Almost there...

Tomorrow morning I am going into the hospital overnight so that I can have the last three treatments of internal radiation, or brachytherapy.  It will be a repeat of the stay that I had last week, with a few tweaks and changes to help improve my experience and pain levels.  Dr. Bradford, oncologist extraordinaire, wants me to have an epidural this time, for better pain relief. I really struggled with pain last week, despite having access to powerful pain meds with a pump that I pushed every time the little green light gave me permission to.

The apparatus that was placed inside me, through my cervix and into my uterus as well as to either side of my cervix, is called a tandem and ovoids, and it was packed tightly in there with, well, some kind of packing material. Gauze maybe? I didn't get a look at it, although when I was brought to my room after the surgery to implant it, my nurse, a sweet, kind young man, offered to check it out for me and let me know what was going on down there. He had never had a patient who was undergoing brachytherapy and since we were both curious, I took him up on his offer. Because nothing cures any modesty issues one might have about one's lady bits like having some kind of lady bit cancer.  Every body and their brother have been down there, and the focus is on what might be found in there, not so much on the fact that someone is actually down there in the first place.

Anyway, the tandem and ovoids and packing material caused a tremendous amount of pain. The catheter was a misery and having to lay flat on my back for two days (to avoid displacing the tandem and ovoids) caused constant painful muscle spasms in my lower back. Hence the epidural suggestion.  I've been on powerful opioids since I came home, and am still struggling with pain and weakness.  This procedure enables doctors to treat Mutant with high dose radiation, and to place the radiation in direct contact with the tumor.  It's brilliant stuff, but it just requires time for recovery. I had hoped to feel better before I had to go in again, but I am also eager to finish Mutant off.

I have to say, with no exceptions, the people who took care of me were amazing, compassionate, nurturing, and attentive.  From the young cutie nurse who described my nether regions to me and then made me a longed-for cup of tea, to the doctors who clothed their ninja cancer fighting skills with gentleness and humor.  Kindness covers a multitude of miseries.  Then there was Brian, my own personal Superman.  I am deeply grateful for every blessing God has provided in these hard days, and especially so for Brian.  I keep saying that because time isn't an issue for God, He is walking on my future path as surely as He is with me in the present. He knows and exists in my coming days, and has prepared the way.  Brian and I are a huge part of God's graceful provision for these days, and I am so grateful.

So I'm going back in tomorrow.  I'm not thrilled, but I am a little relieved that we've reached the end.  I am looking forward to a cancer-free diagnosis.  Which doesn't mean that I won't be seeing cancer in every ache and pain, every bump and bruise, every cramp and grumble. I may have to encourage my family doctor to load up on "it's not cancer" stickers for when I visit her with bursitis and hangnails. I've already got a few moles that I want her to check out.  I don't think I'll ever be free from the possibility of cancer. After all, that's why I'll be going for check ups every three months for life.  We'll always be looking for it. It may come back.  My relative youth means it is probable that I'll have to deal with it again.  But that's not today, is it? And today I'm not feeling great but I am content and happy. I am looking forward to feeling better, stronger. I have flowers, herbs to plant and a graduation party to help plan. A summer to enjoy. A gorgeous little pup to walk.  A God to serve and a life to live.

Just a thought.

On being an Easter person...

Easter has passed, in a flurry of rainy weather, food and flowers. With a bit of chocolate thrown in.  At first, I felt a little surprised by the coming of Easter. It seemed like it sneaked up on me while I wasn't looking. I felt a bit lost, because usually the Easter season is a time of reflection for me, aided by liturgical material that helps me draw close into worship and a renewed focus on Jesus's life and power at work within me and my world.  When Easter just seemed to jump out at me this year, I initially felt that I had been negligent, too focused on Mutant to meditate on my Lord.

 I waited for the tsunami of guilt to hit.  What came instead was grace.  And clarity.  I've been clinging to Jesus, like a monkey on her mother's back.  Forget holding onto the hem of His robe, I've jumped into His arms and am clinging to His neck with everything I've got. My face is pressed into His chest, when my hands shake with nerves, He takes them in His own and holds them until I am calm again. He wraps Himself around me at night, in my husband's love.  He responds to the prayers of others with a deep sense of His peace and stillness.  He throws His head back and laughs joyfully with me in the sweetness of my children.  He breathes hope into me in the quiet life of the forest. He speaks into my Spirit through His Word. He is undeniably, powerfully, soothingly, honestly, deeply here. Alive. In me.

Yesterday, on Easter Sunday, I remembered a sermon I once heard that encouraged me to be an Easter person.  Easter people are alive, deeply, extravagantly, spiritually alive.  Easter people live daily filled with the power that raised Christ from the dead, alive and active within them. (Eph. 1:19-20)  To me, in these days, being an Easter person means being brilliantly alive even as Mutant is trying to end my life. It means serving others with the power of gentleness and compassion even as I struggle with pain in my body.  The power of Easter, the power that lives in all those who have welcomed the Spirit of Christ into them, is the power of love, of patience, compassion, gentleness, humility, forgiveness, protectiveness, trust and hope. (1Cor. 13:4-7)  We have access to the power to love, radically, sacrificially, extravagantly, but we don't all choose to live in that power.  Easter people love fearlessly.  Ah, but we have to have common sense.  No, we don't. In fact, Easter is the celebration of what God can and will do when we put down common sense and self interest and embrace love fully.

So, I think the reason the Easter weekend surprised me is because I have been living as an Easter person more and more these days. Thanks, oddly, to Mutant.  Don't get me wrong, I still want her dead, dead, dead.  And to that end, I'll be starting radiation treatments this week. 

Oh, and Grace is coming home this week!!! She'll be here with us on Sunday!  Lately I have literally been pining for her, that aching longing to have her in my arms again.  Oh my goodness, I am happy that I will be seeing her soon!

Peace out!

But Jesus...

This past week end, my two dearest friends, Sandy and Cathy, came to spend the week end in Massachusetts with me. They stayed in a hotel in Gardner, and I spent Saturday night at the hotel with them. It was brilliant. We went to Texas Roadhouse for supper, I got a 1$ pair of Batman pajamas and Sandy and I both bought robes that were so soft, they're like being wrapped in kittens. Alive kittens, of course. Purring, alive kittens. Glorious.

Then we watched a silly movie, laughed a lot and went to sleep. The next day, after a yummy breakfast, I got to take my friends to what has become, in my mind at least, my woods around my pond. 

And of course, in, around, over and under all of these activities, we talked. And laughed, and cried.  Okay, I didn't cry. I'm not sure why, you'd think I'd have reason to, but I haven't yet.  I'm too busy COPING. Although having Sandy and Cathy here just made me so happy, I forgot about coping. I was just really, really happy.  There was such a positive spirit. I think I really needed that. It's not like we don't have troubles. Mutant may be the reason we got together, but we are all dealing with some pretty heavy, painful stuff. And much of our conversation was about what is going on in our lives. We shared our pain, our concerns and losses and feelings about potential losses and fears about moving forward into more potential pain and struggles.  Still, we laughed a lot.

The thing is, Sandy, Cathy and I are all united in one area. We love Jesus and know that if we ever let go of Him, these trials we are in now are going to feel like a frikken picnic compared to life without Him..  Our hearts would break. I love how Cathy calls Him "sweet Jesus." She's so intimate and loving. When Sandy and I share pain that we never could have imagined living through, always one of us, in some way, says some version of, "...but Jesus..."

 For example, when I talk about how radiation might affect my already wounded bladder, how my urologist winced when I said that I might need radiation treatments, when I think that after 15 years of IC pain, Mutant might leave me with an even more damaged bladder, and in even more pain than ever...then I pause.  And look into the faces of my friends. I see their compassion, their frustration and, yes, even anger that this is happening to me. We take deep breaths. Hope nudges us. We nod thoughtfully, and someone inevitably says, "...but Jesus..."

But Jesus will give us strength.  But Jesus knows what we will be going through, and He is preparing us. But remember that time when we went through *insert trial here* and we didn't know how we'd make it and somehow we did? Because of Jesus?

Cathy, who has been through more than I can even imagine and who has a faith and love for God that is an inspiration to anyone with eyes to see and ears to hear, read this out loud to Sandy and I -

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you will know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything” James 1:2–4

 I think our unity comes in our belief that our struggles can be redemptive, that God is making us gentler, kinder, more patient, more selfless, more loving.  Stronger in all the best ways. In the holy ways. There is a fragrant air of peace and hope in our sharing, it is a place of rest and restoration to me.  Even my body was strengthened.  It was what I want to be for the lovelies in my life, my people who mean the world to me. 

I have a feeling this is the calm before the storm.  That's okay, because Jesus...

Just a thought. 

Note to self...

Note to self - stop scaring the whoosiewhatsit out of your husband. Seriously.

I know that you don't like doctors. It's nothing personal, it's just the whole doctor thing. You've never really got past the "they'll think I'm faking" phase. Consequently, you can be doubled over in IC pain, clutching your heating pad and a useless bottle of advil, weeping and maintaining through gritted teeth, "It's fine, it's just my bladder."  As idiotic as that was, (chill, friend, I'm the only one allowed to call you an idiot, remember?) it really was just your IC, a miserably painful but oddly benign disease.

Now, you realize of course that Mutant is not benign.  Not only is Mutant malignant, but she is weirdly malignant, going from stage one to stage two in two weeks.  If ever there was a time when it is okay to get compulsively obsessed with the happenings of your body, now would be it. Feel free to err on the side of stupid, woman. Your husband loves you with everything he has, and you need to honor the fact that his love means that he is properly freaked out. And with good reason. He lost the mother of his children, and it was a nightmare for him. You know how scared he is, how scared all of your loved ones are.  Yes, you are scared too.  We're all a freakin' mess of stress hormones over here.

But being afraid is not a reason to stop being kind. So you need to buck up and call the doctor when weird things happen, like yesterday when your blood pressure dropped to 77/50 and you kept having to sit down so you wouldn't pass out. That's just not normal, hun.

Listen, if there ever was a time when it was okay to be a whining, compulsive, "doctor's number on speed dial" pain in the ass kind of person, now is it.

You know, he could just say, "Screw this!" and call the doctor himself. He's not doing that, though.  He's trusting you.  Honor that trust and make the call if you need to.

Still friends? Loveyameanit.