I don't really have much on my mind, but thought it was about time for an update. Last Friday, I had yet another checkup, simple blood work, no CT scan. I was a bit worried because I have started to get the large boils (gigantic pimples) on various parts of my body, same place I got them just before being diagnosed with cancer. They are not as frequent and large as they used to be, but still. Anything out of the ordinary makes me think the worst.
Dr. Meluch was not too concerned about them. I told him that in some ways, I feel like I'm 20 years older than I actually am and in other ways, I feel like I'm going through puberty again. He said that is almost exactly what is going on. The chemo messed with my ovaries and they are having to readjust. It is like I am going through puberty again. I laughed to myself, knowing my hysterectomy was coming soon and the ovaries would be gone, throwing me into early surgery induced menopause. Symptoms quite similar to puberty. After, that, though, I'll really feel older than my 37, almost 38 years!
Mentally and emotionally, I feel significantly older than my age. I have always been told I have an old soul. I suppose that is why I have always felt more comfortable with people older than myself. I haven't had friends my own age since high school. Now, however, I feel even more disconnected from people my own age. Everything I have gone through the past three years, with the divorce and cancer, changed me. I am not the innocence, sheltered little girl that I used to be. I see the world through new eyes. I used to say that I missed my rose colored glasses. Now, I rather enjoy the view. Life is more beautiful when you see it contrasted with the ugliness surrounding it. Life has more value when you know how fragile it can be.
Physically, I have been feeling phenomenal the past month or so. Back when I first went to see Dr. Meluch, before being diagnosed with cancer, he treated me for iron deficiency. He told me that two weeks after that treatment, I would feel like climbing mountains. Unfortunately, that was not the case. It took almost two years for me to feel that great. For the past few weeks, I have felt better than I have felt since I first started feeling sick more than three years ago. I have been going, going, going, working out twice a day, running RAD classes and other events after work, staying busy with activities on the weekend. I felt no need to pace myself since surgery would soon force me to rest.
As a matter of fact, this was the only thing that scared me about the upcoming surgery. For the first time in more than three years, I felt amazing, whole, and healthy. I know this surgery is necessary, but it killed me to think that after only a few short weeks of feeling on top of the world again, I would be bed ridden for weeks. Even after I start to feel better, it will be months before I can run or get back to the gym lifting weights or participating in Pilates. That is why I pushed myself so hard. I wanted to enjoy it all while I could.
Well, my body took more than it could handle. Last weekend, I was an adult chaperone for the girl's youth church retreat. I had a ball with those girls, but I slept little and ate way too much. There was no time to rest when I got home. I had a RAD class Monday night and a CPR class Tuesday night.
I could feel my body shutting down Monday evening, though. After working on ground defense, I felt light headed and nauseated. It took all I had to get through the rest of the class. Luckily, I was not the lead instructor for the CPR class on Tuesday. I was simply there to help out and be observed as the last part of my becoming an instructor. I made it through the class okay, but I don't feel like I was completely present.
I didn't work on Tuesday, other than the CPR class. I didn't work at all on Wednesday and even missed church that night.
I went to the doctor on Wednesday. I would not usually miss work or see a doctor for how I felt. However, because of my upcoming surgery, I did not want to take any chances. If I get sick, I cannot have the surgery. Fortunately, I did not have anything viral. She said it was most likely exhaustion. If I don't take time to rest, my body will shut down. She gave me some antibiotics anyway in case I was developing something.
By Thursday I was feeling better. Today, I am back to normal. However, now I am not so afraid of losing that momentum because of the surgery. I have not worked out one day this week and understand now the importance of pacing myself for my own health.
I read over the FMLA paperwork my doctor filled out for my work. It states I am not to return to work until January 3. I am hoping that after my two week checkup, I will feel up to working half days and she will allow that. I am also hoping I will feel up to returning to church, at least on Sundays. I cannot stand the thought of staying at home for six weeks. I will go crazy cooped up all that time. I also hate the idea of missing church that much. I missed one Sunday last weekend because of the retreat and I miss it terribly. I miss my Sunday school class and I miss being with the kids on Wednesdays.
I will do as the doctor suggests. I will not push it. But, here's praying for a quick recovery!
One last thing. Tuesday November 19, 2013 is my one year cancer-free anniversary. My one year scan, however, is not scheduled until December 30th. I will celebrate on Tuesday, but I will celebrate even more should the scans at the end of the year come back in my favor!
Friday, November 15, 2013
Monday, October 21, 2013
Chasing Lions
For the past three years, I have felt lost. Ever since I was told I was in remission, I have felt stuck. I don't mean that I was depressed per se. I have had many good days. I simply mean just that - stuck. Nothing inspired me. Nothing motivated me. After a moving church service, I watched as others reacted, but I felt empty. I listened to the testimonies of others and reminisced about times gone by when I felt alive in Christ.
I made plans, knew what it would take to get where I wanted to go, but I couldn't quite bring myself to do it.
I want to be healthy. Each morning, I elected to stay in bed instead of run, fooling myself into thinking I would make a better choice in the afternoon and go workout at the Y. The afternoon came and there was always an excuse for not being able to make it to the Y.
I want to shed the weight I gained during chemo because of the thyroid issue. The medicine is keeping me from continuing to gain, but I cannot loose. The day starts with a promise of better decision making. Then, it is time to eat and I choose tasty over healthy. I give in to my craving for sweets.
I started to feel down, angry with myself. I always say I will do better tomorrow, but tomorrow never comes. I was stuck.
Last Saturday, I attended a Women's Lunch at the church. The guest speaker had an amazing story. As I listened to her, I felt nothing. In the past, such stories would inspire me. I shared my frustrations with God, but even my prayers were stale.
Tenth Avenue North has a song out called Worn. There is a line that says:
I want to know a song can rise from the ashes of a broken life
and all that's dead inside can be reborn
'cause I'm worn
http://youtu.be/-METBrlP3xU
Those words became my pleading prayer. This past Saturday, on our way home from our first time out with the High Road Runners from church. I told Mike how I felt stuck and longed for something to ignite a spark within me again, to make me feel alive and motivate me.
It's amazing how God works. I have been feeling this way for some time then all of a sudden, BAM!
Sunday morning was amazing. When I tried to retell the story of what happened, all I could say was that the Holy Spirit was very present and that is still an understatement!
During Sunday School, four classes combined to hear a guest speaker. He had me riveted to every word. He was going to be speaking Sunday night as well.
I usually volunteer with the youth on Sunday, but because of this special guest, the youth were going to be in church with the rest of the congregation. Any time the youth do not meet separately, I tend to take the night off from church. This week was going to be no exception. My Texans were going to be playing at 3pm. Even though they have been pitiful this year and were playing an undefeated team, I still intended to watch the game. Unfortunately...or fortunately in this case...the game was not televised. After the excitement of the morning, I decided to go back to church.
Once again, Pastor Tanner from the Church of the Nazarene in Valparaiso, Indiana commanded my full, undivided attention. He told the story of a Biblical character that I never remember hearing about. He said there is sporadic mention of him throughout and you must take a sentence from here and there and piece them together to get his story. (Once I got home, I looked him up. I have read the Bible countless times. How come I never heard this story? Well, maybe because it is a mere sentence. But, there it is in 2 Samuel 23:20)
He spoke of a man, Benaiah, one of David's mighty men, commander of David's army, responsible for changing the world.
Why was he the commander of David's army? Because he proved himself as the head of David's bodyguard detail? Why was he in charge of David's bodyguard detail? Because he proved himself as David's bodyguard. How did he become David's bodyguard? Because he chased a lion into a pit.
Small choices led lead to great victory.
Pastor Tanner was so animated in his story telling. He walked us through what any sane person would do if a lion was following them. If, by chance, the lion turned and walked away, most people would be praising God for saving them, not running after the lion. Then, even if we were out of our mind and ran after the lion, most of us would stop once the lion fell into the pit and praise God for saving them in a time when they completely went out of their mind. But, no! This lion chaser jumped into the pit and killed the lion.
Imagine King David searching resumes for his bodyguard. Pastor Tanner mimicked the king flipping through resumes, all the Rangers and Seals applying. Those who have studied at top universities. Then he comes to Benaiah's resume, chased a lion into a pit. Yes! That's the one!
His point was for the state of the church, but I took it personally. It translated well into my life. How did Benaiah become one of David's mighty men? Because way back, all those years ago, he made that choice to chase that lion.
We never know what choices we make today can change the world in the future.
I thought about my feelings of being stuck. My choice to get up and run or stay in bed. My choice to eat an apple or ice cream. The choice to write or watch television. The choice to talk with God or watch television.
Goes back to the quote I have as my screen saver on my computer from the book Greater by Steven Furtick, "A big dream without a small start is nothing but a daydream."
I felt like a deflated quarterback coming into the locker room at half time after several sacks and interceptions. Coach gives us a pep talk to encourage us and excite us for the second half. I wanted to stand up and cheer and run back onto that field, ready to face the enemy and win the game.
After the service, I stood up and talked with the others from the Koinania Sunday School class who sat in the pew with me and said, "I want to go chase some lions!"
When I got home, I told Mike and the girls about it (while on the way to Dairy Queen. I had promised them ice cream when I got home.)
I was still fired up this morning. I woke up before the alarm went off, ready to go for a run. Mike and his youngest girl, Shelby, came with me. I have never in my life run outside in the dark and cold. There was frost on the roof, but I didn't care. It was fun, though, especially with them with me.
I know life is a cycle and I will not be this high every morning. However, after three tough years and one year of being uncertain of the who, what, why of life, I FINALLY feel like I'm coming out of the other side of a dense fog.
I have clung to hope. I have reached for inspiration, but until last night, I feel like it was all my efforts, empty efforts that never lasted more than a moment. This time is different somehow. I feel like instead of me reaching and jumping and climbing and falling, God held out His hand for me to clasp. He pulled me up out of that pit. The clouds parted and angels sang. He set me down on solid ground, smiling at me like a Father smiling at His beloved child. He lets go of my hand and tells me to run, go chase that lion. I feel free.
That's it...I feel free...no longer weighed down by the weight of divorce and cancer and constant self-failure. You know, I was so eager to be where I am at this very moment. I tried to create this feeling for myself time and again.
What happened yesterday is normally the type of thing that happens for me at Gethsemane. I cancelled my trip scheduled for the first week in November because of my upcoming surgery at the end of November. I could not justify taking a week vacation then being out sick for many weeks.
I felt at peace about it, like God was telling me it was okay. I didn't need to get lost in the woods to hear His voice. I thought I needed Gethsemane to break through the fog I was in. Again, me trying to create a moment.
He met me right where I was. This is the lesson for me. If I simply wait on Him, He will come for me. And, it is SO much easier and requires much less effort if I wait for Him to extend His hand rather than fight to reach Him from the pit I have dug for myself. But that is human life. I'm sure I will fight again.
My friend Mike asked me if this was going to become my new saying. I had been over using the phrase, "finish strong." Yep, I think I will now wear out the phrase "chasing lions."
Well, I'm off to chase another lion!
I made plans, knew what it would take to get where I wanted to go, but I couldn't quite bring myself to do it.
I want to be healthy. Each morning, I elected to stay in bed instead of run, fooling myself into thinking I would make a better choice in the afternoon and go workout at the Y. The afternoon came and there was always an excuse for not being able to make it to the Y.
I want to shed the weight I gained during chemo because of the thyroid issue. The medicine is keeping me from continuing to gain, but I cannot loose. The day starts with a promise of better decision making. Then, it is time to eat and I choose tasty over healthy. I give in to my craving for sweets.
I started to feel down, angry with myself. I always say I will do better tomorrow, but tomorrow never comes. I was stuck.
Last Saturday, I attended a Women's Lunch at the church. The guest speaker had an amazing story. As I listened to her, I felt nothing. In the past, such stories would inspire me. I shared my frustrations with God, but even my prayers were stale.
Tenth Avenue North has a song out called Worn. There is a line that says:
I want to know a song can rise from the ashes of a broken life
and all that's dead inside can be reborn
'cause I'm worn
http://youtu.be/-METBrlP3xU
Those words became my pleading prayer. This past Saturday, on our way home from our first time out with the High Road Runners from church. I told Mike how I felt stuck and longed for something to ignite a spark within me again, to make me feel alive and motivate me.
It's amazing how God works. I have been feeling this way for some time then all of a sudden, BAM!
Sunday morning was amazing. When I tried to retell the story of what happened, all I could say was that the Holy Spirit was very present and that is still an understatement!
During Sunday School, four classes combined to hear a guest speaker. He had me riveted to every word. He was going to be speaking Sunday night as well.
I usually volunteer with the youth on Sunday, but because of this special guest, the youth were going to be in church with the rest of the congregation. Any time the youth do not meet separately, I tend to take the night off from church. This week was going to be no exception. My Texans were going to be playing at 3pm. Even though they have been pitiful this year and were playing an undefeated team, I still intended to watch the game. Unfortunately...or fortunately in this case...the game was not televised. After the excitement of the morning, I decided to go back to church.
Once again, Pastor Tanner from the Church of the Nazarene in Valparaiso, Indiana commanded my full, undivided attention. He told the story of a Biblical character that I never remember hearing about. He said there is sporadic mention of him throughout and you must take a sentence from here and there and piece them together to get his story. (Once I got home, I looked him up. I have read the Bible countless times. How come I never heard this story? Well, maybe because it is a mere sentence. But, there it is in 2 Samuel 23:20)
He spoke of a man, Benaiah, one of David's mighty men, commander of David's army, responsible for changing the world.
Why was he the commander of David's army? Because he proved himself as the head of David's bodyguard detail? Why was he in charge of David's bodyguard detail? Because he proved himself as David's bodyguard. How did he become David's bodyguard? Because he chased a lion into a pit.
Small choices led lead to great victory.
Pastor Tanner was so animated in his story telling. He walked us through what any sane person would do if a lion was following them. If, by chance, the lion turned and walked away, most people would be praising God for saving them, not running after the lion. Then, even if we were out of our mind and ran after the lion, most of us would stop once the lion fell into the pit and praise God for saving them in a time when they completely went out of their mind. But, no! This lion chaser jumped into the pit and killed the lion.
Imagine King David searching resumes for his bodyguard. Pastor Tanner mimicked the king flipping through resumes, all the Rangers and Seals applying. Those who have studied at top universities. Then he comes to Benaiah's resume, chased a lion into a pit. Yes! That's the one!
His point was for the state of the church, but I took it personally. It translated well into my life. How did Benaiah become one of David's mighty men? Because way back, all those years ago, he made that choice to chase that lion.
We never know what choices we make today can change the world in the future.
I thought about my feelings of being stuck. My choice to get up and run or stay in bed. My choice to eat an apple or ice cream. The choice to write or watch television. The choice to talk with God or watch television.
Goes back to the quote I have as my screen saver on my computer from the book Greater by Steven Furtick, "A big dream without a small start is nothing but a daydream."
I felt like a deflated quarterback coming into the locker room at half time after several sacks and interceptions. Coach gives us a pep talk to encourage us and excite us for the second half. I wanted to stand up and cheer and run back onto that field, ready to face the enemy and win the game.
After the service, I stood up and talked with the others from the Koinania Sunday School class who sat in the pew with me and said, "I want to go chase some lions!"
When I got home, I told Mike and the girls about it (while on the way to Dairy Queen. I had promised them ice cream when I got home.)
I was still fired up this morning. I woke up before the alarm went off, ready to go for a run. Mike and his youngest girl, Shelby, came with me. I have never in my life run outside in the dark and cold. There was frost on the roof, but I didn't care. It was fun, though, especially with them with me.
I know life is a cycle and I will not be this high every morning. However, after three tough years and one year of being uncertain of the who, what, why of life, I FINALLY feel like I'm coming out of the other side of a dense fog.
I have clung to hope. I have reached for inspiration, but until last night, I feel like it was all my efforts, empty efforts that never lasted more than a moment. This time is different somehow. I feel like instead of me reaching and jumping and climbing and falling, God held out His hand for me to clasp. He pulled me up out of that pit. The clouds parted and angels sang. He set me down on solid ground, smiling at me like a Father smiling at His beloved child. He lets go of my hand and tells me to run, go chase that lion. I feel free.
That's it...I feel free...no longer weighed down by the weight of divorce and cancer and constant self-failure. You know, I was so eager to be where I am at this very moment. I tried to create this feeling for myself time and again.
What happened yesterday is normally the type of thing that happens for me at Gethsemane. I cancelled my trip scheduled for the first week in November because of my upcoming surgery at the end of November. I could not justify taking a week vacation then being out sick for many weeks.
I felt at peace about it, like God was telling me it was okay. I didn't need to get lost in the woods to hear His voice. I thought I needed Gethsemane to break through the fog I was in. Again, me trying to create a moment.
He met me right where I was. This is the lesson for me. If I simply wait on Him, He will come for me. And, it is SO much easier and requires much less effort if I wait for Him to extend His hand rather than fight to reach Him from the pit I have dug for myself. But that is human life. I'm sure I will fight again.
My friend Mike asked me if this was going to become my new saying. I had been over using the phrase, "finish strong." Yep, I think I will now wear out the phrase "chasing lions."
Well, I'm off to chase another lion!
Friday, October 4, 2013
The Observer
When I sat down to write about Cheryl's memorial, I stopped several times, turned off the computer and walked away. I came back again, wrote more, hoping to quiet my mind. I saved what I wrote, but did not click the publish button.
I reasoned (as stated in that blog) why I wrote what I wrote, but I still could not bring myself to publish it. Finally, I came to the realization that very few people read my blog posts anyway. I can name all the people who read it on a regular basis. Since there is very little interest in my words anyway, I decided what the heck and clicked the publish button.
Even after going through all that, I still did not feel right about it for some reason. I didn't think it was well written and I struggled to put into words what I was feeling, but there was something else, some deeper, hidden reason why I struggled so much more with this post than I have had with other posts. I mean, I have written some very personal stuff about my bowel movements! If I can do that without shame, what was going on with me now?
Something happened with this post that has not happened with any of my other posts, something I never saw coming. People responded. People reposted. My readership more than doubled in less than 24 hours.
Now, I didn't feel shame or regret so much. After all, I did publish it. I knew that by putting it out there, anyone could read it. So, what was making me uneasy?
Too many people these days post their lives online then get upset or embarrassed when someone responds or calls their hand on it. I am all about not posting what you don't want other people to read or react to (even though I didn't think anyone other than more faithful readers would read this). I put it out there. I knew the possibilities. I wasn't ashamed or embarrassed by my words. Again, I've written worse.
Was it that I didn't think it was well written and not my best work or an adequate expression of my gratitude to/for Cheryl and Eddie? No. I have other post written worse than this one.
Was it my admission that I was lonely, even jealous of the lucky women of the Koinonia Sunday School class who have some amazing, faithful, dedicated, Godly husbands? Nope. The more I thought about that, the less lonely and jealous I felt and the more happy the thought made me.
After my divorce, which was extremely painful, I thought love was the biggest farce created by Satan to toy with God's children. I believed in love between family, but I did not believe in the same kind of selfless love between an unrelated man and woman. I thought, at some point, even if a man and a woman stayed together, they ended up hating each other. (My ex and I are better friends now than when we were married, and although we never grew to hate each other, we sure did do a fantastic job at hurting one another. I think we are both struggling to overcome the damage we did to one another.)
It is refreshing to know that I was wrong. I may never experience that kind of love for myself, but it is refreshing and satisfying to know that kind of love really does exist. It's not just fantasy which fuels great love songs and movies.
Men of the Koinonia Sunday School class at Nashville First Church of the Nazarene, thank you for restoring my faith in the goodness of men and the possibility of a successful relationship.
What, then, made me uncomfortable about the post? Well, the more I thought about it, I realized the reason I felt uncomfortable was that I felt like I was intruding on a very personal moment. I didn't feel that way last year when I wrote about Michael's memorial. I suppose that is a sign of my growth out of cancer and as a person.
If that is the case, I suppose there is no real shame in what I did by posting my thoughts on Cheryl's memorial. I just hope my thoughts and words did not offend the family if any of them did or will end up reading my words. If so, I hope they know my love and gratitude for the example of Cheryl and Eddie is pure. I meant no ill will by anything I have said.
If there's any excuse for me stepping out of line, it's that I'm an observer. I watch the world and what makes people tick. Some people mistake this as shyness, but I'm not shy. I'm just taking it all in and if I don't have anything to say, I don't speak. I get my best ideas from what I see out there and write about life as I see it.
If I write about it, whatever "it" is, it has had some kind of impact on me and/or on the world around me. "It" matters to me and I believe "it" matters to someone else as well.
Therefore, by writing about Cheryl's memorial, I am admitting that her life and her death mattered to me and so many others.
PS. Lisa, I don't mind hugs, especially from great friends such as yourself!!!
I reasoned (as stated in that blog) why I wrote what I wrote, but I still could not bring myself to publish it. Finally, I came to the realization that very few people read my blog posts anyway. I can name all the people who read it on a regular basis. Since there is very little interest in my words anyway, I decided what the heck and clicked the publish button.
Even after going through all that, I still did not feel right about it for some reason. I didn't think it was well written and I struggled to put into words what I was feeling, but there was something else, some deeper, hidden reason why I struggled so much more with this post than I have had with other posts. I mean, I have written some very personal stuff about my bowel movements! If I can do that without shame, what was going on with me now?
Something happened with this post that has not happened with any of my other posts, something I never saw coming. People responded. People reposted. My readership more than doubled in less than 24 hours.
Now, I didn't feel shame or regret so much. After all, I did publish it. I knew that by putting it out there, anyone could read it. So, what was making me uneasy?
Too many people these days post their lives online then get upset or embarrassed when someone responds or calls their hand on it. I am all about not posting what you don't want other people to read or react to (even though I didn't think anyone other than more faithful readers would read this). I put it out there. I knew the possibilities. I wasn't ashamed or embarrassed by my words. Again, I've written worse.
Was it that I didn't think it was well written and not my best work or an adequate expression of my gratitude to/for Cheryl and Eddie? No. I have other post written worse than this one.
Was it my admission that I was lonely, even jealous of the lucky women of the Koinonia Sunday School class who have some amazing, faithful, dedicated, Godly husbands? Nope. The more I thought about that, the less lonely and jealous I felt and the more happy the thought made me.
After my divorce, which was extremely painful, I thought love was the biggest farce created by Satan to toy with God's children. I believed in love between family, but I did not believe in the same kind of selfless love between an unrelated man and woman. I thought, at some point, even if a man and a woman stayed together, they ended up hating each other. (My ex and I are better friends now than when we were married, and although we never grew to hate each other, we sure did do a fantastic job at hurting one another. I think we are both struggling to overcome the damage we did to one another.)
It is refreshing to know that I was wrong. I may never experience that kind of love for myself, but it is refreshing and satisfying to know that kind of love really does exist. It's not just fantasy which fuels great love songs and movies.
Men of the Koinonia Sunday School class at Nashville First Church of the Nazarene, thank you for restoring my faith in the goodness of men and the possibility of a successful relationship.
What, then, made me uncomfortable about the post? Well, the more I thought about it, I realized the reason I felt uncomfortable was that I felt like I was intruding on a very personal moment. I didn't feel that way last year when I wrote about Michael's memorial. I suppose that is a sign of my growth out of cancer and as a person.
If that is the case, I suppose there is no real shame in what I did by posting my thoughts on Cheryl's memorial. I just hope my thoughts and words did not offend the family if any of them did or will end up reading my words. If so, I hope they know my love and gratitude for the example of Cheryl and Eddie is pure. I meant no ill will by anything I have said.
If there's any excuse for me stepping out of line, it's that I'm an observer. I watch the world and what makes people tick. Some people mistake this as shyness, but I'm not shy. I'm just taking it all in and if I don't have anything to say, I don't speak. I get my best ideas from what I see out there and write about life as I see it.
If I write about it, whatever "it" is, it has had some kind of impact on me and/or on the world around me. "It" matters to me and I believe "it" matters to someone else as well.
Therefore, by writing about Cheryl's memorial, I am admitting that her life and her death mattered to me and so many others.
PS. Lisa, I don't mind hugs, especially from great friends such as yourself!!!
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Turning Point in My Journey
I received an email this past Friday that my friend from church, Cheryl Hales, passed away on Thursday. The funeral was scheduled for this afternoon. I knew I had to be there, but I was dreading it. Michael's memorial was one year ago this month. A lot has happened this past year, a lot of emotion. I remember how emotionally draining Michael's memorial was for me. I was not ready for another emotionally charged event. I was afraid of being overcome by survivor's guilt once again.
Something was different this time, from the very beginning. I cried some when I first found out, but I wasn't as overcome as I was with Michael or Cowboy. I had no regrets with Cheryl. Our Sunday School class was supposed to go visit her when she got really sick and started receiving hospice care. After finding out that she preferred not to have the large group visit, I made sure, in my own way, that she and Eddie both knew what they and their example meant to me. I never went to go visit them, but never felt like I needed to. She meant a lot to me the past year and a half or so, but we were not close friends. I had never even talked to Eddie. Nevertheless, unlike Cowboy or Michael, I made sure not to leave anything undone. I said my goodbye while she was still alive.
When I arrived to the funeral, armed with plenty of Kleenex in my pocket, I noticed Eddie standing at the entrance to the room greeting everyone as they walked in. As I got closer, I intended to introduce myself and remind him how he knew me and then tell him how much Cheryl meant to me.
I didn't have to introduce myself, though. He not only remembered who I was, but he gave me a hug and called me by name. He gave me an even greater gift than remembering my name. He shared with me how much Cheryl cared about me. I told him how much it meant to me how she was there for me during my own cancer journey. He told me he was glad my journey ended better than Cheryl's. He said Cheryl wouldn't have had it any other way. I gave him another hug and thought how odd that although I have seen him at church many times, this was the first time we had actually talked.
What got to me was his genuineness. His beloved wife of 32 years just passed away and here we were at her memorial, yet he had the strength and compassion to be kind to me. I didn't feel guilty in that moment. I believed him. I believed he meant what he said and I believed he was right about Cheryl. I didn't know her well, but I knew her well enough to know she thought more about the welfare of others than herself.
The service was moving, great way to honor the life and legacy of a wonderful woman. Most of our Sunday School class attended and Dr. Parrott gave a moving message. I shed a tear or two, but never broke down.
For the first time in a very long time, it wasn't about me. I know very few of the great moments of my journey have really been about me, but they have all pulled me inside of myself, making me internalize everything. Today, that was not the case. No survivor's guilt. No great aha moments. This journey, this moment, was fully and completely about Cheryl. I heard the stories about her life and last days. I learned more about what made Cheryl tick. I listened to the songs that meant something to her. I watched the love and loss on the faces of those left behind. I felt at peace. I felt confident that Cheryl was exactly where she wanted to be and that Eddie was at peace with it as well. They were fortunate enough to have had great quality, spiritual time together before she died.
I have been exhausted from working so much trying to get our annual security report out by October 1st. Although I finished in time and took half a day off on yesterday, I still do not feel rested. I had a lot on my plate today and considered contacting our youth pastor and telling him I could not make it to youth group tonight. I could have easily gone home and gone to bed.
I needed to go to church, though. Hearing stories of Cheryl's faith and compassion compelled me to go.
The fact that this experience was not all about me for once makes me feel a little like a creep for even writing about it. But, I do so anyway for a few reasons:
1) I may be physically and emotionally tired, but these thoughts will not let me rest. My text may be dull and I may be having a more difficult time than normal to get my thoughts out, but if I don't, I will lay awake for hours rather than allow my exhaustion to carry me off to sleep.
2) This is a significant part of my story, a turning point in my journey. The fact that this experience was so different, that I could talk to Eddie about cancer and not be overcome by guilt that I am still living, that I didn't have a huge emotional breakdown, the fact that for the first time it wasn't all about me kind of makes it about me. I have crossed some imaginary line. I feel like I have truly overcome cancer, like I am no longer defined by the cancer. I feel almost normal.
3) Even though I felt peaceful about Cheryl's passing, the experience left me feeling odd. I could not quite figure out what mood I was actually in...until driving home from church and thinking about the day. I thought about the stories I heard about Eddie's and Cheryl's last few months together, all the photos of them having fun throughout the years, their smiles. I thought about the couples from Sunday School class and all the good, Godly men and husbands. I called it loneliness at first, but the truth is, I think I am in some ways jealous.
Mike and I went to dinner last night and I shared some thoughts about my brokenness. How is it that I love cuddling with my dog, but cannot stand to have people invade my space? I don't like humans! What I mean is that I don't like physical intimacy of any sort. Why do I love it with animals? Simple. They expect nothing of me. Their love is pure and simple.
I don't like getting close, but sometimes I feel like I'm missing out on something great. Should I let fear keep me from getting close to someone again? On the other hand, is loneliness or jealousy reason enough to get into something I'm not ready for yet? I know I'm not ready for it now. I've made plans to, God willing, move back to Texas next year. A relationship now would complicate things. Besides, when I think about all that it takes to make a relationship work, I simply am not ready! If God intends for me to be with someone again, I think He's going to have to knock me upside the head and sweep my feet out from under me.
On another note, I have been thinking of bringing this blog journey to a close. After today, I feel like it is time. I thought about ending this blog after my one year anniversary which is November 19, 2013. However, I do not get my one year scan until some time after that date. Therefore, the last entry of this blog will be after my one year CT scan.
It's time to end this story and start another.
In memory of the woman who taught me how to live for Christ no matter what challenges life throws at us. Thank you, Cheryl, for your love, support, example, and inspiration.
Something was different this time, from the very beginning. I cried some when I first found out, but I wasn't as overcome as I was with Michael or Cowboy. I had no regrets with Cheryl. Our Sunday School class was supposed to go visit her when she got really sick and started receiving hospice care. After finding out that she preferred not to have the large group visit, I made sure, in my own way, that she and Eddie both knew what they and their example meant to me. I never went to go visit them, but never felt like I needed to. She meant a lot to me the past year and a half or so, but we were not close friends. I had never even talked to Eddie. Nevertheless, unlike Cowboy or Michael, I made sure not to leave anything undone. I said my goodbye while she was still alive.
When I arrived to the funeral, armed with plenty of Kleenex in my pocket, I noticed Eddie standing at the entrance to the room greeting everyone as they walked in. As I got closer, I intended to introduce myself and remind him how he knew me and then tell him how much Cheryl meant to me.
I didn't have to introduce myself, though. He not only remembered who I was, but he gave me a hug and called me by name. He gave me an even greater gift than remembering my name. He shared with me how much Cheryl cared about me. I told him how much it meant to me how she was there for me during my own cancer journey. He told me he was glad my journey ended better than Cheryl's. He said Cheryl wouldn't have had it any other way. I gave him another hug and thought how odd that although I have seen him at church many times, this was the first time we had actually talked.
What got to me was his genuineness. His beloved wife of 32 years just passed away and here we were at her memorial, yet he had the strength and compassion to be kind to me. I didn't feel guilty in that moment. I believed him. I believed he meant what he said and I believed he was right about Cheryl. I didn't know her well, but I knew her well enough to know she thought more about the welfare of others than herself.
The service was moving, great way to honor the life and legacy of a wonderful woman. Most of our Sunday School class attended and Dr. Parrott gave a moving message. I shed a tear or two, but never broke down.
For the first time in a very long time, it wasn't about me. I know very few of the great moments of my journey have really been about me, but they have all pulled me inside of myself, making me internalize everything. Today, that was not the case. No survivor's guilt. No great aha moments. This journey, this moment, was fully and completely about Cheryl. I heard the stories about her life and last days. I learned more about what made Cheryl tick. I listened to the songs that meant something to her. I watched the love and loss on the faces of those left behind. I felt at peace. I felt confident that Cheryl was exactly where she wanted to be and that Eddie was at peace with it as well. They were fortunate enough to have had great quality, spiritual time together before she died.
I have been exhausted from working so much trying to get our annual security report out by October 1st. Although I finished in time and took half a day off on yesterday, I still do not feel rested. I had a lot on my plate today and considered contacting our youth pastor and telling him I could not make it to youth group tonight. I could have easily gone home and gone to bed.
I needed to go to church, though. Hearing stories of Cheryl's faith and compassion compelled me to go.
The fact that this experience was not all about me for once makes me feel a little like a creep for even writing about it. But, I do so anyway for a few reasons:
1) I may be physically and emotionally tired, but these thoughts will not let me rest. My text may be dull and I may be having a more difficult time than normal to get my thoughts out, but if I don't, I will lay awake for hours rather than allow my exhaustion to carry me off to sleep.
2) This is a significant part of my story, a turning point in my journey. The fact that this experience was so different, that I could talk to Eddie about cancer and not be overcome by guilt that I am still living, that I didn't have a huge emotional breakdown, the fact that for the first time it wasn't all about me kind of makes it about me. I have crossed some imaginary line. I feel like I have truly overcome cancer, like I am no longer defined by the cancer. I feel almost normal.
3) Even though I felt peaceful about Cheryl's passing, the experience left me feeling odd. I could not quite figure out what mood I was actually in...until driving home from church and thinking about the day. I thought about the stories I heard about Eddie's and Cheryl's last few months together, all the photos of them having fun throughout the years, their smiles. I thought about the couples from Sunday School class and all the good, Godly men and husbands. I called it loneliness at first, but the truth is, I think I am in some ways jealous.
Mike and I went to dinner last night and I shared some thoughts about my brokenness. How is it that I love cuddling with my dog, but cannot stand to have people invade my space? I don't like humans! What I mean is that I don't like physical intimacy of any sort. Why do I love it with animals? Simple. They expect nothing of me. Their love is pure and simple.
I don't like getting close, but sometimes I feel like I'm missing out on something great. Should I let fear keep me from getting close to someone again? On the other hand, is loneliness or jealousy reason enough to get into something I'm not ready for yet? I know I'm not ready for it now. I've made plans to, God willing, move back to Texas next year. A relationship now would complicate things. Besides, when I think about all that it takes to make a relationship work, I simply am not ready! If God intends for me to be with someone again, I think He's going to have to knock me upside the head and sweep my feet out from under me.
On another note, I have been thinking of bringing this blog journey to a close. After today, I feel like it is time. I thought about ending this blog after my one year anniversary which is November 19, 2013. However, I do not get my one year scan until some time after that date. Therefore, the last entry of this blog will be after my one year CT scan.
It's time to end this story and start another.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Cowboy
I didn't want to put this in with my other two recent posts. I think Cowboy deserves a section all his own.
I met Cowboy several years ago when I started driving/volunteering with a nonprofit called Mobile Loaves and Fishes. I met Cowboy at Tent City and we became friends. I and my friend from church, Tommy, started going to Tent City once a month to grill out with the homeless people there and to fellowship. We always grilled at Cowboy's camp. We never did start the Bible study that we talked about. We simply hung out. Occasionally, someone would ask us to pray or ask a question. Most of all, we were simply friends.
When the 2010 flood wiped out Tent City, I helped Cowboy and his wife, Rhonda Lee, find their beloved pets and salvage what they could from their home. Luckily, Cowboy and Rhonda Lee found housing and had a warm, dry, safe place to sleep.
We stayed in touch for a while. I would pick Cowboy up and go get something to eat. I would come visit and hang out for a little bit. Rhonda Lee didn't like hanging out with us much, but she enjoyed me being there and I think even enjoyed me getting Cowboy out her hair every now and again!
He had a dog named T. He was a good, sweet, big boy!
Cowboy was probably in his 60-70s. He was a character. He was my friend.
Then, I got cancer. He called every now and again, but I never answered. Every once in a while, I thought about calling him, but never got around to it. Too busy or too tired or too something.
While still fighting my own battle, I found out he had been diagnosed with cancer as well. He did not want to go to the hospital, though. He did not trust doctors and did not want treatment.
I kept meaning to call him, but something more important always came up.
I thought about him less and less often.
This past Sunday, I found out he passed away. No one knows exactly when. My heart broke. I hadn't seen him in over a year, but now I found myself thinking about him constantly and missing our silly little chats. I miss him telling me the same story again for the umpteenth time. I miss my friend.
I felt...not guilty...but disappointed and ashamed of myself. The last time he called me, I looked at the phone, saw who it was, and didn't answer, thinking I'd call him back later. Later never came.
When I got home from church, I called his number, hoping and praying that somehow, the person who told me Cowboy had died was somehow mistaken, that I still had a chance to make it right. The number never rang. A recorded voice said the customer was not taking calls. I sent a text. I never got a response.
I have a bad habit of not answering calls from friends right away because I am in the middle of doing something else. Problem is, I too often forget to call back. A friend called the day before and I did not answer. I was in the middle of working on a report for work. I didn't call him back until God brought him to mind while I was talking to God on Sunday after church.
God told me not to feel guilty, but to learn from this. I know relationships are more important than busyness, but I have not been living as if I believed that. God told me to make sure I am a friend to those whom I call friends.
That day, I called all the friends I have put off recently, including the one whose call I didn't take the day before. Whatever else I planned to do could wait. Nothing was more important than talking to my friends.
It was so nice talking to a few people I haven't talked to in a while. I was still feeling down, though, because of how I ignored Cowboy and missed my chance to tell him that he was important to me. I started to reminisce about my time at Tent City. I really do miss it, but never got to make of it what I had hoped.
My friend, Tommy called while I was thinking such thoughts. We talked about our time at Tent City and Tommy almost made me cry. It's as if he knew exactly what I needed to hear. We talked about God's plan vs. our own and following God's lead. We talked about how we were ministering in Tent City even if we never had a formal Bible study. We were fellowshipping. We were living God's love. I forgot how important that could be. I realized that maybe, just maybe, Cowboy knew, even if we hadn't talked in a long time, that I really did care about him.
I lost my friend to cancer. This time, though, I do not have survivor's guilt. Instead, I have living regret. I feel at peace about his passing, though, and am confident that he is at peace as well. I still love him and am grateful for the time we did get to spend together.
I met Cowboy several years ago when I started driving/volunteering with a nonprofit called Mobile Loaves and Fishes. I met Cowboy at Tent City and we became friends. I and my friend from church, Tommy, started going to Tent City once a month to grill out with the homeless people there and to fellowship. We always grilled at Cowboy's camp. We never did start the Bible study that we talked about. We simply hung out. Occasionally, someone would ask us to pray or ask a question. Most of all, we were simply friends.
When the 2010 flood wiped out Tent City, I helped Cowboy and his wife, Rhonda Lee, find their beloved pets and salvage what they could from their home. Luckily, Cowboy and Rhonda Lee found housing and had a warm, dry, safe place to sleep.
We stayed in touch for a while. I would pick Cowboy up and go get something to eat. I would come visit and hang out for a little bit. Rhonda Lee didn't like hanging out with us much, but she enjoyed me being there and I think even enjoyed me getting Cowboy out her hair every now and again!
He had a dog named T. He was a good, sweet, big boy!
Cowboy was probably in his 60-70s. He was a character. He was my friend.
Then, I got cancer. He called every now and again, but I never answered. Every once in a while, I thought about calling him, but never got around to it. Too busy or too tired or too something.
While still fighting my own battle, I found out he had been diagnosed with cancer as well. He did not want to go to the hospital, though. He did not trust doctors and did not want treatment.
I kept meaning to call him, but something more important always came up.
I thought about him less and less often.
This past Sunday, I found out he passed away. No one knows exactly when. My heart broke. I hadn't seen him in over a year, but now I found myself thinking about him constantly and missing our silly little chats. I miss him telling me the same story again for the umpteenth time. I miss my friend.
I felt...not guilty...but disappointed and ashamed of myself. The last time he called me, I looked at the phone, saw who it was, and didn't answer, thinking I'd call him back later. Later never came.
When I got home from church, I called his number, hoping and praying that somehow, the person who told me Cowboy had died was somehow mistaken, that I still had a chance to make it right. The number never rang. A recorded voice said the customer was not taking calls. I sent a text. I never got a response.
I have a bad habit of not answering calls from friends right away because I am in the middle of doing something else. Problem is, I too often forget to call back. A friend called the day before and I did not answer. I was in the middle of working on a report for work. I didn't call him back until God brought him to mind while I was talking to God on Sunday after church.
God told me not to feel guilty, but to learn from this. I know relationships are more important than busyness, but I have not been living as if I believed that. God told me to make sure I am a friend to those whom I call friends.
That day, I called all the friends I have put off recently, including the one whose call I didn't take the day before. Whatever else I planned to do could wait. Nothing was more important than talking to my friends.
It was so nice talking to a few people I haven't talked to in a while. I was still feeling down, though, because of how I ignored Cowboy and missed my chance to tell him that he was important to me. I started to reminisce about my time at Tent City. I really do miss it, but never got to make of it what I had hoped.
My friend, Tommy called while I was thinking such thoughts. We talked about our time at Tent City and Tommy almost made me cry. It's as if he knew exactly what I needed to hear. We talked about God's plan vs. our own and following God's lead. We talked about how we were ministering in Tent City even if we never had a formal Bible study. We were fellowshipping. We were living God's love. I forgot how important that could be. I realized that maybe, just maybe, Cowboy knew, even if we hadn't talked in a long time, that I really did care about him.
I lost my friend to cancer. This time, though, I do not have survivor's guilt. Instead, I have living regret. I feel at peace about his passing, though, and am confident that he is at peace as well. I still love him and am grateful for the time we did get to spend together.
This is Cowboy, real name Jack, but very few were fortunate enough to be trusted with his real name. This was taken around Thanksgiving 2009 when a big group of us went to celebrate with a big feast and Christmas gifts.
This was Cowboy's camp at Tent City.
The May 2010 flood at Tent City. Cowboy's camp is by the blue tarp in the right corner.
Rhonda Lee trying to find her babies after the flood. We found most of them.
I started getting sick almost immediately after going to Tent City after the flood. The city had already condemned it and we were told not to go. When we insisted, we were told to wear rubber boots and a mask. I wore boots, but took off the mask because it got too hot. Cowboy and Rhonda Lee didn't want to wear a mask at all. Cowboy had his cowboy boots on and he said that was good enough.
I can never prove it, but I always blamed this moment for causing my cancer since I started developing the cough almost immediately after this day. The cough was a sign of the cancer. My fault for not wearing the mask like I was told to do. I simply assumed that was bureaucratic BS because they had been trying to get the homeless out of this area for years, but there was always societal backlash. After the flood, it was the perfect excuse to make them leave without looking like A-holes. Turns out, they weren't just being greedy, heartless politicians. I have never regretted what we did that day and the fight we fought for their right to return to the only home they knew.
Cowboy didn't even try wearing a mask. He went back a few more times after I took him back initially. He got cancer, too, at about the same time as I did. Not Hodgkins Lymphoma, but cancer nonetheless. Makes me wonder.
I love you, Cowboy, and I will miss you until we see each other again!
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Ten Month Checkup
Today I had my six week appointment with my oncologist. It's been ten months since my last treatment. I was a little reluctant to go because I have not been doing well this past six weeks and I did not want to let Dr. Meluch down. He was so proud of my progress last time.
During this six week period, I started off amazing, running my first 5K. Soon after, work started getting stressful and my dog, Bailey, whom I call my daughter and my heart, got really sick again. It broke my heart. I just knew I was going to lose her. I gave up on myself for a little while, not caring much about working out or trying to eat better.
Surprisingly, I still managed to loose two pounds. I credit the medicine because I have not been doing well taking care of myself at all!
Dr. Meluch was not disappointed one bit. When he came into the room, he asked how I was doing. I told him I was great, but admitted that a few weeks ago, I felt my throat and thought I felt a lump. He examined me like he always does and told me everything was okay. He said it is common for people who have been through what I have been through to immediately think the worst. I can hit my hand quite naturally, hurt the next day, and wonder if cancer has returned. There is no logical reason to jump to that conclusion, but it is common and normal to do so. I told him about the Women Survivors Convention and how helpful it was to hear from others and know that what I am going through is very normal. I told him about the 5K. He was proud of that.
After examining me, he told me I will more likely experience long term effects of the chemotherapy than actually getting cancer again, such as the need for my upcoming hysterectomy and the thyroid issue. I told him I have an upcoming appointment with my gynecologist to schedule the hysterectomy.
I said, speaking of my thyroid, I haven't been doing as well as I had hoped. I didn't get into the details with him, but I told him I'd been having a rough time lately and when things go bad like they have, I tend to eat!
Instead of being disappointed with me, he gave me a side hug and said he could tell I was feeling better. I had a sparkle in my eye. He said it was okay that things weren't going as well as I had hoped. It will come. It will happen. That made me feel pretty good.
When I left, I wondered a little at why he wasn't more upset with my slow progress. I realized that:
1) he's the one who told me it would take time. I'm sure he realizes better than I do the struggles with regaining a sense of normalcy and moving forward. (I saw an interview with a survivor of sexual assault recently. She said there is no such thing as getting back to who you were before the rape. Instead, you learn to find a new normal. I think the same is true for survivors of any major life changing event, including cancer.)
2) It occurred to me that a lot of people don't even try to do what their doctor tells them to do. I think he recognizes that I am trying. I trust him and know he knows more than I do about how to get healthy again.
I asked him when my one year anniversary date is, the last day of treatment or the day I got my tests and he said I was in remission. He said it was the date of my last treatment. In that case, I will be celebrating in less than two months (November 19). However, it will be some time in December before I get my next scan. I will celebrate again once I get the official word that all is still good. At that time, I will talk to him about if/when I can move back home!
During this six week period, I started off amazing, running my first 5K. Soon after, work started getting stressful and my dog, Bailey, whom I call my daughter and my heart, got really sick again. It broke my heart. I just knew I was going to lose her. I gave up on myself for a little while, not caring much about working out or trying to eat better.
Surprisingly, I still managed to loose two pounds. I credit the medicine because I have not been doing well taking care of myself at all!
Dr. Meluch was not disappointed one bit. When he came into the room, he asked how I was doing. I told him I was great, but admitted that a few weeks ago, I felt my throat and thought I felt a lump. He examined me like he always does and told me everything was okay. He said it is common for people who have been through what I have been through to immediately think the worst. I can hit my hand quite naturally, hurt the next day, and wonder if cancer has returned. There is no logical reason to jump to that conclusion, but it is common and normal to do so. I told him about the Women Survivors Convention and how helpful it was to hear from others and know that what I am going through is very normal. I told him about the 5K. He was proud of that.
After examining me, he told me I will more likely experience long term effects of the chemotherapy than actually getting cancer again, such as the need for my upcoming hysterectomy and the thyroid issue. I told him I have an upcoming appointment with my gynecologist to schedule the hysterectomy.
I said, speaking of my thyroid, I haven't been doing as well as I had hoped. I didn't get into the details with him, but I told him I'd been having a rough time lately and when things go bad like they have, I tend to eat!
Instead of being disappointed with me, he gave me a side hug and said he could tell I was feeling better. I had a sparkle in my eye. He said it was okay that things weren't going as well as I had hoped. It will come. It will happen. That made me feel pretty good.
When I left, I wondered a little at why he wasn't more upset with my slow progress. I realized that:
1) he's the one who told me it would take time. I'm sure he realizes better than I do the struggles with regaining a sense of normalcy and moving forward. (I saw an interview with a survivor of sexual assault recently. She said there is no such thing as getting back to who you were before the rape. Instead, you learn to find a new normal. I think the same is true for survivors of any major life changing event, including cancer.)
2) It occurred to me that a lot of people don't even try to do what their doctor tells them to do. I think he recognizes that I am trying. I trust him and know he knows more than I do about how to get healthy again.
I asked him when my one year anniversary date is, the last day of treatment or the day I got my tests and he said I was in remission. He said it was the date of my last treatment. In that case, I will be celebrating in less than two months (November 19). However, it will be some time in December before I get my next scan. I will celebrate again once I get the official word that all is still good. At that time, I will talk to him about if/when I can move back home!
Monday, September 23, 2013
Putting the Pieces Back Together
I have been asked several times if I am back to work full time yet. In spite of my best efforts to control it, I chuckle each time this question is posed. Am I back to work full time yet? Absolutely...and then some!
Work has been overwhelmingly busy. September is always my busiest month. Students return, I offer crime prevention convocations, a women's self-defense class, and work on the annual security report due October 1st. I put in a lot of hours on evenings and weekends on top of my regular shift. I have been working so much lately, my brain is starting to turn into mush. I stay focused on the task at hand rather well, but I have a very difficult time switching gears. I cannot think clearly on anything outside of the pressing work issues.
Am I working full time yet? All I do is work and sleep these days! I am drowning in too much work!
I'm not complaining, though. As time consuming as it all is, I really do enjoy it all - the safety programs, the report writing. Plus, I realize that I am super lucky to be working and have a pretty good job!
I have not always had the best attitude about work lately, though. As a matter of fact, up until a few weeks ago, I have been in a pretty dark place lately. I have been moody and on edge and ready for a fight. Even though I have felt my arguments have been just, I have gone about making my point in the complete wrong way.
It all came to a head a few weeks ago and I came close to just walking away. As a matter of fact, I made it out to the parking lot. Instead of walking to my car and driving to Texas (after going home to pick up Bailey and throw a few clothes in a suitcase), I took a long walk around campus collecting my thoughts. No matter how miserable I was at the moment, I needed that job and I needed it desperately. I have a hysterectomy planned at some point. With my health the way it has been, even if I didn't need surgery, I couldn't walk away without a game plan.
I went and talked to a friend who gave me business and personal advice. Afterward, I returned to my office and eventually sat down to have a much overdue conversation with my boss and friend.
My boss has been in just as bad a mood as I have been and I think for many of the same reasons. We have both been through a lot lately with our lives and health. He has been ready to retire for a very long time. I have been ready to go home for a very long time, ever since the problems in my marriage came to a head over three years ago.
Anyway, I shared my burdens with him and he shared his with me. We talked for a good hour or more and during that conversation, he told me he had decided to go ahead and retire now. He did not and could not wait two more years.
I think the talk was very therapeutic for both of us. Ever since then, we have both been lighter and happier in our work. It's not that I want him to retire. Quite the contrary. He's pretty much the only boss I have ever known and I owe most, if not all of what I have become in this job to him. I think it was just good for the both of us to be honest with where we were and what we wanted for our futures.
Everyone at work thinks I'm going to leave when he does. I have told everyone that I planned on leaving even before he told me his plans. I will admit, though, his leaving does make it easier for me to leave. I promised him long ago that I would not leave until he does.
Still, he is retiring at the end of the calendar year. Because of my surgery and other commitments, I most likely will not leave until the end of the academic year. I know anything may change. God may have other plans for me and until I leave (if I do indeed leave), I will give my all to where I am right now. However, the incident a few weeks ago and the calming effect of talking it all out with my boss changed something in me. It's like I know this part of my life is coming to a close and I feel at peace for the very first time in a very long time.
Several months ago, I came across a fortune that said "You will soon make a decision about a personal issue in your life." I never keep fortunes from fortune cookies and think they are all hogwash. I liked this one, kept it in my wallet and hoped it was true. That Thursday morning, I made my decision. I may not have left at that moment, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God's hand is in this and it is time for a change.
The weekend after this life-changing decision, I sat down to work on my broken pot. My sister gave me the book and the idea last year for Christmas. I worked on it sporadically since then. Sometimes, it stayed in place for months. I always seemed to come back to it when I needed centering the most, during those times when I felt too wound up and in desperate need to calm myself inside and out and focus on something outside of myself - namely on God.
When I started the project, it was difficult and time consuming trying to fit the pieces together. The more I worked on it, the easier it became to figure it out how each piece fit. On that Sunday, I glued the last pieces together.
There are a lot of holes from pieces too shattered to put back together. The cracks are visible from a great distance. It cannot hold water any longer. Still, it is the most beautiful pot I have ever seen.
Like my life - shattered pieces made whole. It can no longer fulfill its original purpose, but it is still useful for something.
I started with the base, creating a firm foundation. The rest could not stand without the foundation. I build the rest, piece by piece, from the foundation. Once the last piece was glued into place, I felt a sense of empowerment, much like that which I felt after crossing the finish line of the Women Survivors 5K a few weeks before. I am whole again! I can do anything through Him who strengthens me!
I am not sure if it was before or after the pot, but during the same time, I watched a recorded episode of Perception. My sister got me to watch the show and the character, Dr. Pierce, got me hooked. I am not a schizophrenic, but I identify with him on some level. I feel like an outsider, often overlooked by others. I am not ashamed or embarrassed by my difference. I know I have value and worth. I just don't fit in to the ordinary mold. I'm not nearly as smart as Dr. Pierce, but I do consider myself more of an intellect, think with my head more than my heart. Although a fictional and not scientific writer, I am, nonetheless, a writer as well. Although I don't have grandiose conversations and experiences with imaginary people, I do have relationships and conversations with my characters as I am writing. I do not see them nor do I believe they are real. I have a firm grasp, I think, on reality and fantasy.
Anyway, I love that show. On one episode, a college football star undergoes a serious brain injury. He has to choose between playing and death or not playing and living. He is depressed because football is all he's ever known. What is he going to do if he doesn't play football?
At the very end of the episode, Dr. Pierce visits the boy in the hospital and gives him a college catalog. He tells the boy that something happened to him once, landing him in the hospital. He said, "I thought my life was over. All my dreams went out the window."
The boy asks what he did.
"I found a new dream," Dr. Pierce answers.
That last statement stuck with me. Although there have been good moments, overall, my life has been terrible the past three years. I have felt lost, like everything I believed in and expected out of life was ripped out from under me. I'm almost 40 years old and I feel like I have yet to truly grow up. Even though I like what I do and believe I do a good job, I feel like I have done nothing but coast through life simply following someone else's lead and taking no control of my own life or dreams.
My marriage is over. The family life I thought I would always have is gone. My childhood dreams are over. I'm too old to start trying. Besides, I no longer have any desire to be a professional drummer or a fighter pilot in the Air Force. I still want to be a writer, but there is no time for writing with my present job.
All that is behind me. The shattered pieces are getting put back into place. I am figuring out, piece by piece, the importance and worth of a firm foundation and how to trust in and rely on that foundation (my relationship with God). I am working on building on that foundation/relationship.
I'm working on figuring out how to fill the new pot that is the new me.
It's time to find a new dream.
Work has been overwhelmingly busy. September is always my busiest month. Students return, I offer crime prevention convocations, a women's self-defense class, and work on the annual security report due October 1st. I put in a lot of hours on evenings and weekends on top of my regular shift. I have been working so much lately, my brain is starting to turn into mush. I stay focused on the task at hand rather well, but I have a very difficult time switching gears. I cannot think clearly on anything outside of the pressing work issues.
Am I working full time yet? All I do is work and sleep these days! I am drowning in too much work!
I'm not complaining, though. As time consuming as it all is, I really do enjoy it all - the safety programs, the report writing. Plus, I realize that I am super lucky to be working and have a pretty good job!
I have not always had the best attitude about work lately, though. As a matter of fact, up until a few weeks ago, I have been in a pretty dark place lately. I have been moody and on edge and ready for a fight. Even though I have felt my arguments have been just, I have gone about making my point in the complete wrong way.
It all came to a head a few weeks ago and I came close to just walking away. As a matter of fact, I made it out to the parking lot. Instead of walking to my car and driving to Texas (after going home to pick up Bailey and throw a few clothes in a suitcase), I took a long walk around campus collecting my thoughts. No matter how miserable I was at the moment, I needed that job and I needed it desperately. I have a hysterectomy planned at some point. With my health the way it has been, even if I didn't need surgery, I couldn't walk away without a game plan.
I went and talked to a friend who gave me business and personal advice. Afterward, I returned to my office and eventually sat down to have a much overdue conversation with my boss and friend.
My boss has been in just as bad a mood as I have been and I think for many of the same reasons. We have both been through a lot lately with our lives and health. He has been ready to retire for a very long time. I have been ready to go home for a very long time, ever since the problems in my marriage came to a head over three years ago.
Anyway, I shared my burdens with him and he shared his with me. We talked for a good hour or more and during that conversation, he told me he had decided to go ahead and retire now. He did not and could not wait two more years.
I think the talk was very therapeutic for both of us. Ever since then, we have both been lighter and happier in our work. It's not that I want him to retire. Quite the contrary. He's pretty much the only boss I have ever known and I owe most, if not all of what I have become in this job to him. I think it was just good for the both of us to be honest with where we were and what we wanted for our futures.
Everyone at work thinks I'm going to leave when he does. I have told everyone that I planned on leaving even before he told me his plans. I will admit, though, his leaving does make it easier for me to leave. I promised him long ago that I would not leave until he does.
Still, he is retiring at the end of the calendar year. Because of my surgery and other commitments, I most likely will not leave until the end of the academic year. I know anything may change. God may have other plans for me and until I leave (if I do indeed leave), I will give my all to where I am right now. However, the incident a few weeks ago and the calming effect of talking it all out with my boss changed something in me. It's like I know this part of my life is coming to a close and I feel at peace for the very first time in a very long time.
Several months ago, I came across a fortune that said "You will soon make a decision about a personal issue in your life." I never keep fortunes from fortune cookies and think they are all hogwash. I liked this one, kept it in my wallet and hoped it was true. That Thursday morning, I made my decision. I may not have left at that moment, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God's hand is in this and it is time for a change.
The weekend after this life-changing decision, I sat down to work on my broken pot. My sister gave me the book and the idea last year for Christmas. I worked on it sporadically since then. Sometimes, it stayed in place for months. I always seemed to come back to it when I needed centering the most, during those times when I felt too wound up and in desperate need to calm myself inside and out and focus on something outside of myself - namely on God.
When I started the project, it was difficult and time consuming trying to fit the pieces together. The more I worked on it, the easier it became to figure it out how each piece fit. On that Sunday, I glued the last pieces together.
There are a lot of holes from pieces too shattered to put back together. The cracks are visible from a great distance. It cannot hold water any longer. Still, it is the most beautiful pot I have ever seen.
Like my life - shattered pieces made whole. It can no longer fulfill its original purpose, but it is still useful for something.
I started with the base, creating a firm foundation. The rest could not stand without the foundation. I build the rest, piece by piece, from the foundation. Once the last piece was glued into place, I felt a sense of empowerment, much like that which I felt after crossing the finish line of the Women Survivors 5K a few weeks before. I am whole again! I can do anything through Him who strengthens me!
I am not sure if it was before or after the pot, but during the same time, I watched a recorded episode of Perception. My sister got me to watch the show and the character, Dr. Pierce, got me hooked. I am not a schizophrenic, but I identify with him on some level. I feel like an outsider, often overlooked by others. I am not ashamed or embarrassed by my difference. I know I have value and worth. I just don't fit in to the ordinary mold. I'm not nearly as smart as Dr. Pierce, but I do consider myself more of an intellect, think with my head more than my heart. Although a fictional and not scientific writer, I am, nonetheless, a writer as well. Although I don't have grandiose conversations and experiences with imaginary people, I do have relationships and conversations with my characters as I am writing. I do not see them nor do I believe they are real. I have a firm grasp, I think, on reality and fantasy.
Anyway, I love that show. On one episode, a college football star undergoes a serious brain injury. He has to choose between playing and death or not playing and living. He is depressed because football is all he's ever known. What is he going to do if he doesn't play football?
At the very end of the episode, Dr. Pierce visits the boy in the hospital and gives him a college catalog. He tells the boy that something happened to him once, landing him in the hospital. He said, "I thought my life was over. All my dreams went out the window."
The boy asks what he did.
"I found a new dream," Dr. Pierce answers.
That last statement stuck with me. Although there have been good moments, overall, my life has been terrible the past three years. I have felt lost, like everything I believed in and expected out of life was ripped out from under me. I'm almost 40 years old and I feel like I have yet to truly grow up. Even though I like what I do and believe I do a good job, I feel like I have done nothing but coast through life simply following someone else's lead and taking no control of my own life or dreams.
My marriage is over. The family life I thought I would always have is gone. My childhood dreams are over. I'm too old to start trying. Besides, I no longer have any desire to be a professional drummer or a fighter pilot in the Air Force. I still want to be a writer, but there is no time for writing with my present job.
All that is behind me. The shattered pieces are getting put back into place. I am figuring out, piece by piece, the importance and worth of a firm foundation and how to trust in and rely on that foundation (my relationship with God). I am working on building on that foundation/relationship.
I'm working on figuring out how to fill the new pot that is the new me.
It's time to find a new dream.
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