I have thought about how to end this. Do I give an update on the past six weeks of healing after my hysterectomy? Do I take a look at how this experience has changed me? Do I reminisce about the entire cancer journey? Do I take a look at what lays ahead for me?
I have decided to do none of the above. The hysterectomy, although slightly complicated and rushed because of the cancer, did not really have anything to do with the cancer. The problems existed before and the hysterectomy would have eventually happened anyway. But, I am doing very well.
Of course this experience has changed me. How could it not? I have talked about that before already and see no need to rehash all that now.
Frankly, I do not care to look back. I lived it. As for the future, every time I try to think about what I want, I realize I don't have a clue what I want, not really. Simply speaking, the only thing I am sure about is that I want to be closer to God and follow His will for my life. That, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, will be the only way I will ever truly be happy.
Instead, I will simply update on a wonderful visit with my doctor and conclude with a glimpse of my next project.
I always start a chemo or test day in a bad mood. Monday was no exception.
Since I could not travel for the holidays, my dad came to spend Christmas with me. Since he was already going to be here for Christmas, he stayed to take me to the doctor. It was only fitting that he be here to find out the results of my one year scans since he was here when I got the news that I was cancer free.
Our first stop was to the imaging center to get my CT scans. We were there by 6:40am. I drank my two cups of fruit punch flavored contrast and then went back to get scanned shortly after 7:00am. After getting the IV put in, I sat in the back waiting room for the doctor to arrive. There was another woman in the small, two seat waiting room. We got to talking about our different experiences with cancer, the difference between the contrast they give us here versus the gross chalky stuff at the hospital, and the fact that, granted positive results from the scan, we will both be in remission for one year. She, however, had gone through cancer three times. We agreed that this process of testing will probably never get easier.
I thank God for this woman. She brought peace to my soul and comfort to my nerves. There is something so profoundly soothing in talking to someone who knows exactly what you have been through.
With my test over, my dad and I had a few hours to kill before time to see my oncologist. By 9:20am, twenty minutes early for my appointment, we were waiting in another office to see another doctor.
Same routine, take my blood, blood pressure and temperature, weigh me, and take me back to another waiting room to see the doctor. Once positive about the hysterectomy, I have lost ten pounds. About ten more and I will be back to my pre-treatment weight.
Doctor Meluch had a respiratory infection so his nurse practitioner examined me and gave me the results of my test. Everything looks really good. I am still in remission!
After her checkup, Dr. Meluch came into the room wearing a mask with his hands in his pockets.
He confirmed that the results were good and said my next checkup would be in two months. I told him I had a question. Now that I am one year removed from treatment and everything looks good, could I move to Texas? I told him that I have felt like my life has been on hold for the past three years and was hoping to move on once my health was on the mend. I phrased this last sentence as a question instead of a statement. In other words, "Dr. Meluch, is my health on the mend? Can I start living again?"
He swooshed his hand up as if indicating a plane taking off into the air. As he did that he said, "On the mend? You are skyrocketing!" It was as if these words broke an invisible chain that has been weighing me down since May 2010, when the cough first started and the rest of my life fell apart.
Dr. Meluch told me I could do anything I wanted to do or go anywhere I wanted to go any time I wanted to. He said he would miss me, but that he thought Texas had one or two good doctors there. He advised my dad ask his doctor for a recommendation for an oncologist/hematologist. He told me to make sure I continued to see someone. He said we would go ahead and schedule an appointment for two months, but I could always cancel if I move before then. (So, the if/when/how is still up in the air, but at least I can!)
Before I conclude, I wanted to share a final picture. This is of me and my dad at the Texans/Titans game the day before getting my CT scan and results. We went to the Texans/Titans game last year the day before getting the news that the cancer was in remission. Only fitting we did it again. Too bad the Texans didn't show up this time! But, as you can see, I support both teams!
Now, for those few of you who have taken this journey with me, I promised a special ending to this blog. A lot of people suggested I turn this blog into a book. I really don't have any desire to do that. I write fiction. I don't have any desire to completely relive my own experience by going back and turning this into a nonfiction story. However, my fiction has always been loosely based on real life, whether my own or others or a combination of all the above.
I started a new story back in the summer. As far as I ever got was the prologue. The rest just would not come. A month or so back, God blessed me with the idea. It basically rewrites some of my history the way it should have turned out and faces the biggest fears faced while going through cancer. My main character has the grace I only longed to have for myself. I didn't realize it until after I completed my rewrite of the prologue and read it to a friend that there is a lot of Cheryl's grace in my main character. I wrote it before she passed away and tweaked it a bit to fit my new outline after she passed away. I suppose that observation, although unintentional, was right on.
All I have right now is the prologue and detailed outline. Now that I am able to close this chapter in my life, I am free to start work on the rest of this new story. The book will have the same title, but it will be a work of fiction.
I hope this does not disappoint:
Dedications
He Calls Me Batya
by T. Renee Albracht
One
translation for Daughter of God in Hebrew is Batya.:
Bat
– daughter
Ya
(short for Yahweh) – God
It
is a derivative of Bitya which means Daughter of Pharoah.
You have not received a spirit of
slavery leading to fear again, but you have received a spirit of adoption as
sons (and daughters) by which we cry out, “Abba! Father!” The Spirit Himself
testifies with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, heirs
also, heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, if indeed we suffer with Him
so that we may also be glorified with Him. For I consider that the sufferings of
this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that is to be
revealed to us.
-Romans 8:15-19 (NASB)
Prologue
Sister (I haven't decided on a name yet.)
She lay quiet and serene, as if
spending a day at the spa with a masseuse who looked like her beloved Jon Bon
Jovi instead of lying in a hospital bed while a nurse drew blood for the
umpteenth time. The doctor left just moments before the nurse arrived.
Her husband left to fetch us breakfast
and coffee, his attempt to stay busy and distract himself by seeing to the
needs of others. Not that anyone cared or could eat.
Our mother and father huddled in a
corner. Every time someone came into the room to attend to her, they got up from
their seats and stood out of the way. This time, they looked out the window,
staring at the stark, grey wall of the building adjacent to the Sara Cannon Cancer
Center where my sister now rested. They divorced more than twenty years ago,
yet they clung to each other as if keeping one another from sliding to the
ground.
“The least they could do is give her
a room with a better view,” my dad mumbled under his breath. “You know how she
likes the outdoors. A little greenery would be nice.”
“He said this was the best place for
her,” my mom whispered to my dad. “He said…” She could not go on. She fought
for control. They both struggled to keep up a façade of strength for the sake
of their baby girl.
I sat in a chair beside her bed, my
fingertips lightly touching the blanket covering the arm now being used as a
pin cushion.
Unlike my parents or my sister, I
could not hold back the tears. I felt helpless and angry and I took my
frustrations out on the medical staff. “Why do you need to be here?” I demanded
from the nurse. “You all come in here every hour or so and for what? Do you
think her blood is going to get worse or her temperature is going to change
that drastically from hour to hour? You either give her blood or take her
blood. What good is it all doing anyway? Why don’t you let her rest? She needs
her rest!”
The nurse just smiled and continued
with her duties.
“It’s okay,” my sister said. She
stared at me with a look of peace and contentment. “I’m not sleepy.”
After the nurse left and we were
once again alone, I tried to bite my tongue, I really did, but my emotions got
the better of me. I turned to face my parents, “How can you be so calm?” I
turned back around and grabbed my sister’s hand. My eyes were swollen and tears
dripped from my chin. “How can you just lay there like that? Why aren’t you
mad? Why didn’t you give that doctor a piece of your mind?”
My tirade failed to ignite any kind
of reaction from her. I wanted my parents to cry with me. I wanted Ellen to get
mad, to fight. Instead, she lifted her face and stared at a corner of the room.
Then, she turned her head and took turns looking directly at the three of us.
Compassion sparkled in her eyes. She communicated so much about how she loved
us and longed for us to be at peace without saying a word.
Ellen signaled for our mom and dad to
pull up a chair close to her. She raised her bed so that she could see us all
as she spoke. I still held one hand. With the other, she reached for theirs.
Eight hands rested in her lap. My mom
could no longer hold back her pain. Even my dad, the strong, stoic soldier of a
man lost his fight to maintain control. Ellen, sweet Ellen, joined us. Her
tears were not filled with pain for herself, but instead, they were filled with
the purest of love for us and sorrow that she was the cause of our grief.
“We knew this was a strong
possibility when the cancer returned. It’s not Dr. Chulem’s fault. He did all
he could do, but as good as he is, even he can’t fix everything. He can’t force
my body to start making its own blood again.”
Ellen looked back at that corner of
the ceiling. Part of me wanted to throw something at that corner and demand she
bring her focus back to us, back to this moment. The other part of me longed to
share just a fraction of her calm.
As if sensing my angst, she turned
and faced me. “I don’t belong here,” she told me. “This isn’t my home. This has
never been my home. I was willing to stay as long as God needed me here, but as
much as I love you all, there’s nothing that pleases me more than the thought
of finally getting to go home.”
“But what about Miguel? Why are you
in such a hurry to leave him, to leave us…me?” I pleaded.
Ellen held her head in such a way
that it seemed as if she looked at the three of us at once, personal,
one-on-one, on one-on-one, on one-on-one. “I have no regrets. I may not have
accomplished all the dreams I once had, but I have a new dream now,” she said. “I’m
not giving up. We fought the good fight. It’s just my time. He’s calling me
home. I’m confident that I’ve fulfilled whatever purpose I had here. I know you
all love me and I know this is hard for you, but try not to be sad. I’ll be
okay. You’ll be okay. I get to go home!” She made the last statement with such
glee, like a child telling a friend that she gets to go to Disney World.
I pressed my face into her body. Her
covers absorbed my tears. “How can you
be so calm?” My words were muted between my lips and the sheets, but somehow,
as if hearing the pleas of my heart, she heard me and answered.
“Because He calls me Batya.”
No comments:
Post a Comment