Long Weeks

It's been a long week.  It seems there has been enough pain to go around the world nineteen times in my part of the woods.

My arm hurts and the drain in that left arm is going to be in there another two weeks.  We are not particular friends, that nasty drain and I....  It feels like a ten inch Popsicle stick was shoved through my armpit down into my upper arm.  And after I asked my surgeon about it, that's pretty much basically the idea.

I had one drain pulled out last week, one comes out this Wednesday.  My least favorite one, will be in the longest.  At my last appointment, we chatted about the surgery and he commented on how very pleased he was with my pathology report; and then my very good surgeon, Dr. Povosky, told me to lay down on the exam table.  His very lovely nurse stepped close to me and gently took hold of my good hand and held it.

Kind of tight.

Movements such as that, can make one a little nervous.  He explained to me that he was going to pull out one of the drains and I just needed to keep breathing and not hold my breath.

As if chemo was not enough torture.

The nurse grabbed my right hand and arm with both hands firmly, and I laughed and asked her if anyone had tried to hit him before when removing these -- and just as the last word left my lips - he yanked.

I've had easier doctor's appointments.

He said rather loudly - "keep breathing! keep breathing!" and suddenly I see what looked like ten inches of plastic in his hand that just a moment ago had been inside my chest.  And that is not an exaggeration.  It might have been even longer - I am still a bit traumatized.   

I asked him how they got people to come back for the next drain removals.  He said "live with them for another week, and you'll be back."

True words.  I might be the first one knocking on his door Wednesday morning.

***

I've tried to step down off of my pain meds this past week as well.  It didn't go so well.  I called their office today and asked her how big of a wimp I would be if I needed a refill and she very kindly told me that since I also had the lymph gland removal in that arm with most of my armpit gone, that my pain will be in that arm and  consequently, it does take longer to step down.

Alrighty.  I can sleep again tonight.

Scott has had lots of surgeries, and we have kind of collected some "mantras" spoken by various surgeons that we repeat over and over.  Like "the second day after surgery is the worst" then followed by "the second week is the worst week", and that is followed by "the second month sucks" and so on.  They have been true for Scott, and I can now attest, true for me as well.

With my second week behind me now, I'm looking for some bright sunny days.

Dr. Povosky also explained his belief to me again that the less I use this arm these weeks, the better chances I have of cheating lymphodema - extreme swelling due to the loss of the lymph glands.  So I have been very, very good.  If it weren't for the arm and armpit pain, I would be feeling almost, downright, pretty normal again.

***

I have been feeling stupid when trying to step down off of my pain meds this past week.  It seems there has been a torrent of those in pain and experiencing loss this past week - making my pain seem minimal in comparison.

We've had a long standing Triple A membership for a lot of years.   The winter that Scott had his surgery was a nasty one.  You might remember the eighty-six inches of ice and snow if you were the one shoveling it.  I shoveled just two paths for the tires of the car, thinking, hoping that it would all melt soon.

It didn't.

Then the twenty inches of snow had freezing rain fall on it for a night and the driveway with the two pathetically shoveled ruts suddenly became harder than a cement wall.  I tried backing the car out of the driveway and all I did was slide into the yard on the other side.  I tried and tried.  Scott came out and I was upset that he was thinking about pushing a car in his condition.  Scotty came down and helped and it was just a simple no-go.  The car was too light to move on any ice - let alone ice that had deep ruts and poor shoveling.

I called Triple A, and Drew Bates showed up to wrench our poor pathetic light-weight car up to the street.  He stood out there and talked to Scott and I could hear them laughing a lot.  I do admit the way the car slanted into the yard didn't look like someone who had been driving for 40 years had been behind the wheel.

He saw me watching from the front door and said sympathetically "why that little light thing just didn't have a chance".  And spoken with his slow drawl made it all sound pretty funny.  He made us laugh and redeemed me all in the same sentence.

I apologized for calling him out on such a cold night and he just smiled and nodded his head and packed up and left.

Drew's mom, Karla, had talked to Scott a couple of months ago when he was getting groceries and she sent home words of encouragement - we share the same oncologist.  I held tight to those words of hers when I was in the midst of doubt.  

It's funny how the lives of people within a community weave in and out for years and years.  I think one particularly bad towing year Karla even called me to remind me to renew my Triple A membership - I was most grateful.  

When I have been sitting alongside a road with a flat tire, or a car that just gave up - needing roadside assistance - I always wanted Triple A to send Bate's Garage.

They were the toughest, kindest gentlemen in that business.  It's not easy being a woman sitting, waiting, needing assistance.  The Bate's tow truck was always a welcome sight.  They knew how to make one feel safe as well as cared for.

I've thought a lot about Drew and his folks, his brothers and his wife and kids this past week.  And prayed for them almost non-stop.

***

Someone asked me recently "why?"  Why did God allow me to get cancer after all we have been through previously?  Why me when I ate a pretty healthy diet?  Why me when I professed God pretty regularly?

And my answer is, I don't know.  I guess after this week, I would maybe ask "why not me?"  when I see others be in more pain than I hope to ever know.

I take hope in the fact that in the Bible, God comforted those that went through any pain and suffering.  He heard Hannah when she cried bitterly on the temple steps, and the Bible says God heard her.  She was childless and her husband's second wife was making fun of her.  And God heard her pain.

When David left Jonathan, they cried bitter tears realizing that David would have to live on the run until Jonathan's father Saul was dead.  God heard them.  He included that scene in the Bible.  It was bitter tears of betrayal and hurt and pain and the realization that life would never be the same.

Sometimes we think we have to "tough it out" because our pain is not as severe as the next person. But the Bible seems to indicate that God hears any of our pain when we cry out to Him - and it seems to indicate that He wants to hear it.

RVL talks about "us-Christians" thinking that when we "sign up with God" that we should have a "field full of daisies" experience.  He believes it might be quite the opposite.  There are people walking very Godly lives that are living with a lot of pain.

I told God earnestly over five years ago, that I wanted to do an "honest walk with Him".  I think that kind of means that when I look into the fiery furnace and don't know if I will walk out, that I still say "my God can save me - and even if He doesn't - I will not bow down before your gods".

The Bate's family has walked a similar path recently, and yet they have one more greater pain - maybe the greatest pain a parent can feel - the loss of a child.

All I know is that we are supposed to cry out in anguish and pain and sorrow and hurt, and God hears.  We don't know how He might answer.  We don't know how much the incident will scar us. We don't know if we can keep walking at times.  I am ashamed that I used "Christian-ise phraseology" on my last post - God did answer my prayer - but even if He had not answered with good pathology reports, He is still God.

And He still heard my prayer and my pain and my sorrow.

So I will answer, this time God saved me from the fiery furnace - and even walked about in it with me.  But even if I did not walk out of the furnace, He was still there, and He still heard me and my pain.

And tonight, in Ashland county, my pain is not the worst pain for a long country mile.