âNot all girls are made of sugar and everything nice. Some girls are made of adventure, dark chocolate, intelligence, cuss words and courage.â
Brooke Hampton
*Post 901
The Stillness :: 9/22/17 :: Post 24
I had a very close friend come visit with me last night. It filled my soul⌠As he was leaving, he saw the âBe still and know that I am Godâ verse that I have on my wall here at home. He just mentioned it as he was walking past it (it was related on some level to the things we had been talking about)âŚand I said, âYup, itâs tattooed on my wrist and on my houseâŚâ Clearly it holds significance. We also remembered that it was in a song that he had sent me several days earlier. One of the songs that I often hear in my head at the most âconvenientâ times.
Today I had my CT and bone scans at Rose. Today I had plenty of time to sit in the quietâŚthe quiet that I often speak about, write about, experience and crave. The quiet that sometimes brings peaceâŚ.or sometimes not. The quiet that sometimes brings clarityâŚ.or sometimes not. The quiet that sometimes brings understandingâŚor sometimes not. The quiet that always brings something.
The quiet of today was difficult as the unknowns ahead are scary. Once again in this place of waiting for results that will largely determine what this battle really is. Once again in this place of waiting for results that literally illuminate the war going on inside my body. Once again in the place of waiting where I have no control of the outcomeâŚjust my response to it.
I went into today knowing that I would have a lot of time to sit and wait for the next directive. And I was right. Checked in. Got registered. Paid a huge co-pay. Was walked down to Radiology. Completed paperwork. Waited. Got called back and was poked with a needle for the Iâve-lost-track-of-how-many-times time. Was given an IV and then injected with radioactive dyeâŚthe kind that had to come out of a special little metal protective box with a code-lock on it. Waited some more. Got called into the CT scan room. Got situated on a little platform where I had to hold my hands over my head (and just 2 weeks post-op from a bilateral mastectomy, I donât have that kind of range of motionâŚ.so that was incredibly painful. Not to mention I still have drains in and had to situate them, too). CT scan started, was injected with a different contrast dye, and about 10 minutes later, ended. Then I was told I could go âeat, drink and be merryâ as I had no more restrictions as long as I was back by 1pm so that I could do my bone scan. Uh, okay? So we left and went to lunch. A little date of sorts. Then back to the hospital. Back to check in. Waiting again. I texted a few of my friends to pass the time. Got called back. Got situated on another platform. Situated the drains. And laid in the quiet for 40 minutes as the bone scan machine pulled me in, scanned my bones from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. No instructions other than to just lie as still as possible, breath normally, and relaxâŚ.it will all be over soon.
When I was texting with my friends before my bone scan, a theme popped up in both of their texts back. âStillnessââŚ.something that they were both being given the opportunity to understand its significance in their very different lives. I thought that was interesting in light of the night before (where this same friend noticed the verse on my wall). So my friend texted and part of his text said, âStillness is pretty hard, isnât it? Iâm getting that today. Itâs also so very good. Praying you hear Godâs voice and that the unknowns do not overwhelm you entirelyâŚ.â I appreciated this one phrase especially as it gave me the opportunity to understand its significance in my very different life. Why do I have it tattooed on my wrist? Why do I choose to have this verse adhered to my wall at home? What does âbe stillâ mean.
My text response: âStillnessâŚIâm getting a lot of practice in the quiet. But stillness is different to me. Related, yes. But stillness feels a layer or so deeper. I can be in the quiet and I can listen. But stillness requires a quiet of the soul. A quiet that is founded in trust. Trust is hard during this. I trust. But I hold tightly. Itâs like on my bridge⌠not knowing what step is ahead. But boldly taking it knowing that there could be sure footing or there could be a massive free fall. And either wayâŚfull trust. That feels like stillness. And yes, itâs hard.â
My bridgeâŚ..Iâve used a few analogies regarding life but one of the most poignant ones for me is the bridge. We all have paths we walkâŚwe all encounter forks in the roadâŚwe all encounter mountains and valleysâŚwe all encounter bridges. In other words, we donât just stand in the middle of a meadow and donât move. Bridges of all kinds occur in our paths. Sometimes we stand where we can choose which bridge to take. Sometimes the bridges are chosen for us. Bridges have a threshold and they also have âthe other side.â Bridges can be easy and short. Bridges can be stable and secureâŚmade of steel and immovable. Bridges can cross small rivers and bridges can treacherously stretch across deadly chasms. Bridges can have sure footing with each step, even over the bigger canyons and some bridges are weathered and worn and unsure, swaying in the wind with only a small fraying rope to hold on to. Thatâs the bridge I feel I am onâŚtreacherous, unsure, swayingâŚcrossing over a dark deep chasmâŚwith fog so dense I canât even see the condition of the board I am to put my foot on next. Fog so dense the âother sideâ is obscured from sight.
So during my bone scanâŚwhen I was literally forced to be still, for a 40 (possibly more) minute chunk of time, it occurred to me that I could practice stillness. With the context of my texts with my friend, I meditated on it as I laid on that hard platform unable to move except for to breathe. I prayed for stillness in my soul. I prayed Jesusâ name with every breath. I quieted my body and my soul. And I found stillness. I drifted into a visualization of me walking on my bridge and wasnât even looking down. I wasnât concerned about the step in front of meâŚthe condition of it. I just kept taking them. One and then another. Never looking down.
Then the tech came back in, told me I was all done, that I got an A+, and wished me the best.
I canât say that Iâm sitting here tonight in total peace (considering I started bawling while I was eating a piece of pie after dinner) or that I have perfected total trust. …Even with my moment with stillness and peace and my visualization of full trust in this journey. But I can say that I have a better understanding of it. I can say that I know I will be able to find that place again. I can say that the bridge is still treacherous and scary and the uncertainties ahead are vast, but also that I have a new space to crave. The quiet and the stillness.
âBe still and know that I am Godâ looks and feels different to me than ever before and when I catch a glimpse of it on my wrist or while Iâm walking down my stairsâŚI will learn to trust its depth.
Weird :: 9/22/18 :: Post 374
Iâm struggling to find the words to describe how I feel…
âWeirdâ is the only thing Iâve come up with so far and it seems to be the only consistent descriptor Iâve found.
My physical body hurts in odd ways…like an awful period (but that just doesnât make sense); a heaviness where there is actually a âlightnessâ; full when itâs actually empty.
Weird.
My emotions are low… Iâm sad. Iâm impatient. Iâm prickly like a porcupine. I feel blah. I feel edgy I feel like my nerve endings are all exposed.
My mental capacity feels sluggish…my head feels heavy, my thoughts laden. I donât feel sharp…
It might be that Iâm recovering from major surgery. It might be my body adjusting to a whole set of organs being removed. It might be my body freaking out because of a sudden hormonal imbalance.
It might be pure exhaustion.
It might just be weird for awhile.
A Priceless Gift :: 9/22/19 :: Post 737
Two years ago, in between the time of âyou have cancerâ and waking up from a 7-hour surgery without body parts, Chris had found that there was such a thing as a mastectomy tattoo. He found that an organization exists that provides these tattoos for free and matches artists with survivors. He found that women who had experienced breast cancer and had any type of surgery related to it, would use the art of tattoos to cover the scars. So, he mentioned all of this to me and thought maybe it would help me get through this huge first hurdle and give me something to think about and focus on.
And I did. I thought about it when I was awake in the middle of the nights during my recovery, in pain and desperately sad. I thought about it the day I got my head shaved. I thought about it during chemo when I was wishing for heaven. I thought about it during my daily radiation treatments, wondering if my skin would ever heal to the point of being able to handle a tattoo. I thought about it as I recovered from my first major reconstructive surgeryâŚ. I thought about art ideas and would dream about it from time to time. I thought about it but never really knew if I would actually ever get to see it to completion. Would I even live to get there? Would I make it? Would the surgeries work? Would chemo and radiation kill the cancer or would they kill me?
I remember asking Dr. Williams about it when we first met and he told me, âthatâs years away, dear girl, you have a lot to get through first.â Of course that was hard to hear, but it was really important that he told me that because in that moment, I was brought back into the reality that this was going to be a long journey and that I had no business getting too far ahead of myself because I wasnât there yet. It was a reminder that I didnât even know if the next day would exist. So, I had to hold the idea loosely. I couldnât commit to something that I didnât know would ever happen. I just had to wait and hope that someday I could look down and see a beautiful picture tell the story.
And then we did surgery. And chemo. And radiation. And reconstruction. And healing. And timeâŚ..âyears awayâ time.
A few months ago, I felt I was far enough down this road to at least look into the application process for the organization that Chris had mentioned to me at the beginning of all of this. I thought maybe, at the very least, I could talk to an artist and start getting ideas out there for what Iâd want this hugely meaningful and large piece to look like. Without having any idea what this part of the story was going to look like or feel like, I found the organizationâs website and realized that the application process was incredibly difficult and that I would be one of thousands of women who would be applying. And I lost hope. I knew I wasnât going to get chosen. I never win rafflesâŚ..like ever. So, I put my computer away that night. Discouraged. And sad.
Several days later, though, after talking with Chris, we decided that I was just going to go find an artist and pay them for the work. (I was so grateful that Chris was supportive of this next step even though it was going to be expensive.) That said, I knew the search was going to be daunting â I needed an artist who was good at big pieces, I needed an artist that had experience with extensive scarring, I needed an artist that was actually an artist so that they could design a piece for me using my story, I needed an artist that was reasonably priced so that this was actually doableâŚ.. This was a tall order, no doubt. And I wasnât sure if anyone existed that matched all those needs. Nonetheless, I started the search and I started with the list of tattoo professionals that this organization used to see if any of them were localâŚto my relief, one was. He worked out of a shop in Boulder but as I looked through the website, it was very obvious that he would not be available until 2020. So, I looked through the rest of the artists on the shops website and perused their profiles. There was one particular picture that stood out to me â it was a black and gray piece with a couple of roses in it. I was so drawn to it that I scrolled until I found who the artist was that created that piece. He only had an Instagram handle that I could message him on, so I did. I sent a short message about me and my story and I asked him what his rates were for both art production and the tattoo itselfâŚ.knowing it was likely going to be a pretty penny but willing to at least ask.
He messaged me back within the hour. âThank you so much for reaching out. I would love to do your tattoo and be part of that experience with you and I would like to do this piece for you free of charge. It wonât cost you anything.â
What?
Free?
For real?
This guy doesnât even know what I look like.
âŚâŚI want to remember everything about this as it is now in my rear-view mirror. I want to hold tightly to what Iâve learned. I want to live out the story of the scars, not gone but beautifully woven into a picture that is worth far more than words.
Each time Iâd show up at the shop, Iâd experience something new. The first time â I was struck by how different Albert was from what his picture portrayed. I thought Iâd meet this rough, life-worn guy who would be difficult to connect with, and instead, it is because this man is life-worn that his heart is goldâŚand conversation came easy. The next time, he was excited to show me his ideas and thrilled that I so easily picked oneâŚconfirming to both of us that we were meant to know each other for this time and for this purpose. The time after that, getting to see something start to materialize that for so long had only been a figment of my imagination yet having to patiently settle for a simple outline â what a metaphor for life. Then next, a rose, done. More waiting. More patience. More trusting heâd text me to set up the next time. Then another rose, done. And more waiting. And more patience. And more trusting that Iâd get a text from him. Finally, as Iâm driving to my last session with him, knowing this would be my last, my heart was full and it was heavy. Full of happy anticipation as my patience and faith in the process was being answered. Yet full of heaviness because the experience was about to become a memory. We laughed. We listened to fun music (from 90âs rap to chanting monks to Neil Diamond). We talked life and story and faith and fear. We sat in silence as he concentrated. We ate dinner together during much needed breaks.
We packed a lifetime of friendship into a few months and 20 some hoursâŚand I am forever changed â both on the outside and on the inside.
This process, from start to finish, has been intense. It has required patience and trust, vulnerability and courage. Iâve had to embrace a slowness as these things just donât happen overnight. I had to trust that this person would continue to show up, do quality work and finish what he started, especially because I wasnât paying him. I had to allow him to see the scars and a surgeonâs attempt at putting my body back together, and while his attempt was valiant, it isnât pretty. And I had to believe that he had my best interests at heart as he touched me and tattooed me, plunging needles full of ink into my fragile, radiated skin. And I had to do this all while holding the magnitude of the âwhyâ altogether.
âWell, I think itâs done.â He says. âAnd, amazingly, itâs just like I pictured in my headâŚ. What do you think?â
The tears streaming down my face were the only things talking. I didnât have words. I sobbed as my heart and body released all of the emotions that had culminatedâŚgoing back 2 years to diagnosis, making it through treatment, living in surviving, telling the storyâŚ. The gift that I was looking at wasnât just a tattoo. It wasnât just ink. It wasnât just Albertâs time and talent. It wasnât just a $5000 freebie.
What a gift. What an incredible, selfless, generous, lifelong, beyond-belief giftâŚ.