June 9, 2005
I just walked into my home with a certificate of completion in hand. For the second time this year, I have graduated again from a ‘school’ I never chose to attend. Today was my last radiation treatment.
All of the staff at the cancer center was so supportive and caring. I have found it to be a bittersweet parting when I have completed each stage of my treatment. A part of you is so grateful to move on but another part of you lingers with the familiar; Faces you become accustomed to, personalities that appeal to you, the caring focus that is directed upon your condition, the place you fit in even though you would rather not be there.
When I pulled into my special parking place for the last time, which is personalized by ‘cancer parking only’ on the curb, I thought of how comfortably accustomed I have become with this world. Likewise, how ordinary the act of walking through the double doors with the yellow radiation warning sign on my way to treatment became. My initial feelings of repulsion and rejection of my cancer and subsequent treatments last year has been replaced by a peaceful acceptance of it. Not that I am overjoyed about experiencing it but I have learned to embrace the lessons and blessings of it.
I was told radiation treatment would be a walk in the park after chemotherapy. Having completed radiation treatment, I would not say that unless you are referring to a walk in a scary, dark park. Radiation treatment is not easy. It is an event to deal with not every three weeks like chemo but daily. Your treatment zones are marked with colorful markers and reapplied whenever needed. It is unnatural to submit to lying on a table and being ‘zapped’ with radiation. Soon your skin begins to show the signs of the treatment with redness, intense itching and burning. Wearing clothing on your treated areas becomes an added burden. The altered condition of your treated areas will take several months to return to a normal state. Fatigue is touted as the number one radiation side effect and it affects not only your physical being but your emotional being as well.
This journey has been long but doable. I am not a good traveler and would never choose to travel alone. I especially appreciate the company and support of my devoted family, friends, and my Lord on this particular journey.
Next week I begin another phase of this journey. My lymphedema therapy begins at 8:30 a.m. every morning and will continue for the next few weeks. I am actually looking forward to proceeding ahead with therapy so that I can learn how to take care of my arm. I have accepted this permanent side effect of my treatments and though I may have difficult moments of adjustment, I know that I can do this too.
Special note:
Our local television newswoman, Mary Ellen died this morning. I felt a special kinship to her because she battled breast cancer a few years ago and a re-occurrence this past year. She was only forty-five years old.
Why breast cancer takes some of us and leaves others to survive is incomprehensible. It is challenging not to wonder if re-occurrence will be part of my future too. But I can only live today. And because He lives, I can face tomorrow.
2 Corinthians 4:18 While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal: but the things which are not seen are eternal.
Thursday, June 9, 2005
Sunday, May 15, 2005
A survivor is....
May 15, 2005
Lately I have been thinking of the meaning of the word survivor. I read that some people begin thinking of themselves as survivors as soon as they receive a cancer diagnosis or begin treatment. I didn’t. After I completed chemotherapy, I began to think of myself more as a survivor. I survived the rigors of the treatment. I hope to survive the disease too.
Thinking about the meaning of being a survivor, a word picture pops into my mind of a shaggy bearded man with bedraggled clothing found months after being shipwrecked on a deserted island. There is no glamor in being a survivor. The survivor has been reduced to a condition of being emaciated, disheveled, and weakened but most importantly, still lives.
The definition of survive is to continue to function or manage in spite of adverse circumstance or hardship, hold up, endure, live through an affliction, adversity, misery. Going with this definition, I am a survivor. Since my breast cancer diagnosis and months of treatment, I find myself at times spiritually emaciated, emotionally disheveled, and physically weakened. But with the Lord’s help, I am still choosing to live each day the best that I can.
‘Because He lives, I can face tomorrow. Because He lives, all fear is gone. Because I know who holds the future, and life is worth the living, just because He lives.’
Lately I have been thinking of the meaning of the word survivor. I read that some people begin thinking of themselves as survivors as soon as they receive a cancer diagnosis or begin treatment. I didn’t. After I completed chemotherapy, I began to think of myself more as a survivor. I survived the rigors of the treatment. I hope to survive the disease too.
Thinking about the meaning of being a survivor, a word picture pops into my mind of a shaggy bearded man with bedraggled clothing found months after being shipwrecked on a deserted island. There is no glamor in being a survivor. The survivor has been reduced to a condition of being emaciated, disheveled, and weakened but most importantly, still lives.
The definition of survive is to continue to function or manage in spite of adverse circumstance or hardship, hold up, endure, live through an affliction, adversity, misery. Going with this definition, I am a survivor. Since my breast cancer diagnosis and months of treatment, I find myself at times spiritually emaciated, emotionally disheveled, and physically weakened. But with the Lord’s help, I am still choosing to live each day the best that I can.
‘Because He lives, I can face tomorrow. Because He lives, all fear is gone. Because I know who holds the future, and life is worth the living, just because He lives.’
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Somebody loves me just as I am
May 12, 2005
My grandson and I had a great time last night. We had a pajama party with snacks and watched Milo and Otis together. Even after the movie, his big brown eyes stayed open until almost midnight. The last thing he did before he fell asleep was to give me a huge smile.
This morning as I was standing at the sink washing up our breakfast dishes, he said, “Grandma, I love your feet. I love your legs. I love your back. I love your arms. I love your hands. I love your lips. I love your ears. I love your eyes. I love your hair.” And then, “Grandma, I love everything about you.”
The Lord knew how down I have been about myself lately and sent me a message of unconditional love through my grandson.
My grandson and I had a great time last night. We had a pajama party with snacks and watched Milo and Otis together. Even after the movie, his big brown eyes stayed open until almost midnight. The last thing he did before he fell asleep was to give me a huge smile.
This morning as I was standing at the sink washing up our breakfast dishes, he said, “Grandma, I love your feet. I love your legs. I love your back. I love your arms. I love your hands. I love your lips. I love your ears. I love your eyes. I love your hair.” And then, “Grandma, I love everything about you.”
The Lord knew how down I have been about myself lately and sent me a message of unconditional love through my grandson.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Green Jelly Bean
April 18, 2005
I arrived at the school early. Children were still playing on the playground so I looked for my grandson as I drove by. I spotted him about the same time he spotted me. His face lit up and he excitedly announced, “My grandma is here.” He was happily surprised; especially since my picking him up was unexpected.
I was first in line for kid pick-up. My grandson was still beaming when his teacher walked him to my car. As soon as he was in my car, my grandson couldn’t wait to hand me a special gift he clutched in his closed fist. His hand, still a bit grimy looking from his playground time, opened to reveal a green jellybean. “Here Grandma, I brought this for you.” he proudly announced.
I have a thing about green candy. I do not like green candy. Not green jellybeans, green gumdrops, green Lifesavers, green gumballs or anything green. I even scoop around the green of rainbow sherbet. The taste of green candy reminds me of the smell of cleaning products. Where I got this idea I do not know. But this has been a quirk of mine for most of my life.
In spite of my green candy aversion, without hesitation I took the lone green jellybean offered to me from the palm of my grandson’s hand and popped it into my mouth. I don’t know where he got the green jellybean. I don’t know how many other jellybeans he had. I never saw him with any more. I think he only had two since he told me he ate an orange one before he came outside. What I do know is that green jellybean was the best tasting candy I have had in a long time because it was flavored with the love of a dear grandson wanting to share something good with his grandma. I thanked him for sharing with me.
Later I thought of the many times God offers us a “green jellybean”. Perhaps we reject the “green jellybean” because it is not our preference, our choice, our favorite thing, or our plan. A blessing is missed because we do not view the “green jellybean” as a love offering from our heavenly Father for our ultimate good. Lord, please help me to accept and appreciate the “green jellybeans” of life. Help me to keep enjoying all candies that are colored with love, even if they are green...
I arrived at the school early. Children were still playing on the playground so I looked for my grandson as I drove by. I spotted him about the same time he spotted me. His face lit up and he excitedly announced, “My grandma is here.” He was happily surprised; especially since my picking him up was unexpected.
I was first in line for kid pick-up. My grandson was still beaming when his teacher walked him to my car. As soon as he was in my car, my grandson couldn’t wait to hand me a special gift he clutched in his closed fist. His hand, still a bit grimy looking from his playground time, opened to reveal a green jellybean. “Here Grandma, I brought this for you.” he proudly announced.
I have a thing about green candy. I do not like green candy. Not green jellybeans, green gumdrops, green Lifesavers, green gumballs or anything green. I even scoop around the green of rainbow sherbet. The taste of green candy reminds me of the smell of cleaning products. Where I got this idea I do not know. But this has been a quirk of mine for most of my life.
In spite of my green candy aversion, without hesitation I took the lone green jellybean offered to me from the palm of my grandson’s hand and popped it into my mouth. I don’t know where he got the green jellybean. I don’t know how many other jellybeans he had. I never saw him with any more. I think he only had two since he told me he ate an orange one before he came outside. What I do know is that green jellybean was the best tasting candy I have had in a long time because it was flavored with the love of a dear grandson wanting to share something good with his grandma. I thanked him for sharing with me.
Later I thought of the many times God offers us a “green jellybean”. Perhaps we reject the “green jellybean” because it is not our preference, our choice, our favorite thing, or our plan. A blessing is missed because we do not view the “green jellybean” as a love offering from our heavenly Father for our ultimate good. Lord, please help me to accept and appreciate the “green jellybeans” of life. Help me to keep enjoying all candies that are colored with love, even if they are green...
Wednesday, January 5, 2005
Plain little sparrow for my team
January 5, 2005
While my parents were napping, I slipped outside to the front porch to sit in a cozy rocker with my book in hand. I was soon pleasantly distracted by the amazing bird activity in the natural surroundings of the log home. My father has several bird feeders and a birdbath. And all locales were busy and humming with great hustle and bustle. I counted at least three cardinal families. What a beautiful majestic bird! I noticed other birds seemed to give the cardinal reverence. Anytime the cardinal flew onto the bird feeder, the other birds would retreat. A sparrow was busily enjoying a rambunctious splashing in the birdbath but hastily exited when the cardinal came to call. How interesting to see the bird kingdom has class recognition.
Personally, as beautiful as I find the bright red cardinal, I am drawn to the plain little brown sparrow. Ever since Ethel Waters sang the song, His Eye is on the Sparrow, I have been fascinated with the sparrow.
On my birthday, my youngest daughter gave me a china figurine of two sparrows sitting on a base with the nameplate with the engraving, “His Eye Is On The Sparrow” for my birthday. And it plays the song as well. One of the sparrows is a ‘mommy’ and one appears to be the ‘baby bird.’ It is an exceptionally special gift as it signifies a sentimental bond between my daughter and me and that she found a gift that has one of my favorite songs. The song encourages me so because it reminds me that as the Lord has His eye on the sparrow, I know he watches me too. If a seemingly insignificant little sparrow is important to God, then even more so are we. We were created in His image and He loves and cares for us through all of life trials and times.
While my parents were napping, I slipped outside to the front porch to sit in a cozy rocker with my book in hand. I was soon pleasantly distracted by the amazing bird activity in the natural surroundings of the log home. My father has several bird feeders and a birdbath. And all locales were busy and humming with great hustle and bustle. I counted at least three cardinal families. What a beautiful majestic bird! I noticed other birds seemed to give the cardinal reverence. Anytime the cardinal flew onto the bird feeder, the other birds would retreat. A sparrow was busily enjoying a rambunctious splashing in the birdbath but hastily exited when the cardinal came to call. How interesting to see the bird kingdom has class recognition.
Personally, as beautiful as I find the bright red cardinal, I am drawn to the plain little brown sparrow. Ever since Ethel Waters sang the song, His Eye is on the Sparrow, I have been fascinated with the sparrow.
On my birthday, my youngest daughter gave me a china figurine of two sparrows sitting on a base with the nameplate with the engraving, “His Eye Is On The Sparrow” for my birthday. And it plays the song as well. One of the sparrows is a ‘mommy’ and one appears to be the ‘baby bird.’ It is an exceptionally special gift as it signifies a sentimental bond between my daughter and me and that she found a gift that has one of my favorite songs. The song encourages me so because it reminds me that as the Lord has His eye on the sparrow, I know he watches me too. If a seemingly insignificant little sparrow is important to God, then even more so are we. We were created in His image and He loves and cares for us through all of life trials and times.
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