Pre-appointment answers

I love this quote from C.S. Lewis:

The great thing, if one can, is to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as interruptions of one's 'own', or 'real' life.  The truth is of course that what one calls interruptions are precisely one's real life -- the life God is sending one day by day; what one calls one's 'real life' is a phantom of one's own imagination.  

I had stated previously that my appointment for the pathology results was going to be Monday.  It is actually Tuesday.  (Don't ever entrust appointment times to someone using narcotics....)

I typed this up yesterday, but fell asleep before posting....

***

I got a phone call that might rank as one of the top five phone calls in my life.  It was Dr. Mrozik.  She said she was calling because she knew that I "could not wait" to get my pathology reports.

It was something like that.  I have waited maybe one thousand years this past week.  I have tried to "ready" myself for news contained in this report going either way.  She had told me previously that there had been six surgeries to that date.  One had been completely non-responsive to any chemo.  Three others had cancer cells show up in their pathology.

Two had no cancer cells.

At that time, I told her which category I wanted to fall into.  She patted my arm and said with her sweet European accent,  "we are trying, Karen, we are trying."

So she did something she was going to wait until my appointment to do - she called me and told me the results.

My pathology reports, Study Subject #6 -- showed no cancer cells.

As I stand today, with the tissue and lymph glands extracted from my body, I show no cancer cells.

People with this type of cancer don't hear those words all that often.

There are milestones yet to reach, treatments yet to do, follow-ups scheduled out for up to five years, etc, etc, but as I stand today, they found no, none, not any cancer cells.

I know there are others in this community who have begged God to hear those very words, and they have not, so I want to be sensitive to them; on the other hand, I want to give God the glory, because there were two men and their wives that believed you should do as the Bible instructs - pray over the sick for healing - and they made that long drive a couple of times to do just that, and God heard.  God moved.  God healed.

I don't know how to ever properly thank Andy and Joe and their beautiful wives, but I am grateful that they prayed over us.

As have lots and lots of others.  God heard and answered those prayers.

I will always bear the scar of this battle.  I know I will always be sensitive to this fight.  I know that a healing today in this war, does not mean a healing tomorrow.

I know all of the cautions.

But I also know that God touched me and covered me under His wings, under His healing wings, and that He has kept me there through this whole journey to this point.

He has been my hiding place.

I saw God's wings in that exam room that first day, that first appointment, at the Stephanie Spielman Center.

There's still a lot of recovery and healing and processing to do with it all.  I'm weak and recovering from surgery.  I'm still recovering from a full onslaught of chemo for six months.  My brain still does not feel as if it is working correctly, along with other body components that are not yet back to normal.

But, unless I get to my appointment today and find that Dr. Mrozik was reading from the wrong lab report -- this day, this time, this moment -- is about as good as it gets.  

When she called, I only asked her one question:  "what does this do for the study?"  I have like a million questions now, and will have to wait for my appointment to get them answered.  That's all I know - "no cancer cells in the tissue, no cancer cells in the lymph glands".

And today, that is quite enough.

Look, look what God hath wrought.

Home again, home again.

I * AM * HOME!!

A quick note to let you all know how much we appreciated your prayers on Monday.  I felt mostly calm and at peace most of the day - especially the couple of extra hours of "wait-time" they threw in there.

In fact, when I turned down the pre-op sedative, I tried to get a sedative injection thrown into the deal for Scott, but hospital personnel seem loathe to make those kind of deals very often.

My surgery was pushed back a few hours, and I literally remember nothing, NOTHING after Scott left and they started wheeling me to the OR.  I was a bit curious, wanted to see it, but I remember nothing after that point until I woke up in my room.  And I know they woke me up before that, but I still remember nothing.

The nurse commented the same comment I have heard quite often this past year - "you seem to be pretty sensitive to drugs".....

But, as the surgery went so well, they kicked me out seventeen hours after I got back to a room.  Since we live a bit further out than most of their patients, I tried to tag on another day or a few more hours at least, but they said I was 'doing too well'.  (don't be too impressed - 'doing too well' meant getting up and walking five steps to the bathroom with help)

The details I am willing to part with at this moment are as follows:

• I have "vampire-bites" going up my back because they staple the surgical drape to your skin. 
• My hips and shoulders hurt the most after surgery, and yes, it did make me think on all of those dogs and cats I helped tie down for surgery years ago.  It truly has come back around to bite me in the butt.  
• I have a nine inch incision on the outside of my body, and what feels like miles of incision in my muscles in my back and underarm.  The nurse said the surgeon was "generous" in taking out tissue "so he would not have to go back in".  I'm all for that as well, but dang it stretching those muscles back together hurts.  
• I have three grenade-shape drains that work with suction coming out of my rib cage that are literally just hanging out under my arm.  They have maybe two miles of tubing attached to them that makes me remember immediately that they are attached to my insides if I sit on any of them wrong.  
• I am particularly tired and tend to fall asleep maybe around 49 times a day.  

There were a couple of good moments - the first time I was introduced to Percaset stands out as one; but the moment that the nurse looked at Scott and told him that I was not allowed to scrub a toilet or sink in the bathroom for over a year comes in at a close second.  

Stack that up with the "no-vacuuming" rule, and I think I better take up a hobby.  

I am sore and hurt and find it difficult to lay down especially - and if I do lay down it is even more difficult to get up - because my muscle wall was cut into in different places, but other than that, I am recovering some every day.  He said "no shoulder activity"and no arm movement over 45 degrees with my left arm and every time I move I have an urgent tendency to agree with him on that idea for the time being.   

Scott is Mr. Super Nurse and is taking care of the drains like a pro.  I've only yelled once when he forgot to hold it while pushing out the blood clots.  

God has so blessed us.  We have felt His presence before us, behind us and beside us.  

Thank you all so much for praying.  We will not know the pathology reports until 5:15 Monday evening when I go for one of my follow-up appointments.  We are praying for no cancer cells and clear margins on the lymph nodes and tissue.  

I have to go now - Scott is making me a spectacular seafood dinner.

Busy! Busy! Busy!

I have gone "off the grid" this past week or more.  I have been *busy*.

At least for me.

With a looming surgery date tomorrow, I purposely filled up this past week with things I wanted to do, to keep my brain 'busy'.

I sincerely apologize for all the messages I didn't respond to or emails I missed, or Facebook birthdays not noted, but I purposely kept myself away from a lot of reminders of anything "cancer".  Looking in the mirror is enough reminder each day that much has been lost with this whole thing - so I wanted this week to be all about the "living" part of me.

I've spent enough time in "cancer-purgatory".

Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, we did a "campout" with four little girls.  It was also, possibly the hottest day of the year, so the second night we took down the glorious tent that they all loved and "camped" in the cooler basement.

It was all some pretty great fun.  Scott and I looked at each other a little concerned that first night when we had a sudden realization that one of the four is quite a night owl.

We thought we had done enough to make them all sufficiently tired.  We didn't do any sugar to avoid any erratic "boosts-of-energy".   They played 'flashlight-tag', and ran around the stone paths in the garden looking for the magical woods and any sign of Melvin the Moose.  We stayed up way past their bedtime - and the plan was that they would all pass out from sheer exhaustion.

I almost did anyways.

But one was so wired - and she thought the tent and camping idea so glorious - she could barely lay her bouncing brain down on her pillow.  Scott finally took her outside the tent door and she and Popop looked at the stars and chatted about constellations for well over an hour, enabling the others to sleep.

There are few things sweeter than tired children sleeping in the moonlight.  They are beautiful.

Especially, when there is one tired Grandmum involved.....

We did a scavenger hunt the next day using the six days of creation, and one of them looked at me and said "Grandmum - you should be a mommy!"

I laughed, knowing they did not completely realize that I had spent a good part of my life "being a mommy".  As they have some pretty awesome mommy's themselves, I took it as an extreme compliment.

Suddenly, I just apparently bumped up into an elite league.

As I was putting away the crayon box in the basement last night, noting all the markers missing their lids, I praised God for blessing me in such a way.  Scott did a lot of extra work to make it all possible, and it was a blessed time.

I pray they remember it, remember the love, remember the fun.

And, remember God's awesome creation of the moon and the stars that we camped under that first night.  

***

My Aunt Eva died last week.  She had suffered with Alzheimer's for a very long time, but was a beautiful lady, inside and out.  She truly was a pleasure to be around and lived out her faith with heaping doses of goodness and love towards others.

Anytime you saw her, she always had the most welcoming smile, and her southern drawl when saying "why, hello there" always made you feel warm and loved and good and wanting to do better all at once.

I always greatly admired her.

My mother's family were strong, good people.  When my mother was left with a small amount of money after a nasty divorce, my brother Curt had three months off from his job and helped her make a home out of a shell of a house that she bought with her meager settlement.  She didn't even get a car.

But, my two uncles and Aunt Eva came up one weekend and helped her put in a kitchen.  Free and clear.  Done and checked off.

For a good many years, I would take my children to a small town outside of Cambridge to visit my grandmother.  She lived alone in a large house that she and her husband had moved to when they sold their farm.

In my mind, that small town was about as close as I ever came to finding "Shalom" as a child.  My Grandmother's house was a sanctuary.  And I wanted my children to know my Grandmother and to know her life and home and town and to love it as much as I did.

While there, Aunt Eva would always come out to "visit".  She would load us all up in her vehicle and take us for a ride and show us all our family history spots.  The last time we did that with Aunt Eva, we stopped and picked up Aunt Zilpha, and with my mother in the front seat and Aunt Zilpha with her active swirling atoms even in her 80's between us in the middle seat, and the kids in the back - away we went over the extreme curves and hills of roads that make up southeastern Ohio.

We stopped and looked at the church that my distant grandfather had helped to build.  We looked in the cemetery and Aunt Eva told us bits and parts of the lives of relatives that were buried there.  She stopped and we got out and *walked* down a high hill on a steeply curved path that was at one time a driveway and showed us where my Grandmother and Grandfather had "taken up housekeeping" when they were first married.

We commented on the steepness of the path, and Aunt Zilpha told us how she remembered "Mom hitching up the horse and cart" and how she "held on tight to her hat with one hand and the side of the cart with the other" and how they did that to "ride into town to sell butter and eggs".

My kids heard the story that all of a sudden didn't seem all that distant.

But Aunt Eva drove us all over that day, pointing out different spots and telling us the story attached to it, and I wish I had a cell phone then that could have recorded and captured it all.  We took notes that day, but they are misplaced, packed somewhere in a packing box long before computers made my life easier.

It was important to her that our family heritage be passed on - and not necessarily the stories she told that day and the many other times she visited, but the kind of heritage that an aunt would take time out of her busy life when she had her own business and family to keep her busy enough - but it was important enough to her to drive around her sister's family to connect us to a past that was tough but sweet, hard-working but worthy, harsh yet genteel - she passed on that kind of heritage, the kind that reminds us that it is important what you do that one day, that one time you have a chance to "visit" with family and show them how important they are to you.  How important they are in the fabric of the family.  How important their lives are to hold and cherish on that one day.

And to point them to God all along the way.  

She always made the time to do that.  

When my brother called to tell me the news, I instantly remembered that day.  I remembered the night my Grandmother's living room was full of restless children and she decided to entertain them all and play "Button, Button, Who has the Button" - and involved everyone, young and old.  There was a lot of laughter, a lot of togetherness.  A lot of love spread all over like my mom's strawberry jam over her home-made bread.

She was good and sweet like that.

But, when I got the call, I imagined my Grandmother and Aunt Zilpha and Aunt Thelma and Uncle Clarence all standing there waiting and welcoming her home when she passed over.  And her beloved husband, that she held so dear and cherished for many years.

They were all there waiting for her with open arms.

If I could accomplish half the things and help half the people and be half the places she showed up ready to love, I would count my life good.

***

We drove from the visiting hours in the early afternoon across part of the state to stay overnight with friends.

They fed us a huge steak dinner, complete with fresh green salad with blueberries and strawberries and roasted pecans over it that was so, so good to my taste buds.  We had mouth watering corn on the cob.  We ate a home-made cobbler.

Diane is quite a cook.  And Chris, apparently handy with the grill.  The steak was perfect.

We talked like we had not seen each other for years.  We talked like we had never been parted by numerous moves.

They showed us pictures of their son's adventure to South America climbing mountains.  The scenery was breathtaking.  The preparation astounding.

I'm thinking of that today, as I prepare a small bag to take to Columbus tomorrow.

The next day, Chris took the day off of work and drove us to Lebanon to eat at the Golden Lamb and look in a few antique stores.  One might guess that he doesn't like that all that much, but he and Scott and Diane were determined to do anything to give me a "good day", and it truly was.

I feel like parts of my brain are still not working correctly, and that I "blabber" when talking now, and they were too kind and too accepting of it all.

We sat out on their deck and cried and prayed before we left.

***

Last night, friends brought in a meal for us all to share.  They properly admired our new refrigerator that had come while we were gone.  Our refrigerator has been doing the long-goodbye for a long time - some mornings everything was frozen, some mornings everything was warm.  The frozen orange juice that Scott bought me was soft for over a month.  I wouldn't eat out of it because I wasn't sure it was doing it's job well enough to keep bacteria at bay when my immunity was at its lowest.

We kept throwing out a lot of food.

Scotty sat down here and waited for it, then painstakingly shaved off the bottom part of our cabinet because it was an 1/8-inch too tall, and replaced the shelves on the hallway wall that had to be removed to fit it all in - all that amongst other duties - he did so we could get away for a few days.

But those good friends brought in a meal, and tried out the funny water dispenser and made us laugh.  I was so tired from a busy week, but I wasn't going to let them go without listening and laughing and just talking about everything in the whole wide world.

***

And writing this without any planning as I am wont to do lately, there is a realization that all these have a common denominator - they all gave of their time freely, gave of themselves, gave of their larders.  They all did what my task-oriented-german-blood line thinks not so important - as there are so many *things* to accomplish first - they made community enormously important.  And whether it was Aunt Eva driving us around, or our friends, or a meal brought in - it was all gratefully accepted by a couple of folks needing to keep their brains busy elsewhere this week.

They fed us well, making me gain weight this week and hopefully bumping up my hemoglobins and such.

There were so many I wanted to see and so many I wanted to spend some time with, and so many email notes I needed to respond to, but it all paced out to today, and there will be time in a couple of weeks as I recover as well.

But today, I cannot help but feel the umbrella of God's blessing over me, God's blessing all around us, God's walking with us tight in the valley, all because He has placed such a giving community around us.  And blessed us with such family.  

We are blessed.

***

Someone sent me an anonymous gift and note that merely said "the obstacle is the path".  I have thought on that a lot.

I'm not sure what tomorrow holds, but I am reviewing this Psalm that a friend sent me several months ago.  I know some of it is prophetic, and pray that it might be prophetic in my life as well.  

Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
    will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
 I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress, 
    my God, in whom I trust.”

 Surely he will save you
    from the fowler’s snare 
    and from the deadly pestilence. 
 He will cover you with his feathers,
    and under his wings you will find refuge; 
    his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.
 You will not fear the terror of night,
    nor the arrow that flies by day,
nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness,
    nor the plague that destroys at midday.
 A thousand may fall at your side,
    ten thousand at your right hand,
    but it will not come near you.
 You will only observe with your eyes
    and see the punishment of the wicked.

 If you say, “The Lord is my refuge,”
    and you make the Most High your dwelling,
 no harm will overtake you,
    no disaster will come near your tent.
 For he will command his angels concerning you
    to guard you in all your ways; 
 they will lift you up in their hands,
    so that you will not strike your foot against a stone. 
 You will tread on the lion and the cobra;
    you will trample the great lion and the serpent.

 “Because he loves me,” says the Lord, “I will rescue him;
    I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.
 He will call on me, and I will answer him;
    I will be with him in trouble,
    I will deliver him and honor him. 
 With long life I will satisfy him
    and show him my salvation. ”

Planning

Addy ran up to me oozing swirling-action-atoms around her like she always does and asked me "how many days until your surgery in the 'HOPital', Grandmum?"  And I didn't know immediately, so she shouted out "Eleven!!"

Every time the twins ask a question, they wait a moment, then look up at the ceiling and murmur, "tick-tock, tick-tock" - like you have a limited amount of time left to cough up an adequate answer.

I had my pre-surgical consult on Wednesday after my end-of-treatment mammogram and ultrasound.

I'm counting days and saying "tick-tock" in my brain - I am so ready to get this cancer tissue out of there and get on.  With everything.

I'm tired of being tired and bone weary still sometimes and tired of not doing anything.  I'm tired of when I do try to do something, it usually ends up in a heaping mess.  I'm "teasing" my brain to make it think a little better.  I am trying to get more than half a mile in on the treadmill any given day before my feet catch on fire.  I am trying to interact and do something I have not done in ever so long -- make plans.

Everything I have done since December 22nd, 2011, has been planned for me.  All I had to do was fasten my seat belt and ride the roller coaster.

I haven't had much say in anything except to answer the burning question of "how many warm blankets do you need today?"

So it's nice all of a sudden this week to be *planning* again.  I "planned" to stop in at my work office and say "hi!" - and to pick up my spare pair of glasses, which I left there in February, then forgot again - but I planned to stop in and say 'hi' to some dear, hard-working ladies - and I did it.

We planned to stay over night at Heidi's after the long day of appointments Wednesday night, and then Heidi and I "planned" to go out the next day - with absolutely no idea of where we might end up.  She took me to the first antique store that we visited over a decade ago when she first moved to Columbus as a sophomore at OSU.  The store was still there on High Street, still oozing its contents out onto the sidewalk holding the door permanently open, which made me feel a little better about being in confined, germy air with a population of people that gave me no prior knowledge as to what their "germ-status" could be.

That first step through that door was a little personal trial, but once inside it was like the galaxy had opened up and my eyes were given item upon item to look at and think about and wonder what it could be used for and to maybe "plan" some paint or decor around it.

I have not done that one favorite thing of mine in ever so long.  I wondered if we needed to paint the damaged hallway in our house.  I wondered what color it should be.  I wondered if I could introduce another complimentary color into the living room.  I had not thought about any *home-planning* at all since I helped put up the Christmas tree in December - which is amazing, because usually I can redecorate a room in my mind at any given moment just by holding one little $2 item in my hand.

It was the first time in a long time I allowed myself to touch some door handles and be around other people that I did not ask if they had an elevated temperature after saying "hi".

When I heard someone cough, I did my best not to flinch and run the other way.

Then, since Heidi's birthday was the next day, we headed to a small gluten-free bakery and had COOKIES!!  I purposely did not stare at the methods of the bakery staff to see if they were touching the cookies, or how many times a purchase was handled without hand sterilizer, I just made myself look the other way and enjoyed some pure sugar delight.

I haven't done that for a long, long time - either sat in a bakery and eat some fresh baked goods, nor not pay attention to other's use of hand sanitizer.  

I'm not doing it very well, and there is not that old calendar in my brain that I can pull up to remember what we are doing, but I am *planning*.

***

The appointments went well on Wednesday.  You might say I have a forever changed standard for measuring long medical days - if they do not involve chemo - I can endure almost anything else.  I had a mammogram on a new machine that was 3-D and you could see rotation.  It was awesome.

OSU-Stephanie Spielman Center-James Cancer Center all believe that "it is your treatment".  If I ask to see it, they show it to me.  There's no secrets about anything.  The mammogram ladies of course cannot tell me their opinion of the view, but they can show me everything I ask to see.  There's no doctor holding the information in their hand on one side of a desk, and you sitting on the other not able to see it nor understand it.  All I have to do is ask, and I see it and know exactly what they are talking about when they explain the results to me later.

She showed it to me and explained how the new machine worked.

I guess I just want to say a few good words about my "people" down there off of Route 315 - they are awesome.  And their equipment - state of the art.  You might remember me oohing and aahing over their digital mammogram the last time I had one to satisfy the study I was in - but this newer one was incredible and they were all excited about using it.

I have stood beside of veterinarians looking at X-rays a lot in my lifetime, and to be honest, I understand completely why you need trained eyes to see problems - they are not so easy to read at times when it comes to tissue.

With this one, even I could easily see the results before being told later.

I went to ultrasound, and after some trials, the lady finally found the tumors, and call me crazy, but I swear, I swear, when I peered at the screen there sitting masquerading as tumors were the shapes of two eyes - then a wicked, crooked demonic smile was under them - looking at me.

Crazy as all get-out I know.  But it made me a little nauseous.

I prayed the blood of Jesus over that view and told that evil, vile thing hanging out inside me that its days were numbered.  I prayed that the God of the universe would bless my body and my cells to eradicate that evil.  That wicked leaven that had taken over my life, knocked me into a corner not knowing if I would survive this or not was looking at me, scoffing, and I prayed that the Lord God Adonai, the One who hears, would remove it.

And that it would not be smiling any longer.

***

Dr. Povosky was cautiously optimistic.  The first such set of tests I had done March 7th, showed incredible results.  The second set had no change.  This set, this set - showed "minimal" tumors.

He said it was good news but that doesn't mean that we won't find cancer cells in the pathology after surgery.  He said the views looked good, but that doesn't mean the lymph glands will show clear.

When we talked in March looking at my results, I was informed I was going to have to do radiation after surgery.  I didn't want to, but they didn't really give me a choice.

When we talked in May looking at my results, they told me I might have to do another round of chemo after surgery as well.  I was pretty deflated.

If I get a green light after the pathology report one week after surgery - meaning no cancer cells in any of the tissue or lymph nodes - then I won't have to do the extra round of chemo.

I'm smiling as I type this, just like I smiled at Dr. P on Wednesday.  By nature, I have to foresee every possible problem and know the contingency plans to accompany them.  That's my job in life - to look at the problems and know what needs to happen with each event.  It has little to do with hope or faith or optimism, but everything to do with knowing the obstacles and "being ready".

Personally seeing my test views that day gave me a "release" somewhere deep inside me.  We still don't know what the pathology report will say, and I know there is still that evil intertwining inside me that can and has caused all kinds of chaos, but seeing that mammogram and ultrasound, released what has been on hold for seven months.

I'm still smiling.

***

The surgical nurse went over a fifty-two page booklet with me.  I had no idea of some of the side effects patients endure after losing lymph glands.

I should not move my left arm for three weeks.  No exercise for three weeks.  No movement that will use your chest muscles as well, which is almost everything.  Basically, because the lymph glands are not there any longer doing their job, they just don't want you to move for three weeks so you will not create a pocket of fluid that could, at worst, need to be surgically taken care of again.

If I'm really good and obey my surgeon's directions, I get one drain removed per week.  The drains are pretty cool, but I am thinking I am not going to like them a whole lot, making me a bit motivated to be obedient.

Actually, I told his nurse going over this booklet with us, that chemo had kind of put out any obstinate fire I had when it comes to medical issues.  I've been skooled.  Ejucated.

The next paragraph states that you should still "get out".  But don't lift anything with your arm.  Or move your chest muscles.  For like forever.   

I had no idea that you had to protect that arm the rest of your life.  It will get infection easier because there are no lymph glands to help take care of it.  If I cut my arm or hand on that side, I should start antibiotics.  I need to wear gloves when gardening or doing dirty jobs.

I can never lift over 15-20 pounds with that arm again.  For the first couple of weeks or months or however long he decides, depending on how effectively I listen to him, I can't lift over two pounds.

I can't fly, which greatly affects our ten year "places-to-go-bucket-list" we made up two years ago.  I have never been to visit my sister that has lived in Oregon for most of her life.  Never.  Apparently, flying is not the greatest thing to do to your non-lymph-glanded-arm - now or for a very long time.  You can, later, but it's not an ideal situation.

I never knew that.

I won't be able to lift my arm over my head for eight weeks.  She told me to get clothes that are button front, easy to get on without moving your arm or chest muscles and that will be big enough to allow for the drains.

Heidi and I looked for pajamas the other night - because I just don't have a proper button front pair - and it's more difficult to find clothing that will work than I imagined.  Button-front and over-sized is not to be found this year.

Scott might be missing some shirts......

***

They know that we have a long drive, so they try to cram as many appointments into one day as they can to accommodate us.  It is awesome that they do that for us, but the last time I saw my surgeon, my oncologist, did an ultrasound and did a mammogram it wasn't such a good day.  And then I went to chemo mid-afternoon and had the dreaded carbo on top of the other two chemos.

So Wednesday when it was all over, I kind of felt like I had a "get out of jail free" card.  After my last appointment, we left the building, got into the car, and drove away.

A friend of mine told me that when I got through the chemo, everything else would seem "less" in comparison.

I so agree.

***

As I am planning for surgery and collecting things that I am going to be needing, I keep praying, praying, and it's not so much for what I want - no cancer cells - but it more goes like this:

Blessed are Thou, Lord God King of the universe, that gives me breath today.  Blessed are Thou, Lord God King of the universe that blesses me.

Last night we went to our house church for the first time since December.  Lee Ann said that the idea of "blessing" is like someone that comes before you, and stoops down laying before you all kinds of gifts and goodness to give you pleasure and happiness.

This is my paraphrase, so I hope I got the idea correct.

But that idea is so filling my brain today and kind of how I have been feeling the last couple of weeks - it's not ideal - but then again it's been the best.  I feel like God is coming before me and laying before me all kinds of gifts and good things, giving me pleasure and happiness and soul satisfying connections with those around me.

He has been so good.

So I pray that my platelets and red blood cells come up and show strong on Wednesday when I have to get one more blood draw, and that nothing will happen to delay this surgery - but I still feel like there is a banquet prepared before me in the midst of the wilderness and in the presence of my enemy.

I spilled water all over me last night while they were doing a big videotaping of the house church and no matter how hard I tried to not be in the view, I have water dripping all over my shirt and dripping down onto the couch and I could feel it slowly soaking my jeans, and all I could envision was Steve Martin onscreen looking like Karen Gerwig, and I was horrified.

I say and do crazy things like forget my glasses and Scott thinks I am squirming too much and keeps asking me if I am ok and he cannot hear me when I say "I'm fine", he asks again and can't hear me again when I say "I'm ok - I forgot my glasses", and finally when he asked me one more time why I wasn't reading along, I hissed "I CAN'T SEE" because he wasn't hearing me and I'm sure half the room heard me.

So his care and concern was all good, my response - crazy.  I told Lee Ann last night that you would think that had all been burned out of me somewhere along the way......

Heavy sigh.

But, through all my slow integration back into society, and pressing myself up against germs that haven't seen me for eons, and getting over my OCD along with cautions from my doctor that I am not "there" yet, but don't worry so much, through all of this, God is so *blessing* me.

***

Even at Cracker Barrel.  On our way home from Columbus, we were stopped on Polaris for almost an hour.  Scott says it was forty-five minutes, I am inclined to tell you it was well over three hours.

When we finally got onto 71, we were hungry and discussing our dinner options which would now be very late by the time we got home and prepared something.  No tuna.  No frozen "quick" anything.  So I told him when I saw the Cracker Barrel sign, that we should just truly live on the edge and stop and eat.

I asked the waitress to please put my plate in the microwave for three minutes.  She did it very nicely.  A couple of people stared at me, but as I told Scott, we weren't in Columbus anymore Toto.  Women with cropped hair are not all that uncommon there.

I have not carried a purse because I haven't needed one for a long time.  I have a large bag that carries my drugs, medical information and my port registration along with a thermometer, and any number of things I need on days we travel to Columbus for appointments and treatments.

We haven't needed to buy a whole lot.  We didn't stop and get lunch, we didn't do any shopping while there, it was pretty much a get-gas, get there and get home kind of trips.

When I went with Heidi earlier that day, I asked Scott to give me his debit and credit card just in case I saw something......  I asked Heidi to carry it in her wallet.

As we get the check after our meal at Cracker Barrel, and start walking to the front feeling over-full and like we had succeeded in me walking in without a hat, eating and even enjoying it some, as we are laughing a little feeling like Dora the Explorer and saying "we did it!" - Scott pulls out his little stack of cards that he keeps in his pants pocket - his drivers license, Triple A card - then we look at each other and had a sudden realization of horror that we have nothing, nothing with which to pay for our meal.

Because I forgot to get his credit and debit card out of Heidi's purse before we left.

I had been trying to believe that my really short hair had not been such a big deal.  Then I realized I had to ask for a manager as Scott was outside desperately searching the car for any morsel of money or card or anything that he might find that would pay for our meal.

I have not had to sound like I was a vagabond trying to steal a meal ever in my life.  The more I talked, the more the two ladies listening raised their eyebrows and just looked at me like, "uh-huh".  Their eyes said "we've heard this before".

I think I was close to handcuffs when Scott came back in with a check - and the ladies suddenly happily said that yes, Cracker Barrel is one of the few restaurants left that do accept checks.

I probably took ten years off of each of our lives that evening.

I plan to find a purse this week that is light and easy to carry.  Scott is planning to help me.

But even so, I am reminded again how I am getting a meal in the desert before my enemy, and it is a gift that is brought before me with the hope that it will give me pleasure and comfort and peace and hope and encouragement and nourishment to my soul.

Cracker Barrel doesn't feel that way so much, but God does.

Hats and Such

This is my Colorado-from-Ohio friend, Trina.  She and her husband Mark live out west in a beautiful Colorado Rocky Mountain home.  We knew each other from long ago - church and one of Scott's best school-buddies was Mark's brother, so we have a lot of threads woven in and out connecting us.

They were back in Ohio two weeks ago for a wedding and stopped in to drop off a gift for me that they had picked up while in RUSSIA of all places.  It was a Russian book of fairy tales.  The illustrations are incredibly colorful and old.

My not-so-great brain sensors jump at the colors.  I am loving it.

I would post a picture, but nay, not with me at the controls.  Trina took this picture and she is obviously very talented at doing something I cannot do myself - stretch out your arm with the camera, aim blindly and get a good picture.

I was amazed.  She didn't even hardly look at the finished picture - she knew her talent well.  I can copy and paste pictures that I get in emails or on facebook, but trying to get my phone or scanner or camera to upload one of my say, 8,863 pictures, seems to be a feat reserved only for greater mortals.

My phone has had two voice mails that I have tried to retrieve for going on two weeks now.  It told me I had the wrong access code.  After a couple of days of fighting it, I finally pushed a button that then said "someone is trying to access your voice-mail account".  It then proceeded to tell me the phone number of the "hacker" -- and it was my own phone number.

Heavy sigh.

I have been wicked-mean to some Verizon people in my past work lives, and now I am paying the fee maybe.  It could almost make me believe in Karma.

But I digress, it was so good to see Mark and Trina.

I could have used the time with them a bit more wisely - like having her show me where my glitch is with our computer.  And my phone.  She's obviously a techie wizard.

But instead of techie-talk, we talked about Mark's tumor that is now just a memory to them; we talked about health; we talked about Russia and all the awesome things you see in a different culture; we talked about how Facebook had made us such good friends these last years and allowed us to share some common pain and encourage each other and uphold each other while lots of miles apart.

There is that one other common thread we share with them - Mark had/has the same type of brain tumor that our daughter Heidi had.  They were so gracious and open and supportive when we were going through this with her just a short time after they had gone through it - openly telling us their travail and journey with it all - all that can only be called a help and a blessing.

When people share their pain, and hurts and deep valleys and high mountains, it helps those that are walking that path at a later date.  It's like putting up a sign post pointing direction where there wasn't one before.

Ah, community again.

***

Last night we went to a cookout and ended up spending the whole time in a wonderful air conditioned, newly renovated home.

We stopped there on the way home from Columbus after my last oncologist appointment before my surgery.  Next week I go down again for tests, and an appointment with my surgeon - so we are still making the weekly treks - it's just not so strenuous since the last chemo treatment.

Heidi had made me up two cake boxes full of "Cake Pops!" to take as a thank-you to my chemo-nurse-ladies that I had missed so much all of a sudden this past week.  We have seen each other quite often for over six months.

I got to see almost half of them and there were lots of hugs, lots of talk, lots of "miss yous" - and they promised if I needed anything that I could call them and talk.  They have walked me through some of the deepest valleys of my life, and I do not know how to thank them for what they have done for me.

They watch almost your every move before, during and after chemo.  If it seems that you are slow getting up to walk, they want to know why - is it your back?  Or neuropathy?  Are you dizzy?

They might know my body movements better than my own family by now.

So I took them some awesome gluten-free cake pops to say thank you.  It's not even the beginning of thank you, but they were so happy to get them and happy to see us, that we all just laughed and teared up and Scott and I said thank you again like 56 times, then we went to lunch.

Then I had my blood draw.

It didn't look as good as I wanted it to.  My white blood cell count has finally jumped into the "low normal" range - YAY - but my red blood cell, hemoglobin and platelet counts are still low.

Which explains my lingering exhaustion, my inability to climb steps without having to rest my heaving lungs and heart, etc, but it also showed a bit of a warning sign that I might be cutting it close for surgery. And I got an additional week for recovery - I was five weeks out instead of four like they wanted.  With only two weeks to go, blood repair has become priority number one in my life.

Good levels of platelets and hemoglobin are pretty important when cutting into flesh.

The nurse doing my intake asked me how I was feeling in 39 different ways, and the last time she asked me, my eyes betrayed me, I almost started to cry - again.  Something about the letters OSU now seem to give my eyes license to let tears pop out anytime they want to - but she asked me one last time how I was doing, and I told her, "I just thought I would be feeling better by now".

On Friday, I was officially three weeks out from my last chemo.

And I thought I would be feeling better.  Admitting it was one tear.  Hearing her response, was a stream.  She said "you have had a lot of chemo, take it easy on yourself".

Just having someone say that, after I have been trying so hard to get back to normal, and not being able to attain it, just broke that little dam of emotion that had built up some.

She said I should be celebrating "three weeks out", and letting the rest "happen".

Dr. Mrozik said mostly the same thing.  And she added "you won't be 100% when you go in for surgery".

I hadn't realized that.  I thought I would be done with chemo, recovered, go into surgery fighting mad, and come out with my feet hitting the ground.  Instead, I can't lift a three pound weight over my head ten times and not have my left arm hate me for the rest of the week.

My promise to Dr. Provosky that I would have some lean muscle for him to sew back together looks a little grim at this point.

My oncologist said the kindest words, and they were the harshest words:  "it's going to take you three to six months to get back on your feet, sweet Karen".

I don't remember reading that in the program before the whole show started.

Scott and I left there late, hot, tired - and I was grumpily thinking this all over.

***

We landed in the next best thing to cool, relaxing and fun this side of Cedar Point Water Park - with friends who opened their home and were 75 degrees cool contrasting with what our car said was a humid 104 degrees (I swear the parking lot had registered at 156 degrees when we first left the building).  They fed us juicy, platelet-inspiring steaks and pampered us a bit.  It was just good to be around other people and laugh.  And talk.  And hear other people's problems for awhile.

It was like looking at a beautiful book of fairy tales from a faraway land with colorful pictures and stories I had not heard, filling my senses.

God has been so good to us throughout all of this.  There have been a lot of deep valleys, but then friends like Mark and Trina stop in from far away and tell us their "valley-story" and leave a book that makes me look and think of places I've not been to.

And good folks make me a 'well-done' steak, and watch me pour lots of salt on it because for months that was all I could taste, and we laugh and talk and eat well.

It was my first grilled steak in a long, long time.

***

I keep thinking about community, and all that it is supposed to mean in the the eyes of God, and I cannot help but think that He has put me in this place at this time to be so isolated and alone, but at the same time full of people helping and listening and caring.

I don't know when I can start walking my mile loop again and not have my nerve endings in my feet feel like someone took a sledge hammer to them and just beat them out.  I don't know when I will be able to climb two flights of stairs to put away laundry.  I don't know when my left arm will ever feel normal again and allow me normal garden activity.  I don't know when my gut will shape up and be able to work properly again.

I don't know any of that, and my doctor doesn't have any good guesses either.

I do know, that I get blessings that I never knew were that important.

I've seen folks from Colorado that had to reluctantly cut down the trees surrounding their home because of fire risk.  Trees that took years to grow and groom and provide shade and winter protection - they lost those.

And I rather keenly feel that loss - maybe because I know what the "trees" about me have done for me - shade from overbearing heat and protection from winter winds.

***

I posted the picture with Trina after waiting a bit.  Sometimes when people see me now they don't quite recognize me.  I used to have a lot of thick hair that would be ever so contrary in this heat and humidity.

I have been sitting outside without a hat some days, experimenting.  Last weekend I took it off in front of family.  They are so stinking hot - my body temperature can immediately increase ten degrees when I put on a hat or any type of head covering.

I am now wearing a hat in the sun, but taking it off in the shade or in the car.

So last night, I experimented again, and walked in their house without a hat.  They responded ever so nicely, and I was so relieved.  Because if my body increases ten degrees stepping into this heat, I know I would pass out.

I told Scott the other day that I cannot believe how easy guys have it -- each day I am saving myself at least two one-half-hour periods of time not fighting my hair this summer in this heat and humidity.  It's not hot on my neck.  It's not going to get colored for a while.  It's kind of "take me as I am because there's nothing else I can do".

It's pretty breezy-easy.

Guys - I know I will grow my hair back in, but I will never look at you the same way again.  Your hair is too disgustingly easy.

Being hatless and of little hair makes me look closely at people when they look at me.  My family has been pretty awesome about it.  But then again, they have seen me in a big fuzzy robe with my eyes barely open, seeking coffee.  That's not such a big leap in look some days.

But the rest of this was made all the easier because of the community around me.  Trina didn't care and wanted a picture.  Friends look twice, but give me a big hug.  To Scott, it looks "long" because he saw me without any at all.

***

hmmm.......


This is how RVL says it so much better than me.....



http://followtherabbi.com/world/article/our-first-love 

Good Questions

This afternoon I had to do something that I haven't done in a few days - lay down and pray my stomach back to sleep.....

My stomach and gastro seemed to be happily buzzing along towards normalcy and health again as long as I obeyed the "Live-Strong Alkaline Diet" laws and took my two times a day Zantac.  Tuesday, I decided it had done so well, I could ignore the diet.

I think my guess was off by a few weeks.  It's madder than a hornets nest in there.  Or disturbed wasps.  I'm hoping that like some crazy Monopoly board, I am not sent back to square one, missing all my chances to buy up good things along the path.

While laying in bed trying to recover a stomach lining and subsequent gastro health, I realized it has been days since I have seriously been on Facebook or checked emails or, well, done any blogging.

I had 208 emails staring me in the face when I opened it up in bed.  Some are pictures I have sent myself from my phone hoping to use for my blog, but cannot download them.  Or upload them.

Other emails are "sales" that I have tried to block - in particular Victoria's Secret - and they never give up.  They seem to believe I need that 'push-up-bathing-suit' that I don't think I would have worn when I was 35.  Daily, they faithfully think of me and kindly send me the latest update on swimwear, intimate-wear, short sexy dresses - you know - because I have never bought from them in the past, but for some reason, they think I just might, just might this year.  

Their marketing department is not doing its homework.  

Even google knows what ads to pop up beside my emails - "Cancer Centers of America".  There's no escaping on the internet here folks.  Unless of course Victoria's Secret gets your name.

Besides, my late-night wide-awake times have been spent following a young guy that is in South America climbing mountains.  I could not be distracted.  It was so awesome that he started a blog and gave people like me such a diversion and pleasure in reading the ups and downs of mountain life that I could not pull my eyes away.

I had no idea.

I read his elation as he made it in-country.  His disappointment when he came down with altitude sickness.  Then his subsequent "made it!" post.  The views were pretty awesome and the colors and strangeness of a different land - simple eye candy.  Especially since I knew this strong guy when he was a wee baby.

I have been trying to figure out how many finger exercises I would have to do to rock climb like him.  How long it would take me to acclimate to altitude.  How long it would take me to get into fighting shape to climb that high that long.

I have a pretty good idea, so I read his blog instead.

When his mom visited me a few months ago after I had been in treatment for maybe two months and I felt barely above surface, we were chatting and she asked me a question that totally threw me off.  She asked,  "If you could go on a vacation, where would you go?"

That thought was so far out the hemisphere of my thinking to that point, that my brain stopped and I could not answer immediately.  That was something I had put away with my hair brush and business-office clothes.

I wasn't going to need that for a while.

And yet it touched something so deep inside me that every time I think on it, something at the bottom of the deepest well inside me wakes up and touches me and tells me that it's ok to think about it.  It gave me hope that she thought I was going to go on a vacation again, and that she thought it was ok to think about it.

In the deepest of the deepest valleys, there was someone asking where I wanted to go when I would get out.

***

The ladies I used to work with long ago brought me in a meal the other night for all of us to share together.

We had a party!!!


We have done "get-togethers" a couple of times a year for a long time.  We used to do progressive dinners each year at Christmas, until we realized the fact that there was no easier way to call in a winter storm that covered State Route 89 with six inches of glazed ice each December than to circle a day on the calendar.  Every year.  So we relaxed a little and moved these get-togethers to the summer or fall.  They all have beautiful homes and gardens, and it is wonderful to see those, but better yet, it is wonderful seeing them.

They taught me how to think outside of my box a long time ago, and they taught me how to laugh.

Some of the most hilarious moments in my life were spent around a surgery table with my lunch in one hand, taking inventory with the other, all the while talking and laughing hysterically about something that I don't even remember sometimes - I just remember the laughter.

When I first started at the vet clinic, these women all came as a bundle deal.  I was in a painful time in my life and felt so alone.  These women knew pain better.

And they taught me how to laugh it out.

They taught me so well that to this day when I feel stress and doom building, I say something stupidly funny - because I am not a natural comedienne - but something stupid, that makes people relax a little and laugh.

Because, I found, on top of prayer, that's the best way to deal with stress.  And doom and gloom.  And those incredibly hard things in life that can break you, but on the other hand, can be seen as crazy bad but lead to laughter whenever I spend time with those ladies.

The same Shirley that called me one day and said she was cleaning my house - no questions asked - she was just going to come in and do it when I maybe needed it most; that same Shirley emailed me and said they were showing up Monday night with food.

It was quite an evening.

Sometimes, we laugh so hard at some stories that you spit your drink out.

***

Before that and since then, I've not been around people that worked so hard.  And didn't complain about it.  Veterinarians do not get insurance kick backs, they don't have poor pets covered by Medicare, they work for every dime they earn.

Sometimes I wish I could step back in time and be there now because nobody would quite  understand as well the fact that the hair on my arms surprisingly fell out again this past week.  And my eyelashes, but not so much my eyebrows.  It's curious to me how it all happens, and they would be curious as well, and I know we would end up laughing about it.

Or, I know they would marvel at how my gut can bloat.

Probably while looking at intestinal parasites under a microscope.  You have to multi-task there - if you are going to laugh, it has to be between rooms, or while filling a script, or while looking at greatly enlarged nasty things.

But it never stopped any of us from laughing when the hard things in life hit really hard.

I wish I could tell the stories, but cannot.  They are mostly confidential.

It's really a hard day of work.  You hit the ground running, and you jump back in your vehicle to go home, with barely a breath in between.

There are hard things.  Loved pets being euthanized.  Tremendous work loads that any other business would have triple the amount of people attending.  And if you take it all too hard, it piles up and could cover you.

But, there were some insanely hilarious things that happened there, and there are a group of ladies that get together and can talk about it to no one else but each other, and we laugh out loud again.

I knew then, and I know now, that God gave me that gift of friendship with those ladies all those years ago, because He knew what I needed then, and what I need now - joy and laughter.  And realizing that life is still full of hilarity even when difficult.

But it happened the other night as well - I took them out to show them Scott's garden.  I showed them the peaceful place we sit and have our coffee most days.  I showed them what we were going to be eating soon.  I showed them the flowers that were blooming.

I told them how we had planned to move this, do that, build this and then had not been able to due to an inadvertent series of unfortunate events.

Then one of them asked me, "what are you going to do next year, then?"

It wasn't because they did not understand the seriousness of my disease.  In fact, one of them is a cancer survivor.  They have all been around the medical field and have a pretty good idea what I am dealing with here.  So I knew the question was not out of ignorance.

It made me pause and smile, again, because someone was thinking that I should be thinking about this.

Maybe, next year we will tear off that railing and add a deck.  Maybe, next year I will tear out that one bed that isn't looking so good and the wind blows over the tall flowers every time.  Maybe we will think about, pray about going *somewhere*, wherever that might be.

Don't get me wrong.  You don't want to go around using that as "THE QUESTION" to ask those in the midst of a life battle with cancer.  But, for the ones that have openly asked me what I was planning for next year, I just want to say, it was so nice.  So good to pause and think about.  Because I had not for ever so long.  

It's so easy to spend so much energy on the here and now and the battle that I am fighting now to purposely not think of anything future.

It's so nice to know others are not thinking that way towards me.

They are asking me about planning our garden for next year.  Or wondering where we might go on vacation.

It makes me pause and smile.

***

So we have tucked a couple of days away to "go somewhere" before my surgery.  But - we didn't plan anything.  So if you all have any "drive-able" ideas, let us know.  I'm not so swift on the hotel planning websites these days.

But it is so good to look forward to something.  And to be reminded to do that when in the deep is an awesome thing.