Try as we might to be humble and selfless, there is something about human nature that prompts most of us to look for our own names when any kind of list is posted, be it for bad news or good. This morning I looked as usual for my name at the end of the alphabetical prayer list in the Sunday bulletin at church and was a little surprised when it wasn't there.
I hadn't asked the church to take my name off, but I had grown increasingly uncomfortable with seeing it there. I have been feeling so healthy and strong, and all my tests lately have been good, so I had wondered if it was time to let go of that lifeline.
My mixed thoughts were similar to when my treatment for breast cancer finally ended in 1997; glad to be done with needing the treatment but also feeling a bit naked to go without it.
Being off the church's prayer list is freeing. It is another confirmation that I am well. I hope it is also an omen to others who remain on the list that their time to turn the corner to good health is coming.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
A long walk
A year ago today I was experiencing my first "chemo crash" from having received a double dose of drugs the Friday before. It was tough, but I had high expectations for killing off the cancer cells growing in my abdomen, so my spirits were good.
Fast forward 365 days. There are similarities in that parts of today were also tough, and there was a bit of a crash, but I'll take walking a half-marathon over a double dose of chemo any day. The trek today through Downtown Columbus and several surrounding neighborhoods is nothing compared to my journey of the past 12 months.
On that day a year ago, I remember having trouble walking from the bed upstairs to the sofa downstairs. That was about the extent of my exercise that day. Today, I walked 13.1 miles with my daughter. My son-in-law ran the Columbus Half Marathon but Mandy and I were just as proud of our finish in less than four hours; it was mostly about finishing it.
The original game plan was for this to have occurred last year. Mandy had registered the three of us. Then she and I spent much of last summer training for it with progressively longer walks. When Mandy hurt her foot while training and I discovered the lump in my abdomen, the Columbus Marathon folks carried our registration over to this year.
Mandy's year has been one of great accomplishment as well. She is now the proud mother of Dodge, who wasn't yet on the horizon when we had to postpone our 13-mile walk last year.
We can't know what obstacles the other walkers, the runners and the hand-cyclers overcame to get to the finish line today, but I doubt crossing it was much sweeter for any of them than it was for us.
Fast forward 365 days. There are similarities in that parts of today were also tough, and there was a bit of a crash, but I'll take walking a half-marathon over a double dose of chemo any day. The trek today through Downtown Columbus and several surrounding neighborhoods is nothing compared to my journey of the past 12 months.
On that day a year ago, I remember having trouble walking from the bed upstairs to the sofa downstairs. That was about the extent of my exercise that day. Today, I walked 13.1 miles with my daughter. My son-in-law ran the Columbus Half Marathon but Mandy and I were just as proud of our finish in less than four hours; it was mostly about finishing it.
The original game plan was for this to have occurred last year. Mandy had registered the three of us. Then she and I spent much of last summer training for it with progressively longer walks. When Mandy hurt her foot while training and I discovered the lump in my abdomen, the Columbus Marathon folks carried our registration over to this year.
Mandy's year has been one of great accomplishment as well. She is now the proud mother of Dodge, who wasn't yet on the horizon when we had to postpone our 13-mile walk last year.
We can't know what obstacles the other walkers, the runners and the hand-cyclers overcame to get to the finish line today, but I doubt crossing it was much sweeter for any of them than it was for us.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Threes
I need a new prayer list.
During my Cancer 2.0 ordeal of the past year, I started keeping a written list of people for whom I wanted to pray. I had been so touched by hearing from others that I was on their personal prayer list, I knew I needed a list of my own.
They say death comes in threes, so I was a bit anxious when two women on my prayer list died recently within a week of each other. I heard at work yesterday morning about the death of a third -- the only daughter of someone I know professionally. I had never met Samantha, but the story of her courageous fight with a blood cancer had touched me.
Now I am struggling to reconcile my feelings about having lost three people from my prayer list in such a short period. I know it is irrational, but I can't help wonder if I didn't pray hard enough, or often enough, for the people on my list. Then there is the comfort that none of these three is suffering any more. Each of them had endured a very difficult year fighting their various cancers. My experience was mild by comparison.
Prayers are answered, I know, but not always in ways we anticipate or would design. As I redo my prayer list today, I will ask God to increase my faith that His plan is greater than we can imagine.
During my Cancer 2.0 ordeal of the past year, I started keeping a written list of people for whom I wanted to pray. I had been so touched by hearing from others that I was on their personal prayer list, I knew I needed a list of my own.
They say death comes in threes, so I was a bit anxious when two women on my prayer list died recently within a week of each other. I heard at work yesterday morning about the death of a third -- the only daughter of someone I know professionally. I had never met Samantha, but the story of her courageous fight with a blood cancer had touched me.
Now I am struggling to reconcile my feelings about having lost three people from my prayer list in such a short period. I know it is irrational, but I can't help wonder if I didn't pray hard enough, or often enough, for the people on my list. Then there is the comfort that none of these three is suffering any more. Each of them had endured a very difficult year fighting their various cancers. My experience was mild by comparison.
Prayers are answered, I know, but not always in ways we anticipate or would design. As I redo my prayer list today, I will ask God to increase my faith that His plan is greater than we can imagine.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Alleluia!
I am so excited I can hardly stand it. I finally have some breathing room!
While I have been feeling great for months now, there was always a little "but...." tacked on to each new test result. Every time the doctors would order a follow-up test to look closer at some new spot or shadow, the area under suspicion would pass muster, but some new finding would crop up that needed further examination. It was like being on a tether that would only let me reach so far to freedom.
Yesterday, the leash finally broke! My primary oncologist had asked the thoracic surgeon to see me after Friday's chest CT and MRI of the lower back. I braced to hear about some new development as I met with the doctor and his assistant, or even worse, that the spots they were watching merited concern. Instead, the doctor said the latest tests showed very good news, and he didn't add any "buts!"
A hymn we sang in church a couple of weeks ago is running through my head this morning. "Make my life an alleluia" seems very appropriate to my current frame of mind. Given that my medical care since February's surgery has been at OSU, I am also thinking of the university's tag line in recent years: Do something great!
There's nothing like a serious health threat being lifted to make you recommitted to making the most of your life. Can I get an "Amen?"
While I have been feeling great for months now, there was always a little "but...." tacked on to each new test result. Every time the doctors would order a follow-up test to look closer at some new spot or shadow, the area under suspicion would pass muster, but some new finding would crop up that needed further examination. It was like being on a tether that would only let me reach so far to freedom.
Yesterday, the leash finally broke! My primary oncologist had asked the thoracic surgeon to see me after Friday's chest CT and MRI of the lower back. I braced to hear about some new development as I met with the doctor and his assistant, or even worse, that the spots they were watching merited concern. Instead, the doctor said the latest tests showed very good news, and he didn't add any "buts!"
A hymn we sang in church a couple of weeks ago is running through my head this morning. "Make my life an alleluia" seems very appropriate to my current frame of mind. Given that my medical care since February's surgery has been at OSU, I am also thinking of the university's tag line in recent years: Do something great!
There's nothing like a serious health threat being lifted to make you recommitted to making the most of your life. Can I get an "Amen?"
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
PETs and haircuts
I'm playing hooky from the gym this morning. My workout buddy has notified me she wouldn't be there, so I am grabbing this time to chronicle good news from my latest doctor's visit: my PET scan from last week showed no signs of cancer in the two areas under surveillance from prior tests. My liver and lungs were clear!
The scenario playing out yesterday afternoon is becoming familiar. Follow-up medical tests on the spots we were watching failed to show any confirmation of problems, but a couple of new shadows appeared, bringing other areas under watch. When the doctor stepped out of the room after reporting on the PET scan, Tom and I shared smiles and a layer of tension neither of us had wanted to acknowledge lifted.
PET scans use a radioactive glucose injection to highlight hypermetabolic hot spots that could indicate the presence of cancer or other problems. MRIs were scheduled for two new, slight shadows in my chest and lower back, but the doctor is more cautious than concerned. The chest may be nothing; the spine could be a touch of arthritis. Better to take a closer look to be certain, the doctor said.
With each new series of tests, I am reminded of how generously I am blessed, and I give thanks for all the many prayers that have carried me through this past year.
I am seeing a new hair stylist this evening to give a bit more shape to my curls. I had hoped I wouldn't need to cancel the appointment because of the prospect of new chemotherapy. Happily, I will tell her I plan to let my hair grow for a while!
The scenario playing out yesterday afternoon is becoming familiar. Follow-up medical tests on the spots we were watching failed to show any confirmation of problems, but a couple of new shadows appeared, bringing other areas under watch. When the doctor stepped out of the room after reporting on the PET scan, Tom and I shared smiles and a layer of tension neither of us had wanted to acknowledge lifted.
PET scans use a radioactive glucose injection to highlight hypermetabolic hot spots that could indicate the presence of cancer or other problems. MRIs were scheduled for two new, slight shadows in my chest and lower back, but the doctor is more cautious than concerned. The chest may be nothing; the spine could be a touch of arthritis. Better to take a closer look to be certain, the doctor said.
With each new series of tests, I am reminded of how generously I am blessed, and I give thanks for all the many prayers that have carried me through this past year.
I am seeing a new hair stylist this evening to give a bit more shape to my curls. I had hoped I wouldn't need to cancel the appointment because of the prospect of new chemotherapy. Happily, I will tell her I plan to let my hair grow for a while!
Girlfriends and angels
Five friends from high school -- including my best friend since grade school -- got together for dinner the other night. We have been seeing more of each other in recent months, holding tight to our friendship in honor of a sixth who had moved out West years ago and was having a tough time with cancer. This week's dinner was especially important because our ailing friend, nicknamed "Bird," had lost her fight a few days earlier.
The first two to arrive were sharing a 1970 photo of the two of them with Bird. It was a beautiful fall evening and our meeting place was the outdoor patio of a new restaurant we had been wanting to try. As the two reminisced about happier times full of promise, an especially bright shaft of evening light caused them to look up just in time to see a small, white feather float out of nowhere and gently light on the empty sixth chair at the head of the table.
I was the last one there, and as I started to take the closest open spot, the others cried out, "Don't sit there! That's Bird's seat!" Then I heard the story of how she had joined our party that evening.
More memories were shared and old pictures were passed around the table. None of us doubted that the tiny feather was anything but a happy greeting from our friend who had passed. At some point during the gathering, Bird was suddenly gone. She had flitted away unseen by any of us, and that was very much in character. She was always a free spirit, and we will miss her.
The first two to arrive were sharing a 1970 photo of the two of them with Bird. It was a beautiful fall evening and our meeting place was the outdoor patio of a new restaurant we had been wanting to try. As the two reminisced about happier times full of promise, an especially bright shaft of evening light caused them to look up just in time to see a small, white feather float out of nowhere and gently light on the empty sixth chair at the head of the table.
I was the last one there, and as I started to take the closest open spot, the others cried out, "Don't sit there! That's Bird's seat!" Then I heard the story of how she had joined our party that evening.
More memories were shared and old pictures were passed around the table. None of us doubted that the tiny feather was anything but a happy greeting from our friend who had passed. At some point during the gathering, Bird was suddenly gone. She had flitted away unseen by any of us, and that was very much in character. She was always a free spirit, and we will miss her.
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