September 28, 2004
Today is the day that I decided to let my hair go. I managed to make it through to the weekend. I only combed it once every morning for a week and sprayed it liberally to keep it in place. There was no way that I could wash it because I am quite certain it would have fallen out in drastic clumps.
I drove my car over the ridge to my daughter’s home with the sunroof and windows open, letting my hair blow in the breeze, one more time. Her mother-in-law, who so graciously cut and styled my hair in a shorter version last week, once again graciously, helped me. She buzzed the remainder of my hair off. There is no describing the feeling of hearing that buzzing noise coming to remove your crowning glory. Afterwards, she kindly asked if I would like to see how it looked in a mirror or just put my wig on. I opted for the wig. I figured I would rather mourn alone.
Now I look like a bona fide cancer patient. It is one thing to know you are one, to be medically treated as one but it is one difficult thing on the psychic to look like one. Yes, I know and have been reminded that being bald and sporting a ‘concentration camp do’ is temporary. But it is several months temporary. And I miss my hair.
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
Monday, August 9, 2004
Growing in the journey
Monday, August 9, 2004
I spent an evening with my recently widowed friend. We had dinner and went to a lighthearted chick flick. On the way home the conversation grew serious as we talked about why hard things happen, like the suffering and death of a husband to cancer. I told her that I know why suffering and trials happen. The only purpose is to glorify the Lord. She began to cry and said I sounded just like her husband. I was sorry to have upset her. Later when I thought back to that part of the conversation, I was amazed. I hadn’t even realized I had reached this point in my journey. I have accepted this trial, surrendered to it, and have determined that I will allow the Lord to work through me for His ultimate purpose and glory.
I spent an evening with my recently widowed friend. We had dinner and went to a lighthearted chick flick. On the way home the conversation grew serious as we talked about why hard things happen, like the suffering and death of a husband to cancer. I told her that I know why suffering and trials happen. The only purpose is to glorify the Lord. She began to cry and said I sounded just like her husband. I was sorry to have upset her. Later when I thought back to that part of the conversation, I was amazed. I hadn’t even realized I had reached this point in my journey. I have accepted this trial, surrendered to it, and have determined that I will allow the Lord to work through me for His ultimate purpose and glory.
Thursday, August 5, 2004
Losing our dear friend
August 5, 2004 almost dawn
During the break in my journaling, I attended two funerals. One was a former church member we didn’t know as well but we admired the family. He found out he had cancer and was gone within a few weeks. It was a shock. His wife always a quiet shy individual bravely stood at the back of the church to shake hands and give hugs to everyone who came to her husband’s funeral. It was a touching gesture of thanks on her part.
At this same time we were also dealing with our dear friend of twenty years that was living with terminal colon and liver cancer. Each time we visited him we were shocked at the effects the cancer was having on his appearance but amazed at his spiritual journey.
One time when he was hospitalized we went to visit him. We hadn’t seen him for over a month. We easily found his room number and knocked quietly. Someone said come in. I opened the door slowly and immediately saw a patient in bed. I looked back quickly for the room number to see if we had gotten the wrong room because I didn’t recognize the patient or his visitor. I was certain we had made a mistake. I was ready to apologize for my intrusion but before I could, I recognized a family member in the background. This was our friend. Each time we saw him he looked older and thinner. He was wasting away. The only recognizable character about him was his voice and his personality. It broke our hearts to see his steady decline. As each visit progressed, we would recover from our initial shocked reaction and focus on the aspects of the dear friend we knew so well.
He was hospitalized only a few times during his seven-month battle with cancer. We were with his wife and family when he went to surgery for a blockage in his colon. The doctor came out to inform the family that the liver was encased in cancer and predicted only a matter of a couple of weeks left. This news and the pain it was costing the family devastated us. His wife had been partnering with her husband in a nutritional approach coupled with spiritual emphasis and believing in faith for healing. It broke our hearts to see his elderly parents who never imagined their son would be so seriously ill but were facing it bravely nonetheless. Watching their son and daughter with their young babies and realizing these grandchildren were going to miss out on knowing a wonderful grandfather was also heart wrenching. We watched his sister and her daughter filling in the needed places of comfort in the family.
But that bleak moment was replaced by a new memory the next day. We went back to the hospital to visit and our patient was doing surprising well. His spirits were up. He was sitting in bed eating breakfast. He had an IV with pain medication readily available whenever needed. He had IV fluids going throughout his body to hydrate him well. It was the best condition we had seen him in a long time.
I stopped in his room the next day too, since I had a doctor’s appointment in the same hospital. This time I was able to walk the halls with both of our friends. It gave me a little bit of time to reminisce about some of the funny things that had happened over the years. All of us always enjoyed joking around with each other. I really wanted to go further and tell him how much he meant to us. But it would sound too much like a statement of finality. Besides, I think he knew how much he meant to us without us saying it out loud. This hospital visit was the best connection I had since the diagnosis of his illness. His personality seemed like it had completely returned and it almost made me think the doctor could be wrong about his prognosis.
Our friend outlived the doctor’s prognosis of time left on earth by a few extra weeks and then our dear friend went to be with the Lord. He began declining after a couple of weeks of perked up health. He suffered in pain the last two weeks of his life. And especially the last two days were very painful for him and those that loved him so.
My heart felt like it was wrenched out of my chest when my daughter told me our friend had died. She had called me at work and asked me if I was going to stop over at her house on my way home. It was one of the few times I have declined and said I would go home because I had been feeling unexplainably depressed all afternoon. She said she had something to tell me but not over the phone. I immediately sensed what it was and did not ask any questions. I said I would come right over. I cried all the way over to her house. I knew what she was going to tell me. When she saw the obvious signs that I had been crying, she asked me if someone one had called me with the news. I asked what news. She said, “Ken died this afternoon.” I sat down on her front porch step and sobs from the depths of my being wracked my body. I was grieving the loss of our friend, all the times we would never have with him again, and the unbearable loud silence his absence would make in the lives of those who loved him.
My husband and our other long time friend were two of the pallbearer’s. It was certainly a privilege to be asked to share in the last moments of honoring the well-spent life of a friend. It was also very sad to see my husband carrying the casket of his friend. The last earthly deed he would do for his friend. Very sobering.
I stood as close as I could to the canopied seating area that sheltered the family from the hot sunshine at the graveside. I wanted to be as near as possible to my friend, the grieving widow. She was thin and frail looking. She must have been near physical exhaustion from the many months of short nights of sleep and all the energy it took emotionally and physically as the main caretaker. She gave him excellent care, support and was such a faithful blessing to him. The only time I ever heard him choke up with emotion after he found out he had cancer was when he told me some nights he would wake up and see his wife praying for him. He said she was the Biblical example of the virtuous woman.
We miss our friend but know he is with the Lord and pain free. His missing place in the family unit is painful to see. And the grief and loneliness that his wife and family are experiencing makes us feel helpless. We can’t take the pain away. It is a process that only time can lessen and a process they must go through. Only our prayers for comfort and healing will avail much.
So now I will say the final goodbye I wished I could have said to Ken. Ken, we will miss you so much. I think of you whenever I see a corvette. I remember our funniest outing when we were cracking up laughing at Gula’s like a foursome of crazy teenagers. You had a quick wit and I loved your one-liners. I remember how you gave Vance the perfect gadget gift one Christmas, The Clapper. Everyone knows he loves gadgets and The Clapper was a big hit. I thought the two of you would wear it out in the first hour after he opened it. I remember when you encouraged Vance to get into some ‘cool duds’ to go out on our outings. You gifted him with a pair of khaki shorts and a nice polo shirt. Your family was one of the few families we ever took trips with besides our own family. Our trip to Chicago was one of the most memorable in Vance’s newly acquired Chevy suburban. You nicknamed it the Wally World Mobile. I later changed it to the Green Machine. The trip to the Biltmore house for the weekend was a blast. Especially since we were in two cars and we followed you around turn for turn while you got us lost. And all the time we were filming you and making comments. Later we made you a videotape of our trip and you enjoyed a good laugh off our comments. You were so persnickety about your vehicles and kept them up so well. But the irony of it was one of your cats wet in our car when it was parked in your driveway. We had stopped to pick you and Carolyn up to go to a Brave’s game and we’d left our car door open for a short interval. We all suffered smelling a good dose of cat pee most of the trip. We teased you about setting us up with that cat of yours as payback for the hamster we gave you that ended up with only one eye after you got it home. We still insist that it left our house with two eyes intact. How about the time we followed the church bus Vance was driving for the youth to a camp in Mentone Alabama? We traveled the dusty bumpy road back to camp about 5 miles an hour, trying to keep a great distance to keep from choking on the dust the bus was stirring up and not rattling your car too pieces. We did all this just to eat at the charming little restaurant in town and of course, to bring Vance back home and leave the bus at the camp for a week. We enjoyed our Awana outings with you and Carolyn too. All those overnight camping trips in the cave we did. You were always particular about your hair and fussed as much over your hair the next morning as all of us women did.
I respected your spiritual victories and the evidence of it in your life. You were always a faithful friend. When we were not attending the same church anymore and fell into the habit of getting together less often, we still knew our friendship was solid. You were only a phone call away, always a friend who could be counted on.
We desire to be friends that can be counted on for your wife, your children and the parents you left behind as they adjust to your absence. Who would have ever thought, you, the health nut of the four of us would be the first one to go? It still doesn’t seem real. But we can look forward to a reunion with you someday. You just got there a little ahead of us. See you later, Ken.
During the break in my journaling, I attended two funerals. One was a former church member we didn’t know as well but we admired the family. He found out he had cancer and was gone within a few weeks. It was a shock. His wife always a quiet shy individual bravely stood at the back of the church to shake hands and give hugs to everyone who came to her husband’s funeral. It was a touching gesture of thanks on her part.
At this same time we were also dealing with our dear friend of twenty years that was living with terminal colon and liver cancer. Each time we visited him we were shocked at the effects the cancer was having on his appearance but amazed at his spiritual journey.
One time when he was hospitalized we went to visit him. We hadn’t seen him for over a month. We easily found his room number and knocked quietly. Someone said come in. I opened the door slowly and immediately saw a patient in bed. I looked back quickly for the room number to see if we had gotten the wrong room because I didn’t recognize the patient or his visitor. I was certain we had made a mistake. I was ready to apologize for my intrusion but before I could, I recognized a family member in the background. This was our friend. Each time we saw him he looked older and thinner. He was wasting away. The only recognizable character about him was his voice and his personality. It broke our hearts to see his steady decline. As each visit progressed, we would recover from our initial shocked reaction and focus on the aspects of the dear friend we knew so well.
He was hospitalized only a few times during his seven-month battle with cancer. We were with his wife and family when he went to surgery for a blockage in his colon. The doctor came out to inform the family that the liver was encased in cancer and predicted only a matter of a couple of weeks left. This news and the pain it was costing the family devastated us. His wife had been partnering with her husband in a nutritional approach coupled with spiritual emphasis and believing in faith for healing. It broke our hearts to see his elderly parents who never imagined their son would be so seriously ill but were facing it bravely nonetheless. Watching their son and daughter with their young babies and realizing these grandchildren were going to miss out on knowing a wonderful grandfather was also heart wrenching. We watched his sister and her daughter filling in the needed places of comfort in the family.
But that bleak moment was replaced by a new memory the next day. We went back to the hospital to visit and our patient was doing surprising well. His spirits were up. He was sitting in bed eating breakfast. He had an IV with pain medication readily available whenever needed. He had IV fluids going throughout his body to hydrate him well. It was the best condition we had seen him in a long time.
I stopped in his room the next day too, since I had a doctor’s appointment in the same hospital. This time I was able to walk the halls with both of our friends. It gave me a little bit of time to reminisce about some of the funny things that had happened over the years. All of us always enjoyed joking around with each other. I really wanted to go further and tell him how much he meant to us. But it would sound too much like a statement of finality. Besides, I think he knew how much he meant to us without us saying it out loud. This hospital visit was the best connection I had since the diagnosis of his illness. His personality seemed like it had completely returned and it almost made me think the doctor could be wrong about his prognosis.
Our friend outlived the doctor’s prognosis of time left on earth by a few extra weeks and then our dear friend went to be with the Lord. He began declining after a couple of weeks of perked up health. He suffered in pain the last two weeks of his life. And especially the last two days were very painful for him and those that loved him so.
My heart felt like it was wrenched out of my chest when my daughter told me our friend had died. She had called me at work and asked me if I was going to stop over at her house on my way home. It was one of the few times I have declined and said I would go home because I had been feeling unexplainably depressed all afternoon. She said she had something to tell me but not over the phone. I immediately sensed what it was and did not ask any questions. I said I would come right over. I cried all the way over to her house. I knew what she was going to tell me. When she saw the obvious signs that I had been crying, she asked me if someone one had called me with the news. I asked what news. She said, “Ken died this afternoon.” I sat down on her front porch step and sobs from the depths of my being wracked my body. I was grieving the loss of our friend, all the times we would never have with him again, and the unbearable loud silence his absence would make in the lives of those who loved him.
My husband and our other long time friend were two of the pallbearer’s. It was certainly a privilege to be asked to share in the last moments of honoring the well-spent life of a friend. It was also very sad to see my husband carrying the casket of his friend. The last earthly deed he would do for his friend. Very sobering.
I stood as close as I could to the canopied seating area that sheltered the family from the hot sunshine at the graveside. I wanted to be as near as possible to my friend, the grieving widow. She was thin and frail looking. She must have been near physical exhaustion from the many months of short nights of sleep and all the energy it took emotionally and physically as the main caretaker. She gave him excellent care, support and was such a faithful blessing to him. The only time I ever heard him choke up with emotion after he found out he had cancer was when he told me some nights he would wake up and see his wife praying for him. He said she was the Biblical example of the virtuous woman.
We miss our friend but know he is with the Lord and pain free. His missing place in the family unit is painful to see. And the grief and loneliness that his wife and family are experiencing makes us feel helpless. We can’t take the pain away. It is a process that only time can lessen and a process they must go through. Only our prayers for comfort and healing will avail much.
So now I will say the final goodbye I wished I could have said to Ken. Ken, we will miss you so much. I think of you whenever I see a corvette. I remember our funniest outing when we were cracking up laughing at Gula’s like a foursome of crazy teenagers. You had a quick wit and I loved your one-liners. I remember how you gave Vance the perfect gadget gift one Christmas, The Clapper. Everyone knows he loves gadgets and The Clapper was a big hit. I thought the two of you would wear it out in the first hour after he opened it. I remember when you encouraged Vance to get into some ‘cool duds’ to go out on our outings. You gifted him with a pair of khaki shorts and a nice polo shirt. Your family was one of the few families we ever took trips with besides our own family. Our trip to Chicago was one of the most memorable in Vance’s newly acquired Chevy suburban. You nicknamed it the Wally World Mobile. I later changed it to the Green Machine. The trip to the Biltmore house for the weekend was a blast. Especially since we were in two cars and we followed you around turn for turn while you got us lost. And all the time we were filming you and making comments. Later we made you a videotape of our trip and you enjoyed a good laugh off our comments. You were so persnickety about your vehicles and kept them up so well. But the irony of it was one of your cats wet in our car when it was parked in your driveway. We had stopped to pick you and Carolyn up to go to a Brave’s game and we’d left our car door open for a short interval. We all suffered smelling a good dose of cat pee most of the trip. We teased you about setting us up with that cat of yours as payback for the hamster we gave you that ended up with only one eye after you got it home. We still insist that it left our house with two eyes intact. How about the time we followed the church bus Vance was driving for the youth to a camp in Mentone Alabama? We traveled the dusty bumpy road back to camp about 5 miles an hour, trying to keep a great distance to keep from choking on the dust the bus was stirring up and not rattling your car too pieces. We did all this just to eat at the charming little restaurant in town and of course, to bring Vance back home and leave the bus at the camp for a week. We enjoyed our Awana outings with you and Carolyn too. All those overnight camping trips in the cave we did. You were always particular about your hair and fussed as much over your hair the next morning as all of us women did.
I respected your spiritual victories and the evidence of it in your life. You were always a faithful friend. When we were not attending the same church anymore and fell into the habit of getting together less often, we still knew our friendship was solid. You were only a phone call away, always a friend who could be counted on.
We desire to be friends that can be counted on for your wife, your children and the parents you left behind as they adjust to your absence. Who would have ever thought, you, the health nut of the four of us would be the first one to go? It still doesn’t seem real. But we can look forward to a reunion with you someday. You just got there a little ahead of us. See you later, Ken.
I am just a sentimental fool.
August 5, 2004 early a.m. hours
Sometimes I wonder why I think about the things that I think about. Why do I react the way I do? Why do I frequently lay awake at night thinking of parables in ordinary remote things? Am I too morbid? Why do I see such great significance in the most common of things? I recently began tracing back this penchant I have for mourning the oddest of happenings in life after my weekend visit with my sister.
My sister told me a story that triggered several memories of my own reactions. She recently traded in her 1999 Buick for a Lexus 2001. It was definitely a trade up since the Lexus has many luxury features, but most importantly super efficient A.C. Her Buick’s air was barely cooling at all in spite of the hefty repair bill they paid last year to get it going. But the most interesting part of her story for me was when she told me how she felt so bad to leave the Buick behind at the dealership. She said it was like forsaking an old friend even though the car had made her life rather miserable these last few hot months.
This is another sister thing that we share because we are from a family lineage which specializes in sentimental drivel. I say that in a bluntly honest but loving way. My paternal grandfather was the King of Sentimentality. He named his big black beauty of a car, Pocahontas. I think he even named his unstoppable black typewriter he typed on with two fingers for hours every day in his study. My father, a private pilot is also very sentimental and can’t bear to part with large machinery like airplanes and cars, even though he obviously has had to do so over the years. A few years ago, he grieved greatly over the news that one of his former planes, the DC-3 Flagship for the aviation ministry he founded in the 60’s had crashed. Thankfully, no one was hurt in the crash but in my father’s eyes, the plane was a keen loss of a tool that provided many years of faithful service.
Our family also grieves over the departure of pets, which have become like family members. They always receive a proper burial. My Dad goes as far to give each pet its own grave marker.
I too, have moments where unexplainable sentimentality surfaces illogically. I have grieved at odd times. Like over my last menstrual cycle before my hysterectomy. I was genuinely sad to end this part of my womanly being. Who would have thought this is something I would find needed mourning time?
How about the way seeing leftover dishes still sitting at the breakfast table after the departure of a loved ones visit affects me? Who could imagine this sight brings me to tears? Why do I think morosely how just a few moments ago, my loved ones were seated at the table using these dishes? Now I try to clean off the table before company leaves and put the dishes out of sight in the dishwasher. Or why is it I won’t watch a car carrying departing loved ones drive away anymore because I don’t want that to be my last image in my mind? Why do I think like this? Being overly sentimental can be overly consuming at times and overly tiring.
I have shed many tears grieving over animals over the years that weren’t even pets. One of the strangest grief’s I experienced was over a stray cat I ended up returning to the road where I had picked it up. My oldest daughter and I had mercifully rescued the cat from what we thought would surely be its demise if she stayed in the middle of the road we were traveling. We stopped the car and the cat easily came to us. We unsuccessfully tried to find its home at a nearby house and in the process the cat apparently got frightened and sunk its teeth into my daughters arm. Now we had to take the cat home for observation for ten days because of the risk the cat might have rabies.
We kept her shut up in the downstairs bathroom because of the other two cats we had in the house. I ducked in and out for quick feedings and the cleaning of the cat box. Sometimes the cat purred and then suddenly growled in a sinister way. In spite of being a cat lover, I began to dislike and fear this cat. It seemed like we had brought the Cat from Hell to our home. When the ten-day observation was over and hadn’t shown any signs of rabies, it was time to rid our life of this inconvenient problem.
I gingerly shoved the cat into the cat carrier and drove off for the location where we had found her. It was only a few blocks from my work. It wasn’t easy dumping a reluctant cat out of a cat carrier out on the road quickly before someone saw me. I felt like a horrible bad pet owner. When I drove off, I told myself repeatedly not to look back. But I did. There stood the little black cat looking at my car speeding down the road saying, “How could you treat me like this?” It took me hours to get over it. And it wasn’t even a cat that I liked.
And back to speaking about cars, I have had a couple of those strange moments myself. We had a Chevy Malibu station wagon for many years. I never liked station wagons because of its lack of a sporty style and my mental image of a station wagon usually had about a dozen kids hanging out the windows. This little mid size station wagon however came into our lives during a difficult financial time via my parents help. I was grateful to have wheels and at least it wasn’t one of those monster sized huge wagons. She had a few flaws, like a sagging headliner that we called the Arabian look but she drove well. The girls and I named her Molly Malibu.
Molly ended up being a spiritual object lesson for our girls. Her high mileage eventually brought on a series of mechanical problems we struggled to keep up with. It didn’t impede us from our travels though and we began praying Molly to each destination around town and out of town. Our last trip with her was to Florida to visit my parents. We prayed her down there and she buzzed right along making the trip fine. On our return trip with only two hours left to go, Molly blew something in her engine and we chugged the rest of the way home. My husband jokingly said we forgot to pray her back home. But she did get us back home even though it was slow going.
The time had arrived to let her go. We parked her on the side road next to our house with a For Sale sign in her window. An elderly man a few miles away bought her knowing she was now only a little chugger. But that was all he needed. We felt bad to let her go; after all she had taught us many lessons of faith and appreciation in the simple pleasures in life.
For several months after we sold her, the girls would frequently ask me to drive by the man’s house that bought Molly. We found comfort in seeing her parked in his driveway. It was a drive by visit to see an old faithful friend. Then one day she was no longer there and that was the end of our loop to check on her. To this day, if I am on that street I am reminded of Molly sitting in that driveway and I thankful for the many lessons that were learned through her.
Then there is the time when I finally had persuaded my husband to get rid of the 10-year-old Chevy (Katie) Caprice that I was driving. Yes, I had named her too. She still floated down the road smoothly and was a nice ride but Katie had lost her looks. I was embarrassed to be seen in her. My husband found a buyer who was willing to give a couple of hundred dollars for her. At last I was getting rid of the car and could move up. The day of the sale, I felt like I was betraying an old friend. I astonished my husband by asking him if we should really sell her. He reminded me of all my complaints. So we sold her and a couple of days later I was over it.
So is it any wonder that I am a sentimental fool about the upcoming loss of my hair? I cry over cars for pity sake. Or is it any wonder that I am already grieving over the future state of my right arm, my right-handed arm that I am so dependent upon? This is how I have always been about things. So I am still on track, I am just being normal me. The stakes are a little higher, a little harder this time around but I have had practice in coping with losses in little things. I will cope with these too. They aren’t so big. After all, hair will grow back. My arm isn’t being cut off. Like the story goes, “I complained I had no shoes. Then I saw a man who had no feet.” Things could always be worse.
There are many painful and fearful life events in life that we all dread. Divorce, death of a family member or friend, the disappointment in children who have made wrong choices that bring them a lifetime of consequences, financial struggles, departing from spiritual truth, loneliness, living with potentially life threatening illnesses like cancer, heart disease, diabetes, or debilitating immune disorders like rheumatoid arthritis are some of the struggles of dear people that I know. We are all in battle together, whatever our struggle and we that know the Lord personally can draw upon his strength to make it through.
A friend of mine wrote that she was disappointed in herself for fretting over the invasion of crab grass in her newly seeded yard. As she bent over to pull the invader weed from her lawn, she thought of me. “Would Nancy be worrying over this crab grass?” Meaning, unwanted weeds in a yard pale significantly against the worries of having to deal with cancer. Yes, Nancy probably would. And I have worried over things much less worrisome than crab grass just a few months ago. No problem should be measured and seen as trivial just because it is not as big as other problems. Each individual has problems that are distinctly worrisome to him or her and it requires a daily victory. It is through our daily victories over small things that we practice our skills for the big things that eventually come our way. So pull the crabgrass out of your life today because perhaps tomorrow may be a bumper crop of some unpleasant intruder and you will have built up the knowledge, skill and stamina of how to deal with it.
Sometimes I wonder why I think about the things that I think about. Why do I react the way I do? Why do I frequently lay awake at night thinking of parables in ordinary remote things? Am I too morbid? Why do I see such great significance in the most common of things? I recently began tracing back this penchant I have for mourning the oddest of happenings in life after my weekend visit with my sister.
My sister told me a story that triggered several memories of my own reactions. She recently traded in her 1999 Buick for a Lexus 2001. It was definitely a trade up since the Lexus has many luxury features, but most importantly super efficient A.C. Her Buick’s air was barely cooling at all in spite of the hefty repair bill they paid last year to get it going. But the most interesting part of her story for me was when she told me how she felt so bad to leave the Buick behind at the dealership. She said it was like forsaking an old friend even though the car had made her life rather miserable these last few hot months.
This is another sister thing that we share because we are from a family lineage which specializes in sentimental drivel. I say that in a bluntly honest but loving way. My paternal grandfather was the King of Sentimentality. He named his big black beauty of a car, Pocahontas. I think he even named his unstoppable black typewriter he typed on with two fingers for hours every day in his study. My father, a private pilot is also very sentimental and can’t bear to part with large machinery like airplanes and cars, even though he obviously has had to do so over the years. A few years ago, he grieved greatly over the news that one of his former planes, the DC-3 Flagship for the aviation ministry he founded in the 60’s had crashed. Thankfully, no one was hurt in the crash but in my father’s eyes, the plane was a keen loss of a tool that provided many years of faithful service.
Our family also grieves over the departure of pets, which have become like family members. They always receive a proper burial. My Dad goes as far to give each pet its own grave marker.
I too, have moments where unexplainable sentimentality surfaces illogically. I have grieved at odd times. Like over my last menstrual cycle before my hysterectomy. I was genuinely sad to end this part of my womanly being. Who would have thought this is something I would find needed mourning time?
How about the way seeing leftover dishes still sitting at the breakfast table after the departure of a loved ones visit affects me? Who could imagine this sight brings me to tears? Why do I think morosely how just a few moments ago, my loved ones were seated at the table using these dishes? Now I try to clean off the table before company leaves and put the dishes out of sight in the dishwasher. Or why is it I won’t watch a car carrying departing loved ones drive away anymore because I don’t want that to be my last image in my mind? Why do I think like this? Being overly sentimental can be overly consuming at times and overly tiring.
I have shed many tears grieving over animals over the years that weren’t even pets. One of the strangest grief’s I experienced was over a stray cat I ended up returning to the road where I had picked it up. My oldest daughter and I had mercifully rescued the cat from what we thought would surely be its demise if she stayed in the middle of the road we were traveling. We stopped the car and the cat easily came to us. We unsuccessfully tried to find its home at a nearby house and in the process the cat apparently got frightened and sunk its teeth into my daughters arm. Now we had to take the cat home for observation for ten days because of the risk the cat might have rabies.
We kept her shut up in the downstairs bathroom because of the other two cats we had in the house. I ducked in and out for quick feedings and the cleaning of the cat box. Sometimes the cat purred and then suddenly growled in a sinister way. In spite of being a cat lover, I began to dislike and fear this cat. It seemed like we had brought the Cat from Hell to our home. When the ten-day observation was over and hadn’t shown any signs of rabies, it was time to rid our life of this inconvenient problem.
I gingerly shoved the cat into the cat carrier and drove off for the location where we had found her. It was only a few blocks from my work. It wasn’t easy dumping a reluctant cat out of a cat carrier out on the road quickly before someone saw me. I felt like a horrible bad pet owner. When I drove off, I told myself repeatedly not to look back. But I did. There stood the little black cat looking at my car speeding down the road saying, “How could you treat me like this?” It took me hours to get over it. And it wasn’t even a cat that I liked.
And back to speaking about cars, I have had a couple of those strange moments myself. We had a Chevy Malibu station wagon for many years. I never liked station wagons because of its lack of a sporty style and my mental image of a station wagon usually had about a dozen kids hanging out the windows. This little mid size station wagon however came into our lives during a difficult financial time via my parents help. I was grateful to have wheels and at least it wasn’t one of those monster sized huge wagons. She had a few flaws, like a sagging headliner that we called the Arabian look but she drove well. The girls and I named her Molly Malibu.
Molly ended up being a spiritual object lesson for our girls. Her high mileage eventually brought on a series of mechanical problems we struggled to keep up with. It didn’t impede us from our travels though and we began praying Molly to each destination around town and out of town. Our last trip with her was to Florida to visit my parents. We prayed her down there and she buzzed right along making the trip fine. On our return trip with only two hours left to go, Molly blew something in her engine and we chugged the rest of the way home. My husband jokingly said we forgot to pray her back home. But she did get us back home even though it was slow going.
The time had arrived to let her go. We parked her on the side road next to our house with a For Sale sign in her window. An elderly man a few miles away bought her knowing she was now only a little chugger. But that was all he needed. We felt bad to let her go; after all she had taught us many lessons of faith and appreciation in the simple pleasures in life.
For several months after we sold her, the girls would frequently ask me to drive by the man’s house that bought Molly. We found comfort in seeing her parked in his driveway. It was a drive by visit to see an old faithful friend. Then one day she was no longer there and that was the end of our loop to check on her. To this day, if I am on that street I am reminded of Molly sitting in that driveway and I thankful for the many lessons that were learned through her.
Then there is the time when I finally had persuaded my husband to get rid of the 10-year-old Chevy (Katie) Caprice that I was driving. Yes, I had named her too. She still floated down the road smoothly and was a nice ride but Katie had lost her looks. I was embarrassed to be seen in her. My husband found a buyer who was willing to give a couple of hundred dollars for her. At last I was getting rid of the car and could move up. The day of the sale, I felt like I was betraying an old friend. I astonished my husband by asking him if we should really sell her. He reminded me of all my complaints. So we sold her and a couple of days later I was over it.
So is it any wonder that I am a sentimental fool about the upcoming loss of my hair? I cry over cars for pity sake. Or is it any wonder that I am already grieving over the future state of my right arm, my right-handed arm that I am so dependent upon? This is how I have always been about things. So I am still on track, I am just being normal me. The stakes are a little higher, a little harder this time around but I have had practice in coping with losses in little things. I will cope with these too. They aren’t so big. After all, hair will grow back. My arm isn’t being cut off. Like the story goes, “I complained I had no shoes. Then I saw a man who had no feet.” Things could always be worse.
There are many painful and fearful life events in life that we all dread. Divorce, death of a family member or friend, the disappointment in children who have made wrong choices that bring them a lifetime of consequences, financial struggles, departing from spiritual truth, loneliness, living with potentially life threatening illnesses like cancer, heart disease, diabetes, or debilitating immune disorders like rheumatoid arthritis are some of the struggles of dear people that I know. We are all in battle together, whatever our struggle and we that know the Lord personally can draw upon his strength to make it through.
A friend of mine wrote that she was disappointed in herself for fretting over the invasion of crab grass in her newly seeded yard. As she bent over to pull the invader weed from her lawn, she thought of me. “Would Nancy be worrying over this crab grass?” Meaning, unwanted weeds in a yard pale significantly against the worries of having to deal with cancer. Yes, Nancy probably would. And I have worried over things much less worrisome than crab grass just a few months ago. No problem should be measured and seen as trivial just because it is not as big as other problems. Each individual has problems that are distinctly worrisome to him or her and it requires a daily victory. It is through our daily victories over small things that we practice our skills for the big things that eventually come our way. So pull the crabgrass out of your life today because perhaps tomorrow may be a bumper crop of some unpleasant intruder and you will have built up the knowledge, skill and stamina of how to deal with it.
Thursday, July 29, 2004
Playing Barbies
July 29, 2004
My sister came to town today. Even though we live less than three hours apart, we see each other too infrequently. Two of my daughters and her new daughter-in-law joined us for a delightful afternoon tea at The English Tea Room. Personally, I do not care for tea but this is the one time I will sip a cup of tea. I just cannot resist having my dainty floral teacup filled from a lovely china teapot kept exceptionally hot with its tea cozy.
The highlight of my sister’s visit came later in the evening. This summer my sister has gone through her childhood and college keepsakes and downsized her former life into a select few sentimental things. She brought with her some items she knew would interest me. It was her Bubble Head Barbie doll from the early 60’s, Ken and a round black Barbie case full of Barbie clothes. The uniqueness of these childhood belongings is that over forty years ago, I hand sewed the majority of her Barbie’s wardrobe.
Just seeing the round shiny black Barbie case again sparked a flame of nostalgic fervor. Unzipping the case was like stepping back in time, a time of simplicity and carefree days. I lifted each garment I had designed and hand sown and its familiarity was incredibly sharp. Forty years ago suddenly seemed only a breath away. I immediately began trying each outfit on Barbie. I relived each garment differently. Some garments were exceptional successes of my design and even I wondered at my own accomplishments. It was interesting that my sister and I chose the same outfits as our favorites.
My sister is my only sibling and she is four years younger than me. When the Barbie doll was introduced, I was entering the age of puberty where I experienced the conflicting emotions of being a little girl one moment and wanting to be a grown up girl the next. I felt I was too big to play with dolls even though I still wanted to. So I found a way to ‘play’ with Barbie but in an inconspicuous way that wouldn’t embarrass me. I created her wardrobe, directed Barbie’s life through my ideas of different games, stories and life scenarios. My sister loved it. Barbie became a movie star personality with her own stage name created by me. Why I chose the movie star name of Mimi Bunzell is unknown. Barbie slash Mimi Bunzell had a beautiful wardrobe of evening gowns fashioned from discarded clothing my Mother put in her ragbag.
Tonight after spending a significant amount of time looking through all of the Barbie clothes, my sister and I then moved on to some of my childhood toys. The midnight hour found me rummaging through the attic to find the tattered but original box of my Deluxe Dream Kitchen with its 176 pieces. Bringing it down from the attic felt like I had been treasure hunting and had found my bounty.
The Deluxe Dream Kitchen was a marvel of its time in the early 60’s. After I saw it in the store, I think I dreamed about having it every night and it was the number one item on my Christmas list. Alas, my disappointed heart sunk when I opened my last gift that Christmas and I didn’t get the Deluxe Dream Kitchen. My parents couldn’t afford it. They did manage to get it for me the following Christmas. Ironically, my enthusiasm for the kitchen set had waned and now I felt disappointed to have gotten it. I felt sorry for my parents because they were so pleased they had been able to give it to me. How could I act happy about a gift I now felt too grown up to call my own?
The solution once again came back to my sister. I incorporated the kitchen set into her Barbie’s life. This way I could manage to play with it because it did still intrigue me. We dedicated the entire bottom of our closet as Barbie’s domain. The left side of the closet was her kitchen supplied by the Deluxe Dream Kitchen with its sink and dishwasher with the capabilities of running water, a stove with burners that lit up bright red and a turkey on a rotisserie that turned and a refrigerator with shelves that swung out to fill with plastic fruit, vegetables, meat and milk bottles. The cupboards were filled with miniature boxes of cereal, cookies, cleaning products and paper goods. There was also a set of dishes, flatware and pans to set upon a white table with four chairs. The other side of the closet was devoted to Barbie’s boudoir, which included a canopy bed, dresser, nightstand and various accessories.
But back to the present, this night was a uniting of the spirits of two young sisters though now well hidden in our present adult state. Together once again, my sister and I handled each of nearly all of the 176 pieces that were wondrously still intact. Frequently we began talking simultaneously about a memory triggered by our walk down memory lane. The sibling connection is amazingly unique, especially when our thoughts are frequently verbalized in duet.
When we retired to bed in the wee hours of the morning, I laid awake for probably another hour. It was like I had just watched a video clip of my growing up years and I was savoring its clear images. My sister and I shared a closeness most sisters can identify with. We rarely fought as my parents can attest and our childhood was filled with days of imagination and creativeness unpolluted by the stifling grip of television.
After seeing and holding my Barbie creations once again, it was remarkable to find that my stitches of love and time sown over forty years ago for my sister still hold. I was reminded of how much more do the stitches of love and time sown in my life by my Heavenly Father still hold. And though my life felt quite unraveled this week, the double stitch He has sown in my life is eternally in place. Though my life garment may become tattered from the wear and tear of daily trials, its basic construction holds because His pattern is without error. He is the master designer and creator and He is in control.
My sister came to town today. Even though we live less than three hours apart, we see each other too infrequently. Two of my daughters and her new daughter-in-law joined us for a delightful afternoon tea at The English Tea Room. Personally, I do not care for tea but this is the one time I will sip a cup of tea. I just cannot resist having my dainty floral teacup filled from a lovely china teapot kept exceptionally hot with its tea cozy.
The highlight of my sister’s visit came later in the evening. This summer my sister has gone through her childhood and college keepsakes and downsized her former life into a select few sentimental things. She brought with her some items she knew would interest me. It was her Bubble Head Barbie doll from the early 60’s, Ken and a round black Barbie case full of Barbie clothes. The uniqueness of these childhood belongings is that over forty years ago, I hand sewed the majority of her Barbie’s wardrobe.
Just seeing the round shiny black Barbie case again sparked a flame of nostalgic fervor. Unzipping the case was like stepping back in time, a time of simplicity and carefree days. I lifted each garment I had designed and hand sown and its familiarity was incredibly sharp. Forty years ago suddenly seemed only a breath away. I immediately began trying each outfit on Barbie. I relived each garment differently. Some garments were exceptional successes of my design and even I wondered at my own accomplishments. It was interesting that my sister and I chose the same outfits as our favorites.
My sister is my only sibling and she is four years younger than me. When the Barbie doll was introduced, I was entering the age of puberty where I experienced the conflicting emotions of being a little girl one moment and wanting to be a grown up girl the next. I felt I was too big to play with dolls even though I still wanted to. So I found a way to ‘play’ with Barbie but in an inconspicuous way that wouldn’t embarrass me. I created her wardrobe, directed Barbie’s life through my ideas of different games, stories and life scenarios. My sister loved it. Barbie became a movie star personality with her own stage name created by me. Why I chose the movie star name of Mimi Bunzell is unknown. Barbie slash Mimi Bunzell had a beautiful wardrobe of evening gowns fashioned from discarded clothing my Mother put in her ragbag.
Tonight after spending a significant amount of time looking through all of the Barbie clothes, my sister and I then moved on to some of my childhood toys. The midnight hour found me rummaging through the attic to find the tattered but original box of my Deluxe Dream Kitchen with its 176 pieces. Bringing it down from the attic felt like I had been treasure hunting and had found my bounty.
The Deluxe Dream Kitchen was a marvel of its time in the early 60’s. After I saw it in the store, I think I dreamed about having it every night and it was the number one item on my Christmas list. Alas, my disappointed heart sunk when I opened my last gift that Christmas and I didn’t get the Deluxe Dream Kitchen. My parents couldn’t afford it. They did manage to get it for me the following Christmas. Ironically, my enthusiasm for the kitchen set had waned and now I felt disappointed to have gotten it. I felt sorry for my parents because they were so pleased they had been able to give it to me. How could I act happy about a gift I now felt too grown up to call my own?
The solution once again came back to my sister. I incorporated the kitchen set into her Barbie’s life. This way I could manage to play with it because it did still intrigue me. We dedicated the entire bottom of our closet as Barbie’s domain. The left side of the closet was her kitchen supplied by the Deluxe Dream Kitchen with its sink and dishwasher with the capabilities of running water, a stove with burners that lit up bright red and a turkey on a rotisserie that turned and a refrigerator with shelves that swung out to fill with plastic fruit, vegetables, meat and milk bottles. The cupboards were filled with miniature boxes of cereal, cookies, cleaning products and paper goods. There was also a set of dishes, flatware and pans to set upon a white table with four chairs. The other side of the closet was devoted to Barbie’s boudoir, which included a canopy bed, dresser, nightstand and various accessories.
But back to the present, this night was a uniting of the spirits of two young sisters though now well hidden in our present adult state. Together once again, my sister and I handled each of nearly all of the 176 pieces that were wondrously still intact. Frequently we began talking simultaneously about a memory triggered by our walk down memory lane. The sibling connection is amazingly unique, especially when our thoughts are frequently verbalized in duet.
When we retired to bed in the wee hours of the morning, I laid awake for probably another hour. It was like I had just watched a video clip of my growing up years and I was savoring its clear images. My sister and I shared a closeness most sisters can identify with. We rarely fought as my parents can attest and our childhood was filled with days of imagination and creativeness unpolluted by the stifling grip of television.
After seeing and holding my Barbie creations once again, it was remarkable to find that my stitches of love and time sown over forty years ago for my sister still hold. I was reminded of how much more do the stitches of love and time sown in my life by my Heavenly Father still hold. And though my life felt quite unraveled this week, the double stitch He has sown in my life is eternally in place. Though my life garment may become tattered from the wear and tear of daily trials, its basic construction holds because His pattern is without error. He is the master designer and creator and He is in control.
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
The day after :Turning my heart heavenward
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.
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.
Monday, July 26, 2004
I am mad at you God!
July 26, 2004
Today I found out I have cancer in my lymph nodes.
Interesting that I started my cancer journal on February 26th, 2004 with the words, “Today I found out I have breast cancer. “ Here it is five months later to the date and the news is not much better. I have barely written in this journal for over four months. Either I gave it up because of denial, mind exhaustion from thinking about cancer constantly or I was not willing to share my thoughts out loud anymore. Or maybe it was all of the above. These last four months fluctuated between days of frustration and cold stark fear in the back of my mind, which usually surfaces in the middle of the night, and then the beautiful contrast of many moments of regular routine, which I totally love and crave. Today’s news will change all that. I expect my life will not be my own for the next six months at least.
I went to see my radiologist at the Sarah Cannon Cancer Center this morning. He is in charge of the center and is the doctor who will be in charge of my radiation treatments. I had sentinel lymph node mapping done on the 22nd and my surgeon removed three lymph nodes. I asked what my pathology report was and the doctor secured my report. I knew something was wrong when he looked at the paperwork and said he needed to ask the pathologist a question. I figured if the report had said clear he wouldn’t have had any questions.
Sure enough, the radiologist came back with the news I didn’t want to hear. “Out of the three lymph nodes, two were involved.” He continued to talk and I interrupted. “What do you mean involved?” Oh, I knew. But I felt like making him say it. Just tell me. Your lymph nodes are cancerous. Why does anyone think the news will be easier to take if it is cloaked in camouflage words like “involved” instead of “invaded” or “infected?”
Well, the good news is that one lymph node is only “involved” nine millimeters and the other one is only “involved” three millimeters.
To be brutally honest, that doesn’t sound like any good news to me. The good news had previously been that my tumor was small and the perimeters were clear. So how did I get from that good news to this good news?
I can hear a thousand expressions of sympathy from people but it doesn’t take this trial away. I can hear a thousand prayers are being said for me but I will still walk alone. It will be me that goes through it. Everyone else will be on the outer edge but I’ll be the only one right in the middle of it.
I do not want to go on this journey but I know I have no choice. I feel very mad at God for this. I feel like my life for the last few months was built on false hope. And He let me down! All that early detection crap I’ve heard and relied on has taken me to the place I didn’t want to be. Now I am going to have to have another surgery and have more lymph nodes taken, do chemo and then radiation. I am going to go through the whole horrible process. I fatalistically expect that down the line there will be more bad news. I’ll likely have all the complications that can come with chemo, lymph node removal and radiation. I base it on my past experience. I am living proof of it right now. It was unexpected for a small tumor to have lymph node involvement.
So tomorrow I go to another new doctor. An oncologist who specializes in chemotherapy. All breast cancer patients lose their hair. For years I have always said I would not do chemotherapy, if the situation arose. Now I have to reconsider that because that is what everyone, the medical field, my family and friends expect me to do.
My poor family, I hate it that they have to go through this. My husband says he will take it one day at a time. Maybe he will have to do that for both of us. My daughters are having the happy life they deserve but now they will have to deal with a sick mother.
My poor little bride to be. Her wedding is in December. These last few months were to be a happy time of planning a wedding. She deserved to have a Mom in it with her like her sisters did. I will be weak, tired, bald and aged by effects of treatment.
OK, God. You allowed this in my life. You need to help me get through it. Because right now, I feel totally let down, betrayed, without hope and defeated. As my Dad reminded me, you were not surprised this morning with this news. So since you weren’t surprised by the lymph node news, you aren’t surprised at my reaction. You knew I would feel these feelings. So even though you feel a billion trillion miles away, I know you hear me. And I need your help. My inner voice is screaming at you God. My fists are clenched and I am shouting at you through my tears, WHY? WHY? WHY?
Today I found out I have cancer in my lymph nodes.
Interesting that I started my cancer journal on February 26th, 2004 with the words, “Today I found out I have breast cancer. “ Here it is five months later to the date and the news is not much better. I have barely written in this journal for over four months. Either I gave it up because of denial, mind exhaustion from thinking about cancer constantly or I was not willing to share my thoughts out loud anymore. Or maybe it was all of the above. These last four months fluctuated between days of frustration and cold stark fear in the back of my mind, which usually surfaces in the middle of the night, and then the beautiful contrast of many moments of regular routine, which I totally love and crave. Today’s news will change all that. I expect my life will not be my own for the next six months at least.
I went to see my radiologist at the Sarah Cannon Cancer Center this morning. He is in charge of the center and is the doctor who will be in charge of my radiation treatments. I had sentinel lymph node mapping done on the 22nd and my surgeon removed three lymph nodes. I asked what my pathology report was and the doctor secured my report. I knew something was wrong when he looked at the paperwork and said he needed to ask the pathologist a question. I figured if the report had said clear he wouldn’t have had any questions.
Sure enough, the radiologist came back with the news I didn’t want to hear. “Out of the three lymph nodes, two were involved.” He continued to talk and I interrupted. “What do you mean involved?” Oh, I knew. But I felt like making him say it. Just tell me. Your lymph nodes are cancerous. Why does anyone think the news will be easier to take if it is cloaked in camouflage words like “involved” instead of “invaded” or “infected?”
Well, the good news is that one lymph node is only “involved” nine millimeters and the other one is only “involved” three millimeters.
To be brutally honest, that doesn’t sound like any good news to me. The good news had previously been that my tumor was small and the perimeters were clear. So how did I get from that good news to this good news?
I can hear a thousand expressions of sympathy from people but it doesn’t take this trial away. I can hear a thousand prayers are being said for me but I will still walk alone. It will be me that goes through it. Everyone else will be on the outer edge but I’ll be the only one right in the middle of it.
I do not want to go on this journey but I know I have no choice. I feel very mad at God for this. I feel like my life for the last few months was built on false hope. And He let me down! All that early detection crap I’ve heard and relied on has taken me to the place I didn’t want to be. Now I am going to have to have another surgery and have more lymph nodes taken, do chemo and then radiation. I am going to go through the whole horrible process. I fatalistically expect that down the line there will be more bad news. I’ll likely have all the complications that can come with chemo, lymph node removal and radiation. I base it on my past experience. I am living proof of it right now. It was unexpected for a small tumor to have lymph node involvement.
So tomorrow I go to another new doctor. An oncologist who specializes in chemotherapy. All breast cancer patients lose their hair. For years I have always said I would not do chemotherapy, if the situation arose. Now I have to reconsider that because that is what everyone, the medical field, my family and friends expect me to do.
My poor family, I hate it that they have to go through this. My husband says he will take it one day at a time. Maybe he will have to do that for both of us. My daughters are having the happy life they deserve but now they will have to deal with a sick mother.
My poor little bride to be. Her wedding is in December. These last few months were to be a happy time of planning a wedding. She deserved to have a Mom in it with her like her sisters did. I will be weak, tired, bald and aged by effects of treatment.
OK, God. You allowed this in my life. You need to help me get through it. Because right now, I feel totally let down, betrayed, without hope and defeated. As my Dad reminded me, you were not surprised this morning with this news. So since you weren’t surprised by the lymph node news, you aren’t surprised at my reaction. You knew I would feel these feelings. So even though you feel a billion trillion miles away, I know you hear me. And I need your help. My inner voice is screaming at you God. My fists are clenched and I am shouting at you through my tears, WHY? WHY? WHY?
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