Semester Reflection Story

The semester started in the midst of August heat. Corn sweet tantalizing.  The sugars drifting through the air as the stalks bent and crinkled in the summer’s blowing.  Tomatoes rich red and deliciously dripping in mouth-watering tanginess.  Raspberries expanding with rivulets red and juicy.  And I was prepared.

I had gotten the courses organized, syllabi written, exams built. 

But I wasn't prepared. Truly, I wasn't.

The tolls of chemotherapy, double mastectomy, breast expanders, every three week Herceptin infusions, coupled with daily radiation therapy…. for the first 4 weeks of school… I struggled.  I struggled to be engaged and manage my courses well.  And while I was sequestered to Hope Lodge at Mayo Clinic I actually did.  Yet when I returned home the family expectations returned.  The farm beckoned.  The skin reddened and peeled sending spasmodic penetrating pain deep into my chest.  Sleep was scarce.  Lotions and creams, antibiotics and salves soothed the depressing distractions. Eventually the skin split and sloughed off and the breasts were left clean, pink, and healing.  A month later they even tolerated pressure from the mattress so that I could curl into blissful sleep.

Periodically they still spasm.  Tight, as though a rubber band were gripping them.  The edges of the expanders tender, digging into the chest.  Bruising the ribs and chest wall.  Painful with arm movement or lifting.  Oddly shaped and unfamiliar. Restrictive.  And the axillary cording shortening my extended arm movements.

But my work entails only punching letters on a computer.  I could complete it.  Albeit slow.  Mentally weary and chemo-fogged, it was hard to concentrate, communicate without ambiguity. It took me hours, hours to interact and provide constructive feedback.  Deeply cognizant that my students needed more than I ever received in graduate school.  They needed to learn, to be transformed, in their thinking from a nurse to a nurse practitioner. They needed to be prepared – their patients needed them to be prepared.

But the students beat me up. Left me broken. 

I’m feeling the un-met expectations of disappointment and frustration.  Or could it just be my expectations and my frustration?  But I am repulsed by the criticism and interference.  “Please, can someone, anyone, be supportive or positive?”  And so I plod on.  Grading, reading, evaluating, answering inane and repetitive emails.  If only students would read the information I had posted.  My time and energies are so limited.  The questions which really shouldn't be questions leech my resolve, my strength. Yet they require an answer.  And so my energies wane.  And my aspirations in teaching do as well. 

But I look fine.  My hair is growing; I’m gaining weight.  I laugh and plaster the smile on my face.  My voice is strong.  I can walk in heels again.  Is this what people with chronic disorders face?  Un-well inside but seemingly fine on the outside?  No grace or gentleness for expectations. 

Three weeks to go until the end of the semester.  And one week until I return to Mayo again.  Tests and infusions.  Exams and consultations.  Scheduling and hopes.  A tiny squeaking voice of unknowns, what ifs, and uncertainty.  Am I really almost done with this chapter? 

And Thanksgiving is upon us.  Eucharisteo. The perspective which makes sense 
in any season.  Remembering I Thessalonians 5:16-18 – giving thanks always, always.

 

Today’s Journey Joys: gingerbread cookie dough, an amazing video, warmth on a snowing day, cold metal mailbox filled with spring seeds of anticipation, toasty comfy blankets, chocolate chip, butterscotch, oatmeal and M&M cookies, shopping for scrumptious meal of farm raised turkey and pumpkin pie.

Six degrees and thankfulness

Six degrees. That's what the thermometer on the car read this morning as I zipped up our lane to meet the bus with Ally.  Six degrees.  It's not even Thanksgiving.  An inch of snow covers the gardens.  A few untamed remnants of crusty brown weeds (and seeds) poking their defiant heads above the cold white blanket.  These will eventually succumb to the winds, wet, and decay.

Seventy two.  That's what my indoor thermometer on the desk in the living room reads.  Toasty warm.  Snug as a bug.  Grateful that our outdoor wood burning furnace is puffing away....heating the water and keeping the house comfortable.

The house is quiet.  The hum of the refrigerator.  The creak of the house.  The wind of the heater blowing. The tick of the rocking chair as I glide back and forth.  But overall quiet.  The skies are wintry gray and the bare bone trees are shaking in the gusty breezes.  Few leaves remaining except the mulberry who clings to those last rust-colored crunchy remains.  Light snow blurs the horizon.

I have a pause.  A pause in the chaos which has been my life in the last month.

A welcomed, restful, quiet, peaceful pause.  Unexpected.  As if it snuck up on me without any warning. Sigh.

The perpetual drone of grading papers, answering emails, creating exams, interacting with students.... all activities which I have typically enjoyed.... has become arduous.  Laborious.  Students repeatedly complaining or asking questions which they already had access to the answers, if only they had read. Papers with the same mistakes over and over again in spite of my correction.  Plagiarizing. Scheduling and organizing student on-campus days.  Details.  Final clinical exams.  More details. Feeling criticized.  Regardless of preparation and input. Weary of pressing on.  My stress bucket is full.  I am eating poorly and not active or exercising.  I read, read, and read paper after paper after paper. Scrambling like a rodent on a wheel cage trying to catch up.

And then finally, I did.

The papers were graded.  The exams readied.  The evaluations posted.  The discussions interacted with. The face-to-face exams completed.  Only a few more phone evaluations and some weekly assignments before the semester is completed.  Whew!

And when I get a chance to breathe... like now.... I remember.  I remember that weariness is caused by treading without purpose or direction.  My focus nearsighted.... myopic.  Failing to recall the purpose of this trek.  Looking at the hurdles, the difficulties rather than gazing at the goal.

"One thing I have asked of the Lord, that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to inquire in his temple." (Psalm 24:4)

"Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you." (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18)

A heart of ungratefulness is a poison far worse than any physical ailment.  Without a heart, a life, of reflection on the grace and mercy of the Lord, life is wearisome.  Arduous.  Painful. Deeply hopeless. An ungrateful, un-thankful heart is a cancer waiting to spread its metastasizing, menacing, and malignant fingers into any and all nearby.

Oh, how I have failed to give thanks!

Eucharisteo.

Today's Journey Joys:  quiet restful reflective opportunities, washing machines for dirty ol' gloves and mittens, blue skies peeking through wintry cloud cover, outside cats all snuggled together on top of worn out pillows in the igloo, cleansers to scrub away the ring on the tub,  turtlenecks keeping my skinny little neck warm, students who have learned, opportunities to demonstrate grace and love, continued recovery from cancer.

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.

A recap of surgical memories

It's a foggy memory now.  Getting ready to travel to Mayo and somehow preparing for a surgery I knew would be life changing.  Farmer husband Gary following me around that morning with a camera wherever I went.  

Me and my fuzzy wuzzy hairs trying to get directions from Mapquest to my friend Kathy's home.

We were to travel to Kathy's home and meet her there since she was already 30 minutes going in the right direction.  Oh, Kathy... a caretaker and friend like none other.  She and I and her tired college nursing student daughter drove to Rochester that Sunday afternoon, now three weeks ago.  It was a pleasant quick journey.  Thank you dear friend! Again!

Throw a wig on right before we left and I looked quite different.  But the eyes and expression certainly communicate.... 

Kathy drove me to my pre-surgical appointments and waited during the long echocardiogram.... she drove me to the hospital in the morning and stayed with me until the staff sent her away.  She prayed with me and laughed with me and encouraged me. Even as I was getting on the elevator to go to the operating room, she slipped on the elevator with us and smiled the whole way.

I don't remember much else about the surgery and the day.  A lot of people asked a lot of questions.  The plastic surgeon came in and joked and smiled and drew all over me with pretty colors.  We jested about "the 5 minute mastectomy" since I had lost so much weight and I had no breasts or bottom left.  I recall he mentioned something about a "Brazilian butt lift".... but the details are not quite clear.  I was wheeled into the OR suite pretty quick after that and then asked to wiggle over to the table....which I recall as not quite as comfortable as the gurney I was previously in.  There had to be 7-10 people in there....all dressed in blue. The anesthesiologist said, "I'm going to give you some Fentanyl and....(I can't remember).... and I responded, "Well, that oughta do the trick." She replied, "Yeah, you won't remember much after this..." and in fact, I don't.  I only remember a feeling.... a surge of powerlessness.  "Take good care of me...."  "We will.... "

And the next thing I remember is being in the recovery room having difficulty opening my eyes.  I can still hear the beeps and see the lights and blips.  The sounds of people to and fro.  The surgeon coming in briefly and saying "There was no cancer in the breast....and the lymph nodes....well they looked ugly, but there was no cancer in them either."  And I slept.  With a smile.

When I was ready to go to my room, a young nurse accompanied me.  He was very kind and helpful.  After he and another nurse escorted me (walking!) to my comfortable bed, as he was leaving he looked at me and said, "I will be praying for you tonight."  What comforting words.  And more encouragement.

Kathy and her daughter Carrie stayed until quite late that evening....but I just kept falling asleep...well, and trying not to heave ( a little upset and nauseated tummy I'm afraid)....  but I rested and rested.  The night was interrupted with medications and assessments and apparently my heart rate kept going too low (40 or so) and so they called in the poor cardiac resident to check on me (I was fine).  And then morning came.

And so did Gary's dad and sister.  They brought beautiful flowers, fresh fruit, and warm and lovely words and prayers.  It was amazing to me that they would travel hours and hours to see me for so short of time.  My heart is filled by their love.

Lisa and Ralph the morning after my surgery.

I was discharged not long after that.  Kathy gently drove me to Carrie and Ray's where Carrie had gotten the recliner chair from downstairs all set up in the living room in case I wanted to watch TV or see outside.  It was grand.  And again I slept....

Eventually Kathy and Ray and Carrie and company all left for their respective cabins in northern Wisconsin (God's country).  And Debi, my dear friend became my caretaker and tummy filler. She drove all the way up by herself, did laundry, fed me, kept me company, laughed and cried with me..... for days.  At times I think my fragileness and discomfort overwhelmed her....the drains and dressing changes... a challenge. Yet she did a fabulous job.  And introduced me to smoothies.... how come I've never had one of these wonderful things before?  And she added protein powder in them to help me heal faster.

A week later, after several appointments and confirmation that the chemotherapy had indeed eliminated what could be seen in the post-surgical pathology slides, we drove home.  A long difficult journey for me as every bump seemed to be magnified. But we made it home around 8:30 in the evening.  And no one was there.  The family was at the chess club.  So I made my bed in my own Lazy Boy recliner and rested.... and rested.

I'm physically getting better.  The incisions are looking great.  The drain lines and dressings removed.  The process of tissue expansion underway.  And my hair is sort of coming in.... it's a brown color so far. Strange....I've been a dark blond my entire life....

Dalmatian and I.  The beginning of my hair coming in.

I don't feel right though.

"Why are you cast down O my soul and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my salvation and my God." (Psalm 42:5)

Today's Journey Joys: air conditioning on a super hot and humid summer day, fresh cucumbers from the field, gifts of love, Ally laughing, upcoming doctor visits, sharing of good news, prayers for new and old friends, Bryce's good prognosis, honey harvest coming up soon....

A Night With the River Bandits

Last evening, just over two weeks after my surgery, I accompanied Ally and Ben to a minor league baseball game.  (Farmer husband Gary met us there a little while later).  Every year or so our wonderful financial guy has a "client appreciation day" celebrated at the baseball park.  Hot dogs, barbequed chicken and pork, cole slaw, chocolate chip cookies, and soda pop were on the menu.  The kids stuffed their tummies full.  The day also included a ride on the new gigantic ferris wheel. Each "car" holds up to six people.  And the site over the Mississippi river is spectacular.

Ben and the River Bandit mascot

We went up on the huge ferris wheel at the park.  "Ah, I don't think this was a good idea..." Ben nervously laughs as the ferris wheel went higher and higher and his eyes got bigger and bigger.

Guess who we found at the park?  Our good friend Katy and her wonderful daughter Linda.  Ally snuggled right into Katy while the ferris wheel went round and round.  I think Katy was appreciative of the comfort.

Going up....  

Today's Journey Joys: friends who laugh and love, a fun filled time at the baseball park, more raspberries for breakfast, fresh cut grass, horse weed wacked down to size, Snowy sleeping in the hoop house, bees a buzzing

Glades and Growing

What a great year for growing.  The rains come at least weekly and the temperatures have been warm but not oppressive.  The corn is growing wildly; the potatoes fattening out.  I think I will dig a few up tomorrow (well, actually Farmer husband Gary will dig them up since I'm currently not supposed to do such things post surgery).  There's nothing like new potatoes.  Sweet, soft and flavorful.  Throw some fresh green beans, a savory onion on the side and any meat dish and what a feast!

I perused the farm today during a very slow careful walk.  Weeds everywhere and many would-be crops choking in their midst.  The beans and pumpkins which I planted before I left for surgery are growing nicely.  Raspberries filling and still more blooming.  The honey bees love them.  The onions are buried in purslane weed but somehow filling out and getting big.  Broccoli has started flowering.  And my neighbor graciously picked the few blueberries in the field for me.  A few sun flowers and zinneas are poking their heads out from their weed competitors.  And lastly, the hoophouse tomatoes and peppers need watering...their growth slow due to dehydration.  I think I've finally come to the realization:

I am not farming this year.

Unless I feel better and get stronger soon I will not be going to the farmers market either.

Parts of me are relieved.  Some of me is frustrated with the waste.  And some just wants to press on.

I am not farming this year.

I will put out the pumpkins in September and October (not me, but my super helpers).  Yet, I will not be farming.

But I am already planning.

I know.  I have a long way yet to go in this cancer road.  But I am currently standing.... actually resting in a glade with speckled sunlight, soft breezes, and aromatic flowers.  A place in my journey where I can breathe deeply.  Soak in the warmth and beauty of my surroundings and rest.  Rest.  Yes I know there is still a long journey ahead..... surgery, radiation, Herceptin infusions, testing, reconstruction.... but I find myself, in these past couple of days holding on to the possibility that I will complete this journey... and begin yet another.

It is not the end.

Today's Journey Joys:  ripe red raspberries, showers, taco pie, muscles that seem a little stronger, a little less painful.  Farmer husband Gary fixing the starter on the dump truck. Three more days until these surgical drains come out!

Amazing Grace

"Mommy, are you crying?" Ally asks me this morning as I'm attempting to find a comfortable place in the chair but feeling like a sack of emotions.

"Yes," I whimper as enormous droplets form in my eyes and cascade over my cheeks.  They land with a dulll splash on my ever-soggy pajamas.

"Why are you crying Mommy?" She gently comes over and places her puffy soft hands on my head, careful not to touch my chest or arms.

"Mommy is sad honey."  And Ally-girl hugs my head and caresses it with kisses.  The tears showering down from my eyes.

And logically it should not be.

Recovering at Carrie and Ray's - some of the most generous and gracious people on the planet.  First day, in many days I was able to get out in the sun.

The surgery was a grand success.  No residual cancer.  That means it was gone.  Vanished.  Not detectable. No lymph node involvement.  The five months of chemo was effective - even more than the oncologist had hoped.  The day before surgery she had prepared me for other outcomes by instilling hope that there were many options and treatments available yet to destroy this cancer.

And yet I cry.

Probably over tired. Haven't slept in a bed since the hospital.  The chair helps to sit me up so the bandages and swelling aren't so uncomfortable.  Yet, not the greatest position to be in all night. So I get restless.

And my heart aches being with Ally.  When I got home last evening she was apprehensive about touching me.  And her big heart was crying great big tears.  "Mommy I'm crying.  Why am I crying?"  She has been next to me all day.  Never far away.

And I have to tell them that I will be gone again.  One day next week, but many days in the upcoming weeks. My heart is sore just with the thought of being away from Farmer husband Gary, Ben and Ally-girl.

Yet, my heart is filled with hope. More treatment - infusions, another surgery, and radiation are in store - but I have been graciously given healing.  Amazing grace. Absolutely grace.  Thank you dear God. The journey has taken another bend....

Debi and I at Chester's in Rochester celebrating a morning of great news and great prognosis.

Journey Joys: red and ripe raspberries, blueberries, growing and growing summer squash (yikes, what was I thinking?), wounds that heal, a fabulous pathology report, a reknown and amazing medical center with fabulous providers, a body that heals, sunshine, birds singing, kittens playing and making me laugh.

The time has come

Tomorrow, my dear friend Kathy and I drive to Rochester.  It's a little hard for my mind and heart to embrace..... Tuesday I have surgery.  I've never had surgery before.  The closest thing to surgery was when they put my venous port in for the chemotherapy.  A strange experience.

I think I'm telling myself that the worst is over (chemo) and that the rest is doable.  But I also know myself and I do not like pain.  For some reason it seems to affect not just me physically but also emotionally, mentally, and spiritually.  And frankly, it is usually not for the better.  So I'm apprehensive.

The idea of surgically removing, what look to me, as perfectly good breasts is mind boggling.  But I know it must be done.  It is part of the process of getting better.  Oh to be better.

So think and pray for me this week please.

Peace.

Sense of God's presence and strength.

Successful surgery with meticulous and competent surgeons.

Family, who will be staying home....Ben, Ally and Farmer husband Gary.

Peace.

Thank you.

Today's Journey Joys:  picking up a couple ton of bricks (oh, I'm sore and tired!), hoophouses for a great deal, an amazing husband who works so hard and diligently - never complaining, children who laugh and love, baby kittens at play, showers - both inside and out, and rest.

Views from the farm

We have five new baby kittens!  This one Ally named "Dalmation" 

This little guy is named "Slippers".  He has a brother who looks almost identical whose name is "Boots".  

The Carola Gold potatoes are growing and flowering.  It will be an excellent potato crop this year!

The golden potatoes have a lovely yellow flower.  Our Norland Reds and Fingerlings have purple ones.

This long and frigid winter was hard on many bushes and plants.  Between last summer's drought and the winter's cold very few blueberry plants actually flowered this spring.  We will have no U-pick this year and no blueberries to take to the market.  In a way, it is a good year to rest, recuperate, and make reserves for next year's crop. I will not be in any shape to pick blueberries for a month given that surgery is one week away.

The garlic scapes are beautiful and scrumptious. I  collected about 400-500 of these this weekend.  I will be making garlic pesto and freezing.  The house will smell deliciously garlic.

Today's Journey Joys:  blueberries and black raspberries ripening, potatoes blooming, friend's coming to help me clean prior to surgery next week, finger nails healing, banana muffins fresh from the oven.

Ally and the Zoo

A couple of weeks ago now Ally and I went to our little local zoo.  Our friend Katie and her daughter joined us for the fun adventure.  It was a neat time sharing views of the beautiful animals.  I was having a relatively good morning, in the midst of chemotherapy.  But we stayed for just a couple of hours.  Katie paid for the train tour and the merry-go-round, which was a hit of course with Ally.  It was warm, bright and lovely.

Ally in front of the giraffe enclosure

Hello there.

Couldn't capture a picture with her eyes opened....

I didn't have the strength at the end of our morning to lift Ally girl.  But Katie was up to the task!

It's kind of a goofy picture.  We were sitting on the little train together and I snapped this shot about a foot from her.  It does capture my girl's never ending sense of adventure and fun!

Today's Journey Joys: remembering adventures at the zoo during chemo, Katie - our new friend,  the wonder of beautiful animals, strawberries coming out my ears, potatoes growing and flowering, a beautiful full row of raspberries, and did I mention?  Three weeks since the last chemo treatment!  And getting stronger....Yippee!

Sister and Weeds

"A weed is a plant that has mastered every survival skill except how to grow in long rows." (Doug Larson)

The 2000 onions I painstakingly planted this spring were being lost to the weeds.  My wheel cultivator did a great job between the rows, but between the plants and next to the plants, lamb's quarter, velvet weed, creeping charlie, purslane, bindweed, and purple clover were gobbling up the nutrients, water, and sunlight these onions needed to grow.

Cindy, my dear sister, came down from Madison for a weekend of weed pulling, chatting, and loving on my daughter Ally.  In the photo, she (we?) are almost finished with the onions.  Only took us about 10 hours!  Behind the onions are the potatoes ready for their third hilling.  Farmer husband Gary saw some nasty Colorado potato beetles devouring some of the Norland Dark Reds.  So quick as a bunny, I made up some spinosad spray (organic OMRI approved) and got rid of those nasties.

Later that same day Cindy begin the hard task of reclaiming my neglected red raspberries.  I was only able to weed about a third of them this spring.  Those 1/3 look fabulous and are starting to put on fruit.  The rest need light and air and space in which to flourish. So dig, yank, scrape, pull and twist out those weeds.....

And then we were off to the strawberries.  After many hours of work digging and pulling, we got about a third of next year's strawberries weeded. If my fingers heal from this perpetual painful nail bed infection, I hope to get in there and finish the weeding. I was just so thrilled to still see some plants surviving.  What a blessing!

Today's Journey Joys:  making strawberry jam from fresh strawberries in our garden, the pitter-patter of light rain, driver's education and practice for son Ben, dear wonderful friends, and a gracious giving and amazing sister.