you're probably living my life right now.

Seriously.

See, my family and made the mistake last week of letting down our gaurd and letting go a little. We all were so sure that Mom, was "done", that she just had to go back last week for more labs, followed by regular appointments/scans.

We were wrong. My embattled body wasn't fighting off the effects of the chemo, and Wednesday I had a harried run back to Moffit in terrible traffic, followed by and ambulance transfer to another affilliated hosptial (Moffitt was full, evidently, EVERYONE decided to have issued the week after Easter).

It's been six days. Six. That's longer than a chemo round. Without the prep time for me or the family. Talk about control issues. I can wait in the hosptial for my body to behave or go home and chance dying within eight hours.

Thankfully, once again the family has circled the wagons, both practically and in prayer. And people are praying everywhere.

But it's a reminder not to let down our gaurd, to persist in righteousness, and to keep our eyes on the prize in all things, not just what has become "Sarcoma Watch 06/07!"

God willing (no fevers), I get to go home tomorrow. It will be sweet, but we all will be wiser and warier.

Press on towards the goal today...and have a blessed Monday.

Labels: Cancer, Reflections

I was released from my last day of chemotherapy on Good Friday. One of my favorite nurses, Janelle, was taking care of me that day. She is a believer, and her mother is a cancer survivor who now directs an oncology center in Chatanooga, TN.

She was telling me that her mother's center recently installed a large brass bell in the front lobby, and whenever someone finished with chemo, they got to ring the bell, both to declare their "graduation" and as an encouragment to others.

Wow, I thought, compared to that, walking out of Moffitt was kind of anti-climactic. (Although my kiddos and in-laws greeted me with beautiful banners and my sister sent gorgeous roses) And while I think I would like a celebration of some sort when I'm feeling better (there is definitely another transfusion in my very close future)--mostly to celebrate my amazing support team in "real time" and on the internet--I couldn't help thinking.

How typical of us as people for us to want us to recognize our suffering and struggles. And we ALL have suffering and struggles...maybe not cancer, but we all walk those paths. But to reflect on in on Good Friday, yes, I had been miserable, but not to the point of shedding blood. Yes, it was an awful round, but I was not alone; my Jesus suffered alone and he died for me and for the sin of the entirety of mankind who would by grace believe. I was happy to get out, but I did feel rather small and melancholy as I reflected on my Savior's death, as is more than appropriate for Good Friday.

Lord, let my life be the bell that rings not my own sufferings and joys, but simply the music and truth of who you are. Thank you for your choice to suffer for that which you did not deserve and that which I so highly did.

Labels: chemotherapy, Reflections

To say the second round of chemo was fun or smooth would be a lie. Praise God, I didn't end up in the ICU with neutropenia (LOW white blood cells--that happened round one in California), but I did end up having to cut my course short due to neurotoxcicity. Evidently my brain threw a great party (hallucinatinons about putting Christmas presents away--a control freak even from my hospital bed!, a seizure-like episode that resulted in a fall and knee injury, and six doses of a really nasty anti-toxin that turns the majority of one's body fluids blue--if you're young enough, insert the theme to the "Smurfs" here). The mercy to me is that I don't remember any of it. My poor mom, on the other hand, thank God she was bedsitting me that night and that the doctor "just happened" to walk in during my party--he was able to witness my behavior and get help that much faster. I also had the usual fun of nausea, exhaustion, chemo brain and extreme blurred vision that prevents doing much of all except lying in bed (not one of my favorite pastimes).

Despite all this, I still can't say enough about Moffitt. What a place of compassion and professional excellence. I'm ready to take my clinical pharmacist home with me. My care was exceptional.

Enough about the cancer. My kids and husband made it to Florida and we are enjoying time together before dh starts his new job on Monday. I'm praying his eyes continue to light up when he speaks of a new work environment, even with all of the challenges ahead.

We were sneaking in an early morning pillow talk this morning. While we see God's hands EVERYWHERE in all of what we are going through--getting into specialists in record time, being able to bless friends with much needed furniture, selling a car to friends on the DAY their second car gives up the ghost--the move and treatment has been full of trials as well. I even got a beautiful note and gift from a cousin I haven't seen in ten years that moved me to tears.

However, an expected layoff (with thirteen weeks of severance pay) didn't come through with the other company, and my husband resignation also cancelled out a bonus that he had been working on for the better part of three years. We haven't had a nibble on our house in Arizona, and despite leaving our house in amazing condition; we're moving into a house that needs significant TLC. Oh, did I mention that my husband's driver's license was misplaced in the flight from Phoenix to Tampa? Praise God he has a passport.

Part of me wants a BIG miracle. The call from the doctors saying they made a mistake and that I really don't have to drag myself and my family through four more rounds of chemotherapy. The financial windfall that will make the down payment on the van we could use so much, or the TV that died on the moving truck before it even got loaded, the washer and dryer upgrade, a nicer refrigerator for my lovely new (and soon to be painted!) kitchen. I want the realtor to call TODAY with the offer on the house in Phoenix that will relieve my husband of the burden of paying two mortgages right now. For my hair to miraculously grow back overnight, for me not to have to sport my "Michael Jackson" protective mask at Target and put up with looks from deeply sympathetic to avoidingly horrified.

Then it hits me. Well, not so much hits me, but the still, small voice whispers, "My grace is sufficent for you". And when it all comes down (and it has), the miracle is Christ in me. It's eternal life. It's not having to do all of this bitter and terrified. Its knowing that me, and most of the people in my life have the choice to never be the same again through all of this. It's my friends making comments about character traits that I certainly can't see in myself (extending grace to others, Laurie?) but I know only God can be sanctifying me through.

What's next, you may ask? If you're still reading the book, it's a round of test appointments Tuesday, a new port placement (the double, cadillac-model) the following Tuesday, hopefully the boxes and furniture arrive on the 18th. Chemo starts again most likely on the 20th, and we're praying for some new brilliant protocol to try that wont' make things quite so hairy. Pray for wisdom for my sweet doctor--there's just not much research into the whole soft-cell sarcoma of an internal organ thing for anyone to work with. I am research :-).

The adventure continues. Today I choose to embrace my miracle. How about you?

Labels: Cancer, Reflections