I’m sitting on a porch swing in the Colorado mountains, coffee close by, a fall chill in the air, the breeze gently quaking the aspens. It’s lovely here. And it’s quiet; my mind dreaming of what could lie ahead—another practical application of all that I am learning—in my mind’s eye and my heart’s beat I’m an Oncology Coach, someone who can walk with those diagnosed so they can live out their story on purpose. 

Here, I sit in a tension—in one hand, the total peace and never wanting to leave this spot and in the other, the desire to push the >> button and just get there already. Then I look up at the aspens, the fall glory of Colorado as they turn brilliant yellow, and they just aren’t there yet. There is some change, yes, but it’s incomplete as there is a lot of green left in the leaves and their process simply needs more time. 

What a metaphor…

*Post 898

Run-Away-Worthy :: 9/19/17 :: Post 19

The quiet is a really difficult place this morning. I’m anxious. Grumpy. Sleepy. Nauseous. Nervous. Angry. Frustrated. Sad. It’s really uncomfortable to sit in it this morning. I’m feeling so low. So tired. Utterly exhausted. The waves of this storm have beaten me up. Badly. I’ve been a rag doll at the mercy of crashing tides and dangerous undercurrents and engulfing storm surges …And the next part of this journey hasn’t even started yet. As if I haven’t been traumatized enough. As if this part of the journey hasn’t been long and treacherous already. I’m resentful. I’m sitting here in the coolness of an amazing fall day with a blanket on and coffee in my hands and yet everything about this fall is different and hard and stupid and sucky.

Interesting how I was so grateful for the hard stuff yesterday and today I’m just sad.

I know the hard space I am in this morning doesn’t negate my gratitude of last night. I know that I won’t give up even when I feel like giving in and letting the water overtake me. 

But I hurt this morning in the quiet. I want to fill it. I want to run away from it. I want to replace it with ignorance. I want to ball it up like a piece of trash and throw it away. I want to swear at it and shake my fists at it and scare it away. 

But there is something in this discomfort. I know there is. I trust there is. I’ve been here before and it’s hurt and it’s wrecked me. And I know I resilience is born out of it. But I have to choose to choose it. 

A friend asked me a few days ago, “what do you hear when you’re in the quiet?” Of course, (and he knows this), it’s different every time. That’s exactly why he asked the question. This morning, in the midst of all of this unbearable struggle and discomfort and pain I am hearing part of a song he sent me…and it keeps coming back…I woke up with it in my head and that one part of that one song keeps.coming.back: “The more I seek You, the more I’ll find You….” 

So I guess I’ll choose to choose this quiet…seek what He has for me in this. Even if it is run-away-worthy.

Oh Lord I pray for my heart today as the realities of this next subchapter are laid out for me. I pray in the waiting that I can find the strength to keep coming up for air

The Plan…..Maybe :: 9/19/17 :: Post 20

The NOISE in my head and heart and soul is so loud…………………………………………….

I am feeling a thousand things all at once………. I am having a complete inner meltdown….it feels like every.last.nerve.ending is firing at its largest output. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to freak the hell out. I want to have a 2 year old’s temper tantrum. I was supposed to leave with a plan today but instead I have more uncertainty ahead and I HATE this place…. I’ve been here so much through this process and it is the most dreadful place. I hate being at the mercy of time. And waiting. And more tests. And things going on inside my body that I have NO control over. 

I am desperate to get out of my own skin. Out of this broken body. 

I am intensely craving certainty. Stability. Assurance. Constancy. Control. Finality.

Okay, so while my whole body is having a major freak-out, I do have a lot of answers….and I do have a tentative plan. But this tentative plan hinges on some pretty big factors. Factors that are scary. Factors that are out of my control. Factors that take time. Factors that are certainly contributing to the tailspin I am in……. 

1. I have to wait for a phone call tomorrow to schedule a full body scan. Then I have to wait for the appointment to come and go. And then I have to wait for the results (at least 24 hours). And then I have to wait for a follow up appointment with my oncologist to discuss the results. The full body scan will determine if the cancer has infiltrated anywhere else in my body. Because my invasive ductile carcinoma broke free of the ductile wall and grew to the size it did and because it was in two sentinel lymph nodes, it is quite possible that cancer cells found their way into my bloodstream through the blood vessels in and around the milk ducts. If they found their way into my bloodstream then they have the opportunity to invade other organs. If they have invaded other organs…Oh dear Jesus. We would have a whole new storm brewing and a whole different battle plan. So.I.Wait. I loathe this place. Vehemently.
2. I have two post op appointments tomorrow, with each of my surgeons. I am supposed to get these drains removed. That is not confirmed until I am there. Until they are out. And they are reallllllllllly making me crazy…like Mad-Hatter crazy. At the most random moments it feels like I am being stung by a straight-from-satan wasp right at the site of where the drains come out of my sides. Please Lord Jesus let these drains come out. That said, if they are still draining, it would be best to leave them in so that I don’t die of infection. (ok, maybe that is a little dramatic, but a buildup of fluid would be serious cause for concern and put everything on hold…) YET, if in fact the drains do have to stay in….or if my other surgeon is concerned with any part of my healing, this tentative plan (that mind you, still has to wait on the full body scan business anyways) will be put on hold until I am stable for the next steps. UGH. The waiting. The uncontrollables. The teasing of the incredibly close proximity to the next step only to have it so far away.
3. I have to wait for another call tomorrow to schedule the insertion of my port – the internal IV that will deliver toxic chemicals directly into my veins. …An outpatient procedure. …Where they will cut into me again. …And insert yet another foreign object into my body. But of course, it really shouldn’t happen until my drains are removed. Which, again, is not a guarantee….which, again, is me at the mercy of the uncontrollables. 

UUGGGHHHHHHHH. This place is SOOOOOOOO hard to be in. 

So then, IF and only IF these things play out as smoothly as possible, and provided I have a clean body scan, then my treatment plan can begin. 6 rounds of chemo every 3 weeks…tentatively scheduled to start Monday, October 9. This chemo will have 4 drugs and aggressively attack the cancer that could be floating around in my veins. This chemo is also the chemo that will take my hair….all of it. Then, at the end of that phase, I will continue with 2 of the 4 drugs for the remainder of the year to the date of my very first infusion (those 2 drugs continue to attack the cancer but will allow for my hair to slowly come back). Also after my 6 rounds of the 4 drugs is complete, then I will begin my radiation treatment. Which will be 6-7 weeks of daily (Monday through Friday) radiation. Then I will have to fully heal from all of the radiation before I will get to have final reconstructive surgery…..we’re talking MAYBE April. I’ll continue to finish out my year of the 2-drug chemo (I believe that is still once every three weeks) through October of 2018. Then I’ll take an estrogen-receptor blocker medication daily for the next 5 years along with other consistent blood tests to ensure cure. 

IF all goes as planned. 

IF I don’t have cancer anywhere else in my body. 

IF I don’t have any complications with treatment. 

IF

IF

IF

I am spinning in the information I got today. Informative, yes. Overwhelming, big time. Daunting, beyond comprehension. [and I only shared half of what we heard and I don’t even know if it made any sense because I’m still trying to make sense of it all] 

And yeah, I know……“one step at a time”…“moment by moment”…“take each day as it comes”…..but I’m just gonna allow myself to spin out on the enormity that this feels. Because it’s me. Because NONE of it is certain. Because even after ALL of this, I am not guaranteed to not have cancer ever again. Because even though my prognosis is relatively positive…I still have to face the reality of my mortality. 

And that, in and of itself, is a semi-truck-tearing-off-an-entire-car’s-front-end-and-wheel-and-getting-diagnosed-with-random-breast-cancer-and-a-double-mastectomy-in-one-month reminder that this side of heaven is not for the faint of heart. 

Please dear Jesus…please……….let the body scan be clean. 

This is Very Different :: 9/19/18 :: Post 370

A friend checked in with me tonight. This is what I said:

Thanks for praying. And thanks for checking in. This is very different and I feel like another Mack truck has blown through my body and soul. I’m super emotional. I’m beyond tired. The pain is strange. 

This is hard. 

Amazing news, though…no initial evidence of cancer. So while we still have to wait for final pathology in a week, we are extremely hopeful. 

9.19 :: 9/19/19 :: Post 734

Two things I want to note about today – 

It is the one-year anniversary of my total hysterectomy…in the midst of battling through the treatment phase of cancer, I went in for a seemingly routine annual exam and was told that my ultrasound showed some very concerning things and my ob/gyn referred me to a gynecological oncologist. I remember thinking “another oncologist? Seriously, could there be cancer?” And then, a week later, my gynecological oncologist confirmed that he, too, felt there could be cancer so it would be imperative to remove it all…as soon as we could. 

Another whirlwind of appointments and life-altering decisions, another major surgery where the threat of cancer takes body parts, another place between fear and faith, another whole new level of vulnerability.

It was a most difficult reality that required me to, once again, acknowledge the fragility of life this side of heaven. I had to accept the very real possibility that cancer could exist, once again, in my body. I had to look death and life straight in the face and, once again, choose to walk step by step into a big unknown.

At the time, I was in a place of pure survival and uncertainty of every next step. As I look back, a year later, I am feeling the weight of this part of the story on my heart. What a road we’ve had to walk…

Sadly, on a related note, my dear friend, Maureen (or as I earned the relationship to get to call her “Mo”), died today. My heart hurts that cancer took her….fast. I saw her a month ago and minus her hair growing back from chemo, you couldn’t really tell she was battling. She was fiercely faithful, trusting God all through her recent diagnosis of just about a year…maybe even a little less. 

She was one of my best cheerleaders. Reading my posts every night, without fail, loving them and making comments with amazing encouragements. Texting me and checking in. Updating me on her fight when I’d return the favor. It was one thing to be bonded together having worked at Alternatives and having deep passion for the sanctity of all life, but we had an even deeper bond having been forced into seeing the inside of cancer…the devastation, the pain, the desperate hope, the immense gratitude, the transformed living, the practice of pure trust… 

Mo, I miss you. I know you’re dancing with Jesus, the love of your life, and I’m so grateful for that, but I miss you. Celebrate an amazing life lived here on earth and party hard with the angels. 

September 19 will be another day marked with difficult memories. It is also a day to honor the gratitude that comes from walking this unenvied road.