A friend posted the following Scripture on Facebook earlier this week (thanks Amy) and I've been holding on to it for the past few days:
Isaiah 30:21 "Whether you turn to the right or to the left you will hear a voice behind you saying, 'This is the way, walk in it'."
In this time of information-gathering and just listening, I've been waiting to hear that Voice. There have been a lot of voices lately but I'm seeking the peace to move forward, as my mom so wisely encouraged me to do. My husband is faithfully and patiently accompanying me to any and every person I can think of to ask or seek advice from since being diagnosed with invasive ductal carcinoma (breast cancer) earlier this month. This last week has truly been a roller coaster as I've visited a Naturopath, a surgeon, a Naprapath and have shot off a number of emails to other people I wanted to hear from in regards to their treatment and experience.
I've been devastated after sitting in offices where health care professionals discuss their treatment plans that include chemotherapy, radiation and mastectomy. I've been hopeful while sitting with natural medicine practitioners who have seen the healing power of foods, supplements, exercise and a positive attitude. (All things that I am currently utilizing).
If I am honest, and I've promised to be honest, it scares me to think about having chemo and introducing more toxins into my body. It seems so counterintuitive to subject myself to that. I've had chemotherapy before and know it is a treatment that is very difficult on the body.
On the flip side, the thought of not going through chemotherapy scares me. It is standard medical treatment and in some respects I think people would consider me crazy for not following medical advise. So, chemo, scary; no chemo, scary.
Then there's the topic of surgery. I've had so many surgeries in my lifetime. The idea of another surgery is unwelcome to say the least. In the course of the many discussions I've had and things I've read, the surgery aspect of the proposed medical treatment is a preventative measure in hopes of reducing the risk for recurrence. From anything I've read or from what I understand cancer can't simply be "cut out" anyway.
So there you have it. I'm wrestling with all of the voices that continue to speak their truth to me. The medical doctor's speaking from what they understand and the natural care professionals speaking from what they understand. Everyone I've encountered seemed well-intentioned and concerned.
"Whether you turn to the right or to the left, you will hear a Voice behind you saying, 'This is the way, walk in it'." I'm waiting to hear THAT Voice.
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Choose Peace
I started writing this last June and decided to pick it up and finish it today...I was feeling overwhelmed then and while I have the opportunity to feel overwhelmed today, I reflect on the lessons I've learned and choose a different response. I've formatted the entries from last year in bold for distinction.
After my mom was diagnosed with cancer and she and my father calmly chose to manage the disease with diet, exercise and a natural healing protocol I was at a loss. Any part of my experience with cancer has been to, as quickly as possible, get to an oncologist and get the chemotherapy ball rolling and schedule any surgeries that may be necessary while you're at it. My parents did not take such action and I was dumbfounded. It felt like I was going to have to learn to really let go and begin the process of saying goodbye.
Since that time I have seen my mother's determination and discipline to follow a strict diet and live a consistently active life. We have seen reports of cancer counts diminishing (to almost 0 at last count!) and have viewed scan results to show the mass drastically decreased. It has been a journey of not only wellness, but of faith.
When you or someone you love is dealt a life-changing blow it can wreak havoc with your emotions. Your world is in upheaval and you question everything...But this time was different. My parents responded with such serenity and clarity and calm that I found the storm of my emotions diminishing to match. I realized that in some respects I was even working myself up because I thought, "your mother has cancer, why aren't you more upset ALL THE TIME?!" But as I made my way through the difficult first months after her diagnosis I came to a stark realization:
Just because there is drama in my life does not mean I need to respond dramatically.
Drumming up emotion because it seemed like the appropriate response to a situation didn't make sense. If the waters of my emotions were tranquil and calm why was I trying to stir them up? So I chose and do choose peace, as my parents have.
Now it is I facing an unwelcome diagnosis. I am choosing peace on a daily, sometimes hourly, basis; following the path of serenity my parents have laid before me. My journey down this path may be different than what it has been for them but I am weighing my options for medical care, treatment, etc and remain calm while I consider all information. I am using natural means of addressing the cancer immediately while waiting to meet with specialists/surgeons at University of Chicago next week and the naturopath at Northwestern's Integrative Health tomorrow. No matter what I learn at these appointments I have determined not to make a decision based on fear. As my mother has instructed me from the very start of this process, "You need to go where the peace is."
"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit." Romans 15:13.
After my mom was diagnosed with cancer and she and my father calmly chose to manage the disease with diet, exercise and a natural healing protocol I was at a loss. Any part of my experience with cancer has been to, as quickly as possible, get to an oncologist and get the chemotherapy ball rolling and schedule any surgeries that may be necessary while you're at it. My parents did not take such action and I was dumbfounded. It felt like I was going to have to learn to really let go and begin the process of saying goodbye.
Since that time I have seen my mother's determination and discipline to follow a strict diet and live a consistently active life. We have seen reports of cancer counts diminishing (to almost 0 at last count!) and have viewed scan results to show the mass drastically decreased. It has been a journey of not only wellness, but of faith.
When you or someone you love is dealt a life-changing blow it can wreak havoc with your emotions. Your world is in upheaval and you question everything...But this time was different. My parents responded with such serenity and clarity and calm that I found the storm of my emotions diminishing to match. I realized that in some respects I was even working myself up because I thought, "your mother has cancer, why aren't you more upset ALL THE TIME?!" But as I made my way through the difficult first months after her diagnosis I came to a stark realization:
Just because there is drama in my life does not mean I need to respond dramatically.
Drumming up emotion because it seemed like the appropriate response to a situation didn't make sense. If the waters of my emotions were tranquil and calm why was I trying to stir them up? So I chose and do choose peace, as my parents have.
Now it is I facing an unwelcome diagnosis. I am choosing peace on a daily, sometimes hourly, basis; following the path of serenity my parents have laid before me. My journey down this path may be different than what it has been for them but I am weighing my options for medical care, treatment, etc and remain calm while I consider all information. I am using natural means of addressing the cancer immediately while waiting to meet with specialists/surgeons at University of Chicago next week and the naturopath at Northwestern's Integrative Health tomorrow. No matter what I learn at these appointments I have determined not to make a decision based on fear. As my mother has instructed me from the very start of this process, "You need to go where the peace is."
"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit." Romans 15:13.
Sunday, February 15, 2015
Weak and Strong in the Deep End
Pete and I were talking in the car on our way to see the surgeon on Thursday afternoon. We were going over the questions we wanted to ask, what (little) we already knew about breast cancer in general and etc.
"I need to tell you something," I said.
He was ready to listen.
"Depending on how this goes I may go off the deep end. If I do, just let me dive. I'll dive down deep but then I'll resurface shortly to get a nice deep breath and be fine after that. But I need the deep end and I need my time down deep. If I spend too much time down there, I'll need you to grab me up out of there however you can...I give you permission to shake me or slap my face [like in the movies :p], whatever it takes..."
The visit to the surgeon went as well as a visit to the surgeon goes to discuss treatment options you'd rather not have to decide upon regarding a cancer you'd rather not have, if it were up to you. As we sat there I had all my questions written out (thank you Val Piazza for prepping me on what to ask!) The doctor said that clearly I was "integrated" and was of sound mind, not overly emotional, and able to hear what he was saying. He validated Pete's presence, as it often takes more than one set of ears to take away the full message a doctor is sending in this type of situation.
So Pete and I left there with this information:
The tumor is an invasive ductal carcinoma, grade 2, triple negative.
Options from a surgical standpoint would be lumpectomy with referral for chemotherapy and radiation or mastectomy with referral for chemotherapy.
For those unfamiliar with breast cancer, as I was for the most part, I'll explain, from my limited knowledge...
The tumor is first identified as ductal or lobular. Simply put, "ductal" is a cancer that starts in the milk-ducts and "lobular" is a cancer that starts in the milk-producing glands (lobules).
Secondly, the tumor is graded 1, 2 or 3. A tissue sample graded a "1" means that the sample still looks mostly normal, and a grade of "3" means the sample looks mostly abnormal.
Finally they test the sample for "receptors". A tumor is typically receptive (it grows in response) to the hormones estrogen and progesterone or a protein called human epidural growth factor receptor (Her2/neu). A very small percentage of breast cancers prove to be a triple negative where the tumor is not found to be receptive to any of the above. A majority of breast cancers are estrogen and progesterone positive, a small percentage is Her2 positive and an even smaller percentage is found to be triple negative. While Her2 positive tends to be a more aggressive type of cancer, treatment is more easily targeted lending to better outcomes than in a triple negative tumor.
I didn't take a dive that day. We both left the office feeling "okay" and truly just thankful for some answers and clarification as to what exactly we are dealing with. I didn't bother to look over the copy of the report the doctor had given at my request that night. The next day, however, I poured over it and compared it with my mother's report from a year earlier (different doctor, different type of report). It was then that I noticed that my report said something different than what the doctor had told us in his office. I was confused (again) and texted a picture of the report to Val (thanks again, Val!) for confirmation that I was not reading it wrong. She confirmed that indeed I was not reading it wrong. I determined that first thing Monday morning I would be calling the surgeon's office for further clarification.
But I didn't have to wait that long. He called me on Saturday morning to explain he had been looking over my report and found his error. He wanted to be certain to correct this information with me. He also wondered if the second opinion I had scheduled at the University of Chicago at the end of the month could possibly be moved up at all. I assured him I would look into it.
I had the final word as to the tumor's receptor: Her2 positive.
That was the doctor's final word on the subject, but ultimately, I know Who has the final word in every aspect of my life, and my trust remains in Him. Acts 17:28 says, "In Him we live and move and have our being."
With a couple of days behind me, time to think and rethink, to actually take in and allow myself to feel and connect to all of the information given to me in the past week... Today was my day to take the dive. I didn't go off the deep end to leave my family and faith behind, I just needed some time in my bed, under the covers to let it out. The nervousness, the sadness, the questions...they all were there, down deep. Pete sat beside me ready with a hug, a nudge, a well-played sarcastic comment and just his presence, silent support.
I swam around down there a little bit but it didn't take me long to resurface and breath deeply again. Because even down deep God's presence and promises were there. "And He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me...For when I am weak, then am I strong." 2 Corinthians 12:9-10.
"I need to tell you something," I said.
He was ready to listen.
"Depending on how this goes I may go off the deep end. If I do, just let me dive. I'll dive down deep but then I'll resurface shortly to get a nice deep breath and be fine after that. But I need the deep end and I need my time down deep. If I spend too much time down there, I'll need you to grab me up out of there however you can...I give you permission to shake me or slap my face [like in the movies :p], whatever it takes..."
The visit to the surgeon went as well as a visit to the surgeon goes to discuss treatment options you'd rather not have to decide upon regarding a cancer you'd rather not have, if it were up to you. As we sat there I had all my questions written out (thank you Val Piazza for prepping me on what to ask!) The doctor said that clearly I was "integrated" and was of sound mind, not overly emotional, and able to hear what he was saying. He validated Pete's presence, as it often takes more than one set of ears to take away the full message a doctor is sending in this type of situation.
So Pete and I left there with this information:
The tumor is an invasive ductal carcinoma, grade 2, triple negative.
Options from a surgical standpoint would be lumpectomy with referral for chemotherapy and radiation or mastectomy with referral for chemotherapy.
For those unfamiliar with breast cancer, as I was for the most part, I'll explain, from my limited knowledge...
The tumor is first identified as ductal or lobular. Simply put, "ductal" is a cancer that starts in the milk-ducts and "lobular" is a cancer that starts in the milk-producing glands (lobules).
Secondly, the tumor is graded 1, 2 or 3. A tissue sample graded a "1" means that the sample still looks mostly normal, and a grade of "3" means the sample looks mostly abnormal.
Finally they test the sample for "receptors". A tumor is typically receptive (it grows in response) to the hormones estrogen and progesterone or a protein called human epidural growth factor receptor (Her2/neu). A very small percentage of breast cancers prove to be a triple negative where the tumor is not found to be receptive to any of the above. A majority of breast cancers are estrogen and progesterone positive, a small percentage is Her2 positive and an even smaller percentage is found to be triple negative. While Her2 positive tends to be a more aggressive type of cancer, treatment is more easily targeted lending to better outcomes than in a triple negative tumor.
I didn't take a dive that day. We both left the office feeling "okay" and truly just thankful for some answers and clarification as to what exactly we are dealing with. I didn't bother to look over the copy of the report the doctor had given at my request that night. The next day, however, I poured over it and compared it with my mother's report from a year earlier (different doctor, different type of report). It was then that I noticed that my report said something different than what the doctor had told us in his office. I was confused (again) and texted a picture of the report to Val (thanks again, Val!) for confirmation that I was not reading it wrong. She confirmed that indeed I was not reading it wrong. I determined that first thing Monday morning I would be calling the surgeon's office for further clarification.
But I didn't have to wait that long. He called me on Saturday morning to explain he had been looking over my report and found his error. He wanted to be certain to correct this information with me. He also wondered if the second opinion I had scheduled at the University of Chicago at the end of the month could possibly be moved up at all. I assured him I would look into it.
I had the final word as to the tumor's receptor: Her2 positive.
That was the doctor's final word on the subject, but ultimately, I know Who has the final word in every aspect of my life, and my trust remains in Him. Acts 17:28 says, "In Him we live and move and have our being."
With a couple of days behind me, time to think and rethink, to actually take in and allow myself to feel and connect to all of the information given to me in the past week... Today was my day to take the dive. I didn't go off the deep end to leave my family and faith behind, I just needed some time in my bed, under the covers to let it out. The nervousness, the sadness, the questions...they all were there, down deep. Pete sat beside me ready with a hug, a nudge, a well-played sarcastic comment and just his presence, silent support.
I swam around down there a little bit but it didn't take me long to resurface and breath deeply again. Because even down deep God's presence and promises were there. "And He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me...For when I am weak, then am I strong." 2 Corinthians 12:9-10.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
Let it Be
"Let it be". Those were the first words I heard in my head after hanging up with the doctor today.
"I just spoke with the pathologist and it's not good news," he had said.
And so it was that I was told this afternoon at about 1:31 p.m. that I have breast cancer.
I've been singing the Beatles song in my head since then. With the phrase and the song running through my mind I decided it might be interesting to look up the story behind the song. Apparently Paul McCartney was going through an anxious time in his life. One night he had a dream in which his mother, Mary, appeared to him to help calm him. She had died 10 years earlier of cancer. "Let it be" were her words of comfort.
"I just spoke with the pathologist and it's not good news," he had said.
And so it was that I was told this afternoon at about 1:31 p.m. that I have breast cancer.
I've been singing the Beatles song in my head since then. With the phrase and the song running through my mind I decided it might be interesting to look up the story behind the song. Apparently Paul McCartney was going through an anxious time in his life. One night he had a dream in which his mother, Mary, appeared to him to help calm him. She had died 10 years earlier of cancer. "Let it be" were her words of comfort.
"Let it be", in the first half of the song, means to relax, let go, don't worry about your troubles, accept the bad things that happen.
I'm still in shock and not so sure I can simply relax right now. I know there is much more information that needs to be gathered. We don't know the type or the stage of the cancer. We hope to learn more very soon so we can begin to make decisions for care and treatment.
Even after reading the story behind the song, I still wondered "why the phrase 'let it be'?" I tried to think of anywhere else I may have heard that phrase and came up with the following scripture:
Even after reading the story behind the song, I still wondered "why the phrase 'let it be'?" I tried to think of anywhere else I may have heard that phrase and came up with the following scripture:
Luke 1:35-38 (NASB)
35 The angel answered and said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; and for that reason the holy Child shall be called the Son of God. 36 And behold, even your relative Elizabeth has also conceived a son in her old age; and she who was called barren is now in her sixth month. 37 For nothing will be impossible with God.” 38 And Mary said, “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be done to me according to your word.” And the angel departed from her.
Mary, in faith, declared to the angel Gabriel "let it be done to me according to your word." She was a willing servant of God. Bearing another baby boy would be a welcomed and joyous task compared to what lies before me. But when I looked at this verse again and considered it for myself, it was not "let it be" that stood out like a neon sign, it was the phrase: "For NOTHING will be impossible with God."
35 The angel answered and said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; and for that reason the holy Child shall be called the Son of God. 36 And behold, even your relative Elizabeth has also conceived a son in her old age; and she who was called barren is now in her sixth month. 37 For nothing will be impossible with God.” 38 And Mary said, “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be done to me according to your word.” And the angel departed from her.
Mary, in faith, declared to the angel Gabriel "let it be done to me according to your word." She was a willing servant of God. Bearing another baby boy would be a welcomed and joyous task compared to what lies before me. But when I looked at this verse again and considered it for myself, it was not "let it be" that stood out like a neon sign, it was the phrase: "For NOTHING will be impossible with God."
THAT is what I needed to hear. Yes, "let it be", remain calm, don't be anxious. But even more so, at this moment, "Nothing will be impossible with God." I keep reminding myself of this truth as I consider my 4 small children, my husband, my house, my two jobs...it seems overwhelming in and of itself but to add cancer to that mix feels "impossible". Yet I know that with God all things are possible. I will rest in that tonight.
I want to thank you for all of the prayers and support you've given me so early on in this process. I deeply appreciate all of the care and concern that has been shown me. Please keep praying, especially for wisdom as we move forward, receive more information and are faced with decisions for my care. Blessings and peace be yours.
Monday, February 9, 2015
The Night Before
So, here it is. The night before...or at least it was when I started writing.
Do you ever have trouble sleeping "the night before'? The night before the first day on the job. The night before the big game. The night before vacation! The night before Christmas. The night before the important interview. The night before the test.
That's the one. For me tonight, it's the night before the test, exam, "procedure". I'll be having a breast biopsy in 12 hours and I can't sleep. There have been so many thoughts and emotions swirling around inside of me for the last week or two that I can't even see straight. I'm not sure what to think or feel. I'm having trouble getting to sleep. I need to lay it all out here.
In July of 1991 I was in the same situation. The night before the biopsy of my left femur at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota is a night I'm not likely to ever forget. We hadn't called ahead for reservations so we found a little hotel room (or was it motel) just outside of Rochester. My parents and I were crammed into a tiny room with a king bed. The front desk personnel hauled in a cot for me (which at just 5' 3" I was still too long for!) and my mom made it up for me. This was not acceptable to me and I pitched a good fit about it.
That night, showering before bed, something snapped or broke in me. I wept, or wailed, or sobbed. It came from the very depths of me and poured out of my eyes and was vocalized through my cries. I was grieving and I could feel it at the very core of my being. I've never felt anything quite like it before or since. It was as though my spirit, my very soul knew the blow I would be dealt the following day and the difficult journey I was about to embark upon.
When I finally emerged from the bathroom, my mother was crying too. She and my father prayed over me, spoke to me and comforted me as only loving parents can do and I did not sleep on the cot that night.
Now, all is cancer talk, I want to be clear that I haven't been diagnosed with anything at this point. The procedure that I will have tomorrow will identify the lump/mass/calcification that was discovered just over a month ago. But as I'm facing a biopsy and "possible" diagnosis, it's no wonder that I'm reflecting on a previous biopsy and its results.
My world is quite different today in 2015. I'm no longer a teenager, no longer in school. I am married to a loving and generous man, and I have my four little boys that I miraculously birthed over the last 5 years. Those boys are miracles because most of my chemotherapy drugs reported infertility as a side effect. Praise God for His grace and gifts!
Not only do I have a family of my own these days but I also have, what I consider to be, a successful career. I work away from home part time which has afforded me the blessing of more time with my children. (Time at home can be more stressful than being at the office or out visiting patients, but in the same respect that is time I wouldn't trade for anything!) My office is the place where I see clients for counseling. I enjoy my private practice and am passionate about the work I do there.
My "day job" is working for a home care agency as a medical social worker. I don't work for just any home care agency, but for a member of the national Home Care Elite. That means we are among the top 25% home care agencies in the whole US of A. It is important work I do there and I have a great team to work with. I am quite thankful for my employment opportunities.
It was actually just a year ago now that my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer and I wrote my "POV" post on my Mediterranean Experiment blog (which has now been merged with this blog) to express how I was feeling at the time. Let me just say that has been quite a journey in and of itself this last year. This journey was made especially interesting since she chose to follow a holistic regimen rather than seek conventional treatment. She's been doing very well and her cancer count is WAY down, almost at 0.
And now it is me going through the process of trying to get some answers for myself with two unidentified lumps to be biopsied tomorrow. I've been struggling with this so far since the last time I had a biopsy it was cancer...that doesn't inspire confidence.
My friend Kristi was praying with me earlier this week about all of this and she used the phrase "girls grown tall" when stressing during her prayer just how much we need our heavenly Father in and for everything. A vision of myself as a little girl with long hair and wearing a sundress was stuck in my mind. I could see myself hugging our Father around the waist and looking up into His face which was as bright and warming as the sun. In the same instant I saw myself as I am now, with all the weight of responsibility and knowledge, just as needy and vulnerable as my six year old self. As I contemplated that image throughout the day I wrote a poem that I've shared on Facebook and will share here as well. I could see my child AND adult self doing all of the things mentioned in the poem. Ultimately what I realized was that to our heavenly Father I am ALWAYS a little girl in need of His guidance and care-things he readily and steadily provides. It was a very reassuring and comforting epiphany for me. Funny that the realization of how vulnerable I am led to feelings of peace. But it's only because of the awareness of our Father's constant presence, caring and provision that there is comfort and peace.
Little Girls Grown Tall by Sarah Fenlon Falk
We twirl and play, dance and sing, dream of a wedding and engagement ring.
We are just little girls grown tall after all.
When we want to be heard we yell and shout, trying to get hard feelings out.
We are just little girls grown tall after all.
We cry out loud, throw ourselves on the bed, look for a strong shoulder on which to rest our head.
We are just little girls grown tall after all.
We stomp our feet when we want our way, for others to listen to what we say.
We are just little girls grown tall after all.
And when we've completed a job well-done, we hope to receive a bit of praise, not much but some.
We are just little girls grown tall after all.
And when we're afraid or feeling so small, we draw close to our Father who to us is so tall.
We wrap our arms around His waist, turn our eyes to look up at His face.
"Father, please help me," is all we can say, in our most helpless, vulnerable, little girl way.
His presence alone calms the nerviest nerve and His embrace overwhelms with love undeserved.
"My precious child," He says so gently, "I am always with you, I hear your every call.
For you are my little girl, just grown tall after all."
I wanted to write these things down for myself, my own encouragement and remembrance, but also in hopes that they might encourage others.
During my cancer experience my theme Bible verse was from Jeremiah 29:11:
" 'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord. 'Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans for hope and a future.' "
At this point in my journey, with all that I am facing at this moment and whatever the future may hold the promise of His presence is now my theme. Hebrews 13:5:
"...for He Himself said, 'I will never leave you, nor will I ever forsake you.' "
That amazing promise is on my heart and mind this "night before" and it is what I hold to. Now, for some sleep...
Do you ever have trouble sleeping "the night before'? The night before the first day on the job. The night before the big game. The night before vacation! The night before Christmas. The night before the important interview. The night before the test.
That's the one. For me tonight, it's the night before the test, exam, "procedure". I'll be having a breast biopsy in 12 hours and I can't sleep. There have been so many thoughts and emotions swirling around inside of me for the last week or two that I can't even see straight. I'm not sure what to think or feel. I'm having trouble getting to sleep. I need to lay it all out here.
In July of 1991 I was in the same situation. The night before the biopsy of my left femur at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota is a night I'm not likely to ever forget. We hadn't called ahead for reservations so we found a little hotel room (or was it motel) just outside of Rochester. My parents and I were crammed into a tiny room with a king bed. The front desk personnel hauled in a cot for me (which at just 5' 3" I was still too long for!) and my mom made it up for me. This was not acceptable to me and I pitched a good fit about it.
That night, showering before bed, something snapped or broke in me. I wept, or wailed, or sobbed. It came from the very depths of me and poured out of my eyes and was vocalized through my cries. I was grieving and I could feel it at the very core of my being. I've never felt anything quite like it before or since. It was as though my spirit, my very soul knew the blow I would be dealt the following day and the difficult journey I was about to embark upon.
When I finally emerged from the bathroom, my mother was crying too. She and my father prayed over me, spoke to me and comforted me as only loving parents can do and I did not sleep on the cot that night.
Now, all is cancer talk, I want to be clear that I haven't been diagnosed with anything at this point. The procedure that I will have tomorrow will identify the lump/mass/calcification that was discovered just over a month ago. But as I'm facing a biopsy and "possible" diagnosis, it's no wonder that I'm reflecting on a previous biopsy and its results.
My world is quite different today in 2015. I'm no longer a teenager, no longer in school. I am married to a loving and generous man, and I have my four little boys that I miraculously birthed over the last 5 years. Those boys are miracles because most of my chemotherapy drugs reported infertility as a side effect. Praise God for His grace and gifts!
Not only do I have a family of my own these days but I also have, what I consider to be, a successful career. I work away from home part time which has afforded me the blessing of more time with my children. (Time at home can be more stressful than being at the office or out visiting patients, but in the same respect that is time I wouldn't trade for anything!) My office is the place where I see clients for counseling. I enjoy my private practice and am passionate about the work I do there.
My "day job" is working for a home care agency as a medical social worker. I don't work for just any home care agency, but for a member of the national Home Care Elite. That means we are among the top 25% home care agencies in the whole US of A. It is important work I do there and I have a great team to work with. I am quite thankful for my employment opportunities.
It was actually just a year ago now that my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer and I wrote my "POV" post on my Mediterranean Experiment blog (which has now been merged with this blog) to express how I was feeling at the time. Let me just say that has been quite a journey in and of itself this last year. This journey was made especially interesting since she chose to follow a holistic regimen rather than seek conventional treatment. She's been doing very well and her cancer count is WAY down, almost at 0.
And now it is me going through the process of trying to get some answers for myself with two unidentified lumps to be biopsied tomorrow. I've been struggling with this so far since the last time I had a biopsy it was cancer...that doesn't inspire confidence.
My friend Kristi was praying with me earlier this week about all of this and she used the phrase "girls grown tall" when stressing during her prayer just how much we need our heavenly Father in and for everything. A vision of myself as a little girl with long hair and wearing a sundress was stuck in my mind. I could see myself hugging our Father around the waist and looking up into His face which was as bright and warming as the sun. In the same instant I saw myself as I am now, with all the weight of responsibility and knowledge, just as needy and vulnerable as my six year old self. As I contemplated that image throughout the day I wrote a poem that I've shared on Facebook and will share here as well. I could see my child AND adult self doing all of the things mentioned in the poem. Ultimately what I realized was that to our heavenly Father I am ALWAYS a little girl in need of His guidance and care-things he readily and steadily provides. It was a very reassuring and comforting epiphany for me. Funny that the realization of how vulnerable I am led to feelings of peace. But it's only because of the awareness of our Father's constant presence, caring and provision that there is comfort and peace.
Little Girls Grown Tall by Sarah Fenlon Falk
We twirl and play, dance and sing, dream of a wedding and engagement ring.
We are just little girls grown tall after all.
When we want to be heard we yell and shout, trying to get hard feelings out.
We are just little girls grown tall after all.
We cry out loud, throw ourselves on the bed, look for a strong shoulder on which to rest our head.
We are just little girls grown tall after all.
We stomp our feet when we want our way, for others to listen to what we say.
We are just little girls grown tall after all.
And when we've completed a job well-done, we hope to receive a bit of praise, not much but some.
We are just little girls grown tall after all.
And when we're afraid or feeling so small, we draw close to our Father who to us is so tall.
We wrap our arms around His waist, turn our eyes to look up at His face.
"Father, please help me," is all we can say, in our most helpless, vulnerable, little girl way.
His presence alone calms the nerviest nerve and His embrace overwhelms with love undeserved.
"My precious child," He says so gently, "I am always with you, I hear your every call.
For you are my little girl, just grown tall after all."
I wanted to write these things down for myself, my own encouragement and remembrance, but also in hopes that they might encourage others.
During my cancer experience my theme Bible verse was from Jeremiah 29:11:
" 'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord. 'Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans for hope and a future.' "
At this point in my journey, with all that I am facing at this moment and whatever the future may hold the promise of His presence is now my theme. Hebrews 13:5:
"...for He Himself said, 'I will never leave you, nor will I ever forsake you.' "
That amazing promise is on my heart and mind this "night before" and it is what I hold to. Now, for some sleep...
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