Thanksgiving was a balm. It soothed the tiredness of my soul, lifted my aching spirits, and taught me that I worry more about how Ben's feeling than I need to.
We have only seen my side of the family so far. Soon, we will spend time with Ben's side. Family, in my case, is like a warm blanket wrapped around my shoulders on a cool night, placed gently by loving hands. As I wrap in the warmth of this blanket (the love of my family), I feel the gentle squeeze on my shoulder of the one who placed it there. It's all simply relief.
It felt good being at my brother and sister-in-law's home. They have the sweetest pets, which have already been shown to reduce stress. Then they have super cooking skills -- a smoked turkey plus a honey baked ham turned into massive yum yum overload. Those, combined with my mother's additions made the day very warm, comfortable, and sweet.
Listening to the happy laughter of the family, talking about silly little things, petting sweet cats, and watching happy dogs -- it's all simply balm for a tired and worn spirit. It's a reminder that cancer doesn't rule our lives, and that there's a normalcy following this cancer diagnosis that's just as good as what was before. It's just a little different.
Ben's visit on Friday was a lift and a drag. The lift came in the further reduction of his cancer marker. The drag came in the declaration and finally appointment for the next P.E.T. scan. The last P.E.T. scan results were not good. We have one data point. I'm stuck on fear.
But I have the best prayer warrior family and friends in the world. Well, maybe that's debatable by people who aren't me, but I sure feel like I do. Notes, private messages, cards, sweet words -- they all serve to rest my soul. When all I can do is cry out "Jesus!" and words fail me, my family and friends are making entreaties to the King of kings and the LORD of lords. When I can't speak, they can.
No Flashback tonight as I'm quite tired from moving furniture, cleaning the pool, and cleaning the floor in front of the fireplace on my hands and knees. Next time, though! It's a tough Flashback.
2 Timothy 1:17 (NASB)
7 For God has not given us a spirit of timidity, but of power and love and discipline.
*Graphics at beginning of page is from the creator of the website The Graphics Fairy. All credit for the lovely bird on the branch belongs to her.
We've made it to Thanksgiving Eve and Ben is a far cry better than he was on Sunday, when I posted last. Though, he's vocalized that he thought he'd feel better tonight than he is right now, and it puzzles him. I made him some green tea with ginger to bring him calm to the nausea. It smells terrible to me, but apparently it helped in some way.
I am completely stressed out. Somehow, I managed to forget all about the power bill. I guess it was buried under all the medical sheets we get from our insurance company telling us what they'll pay and what we pay. Looking through those sheets is stressful in and of itself because so much of it is completely confusing. Then trying to match sheets to visits is like wandering through a maze without a compass. Sometimes I like the challenge of puzzling them out; right now, no thanks.
I am thankful, though. I am thankful that the God of all creation is in charge of all that happens. I am thankful that He gave me such a wonderful, amazing family in all directions. I am thankful that we have food, shelter, and transportation. I am thankful for the Montgomery Cancer Center and the amazing people working there. I could go on and on, but I've learned something lately -- there's no better way to adjust perspective than to start giving the LORD thanks for everything, even the hard stuff.
FLASHBACK:
The date is August 19 and the year is 2014. It's very strange coming to the surgery center with Ben knowing that I'll be the one waiting as he goes through the procedure. I'm very familiar with this place. It came into being about 5 years after my ulcerative colitis diagnosis, when all my colonoscopy appointments moved here from the hospital. The staff is wonderful and caring, in my experience.
We arrive at 12, but it's not until 2:30pm that they finally take Ben back for his two procedures. Instead of sending me back out front, I'm ushered to the recovery area. There I start a new crochet project -- one of a million works in progress -- and try to relax. As with any procedure, there is danger. I'm not unaware, so I'm a little focused on the what-ifs.
Around 4pm, I start to get worried. Each procedure is only supposed to take about 20 minutes, for a total of 40. I've been here 1 1/2 hours. There is a bit of a wait outside the examination rooms, so maybe that accounts for the other 50 minutes. I reason away worry, and wait.
At 4:30pm, the doctor comes out. I'm pretty much the only person there now. It's very dark and lonely as the rain has rolled in outside. One tiny window at the top of wall lets me know the day is dreary. The doctor, whom I've know for 10 years, looks like he always does. He sits beside me.
"Well, it's not an ulcer." My mind immediately races to ulcerative colitis. He doesn't give me time to settle there. "We found a mass. It looks like cancer."
It looks like cancer.
I never dreamed or even envisioned such a statement being uttered to me. I am not prepared for news of that magnitude. I have absolutely no recollection of what I said. It was probably some garbled variation of "how bad" while realizing that he won't speculate on that at all. Tears sprung up into my eyes, and I had to swallow back my strongest emotions struggling to erupt from the cage of my self-control.
He told me that Ben would need surgery within the day, and he needed to rest, take pain relievers, and avoid eating. He then led me to my sedated husband, who was lying on his side in the recovery room, still out cold. The nurse pointed to a chair where I deposited my belongings, and I touched Ben.
As I did, it really hit me. The man I loved has cancer. And, there, my emotions raged in full control and I lost it. I started sobbing. The sweet nurse came to my side, helped me sit down, and held me while I cried. I finally awkwardly reached for my faith and plainly stated, "God is in control."
She whispered sweetly in return. "Yes He is, and He loves you."
Our exchange was interrupted by Ben's awakening. But not only did he awake, but he was wild-eyed with pain. So, I took the crushing blow to my emotions, crammed them in a box, sealed it with mental packing tape, and took the caregiver position which I am still maintaining today. The box leaks every single day, and every single day I seal it back up with more mental packing tape.
It took a good hour to get Ben into a state he could leave. Generally the answer to colonoscopy gut pain is "fart", but that wasn't the pain relief answer to this pain question. Nothing relieved this pain. But he got to a point he could ride, so I took him home. Once there, he fell into bed, I gave him pain relievers and water, and he rested.
He never asked of the outcome, so I didn't share that day. I spent the night awake, looking at Ben with a knowledge that felt like a load of bricks sitting on my back. The one person I always cried on was the one I was crying about. And I spent the entire night, turned away from Ben, crying.
Psalm 56:8 (NASB)
8 You have taken account of my wanderings;
Put my tears in Your bottle.
Are they not in Your book?
*Graphics at beginning of page is from the creator of the website Lilac & Lavendar. All credit for the lovely carnation belongs to her.
It's Sunday night of Thanksgiving week, 2014. My husband is sleeping soundly in the rocker in the bedroom, propped on a pillow and buried under a blanket. I can hear him softly breathing as he sleeps. The color of his face is closer to normal, a far cry for the flushed appearance he had most of the day as he struggled with the side-effects of the chemotherapy from Thursday and the Nuelasta shot from Saturday morning.
Thanksgiving is this week, as is my mother's birthday which happens to fall on the holiday as well. My family lives in town, so it's possible to go to a meal with them easily as Ben doesn't believe he wants to travel far. In fact, he has an appointment on Friday anyway; we need to stay in town.
Problem is, we have no idea how he'll feel this week. Will the nausea subside in time to enjoy Thanksgiving? Or will the holiday be spent with him lying miserably on the bed?
As I type this, he awakens and he feels terrible. The little dark storm cloud that has come to be my constant companion is in full force, making me feel like I can barely function, barely take another step. But, by the grace of the LORD, I do take those steps. He is capable; I am not. I can't do this on my own strength, but only by the power of the LORD.
Still, it's hard to watch a loved one hurt so much, be so miserable.
FLASHBACK:
It's the year of our LORD 2014, and the date is 18 August. I'm upset with Ben because he took Friday off from work and now he's taking Monday. To my eye, he looks fine, so I'm upset. Just or unjust, I'm upset. I decide to take matters into my own hands and call my gastroenterologist who treats me for ulcerative colitis. If Ben is that miserable, he needs real care. And if he's not, I reason, a colonoscopy will discourage him from doing this again. That's my reasoning. Silly stuff in hindsight. Ridiculous thoughts, honestly.
When I describe the situation to the nurse, and she gives us a Wednesday appointment for an EGD and a colonoscopy. She's concerned about his visit to the ER back in the spring, but thinks that date is fine.
The night of the ER was strange. I suppose men and women are different in their approach to illness. I go quicker than Ben, anyway. Maybe it's just he and I. Maybe I'm a wimp and he's stoic. Who knows? He started out at PriMed, then they sent him to the ER. The doctor there sent him home with a diagnosis ("looks like an ulcer"), medicine to reduce stomach acid, and directions -- go see an gastroenterologist.
But here we are, six months later, and only just now seeing the gastroenterologist. He had so many bad nights of feeling terrible. I begged him to see someone else, to get more information. "We pay too much money for insurance for you to suffer like this," I'd plead. But alas, he would feel better and see no real need. I can half-way understand his thoughts. Doctor office visits involve tons of paperwork, lots of waiting, and intrusive tests and exams. It's not fun. It's not meant to be. It's just necessary sometimes.
The phone rings and the gastroenterologist's assistant has changed the appointment. It's best to do this sooner, so the date is now set to Tuesday, 19 August, and the birthday of Ben's mother. I cringe a little at the thought of the disruption, but I really think he should handle this soon. And when I tell Ben, he surprises me by agreeing that the time has come for a visit.
So, off we go into a afternoon of colonoscopy prep and general hungry misery. I know the feeling. I have a colonoscopy every other year and have had them for 10 years. Not something I'd classify as fun, just necessary. When we go to bed that night, it's blissful. How could we know that the next day, as we take a step from one moment to another, life would change forever?
Jeremiah 29:11 NASB 11 For I know the plans that I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans for welfare and not for calamity to give you a future and a hope.
*Graphics at beginning of page is from the creator of the website The Graphics Fairy. All credit for the detailed sepia acorn belongs to her.
Hello! Welcome to my blog about our family's journey with cancer. I have a blog that's about crafting and homeschooling, but chose to journal our experience with cancer in a separate blog. I thought that perhaps those seeking crafts might not be so interested in our cancer journey! So, keeping them separate seemed a good idea.
I've been married 24 1/2 years to a wonderful man named Ben. We have four wonderful blessings from the LORD, ages 19 (boy), 17 (boy), 13 (boy), and 10 (girl) and one blessing in heaven, delivered 1995 December 22. She was a perfect little girl who is now waiting for us in heaven. Sometimes, I'll say I have 5 children, sometimes I'll say I have 4. People get a little uncomfortable when you start talking about children who have passed away, so I try to be sensitive to those feelings. I don't want someone to tune me out! :)
Now before you get very deep in our blog, I will tell you that our faith in the LORD is an important part of our lives, and therefore our journey. I will often mention Scripture, or something the LORD did directly, because of who I am and how our family is conducted. While you are welcome to disagree with my faith, you are not welcome to become ugly in comments regarding our faith. If you need to rant about that, create a blog and then post there!
With all that said, welcome to our blog!
Blessings,
Kimberly
*Graphics at beginning of page is from the creator of the website Just Something I Made. All credit for the lovely vintage postcard belongs to her.
