Two weeks ago today, I had my hysterectomy. As I drove into the hospital parking lot, with my step dad and mom in the car with me, I had the talk that is necessary, but difficult - discussing my living will and my desires for my few possessions in the event that I die. "During my devotionals this morning, God told me it was not yet my time to go home, but I want you to be prepared just in case."
The surgery went well. All I really know about it at this point is that my doctor came out and told my mom that my insides were ugly. Not sure what she meant by that, but my mom got the feeling that those suckers would have had to come out regardless and I probably would not have been able to have kids anyway. I go in for a checkup on Monday so I will ask what "ugly" means to her.
My first night in the hospital was great. I felt no pain. I remember having visitors, but I don't remember much else other than being extremely lovey dovey (very much outside my normal character). I remember telling everyone in the room that I loved them and teasing Mike that I was acting the way he does when he has a few too many. I also remember feeling no pain and thinking this was a piece of cake!
Then comes Saturday. The nurse took out my catheter and made me get out of bed. Talk about excruciating pain. I could not do it myself so she pulled me up. I hated her for it. I know she was just doing her job, but I did not like her. After pulling me out of bed, she made me walk down the hall. What had I done??? I think I made a terrible mistake! My oncologist highly suggested the full hysterectomy, but the ultimate choice was mine. I think I made the wrong one! That's when I remember my mom telling me that it had to be done.
The medication made me extremely thirsty. Drinking so much water made me have to get up to use the restroom a lot. I learned to use the hospital bed to my advantage to help me get out of bed. After every trip to the restroom, I took a walk down the hall. Might as well. I needed to get stronger and they were not going to let me go home until I passed gas. I thought that was hilarious, but they explained to me that passing gas lets them know that my insides are waking up from the anesthesia an working properly. Walking helps. One woman across the hall from me had been in the hospital almost a week and had not yet passed gas.
I realized right away how helpless I was and thanked God for my mother. She spent the nights in the hospital with me and helped me go to the restroom and walk the halls. I much preferred her help to the nurses. She was a little more gentle.
During one of my bathroom trips early Sunday morning, a small toot escaped. I looked up at my mom and we both got a little giddy! I was going to get to go home that day!
As excited as I was to leave the hospital and see my little Bailey Bear, I was also terrified of leaving. It was very reminiscent of leaving the hospital after finding out I had cancer. Then, I got to leave after my first treatment. I was terrified and wanted to stay because I had bad anxiety about how the drugs would effect me.
This time, I was terrified because I had no idea how I would manage getting out of bed without the help of the hospital bed. This time, however, unlike last time, I made my fears known. I did not leave the hospital until I was good and ready, which was after my afternoon pain medication. I was grateful for my cancer experience because it had prepared me for this experience. I now knew how to speak my mind, ask for help, and accept help.
A friend from church met me at the house with a wheelchair. It turned out to be a Godsend because the couch was way too soft and I knew I would struggle getting up and down, but the kitchen table chairs were way too hard and uncomfortable. Like Goldie Locks, I found the chair that fit just right!
The week was more difficult than the cancer treatment weeks. During treatment, I may have been tired and had chemo brain, but at least I could still mostly function normally. I could still basically take care of myself if I had to.
This time was unlike anything I had ever experienced or prepared for. I was completely and totally helpless. I could do next to nothing for myself. The medication left me groggy all the time. I could not bathe myself. I could not clothe myself. I could not feed my dog. I could not pick up my dog. I could not open my own pill bottles. I could manage to get out of bed by myself, but I could not manage to get back into bed by myself.
That was okay the for the first week because that's what I expected and like I said, going through cancer taught me how to rely on others and ask for the help. By the following Friday, I was headed for depression.
One of my medications, Oxycodone, can cause breathing problems. I noticed this starting with me. I could not get a good deep breath in. I had to sleep sitting up because of the pain and the developing breathing problems. I do not like taking medication anyway so at the first sign of problems, I stopped taking it.
I could feel a cough coming on. Each time, I drank water until the feeling went away. At night, I already had trouble sleeping upright. It was made worse by my breathing problems. Every time I would fall into a deep sleep, I would wake myself up coughing. Most of the time, I could stifle it. However, on Friday afternoon, I felt a cough coming on while walking in the living room. I hit my knees and held my stomach in as they suggested.
Poor Mike and his girls. They had just helped me coral Bailey back inside and thought I was upset because I thought she had run off. Mike hit the ground next to me to see what was wrong. I was crying and trying not to cough. I tried to ask for water, but could not get the words out. His two girls stood watching, obviously concerned and scared. I finally got the words out and Mike got me some water.
After the moment passed, I was able to explain to everyone what had happened. I was not upset about Bailey. I knew she had run to the back of the house and had not run off. I was crying mainly because I was upset and because coughing is painful. I told them about the medicine and why I had stopped taking it. I told them I was frustrated because I was not yet better. I understood recovery would take six weeks, but I honestly expected to be significantly better in one week.
I gave in and took another pill to calm my stomach and my nerves. Later that night, I called my doctor's nurse and asked her about all of this, mainly 1) I was bleeding a little at the incision site. Not much, but it still concerned me. I explained my coughing fit earlier. 2) speaking of the coughing fit, I do not want to take the medication. How long do people generally take the medication? 3) is it normal to still be spotting a week after the surgery?
Her responses made me feel so much better and brought me out of what could have been a bad spiral. 1) There is blood between the skin and tape. It would be normal for coughing to make it ooze a little. As long as there is not redness or fever, it should be okay. 2) She reminded me that I just went through major surgery. The bikini cut is the hardest to recover from. It is going to take the full six weeks to recover. I need to look at this like a long holiday and enjoy it. Remember to do (or not do) as the doctor told me. As far as the pills, it's okay to take them as needed for as long as needed. However, she understands my concern and suggested I try taking Motrin during the day and the pill at night to help me sleep. 3) It is normal to still spot, as long as it is not so much that it fills a pad in an hour. As the stitches dissolve, I will continue to spot.
I had a better day Saturday. Taking the Motrin helped.
I had another bad day Sunday. I woke up and watched my church service online. As I watched, I felt myself growing more and more bitter. As I heard the sounds of others in the house, I grew more and more bitter. I was angry because instead of getting up and going to church, they were in the kitchen making breakfast. I wasn't mad because I thought they should go to church. I was mad because the could go and chose not to. Selfish and wrong, but that's how I felt.
I wasn't going to let myself go down that road, though. I was just beginning week two of recovery. If I start down that path, I have a long, downward spiral to go down. Getting out would be too hard if I let myself go there.
Instead, I talked it out with my mom and realized the reason I was so upset was that it was Sunday. I LOVE my church and the people there. I miss seeing the people there. I miss interacting with them. I miss the youth. We are coming upon the holiday season with lots of extra events at church. One of which was to be that night, a Jimmy Wayne Christmas concert supporting CASA. I am not a fan of modern country music and could not name one Jimmy Wayne song, but our pastor had done such an amazing job talking up this concert and Jimmy's testimony. I wanted to go, but couldn't.
I also admitted that although I knew this would be a long recovery, I was not one bit prepared for how hard it would be. Had I known then what I knew now, I would not have had the surgery. My mom reminded me that I may not have had a choice. I know I needed it and I'm glad I got it done and over with, but it has been hard. Talking it out with her and understanding why I was feeling the way I was feeling made me feel better.
My mom and step dad left Monday afternoon. It hit me harder than I ever expected. When my family was here taking care of me during my cancer treatments, it was more of a comfort than a necessity. This time, I would have been lost without my mom. One day, as she helped dry me and change me after a shower, I asked if she ever thought she'd have to do this again once I grew up? I would have been lost without my mom taking care of me. When she wanted to come up to be with me during this time, I thought it was a nice idea, but like with the cancer, not necessary. She has been here before, though, and I suppose she knew better.
When she left, I felt so lonely. I didn't miss her because she waited on my hand and foot. I missed her because, well, I just did. I suppose it felt like being a child again, needing my mommy. Tuesday, I would be all alone for the first time since before the surgery!
When we got home from the airport, a ride that was not very fun (sitting up straight, bumps in the road, and wearing a seatbelt), Mike and the girls went out to eat. When they got home, they all went to their own rooms, leaving me alone in the living room. The silence and loneliness were almost unbearable. I called Brad and talked to him until I felt better. I am thankful he was there to be my friend at that moment!
Tuesday evening, the youth pastor and his wife brought me dinner. What great timing! It was so nice of them to check in with me and to bring me food. Made me feel like a part of the church again. I told him how I missed them all and missed being an active part of the church!
Each day since I have felt progressively better. I can get out of bed pretty easy now, but I still cannot do much of anything. On Wednesday, I tried way too hard. I planned (and did) clean out the refrigerator, clean the kitchen, and do a load of laundry. I even managed to put presents for the girls under the tree. In order to do that, I laid down flat and pushed the box under. OUCH!!! Simple task, but it hurt something fierce.
On Thursday, I was still feeling the effects of doing too much. At lunch, I realized it is hard simply to pick up a jar of peanut butter. Contrary to my deepest desires to do something, anything at all other than sit around, I did just that. I watched a movie and read. Nothing more.
As if on cue, I spoke with a nurse from my insurance company, Humana, checking up on me. She reminded me of the importance of letting myself get well. She said, "even doing something as simple as lifting a pot could pop a stitch." I have decided to do as little as possible, physically speaking, until I hear from my doctor on Monday.
With the exception of a few hiccups last week, I have been doing very well emotionally. This down time has been a great time for me to reconnect with God. My prayer life is better than it has been in a while. Mike, and his oldest daughter, Morgan, have been wonderful to me. (His youngest is sweet, but is too young to be able to do too much for me.) Morgan cooked for me last night and Mike brought up my recliner to the living room so I could be more comfortable.
As the medicine has worn off, I have been sleeping better. I still have to sleep sitting up, but I am getting used to it. Last night, I was able to sleep soundly through the night and even had a very nice and unexpected dream. I haven't dreamt in a while, either.
This morning, I was woken up by an issue at work, something I was able to help with from my computer. It was nice doing even that little bit. Made me feel needed and connected again. I know they could have done what I did without me, but it was nice of them to include me and allow me to help!
I do not think I will be going to church this weekend. I still cannot wear pants - other than my pajama bottoms. I cannot stand anything touching my stomach. I only have three pair of pajama bottoms I can wear, ones without elastic waistbands. One pair my sister gave me for Christmas last year. The other two Mike and his girlfriend bought me once they found out how I felt about elastic waist bands!
I also cannot sit for long stretches. I cannot sit barely at all on hard benches/chairs. I have been in my wheelchair for a few hours now and my bottom is miserable.
However, as I continue to improve, I have more that I plan to do. I have work projects planned that I can do from home. I plan to start working on my other writing some. Brad is coming to visit so I'll have a friend to spend some days with me.
I cannot wait until I can at least go to a movie or go back for at least part of church. Until then, I am eternally grateful for my sister and cancer for teaching me how to rely on others, my mom for taking care of me when I needed it most (night and day), God who keeps me company, Mike and his girls for all the little things that make a huge difference, and other friends who visit and check up on me. As long as I can keep my spirits up, I can lick the next four weeks!!!
Friday, December 6, 2013
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Reflections
Today marks one year since I rang the gong, symbolizing that I had completed my scheduled chemotherapy sessions. I have planned a small dinner celebration, but have been too afraid to get too excited about today. My one year scans are not scheduled until December 30th. I have the scans around 7:00am and see my oncologist for the results around 9:00am. I have been looking forward to that one because if the results are favorable, I plan to ask him about the possibility of me going home. Granted, even with the best of news, there are still a lot of hurdles to moving - post hysterectomy concerns and suggestions from my gynecologist, job opportunities in San Antonio, health care availability and affordability, strength to leave those I care about behind, saying goodbye to a job and people who have been so good to and for me. It is what I want, but it will by no means be easy. God willing, if all works out, I will get through graduation here at Belmont then start looking for work back home.
Reflecting back on the past year, going home has been my heart's greatest desire. I feel in my heart of hearts that home is where I need to be.
I have come a long way over the past year. I have changed, become a new person, even more introspective than I used to be. There is no need for me to repeat here anything that I have said before. Instead, I will reflect on the here and now.
I was looking forward to today, but to be perfectly honest, I have worked to keep my emotions in check. One reason is that not all are as fortunate. Someone I care about lost his wife to cancer this past year. Others I care about have had loved ones diagnosed with cancer this year. Another I care about had a cancer scare of her own. I hear about it everywhere I turn, church, work, radio, television. Has cancer just become so rampant or are my eyes and ears only now tuned to its devastation? I want to share my good fortune with others, but I want to be consciences of their grief and pain. Never do I want to appear to gloat or come across as any better than anyone else. Quite the contrary, I feel so fragile and unworthy. I have long come to terms with my survivorship and resigned myself to the fact that I may never understand God's purpose, but as I have said in the past, something is different in me. My rose colored glasses are off, I see the world for what it is, good and bad, and I am okay with that.
I am also terrified. Every day that I feel well I am thankful. Should God ask me to continue to walk up hill, I am ready to do as He asks. Still, my body has not regulated yet. I have extreme highs and extreme lows. The lows worry me.
Last week, I started feeling sick and developed a slight cough. People cough every day and most coughs are very common and treatable. However, I coughed for two years. Turns out, my cough was a precursor to cancer.
The boils/gigantic pimples may be clogged pores, a symptom of re-hair growth or a symptom of my ovaries readjusting, just as the doctor said. However, I had a huge problem with these months before being diagnosed with cancer.
Some of the boils were in a place on my body that was very painful and difficult to itch. I am developing similar symptoms. I am trying hard to fight it. It may be the same as above, but what if it's not that simple? What if it's a precursor to cancer again?
The cough has all but gone. Most of the boils are gone. But, the itching is intense. My hysterectomy is a few days away. As the days for this have drawn closer, I started to get scared about that. Luckily, some wonderful women have shared their stories with me, setting my mind at ease. I am now looking forward to it if for no other reason than that it will force my attention, at least temporarily, away from these scary conditions. After my one year scan, I will be even more at ease.
Other than the preoccupation with my health, there two other issues that have been on my mind a lot lately.
First, I am anxious to end this blog. I am committed to keep it up to date through the hysterectomy and last scans of the year. I have a great idea in mind as a final entry. If the cancer has returned, I suppose I will start a new blog following that journey. If I am still cancer free, it is time to move on.
Throughout this process, I have been a wide open, large print book for anyone and everyone to read. I held back nothing about myself. I only omitted stories when others were involved and telling the story may hurt them in some way, whether the story was just too personal or they are just private individuals.
Now, however, I find myself wanting to have some of my own secrets. Not that I have a heck of a lot of secrets and I have absolutely zero incriminating secrets (what you see is what you get with me), but all the same, it's time for me to fade into the shadows and live my life away from the written word. Instead, I will give life to my new characters and choreograph their lives.
Second, and this is something I hate to admit, but I am lonely. I am still terrified of dating and still think I am undatable (not unlovable, just undateable). It took me years to work through the emotions of my divorce. It has taken me a year to work through the emotions of cancer. I am just now starting to come up for air, but still find myself panicking from time to time. Now, I am about to have another serious, life changing surgery. Really, who would want to date me right now with all this baggage?
I don't feel sorry for myself. Like I said, I am not quite ready for a relationship. However, I am ready for a friend. I have Mike and I love him to death - as a brother - but I long for something in between what I have with Mike and having a full fledged boyfriend. (After re-reading this, I realized anyone who does not know me well may think that when I say I long for something in between that I mean I want a purely physical relationship. Quite the contrary. I would love all the perks of a boyfriend without the sexual intimacy. It would be nice to have someone to go out with, maybe hold hands in a theater or snuggle on the couch while watching a movie. Simple, pure intimacy. Nothing more!)
I have determined that if/when I ever do date again, the man will have to be broken, too. Who else would understand me? But, and this is a very big BUT, that man also has to have a firm foundation with Christ. We can be two broken vessels put back together in the bond of Christ. That is not negotiable. He must not simply say he's a Christian, he must live it!
Anyway, enough said about that. Time to prepare for Friday!
Reflecting back on the past year, going home has been my heart's greatest desire. I feel in my heart of hearts that home is where I need to be.
I have come a long way over the past year. I have changed, become a new person, even more introspective than I used to be. There is no need for me to repeat here anything that I have said before. Instead, I will reflect on the here and now.
I was looking forward to today, but to be perfectly honest, I have worked to keep my emotions in check. One reason is that not all are as fortunate. Someone I care about lost his wife to cancer this past year. Others I care about have had loved ones diagnosed with cancer this year. Another I care about had a cancer scare of her own. I hear about it everywhere I turn, church, work, radio, television. Has cancer just become so rampant or are my eyes and ears only now tuned to its devastation? I want to share my good fortune with others, but I want to be consciences of their grief and pain. Never do I want to appear to gloat or come across as any better than anyone else. Quite the contrary, I feel so fragile and unworthy. I have long come to terms with my survivorship and resigned myself to the fact that I may never understand God's purpose, but as I have said in the past, something is different in me. My rose colored glasses are off, I see the world for what it is, good and bad, and I am okay with that.
I am also terrified. Every day that I feel well I am thankful. Should God ask me to continue to walk up hill, I am ready to do as He asks. Still, my body has not regulated yet. I have extreme highs and extreme lows. The lows worry me.
Last week, I started feeling sick and developed a slight cough. People cough every day and most coughs are very common and treatable. However, I coughed for two years. Turns out, my cough was a precursor to cancer.
The boils/gigantic pimples may be clogged pores, a symptom of re-hair growth or a symptom of my ovaries readjusting, just as the doctor said. However, I had a huge problem with these months before being diagnosed with cancer.
Some of the boils were in a place on my body that was very painful and difficult to itch. I am developing similar symptoms. I am trying hard to fight it. It may be the same as above, but what if it's not that simple? What if it's a precursor to cancer again?
The cough has all but gone. Most of the boils are gone. But, the itching is intense. My hysterectomy is a few days away. As the days for this have drawn closer, I started to get scared about that. Luckily, some wonderful women have shared their stories with me, setting my mind at ease. I am now looking forward to it if for no other reason than that it will force my attention, at least temporarily, away from these scary conditions. After my one year scan, I will be even more at ease.
Other than the preoccupation with my health, there two other issues that have been on my mind a lot lately.
First, I am anxious to end this blog. I am committed to keep it up to date through the hysterectomy and last scans of the year. I have a great idea in mind as a final entry. If the cancer has returned, I suppose I will start a new blog following that journey. If I am still cancer free, it is time to move on.
Throughout this process, I have been a wide open, large print book for anyone and everyone to read. I held back nothing about myself. I only omitted stories when others were involved and telling the story may hurt them in some way, whether the story was just too personal or they are just private individuals.
Now, however, I find myself wanting to have some of my own secrets. Not that I have a heck of a lot of secrets and I have absolutely zero incriminating secrets (what you see is what you get with me), but all the same, it's time for me to fade into the shadows and live my life away from the written word. Instead, I will give life to my new characters and choreograph their lives.
Second, and this is something I hate to admit, but I am lonely. I am still terrified of dating and still think I am undatable (not unlovable, just undateable). It took me years to work through the emotions of my divorce. It has taken me a year to work through the emotions of cancer. I am just now starting to come up for air, but still find myself panicking from time to time. Now, I am about to have another serious, life changing surgery. Really, who would want to date me right now with all this baggage?
I don't feel sorry for myself. Like I said, I am not quite ready for a relationship. However, I am ready for a friend. I have Mike and I love him to death - as a brother - but I long for something in between what I have with Mike and having a full fledged boyfriend. (After re-reading this, I realized anyone who does not know me well may think that when I say I long for something in between that I mean I want a purely physical relationship. Quite the contrary. I would love all the perks of a boyfriend without the sexual intimacy. It would be nice to have someone to go out with, maybe hold hands in a theater or snuggle on the couch while watching a movie. Simple, pure intimacy. Nothing more!)
I have determined that if/when I ever do date again, the man will have to be broken, too. Who else would understand me? But, and this is a very big BUT, that man also has to have a firm foundation with Christ. We can be two broken vessels put back together in the bond of Christ. That is not negotiable. He must not simply say he's a Christian, he must live it!
Anyway, enough said about that. Time to prepare for Friday!
Friday, November 15, 2013
Caught in the Middle - Feeling 20 Years Younger and 20 Years Older
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!
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!
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!
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