Growing Old(er) Rocks

It's that thankful time of year again.

There seem to be a lot of places nowadays that have slips of paper for folks to write our reasons for thankfulness. Mine is always the same:

My good health (insert hand-drawn heart here)

But I think I will change that to: The blessing of growing old.

I am rarely on Facebook (my hubs is actually on my account more than I am), but a few weeks back I spied someone who posted: I'm not ready to grow old.

They are in their late 20s. My thoughts often come out of my fingers (can you tell?) and I could not stop my fingers from writing:

You know, after surviving the big c, I found myself real-deal giddy when I turned 40. I feel confident that I will feel even more gleeful as each decade passes, if the Lord wills it. Growing old rocks.

Another awesome cancer chick chimed in after me that she totally got this sentiment. Bring on the wrinkles, creaky bones and silver hair.

Thank you, God, for allowing me some time on this earth. Thank you for allowing me to age and think thoughts about my husband's retirement. Help me live each day fully. I'm excited to look Jesus in the face but I'm also excited to grow these girls up!

Other People's Storms

Today as I was finishing up my shift at my great new job (I'm calling it my second favorite paid gig ever because it's stress-free and puts me in my daughters' school), a friend in her 20s came by for a visit. She had just heard some news about a dear friend, and wanted some advice on how to deal with it.

"Cancer?" I guessed, feeling my nose apprehensively wrinkle. She nodded and said there was lymph node involvement. I asked if her friend was young.

"No, she's not. She's in her early 40s," she said.

(Ha, ha. I just turned 40 myself this year.)

She said that her response to her friend's news had been terrible, but I assured her that acting sincere and interested had been the best response when I was immersed in that world. (There are people who watched me go through cancer and have still never acknowledged it. This blows my mind, but that's a different blog post.)

I told my friend that she was welcome to pass on my contact info to her newly-diagnosed friend - I am happy to offer any insight I can. Truly one of the greatest blessings was being able to talk turkey with other cancer chicks in the first days of my own news.

"Two are better than one, Because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, one will lift up his companion. But woe to him who is alone when he falls, for he has no one to help him up."  Ecclesiastes 4:9-10

Earlier in the day, I had received word from a dear friend that a mutual friend was at the hospital with her elderly husband, who had suffered a heart attack. When I called this feisty woman, I was not surprised that she did not answer; I left her a voice mail message that I love both she and her husband and that they would be in my prayers.

I wish I had more to offer than that. Ever since going through my own completely unexpected whirlwind, I have found that I have fewer words of encouragement to speak instead of more. This last year I have personally known two terrific people my age to die completely unexpectedly (not from cancer) and known others to weather their own health/marriage/family/job maelstroms.

I think that's why I've been so silent on this blog for nearly a year (but it hasn't been for want of trying: There are 23 blog entries in my draft folder)! Nearly three years ago, God held my hand through every drop of storm - but wow, there were days when everything was not OK. Everything was not turning out all right. I went from knowing God to knowing God and it was marvelously terrifying and deeply humbling. Reflecting on that has quieted my words.

Tomorrow a friend goes in to surgery to try and correct hideous pain she's been experiencing since her initial cancer-related surgeries three years ago. Her doctor isn't sure it will work or not. My only words are these: God has got this, friend.

Watching My Words

A friend who is a barista at a drive-through java joint told me over the weekend that it makes her go bonkers when people want to emotionally dump on her during the 2 minutes they are waiting for their coffee. 

"Just tell me what you want to drink - I am not a counseling service!" she said.

Thusly, after I ordered my drink this morning, I gave her a toothy grin and threw out: 

"So I just need to tell you how my marriage is falling apart!" 

Her face froze for a second and then she saw my grin and remembered our conversation. I immediately realized what a marvelously stupid thing that was to say. God has abundantly blessed me - profoundly, deliciously, incredibly - with an amazing husband. What a reckless way for me to honor that blessing, especially when marital strife is the source of a tremendous amount of pain for many, many people. It is its own horrific catastrophe, and requires the same amount of superhuman grace that I received last year during mine.

(When my friend handed me my drink, she paid me a sweet compliment by saying she would know the world was ending if she heard me say those words for real about my hubby and me. Amen, sister!)

Last weekend I learned that one of the women who helped us in the first weeks of my breast cancer diagnosis - an active woman in her 40s with kids at home - has herself been diagnosed with breast cancer. I don't know her well - she doesn't live in the same town - yet she showed us sincere kindness and offered a heartfelt hug in January 2012. I'm scheduled to bring her a meal this Friday, and my prayer this week is that God will provide earnest words of encouragement that will make her feel stronger.

"Don’t use foul or abusive language. Let everything you say be good and helpful, so that your words will be an encouragement to those who hear them." Ephesians 4:29

Because let me tell you, dear peeps - it is vastly better to say something instead of nothing. If you know someone well enough to know their name and speak a couple of sentences to them: Acknowledge that you care about their catastrophe. Use simple words and few sentences. If you think this person is having a hard time dealing or you might use stupid words (like I did this morning), put it in a card, note or email. It is terrifying to feel like your news is so bad That It Must Not Be Acknowledged In Any Way.

This January marks two years since my initial operation to get that cancerous tumor out. We are planning a trek to somewhere warm again. We are still paying off our cancer bills, and have opted to defer some routine house maintenance stuff so we can go. I know which one makes for infinitely better family memories, that's for darn sure.

The secret of content

Isn't this photo lovely? It was just made public. We girls attended this wedding on July 1. We were approached by the photographer, who said one of the groom's family had asked for our photo.

As I look at this captured moment, my brain is flooded with thoughts.

On this day, Bella was one day from turning 5 years old. 
Kate has my eyes.
Did the person who requested the photo want a picture of me in case I kick it?
Doggone, it's nice to have hair again.
Thank you, Jesus, that I am alive right now.

A couple of weeks ago, I negotiated a deal to stop Googling "triple negative breast cancer." Or "recurrence rates," "cancer of the spine" or "brain cancer." I go through spells where I cannot seem to consume enough information about What The Future Might Hold For Me. I told my husband I was going to make my c-word media blackout last a week.

"How about you make it a month," he asked with a grin. It was a pact.

When I look at a photo like this, I feel such a wave of thanksgiving that I am overwhelmed with how God has profoundly blessed me and our family. Whether the cancer ever comes back or not. Isn't that crazy cool?

"I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength." Philippians 4:12-13

Although my daily prayer is for a long life with these girlies and my handsome hubs, I'm so glad to know that Jesus is the secret of contentedness. I frequently miss the mark in thought and deed, but I'm really glad to know where I should be looking.

This Friday I'll be checking in with my oncologist - part of the Full Meal Cancer Deal is that you get to see your cancer doc and surgeon twice a year each for a while. However, like I said to my husband a few nights ago: "How great not to be driving to Anchorage once a week for chemo, huh? Seriously! How great is THAT?!!"

Pretty marvelous indeed.

How can it get any worse?

Last week at the girls' soccer practices, another mom lamented to me about how she and her husband had to replace the roof of a house they are trying to sell in the Lower 48.

"It's the worst!!!" she seethed, and she meant it. "I mean, really: how can it get any worse? Why don't you just go out and hit my car in the parking lot?"

It's ironic that she would say that to me, because a few weeks ago I was involved in a fender bender that was absolutely 100 percent my fault. It resulted in a broken taillight to a man's truck and a hefty dent for me. I was very apprehensive that he was going to come unglued. I offered a heartfelt apology, and then emphatically restated it.

Then he told me: "Stop. This is not worthy of you or me being upset. This is a little thing. And I know what a big thing is."

Before he had the chance to say anything else, I said I understood - I had gone through cancer treatment last year and I got what he was saying. He agreed with me - he said I did seem to know what he meant. Then he offered: "I lost an adult son just more than a decade ago myself, so I also get what big things are. This little accident is nothing - don't let it ruin your day."

"The unfolding of your words gives light; it gives understanding to the simple." Psalm 119:130

Suddenly the broken taillight and the big dent were peanuts. In a few moments, this yucky situation was upended in to being a blessing. No one had been hurt. No one was dead. No was was battling cancer, or making a running list of songs in her iphone to be played at her memorial service. And doggone, I was getting schooled in remembering that.

Back at the soccer field, I actually considered taking this woman up on her offer to give her a big juicy dent in her car. After my own recent fender bender experience, I had plenty of answers to her rhetorical question: How can it get any worse?

You could get cancer.
Or your husband could get cancer.
Or one of your kids could die.

I am certain that if presented with these other options, this mother would have agreed with me 1000 percent. However, I remained silent as the mom vented. I'm not sure if it's possible to wholly understand how easy it is for these alternatives to happen until you've lived it. To the rest of the world, options like that sound like mean-spirited hyperbole.

I'll also confess: I remained quiet because I hate the idea of being known as the woman with the sweeping violin crescendo following her everywhere she goes. She had cancer and watch out - she will relate it to everything in her life.

God has a purpose for everything - He seriously and really does. Although I hated going through last year, I love the delicious dose of perspective it has allowed me. Erasing cancer and the related experiences from my brain minimizes what God is trying to do through and because of it.

The man and the taillight? At the scene we agreed it was likely going to cost a few hundred bucks because of the damage. He called a week later and said he was able to find another, and he and his buddy installed it. Could I write him a check for $50?

It seemed like a tiny price to pay for the valuable reminder I'd been given.

Still looking good

MRI results are back. The wonderful words "unchanged," "nonaggressive" and "appears benign" were on it. Thank you, Lord! My oncologist said more scans are in my future, but so it goes.

Broccoli, swiss chard, leaf lettuce - oh my!

"Kale, broccoli, swiss chard, leaf lettuce - wow," the grocery clerk/store manager said as each item rolled by on the conveyer belt. "You eat HEALTHY. I'm impressed!"

I handed her my cloth bags for carryout and said dryly, "Yeah, well, I went through breast cancer last year and sheese louise, there's nothing like that to make you eat healthy so you can be a lean, mean, cancer-fighting machine."

When she gaped at me I thought, "Uh oh." Sometimes the C-word can be little touchy. I opened up my mouth with the full intent of babbling to mask the silence. Instead she filled it by saying that she herself had battled cancer.

We cancer chicks are everywhere.

"I even needed a port," she said, drawing her shirt down an inch to reveal the collar bone scar many of us cancer chicks share. Without realizing my hand was doing it, I felt myself tug down my own shirt a fraction, and exclaim: "ME, TOO!!!"

While writing my check, I told her that before I was diagnosed with cancer, I had always wondered if I would be one of those people who looked at God and said, "Why me??!!" when confronted with that kind of Code Red Circumstance. But instead, I said, the year was so profoundly full of blessing for me and my family that it never occurred to me that I should question my circumstances. We were so well loved and provided for in some really unexpected ways.

(I will tell you plainly that when we were wondering whether our daughter could be ill, that blessing seemed a lot more remote, but God's provision was still sharply, even painfully, evident.)

I looked up from my check. Her eyes were full of tears, and she was clutching my cloth bags to her chest. All my groceries had been bagged in plastic thanks to the bag boy (more for the stash), and that's OK! I get her response. Going through last year made me feel the most vulnerable of my life.

This last weekend, we climbed a bit of Mt. Marathon. I kept marveling out loud to my hubby at how my body was even capable of making that kind of a hike. One year ago today, I was just shy of four weeks of being done with chemo. I was as bald as bald can be and I felt weariness to my bones de profoundis.

But that feels like 10 years ago now. I wish I could whisper encouragement to myself a year ago that I would be readying for my first 5K, and actually able to run 3.2 miles without stopping (which I did for the very first time last week). The mouth sores will be gone, I would tell myself, and you will be climbing mountains and using mascara again on eyelashes that have finally grown back! However, that kind of knowledge also wouldn't have permitted me to lean on Jesus the way that I did.

Today I'm going to Anchorage to get an MRI. It was supposed to wait until this fall, but my docs decided that they would like to get a six-month scan (my first MRI was in January). I am gloriously ready to step off this medical freight train that I have been riding, but going through last year equipped me to feel a peace about these MRIs now. After weekly treatment last year, this kind of thing feels like a vacation.

"Lord, You are my portion
and my cup of blessing;

You hold my future."
Psalm 16:5

I'll post the MRI results soon after I receive them. Thanks for your prayers, dear peeps!