The Folding-Closed of Summer

"So Chris, are you back to normal yet?" My friend Steve, who himself is recovering from pancreatic cancer surgery, inquires over a comforting meal of beef stroganoff and apple cider. The question stimulates a reflective moment.  "Normal?" "No, I'm not back to normal.  I don't think that 'normal' will ever return."  "Perhaps this, whatever this is, is the new normal."

My mind is not as quick, my body easily aching and tiring, and my emotions less controlled. I tear up easily.  I laugh easily. I am drawn to beauty, to color, to depth and texture.  I relish tasty food and an energetic brisk walk.  By 8:30 I am exhausted and by 4:30 I am awake.  My hot flashes are as numerous as they were before tamoxifen, but now they are hotter and longer...often ending up in a puddle of moisture.

And I smile.  Smile more.

 Yes, I'm still receiving Herceptin infusions every three week.  They aren't the "bad" chemo though.  I only feel a little nausea and a little more tired for a week or so. ...

And I ponder worrisome-ly... how long does it take to know the cancer is gone?  Before one can embrace the hope of a future here? Here among my family and friends?  To rest in the vision of continued life with my Farmer husband and teen aged children? Or is this part of the journey only a rest, a plateau, before more and greater hard roads await?

If....if.....if the Road turns to cancer again..... I know and am peacefully resting in the experience and knowledge that the Lord God walks with me.  He has faithfully journeyed with me through this past year.  Close and palpable.  Leaving me strengthened and comforted during the hardest climbs and deepest valleys. And I have tasted Heaven during this journey.  Remarkable.  A glimpse and a longing...... overwhelmed and speechless.

Today's Journey Joys - sunshine over autumnal trees, bees scurrying for one more taste of nectar, raspberries still blooming and ripening, the blaze of pumpkins, speckled squash, applesauce bubbly, blueberry syrup, and seed and nursery catalogs.

Weary and Rest

The skin became taunt, rhubarb red... and the pain was troublesome and wearisome.  Amela, my wonderful PA in Plastics said, "I want to see you."  But I convinced her that maybe we could do this over the phone and email with photos rather than have me drive 4.5 hours for a 10 minute visit. So a photo or two of my poor, poor breast was sent.  (Puts a whole new meaning to the term "selfie", eh?). 

After Hibiclens soaps, Silvadene cream, Damore and Aquafor ointments and Bactrim oral antibiotics, all began to heal.  The tight skin cracked and peeled.  And miraculously underneath nice healthy looking skin without infection or pain was revealed.  I am thankful for soft clothes and the new ability to sleep on either side at night.  Resting better now that I am able to get comfortable.  Such a blessing sleep is.

I'm still tired, but less so.  Most of the weariness is mental I think.  Teaching this semester has been difficult and challenging for me.  I am running out of energy to help some of my struggling students. There are about a handful which drain my reserves of patience and encouragement.  And I know they have their own story to walk.  That my presence in their journey is but a small one.  But I take joy in my teaching and guiding students to think on a more complex yet logical level and to make conclusions. In health care education it is called "diagnostic reasoning".  I am thrilled when the "ah-ha!" moments arrive and suddenly the student grasps the significance of the puzzle of evidence.  But some students seem to not be able to make the transition from simplistic fact ordering of information to the higher level of thinking required in making medical diagnoses.  I have tried.  Tried numerous techniques and teaching-learning styles available in an online environment.  I have called and set conferences in hopes of identifying the disconnect which appears to be prevalent in those that wrestle with the hierarchy of details. And it is draining. Case studies, professional visual scenarios and examinations, and discussion postings related to data mining in a patient encounter.... it doesn't seem to help in these cases.  But perhaps I am left without energy because I do not have the energy to begin with.

I want to rest and reflect more deeply. To soak healing into my weary bones and being.

But the tyranny of the urgent, the pressing daily chores, the quickly arriving winter push me to keep working on so many things which seem so very unimportant.  But yet oh so necessary.  

Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. (Matthew 11:28)

Today's Journey Joys: super soft camisoles, warm flannel shirts and sheets, toasty outdoor wood furnace, late fall honey harvest of buttery goldenrod, apple pie with crumbly topping, fresh raspberries on spring mix lettuce greens, brave, determined and gentle-hearted son who runs and then cheers his teammates, Homecoming dance, an experience of worship in the presence of the King during church this evening - a taste of heaven.  Makes me long dearly for Heaven.

Recovering

I am tired.

Shooting intermittent, unanticipated, and unpredictable pain grabs my left chest area and axilla.....as though someone were pouring burning hot water on the skin.  It only lasts seconds.  Takes my breath away.  And I moan...grimace.

It happens more at night. Perhaps my positioning makes the nerves more susceptible to whatever stimulation is causing the hot and penetrating sensation.  And so I do not sleep. Not well anyway. Oh.... so tired.

My chest wall is bright red with splotchy areas of peeling skin.  Some areas have infected areas which ooze a sticky yellowish fluid which then dries on my ever-so-soft camisole.  But then when I take the camisole off, the skin peels with it and then bleeds.

This is not what I expected to happen after my radiation was done.  During perhaps; but not after.

I'm pretty sure this is not what is supposed to be happening.  Not desired. Yet nevertheless, I continue to gently rub the Damore and Aquafor creams on in the hope that they will heal the skin more rapidly.  I placed an email to my plastic surgeon who apparently sent some medicine into the pharmacy.  I'll have to get it tomorrow after I drop Ben off at school.  They are closed now.  I'll pick up some of those non-adhering dressings as well so that my skin won't keep getting damaged.

Today's Journey Joys:  Safe and pleasant drive to work (2.5 hours away), good connections with colleagues, Katy who picked up and cared for kids, sun slides of light through clouds, warm homes on a cool evening in early autumn.

What I'd like to do now that radiation is done.....

• Snuggle and read a book with Ally. Go for nice walks hand in hand.
• Take Ben out to Whitey’s for his favorite amazing chocolate, marshmallow, Butterfinger shake concoction.
• Go out to dinner with Gary.  Just the two of us all dressed up.
• Clean the kitchen. That means the lazy Susan cupboard too!
• Buy two wardrobes for our “bedroom”. Get our clothes in there.
• Whack down the weeds in the hoop house.  And clean the hoop house out.
• Plant beets, carrots, lettuce, and spinach in the hoop house for the fall and early winter.
• Whack down all the weeds around and outside the hoop house.
• Harvest the potatoes and onions, pumpkins and squash.
• Make blueberry syrup and jelly.
• Make raspberry jelly and jam.
• Make wild grape and Concord grape jelly.
• Make dinner.  Monthly or weekly menu planning.  Eat healthy.
• Exercise every day – 2 to 4 miles of walking (in my fashionable and comfortable new Asics 2000s).
• Get old carpeting for the blueberries and lay them in the field for mulch and weed prevention.
• Help Gary chop wood for the winter.
• Write a journal article on this breast cancer journey.
• Re-caulk the bathroom tub.  Scrape and paint the ceiling.
• Clean the chicken coop (OK, I don’t want to do this but it should be done anyway).
• Clean off the front porch. Make a sitting, resting, meditating area.
• Make flower boxes for the chicken coop. One big one under all the windows and one small one by the door. Dream about cascading flowers and variegated foliage.
• Install a large fenced in chicken range attached to the chicken coop.
• Dream about flowers and vegetables for next year’s market.  (What a pleasant activity!)
• Make every Friday night “Family Night” – pizza, popcorn, movie or game night with the whole family. Laugh and love more.
• Make dinners with Ben and Ally.  Involved them in the kitchen.  Teach them to follow and create recipes.
• Write a book.  1 Thess 5:16-18 and all that I have and am learning…. Rejoice, give thanks, pray.
• Memorize scripture.  Start or join a bible study.
• Meet and love on my girlfriends – Kathy, Katy, Debi, Teri, Stacy, Terese, and more. 
• See if there are professional opportunities in oncology offices.
• Ministry in the “women and child center” or…?
• Rest more, love more, reflect more, be more. 
• Learn how to make a pie crust.
• Find and be thankful for one thing in everyone I meet that is praiseworthy and true.
• Make my bed.

The Tolling of the Bell

Ring out! 

Ring this bell

 Three times well

 The toll to clearly say

My treatments are done

Its course is done

 And I am on my way!

The radiation "machine" which zapped me 25 times over 5 weeks.  The whole things pivots and turns.

My pink hat on and I'm resting my arms in a form mold made on the first day of the "simulation".  I eventually will also have goggles on for watching my breathing and holding my breath during the treatments and a blue "cold" plastic-like cover called a breast mold placed on me.  But modesty prevented me from having my photo taken in that "get up".

I'm done!
  I rang that bell like I was on board my ol' Navy ship.  Loud and sharp.  And we all cheered...Katy and I and the 25 folks in the waiting room.....thrilled to be done.

Dear Katy came the whole 250+ miles to be with me while I rang the bell.  It was such a special time with her being there.  Words can not express the gratitude and tremendous joy I felt.  An unexpected sojourner and dear friend in life's journey.

Today's Journey Joys: Katy - truly an unforeseen friend when I started this cancer journey. Now I don't know what I would have done without her.  A God-send indeed. "Thank You Lord for the many dear friends who have walked with me, supported, laughed, and cried, prayed and rejoiced with me.  You are faithful!"

Bodily Sensations

The nauseous achy jolting uneasiness shivers through my tummy.  It's not nausea per se.  Not like I want to hurl or any other such undignified action.  But it comes in waves...has been for several days.  Sometimes I am hungry and other times the thought of eating, eating anything, exacerbates the sensation. The scale continues to stay the same: 126 pounds.  "Eat!" they say.  "Rest!" they say. "Exercise!" they say.  And I try.

My muscles seem weary today.  A stiffness and weakness not felt since my icky-chemo days.  Yet my young radiation oncology doctor says, "Persevere with exercise if you can."  And so I do.  I will my old-feeling body to enjoy the beautiful walking paths around Silver Lake with the Canadian geese honking in preparation for their flight south.  The golden rod, purple asters, and rudbeckia all in glorious bloom.  The apples falling from their burdened branches.  The grapes turning.  Four miles later I will the leg muscles to take the short flight of stairs to my quiet and solitary room while the sweat beads on my forehead and my legs wobble to the chair.  I have walked this trek everyday this week and several times each week while I've been here - eager to remain healthy, to regain strength, to increase in stamina.  And tomorrow it rains.  And how grateful I am that I will not be able to walk those four miles in a thunderstorm.  That I will have to rest instead.

The time at the Hope Lodge and at Mayo Clinic getting radiation has been therapeutic to my soul.  It is quiet.  Not quiet like my farm, but quiet without endless conversations.  Quiet without perpetual needs and obligations.  Quiet without many responsibilities.  And so I think, meditate, question, answer and rejoice.  And I never want to lose this clarity of soul-sight. The contemplative peace of resurrection truths and timelessness of eternity.

Today's Journey Joys: clear blue skies, pesto on linguine, eagerness to journey home for a long weekend, skin maintaining integrity with just a little pinkness, good books, and wonderful understanding colleagues

Blooming in Understanding

I know....  I know.  

I haven't written.  

I found myself too overwhelmed. Spinning.  Unfocused.  

 Yet, the flowers bloom...

I have left the Valley.  And am beginning an ascent.  Here the prickly thorns have been replaced by cockle burrs and poison ivy... the side effects of which do not become apparent until later.

For you see, I've started radiation therapy.

And am away from my family.

Nonetheless, I am blessed by the gracious mercy of new friends on this journey (Carrie and Ray!) who have invited me to rest in their home while I eagerly wait for the Hope Lodge to have an opening.  The wait is said to be seven to ten days.  Today is day eight.  And although I do not wish to leave from this home of peace, quiet, and comfort, I know that living temporarily at the lodge will be convenient for radiation, Herceptin, and provider appointments.  Indeed, I will be among others on this cancer journey.  Those who have trekked long and hard. Who are walking the cancer treatment Road with hope.

I am also blessed by Katy who has essentially adopted Ally-girl for two weeks.  And Ally loves her. What a joy this brings to my mothering soul, especially while I am away.

But before I started last week, I went to my family reunion in Wisconsin.  I haven't been to the reunion in several years.  And Bryce was there.  He was between chemo treatment and surgery - gaining strength. Not knowing how extensive the bone cancer had traveled.  Not knowing whether his left forearm would be spared removal.  But brave and hopeful. As any eight year old could be with cancer.

We touched heads. His bald and smooth.  Mine, with little hairs growing and soft.  And together, we both wore baseball caps.  The badge of the hurting yet persevering.

My amazing niece Michelle, who is holding on tightly in her journey of mothering a child with Ewing's sarcoma, cried together with me.  Her experience deeply impacting, deeply emotionally, and painfully moving.  How does one care for a boy... a boy doing the hard of life so early?

Michelle and me at Uncle Marv's Family Reunion

I have been thinking.... a lot.  Focusing on the purpose of existence.  The wonder of it all.

I am not asking questions of why.  "Why is this happening?"  For I have discovered that the questions of why are not helpful.  "Why?" pretends to make meaning in my suffering.  Not that there is no meaning, but rather, the meaning is unclear to me.  This opaqueness, this unclarity of meaning, does not leave me in despair though.  On the contrary, I have discovered and am surrounded by others who travel painful journeys.  Co-journeyers, if you will.  I did not comprehend this before in such magnitude.  At times, our journeys intersect.  We walk together. Sometimes we recognize the pain in our fellow sojourner.   And in that recognition my vision clears. I see the pain, the raw emotion, the heart.   And instead of running or building walls, I have the privilege of coming closer.  To hold hands or to encourage or to simply be present.  Not that I am always able to do so.   My strength these past weeks has been feeble. My emotions disjointed, pendulum-like.  Yet I grow and experience the closeness of God inspite of it.

My questions are "How?" "How do I walk this hard grace, this severe mercy, well?  And still I return to "Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in everything."  These instructions for doing God's will have grown in me an understanding.  A deepening awareness of His purpose and plan. My prayer is that this understanding will result in a beautiful bloom come the end.