Tag: hope

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RIP, Mort the Port

I spent the past 17 months with a compass sized contraption in my chest.  It looks like this:

That long tail thing that goes into the jugular vein freaked me out a little.  It hurt a lot when it was installed and it took some time to get used to the idea.  But I understood that it would be my chemo delivery system and I should make peace with him.  So I named him Mort the Port and considered him an ally.
I recently got the news that my oncologist doesn’t think I’ll need him anymore.  This is huge.  The idea that your conservative, careful cancer doctor doesn’t think you will need any more chemo for the foreseeable future is a big deal.  A break in the clouds.  A bright sunbeam of happiness!  
So two days ago, I went to the hospital.  And I looked like this:
And then they put me out with some heavy drugs and scraped out Mort.  So I liked like this:
Cute, huh??  So Kevin took me home and let me rest with a cat on me, like this:
I got a little more energy from snuggling with this little bug:
I got brave and took off the bandages yesterday.  Eeeek:
It’s so swollen, it looks and feels like Mort is still in there.  But I know he’s not.  It’s a new era in my journey.  So many prayers have been answered.  Since we got that awful news, literally from that moment, everything, while difficult and painful at times, has gone with perfect precision.  This blessing does not escape me.  I am so grateful.  
I met a Brazillian faith healer by a river in Oregon, who talked to me half in Portugese and half in English. (Yes, I know this sounds made up.  It’s not.)  So I missed a lot of what she said. And she said a lot of strange things to me (including the f-word every sentence or two and that dogs cure cancer) but she grabbed my hands and urged me to trust in my having been healed by God and to be fearless.  Interestingly, the same day, I went to this bakery and had a cookie so delicious I’ll never forget it.  
Live fearlessly, my friends.  

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Hope realized.

Last week I had a doctor’s appointment where my doctor analyzed the results of my latest CT scan and blood work.  He deemed my results “excellent.” Relief and gratitude washed over me.  As you can imagine, waiting for those results is maddening.  It’s like balancing on a fence for a week, being told you may not hop down.  One one side of you is a fluffy mattress, puppies, a massage therapist, a nice Malbec, endless episodes of Parks & Rec and like, George Clooney or Ryan Gosling, I mean, my wonderful, handsome husband whom I love very much.  On the other side of the fence is fire, spiky things, expense reports, your 7th grade math teacher, Mrs. McKinney, who was void of soul and mean as the day is long, humidity, spiders, pop-country music, scratchy wool sweaters, pantyhose, mayonnaise just lying around in glistening, awful mounds and a cloud of farts.  Broccoli farts.  

While on the fence, so to speak, for one week, I was basically a crazy person.  My head was cluttered with all kinds of worries.  Each day, I would have to bring myself back to sanity. I busied myself with work stuff, prayed and played a lot of Trivia Crack.

When the time came, I got tipped over into the wriggling sea of puppy kisses.  I feel like I’m sane again.  I feel like I have been given, for now, a wonderful gift.  I know it isn’t a gift everyone gets.  I know some well loved friends that are still on their journey of actively battling cancer. I know some dear people who have gone to be with The Lord after fighting a long time.  I worry that my victory, my blessing, my gift is painful to those who are missing someone whose story ended with this battle.  I am careful to recognize the need for utmost humility as I celebrate this battle won.  
Additionally, cancer never goes away entirely.  Even if it truly dies within you, you fear it’s return and who it will attack next.  
Trusting God, as always, is paramount.  I have shifted from praying for healing and am focusing on praying for wisdom.  Like serious, deep wisdom.  I can’t think of anything more important to ask for.  The wiser someone is, the more they seem to trust God.  Having that trust and understanding is more important than what the circumstances are.  You can have health, admiration, financial stability, even love.  But those things, valuable as they are, do much less to help you feel strong when you are weak.  To have peace when you are afraid.  
So Mort the Port comes out next month! This is A Big Deal to me. For one, this foreign object has been in my chest for a year and a half. It has helped to save my life. I have become accustomed to it. It makes blood draws a snap! Letting them take him out means that I submit myself to that whole vein hunting, pricking nonsense.  You get spoiled with a port.  But it’s exciting to close that chapter.  I may even have a little Bon Voyage party for Mort.  He’s been a good ally.  
I’m off to California in a few weeks and Oregon after that.  (Work trips.)  Then my surgery to say au revoir to Mort.  I’m happy.  I’m grateful.  I’m excited for the present.  
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Suicide

So the actor, Robin Williams, age 63, died this week, apparently from hanging himself with a belt in his home after his wife went to bed.  His assistant found him in the morning.  This news made me feel truly sad.  Most celebrity deaths do not invoke a sense of personal loss for me.  However, this guy was special.

 

Mork appears in some of my earliest memories and Patch Adams made me want to be a doctor and the movie Dead Poet Society made me want to be a teacher.  There seemed to be real kindness behind the smile.  There seemed to be a good natured generosity inside.  What do I know about his character?  Maybe he was rude or impatient.  Regardless, what’s clear is that this was a gifted man who lived an interesting life, could afford all he wanted, experienced success at many levels and made a significant impact on the world.

And, yet, one evening a few days ago, apparently, he couldn’t stand to live another moment.

The idea of wanting to die is so foreign to me.  I fought for my life for the past year.  I have to do a little grace-work to not be offended at the idea of someone throwing away something I worked and prayed hard to keep and am thankful beyond words for.  I’m scared I might have to die early because of stupid cancer.  My knuckles are white from my desperate clinging to the caboose of the train of life and here we have people casually hopping off the luxury car!
I simply can’t imagine.  Even at my unhappiest (you know, like age 15) I was always too curious and hopeful about what’s around the corner to ever consider ending it.  ***I certainly do not say this to brag – on the contrary.*** I feel quite fortunate to not have traveled to these emotional depths.  I tend to fluctuate between intensely joyful, deeply thankful, moderately angry and a bit bored but pretty much never do I find myself in the realm of despair.  The closest I’ve felt to that is feeling scared and sad at the idea of dying.
I don’t know why some of us enjoy the benefit of nicely balanced brain function and chemistry and some of us have depression triggered by any number of issues commonly referred to as a chemical imbalance but specifically: genetic vulnerabilities, a faulty mood regulation issue in the central nervous system, high stress environment or ineffective stress management, medical problems or medication side effects.  Put another way, mysteriously, some of us float around in the easier emotions and others of us are plagued by chronic melancholy.
I don’t know a lot.  I’m not a doctor or therapist.  However I know some things about this shitty little demon because some of my favorite people struggle with it mightily.  Depression is bad.  Dark.  Painful.  Even evil, maybe.  While I believe there are medical causes and solutions related to depression, I also sense that there is a spiritual side to it.  It distorts one’s good mind and mushes into patterns of unhealthy, unhelpful thinking. Depression strangles joy.  It snuffs out hope.  It creates an alternate reality of lies.  It makes the world seem absent of good things.  It makes the worst case scenario seem most likely.  It can make the simplest task seem like climbing Everest.  By yourself.  At night.  With a broken foot.  In a bikini.
I don’t know what this really feels like.  But I know what it looks like.  And it breaks my heart.
It also breaks my heart to hear what people say about depression.  Just get over it.  Buck up.  Look on the bright side.  Trust God (good advice, surely, but insensitive and simplistic and generally ill timed.)  Do some yoga.  Memorize this verse.  Not that some of those things aren’t potentially useful.  But just shut up.  If there was a magic bullet, it would be for sale at Target, clearly marked.  Ok?
This thing causes people to End Their Lives.  Like, kind of a lot of people.  And it sends others down the path of substance abuse, and that’s not a pretty picture either.  It’s not a simple problem.
So what can we do?  I don’t know, actually.  I mean, I can’t fix it or tell anyone how to.  There’s medicine and good counselors.  Those help some people some of the time.  There is exercise and stress management.  There is good for you food and enough sleep.  There is love and support.  I know that Jesus is big enough to handle it, but I don’t know how to say that to a hurting person without sounding annoying.  So I pray.  And I ask other people to pray.  And I don’t try to fix them. And I am thankful for the health that I have.
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Even if He does not

You can learn in any number of ways.  But one of the most intense ways to learn and grow is to (either purposely or involuntarily) dive into the depths.  The physical and psychological places where fear originates and persists.  

The past 9 months or so, I was pushed closer and closer to the edge of that precipice with each doctor’s appointment and lab result.  At first I fought, clawing my way back, unwilling to “go there.”  But at some point, I stopped fighting, got up and walked to the edge on my own power and…jumped.  
It was icky down there.  (Not that I’m out of it entirely, now.) Confronting pain, suffering and the distinct possibility of not ever being whole again or even death.  That shadowy place of frightening possibilities.  Of sharp edges and dangerous creatures.  
It’s been a daily battle, to varying degrees, facing whatever lurks in the darkness, while going about my routine of dealing with traffic, workplace adventures and a preschooler who wants to wear the same dress three days in a row.  There’s an over dramatized musical montage in my mind of me slaying beasts with a bloody sword while wearing heels and approving a proposal via cell phone, while ordering a latte at Starbucks, late to pick up my kid from school.  Those were the good days.  Other days, the beasts were kind of winning.  
But that’s where Jesus shows up, right?  Well, not shows up so much as gently clears his throat and waves, reminding me he was here all along.  I kind of picture him looking like Ryan Gosling.  Hey, Girl.  Cheering me on.  Holding my hand.  Cutting a hole in my swollen eyelid like that scene in one of the Rocky movies so I could keep fighting.  Offering rest.  Hope.  Some cucumber water.
I got good news from my oncologist on Friday.  Still waiting for the official word from a radiologist, but my meticulous doctor smiled at the weird gray images of my organs on the screen and said things look good for now.  
What amazing words.  But I find myself wondering if they’re too good to be true.  I hesitate a wee bit to embrace the good news just because I’m pretty familiar with bad news.  But!  Just because I’m not assuming the good news is reliable just yet doesn’t mean anything except that, well, I’m realistic.  I’m not particularly afraid of bad news or convinced the news will be bad.  But I’m not doing the victory dance quite yet.  
This is interesting – some people of faith seem to chastise me a bit when I don’t, say, proclaim that I am healed.  Look, you can do what you want, but that’s not how it works from my perspective.  Sometimes the news isn’t good no matter how much we say we believe it will be.  No matter how much we pray it will be.  Sometimes we need to go through a tough thing.  Sometimes that is God’s will for us.  Saying out loud that God has healed me will not make it so.  Don’t get me wrong, I pray like gangbusters and expect you to, as well.  Prayer is glorious and mysterious and required of us.  And hope is beautiful.  I’m not saying don’t pray and I’m not saying don’t hope – I’m saying this “name it and claim it” stuff is crazy.  You know what’s way more powerful (in my opinion) than trying to (sorry if this offends) manipulate God into healing you?  Trusting Him no matter what.  Trusting Him in the darkness.  I mean…have you read the Bible?  People suffered, yo.  And beauty came from their eternal perspective.  Like, umm, Jesus? And Job.  And Paul.  
I love the passage in Daniel where Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego are about to get tossed into the fiery furnace and they say (paraphrased) “Our God will save us…but even if He does not…we will not worship you instead of Him.”  Basically they know God can save them, they think He will, but more importantly, they trust Him no matter what.  EVEN IF HE DOES NOT.  To me, that’s real faith.  
Turns out, they get tossed in.  I wonder if they thought maybe God would send angels to scoop them up before they hit the fire.  And when He didn’t…was there an “Oh, crap” moment?  Instead of an angelic air lift rescue mission, into the flames they went.  But they were not burned.  And Jesus (or possibly an angel, depending on your interpretation) was in there with them.  
I’ll probably always wonder if the cancer will come back.  That doesn’t mean I’m not trusting God.  I’m not trusting Him to make my life easy because He never said He would.  I’m trusting Him no matter what crazy thing happens.  
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The NEW new Normal

When I started this blog, my first entry was titled The New Normal

I felt it was necessary to acknowledge and even declare that we were in a new situation – that life as we knew it was a thing of the past and we were in a brand new chapter. Well, here we are again. While I won’t feel comfortable saying I’m “in remission” until my scan in a couple weeks, let’s just assume that I am and that is the new state of affairs. No longer a cancer patient, no longer a cancer warrior actively fighting cancer – but rather a cancer SURVIVOR.

In some ways, this new era is trickier than the previous one. On one hand, you want to shout from the rooftops ” I BEAT CANCER!” and “GOD HEALED ME!” and “YOUR PRAYERS WORKED!” and “MODERN MEDICINE IS A MIRACLE!” and “MY DOCTORS ROCK!” And on the other, you want to whisper “but it might come back.” When you’re battling cancer, you’re a street fighter – you’ve got your enemy right in front of you where you can punch it square in the face – you KNOW what the problem is and where it is. You can see it. It’s big and bad and ugly and it scares you, but you have a target to hit. In remission, you are tempted to see yourself moreso as walking through the streets at night with a hoodie pulled down over your face, ducking your head and nervously glancing over your shoulder, flinching at every skittering leaf and alley cat.

I don’t want to be that. So I’m not going to. And this blog is now going to be the story of how I figure out how. How do I parent and work and be a wife and a friend and daughter and mentor and mentee and human SURVIVOR that is vigilant and responsible about my ongoing health, without living each day terrified of it coming back? I’m not sure yet. But I have some ideas – and I’m taking this bull by the horns and wrestling with it. Sorry for the mixed metaphors – but that’s how it is in my head for now. Mixed.

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I'm so grateful

Tomorrow is my last day of chemo pills.  Wooooo!!!!

As I reflect, I have mixed emotions.  But one thing is for sure.  I am grateful to have (had?) cancer.  It might be gone or it might not.  Either way I’m grateful.  Here are a few things I’m thankful about:

I’m more convinced than ever that what I believe about how God loves us and that those who believe in Christ have much to look forward to beyond death.  To a significant extent, I’ve confronted my mortality.  I’ve faced, to a degree, the fear of death.  It’s not easy or simple or fun.  But.  I’m deeply convinced that God works all things for our good.  We can trust Him.
People have been so good to me.  Encouraging cards.  Funny texts.  Visits.  Foot rubs.  
Thoughtful gifts:  Shoes.  Homemade hats.  Tea.  Enormous scarf.  Coffee cup holder.  Home roasted coffee.  Books.  Journals.  Beard photos.  Wine.  Flowers.  Soup.  Chapstick.  A scarf worn by a courageous cancer survivor.  Lunches out.  Coffee mug.  Wonder Woman stuff.  Organic, fresh made juices.  Pizza.  The best Mac & Cheese I ever had.  The glove I left behind.  Reusable hand warmers.  Scratch off tickets. Gorgeous earrings.  A personalized tote.  Gift cards for food so I didn’t have to cook.  Popcorn.  Stuff from Whole Foods I’d never splurge on.  Cool necklaces.  Amazing stuff from Europe.  Bath stuff.  Awesome lotion – the best I’ve ever tried!  Dinner at nice restaurants.  
Support for my 5K – 101 donors so far!!
Sage advice.  
Prayers.  Serious, earth shaking prayers. What a gift to be prayed over.  
Cancer survivors/patients reaching out and pointing me in the right direction.  Showing me the way.  
Grace, mercy and patience when I haven’t been at my best.  
Perspective.  Nothing gives you perspective like a life threatening illness. 
The chance to learn how to support people who are going through something like this.  I had no idea before.  I have been remiss.  I won’t be again if I can help it.  
Thank you, if you’ve been there for us.  If you’ve visited, cooked, cleaned, watched our child, prayed for us, checked in on us, cared for us in some way.  Kicking cancer’s ass is a team sport.  Thanks for getting me this far.

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Suffering

I had chemo today.  So I’m suffering.  My body feels weird. Tired.  Achy.  Queasy.  Uncomfortable.  The cold bothers me in weird ways.  My hands and feet feel stung, or electrified and then go numb. My eyes sting. Sneezing is horrifically painful.  

I walked for ten minutes for the health benefits that movement can provide.  It was hard.  Icky and sweaty and not fun.  
I feel bored at the prospect of being confined to my home until the toxins dissipate or the weather warms.  I feel a little isolated at the moment.  I want soft, warm things around me.  I want to sleep for four days.  I want quiet.  But I want company.  Friends.  I want macaroni and cheese and good bread even though they aren’t really in my self-imposed whole food, semi vegan, semi paleo diet.  I wish I could drink something besides the thousand varieties of tea I have.  I miss sugar.  I miss ice cold drinks.  I feel like crying but tears physically hurt my eyes.  
So, that’s the real deal of how this point in the cycle feels.  I want to experience my suffering in a particular way.  I want it to be characterized by three things:
1. Authenticity.  I want to be honest.  I want to share the truth of my heart.  I want to live out loud and let you see.  We can benefit from each other when we are authentic about our fears, anger, frustrations, limitations, failures and need for one another.  A falsely positive person is a fraud and of use to no one.  I want to be as transparent as I can, especially about the rough stuff.  
2.  Hope.  Yes, I suffer and experience fear.  But.  I have significant hope.  Hope that I will grow old.  Hope that this will become a significant chapter in a long, dynamic, adventurous life.  Hope that others will glean important truths from my experience.  Hope, because God’s ultimately got me.  I am loved.  I matter.  I bask in the glory of hope.  No matter what, I have hope.
3. Wisdom.  I intend to become wiser…deeply wiser…through this.  I don’t want to miss a single lesson.  I’m paying attention to how I operate, how I think, how I love, and how I can grow.  I’m watching for how God moves and how He answers prayers and when He seems silent.  
So, in the name of authenticity,  I’m suffering.  And it sucks.  In the name of Hope, it will be better in 5 or 6 days, thankfully.  In the name of wisdom, I trust God with my suffering.  He is down here in the midst of it with me.  What a blessing.  

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Laura taught me…

My friend died last night.  My sweet beautiful friend went rounds against cancer, fighting hard while living gracefully.  As it stole her energy, her comfort and her hair, what it failed to steal was her spirit.  Instead, her soul strengthened through the journey and reached out beyond her inner circle to everyone who knew her, like a rainbow whirlwind, sweeping up others with her love and joy.  

Laura gave people hope.  She continually inspired and astonished people as she marched on, full of grace and joy, down this path that I can tell you is rocky, intimidating, dark and full of danger.  When I found out a month ago that I have cancer, Laura paused on the path.  And she came back for me.  “It’s this way,” she said, smiling.  “It’s not so bad.  Lets walk together.  I’ll help you,” reaching for my hand and giving me some of her bracelets to wear for encouragement.  And she showed me that I could do it.  
I was willing to do it with her.  Now I’m standing here without her.  Ive got these bracelets, but she’s gone.  Another moment where I look heavenward, toward the God I love and trust and say “Are you freaking kidding me?!”
But The Lord, He is to be trusted.  His ways are not our ways.  He hasn’t said much to me on this topic but He’s clear that He has Laura and He’s got me.  His plans are “too wonderful for us to know.”  
So I have to do this without her now.  My heart is completely broken that she is gone.  I can’t even imagine how her family feels.  It feels like the brightest spot in the world just went out.  How can she be gone just like that?  But she is.  And we must look around and take inventory of what beauty she has left us.
What Laura taught me:
There are never too many bracelets. 
You can fight cancer with all you’ve got while accepting that your path is your path.  
Rainbows are awesome and not just for LGBT support. 🙂
One should change one’s hair color and style frequently.  Why not??
Accept gifts graciously.
Give generously.
It’s possible to be kind and thoughtful even when you have cancer.
Hot baths are awesome.
Bald is beautiful.
Cancer is not something to be feared.  Neither is death.
Eastern cultures have much to offer us.  Tea!  Yoga!  
You can make a fun day out of a trip to the chemo bar.
Gifts are a great way to show a sick person love.
Dr. Who is a good time investment.
You can be positive and loving at all times.
Take photos of everything – especially yourself.  Cancer = permission to selfie it up!  Use filters when chemo washes your complexion out.  
Rest.  Enjoy it. 
Be silly whenever possible.  Dress up as your oncologist for Halloween.  
When you can’t go to the party because you’re sick, have your own.  Dress up even if its just for yourself and your dog.
Go to a spa whenever possible.  Treat yourself and let other treat you to luxurious things.
Let people help.  Let them rub your feet.  
When in doubt make someone a gift.  Loom it up!
Fuzzy socks.
Thank people often and express appreciation whenever possible.  
You can be truly grateful in the midst of deeply challenging circumstances.
Family is your staunchest force of allies but some select, special friends belong in that group, too.
I’m better because I’ve known Laura.  I’m stronger and less afraid.  She will always be in my heart.  I know she is in heaven, with God.  She trusted His plan.  Heaven is a little more colorful today.