Five days post-op, I had a particularly difficult night caused by meds on an empty stomach which then couldn't accommodate the meds. I will admit, I am not a good nausea person. I didn't experience it with child bearing and I didn't have it with chemo, so I was not prepared to be up all night wretching like a drunken sailor with nothing in my tummy to lose. My husband refers to this humbling act as bowing to the porcelain Buddha.
At dawn I crawled from my bed to my chair, there to spend the day fighting to regain some strength. I sat gingerly sipping and nibbling enough to accommodate one huge foul tasting green antibiotic capsule, one giant chalky white pain killer and a tiny anti-nausea tablet, remnants of nightmares surfacing and their accompanying confusion. I faced the day without expectation, one foot in front of the other, or in this case, one pill. I feel a little like Alice in Wonderland. Just what did Lewis Carroll experience that led him to write the great Alice stories? I met many hookah-smoking kaftaned characters on the streets of Morocco. 1971. Off topic.
My weakened state meant postponing my doctor visit as I could not face a 4 hour round trip drive. I had quite forgotten my husband's nursing style, he is a Hoverer. Not wanting to omit any possibilities, he recited a litany of lunch and beverage options. Choices require some energy. I had none. Just thinking about some of his offers triggered a gag reaction. Having been at his complete mercy before, from the dressing of my wounds, to the exposed state of feeling bald and naked, this time I've felt myself less willing to give up my independence.
Somehow, I ate sufficiently to grow strong enough to make the trip to Phoenix. Yesterday we saw the doctor, anxious for an assessment of the strange assortment of body lumps. Dr. Mosharrafa was very pleased and explained there is still some swelling and that the "extra tissue" under my arm is from my very healthy back tissue. He took a little bit extra to assure a good blood supply and it will be sculpted out on the final surgery. I don't quite understand it but "sculpting" sounds painful. He is extremely satisfied that the tissue has grafted well onto my chest wall. So we leave satisfied, too. There is no substitute for hearing your doctor is happy with your progress.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
April 2, 2010 The Shampoo
One week post op, I am strong enough to stand at the sink and let my husband wash my hair. I still have a drainage tube which prevents me from bathing conventionally. My husband has never washed my hair for me. The last ministration he performed on my head was a manly mid-chemo buzz cut. I can still see the tears in his eyes.
This time, he is all business, my thick mane of hair has returned and needs washing.
He begins by asking me if both bottles I've assembled are really necessary. Yes, I say, please. He uses the pull-out faucet to wet the back of my hair, paying particular attention to the backs of my ears as if he may find a wad of gum parked there. He stops the water and begins applying shampoo from the hairline to my ears using the palms of his hands only. I await the fingers to massage into the scalp but it never happens. It feels awkward and ineffective but I am committed not to direct the process. After a very brief "rub", he appears through, I speak up,"you missed the front and top". It occurs to me, this is how he washes his own hair. He is bald on the front and top. I turn my head to look at him, smiling. "What?" he asks. "It's sweet, what you are doing." I am rewarded with a kiss before he rinses me off. He repeats the process with the conditioner and he is done.
The application of the towel is done carefully and according to wrap-wrap-twist-flick instructions I'd mistakenly assumed were common knowledge. I feel like a new woman with new respect for my hairdresser - the new one that is.
This time, he is all business, my thick mane of hair has returned and needs washing.
He begins by asking me if both bottles I've assembled are really necessary. Yes, I say, please. He uses the pull-out faucet to wet the back of my hair, paying particular attention to the backs of my ears as if he may find a wad of gum parked there. He stops the water and begins applying shampoo from the hairline to my ears using the palms of his hands only. I await the fingers to massage into the scalp but it never happens. It feels awkward and ineffective but I am committed not to direct the process. After a very brief "rub", he appears through, I speak up,"you missed the front and top". It occurs to me, this is how he washes his own hair. He is bald on the front and top. I turn my head to look at him, smiling. "What?" he asks. "It's sweet, what you are doing." I am rewarded with a kiss before he rinses me off. He repeats the process with the conditioner and he is done.
The application of the towel is done carefully and according to wrap-wrap-twist-flick instructions I'd mistakenly assumed were common knowledge. I feel like a new woman with new respect for my hairdresser - the new one that is.
March 20, 2010 Three's a Crowd
It has been five days since my surgery. I have been surprised by how well it has gone. I am hoping to cut back on the Percoset today. With all this down time I would love to use it to do something creative.
It must have been cloudy the last time I had to take this drug. The brightness of these sunny days really bothers my eyes and my focus is off enough to make reading difficult. I didn't realize how wonderful it would be to have God's Word hidden in my heart until it became painful to read. I recently memorized most of John 15, a meaty passage worthy of hours of reflection.
Tomorrow we make a trip to Phoenix for my first post-op appointment. I have no bandages, just clear steri-strips over the four long incisions. Not to be indelicate, but I have a nice soft mound which might be my future breast except for its unusual location - smack dab under my right arm. Now, I have a sense of humor like the next person, and if I were not writing this about myself, I'd be sniggering away. BUT....well, I will be anxious for answers tomorrow.
Dr. Mosharrafa seemed a bit "off" when he released me last Thursday. I thought he was distracted by other problems. The nurse agreed he seemed quiet but took it personally thinking he was unhappy seeing the blood spattered pillow and gown which we'd agreed was not worth the discomfort of changing at the time. But now I am wondering if he was wondering how he would have to tell me that I will need another surgery to correct the results of the misplaced foob.
On a happier note, the hyper sensitivity I have felt in my breast bone is practically gone. The great thing about this, is that it no long hurts to hug! And the concave cavities of my chest are now filled with expanders, already creating a more normal appearance.
If I could just get my questions answered, I might feel I am on the road to recovery. No sense borrowing trouble.
It must have been cloudy the last time I had to take this drug. The brightness of these sunny days really bothers my eyes and my focus is off enough to make reading difficult. I didn't realize how wonderful it would be to have God's Word hidden in my heart until it became painful to read. I recently memorized most of John 15, a meaty passage worthy of hours of reflection.
Tomorrow we make a trip to Phoenix for my first post-op appointment. I have no bandages, just clear steri-strips over the four long incisions. Not to be indelicate, but I have a nice soft mound which might be my future breast except for its unusual location - smack dab under my right arm. Now, I have a sense of humor like the next person, and if I were not writing this about myself, I'd be sniggering away. BUT....well, I will be anxious for answers tomorrow.
Dr. Mosharrafa seemed a bit "off" when he released me last Thursday. I thought he was distracted by other problems. The nurse agreed he seemed quiet but took it personally thinking he was unhappy seeing the blood spattered pillow and gown which we'd agreed was not worth the discomfort of changing at the time. But now I am wondering if he was wondering how he would have to tell me that I will need another surgery to correct the results of the misplaced foob.
On a happier note, the hyper sensitivity I have felt in my breast bone is practically gone. The great thing about this, is that it no long hurts to hug! And the concave cavities of my chest are now filled with expanders, already creating a more normal appearance.
If I could just get my questions answered, I might feel I am on the road to recovery. No sense borrowing trouble.
March 26th, The Angels of St. Joe's
I just woke up after a great night's sleep in my own bed. The pain is pretty bad, but Percoset makes it manageable. I was even able to get up on my own to go to the bathroom. I couldn't do that after my mastectomy surgery. A well-meaning friend warned me this surgery would be much worse than the mastectomy. So far that is not my experience. Actually, so far the worst part is that my back itches and I'm unable to manage the contortions required to reach - too much chest muscle. I'm thinking of a kitchen tool - a Tupperware pasta server with delightful little prongs that might do the trick.
My husband had a better idea - he uses his shower back brush and gives my back a thorough "scratching", avoiding my big scar. Then he rubs Gold Bond, a miracle cream my Mom introduced me to, all over. Ahhhh!
When we arrived at the hospital on Wednesday, the waiting room was packed. Half the people there were talking in Spanish. It was noisy and chaotic. But once they called my name and I passed through the doors from that room, peace prevailed. Sweet smiling nurses spoke softly. The lighting was suffused. I was run through the usual barrage of questions until my doctor arrived. Dr. Mosharaffa used a sharp marker to draw out his plans for me. He draws a vertical line, as I stand before him, from breast bone to belly button, measuring to my armpits for the symmetry he wants. He has me turn around to mark the part of my back muscle he will be using on my radiated side. With a plan I can't quite picture, he will cut the latissimus dorsi muscle w/tissue and skin , leaving the muscle connected to its blood supply and he will rotate this mass under my arm in place of the damaged skin he will cut away from my right chest. I ask him if he's brought his "A" game. Without hesitation he assures me he has. The left side simply involves the placement of an expander.
I have a "pick line" deftly inserted into a vein on my left hand. Not the pain of earlier digging expeditions. Another nurse acknowledges the special skill of this technician. The anesthesiologist explains his plan. I love the part where I fall into a deep sleep.
The memory of reawakening is foggy but I am acutely aware that the horrible tightness I felt before is not there. Wondrous relief. I feel my husband's warm hand holding my cold one and I hold on as I fight to climb out of my stupor. "Don't fight it. Rest." The voices say.
I have a roommate so my husband can't stay with me this time. They kick him out at 8PM. My roomie, Trudy, has had her thyroid removed. She hasn't heard yet whether it is cancerous or not. We bond despite the curtain she wants to remain between us. She is a tiny 70 year-old. Her 50 something boyfriend visits a couple of times.
It must be said, the nurses at Saint Joe's are the best. My one night stay was a bit like a slumber party. Stephanie and Rosemary seemed to hover over me.Rosemary is my age and had been through breast cancer herself. When she had a few minutes, she sat on the edge of my bed and we swapped war stories. She prides herself on the importance of pillow placement. I don't think she was kidding when she said she was writing a book on the subject. Another nurse commented on how I had lucked out in the pillow department with five of the smooth fluffy little white things cocooning me in comfort. Rosemary, in her conspiratorial manner,brought me cherry popsicles. It set me on the path of remembering sneaking into my college dormitory kitchen to snatch the giant cardboard cylinder of strawberry ice cream with some friends. Those cherry popsicles have left an impossibly sweet taste in my mouth for St Joe's and its angels of mercy.
Susan took over daytime duty. My husband and she took up where they'd left off the before only this time she has heard my story of his transformation, the wonderful husband he has become through our cancer journey. Her smile never waivers as she watches him with new eyes. I love these women. Too bad it's a one night stand. But I look forward now to the tender loving care of the best nurse ever.
My husband had a better idea - he uses his shower back brush and gives my back a thorough "scratching", avoiding my big scar. Then he rubs Gold Bond, a miracle cream my Mom introduced me to, all over. Ahhhh!
When we arrived at the hospital on Wednesday, the waiting room was packed. Half the people there were talking in Spanish. It was noisy and chaotic. But once they called my name and I passed through the doors from that room, peace prevailed. Sweet smiling nurses spoke softly. The lighting was suffused. I was run through the usual barrage of questions until my doctor arrived. Dr. Mosharaffa used a sharp marker to draw out his plans for me. He draws a vertical line, as I stand before him, from breast bone to belly button, measuring to my armpits for the symmetry he wants. He has me turn around to mark the part of my back muscle he will be using on my radiated side. With a plan I can't quite picture, he will cut the latissimus dorsi muscle w/tissue and skin , leaving the muscle connected to its blood supply and he will rotate this mass under my arm in place of the damaged skin he will cut away from my right chest. I ask him if he's brought his "A" game. Without hesitation he assures me he has. The left side simply involves the placement of an expander.
I have a "pick line" deftly inserted into a vein on my left hand. Not the pain of earlier digging expeditions. Another nurse acknowledges the special skill of this technician. The anesthesiologist explains his plan. I love the part where I fall into a deep sleep.
The memory of reawakening is foggy but I am acutely aware that the horrible tightness I felt before is not there. Wondrous relief. I feel my husband's warm hand holding my cold one and I hold on as I fight to climb out of my stupor. "Don't fight it. Rest." The voices say.
I have a roommate so my husband can't stay with me this time. They kick him out at 8PM. My roomie, Trudy, has had her thyroid removed. She hasn't heard yet whether it is cancerous or not. We bond despite the curtain she wants to remain between us. She is a tiny 70 year-old. Her 50 something boyfriend visits a couple of times.
It must be said, the nurses at Saint Joe's are the best. My one night stay was a bit like a slumber party. Stephanie and Rosemary seemed to hover over me.Rosemary is my age and had been through breast cancer herself. When she had a few minutes, she sat on the edge of my bed and we swapped war stories. She prides herself on the importance of pillow placement. I don't think she was kidding when she said she was writing a book on the subject. Another nurse commented on how I had lucked out in the pillow department with five of the smooth fluffy little white things cocooning me in comfort. Rosemary, in her conspiratorial manner,brought me cherry popsicles. It set me on the path of remembering sneaking into my college dormitory kitchen to snatch the giant cardboard cylinder of strawberry ice cream with some friends. Those cherry popsicles have left an impossibly sweet taste in my mouth for St Joe's and its angels of mercy.
Susan took over daytime duty. My husband and she took up where they'd left off the before only this time she has heard my story of his transformation, the wonderful husband he has become through our cancer journey. Her smile never waivers as she watches him with new eyes. I love these women. Too bad it's a one night stand. But I look forward now to the tender loving care of the best nurse ever.
March 24, 2010 A New Beginning
Driving to Phoenix for a new me. Reconstruction starts today. What a different mindset I have compared to earlier surgeries. A part of me feels guilty that I am doing this selfish thing but the other part of me says "go girl". I am listening to the latter.
I am going to St. Joseph's Hospital - my favorite based on my recent experiences. And I will be in the care of my favorite doctor who has racked up additional experience in this procedure since we first discussed it 20 months ago. He will be taking my latissimus dorsi(back) muscle to create a new breast on my radiated side. Then both sides will get expanders. The surgery should take about three hours, the whole process about six months.
I am looking through those months now, to putting this whole thing behind me, as much as possible. Focusing on the other side of this.
Last night my husband took me to dinner. When we returned there was a message from my anasthesiologist tell me I could eat up until six hours before and drink water up to three hours. That's a big change from my experience and it's already made the day easier.
And I confess, I am looking forward to being cared for by my wonderful husband.
I am going to St. Joseph's Hospital - my favorite based on my recent experiences. And I will be in the care of my favorite doctor who has racked up additional experience in this procedure since we first discussed it 20 months ago. He will be taking my latissimus dorsi(back) muscle to create a new breast on my radiated side. Then both sides will get expanders. The surgery should take about three hours, the whole process about six months.
I am looking through those months now, to putting this whole thing behind me, as much as possible. Focusing on the other side of this.
Last night my husband took me to dinner. When we returned there was a message from my anasthesiologist tell me I could eat up until six hours before and drink water up to three hours. That's a big change from my experience and it's already made the day easier.
And I confess, I am looking forward to being cared for by my wonderful husband.
January 25, 2010 Persevering in Prayer
My daughter asked me and a few of her friends to share what significant thing I had seen God do in 2009. This is what I sent her:
What God did in 2009 required a bit of background, so please bear with me.
It was Spring 2008. My son was about to graduate from college and asked if he could live with us for the summer to save money for Law School which he would start in the Fall. I was excited at the prospect. It had been six years since he'd lived with us. I nervously approached my husband.
"NO!" He yelled. "He can NOT stay with us. We can't afford it right now! I'm not going to work my tail off, feeding him while he lounges around!" I tried to explain that he hoped to find work. I knew it wasn't the real reason our son wasn't welcome in our home. Hadn't I prayed for 27 years for his father to love him and treat him as the only precious son he was?
My husband is 15 years older than me. He's been married twice before, fathering six daughters by the first wife. He wasn't much of a father to those sweet little girls. He didn't really know how and an acrimonious divorce pretty much shut him out of their lives. So despite his reluctance to father more children, I expected the arrival of his son to make a difference. It didn't. He was alternately kind, loving and fun and then indifferent and harsh. I worried about the confusion this behavior would cause my young son and the daughter that followed.
"Fathers, do not exasperate your children, so that they will not lose heart." These word from Colossians 3:21, jumped off the page at me when I first read them. But I prayed. Oh how prayed! Over and over again through the years, I prayed that our Heavenly Father would protect my children from their father's conflicting signals.
I had considered leaving him more than once, to protect them. Finally the day came when he'd gone too far, humiliating my eighteen-year-old son in front of a friend and then storming off. My son walked quietly out of the house. He called me from a friend's and said "Mom, I'm not coming home." "I understand," I said. "No, Mom" he said, "I'm not ever coming home again." My heart cried out, feeling his pain, roiling with my own. He was eighteen but he was still in high school. It was still my responsibility to give him a home. I was a successful business woman, I would buy another house and make a real home for my children.
"Then I'm going, too," I told him, my mind scrambling at the logistics of moving out. I'd seen a home that day that would work. So I packed up and we left.
My husband was full of grief and pleas and promises but I'd had it. Within days, however, the Lord's voice was getting too loud to ignore. Divorce was not an option. I told my husband, this separation was for a season. He wrote beautiful letters to each of us, asking forgiveness and pledging his love.
My daughter began rebelling, talking back to me, hanging out with a bad crowd. One night she walked out the door without a word. I called my husband and the police. Both came right over and she showed up around midnight. I was clearly losing control. "Why don't we just go back home," she shouted at me on Mother's Day. So we did.
My son packed his car and headed off to college and my daughter and I moved back home. I told my husband, we were coming back, under one condition. That Jesus was coming with us and that I could read my bible without insults from him. He heartily agreed.
For a while, it was wonderful. He even came to church with us. But slowly he slipped back into old ways and I cried out to God, "Why? Why did you make me come back?"
But I knew the answer. My husband needed us, even if he treated us badly. So I promised God I would show my husband more of Christ.
I began to study more and grow deeper in the Word. My daughter continued to cause us grief and worry which finally helped unite us as parents but even as she came around, returning wholeheartedly to the Lord, my husband gave and withdrew love from her unpredictably. My heart's cry continued its plea to change my husband's heart - to give me the loving home life I yearned for.
Throughout the years I took the kids on trips to visit friends and family. My husband had no desire to join us. He tolerated limited interaction with the children. The vacations he planned seldom included them. I went to school events and extracurricular events alone.
I felt like a single parent. As my children left home I feared they would never want to return. But I continued to pray for a miracle to change my husband's heart.
That day my husband refused to allow our son to stay with us, something snapped in me. I felt rage and fury as I had never felt before. A home that would not welcome my children, was no home. I had no home, I told myself. It hit me that I would never have that home this side of heaven. I cried out to God. And suddenly there He was before me. Jesus was holding out a hand to me asking me to hand over my hopes and dreams. Give up my ideas of happy family holidays and grandchildren running around the house. And I did. I let go of every hopeful dream. Peace flooded me as I accepted Jesus as my all. Jesus as sufficient. The hatred I felt for my husband moments before dissolved into forgiving love. Jesus was my comfort and I could rely on Him to comfort my children.
Soon after this release, He comforted me with the promise, "I will restore to you the years the locust has eaten away."(Joel 2:25) And I knew He would give me something better than the little white picket fence dream I'd clung to for so many years. I knew He loved me that much.
The next month I was diagnosed with breast cancer. How would God use this, I wondered. My husband was shaken at the fear of losing me. He hovered over me with love and concern and showed me a man I had not seen before. For the first time in our married life, I saw the depth of his love for me. The year that followed I fell in love with him again and we held tightly onto each other through surgeries, chemo, radiation and an uncertain future together. Our children became an unexpected comfort as they demonstrated the grace of God to him.
We got through that difficult year and I like to tell people I got cancer and a new husband out of it. But loving as he was to me, he held to his atheistic beliefs and I wondered if that could ever change.
During time spent with our wonderful son-in-law I found new hope as I saw my husband form a deep affection for him. Yet I felt jealous for our son with whom there still seemed to be a disconnect. So as Christmas '09 approached, I employed legions of prayer warriors at the wonderful church I attend to pray for a special, peaceful and even Joyous time with our son who would be home for the holidays from school. And please God for a connection between father and son.
It happened so subtly beginning with our daughter's email to her Dad suggesting he attend Christmas Eve services with us. She attached an article entitled "Atheism, Rituals and Holidays" encouraging the non-believer to participate in celebrations to promote family unity. He agreed. Then, rather than retiring to his office immediately after meals, he stayed to enjoy the company of our children. I was very busy with work during the holidays, much to my frustration, but I quickly saw these times as divine appointments between father and son. My husband was spending every available minute with him, offering "helpful" advice and concern. The holidays passed without a harsh word, a miracle in our family.
Then it happened. The day we watched our son pack up to begin the long drive cross country, my husband and I stood together seeing him off with hugs and travel blessings, I saw it! The answer to 28 years of prayer! My husband's eyes shone with tears at seeing him go! He even moped around a few days, complaining of the emptiness of the bedroom, admitting he missed Danny and I rejoiced in the faithfulness of God as I saw him begin to "restore the years..."
What did I learn in 2009? When God's people pray, He is faithful. When I humbled myself and asked for prayer support of faithful warriors, the battle was won there. Even the unanswered portions for my husband's salvation and for him to express his love to his son were answered "yes" although I have yet to "see" it. God's timing is perfect and I am so glad I've persevered in my marriage of 31 years.
May this bless you and encourage you to never give up but know He hears your prayers. And when "two or more are gathered," those prayers are empowered by Christ Himself.
A Humble Servant
Kathleen
What God did in 2009 required a bit of background, so please bear with me.
It was Spring 2008. My son was about to graduate from college and asked if he could live with us for the summer to save money for Law School which he would start in the Fall. I was excited at the prospect. It had been six years since he'd lived with us. I nervously approached my husband.
"NO!" He yelled. "He can NOT stay with us. We can't afford it right now! I'm not going to work my tail off, feeding him while he lounges around!" I tried to explain that he hoped to find work. I knew it wasn't the real reason our son wasn't welcome in our home. Hadn't I prayed for 27 years for his father to love him and treat him as the only precious son he was?
My husband is 15 years older than me. He's been married twice before, fathering six daughters by the first wife. He wasn't much of a father to those sweet little girls. He didn't really know how and an acrimonious divorce pretty much shut him out of their lives. So despite his reluctance to father more children, I expected the arrival of his son to make a difference. It didn't. He was alternately kind, loving and fun and then indifferent and harsh. I worried about the confusion this behavior would cause my young son and the daughter that followed.
"Fathers, do not exasperate your children, so that they will not lose heart." These word from Colossians 3:21, jumped off the page at me when I first read them. But I prayed. Oh how prayed! Over and over again through the years, I prayed that our Heavenly Father would protect my children from their father's conflicting signals.
I had considered leaving him more than once, to protect them. Finally the day came when he'd gone too far, humiliating my eighteen-year-old son in front of a friend and then storming off. My son walked quietly out of the house. He called me from a friend's and said "Mom, I'm not coming home." "I understand," I said. "No, Mom" he said, "I'm not ever coming home again." My heart cried out, feeling his pain, roiling with my own. He was eighteen but he was still in high school. It was still my responsibility to give him a home. I was a successful business woman, I would buy another house and make a real home for my children.
"Then I'm going, too," I told him, my mind scrambling at the logistics of moving out. I'd seen a home that day that would work. So I packed up and we left.
My husband was full of grief and pleas and promises but I'd had it. Within days, however, the Lord's voice was getting too loud to ignore. Divorce was not an option. I told my husband, this separation was for a season. He wrote beautiful letters to each of us, asking forgiveness and pledging his love.
My daughter began rebelling, talking back to me, hanging out with a bad crowd. One night she walked out the door without a word. I called my husband and the police. Both came right over and she showed up around midnight. I was clearly losing control. "Why don't we just go back home," she shouted at me on Mother's Day. So we did.
My son packed his car and headed off to college and my daughter and I moved back home. I told my husband, we were coming back, under one condition. That Jesus was coming with us and that I could read my bible without insults from him. He heartily agreed.
For a while, it was wonderful. He even came to church with us. But slowly he slipped back into old ways and I cried out to God, "Why? Why did you make me come back?"
But I knew the answer. My husband needed us, even if he treated us badly. So I promised God I would show my husband more of Christ.
I began to study more and grow deeper in the Word. My daughter continued to cause us grief and worry which finally helped unite us as parents but even as she came around, returning wholeheartedly to the Lord, my husband gave and withdrew love from her unpredictably. My heart's cry continued its plea to change my husband's heart - to give me the loving home life I yearned for.
Throughout the years I took the kids on trips to visit friends and family. My husband had no desire to join us. He tolerated limited interaction with the children. The vacations he planned seldom included them. I went to school events and extracurricular events alone.
I felt like a single parent. As my children left home I feared they would never want to return. But I continued to pray for a miracle to change my husband's heart.
That day my husband refused to allow our son to stay with us, something snapped in me. I felt rage and fury as I had never felt before. A home that would not welcome my children, was no home. I had no home, I told myself. It hit me that I would never have that home this side of heaven. I cried out to God. And suddenly there He was before me. Jesus was holding out a hand to me asking me to hand over my hopes and dreams. Give up my ideas of happy family holidays and grandchildren running around the house. And I did. I let go of every hopeful dream. Peace flooded me as I accepted Jesus as my all. Jesus as sufficient. The hatred I felt for my husband moments before dissolved into forgiving love. Jesus was my comfort and I could rely on Him to comfort my children.
Soon after this release, He comforted me with the promise, "I will restore to you the years the locust has eaten away."(Joel 2:25) And I knew He would give me something better than the little white picket fence dream I'd clung to for so many years. I knew He loved me that much.
The next month I was diagnosed with breast cancer. How would God use this, I wondered. My husband was shaken at the fear of losing me. He hovered over me with love and concern and showed me a man I had not seen before. For the first time in our married life, I saw the depth of his love for me. The year that followed I fell in love with him again and we held tightly onto each other through surgeries, chemo, radiation and an uncertain future together. Our children became an unexpected comfort as they demonstrated the grace of God to him.
We got through that difficult year and I like to tell people I got cancer and a new husband out of it. But loving as he was to me, he held to his atheistic beliefs and I wondered if that could ever change.
During time spent with our wonderful son-in-law I found new hope as I saw my husband form a deep affection for him. Yet I felt jealous for our son with whom there still seemed to be a disconnect. So as Christmas '09 approached, I employed legions of prayer warriors at the wonderful church I attend to pray for a special, peaceful and even Joyous time with our son who would be home for the holidays from school. And please God for a connection between father and son.
It happened so subtly beginning with our daughter's email to her Dad suggesting he attend Christmas Eve services with us. She attached an article entitled "Atheism, Rituals and Holidays" encouraging the non-believer to participate in celebrations to promote family unity. He agreed. Then, rather than retiring to his office immediately after meals, he stayed to enjoy the company of our children. I was very busy with work during the holidays, much to my frustration, but I quickly saw these times as divine appointments between father and son. My husband was spending every available minute with him, offering "helpful" advice and concern. The holidays passed without a harsh word, a miracle in our family.
Then it happened. The day we watched our son pack up to begin the long drive cross country, my husband and I stood together seeing him off with hugs and travel blessings, I saw it! The answer to 28 years of prayer! My husband's eyes shone with tears at seeing him go! He even moped around a few days, complaining of the emptiness of the bedroom, admitting he missed Danny and I rejoiced in the faithfulness of God as I saw him begin to "restore the years..."
What did I learn in 2009? When God's people pray, He is faithful. When I humbled myself and asked for prayer support of faithful warriors, the battle was won there. Even the unanswered portions for my husband's salvation and for him to express his love to his son were answered "yes" although I have yet to "see" it. God's timing is perfect and I am so glad I've persevered in my marriage of 31 years.
May this bless you and encourage you to never give up but know He hears your prayers. And when "two or more are gathered," those prayers are empowered by Christ Himself.
A Humble Servant
Kathleen
January 11, 2010 For One Who's Gone
She was the graceful, tenderhearted woman I met near the end of my radiation. We only crossed paths twice but we bonded at the first meeting, we are sisters-in-Christ. Her breast cancer had returned and she was facing a second round of treatment. We sat side-by-side, starched gowns covering our nakedness, exposing our vulnerability. Silver curls haloed a thoughtful face as she confessed an earnest desire to live to watch her grandchildren's lives unfold.
She called me a while back and shared her frustration with our doctors - we shared Dr. Kato and Kuske. And she told me how tired she felt. The battle was taking its toll. Last night I received an email from her daughter letting me know Gerri had passed on October 26th.
It hit us hard, my husband and I. He'd met her and her husband in the waiting room. He'd noticed the stricken face, the lost gaze of a husband facing the fear recurrence brings. She is the first of our acquaintances on this road of cancer to have succombed. It is sobering.
I fell asleep last night at peace, grateful for each day and especially for the new man my husband has become. He, I am sorry to say, could not sleep. He was feeling "emotional" he told me. I know it is hard for him not to worry. We have seen my brother's cancer recur five times. It is a fearful thing. Yet he, Jim, is still going strong.
I remember meeting Gerri the first time, how we rejoiced in seeing Christ in each other. A great Hope in a hard time. We briefly poured comfort into each other and went on our ways, the stronger for it. I remember, at the time, feeling grateful for her soft eyes and sweet face. She gave me a bit of herself to take on my journey and I am grateful to have met her, more grateful that we shall meet again.
She called me a while back and shared her frustration with our doctors - we shared Dr. Kato and Kuske. And she told me how tired she felt. The battle was taking its toll. Last night I received an email from her daughter letting me know Gerri had passed on October 26th.
It hit us hard, my husband and I. He'd met her and her husband in the waiting room. He'd noticed the stricken face, the lost gaze of a husband facing the fear recurrence brings. She is the first of our acquaintances on this road of cancer to have succombed. It is sobering.
I fell asleep last night at peace, grateful for each day and especially for the new man my husband has become. He, I am sorry to say, could not sleep. He was feeling "emotional" he told me. I know it is hard for him not to worry. We have seen my brother's cancer recur five times. It is a fearful thing. Yet he, Jim, is still going strong.
I remember meeting Gerri the first time, how we rejoiced in seeing Christ in each other. A great Hope in a hard time. We briefly poured comfort into each other and went on our ways, the stronger for it. I remember, at the time, feeling grateful for her soft eyes and sweet face. She gave me a bit of herself to take on my journey and I am grateful to have met her, more grateful that we shall meet again.
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