Chemo Friday Reflection

 

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Ports make life so much easier!

Receiving a diagnosis of a terminal illness (cloaked in the more palatable guise of something that’s going to be treated as a long-term chronic condition but that is 98% guaranteed to kill you at some point) can be a real buzz kill. I can’t say how it goes for other folks, but here’s how it went down for me.

First there’s numbness. It was difficult to wrap my head around the facts. I knew deep down inside the cancer was back; I could feel it quite literally in my metastases-hollowing bones, ascites-distended belly, and painfully swollen ankles. Part of me wanted to burst into tears and echo Scarlett O’Hara’s quotable line from Gone with the Wind: “I’ll think about it tomorrow.” Still another part of me wanted to stick my fingers in my ears and holler “La La La La La La La!” while floating in a dreamy hot pink kayak down that river called denial.

By contrast, the fierce, optimistic part of me kept saying “Suck it up, buttercup! Live your one-precious-poetry-of-Mary-Oliver-infused life like there’s no tomorrow! You’ve got this thing.” And when I ceased talking and thinking long enough, the still, small voice of God whispers from deep in my gut: “Just be. Stop. Stop doing. Cease fretting. Listen. I am with you.”

All the voices. All the feels and emotions. Just b-r-e-a-t-h-e. Just l-i-v-e.

It’s been four weeks since my official diagnosis, just shy of one calendar month. As of today I’ll have had three Taxol treatments, downed 23 quarts of super greens and antioxidant smoothies (love my collards, kale, and spinach!), ingested two bottles of enhanced Transfer Factor, four cups of special herb tea each day, multiple rounds of barley grass tablets, and a nightly bubbly akalyzer beverage. Add to that a delicious mostly raw, whole foods vegan diet (not very practical for church potlucks), and for the most part I feel and look better physically than I have in ages. My morning weight has dropped into the mid-120s, and were it not for the fatigue, I think I could go out and run a 10K with no trouble at all. Even the effects of the chemo have been minimal and manageable.

My biggest challenge in response to the diagnosis? Slowing down. I can no longer keep up the 12- to 14-hour work days I had been used to “managing.” And you know what? That’s a good thing. A healthy thing. A stewardship of life and Sabbath thing. Thank you, cancer, for teaching this hard-headed, over-achieving, duty-bound woman about priorities. We miss so much of life in our furious multi-tasking, our need to accomplish, to please, to do good, to achieve, to matter, etc. etc. etc. One might assume I would have learned a thing or two in my first go-round with breast cancer 14 years ago. Clearly, there’s still some learnin’ to be done: “Fall down seven, get up eight.”

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#Thrive pose for Metastatic Breast Cancer Awareness Day (10/13) 

My strongest medicine? It’s not the Taxol or the vegan diet and supergreens. It’s G-R-A-T-I-T-U-D-E. I am so grateful for the number of people who are walking life’s journey with me. My beloved husband, our children and extended family, friends and colleagues all have rallied to form a hammock of support and care. It’s a beautiful and amazing thing to behold.

Your friendship and solidarity–evidenced through cards, letters, flowers, books, chemo kits, encouraging words, time and presence, and above all your prayers–mean so much. Thank you. You lift my spirits. You help keep me grounded and focused. You point to all that truly matters. Thank you. Gratitude is indeed strong medicine, and your accompaniment and prayers have served me up a big dose of it in beloved community near and far. Thank you.

Now back to working on slowing down. To be continued…

8 responses to “Chemo Friday Reflection

  1. Your practice of gratitude and gift of gentleness has always been inspiring for me. But now as your gratitude navigates deep waters and as gentleness includes being gentle with yourself, you are truly a lighthouse in the storm
    for me. (Think Cape Cod.) Thank you for so honestly sharing what this journey is like. You are mentoring the rest of us. God’s peace and healing prayers.

  2. I don’t know what to say ….. I am grateful for the time you spent in Sheyenne… you are in our prayers…

    • Connie, thank you. Your prayers and your reaching out means so much. I am grateful for my time in Sheyenne. I wouldn’t be the person or pastor I am today without the loving formation of the beloved community of the Sheyenne-Oberon Ministry. I carry you all in my heart and the beauty of North Dakota is etched in my spirit.

  3. Your post reminds me of this Sunday’s Gospel when we hear Jesus say: You shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free. Thank you.

  4. I am living with my 3rd bout with cancer in 21 years. This time it’s not breast cancer but lymphoma. I too have been told it is not curable, but it is treatable. So many of your statements are ones I have said. Most especially, I refuse to let cancer define me!
    God has blessed us both with amazing husband’s and support networks. May you continue to live in that Peace that passes understanding.
    Blessings to you, Sister!

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