July 27, 2004
Our day was filled walking down long hospital corridors on shiny tiled floors to sit in people packed waiting rooms. It began with a 10:30 a.m. appointment with the oncologist. We waited almost two hours in the waiting room. But when it was our turn with the doctor, he gave us his undivided attention, unhurried conversation and demonstrated genuine interest in me. It was interesting to find out that he doesn’t really accept our insurance. He took me as a patient because of my radiologist’s call yesterday. As the oncologist put it, “I am doing this for my very good friend and for your benefit.” He said he was told him how upset I was yesterday and that he said he would see me today when I was less upset. (I appear less upset even though I feel dead inside and devoid of any emotions. But that is today. Who knows what to expect tomorrow?) After hearing how I came to be under the care of an obviously skilled doctor, my “God Watcher” ability kicked in and I noted how the Lord provided this for me. And I am thankful.
The oncologist explained to me that I have Stage II cancer. I have two positives and one negative going for me. The negative is of course that cancer has spread to the lymph nodes. Since it has, it makes it necessary for my body to be treated as a system. This is why I need chemo to kill any cancer cells that may be traveling to other parts of my body.
I will receive a cocktail of three drugs a total of six times. The six treatments will be three weeks apart, which means my treatment, will last for an eighteen-week period. After that, I will receive one drug four times with three-week intervals between the doses. My total chemotherapy will span over a thirty week period or in other words, over seven months. This sounds like forever.
I wonder what it feels like to have chemicals flowing into your body. How will I be able to sit there and let it enter my body? Will I be able to pass the time by reading a book like it is the most normal thing to in my life to do while I am receiving this medicinal poison into my veins? How sick will I be afterwards? And how fatigued is fatigue? I could ask a friend I know who has just gone through it but I don’t know if I really want to know yet. The doctor said I would receive more explanation about chemo after my lymph node surgery.
I was immediately scheduled me for a MUGA, which is a test of the heart to be sure it is strong enough for chemotherapy. I was injected with a dye, waited an hour in the waiting room and then spent about thirty minutes lying on a table in Nuclear Medicine while a camera took lots of pictures. Do I really fathom how significant it is that the strength of the heart has to be considered in this chemotherapy treatment?
After spending most of our day at the hospital, my husband and I headed home and I was glad to re-enter my world. Our grandchildren were at the house with my daughter when we got home. My granddaughter was napping so my grandson and I played together for a little while. Then my youngest daughter and I headed for the Laundromat since our washer is broken. We each ended up with eight loads of wash. I actually relished the act of taking charge of this task, which is always the case when I’ve been removed from my routine. From my past health problem experiences, being laid up always makes you appreciate the ordinary everyday things of life.
I’ve reread my journal entry from yesterday several times. It astonishes me that I had the nerve to be that open and actually sent it out. Since this is a journey, I am trying to record each phase of the trip so that I can see where I have been to appreciate where I am going. Honesty can be painful to reveal and even painful for others to read. But it is the truest trip gauge of the journey. It will be interesting to see how the Lord brings me through it, step by step.
I know my initial reaction was disappointing to some. I admit I was a bit of child having a tantrum yesterday. I was kicking and screaming because I wasn’t going to have my own way. Admittedly, I still feel a little on the whiney side but I am shifting to a calmer state of acceptance and submissiveness. My daughter Cindy shared with me a beautiful picture she thought of yesterday. It is a Steven Curtis Chapman video where a little girl is reaching her arms up to her father. It is a magnificent portrait of our spiritual reach to our Father when we need to be picked up and comforted. I am glad that my Heavenly Father still loves me through my naughty streaks, just like I have loved my children and grandchildren through theirs.
OK Lord. I realize I am going to suffer some major losses, which is what makes this hard for me. Losses like my independence, my hair, carefree days, my hair, my health, my hair, my ability to be like I enjoy being and my hair. Maybe once I lose my hair and get it over with, I will settle down about that. It just seems an awful thing to lose, even though I’ve mostly had a bad hair life not just a bad hair day. I was thinking Lord; it would be a nice consolation prize if you would bless me with a thicker head of hair when it does grow back. I also would like to put my order in for the same color brown and nothing shocking like white or gray.
My almost four-year-old grandson is old enough to be concerned about my health. He knows I have been going to doctors and the hospital but sees me looking basically fine. He is a kind and sensitive boy and at his own initiative, frequently asks me how I am. He tells his mommy that he needs to bring me flowers to make me feel better.
Last week I gave him a simple, brief explanation about cancer. I told him there was a bad thing inside my body called cancer but the doctor’s have medicine to help it go away. I reminded him about how we prayed for his friend’s grandpa who had cancer. But he died because the medicine couldn’t help his cancer and Jesus took him to heaven where he wouldn’t hurt anymore.
Tonight once again on his own initiative, my grandson asked me if I was getting better. I told him that soon I would be taking stronger medicine to help me and it would make my hair come off my head and I would be bald. I asked him if he knew what bald meant. He did. He was giving me a long look as if he was trying to picture me with no hair. His eyes were filling up with tears and his lip was curling downward. I asked him if he would still love Grandma when she was bald. He shook his head no. Kids are so honest. I reassured him that even when I was bald, I would be the same Grandma. I would sound the same and I would still play with him. Then I let him in on my plan. “Grandma is going to buy some new hair to wear until my hair grows back. It’s called a wig and you will like it.” He pulled back from our hug and lifted his little face up to me and with hopeful lilt in his voice asked, “Will it be brown Grandma?” He was very satisfied when I answered yes.
While I am not looking forward to this next year, at least I have the options I have. It could be worse. Many others have gone before me on this journey and suffered more than I will. Many others have gone before me on this journey and survived well too. I have such a wonderful army of family and friends standing with me. And even though I will be the only one facing this particular battle, aren’t each one of us facing things alone but supported by each other?
I have already received many expressions of love and support from my family and friends. The encouraging words are sinking in and I am in the process of turning my heart heavenward. I do want to face this journey bravely while giving the Lord the glory for the many things He will do through it.
No matter the bumps in the road, the storms of life, the blinding rain of my tears, Jesus is the sunshine of my life.
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