The Precipice

It's a steep path going down.  It bends and winds.  Bordered by remnants of prickly wild brush.  The rose hips shrunken, brown, and scarce. But once started there is no return.

The bottom promises a brief respite yet the goal is far off and deeply engraved in still another climb.

I've been standing, or rather fidgeting, at the precipice.  Battling between escapism and promise of a difficult journey.  Waiting.  Confessing that I am a poor wait-er.  But making preparations nonetheless.

The farm lies resting under the white cold.  Mounds of deeply mulched garlic causing sand dune-like drifts in the snow.  The hoop house is  motionless and gray, reflective of the sky.  All is quiescent.  Resting.  Blue jays cry in the sky.  The soaring bald one effortlessly glides.  Blueberry bushes buried.  Horse weed seed nourishing the sparrows.  Our bees clustered.

The port was inserted yesterday.

It is time.

Time to start down the Road.  Of chemotherapy, biological agents, steroids, antihistamines and tummy medicine.  Of surgery, recovery, radiation, and more biological agents.  Of relying.  Of obvious vulnerability.
Holding on to the One who goes with me.  Who goes before me.  And is behind me.

Today's Journey Joys: tumbling dryers, lavender pasta and grilled chicken, moist warmer winter day, wounds that heal, ports which make access easier, a quiet day of rest and solitude, faithful Words, grace... oh, for grace.

The last cleaning hurrah!

The Road took a bend on November 7, 2013.  It was then that the routine mammogram turned into a diagnostic one, followed by an ultrasound, followed by a rather unpleasant biopsy.  On November 11th I contacted my friend who happens to be my primary physician and asked, as is customary, "How are you?"  Her response, although not unexpected, was not what I wanted to hear.  "Better than you are," she kindly responded.

Now over two months later and many procedures and tests to determine the extent of the disease it is clear that the ER/PR positive and HER2/neu positive breast cancer needed attending to.  The wonderful folks at Mayo strongly recommended neoadjuvant (before surgery) therapy due to a new promising drug and regimen recently approved by the FDA for neoadjuvant therapy in breast cancers like mine.  But getting "sick" around the holidays is a scheduling nightmare... and so finally the day has arrived.

Tommorow, at 8:15 am I am scheduled to have my port placed.  Tuesday I start the "systemic therapy".

But today... well today I'm cleaning. The cold gray skies look grayer than they should.  Something about dust and dirt on window panes.  The only bathroom in our small humble abode needs scrubbing from the ceiling to the floor. It's even a day to attack the dreaded medicine cabinet.  Ha!  Out with you dirt and grime!  So scrub, scrape, rinse, sweep, mop, declutter, replace, toss out....ah...oops.... the nail trimmer went down the drain.... "Honey???"

Apparently I will be kind of sore tomorrow after the port placement and then for several days thereafter.  And I am supposed to take it "easy".  No overhead reaching or strenuous exercise.  Can't wash the ceiling without doing that - A perfect reason then to clean like crazy today.

It helps distract my mind from anxious thoughts.  And perhaps I will be very tired... to sleep when bedtime arrives....

"Have no anxiety about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.  And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus." (Philippians 4:6-7) 

Today's Journey Joys: Shiny white tile, blow dry window insulation, red-bellied woodpecker on suet, school in session, quiet thoughts, sparkling sink, blueberry tea, and cuddling girl.

Chemotherapy Education

I couldn't sleep.  The pillow needed adjusting; the blankets were too high; my shoulders were creaking.  Yet it was very dark still.  The stars glimmered against the now still white snow.  4 am.  The soft breathing of the children's resting stirred.  An occasional "drip...drip" - the faucet?  The humidifier?

I finally crawled out of bed at 5:30 succumbing to the early morning insomnia.  A dull throbbing sensation rhythmically affecting my brain as if low in hydration or withdrawal from caffeine.  "Oh, I need a cup of coffee!"  I moan.  My bare toes touch the tile on the bathroom floor. Brrrrr chilly. The outside thermometer reading -6 degrees.  But still. No bitterly cold whipping winds to sting the face.

Today I have an appointment.  It is one of the "required" educational appointments I need in order to discuss the systemic regimen I will be starting next week. I am strangely nervous.  But Farmer Husband graciously attaches the oil pan heater to the gray Corolla before he leaves and then bundles up and heads off into the darkness and cold for an early morning appointment.  A shower, breakfast, and a quick look in at my students in my online class.  And then off to the appointment.

Sheila B., the nurse practitioner greets me in the patient room.  She is friendly, to the point, but gentle.  She covers the information well and allows me to interrupt.  She smiles when I start acting like a health care clinician.  She reminds me that I am the patient... that the priority must be centered on my care and needs....those of mother, professor, clinician...they are back burners.  That I must take care of me in order to continue caring and loving those dearest to me.  My mind understands that logic but my heart rebels.  To be vulnerable like this is oddly disconcerting.  The hardest part?  Asking others for help. Of greatest concern: How do I get two children to school (and back) 17 miles in different directions - one on a bus; one driven typically by me?  Sheila explains that I will be tired after 5 hours of chemotherapy and additional medications.  I will not be allowed to drive home... at least the first day.  How do I get there every week and get home?

I sign papers, pick up a folder of information, make future laboratory test appointments and leave the oncology office.  The receptionist ladies are wonderful and helpful.  I feel welcomed and cared for.

Educated today.  A great beginning.  The experiential to follow.

Today's Journey Joys: cars that start in subzero temperatures, warm homes, pizza in the oven, Snowy, our white cat, with frost on his eye brows, peach tea.

New Paths

It was a few weeks before Christmas 2013 when I asked our astronomy friend and engineer, "Al, would you be willing to take a few family pictures of us with that amazing camera of yours?"  He was enthusiastic and very willing.  We met at the John Deere Pavilion on a cold wintry and windy December.  The Pavilion was warm and, as always, filled with amazing John Deere equipment - from monster tractors and combines to tree processors.  Yellow and green and heavy metal everywhere.  Some festive white lights on the Christmas tree at the main entrance.

We stood in front of and beside almost every piece of equipment.  I don't even remember what the background of this photo was.  Some huge industrial green machine with many large black hydraulic hoses and engine.

Ben has gotten tall.  Ally is a young lady.  And Farmer Husband Gary and I are more "seasoned".  It is good to capture this moment in our lives.

Farmer Husband Gary mentions in an inconsequential manner, "Yeah, we needed a family photo before Chris lost all her hair..." For awhile the comment does not register with our friend.... or at least he does not question it.  But after what seemed a bazillion shots and poses, Farmer Husband slows down his walking while the children and I proceed to the exit.  "Chris has breast cancer.  Sure do appreciate you taking our picture."

So here we are.  A new journey.  A path through prickly thorns and brambles.  But I can see it. The path, that is.  It has been traveled before.  Visions of hope, struggle, vulnerability, and some uncertainty.  I've only just begun.  The last two months have seen mammograms, MRIs, CT scans, blood work, four more biopsies, an echocardiogram, and visits to Mayo. Now, after two months I will begin the first incline on this long unexpected journey.  Next week a port placement and then five days later the "medicine" which is supposed to stop the malignancy from growing, will begin.  A divergent path.  "Ah, really.... can we stick to the one I was on?"  Yet, the assurance of the One.  Emmanuel. God with us, is ever present. "No... but I am with you....regardless... always."

"Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed for I am your God.  I will strengthen you. I will help you.  I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." (Isaiah 41:10)

Today's Journey Joys: crunchy white snow, warm cozy home, sun shining through pale blue winter skies, school vacations, a plan, homemade chicken noodle soup, friends more amazing than I could hope for.

Clinging to....

"Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer." (Romans 12:12)

Lazy Days of Summer

The rain came in buckets, rumbles and fireworks.  Two glorious, delicious, cool and sustaining inches of summer rain accompanied by wind.  The cracks opened up to capture every drop.  Ohhh, so grateful.  





  



Today's Journey Joy - Abundant harvests, resting in the sun, buzz of the honey bee, tom turkeys, sweeeeet corn

Summer's Heat

My pores open.  Hot salty fluid emerges as my shirt and pants cling to my skin.  Less than five minutes in this summer furnace and I am sweatin' like a horse. The thermometer reads 94 degrees but the weatherman says it feels like 105+.  The sky is cloudless yet hazy.  Long sought after rain is not forthcoming.  Quenching, refreshing, and cooling.  But always north and always passing.  It's been longer than five weeks since any measurable precipitation.  And I continue to pray. Please Lord, bring the rain. The land is parched.... crackled.  The grass finally succumbing to the crunch of dehydration.  Even the bees do not fly.  They are overwhelmed with cooling the hive so their babies do not die. 

First planting of sweet corn with ears long and ready to fill out, but they need rain.



Dry but protected from raccoons.

The sunflowers and zinnias somehow manage to smile. And I smile back.  The giant sunflowers have yet to reach their heights but the small cut-able ones have just begun.  I planted them along side the broccoli, peppers, and cucumbers.  They are pretty and they calm my farmer concerns.  Blooming inspite of an empty reservior.  When will it rain?

For the most part many of the crops have been using the deep ground water filled from the persistent cold rains of this spring. At the time I found myself wishing for a close of the sky's water.... not anymore.  One to two inches of rain for a couple of weeks would be life-sustaining for the pumpkins, melons, second and third plantings of sweet corn and the blueberries.  I have been filling the "water buffalo" (A 250 gallon container Farmer Husband strapped to a wagon) but it is overwhelming.  Hours after soaking the plants the ground returns to its leathery wrinkled appearance.



Wilting under the heat even after being watered.

Many crops are ready for harvest.  I've taken garlic scapes, purple and yellow beans, monster-sized onions, blueberries, zucchini and yellow summer squash to the markets.  More onions are ready, potatoes can be started, and the garlic bulbs can be dug and cured.  But it is too hot....
 

Rocambole and music garlic ready for harvest


And life on the farm continues to bring surprises.  Farmer Husband recently taught me to shoot a shot gun.  My dad gave me this double-barrel shot gun - actually he gave it to our son, but he's a bit young.  The gun was my grandfather's.  But I had never used one before.  A clever and sly fox was the motivation for learning.  The fox has brazingly taken over a dozen of our free-range chickens - four of them our new chocolate colored laying hens.  The first time I saw him I cornered him in the chicken yard and attempted to club him with a big stick (it was all I had).  Scared him, but he was back in an hour for two more.  

Strange, this protection drive.  I never like killing animals.  I don't hunt.  Although I do enjoy fishing (when was the last time I did that???).  So this emotion to protect my chickens struck me as odd and out of character.  If anyone knows how to get rid of a fox without killing it let me know.  The traps are too big for him as he stands about 20 inches at the shoulder.



Farmer Chris learning to shoot. (yes, I did put my hearing protection on).  Struck the target well each time - Farmer Husband Gary said, "Glad you're on my side!"

Journey Joys - air conditioning, plants still green, chickens in a safe yard, the smell of ripening sweet corn.