Sunday July 23

Hmm... where to start?  It feels like it's been a while since I've written so here I am at long last.  I was struck by the date as I typed it in... and looked back over the calendar on my phone to realize that it's been almost two months ago, we sat down with our doctor at St Joseph's Hospital, on Black Thursday, to hear the diagnosis and those awful awful words that still ring through my ears, over and over again.  Two months since our lives have been turned upside down, we've been shaken, battered, grieved and it feels a little like we've been hung upside down on the clothes line after being put through an old fashioned wringer washer and all the change has been shaken out of our pockets and the blood is still rushing to our heads and it's hard to keep things straight.  Two months ago, my stomach, minus some ugly bits and bobs, was unscarred and only just starting to show vague signs of our little baby growing in there.  Two months ago, I could honestly say I had never had surgery, been admitted overnight to hospital or had anesthesia.  Two months ago, we were just thinking this was a rough pregnancy.  Two months ago, so many, many things...
      And now, our world consists of doctor's appointments, medication schedules, PICC dressing changes, more appointments and naps, lots of naps, and some chemotherapy thrown in for good measure.  I am dumb founded when I consider all the changes, things that have become the new normal.  Things that have fallen by the wayside as not important.  Things that have become more important, like time, family, friends, a good chair to lounge in, friendly staff, meds that alleviate symptoms, patience, church, my Bible, my God.  How often I think about that country song which I heard many years ago, to "live like you were dying".  And oh, how I thought at the time, that will not be me for many many years to come.  And how now, those words, that idea has become kinda precious and special to me.  Not that I am expecting the end anytime imminently or to be morbid, please don't think that, but to really live without regrets, to seize moments, to enjoy the life and the time we're given.  That is a wakeup call for everyone of us!  So this week, despite the chemo, I spent time second hand shopping with my Mom (a real love of mine), going out to Harvey's for poutine (great great post chemo food...but that was the craving!), visiting with friends, sitting on the porch and enjoying our little cozy lights, reading books, enjoying flowers and my garden (even a little bit of light gardening - I promise I was careful!), attending a classical music concert and enjoying a BBQ with friends and a dip in a pool for Martha and Timothy (sadly, the PICC kinda rules out dips in the pool for me... a bummer in this hot sticky weather).

Just because it's neat...

    I know this all sounds like a lot, but to be honest, it's better for me to be busy than to wallow and to leave time to panic, to get worked up, to stew... Stewing is a very good word for what I do so easily... the temperature turns up a bit, I look at an article, I think about my operation, I feel Ava kick and sometimes little things are enough to start me off on tangents that need severe curbing lest I fall into deep valleys of despair.  I would say that this second chemo cycle has been better tolerated physically, other than some stomach upsets that are relatively managed by diet and meds, but the emotional toll, the darkness that can creep in so easily, has been harder to banish.  I listen to music, read my Bible, cry, swear, pray and plead for grace to accept this trial, this hardship, this huge thorn in the flesh that has been brought into our lives.  I, along with the apostle Paul, plead for its removal, for its banishment, for it to vanish from our lives and that we can simply return to our "normal".  But normal is two months ago, along with our innocence about the medical system and cancer and its impact on our lives.  And yet we know that sometimes these thorns, these hardships are not always removed, prayers are not always answered in ways that we would want or deem to be best for us at the time.  Yet as I listened to a song this afternoon, when I was trying to quiet my thoughts enough to sleep and recover, i was reminded of the words of "Even If" and the tears slid down my cheeks as it spoke of being content and saying it is well with my soul despite our circumstances.  I'm not always strong, I'm not always brave, as people tell me I am, I'm not always a stellar example of a saint striving forwards in the battle, I am weak and very, very human and frail and fragile much of the time.  But, to be honest, without God, I wouldn't know where I was.  We had a sermon on Psalm 3 this morning, not a psalm I've spent a lot of time dwelling on to be honest, but it was a comfort.  I'll share it tonight and hope that my additional thoughts tucked in behind the verses aren't too distracting from the comfort of Scripture.
Psalm 3
A psalm of David.  When he fled from his son Absalom. wouldn't that be awful?  Having to run in fear from your own child?  That he was looking to kill you and take everything that was yours?  David did understand sorrow and grief.
1.O Lord, how many are my foes!
How many rise up against me!
2.Many are saying of me,
"God will not deliver him."
I was struck, that while David had physical foes and enemies, my opponents are other - they are feelings - of despair, of hopelessness, of lack of joy, of sorrow, and they are physical - the cancer cells that are invading and making inroads in places they shouldn't be, fighting against my good cells, taking over healthy things and making them polluted and how I hate them!  How they are definitely the enemy, the interlopers, the foes against which I am pitted and how I cannot fight them on my own!
3.But you are a shield around me, O Lord;
you bestow glory on me and
lift up my head.
4.To the Lord, I cry aloud,
and he answers from his holy hill.
A shield, which our pastor described as a very defensive weapon, like a wall or armor, to protect us in the fight against the evil one, who seeks our life, our very spiritual life.  You lift up my head - so often, it has been bowed down in grief, in sorrow in sadness.  I picture this like a parent lifting a child's face tenderly in his hands and raising that child up when they are sad and looking into their face with the love that shines and brings such comfort.  I do cry aloud to God, and while it seems at times that He is far away, yet, we are promised that He is our shield...so that's close.
5.I lie down and sleep,
I wake again, because the Lord sustains me.
6.I will not fear the tens of thousands
drawn up against me on every side.
Sleep is sometimes elusive, sometimes broken, sometimes painful when dreams interlope and twist themselves into my brain and make me feel despair and yet it is restoring and health-bringing.  And such a dichotomy.  I feel on the nights that I'm hooked up to chemo, that I'm restless and so worried to twist or damage the tubing and then there isn't a good sleep, that this chemical is dripping slowly in my veins and whilst doing damage to the bad cells, its also hurting my good cells.  A friend and a foe, the ten thousands are the cells, minute things in my body, the bad ones, the militant ones that are waging the war against my being.  It's hard not to fear them...
7. Arise, O Lord!
Deliver me, O my God!
Strike all my enemies on the jaw;
break the teeth of the wicked.
8. From the Lord comes deliverance.
May your blessing be on your people.
This seems brutal, as our pastor pointed out, but in fact, you don't want to leave your enemies with strength to hurt and terrorize anymore.  And the Lord, who has the plans in His hands, will be the one with the vengeance and the strength to defeat our worst enemy, Satan, and death.  For which I am thankful and which brings comfort and blessing in the midst of the strife.  Each day remains a struggle but each day is new, with new blessings and strength for the moment, for the hour, for the day...