There is so much information out there as I’ve lamented about in other posts. But this one thing keeps popping up for me. When someone sends me an article about some new way of dealing with cancer, I’m happy to read it. I’m even happier when I see that the suggestions are limited to eating more of some food, less of others and avoiding certain things (maybe processed foods, sugar or deodorant with alumninum) with some strong data behind it. I’ll even look into doing some radical things. Hey, if I could stand on my head every day and that would keep cancer away – I’d start today! But when the theorized “answer” to the problem happens to come from a person selling stuff…I immediately shut down.

PLEASE DO NOT TRY TO CURE MY CANCER BY SELLING ME YOUR STUPID SHAKEOLOGY (that costs enough to cover a small monthly car payment) BEACH BODY PEOPLE!!! Ok, ok, so no one did that explicitly. (I do love me some Shaun T and of course my Beach Body fanatic friends…though some of you could bring it down a few notches.) So no one tried to make me buy Shakeology to cure my cancer. But lots of slightly less weird things like that have happened. Someone gently or not so gently suggesting that I “check out” their(or their friend’s)_____. Sidenote: only infomercial item to truly change my life so far in my 35 years: SNUGGIE!!

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not totally against all things sold in a multi-tiered fashion. I love me some Scentsy and Sabika jewelry. Thirty-One has some handy bags. Good products, and no one’s ever been pushy with me. Also, and most importantly, no one has suggested they might cure cancer, lol. But there are some real opportunists out there and it’s making me grumpy.

There are the private, non-traditional nutritionists (the ones who do very expensive blood tests to design a very expensive personalized, cancer-fighting eating plan.) Although on that one, I’m letting my friend Mary be the guinea pig…a little too pricey and not quite sciency enough for me, but I’m waiting to see what her experience is like. The chiropractors (who are supposedly nutrition experts with lots of supplements for sale.) The juicer fanatics – and you have to buy the enormous Vita-Mix. The supplement advocates. (Those are the best because you can’t just buy ANY Vitamin C, it has to be THEIR brand of Vitamin C…yadda yadda purity yadda yadda absorbtion…that they happen to get a nice discount for, which they would be happy to pass along to you.) The acidity-alkaline people who say you need to test your urine PH levels constantly (they have a great price on those ph strips, by the way!) and that baking soda cures cancer (yes, that’s a thing.) Read about it here. Although in that case, baking soda is cheap and readily available…oh, nope. Wait. It’s only if you take this special SUPPLEMENT version.

There is a web site for a “Miracle Healer” that states on its home page “A MIRACLE HEALING CURE FOR ALL TYPES OF CANCER. CLICK HERE!” And books. Oh my goodness, the books.

I guess I’m just ranting because I feel like people with cancer are vulnerable and sometimes totally desperate to find a cure or even something that will tip the scale a tiny bit in the right direction for them. If you can possibly tack on a point or two to your percentage of your chances of survival by eating organic chia seeds…you’ll probably do it with deep dedication. (Chia seeds are weird, delightful and expensive by the way!) But, money is no object when we’re talking about survival. And that’s what’s dangerous and where things get weird and even unjust. So the cancer patient willingly parts with the cash and the chia farmers cash in. Nothing against chia seed farmers. I’m sure they are all lovely people.

I feel angry when this happens to me. While I have so many wonderful people who are doing things for me, supporting me, sending me amazing cards and gifts, praying for me, I do encounter the occasional person who (I can’t say for sure, because I don’t know their heart) seems to kind of see me as a business opportunity. Hey, how come nobody sees this blog as a business opportunity?! Let’s monatize this bad boy, Lol. Seriously though…it’s icky. My heart kind of drops when I see the first red flags of a sales pitch. In my mind, I go “Oh, I thought you cared about me…I get it now.” Sales is rough – I know. I “sell” the idea that you should give your hard earned cash to help homeless people. That’s a tough sell, sometimes, Friends!

But what really makes me mad is when I see people (cancer patients, people in financial trouble, people in chronic pain) who are less cynical and suspicious than myself going down that path. Easy prey. I feel bad for the guy who just needs a job and is selling Amway Vitamins. Having to unload useless or overpriced products to people who don’t need them is a thankless, unstisfying job (unless you’re VERY good at scamming people in which case, I’m sure it’s quite profitable and therefore fulfilling in a certain, icky way.)

Probably, most of the people selling this stuff are selling it because they believe in the product. Which is better than the smaller number of people who see a financial opportunity in a desperate, vulnerable population and decide to capitalize on it. Those are less nefarious folks, I suppose. Less evil and more just…not very smart? Yeah, being easily influenced and “drinking the Kool-Aid” if you will, is less bad than simply trying to take cancer patients to the cleaners. But even so – I’m glad you love your JuicePlus, Zeolite Enhanced, CalMag Formulas, your Vitamix, your tantric shaman in the Himalayas. But if it requires me to whip out my checkbook…you’ll be drinking that Kool-Aid alone, my friend.

Now, all that being said, while there are some really crappy people out there looking to make a buck…most people are just hopeful – hopeful that something will work, that maybe they can help, that they have knowledge that will be helpful. I can process through the weirdness and most of the time get to that sentiment. But if I could make a request – please don’t try to sell someone with cancer something. Unless it’s a really cool new eyeshadow that is just life-changing. Or chocolate covered pretzels. No matter how vegan/paleo-gluten free/sugar free/chemical free I am…I just can’t say no to chocolate covered pretzels. It is not possible.

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Separating love

So my friend, Laura gave me this bracelet 

I really like it and wear it almost every day.  It’s glass and some little gems and trinkets rattle around in there.  There is a sparkly cross and a square with the word LOVE.  I noticed that the cross and LOVE had gotten stuck together and they ain’t movin’.  
I like how they rattle around, so I tried to free them with all manner of shaking and tapping, to no use.  So for a while I’ve been vaguely annoyed by it.  It frustrates me deeply that those little pieces are stuck.  Rattle around, freely!  Clink charmingly against that flower!
So this morning I was listening to a Tim  Keller sermon and this was the Scripture:
For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 8:38, 39 ESV)
So, the cross and the LOVE square wont separate in the bracelet no matter what I do.  It’s a nice reminder.  I like it how it is now.  

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Confessions of a Cancer Patient

Sometimes unloading a random heap of honesty is just what the doctor ordered.  Ready? 

I’m not an optimistic person generally speaking.  But I’m surprisingly optimistic about my cancer.
I would rather be in a live show like Rent or Cats or whatever than to go and see it.  But I like dressing up and going to dinner!  And I like dancing.  Shows with lots and lots of dancing are the exception.  Also, I love the circus.  
Hair styles that haven’t changed since 1987 just amaze me.  I stare because I just can’t believe it.  Does no one say anything or do these people love it so much, they can’t part ways with their feathered mullet?
I think it’s weird when you post a bazillion pics of your girls night out that seems to happen every few days.  New Years? Fine.  Bachelorette party? Sure.  But…Tuesday, August 14th?  Are the duck faces supposed to make us believe you are all very happy?  They generally cause me to assume the opposite.  I see the emptiness behind the mascara, Girl.  
I will never relate to the pages in my InStyle magazine that encourage me to spend $1,600 on a fur bedazzled wrap as an “investment piece.”  I mean…who is doing this?  I would like to give them a tour of the homeless shelter where I work even as I am encumbered a bit by CANCER.  Buy pretty things, yes.  Things that make you feel a little special and cherished.  But don’t buy outrageously impractical things with any kind of regularity when kids don’t have enough food and people are still dying of diseases.  Your money can be so powerful if you use it well!  
Mayonnaise is terrible.  Look at it!  It’s awful.

If you eat it, I like you a little bit less and wonder what on earth is wrong with you.  I am capable of loving you, still.  But you may not live in my house.
I do not understand the sense behind plopping our kids on a strange, elderly man’s lap to talk about toys and candy.  It’s pretty weird when you think about it. 
I mean, ummmmm…?

I think my hair has not fallen out yet because it is afraid of me.  
I barfed blueberry oatmeal all over my entire bathroom during post-chemo round 2. 

 It was so icky, sticky and nasty, one of the cats came by, poked his nose in, then shrunk back, backed out the door and ran away.
So, those are today’s confessions.  Hope they made you laugh or feel less alone.  
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Thanksgiving – The Cancer Edition

We’re all thankful at Thanksgiving. (Right? Not feeling grateful at the moment? Stressed about the travel, the food you have to prepare in your tiny kitchen, the kids? Annoying Aunt Clementine and her yappy dog? Ok…quit your bitchin’ for a minute – yes, I know those yams won’t peel themselves, but really…just for a second…take a moment to breathe and be present and look around you at all you have to be appreciative of, okay?) Good. Now…we’re all grateful for our families, our friends, our warm, safe homes, our jobs and our car and our pets. There is no minimizing this. I am grateful for all of that and more. Here are some specific cancer journey-related objects of my gratitude:

I am grateful that at this exact moment I am not nauseated. It could pop up at any moment and it probably will, but at this very moment, I’m nausea-free. Take a minute, while you’re sitting there at your computer or in some waiting room passing the time and acknowledge that you are free of nausea (assuming you are.) That’s what I’m doing right now. An unhappy belly makes an unhappy person. A happy belly at least leaves the possibility of a happy person. I’m thankful that when I did barf up the blueberry oatmeal the other day that I had teh strength to clean it up, multiple offers from others to do it for me (THAT is love, People) and the option to stay home to recover fully from the blue, chunky trauma. 🙂

I am grateful I have my hair. It’s hanging tough. It will not go without a fight, that’s for sure.

I am grateful for laughter. It honestly makes me feel better. Thank you, to those of you who really get this about me.

I’m grateful for people speaking boldly into my life, people going beyond their comfort zones to help me, people bending over backwards to make my life easier and to care for me and my family. From food to flowers to laundry and childcare…we could never do this without you.

I am SO grateful for my chemo schedule. Just the way everything fell – I’ve been able to avoid the worst chemo days coinciding with Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years. God provided there, big time. I would be so frustrated if I had to spend these special days in bed. You don’t get back Christmas with your four year old.

I am grateful for all of the normal stuff I am grateful for every year – to spend my 5th Thanksgiving morning at Light of Life Rescue Mission with some excellent people who care enough to serve the poor on a holiday, to sit at the table with most of my family members at some point during the day. Turkey. Pie. Love.

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Cancer is an Opportunity

Cancer is a chance to do and be (or not do, or not be) a lot of things. It’s a chance to feel sorry for yourself. It’s a chance to hide or check out of relationships. It’s a chance to complain, to crumble, to grumble, to feel bitter, to live in a space of anger, resentment and basically wear a t-shirt that says:

Well, it’s true. Life isn’t fair. Though I take a different tack on that one. People say life isn’t fair when they experience pain or loss because they presume themselves to be morally upright, relatively speaking. And this, somehow, gets them a pass from experiencing pain.

I find that to be a strange, selective way of looking at things. If we’re honest, we can see how often we escape, by the skin of our teeth, consequences of all the not-so-perfect things we do – lying a little bit (or a lot?) cheating in any number of ways, stealing (ideas? credit? Post-it notes?) rudeness, superiority, gossip, passive aggression, blaming others for our failures, jealousy over…everything. Road rage, anyone? How about resenting others’ success? In fact, one could argue, we often get more good stuff than we deserve – love in spite of our mistakes and imperfections, we keep our jobs even though sometimes we don’t know what the heck we’re doing, the extra miles to get to the next exit even though we’ve been on E for quite a while.) I would argue that we reap not nearly the amount of crappy stuff we ought to from our sowing of wild, selfish, apathetic oats.

So if we can set aside the “life isn’t as fair as I feel like it should be” issue, gently helping each other down out of the seat of God’s throne where we occasionally plant ourselves…we can consider that suffering perhaps isn’t undue punishment. So what might it be, if not that? I can’t tell you what your suffering is for, or even what mine is for, in certainty and in its entirety. But I can tell you what it’s an opportunity for:

It’s an opportunity to grow in empathy. For some people, like me, it’s hard to empathize with something we haven’t experienced. I, unfairly, sometimes tend to have a “it can’t be that bad” attitude when people complain of pain or fatigue or physical or emotional difficulties. Cancer is making me softer. More understanding. I care more about people’s pain. Before it was easy to know someone was having surgery or whatever and see them two weeks later and go “look! they’re fine….that wasn’t so bad.” I am now intimately familiar with the long nights in the hospital, the pain that meds don’t touch, the struggle of long-term nausea. I know more about struggle. And I regret the attitude I’ve occasionally had in the past about how bad something I didn’t know anything about can be. I am grateful for my growing capacity for sympathy.

It’s an opportunity to galvanize my faith. Do you notice how when you’ve gone through something difficult like a test, or scary like a giant waterslide, that even though it wasn’t easy, once you’ve been through it, you are less anxious about the next one? Life is like that, too. You go through a bad break-up with your first love, and while it’s painful…you lived, didn’t you? The next break up doesn’t destroy you quite like that first one did. Whatever level of “strong” I am is probably a direct result of how much tough stuff I’ve been through – seeing that God comes through, in one way or another, every time. I’m going to be so freaking tough after this. You’ll think I’m on steroids.

It’s an opportunity to be loved. I am amazed at how loved I am. Of course there is the occasional disappointment – the person you thought would be there that just sort of faded away or disappeared suddenly, altogether. But mostly, I feel like there is a persistent army of caring, loving people beating down my door with cards and flowers and bubble bath and prayers and dumpling soup and hugs and special tea and chocolate covered strawberries and trips to the grocery store. Thank you, to the people who are loving me so well and generously through this. I feel cherished and cared for like never before.

There is this story that Tim Keller, pastor of Redeemer Presbyterian church in NYC tells about this group of elder leaders of a denomination of a European country. Their denomination was basically dying off, not having had growth in many years. They wanted to appoint this young, up and coming, high energy pastor as their new leader. They all respected him and liked him and felt he was on his way to great things. But they stopped in their tracks when one of them pointed out that the young pastor hadn’t really been “put through the fire.” He’d yet to have a life experience that truly tested him. They knew, once they realized this, that his time had not yet come. Many years in the faith and in leadership had taught them that to really be able to lead people effectively, you have to have been through some pretty tough stuff. I’ve found myself in leadership of some kind, throughout most of my life. Perhaps I am not ready for anything further until I’ve fought this particular battle.

I think you make some key decisions in any life chapters that you might title “SUFFERING.” And one of them is if you are going to let it beat you down or if you’re going to let it make you better. I don’t know about you, but I want to be better. So I will. Sometimes pressurized coal turns into boring coal dust. And sometimes, it becomes something so beautiful, people lose their lives trying to find it.

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Want to know what chemo is like?

Not every cancer patient gets the same chemo drugs.  Some people get one drug.  Some get four.  I get two.  Here’s how it goes down.
The morning of my treatment, I get up and start my two week cycle of oral chemo.  This drug has a few side effects including nausea, weakness, fatigue, muscle aches and headaches.  I get all of them to varying degrees. But, so far, none to the point of stopping me from getting through a normal day reasonably well.  

My husband, aka, my driver, chef, and wiper of tears on bad days, takes me to the cancer treatment center.

In Pittsburgh, there is an enormous, fancy, well funded cancer treatment center called Hillman. It’s got sculptures, fountains and free lunch. The place I go? Is not that. But it’s close to my house and I like my doctor, so I’m ok with a boring, clinical setting. We arrive and wait a bit in the waiting room. I always notice the people there. I am always the youngest and seem the least sick. I’m never sure how to feel about that. I’m tempted to feel a little sorry for myself because, geez, these people typically have 30 years on me at least. But on the other hand, I’m feeling good enough to take a shower and put on lipstick and earrings and wear boots that once, an elderly but sassy patient loudly pointed out were not worn by “nice girls back in her day.” So mostly I feel thankful that, at least so far, we don’t really need to use the “cancer patient only” parking spaces.

So we get called back and they take my vitals. They then access Mort the Port. Mort is located below my collarbone on my left side. He’s about the size of a peach pit and he makes a weird little bump. 

 Via Mort, they can draw blood and give me medication. They also have to flush him with saline, which makes my mouth taste like metal for some reason. It is weird and gross. They then give me my pre-meds which include some fluids, steroids and anti-nausea medication. About then I meet with my doctor who is about my age, Indian, friendly and funny. I like him a lot. So far we’ve only gotten good news from him, such as stellar blood work and so far no evidence of cancer cropping up in other places. So my meetings with him have been pleasant and positive. He says I’m a trouper and he is impressed with my staying active, working, etc.

Then I head to the treatment area. It’s a large room with about 10 chemo stations. A lot of the people there are pretty sick. But most have a companion (spouse or friend or relative) with them and everyone seems to stay pretty positive even if they are weak and not feeling well. They hook me up to my IV chemo, a drug that causes all kinds of weird side effects. But during the infusion time, nothing major happens. My mom arrives.  My husband goes to work.  We chat, play Scrabble.

I watch hilarious videos on You Tube.  Have silly text conversations.  Answer work emails.  This all takes about 3 hours. It’s afterward that things get weird.

Different types of cancer require different types of chemo. So mine may be different than someone with, say, breast cancer. Plus even the same drug may affect two people differently. So this is just what has happened to me so far. When I leave the center, I have to keep my hands and feet warm because the cold paralyzes them and makes it feel like they are being stung by a swarm of bees. And I cannot breathe in cool/cold air. If I do, my breathing becomes like someone who has just climbed 5 flights of stairs quickly. I’m out of breath and cannot “catch” it even though I am not at all over-exerted. The cold air paralyzes and causes spasms. It’s very weird. So I wear a scarf and keep it tight over my face. Mind you, it’s only been about 45 degrees so far. So, I’m sweating because I’m wearing gloves and warm socks and a scarf. It is very hard to explain to someone that you are both overheated and fearful of letting the cold get to you. People have a hard time understanding this, but I wouldn’t understand it either.

The cold sensitivity also includes food and drink. Can’t ingest anything cooler than room temperature. If I do, it feels like I’m swallowing tiny porcupines. This is tough because dehydration is a major risk with these medications and one can only drink so much hot tea.   But I’m becoming a bit of a tea snob.

Also, anything sour, sweet or pungent (like a sharp cheese) is off limits. It feels like I just took a giant swig of pure lemon juice. So my diet for a week or so is warm and bland. Which is fine, because I am also nauseous. Not like toilet-hugging, stomach flu nauseous. Just unsettled and unpleasant. Nothing sounds good except, say, crackers, macaroni and cheese, toast. You get the idea.

A new side effect this time around is muscle aches. I also got a flu shot (my first ever) so maybe it’s from that. But this is for the birds. I keep waiting for a magical fairy massage therapist that does house calls to show up.

Another new side effect is that cool air or tears hurt my eyes. That’s just great. Because, you know, you never feel like crying when you have cancer. Honestly this one is just funny to me. Like…seriously?! My new motto is “There is no crying after chemo!” Seriously, I cried a little bit yesterday and immediately decided that there will absolutely be no more of that until this stuff wears off a bit. A friend’s daughter sent me a beautiful painting of a stained glass window from her church today. It was so sweet I got a tiny bit weepy and had to be like “Nope. No way. This is not adorable at all.”

So, it will be like this for a while. But it gets better. I still have to take the oral medication for two weeks, but my body seems to tolerate that much better than the IV chemo I get. Now, lest you think I’m just sitting here feeling bad and sorry for myself…I’d like to end with some gratitude.

I’m grateful for my husband handling everything while I am pretty much just capable of getting through the day. I’m thankful for my mom making sure I have everything I need and taking me out when I’m up for it. I’m thankful for the awesome care packages and cards and texts and shout outs on Facebook. I’m thankful that people care enough to read this blog. I’m thankful I’m not sicker. I’m thankful that God has been faithful every step of the way, giving me hope when I need it, grace when I need it and peace the entire time. I sincerely am filled with peace and even joy almost all of the time. Cancer does some terrible things. But it is making me tougher, wiser, kinder and more faithful every day. So, I’m grateful for this experience, even the messy, painful parts.  Besides…I’m a fighter, yo.

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Rainbows galore

So my friend, Laura had this thing about rainbows. She loved them.  She dressed colorfully and sparkly and brightly.  She refused to let the cancer get her down.  She fought it with heart, soul, chemo, radiation, love, laughter, Zumba and rainbows. 

Bear with me for a short biblical review of rainbows: from Genesis, we know that a rainbow is a sign of God’s covenant with all living creatures of the earth.  It’s His promise to never flood the entire earth again.  Here, a rainbow is a sign of God’s grace.  We are also told in Revelation that a rainbow is present in heaven – surrounding God on His throne.  So, rainbows represent both God’s grace and God’s glory.  
So rainbows are nice and all.  But my friend is still gone.  I was feeling especially anguished recently, between the days of Laura’s death and funeral.  My eyes hurt from the crying.  At one point, I actually said out loud to God “I’m in this.  I’m with you.  I trust you.  But I need to know, like really know that you’re with me.”  I’m much more of a thinker than a feeler. I take God’s word for it (The Bible) and go from those truths.  Like, Scripture says He’s with me, so He’s with me.  But this week was so hard.  This week, I needed to feel it to keep walking.  
So, as one who does not often ask for “signs” because I don’t think it’s good, solid faith to need some kind of sign at every turn.  It feels too much like telling God how to guide me and I’m not into that.  But as one who does not often ask for a particular type of comfort, I kinda figured He would get right on that.  I looked.  I listened.  Nothing.  
Until today.
I woke up with a heavy heart knowing it was the day we would lay Laura to rest.  I trudged into my bathroom.  And there it was.  A freaking rainbow.  Faint but clear.  I was enthralled by it.  I, as any young Gen Xer/old Millennial does, immediately took a photo and shared it on Facebook.   At which point I saw the exact same thing had happened to a mutual friend of mine and Laura’s.  It was cool, exciting and special.  Then I got the text from another friend with the photo of HER rainbow on her wall.  They were all different but rainbows nonetheless.  Now I was just speechless.   
Then we got to the funeral.  And at the cemetery, after we released an array of colorful balloons, my friend pointed saying “look!”  You won’t believe it.  But a splash of a rainbow in the sky.  On a sunny day that turned clouded but with not a speck of rain.  Above the place where a hundred or so loved ones gathered to put this rainbow warrior to rest.  
I don’t know how it works.  If it was Laura painting the sky for us with God’s delighted permission, the angels honoring heaven’s new arrival or God Himself showing a grieved group of people His everlasting love in a way we could see clear as day.  However they got there, you’re bonkers if you think there’s nothing special about these.  With them, God answered my prayer.  He showed me a sign.  He reinforced my faith.  He’s with me.  He’s got Laura.  He will wipe every tear.  He will undo every sad thing.  
Tomorrow is Chemo Smackdown-o-Rama-Fest Round 2.  I’m ready.