Tuesday, January 26, 2010
December 31, 2009 Heart Fare
I awoke reciting John 15 which I am striving to memorize. I helps, I've found, to repeat the passage I'm working on by saying it in the morning before I rise and in the evening before I fall asleep. Then, I write it out, actually my thumbs punch it into my Blackberry, and I double check to be sure my jots and tittles are correct. Once I have it down, I add another verse. In a world full of Barnes & Nobles, Borders and Bookbinders, it may be surprising to some younger folk that a short time ago, book banning was fairly commonplace. Over the years books have been banned when the powers that be determined a particular book promoted thinking in contradiction to the best interests of society. In the early 50's Ray Bradbury wrote a book on the subject titled 'Farenheit 451', "the temperature at which book paper burns". Interestingly, his book itself was banned from certain libraries, deemed too controversial. Set in a futuristic oppressive American society, it is the story of Guy Montag, a fireman, whose job rather than putting fires out, is setting fires to destroy books. He describes his job: "Well, it's a job just like any other. Good work with lots of variety. Monday, we burn Miller; Tuesday, Tolstoy; Wednesday, Walt Whitman; Friday, Faulkner; and Saturday and Sunday, Schopenhauer and Sartre. We burn them to ashes and then burn the ashes. That's our official motto". But Guy's curiosity soon has him wondering at the contents of some of the great works he is destroying and he begins to sneak them home to read until his wife informs on him and he's forced to flee. As the movie ends, Guy joins a group of renegade intellectuals (“the Book People”). They are a part of a nationwide network of book lovers who have memorized many great works of literature and philosophy. Guy is given the assignment og memorizing the Book of Ecclesiastes. The movie made from this book in the sixties left quite an impression on me, especially the final scene of a young boy sitting at the knee of an old man, learning Tolstoy's 'War and Peace'. A seemingly daunting task, I was left asking myself, what if there were no books? What if there were no Bibles? If you knew at some future date, all bibles would be confiscated and destroyed, would that make it more precious? Many of our brethren, are oppressed in just such a way but does it spur us on to commit passages and chapters, line and verse, to memory? Did you know that the Bible was named among objects banned from the 2008 Olympic village in Beijing. What is so threatening about the Bible? What indeed? Freedom? Hope? Courage? "Your word have I hidden in my heart, that I might not sin against you." Psalm 119:11
December 19, 2009 What God is telling me
"What I tell you in the darkness, speak ye in the light" (Matt. 10:27).
Last Sunday my pastor challenged us to be in the Word. Not just to read it but to watch for and listen to what God was telling us individually.
I have been experiencing a bout of depression - whether from hormonal deprivation on my anti-cancer drug or spiritual warfare - it was an unfamiliar and difficult time. I opened the word Tuesday Morning, asking God to restore my joy. An online devotional I'd read that morning suggested John 15 as a passage to pray over. As I began to read and pray for understanding, each word sank in with fresh meaning. I read slowly, pausing for God's clarification this time:
"I am the true vine, My Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in Me that does not bear fruit, He takes away; and every branch that bears fruit, He prunes it so that it may bear more fruit. You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. Abide in me and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself unless it abides in the vine, so neither can you unless you abide in me."
It soaked in, filling me with a fresh understanding. Abiding in Him, the living Word. And the Word in me. I realized that the joy I sought, required my participation, my ingestion of His Word. I grabbed a 3X5 card and began to write out this passage to memorize. I read on:
"I am the vine, you are the branches; He who abides in me and I in Him, he bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing. If anyone does not abide in Me, he is thrown away as a branch and dries up; and they gather them, and cast them into the fire and they are burned. If you abide in Me and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you."
I felt my excitement growing. This is what my pastor was talking about. I was hearing God speak to me. I was "getting it". My prayer for restored joy was being answered here:
"My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and so prove to be My disciples. Just as the Father has loved Me, I have also loved you; abide in My love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in My love; just as I have kept My Father's commandments and abide in His love. These things I have spoken to you so that My joy may be in you, and that your joy may be made full."
My jaw dropped open at these last words. I had prayed for joy. I hadn't searched my concordance for passages on joy and yet here it was, telling me just what would resore my joy.
A friend recently shared that each Christmas she asks Jesus what he wants from her for His birthday. I liked that and prayed that He would tell me what I could give Him. This is my answer: He wants my time with Him - abiding in Him through the prayerful study of His Word and letting Him abide in me as I memorize this and other passages that He gives me.
The very next day, as I was rushing in the morning, deprived of my bible time. I found myself reciting these words "I am the true vine, my Father..." I smiled to myself, knowing the He, indeed, was abiding in me.
Last Sunday my pastor challenged us to be in the Word. Not just to read it but to watch for and listen to what God was telling us individually.
I have been experiencing a bout of depression - whether from hormonal deprivation on my anti-cancer drug or spiritual warfare - it was an unfamiliar and difficult time. I opened the word Tuesday Morning, asking God to restore my joy. An online devotional I'd read that morning suggested John 15 as a passage to pray over. As I began to read and pray for understanding, each word sank in with fresh meaning. I read slowly, pausing for God's clarification this time:
"I am the true vine, My Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in Me that does not bear fruit, He takes away; and every branch that bears fruit, He prunes it so that it may bear more fruit. You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. Abide in me and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself unless it abides in the vine, so neither can you unless you abide in me."
It soaked in, filling me with a fresh understanding. Abiding in Him, the living Word. And the Word in me. I realized that the joy I sought, required my participation, my ingestion of His Word. I grabbed a 3X5 card and began to write out this passage to memorize. I read on:
"I am the vine, you are the branches; He who abides in me and I in Him, he bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing. If anyone does not abide in Me, he is thrown away as a branch and dries up; and they gather them, and cast them into the fire and they are burned. If you abide in Me and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you."
I felt my excitement growing. This is what my pastor was talking about. I was hearing God speak to me. I was "getting it". My prayer for restored joy was being answered here:
"My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and so prove to be My disciples. Just as the Father has loved Me, I have also loved you; abide in My love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in My love; just as I have kept My Father's commandments and abide in His love. These things I have spoken to you so that My joy may be in you, and that your joy may be made full."
My jaw dropped open at these last words. I had prayed for joy. I hadn't searched my concordance for passages on joy and yet here it was, telling me just what would resore my joy.
A friend recently shared that each Christmas she asks Jesus what he wants from her for His birthday. I liked that and prayed that He would tell me what I could give Him. This is my answer: He wants my time with Him - abiding in Him through the prayerful study of His Word and letting Him abide in me as I memorize this and other passages that He gives me.
The very next day, as I was rushing in the morning, deprived of my bible time. I found myself reciting these words "I am the true vine, my Father..." I smiled to myself, knowing the He, indeed, was abiding in me.
August 7, 2009 Transitions
Three months have passed since I finished my breast cancer treatment. Yesterday I had my hair done for the first time in almost a year. I have looked forward to this like a child anticipates Christmas morning. And after a full year of appointments of a less thrilling nature I feel like an excited girl.
In the morning I dress for work with my wig, already hotflashing as I begin a busy schedule of negotiating three contracts. Hotflashes are going to remain a way of life for the five years I'm supposed to take Femara, the anti-cancer wonder pill. So by afternoon I am enthusiastically sliding into my hairdresser's chair throwing of my trusted disguise that has seen me through many tough days. My own hair is four inches long and two-toned from the color job my daughter did at the end of my radiation in April. The ends are a pale mousy brown and the roots mostly white.
Courtland is a tall lanky blonde. Her hair falls nearly to her waist in a silky curtain. I know, only because she's told me, she is ten years older than she looks. She is pretty and sweet and soft spoken and she's determined and excited about my coming out hairdo. She wants me to "really really love it". I remind her I will be happy with anything. I've never been so unpicky. This is more exciting to me than next Spring's foob job, my pending reconstruction.
As she washes and colors and cuts, my mind wanders to the days I pulled handfuls of hair from my head. I remember the painful scalp, my husband shaving the remains, the strange nakednes and how cold it made me feel. I remember the pink cap I lived in and even wore through surgery. And I remember the stranger I faced in the mirror. All of the year tumbles through my mind right up to now. And I am left with the precious memories of feeling loved and cherished through the whole ordeal and knowing I rested in the arms of God.
Three hours later, I am not disappointed. She's done her best to copy the Annette Bening photo I've brought and I leave with a short, dark-brown-with-highlights cut that is young and spiky. But if you'd seen me leave you'd only have noticed a happy customer with a huge smile. I feel free out in public without my wig.
Yet, even as I write this I'm keenly aware of a friend who is on chemo for life - never to run her fingers through her hair again. And little Kate McRae who is losing her five-year old golden locks at this moment as chemicals do battle with her brain tumor. So I will just be grateful for today, for this silly little joy.
A couple of days ago my husband left early before I was dressed. He popped into my office shortly after I arrived. He said he just came to see how I looked. "You always dazzle me in the morning" he said. I realized, though he never complains, I come home at night hollaring "hello" down the hall as I beeline to my closet to remove my wig and prosthetic bra and change into my lounging garb. After not seeing me all day, he sees a wig-flattened head of oddly colored hair atop a flat chested boyish figure. We're halfway back.
June 8, 2009 Biopsy Plan
Shoyei and I have just come from seeing Dr. Corn. Yes, we decided she was the best choice to determine if this "lump" is anything. We learned a lot.
First of all, she had a hard time finding it and it does seem as if it has shrunk. She explained that the radiation has done a lot of damage to the tissue and even a fat cell would constrict and harden. She thinks that's what I was feeling. She said it would be really hard to punch biopsy it. So we will wait a couple of months and revisit with her to note any changes.
It makes sense and is why I have to wait 6 to 9 months before they will do my reconstruction. I am told my muscles will slowly relax and this tightness will become looser. Sounds good to me. I am relieved.
First of all, she had a hard time finding it and it does seem as if it has shrunk. She explained that the radiation has done a lot of damage to the tissue and even a fat cell would constrict and harden. She thinks that's what I was feeling. She said it would be really hard to punch biopsy it. So we will wait a couple of months and revisit with her to note any changes.
It makes sense and is why I have to wait 6 to 9 months before they will do my reconstruction. I am told my muscles will slowly relax and this tightness will become looser. Sounds good to me. I am relieved.
May 16, 2009 R 'n R
Shoyei and I drove to San Diego, a six and a half hour trip, for a few days of R 'n R.
The first time I heard the term R 'n R my college roommate, Hillary, was flying to Hawaii to meet up with her high school sweetheart who was on a government sponsored break from the war in Vietnam. I remember wondering at the time how he would ever be able to go back into the jungle, into the horror. They wrote to each other every day of our freshman year. Once, a week passed with no letter from Michael. Then finally a letter arrived in a Red Cross envelope. Hillary tore into it, and sighed with relief - his wound was not serious. I later met her friend. He had become a heroine addict, a little habit he picked up on the job. I had become a war protester, something I picked up on campus. But I divert.
We begin our trip with a stop at Dr. Kato's office for my monthly blood check. I tell Dr. Kato I have researched Zometa and decided not to take it for now. I had been scheduled for an infusion of Zometa today. It has so many serious side affects and there are questions about the wisdom of "building" bone artificially. If I continue to tolerate the Femara, which I'm scheduled to be on for five years, we will keep an eye on my bones with an annual density test. In the meantime I am studying the best calcium foods and natural supplements. I am learning to eat for healthy cell defense.
The lab tech draws my blood after several minutes of fumbling with a big needle in the wrong vein before switching to a smaller needle in the better vein. It is the most painful blood draw I have had. I whisper to Dr. Kato's nurse on the way out to make a note on my file that she, Carla, will personally draw my blood. I've come to know her touch to be deft and painless. I whisper so as not to hurt the kind, but bumbling technician. I've been grumbling to myself about my port scar which still itches and irritates but now I think back gratefully that I was spared this pain by having it. I take two Ibuprofen and massage my aching arm.
We continue on our journey. Rest and Relaxation. To be refreshed to return to the battles of life. A few days to do what we want or nothing at all is indeed refreshing. We have both been through the battle. I am praying I won't have to return to the jungle and horror of Cancer. My "punch" biopsy is scheduled for June 8th.
The still waters of the marina remind me to "be still and know" that He is God. I once had a vision of myself laying on my belly high on a bluff overlooking a marina. And there I saw a small moored skiff. There was a girl lying on her back on the floor of the boat feeling the gentle rocking of the water. It was me. Aptly named we are sheltered here for a few days from the maelstrom of life:
May 7, 2009 The Exam
I called Dr. Kato's office first thing Monday morning and they told me to come on down - the doctor would want to check out my lump. We jumped in the car and drove the familiar 100 mile trip to his office and were quickly ushered in. I lay on the examining table while Dr. Kato probed the spot in a bouncing-end-of-the-fingers motion. My "lump" is the size of a grain of rice so his examining method seems strange. Can he feel it? He face is unreadable as he says "I'm going to have Dr. Kuske look at this. He's right down the hall." And off he goes to fetch him.
As soon as the door is closed my husband attempts to duplicate Dr. Kato's trampoline style examination and determines he must've missed it. He has me sit up, I humor him by complying. His finger goes to the ballpoint "X". "It's easier to feel when you're sitting up," he says.
"I'd hoped he would say, 'oh that's nothing, just a little fatty necrosis'," I say to my husband. I read about such things in my effort to diagnose myself. Just a little bit of fat that died due to a lack of blood supply.
Dr. Kuske enters with Dr. Kato and I realize this is the first time I have seen them together. My team. I have formed a deep affection for them despite their prior missteps. They're human, I've come to understand. My life is literally in their hands. "She's marked it for us," Dr. Kato tells Dr. Kuske proudly. "Very good," says Dr. Kuske drawing out "very" as he feels for the lump. "Is this new?" He asks me in a tone to suggest it shouldn't be there after seven weeks of radiation. I don't say what I'm thinking, that it lies just outside the remaining "tan" line. Did his beams miss it? I know he can see that for himself. "I don't know," I answer, "I haven't really started examining my self yet." He seems stymied. What is it, he's asking himself, his face far more readable than his partner. "We could do a punch biopsy," he says, directing his comment to Dr. Kato. "I've got everything here to do it," he adds a bit proudly. Dr. Kato nods, clearly deferring to Dr. Kuske on this one. I'm certainly not going back to Dr. Corn. "But I'd want to wait a month until you're completely healed from the radiation," he says to us all."I'm not sure I can wait a month," I say, "You don't think I'm healed enough to do it now," I ask? "I'd rather wait," he repeats, "you know there's a one in a thousand chance this is anything," he says looking directly into my eyes. That is what I came to hear I think to myself so I take a deep breath and agree to wait.
"Let's see what happens in a month," he concludes, "and if you still want the biopsy we'll do it then." If I still want the biopsy I wonder to myself. I'm pretty sick of being cut into. But I will research "punch biopsies" on the trusty Google search where I get all my medical information.
As we drive away the words "one in one thousand" comfort me and I determine this is nothing at all. In a month I will be sure of that hope.
As soon as the door is closed my husband attempts to duplicate Dr. Kato's trampoline style examination and determines he must've missed it. He has me sit up, I humor him by complying. His finger goes to the ballpoint "X". "It's easier to feel when you're sitting up," he says.
"I'd hoped he would say, 'oh that's nothing, just a little fatty necrosis'," I say to my husband. I read about such things in my effort to diagnose myself. Just a little bit of fat that died due to a lack of blood supply.
Dr. Kuske enters with Dr. Kato and I realize this is the first time I have seen them together. My team. I have formed a deep affection for them despite their prior missteps. They're human, I've come to understand. My life is literally in their hands. "She's marked it for us," Dr. Kato tells Dr. Kuske proudly. "Very good," says Dr. Kuske drawing out "very" as he feels for the lump. "Is this new?" He asks me in a tone to suggest it shouldn't be there after seven weeks of radiation. I don't say what I'm thinking, that it lies just outside the remaining "tan" line. Did his beams miss it? I know he can see that for himself. "I don't know," I answer, "I haven't really started examining my self yet." He seems stymied. What is it, he's asking himself, his face far more readable than his partner. "We could do a punch biopsy," he says, directing his comment to Dr. Kato. "I've got everything here to do it," he adds a bit proudly. Dr. Kato nods, clearly deferring to Dr. Kuske on this one. I'm certainly not going back to Dr. Corn. "But I'd want to wait a month until you're completely healed from the radiation," he says to us all."I'm not sure I can wait a month," I say, "You don't think I'm healed enough to do it now," I ask? "I'd rather wait," he repeats, "you know there's a one in a thousand chance this is anything," he says looking directly into my eyes. That is what I came to hear I think to myself so I take a deep breath and agree to wait.
"Let's see what happens in a month," he concludes, "and if you still want the biopsy we'll do it then." If I still want the biopsy I wonder to myself. I'm pretty sick of being cut into. But I will research "punch biopsies" on the trusty Google search where I get all my medical information.
As we drive away the words "one in one thousand" comfort me and I determine this is nothing at all. In a month I will be sure of that hope.
May 2, 2009 Chapter 2
There's a new sense of freedom post treatment. I expected to feel paranoia waiting for the cancer to rear its ugly head again. So far I've only felt impatient - waiting to regain my strength. I get dizzy whenever I bend over and I still tire more than I used to. I haven't really thought about cancer since I walked out of the door of the radiation center the last night. I've been back to work full steam and it's felt normal and it's felt wonderful. Until yesterday.
I found a new lump. It is tiny like the little lumps I felt before. It is just beneath my skin on the same "breast". I guide my husband's finger to the site. He can feel it too. He made a comment last week which, at the moment, seemed like an omen and sent a shiver through me. He said, "Anyone can make it through a bout of cancer with some sense of grace. The real test comes when the cancer returns." My brother is proof of that. And my friend Cindy. And Gerri. And me? Am I to be re tested? So soon?
I will call Dr. Kato on Monday to schedule an appointment. Is it scar tissue? I was going to wait for my scheduled visit to him at the end of the month but we need to know. It's odd that I have no sense of fear this time. I've been here before. It's still fresh. Still familiar. I just didn't expect to be back so soon. Perhaps it's nothing. Isn't that what I told myself last time? Shoyei talked to his doctor about it yesterday who told him he seriously doubted this would be anything so soon(less than two weeks) after treatment. I pray he is right.
I found a new lump. It is tiny like the little lumps I felt before. It is just beneath my skin on the same "breast". I guide my husband's finger to the site. He can feel it too. He made a comment last week which, at the moment, seemed like an omen and sent a shiver through me. He said, "Anyone can make it through a bout of cancer with some sense of grace. The real test comes when the cancer returns." My brother is proof of that. And my friend Cindy. And Gerri. And me? Am I to be re tested? So soon?
I will call Dr. Kato on Monday to schedule an appointment. Is it scar tissue? I was going to wait for my scheduled visit to him at the end of the month but we need to know. It's odd that I have no sense of fear this time. I've been here before. It's still fresh. Still familiar. I just didn't expect to be back so soon. Perhaps it's nothing. Isn't that what I told myself last time? Shoyei talked to his doctor about it yesterday who told him he seriously doubted this would be anything so soon(less than two weeks) after treatment. I pray he is right.
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