Blessings

Two nights ago I could not sleep.  I could not sleep.  I have never had insomnia like that in my life.  It wasn't until five thirty in the morning that I finally was able to sleep and then for only two hours.  I tried everything - drinking almond milk, breathing, reading, going to a different bedroom, in and out of the bed for hours and hours.  Trying to calm myself because I know how important sleep is.

I googled chemo and insomnia and found out that - YES - insomnia is definitely a thing when you are on chemo.  And the whole thing scared me.

Yesterday Marnie, Erik and ten year old Maggie came over with pizza.  Erik helped John with cutting some fallen trees by the boat and later we all went on a boat ride on Hoover.  It was delightful, except I felt like my eyes were at half mast - I was so darn tired. 

Marnie sat with me and she and Maggie told me all the "tricks" that Maggie has learned to help her sleep - like breathing and counting with your fingers, counting to 500 and saying good night to every part of her body.  It was so sweet and actually so helpful. So last night after they left I went right to bed after taking a pill.  And practiced what I had learned and it worked.  Or maybe I was so exhausted from the night before, that I was going to sleep no matter what.  But the bottom line is - I got 8 hours of sleep.  Thank God.

This morning I wake and realize that even though I did get sleep, my energy is just not there.  It is so weird to be worn out from not doing anything when I am usually a very high energy person.  But what I am telling myself is that this must mean that the chemo is working.  I picture it shrinking my "couscous" cancer and helping it to depart from my body.  That is surely how it works, right?

So the blessings - family, sleep, faith continue to sustain me.  And hold back the fear that is always right around the corner. 

It has only been three weeks since I learned that I have cancer.  A long way to go.

I think I will include a prayer today that has always been a touchstone for me - about trusting the slow work of God.  The work of  spiritual growth and the work of healing - unseen but real.

Patient Trust

Above all, trust in the slow work of God.
We are quite naturally impatient in everything to reach the end without delay.
We should like to skip the intermediate stages.
We are impatient of being on the way to something unknown, something new.

And yet it is the law of all progress
that it is made by passing through some stages of instability—
and that it may take a very long time.

And so I think it is with you;
your ideas mature gradually—let them grow,
let them shape themselves, without undue haste.
Don’t try to force them on,
as though you could be today what time
(that is to say, grace and circumstances acting on your own good will)
will make of you tomorrow.

Only God could say what this new spirit
gradually forming within you will be.
Give Our Lord the benefit of believing
that his hand is leading you,
and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself
in suspense and incomplete.

—Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, SJ
excerpted from Hearts on Fire

Putting one foot in front of the other

That is it.  Taking my medications.  Making an appointment for getting a wig, Resting and still finding a way to move my body.  And waiting.

Reading escapist novels and listening to podcasts and writing.

And praying. 

I am learning how much it matters to get a card in the mail or a text just "checking in."  It is a little boost in a grey mood inside a beautiful home and sunny day.  It brings just a little light.

Life is beautiful.  Life is hard.  Love wins.

After my first chemo

 Monday was my first chemo treatment.

We got to the doctors office at 8 am on the dot.after the height and weight, we were ushered to the chair that I would be sitting in for the next 6 hours. I was introduced to Jody my nurse who was really warm and welcoming. She is tall with honey blond hair and later revealed that she is 60. I liked her,

She explained that I would be receiving 5 meds to take care of nausea. With each one she told me about side effects. When she started with the Taxol, the first chemo which would take 3 hours to drip into me, she explained how some people had side effects at first that is scary for the patient, but the nurses would surround me and take care if it. She didn’t think I would have any side effects. Hah!

Eight minutes in during a wonderful conversation about our lives, I started telling feel pressure on my chest and then all the nurses came and it was bedlam for about 5 minutes, wow! Eventually it was ok. My body started jerking every few minutes so she gave me more benzene (?) which made me immediately wanting to go to sleep and slur my words but jerking continued periodically. 

Anyway that was the worst of it. It did take all morning and I mostly slept and jerked. John was with me til 12:30 when he went to his small group and then he returned to take home.  Audrey popped in on her way home from a trip to see her Vanderbilt friends. She also is like sunshine to me. 

I came home to lots of political news and mostly sat on the couch. 

So it wasn’t exactly smooth sailing for the first time but it wasn’t terrible either.

Now I live in suspension.  Apparently there are the first days in which I will feel normal or okay followed by a crash.  Waiting.  And trying to live my best life.  I am planning to try pickleball today feeling a little trepidation about it.  The people I play with are friends and if I come and leave immediately everyone will understand.  I know that moving my body and being with them will be helpful.  Healing comes in many ways.

What I know is this is just the beginning of a long journey.  It has already revealed how very much I love life and how friends and family really can sustain a person.  And. of course, there is faith.  There is the love that will not let me go and the Holy One who in mysterious ways guides my steps and refreshes me every day.  

And all will be well. 

By the way, a word about this blog.  I write always to myself first to reveal what I am feeling and I invite others into this time with me.  At the same time, I also write so that I can re-read what was in the past and I find great solace in that form of life review.

And I include prayers and poems that speak to my soul and can remain touchstones later. I include them so I do not forget them.  Here is one for today by Ted Loder

 

I pray to be steeped in silence until I fear it less

Eternal God, since silence seems to be
the voice of holiness, the only language
you speak directly,
then I pray to be steeped in it
until I fear it less and welcome it
as an usher to grace,
a narrator of sacred mysteries;
until silence cease the fretful conversations
of my mind with too little else than itself;
until silence calm my heart to an ease,
convene my senses to an anchored focus,
hush my tongue to a chastened hold;
until I discern in the silence
an answer to that necessary question
which, for the very life of me,
it has not yet occurred to me to ask;
until I am stretched alive and deep
to its dimensions, and catch,
at last and ready,
your assuring wink at me. Amen.

The power of prayer

That is what I pondered today as I sat in church - what is the power of prayer?  What difference does prayer make?

I had emailed both Joanna and Tim, the ministers of the church yesterday to tell them about the cancer diagnosis and my upcoming chemo tomorrow.  Joanna wrote me back (Tim on vacation) and in church my name was mentioned during the time of prayer.  It really touched me to hear that.  Marnie gave my name to her church and I think Gender Road church is including me in prayer.  I believe that it makes a difference that people will pray for me.  I don't know what difference - that is the mystery - but some difference.  

After church I went to Larry and Jan to tell them about the cancer. Larry is a 90 year old retired Presbyterian minister and he and I co lead a Bible study which is now on hiatus but will begin again in the fall.  As I told him today - that Bible study really gives me life.  But I am aware that it is possible I may not be available for a while.  What really pleased me today was that when I told Larry, he immediately grabbed my hand and said - "We need to pray for you."  And there in the sanctuary as people were leaving around us, the four of us stood and Larry earnestly prayed for healing for me and strength for John.  It was very powerful for me.

As I sat in church this morning the tears came and went throughout the service.  I was aware that what I wanted was a sense of peace within me.  And after Larry's prayer, I had that.  God is here always with me, with us.  Healing, strengthening, loving.  It is good that many, many people have said and surely are praying for me, but it is really wonderful when one reaches out and prays WITH me.

So, here is a prayer for tomorrow from Maxine Shonks book of prayer - "Silver Linings"

May God bless you with healing presence

when you are broken.

When your will and your passion are rendered useless by the circumstances of your life,

May you look to God to restore you.

May you return to the union with God that was there at your creation

and may God bring you back to wholeness.

In the fullness of God's presence may you reclaim your purpose and call.

May the God of HEALING PRESENCE bless you.

Living in the Both/And

We in the spiritual direction biz use the term: "Both And" frequently.  I just looked it up and the definition was: 

"Both And is a concept which refers to a form of resaoning which resists binary or either/or styles of thinking."  It is non dual and part of the contemplative journey is learning how to sit with seemingly opposing thoughts and feelings.  That is how it is for me these days.

Like I wait for my first chemo treatment on Monday with a combination of faith and fear.  Both.  Not necessarily at the same time.   I feel pretty darn good these days and this morning - like Monday I played pickleball with my friends and really enjoyed everything about it..  I know that there is cancer residing in my body, but my body can still really enjoy the experience of keeping my eye on the ball, moving back and forth and whacking the heck out of the ball.  I love pickleball and even as my mind knows "I have cancer" - I have fun. And for a moment - or a couple of hours - I forget that everything changed two weeks ago in the emergency room at OSU.

Several people called me yesterday and I told them how good I felt and grateful that I am able to get chemo so quickly and really "all will be well."  

This morning I woke up with a sense of dread and found myself thinking about the chemo with the wondering about the possible side effects.  And then the hair loss and how that will be for me.  I have watched other women go through this - including my sister and my mother - but this is me, now.  The thought of it fills me with dread.  And then there is the surgery that will happen in about 10 weeks.  How will that be ?  How long will the recovery be?  I hate to think about it and for the most part I don't.

Except the thoughts come and go - like clouds in the sky.  The thoughts of gratitude and grace and blessing and hope and the thoughts that bring worry and angst and concern.  It is the both and of waiting, the both and of cancer, the both and of life itself, I guess.

So, when someone talks to me about this I wonder which thought is dominating in this moment because that will make a difference of who you might encounter.  But all of it is real.  I get it.

I found myself thinking about one of my favorite prayers/poems by Dietrich Bonhoeffer.  I will post it here - Who Am I?  The faithful confident prayer warrior or the worried anxious tearful Margot.  I am, of course both.  Both And.

Who am I? They often tell me
I would step from my cell’s confinement 
calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
like a squire from his country-house.

Who am I? They often tell me
I would talk to my warders
freely and friendly and clearly,
as though it were mine to command.

Who am I? They also tell me
I would bear the days of misfortune
equably, smilingly, proudly,
like one accustomed to win.

Am I then really all that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I know of myself,
restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my throat,
yearning for colours, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
thirsting for words of kindness, for neighbourliness,
trembling with anger at despotism and petty humiliation,
tossing in expectation of great events,
powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making, 
faint, and ready to say farewell to it all?

Who am I? This or the other?
Am I one person today, and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
and before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army,
fleeing in disorder from a victory already achieved?

Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.
Whoever I am, thou knowest, O God, I am thine.

 

Living in Hope

Many of my questions have been answered and I now live in hope. Actually it is hard for me not to live in hope.  I loved the poem by Emily Dickinson

"Hope" is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul - 

And sings the tune without the words

And never stops - at all

So, yesterday was the day that I had been waiting for ever since I heard the word "cancer."  I was blessed to be seen so quickly by Dr. Backes and her team.  They did not disappoint.  After a pretty painful endometrial biopsy the Doctor sat down with me and Audrey and laid out the next six months of my life.  

This cancer, she said, is not a mass but more like "couscous" which is quite a picture.  And it is not easily seen but clearly present.  I will have three chemo sessions three weeks apart and then surgery and then more chemo.  

My hope comes because I heard the word "cure" - not just remission.  I am not good with details, but fortunately Audrey was with me taking notes the whole time.  She asked questions that had been submitted by Marnie, so I felt well cared for.  The percentages about remission and cure were very positive.  

Going into this, my desire was that i would not have surgery or lose my hair.  It turns out that both will happen.  But I could feel the shift within me as I accept what is coming and know in my heart that "all will be well."  Ultimately.  In the meantime my daughters are already arranging an outing when we will have a girls day and pick out a wig.  I know I have a husband and friends who will help in any way possible.  

There is no question that I would rather be the one helping than the one who is helped.  My companion these days is Richard Rohr as I listen again to a book on Audible about "Letting Go."  That is surely the life task as we get older - letting go of our plans, letting go of our pride, letting go of our control, ....and trusting that God is in this and will show me the light and the life throughout.

The first chemo is going to be Monday and right now I am savoring how good I feel in this moment.  I look forward to pickleball tomorrow and a party for 10 year old Maggie and a play at Otterbein on Saturday and church on Sunday.  I look forward to this life that is mine even as I dread some of what is coming.  

But all will be well.  Right?

I am going to end with another poem by Mary Oliver which expresses  layers of hope and then go outside and look at the birds and the geese!

 

Wild Geese


You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Life is Beautiful. Life is Hard.

"Life is beautiful.  Life is hard. "  This is a quote from the book Everything Happens for a Reason and Other Lies I've Loved by Kate Bowler.  This is a book I bought before I went on our annual beach vacation.  It is her story about being diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer at the age of 35.

I read the book last week and it was a wonderful companion as I learned that I now have been diagnosed with cancer myself.  It all started on the 4th of July as I went to the emergency room the day before we left on vacation.  I felt like I was bloated and "something is not right."  It turns out that I was filled with abdominal fluid that was likely caused by cancer.  It was drained on Friday and during the next week I received messages on "My Chart" that confirmed that there was cancer which has been determined to be gynecological.  Tomorrow I have an appointment with a gynecological oncologist and will learn more about the cancer and the treatment.

I have just returned from a week at Emerald Island with my family: husband, daughters and their families, 
Geoff and Vicky, my brother and sister in law.  And my niece Gillian with her boyfriend Mitch and three dogs. It was beautiful and it was hard.   

For me the beach is truly my happy place.  We had an oceanfront cottage and every morning I could look at the surf and sand and birds and sky and feel a sense of wonder.  I got to walk the beach, swim in the ocean with my daughters and float in the pool with John.  We played games every day and ate well.   We did synchronized swimming and karaoke and had a picture contest.  We laughed and talked politics and gossiped and laughed some more.  It was vacation.  I love it.

And in the midst of it, there were these messages  on MyChart from the testing of the fluid.  Messages that indicated that there were dark clouds on the horizon as the reality of cancer became more and more evident. If there was ever a time that I did not want to return home from vacation - it was this year.  I really did not want to face the future.

Now I sit at this computer living in the midst of gratitude and dread.  I am so grateful for the week at the beach and for a family and friends whose love is almost palpable.  I am grateful that I was able to secure an appointment tomorrow with the doctor of my choice.  I am grateful for a husband and daughters who walk with me.  I am grateful for my faith and my belief in the presence of God with me that gives me strength and guidance.

And I dread what is coming.  Surely chemo and maybe surgery.  I watched my mother go through eight years of living with ovarian cancer and I hope to have at least that much time.  It will not be easy, but it will be worth it.  I know that in the deepest part of my soul. 

Meanwhile, I know that the  "answer" is easy to say and hard to do - live in the present.  Enjoy this moment in this morning.  Breathe in the new life that is there is every breath.  And know that in the midst of fear and worry, there is one who is loving me, holding me, and will not let me go. 

Life is hard, yes and Life is beautiful and I am blessed to live on the water in the woods.  I found this poem by Mary Oliver that speaks to me this morning. 

When I am Among the Trees

Mary Oliver

When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.

I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.

Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.

And they call again, “It's simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”