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  Here the prickly thorns have been replaced by cockle burrs and poison ivy...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.