Just Trust

This week brought us a (drum roll please).....

TOTALLY UNEVENTFUL 

TREATMENT DAY!! 

My hemoglobin was at a 9, my port worked immediately and we were in and out in 4-5 hours.  Thank You Lord!!  The experience was dramatically different than previous weeks, most recently the week prior. 

God is certainly working on me and my imperfections and I am humbled and so thankful for His gentle instruction.  Last week He mercifully showed me another area I was lacking and needed His help with...

"Wakey, Wakey!!".  It was the day after Christmas.  Lou got me up a little after 5am.  Morning person I am not, especially when outside of my window, I see the same darkness as when I went to sleep.  I had to be at treatment by 7am, the same time the treatment facility's elevators start running.  To my delight, I was the 3rd patient to check in and by 7:30am I was called to phlebotomy for vitals.  At 9:30am my name was announced for chemo.  Lou and I quickly turned to each other, beaming from ear to ear, like two contestants on the Price is Right.  Did Johnny Olsen really just announce "AMY AND LOU COME ON DOOOOOWWWNNN!"?  I stood from my seat, began to walk forward and joking with another early bird patient, raised my arms in the air, a champion.  Maybe today's the day we can feel normal and go to Chinatown for veggie dim sum or afternoon tea when we're through.  The day is young!

Wait for it...

While I got comfortable in the private chemo room's recliner, my nurse reviewed my vitals.  I'll paraphrase and give you her Cliff's Notes. "Your hemoglobin is 7.6.  We want you at an 8.  Blah, blah blood transfusion (which takes 4 hours minimum) starts at 4:30pm. Blah, blah, let's also get a port study done at 2:30pm."

I wish I could say my first thoughts were "Great!  I'll have more energy after a transfusion" and "Yes!  Let's get down to the bottom of this port business."  But they weren't.  I waited for the nurse to leave the room before I started to cry.  Lou reassured me it was OK but in my mind, we were so close to just chemo'ing up and gettin' out.  You know when the little things start adding up and you feel like you're hitting your breaking point?  Physically I was exhausted and emotionally at that moment, I felt alone, bound in an imaginary straitjacket, struggling to get out. God, I just wanted a fun day with my husband. 

Hey Princess - Yes, I'm talking to me.  Today isn't a punishment, it's for my own good!  Zephaniah 3:17 - The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.  Am I trusting God as much as I think I am?  Do I understand that He's in control of this entire trial, down to the tiniest details?  Have I really been giving this all to God? 

Apparently, no. 

I'm the toddler giving her Father her broken toy to fix, and then rushing back to take it from His hands when He doesn't fix it as fast as baby girl thinks He should - even though it will remain broken in her own incapable hands.  OK Lord.  Let's work on this.

The Bible, the Word of God contained in 66 amazing books, overflows with power to guide, encourage and strengthen us.  Let's get a sampling to see what it says about our issue of the day, "trust":

• Psalm 91:2 - I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.”
• Psalm 56:3 - When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.
• Proverbs 3:5 - Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.
• Romans 15:13 - May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

God reminded me of another time I needed to trust Him.

A while back, a seemingly perfect new job opportunity came my way during a time of difficult leadership with an employer.  Several people recommended me for the position.  My years of personal and professional experience was perfect for what they were looking for.  It paid a little less than the job I had, but I was willing to make a "quality of life" move.  I prayed, took a chance and sent my resume in.  An HR rep would e-mail one of their staffers who recommended me that they couldn't even consider my resume.  The one pre-requisite they felt they couldn't do without, which had absolutely nothing to do with the job, was a 4 year degree and I was a college drop out.  In an instant, I felt insignificant and regretted my decision to have left school years earlier.  But if God wanted me to have that job, I would have had that job, just like I got a previous job requiring a degree.  Surely the door was shut for a reason.  I prayed, feeling a little trapped where I was and gave my employment concerns to God.  Several months later, leadership changed for the better where I was working. The position I applied for months earlier, which they never filled, was completely eliminated, leaving other folks I respected out of work.  WOW!  God knew what was coming and He protected me.  Maybe we need to look at these trials of ours, big and small, with different eyes.

When we embrace the challenges we face and just submit to God our 100% of every area in our lives, He'll bring our trust, peace, faith and joy to new heights.  When we make a conscious decision to say "yes" to Jesus, radical things happen, regardless of what we're going through in life.  2 Corinthians 5:17 - Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!

Just to note, two days after my last transfusion, Lou and I had our fun day out at Cha An, one of our favorite little tea houses in Manhattan.  God knew the port and transfusion had to be dealt with before we could have a good time out together, and so that I could also enjoy an uneventful treatment day this week.

A Very Three's Company Christmas Eve

I've come to realize that with the exception of my soft hooded knit wrap, I just don't like things on my head.  I was never a hat person and it doesn't matter how loose I adjust a cap, it feels as though everything squeezes my head like an orange in an old fashioned juicer.  I'll wear a hat for warmth if I'm out, and rip it off of my thinning head the minute I step foot in the car or house.  My wig has been in a plastic ziptop bag since I purchased it, removed only to jokingly model for friends and family, then promptly returned to the sealed pouch.  The more I would take it out and display it, the more I realized I didn't care for the whole idea of it.  I knew for Christmas Eve however, I'd have to put my big girl pants on and wear the "Aunt Millie" wig. 

My brother made an appeal and Lou and I agreed that we wouldn't share my illness with his son until after Christmas.  Up until this point, there was no reason to say anything.  Did my 9 year old nephew need to know his Aunt was having a hysterectomy and would skydive into menopause back in May?  No.  But we agree, with my changing appearance, he's entitled to some information. 

Not unlike a lot of kids, our nephew has always been one keen observer.  When he was 4, nephew and his dad visited our always dapper, now late, Great Uncle Tony, who may have been caught off guard by their earlier than expected visit.   Nephew took one look at Uncle Tony and asked him where his teeth were.  When Uncle Tony replied "They're in the bathroom", my brother's mini-me asked Uncle Tony to go into the bathroom and put his teeth in his mouth.  Want to know if those pants make you look fat?  Ask him, he'll gently tell you.  Nephew is his father's son.  He'll bust your chops if you let him, he's quick with a joke, and he's a love who takes a lot to heart, quietly carrying the burdens of those around him.  And now, after years of shoulder length brown hair, I'm supposed to parade around in front of him and try to pass off a reddish brown old lady wig, tapered to my neck, as my own hair to essentially hide my chemo crew cut.  Knowing him, he'd sooner accept my honest thin pixie hair.  Goodness gracious.  Whatever I've gotten myself into, can I be Chrissy Snow? 

There are two stiff tabs in the back of the wig at the nape of the neck and one on either side, like sideburns, to help guide the wearer where certain points should sit on the head.  Convenient and irritating.  Lou and I arrived at my parents house early so Mom and I could attempt to style the wig.  Mom likes big hair.  I like flat hair.  "Jo, put that bottle if hair spray down!"  A little hair tucked behind the ears, a few strands around my cheeks and it was almost passable in dim light.  No matter how much I wrestled with my conscious, it was too late.  My brother's family was now at the door and Jack Tripper was ready to let them in.  I had the wig on for all of 20 minutes and my scalp was already screaming for air and a scratch.

I made sure to greet my nephew with a standing hug out of fear the wig would shift if he got near my neck.  As soon as I sat down, he glanced at my head and then directly into my eyes before he took his seat across the living room. "The jig is up! He knows!" I thought.  My brother would later tell me his son commented flatly "Aunt Amy has a new hairstyle."  My brother didn't ask if nephew liked the "new" doo, but I can tell by his choice of words nephew snubbed his nose at it.

For the rest of the day, every time my nephew turned his head, I was either scratching or re-adjusting the wig to make sure the guide points were in its place.  I'd catch my sister-in-law's eyes while giving the wig a shift and laugh. Lou would spot me making quick adjustments and give me the "You're making it worse" look from across the room.  I felt a little tired and wanted to nap on the recliner, but couldn't help envision shifting my head in the high back chair and popping the wig off in mid-snore.  I can rest later.

By dinner my scalp was on fire.  I started fantasizing about the soft cap that could have sat comfortably underneath the wig...had I remember to order it.  If etiquette allowed, I would have tucked my fork under the wig and had at it. 

As desert ended, with less than an hour to go before he had to leave, nephew stood at the end of the table, looked me square in the eyes and asked me "Are you sick?".  My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach.  My voice happened to be a little hoarse and I simply replied "Yes".  Was this the start of an interrogation?  Fortunately, it wasn't.  He just accepted the answer and walked away.  Lou put his arm around me and encouraged me to keep it together.  He could tell the pressure of carrying on this charade for 4 hours was eating away at me. 

I'll ask for all to refrain from judgment on this entry (no judgments on this blog in any event).  Nephew is at a stage in life where he just stopped believing in Santa Claus and he's learning that life's not fair.  Oh, to be 9 again...

Christmas Eve Blessed Assurance

Sweet, merciful Savior
Who fulfilled the prophecies of coming Messiah
Who knows our suffering like no other

Who bridged the divide between God and man

You fill my being with peace the moment Your name exits my lips
You've pulled me from the depths of sorrow
Commanding me to love and never fear

Thank You for Your birth!
Thank You for Your death!
Thank You for Your Resurrection!
Thank You for Everlasting Life!

"Blessed Assurance"
Fanny Crosby (1820-1915)
Performed by The Isaacs

My Guest Blog! My Father Cancelled Christmas

I'm a member of two great supportive websites for individuals and young adults fighting and surviving cancer - Stupid Cancer and I Had Cancer. I highly recommend both if you or someone you love is faced with the disease (and I pray you never need them!).  There are certainly many other great sites out there, but I took a personal liking to these two.

It's through YOUR encouragement, love and support my dear family and friends, to keep writing, that I submitted my blog for consideration to I Had Cancer as a guest blogger.  I was asked to consider an entry about Christmas and several weeks ago, submitted the following (events took place during my second chemo treatment).  I thank them very much for the opportunity to encourage others through their site. You can find the edited version on the I Had Cancer website here:  My Father Cancelled Christmas

Below is the full submission (you may recall the antipasta table goody list from my White Hostess Wonder Bread and Christmas Antipasto entry).  I just noticed I spelled antipasta two ways.  Either way I write it, it's always delicious!
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My father is a spectacular home cook and a master of the Italian Christmas feast.  Days before the main event he’s perfecting his red sauce and meatballs, frying eggplant and creating succulent, rich lasagna.  Dad works like an animal to make sure everyone has a spectacular meal and a great time. For our family, Christmas is about the birth of our Savior, time together and stuffing our faces until we can’t see straight.

He’s meticulous when he lays out his assortment of proper wine stemware across my mother’s antique deserter.  And to watch him assemble the glorious antipasta table – the meal before the meal – is like watching a true craftsman at work. 

The antipasta table doesn’t offer seating, rather, we prefer to huddle 20 people around a 6 foot table loaded with petite dishes offering selections of  imported prosciutto and cured meats; fresh buffalo mozzarella, tomato and basil; marinated mushrooms; roasted peppers and artichokes; fresh breads, crackers and cheeses; olives and tapenades.  Everything you need to give your pending food coma a solid foundation.

Standing around the antipasta table is where you’re greeted with love, hugs and kisses as family make their way into my childhood home.   Sweet nieces and nephews sit by the tree with a few adults, constructing their gifts.  Sports scores and hearty laughter echoes throughout the house as we all shout stories between rooms. 

Within a few hours the herd moves upstairs for the main event.  You loosen your pants, waddle to a seat and get ready for more.  Desert, coffee and cordials naturally follow dinner, as the matriarchs tidy up and prepare their voices for a bloated chorus of horribly terrific off-key caroling.  My cousin picks up the best Italian Rainbow cookies from Little Italy each year and I’ve carried on the tedious tradition of making the Struffoli, tiny fried balls of dough saturated in orange infused honey.  It’s not Christmas in an Italian home without Struffoli and a table of over the top pastries.

At the end of the night, as half of us drool in an armchair, nodding off for a nap, out comes the loose change.  It's poker time, Cousins vs. Uncles. 

Christmas with my family is simply spectacular.

I was sitting back Wednesday night.  Chemo dripping away.  TV remote in one hand, ham sandwich in another, enjoying the company of my husband and Dad when the bomb dropped.

"We're not having Christmas this year" Dad casually stated.

I’m normally a very rational thinking, considerate person, but if ever I wanted to throw a diva toddler tantrum it was now.  "Who has the audacity to cancel a holiday on an entire family?!  This is ludicrous.  Is it even up for discussion?"

"It's done.  Canceled" replied Dad.

“Are you freaking kidding me?!”  This is madness!   I’m a 36 year old married woman with a mortgage and two cats.  I think I’m entitled to an opinion here.

My dad is a two time colon cancer survivor and if anyone understands how sacred and special each day is, it’s him.  My parents and my husband are my caregivers.  As irate as I was, I had to put the brakes on my anger, take a step back and appreciate that they’re physically and emotionally exhausted.  I've been in and out of the hospital three times over the past month.  Once for Deep Vein Thrombosis, one stay for a pulmonary embolism and most recently this past weekend for a fall due to a lousy throat infection.   As much as we strive to find the humor and blessings in our situation, we’ve been through hell lately.   While I’ll miss our extended family, I have to recognize the sacrifices my caregivers make for me every day and allow us all to have some down time this Christmas.  A scaled down day certainly doesn’t mean we won’t eat well.  Knowing my parents, and I’m so grateful for them, they’ll find a way to make this Christmas memorable and special. 

My First Crew Cut

 I had a hat on but you get the idea.

 

I just had the single most empowering hair cut of my life.  My beloved hair stylist, Gina, and her co-workers turned what could have been a traumatic experience for any woman into a celebration. I am so grateful for them!  Lou and I eagerly watched as Gina cut down my mess of a doo and buzzed away the fray into a neat haircut any Army NCO would be proud of.  To quote a beaming Lou, my 20 year part-time Soldier and combat veteran husband, "Congratulations on your first regulation haircut".  I never enlisted but thanks honey.  I fully expect bald spots and total scalp at some point but for now, I'm digging the shortest cut of my life.  Matthew 6:34 - Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

I showed Gina my wig and honestly, I preferred the crew cut and one of my new hats.  As soon as I get the hang of styling the wig, I'll post a pic but I thought I looked like someone's Great Aunt Millie with it on.  We all knew a Millie. The Aunt who loved her house coats, got her hair done once a week and wrapped it in toilet paper every night.  She went to 7am Mass every morning and always had a meatball at the ready.  The world needs more Great Aunt Millie's.

Speaking of Aunts, I suddenly missed my Aunt Patty and Aunt Diane.  They were called home to heaven several years ago and they both rocked a short cut.  Beautiful and loving women, their personalities were larger than life; there was never a dull moment or a missed opportunity to be loved or laugh when they were around.  The world needs more Aunt Patty's and Aunt Diane's.  I think they would have approved of the cut.

Vanity, oh Vanity!

Since last Wednesday my head has been shedding everywhere I go.  Fortunately I started out with 90 lbs of crazy, curly hair.  In one short week its become more of a cleaning nuisance than anything else.  With each wash or stroke of a brush, I toss clumps of hair the size of a small rodent into the trash. Fortunately having two cats, we have tons of tape lint rollers all over the house but I'm getting tired of rolling my own hair off of my shoulders. I have a hair appointment today to cut it all off. 

My lady Sicilian mustache however appears to be in tact.  God, your sense of humor never ceases to amaze me.  Eyebrows are holding on for now!

The swelling in my upper body is sloooooowly coming down, but it appears we're moving in the right direction.  I'll take every tiny improvement I can get my fat little hands on.  The extra weight causes me to walk a cross between the Stay Puft Marshmallow man and Godzilla, but if you saw me in the hospital a few weeks ago when I had my infection, I could barely feed myself. It's an improvement. I have to take each step slowly and with purpose.  For a woman who has always been on the go, go, go, it's been a massive adjustment and I have no choice but to roll with it.  I've accepted my new job while out on disability, and I do it very well - I'm the official couch recliner lounger and living room snail walking champ of the Lynch house.

I thank you for your prayers and ask, as God puts me on your heart, to continue to intercede and ask God for a complete healing, should that be His Will.  If you're going through something and would like me to pray for you, please let me know.  It would be my pleasure!  And please - don't compare your concerns to someone else's.  It's all relative and we're all faced with different levels of suffering in the course of our lives.  No prayer request is too big or small for a mighty God - He cares about them all.

John 14:27 - Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.

Only the Lynch Family - True Story

As most of you know, Dad beat colon cancer twice, once at age 42 and again at 62.  Although he certainly suffered through two surgeries, he was fortunate in having never required radiation or chemo.  Shortly after his last surgery, he endured a painful intestinal blockage which required a few days in the hospital.  Thankfully, he's been good ever since.  His surgeon at New York Presbyterian-Cornell was excellent.  Hold onto this info for a moment, we'll be coming back to it.

I don't care how old you are, if you had a low to moderately dysfunctional upbringing, there's nothing quite as comforting as seeing Mom and Dad come for you when you're not feeling well.  Yesterday morning they paid me a visit, armed with goodies for the staff and puzzle books and a vat of apple juice for me.  Lou had already arrived to my room with fresh clothes and hugs.  As he helped my mom sort through her bags, I noticed my father quietly clutching his side, wearing an expression of discomfort all over his face.  "Dad, why do you look like you're in pain?" I asked.  "It's probably just diverticulitis" he sighed as he took a seat. 

Mom ratted him out. 

"Your father ate peanuts and an apple.  He's trying to kill me.  He can't digest it". 

"Dad, don't play around.  Go get it checked out" I urged him. 

I was soon served my ham, mushroom and cheese omelet with whole wheat toast and tea for breakfast.  Within a few minutes of  eating and talking, Dad's head disappeared into the wastebasket and he was tossing his cookies.  Mom, Lou and I just stared at each other in silence until the stomach churning harfs ended.

"I've been waiting to do that.  I feel better now, I'm OK".  Dad was 9 shades of yellow and clearly in denial.  As Dad started to argue and make machismo excuses in an attempt to avoid the ER, my normally low key, mild mannered husband stood in front of him and gave him two options.  Either Lou would tell the nurses outside my door what just happened - they kind of frown upon vomiting visitors - or they could quietly take a stroll across the street...to New York Presbyterian Hospital where my father had his last colon resection. 

"You don't have a choice Dad" I badgered. 

As I looked into my father's eyes, it was obvious he was replaying the events of his last blockage in his mind.  The tubes, the tests, the pain.  I said the only thing I could, our mantra for each other.  "Lynch buddies for life, yo".  We smiled at each other as he softened, knowing he wouldn't feel better unless he sought medical attention.  My mother, who hasn't slept for 2 months, Lou and my Dad then proceeded to quietly leave Sloan Kettering and walked across the street to New York Presbyterian's emergency room. 

My husband spent the rest of the day crossing the street to check on Dad and me.  When my brother came later in the day, they again played dueling hospitals, jumping from one to another to see how we both were.  I would periodically call NY Presbyterian's ER to inquire about his condition.  When I explained "I'm the patient's daughter and I'm treating across the street at Sloan", one nurse commented "we thought they were joking".  Dad would spend the night in the ER as doctors would get to the bottom of his pain.  It was a blockage in his intestines.  As Dad would relay the story, it wasn't the nuts or the apple that did it.  It was the membrane of an orange he ate - the indigestible film that holds the segments in place - that was the culprit.  I'm still not sure if Mom believes him, but it made sense to me.

By the grace of God, Dad and I were released today and able to go home together.  We both agree this family really needs to learn how to do things on a slightly smaller and less dramatic scale. 

Upper East Side Baby - What's today?

It's slow goin' but I'm healin' ova hea!  Did I mention this place is like a 5 star resort compared to some of the hospitals in the outer boroughs?  I had shrimp scampi for dinner last night and a chicken quesadilla for lunch.  I'm perusing the menu now for dinner.  Will it be Chicken Francese or a Maryland crab cake? I can't decide.

I asked my parents to bring "colonoscopy cookies" for my nurses today.   If you know my Dad, you know he's all class, all the way, always.  When I started undergoing annual colonoscopies, of all of the advice my father bestowed upon me, this was the most important - "always bring the endoscopy staff a box of bakery cookies when you have your test.  They work hard and appreciate it" (and for Pete's sake, if I had their job, staring at the cheeks of strangers all day, I'd like a cookie, too).  There's no better way to convey appreciation than through sweets.  I think the staff got the Italian overkill message today.  Thanks Mom and Dad.

The past few days have certainly been an experience, to say the least.  I was stuffed into an MRI machine like filling into a cannelloni; stuck with countless needles; underwent a blood transfusion (hemoglobin number dipped due to chemo - they're staying ahead of the game, it happens); CT scan and so far, thank God, no surgical intervention necessary.  Oh, and here's a plus - my new blood thinner?  One injection a day as opposed to two.  It's like a vacation!

As a side note, if you've ever donated blood, thank you.  Your selfless act helped someone like me and I have no doubt, it meant life to them.  It was probably one of the weirdest experiences of my life - watching a strangers blood charge at me through a clear, plastic tube.  And being a child of the 1980's, it took me a few minutes to resign myself to the fact that it's 2012 and not 1985.   Calm down and keep healing.

I did have plenty of time to think and pray, and do a little internal house keeping.  The beauty of being as imperfect as me is that there's always room to learn and improve.

Sometimes we really need to dig and soul search to grow out of a negative situation - to get over that next road bump.  In my case, I found myself feeling hopeless.  In fact, I don't even know if I factored hope into the equation as a necessary component to overcoming a bad situation (huh? yeah).  How could I trust God but feel hopeless?  How can I say "God, I need Your help but I don't think you're going to help me."  I felt led to Joyce Meyer's website the other night and sure enough,  the top article was:  How to Overcome Negative Thinking and Live with Hope

Two points of interest from the article:

• "Hope is favorable and confident expectation; it’s an expectant attitude that something good is going to happen and things will work out, no matter what situation we’re facing."

• "Zechariah 9:12 (AMP) says, “Return to the stronghold [of security and prosperity], you prisoners of hope; even today do I declare that I will restore double your former prosperity to you.”

I want to be a prisoner of hope!

If you're like me, maybe you call yourself a "realist" to rationalize negative thinking, but  no matter what you call it, it's unhealthy and it's wrong.  I knew I had to radically and immediately change my thought process to honor God and receive blessings, especially at the timely moment God opened my eyes.   We had spent 6 hours on a slow drip blood thinner in an attempt to get my port to function properly.  We had up to 2 additional tries at this method before we would have to throw in the towel. 6 hours of praying and at the 11th hour, my eyes were open to hope.  "OK God.  You have my best interests at heart.  I'm hoping and expecting this port to work if that's in my best interest and will not harm me."  My night nurse brought his wares and within seconds the port was doing its job.  I was overwhelmed with joy and tears!  Oh sweet success!!  It's been two days and so far, the port is cooperating but more importantly, it worked the moment we needed it to - when finding veins were becoming too difficult and I needed a transfusion.  God's always right on time.  I'm hopeful the port will continue to work, even with the occasional blood thinner reboot.

Psalm 31:24 - Be strong and take heart, all you who hope in the Lord.

Upper East Side - Day 2

4:15 AM - I'm on an airbed and it keeps my keister moving through the night.  It's actually pretty comfy, if not just a little noisy.  CT scan is scheduled for noon today and I'm eyes wide open baby.  I made the mistake of putting "CT dye" down as an allergy when in actuality, it just makes me nauseous.  Tried as I did to explain my administrative error to several doctors, my mistake landed me with 12 hrs of IV pre-meds.  I just found that "permanent record" our grade school teachers warned us about.

An over zealous 2nd year radiation resident banned me from eating anything last night past 6pm.  "Dr, if I can make an appeal.  I had chemo today.  If I was scheduled for major surgery tomorrow, I would be permitted to eat until midnight.  You can't slip me a yogurt?". 

"No." 

I suppose if God forbid they see something that needs immediate intervention following the scan, they don't have to worry about clearing my stomach before anesthesia, but it's 6pm. 6 PM!!  Someone's having open heart surgery tomorrow and I bet he's having a ham sandwich before bed!

My chest port has been temperamental the past 2 weeks and for the second time, a highly skilled nurse was able to ninja his way into my swollen arms to land a vein in one shot as an IV back up.  I worry my blood is made of hot fudge.  SPOILER:  I will find out later today that my infection + fall = blood clot around port. 

5:00AM - Lou's up and we just took an early morning stroll around the floor.  Patients are required to wear a mask and gloves when they leave their room since it's flu season.  Place is a little intense, but they also asked me which morning paper I would prefer to read and they have the better two sided non-skid socks I prefer, and they do cure cancer, so I'll let it slide.

7:33 AM:  The nurse just came in to advise me that I'll start drinking the barium cocktail around 10am.  I do hope they serve it in a chilled Margarita glass with a wedge of lime.  It's not the grossest thing I've ever had to drink, but there's a reason no one carries "Cherry Barium flavored" anything.


Let's get some praise on.  Peter Furler - "I'm Alive"

 

 

 

 

10:51AM - On third glass of Raspberry crystal light-like barium beverage.  Thanks CT Scan for ruining raspberries for at least a year.  Could be worse - at least it's not the chalk "smoothie" I anticipated.  They just hooked up my IV Benadryl as the last CT scan pre-med.

 

11:30AM - "Hi, I'm from music therapy.  I'm wondering if you're interested in our services.  I have musical instruments outside if you would like to use them or we can bring people in to play them".  I am now completely high as a kite.  I struggled to look out of the door and sure enough she had a huge Yamaha keyboard and supplies.  "Do you have any CD's?" I asked.  I think I offended her.  She'll come back another time.

 

12:00PM - I stroked my fingers through my hair as I was wheeled to the CT scan.  A handful of hair came out with it.  Ladies, if you can remember the moment you realized you had your first period, that moment you knew life would never be the same again, this period was real and it's happening,  it was kind of like that.  I ordered about 4 hats the other day.  Depending on how fast this goes down, I'm having my stylist buzz it off. 

 

1:00PM - Two of my favorite people are here and they have food and I'm not allowed to eat yet.  My cousin brought me a box of Rainbow Cookies from Café Roma last night.  They're getting stale by the second.  So...hungry...

 

Sometime in the afternoon - "Hi, I'm here to take you down for the EKG".  My nurse just added steroids to my IV line.  I'm now hungry on steroids.  Awesome!  Let's get my rage down to cardiology!

 

4:15PM - Just returned from cardiology.  I CAN EAT!!  This means two things - no surgical procedure is on the horizon and I CAN EAT!!  Two rainbow cookies please, get the hospital menu and where's the soup and sandwich Jenny and Karyn brought?!  Let's do this!

 

5:00PM - I was just served a vegetable spring roll with duck sauce, side salad with blue cheese dressing, beef short ribs with baked potato and string beans - with fresh herb garnish.  I think you could have served me cat food on a cracker and I wouldn't have cared but seriously, if a friend prepared this for me, I'd ask for the recipe.  And my parents are here with clean clothes.  It's happy time.

 

I met with several doctors and nurse practitioners throughout the day.  While I am experiencing another clotting issue common with gynecological cancers, we're looking towards switching up my blood thinner - no surgery, no port removal right now.  We'll know it's working when we start to see elbows and knuckles again.  We're praying it works. 



Upper East Side Baby

Sloan Kettering called the other night presenting an offer we couldn't refuse. "Would you like to move your 6pm chemo appointment to, let's say, 10:00 am?"  After a little back and forth to figure out logistics, Lou thought it was a great idea, and it was, so we seized the opportunity.  "We'll finally get home before 9pm for a change" Lou chuckled. 

The day proceeded as normal.  We drove into Manhattan, parked the car and wandered into the building towards the elevators.  I checked in at the front desk while Lou scouted the large comfy waiting room for prime seating near electrical outlets.  Someone from phlebotomy called 15 minutes later for me to pop into their suite for the weekly vitals check.  (Weeks where I only receive Taxol, the blood work is simply obtained via finger prick.  Like a pansy, I dread the finger prick more than a full out assault of lines and vials.)  I then returned to my sweet babboo where now the true test of endurance begins.  The doctor reviews my blood work, confers with the pharmacy and the chemo suite eventually receives my agreed upon medication for the day.  This takes at least 2 hours, followed by another 30 mins of pre-meds, 1 hour of chemo drip and another hour to get my port to cooperate.  Ain't no waitin' like a chemo suite waitin' cause a chemo suite waitin' don't stop.  Thanks for the free crackers and assortment of beverages!

The Craft Ladies and their kiddie craft cart were roaming around the floor, working the room. The project du jour? A multicolored Christmas themed pipe cleaner ring.  Yes!  Lou ended up crafting the ring for me during my much welcomed pre-chemo Benadryl haze. 

The swelling in my upper body since the fall, although it would seem to reduce here and there with cold compresses, hasn't really gotten much better.  I showed the nurse, who called the doctor, who admitted me into the hospital.  Come on people, you had to see this coming.  And yes, the day shifted as quickly as I typed this sentence.

"I know you've been through a lot these past several weeks, but let's just look at this as one hurdle we can treat and get over" my doctor, very encouragingly stated.  Maybe it's the Stockholm Syndrome talking, but I was happy to follow the orders of my captor.  Deep inside I just want to be healed and let's face it, the local neighborhood hospital just isn't equipped to handle a "go big or go home" work in progress like me.  The nurse also told me the hospital food was delish. 

So much for getting home early.  So much for my husband getting any rest. 

They're calling for a CT scan in the morning, suspecting blood clots (surprise, surprise) following my infection and fall.  My prayer before tests include the following request:  "Lord, please reveal everything to the doctors that needs to be seen".  I admit, it sure seems like a downright scary prayer on the surface, but I can't afford to miss anything.

I need to get a few things off of my chest so you can appreciate, with all humility, my surroundings and thoughts at this moment.

It's around 10pm.  I haven't heard one nurse cackle inappropriately, one staff member curse at another, or a single person carry on like the nurses station is some late night club.  Since it's flu season, if I leave my room, I need to put on a face mask and rubber gloves.  There's a sign next to my TV prompting me to "Call!  Don't fall!" featuring a stick figure man falling on his back.  Where were you last week when I needed you, Mr. Sign?

I'm gazing over my laptop at my long suffering husband, laid out on a hospital chair bed at the foot of mine, not willing to leave my side.  We're certainly not perfect people, but it recently occurred to me if ever there's an example of God's faithfulness and love, it's through the this man's love for his wife.  I can't begin to count the sleepless nights he's endured for my security and comfort.  I may not be slim and stunning, I may never give birth to my own children, and I may have cancer, but if trading places with someone meant losing him, no thanks.

My tiger Aunt M, who personally e-mailed my current oncologist to get her "sweet niece with Lynch Syndrome" my initial appointment, came to visit, along with my Uncle (her husband) and my cousins.  I didn't even think of how terrible I looked.  I just welcomed and loved their company. 

I have no control over any aspect of my craptacular medical situation, but I do have control over how I respond, seek God and keep myself motivated. 

I freely admit I've been struggling this week.  "God please tell me how to fix whatever it is that I've done to warrant this year". That thought was my Moonstruck "snapoutofit" moment.  I was breaking down, leaving the door open just enough to start entertaining lies rooted in non-Biblical doctrine.  If God doled out cancer as punishment for our sins, we'd all be dead.  Trials are designed with a divine purpose, temptation is meant for our spiritual destruction.  This my friends is indeed a trial. 

I will not accept defeat.  I am the little engine that could.  I might weep but God will turn my mourning into dancing. 

If the devil were in front of me, I'd kick his teeth in.  I would beat him with my bare hands until there was nothing left. 

Lord, I'm coming to you as a child, handing her Father her anxiety.  I leave it at Your feet.  You don't want me to hold onto it.  You want me to cast my cares upon You.  You don't ever ask me to carry my own burdens.  You have not forsaken me.  My mother reminded me this week, as I complained about the heaviness and swelling of my arms, how much more our Savior labored on the cross and suffered mind blowing agony through his outstretched arms for you and me.  Lord, you know pain better than anyone. You also know the triumphant power of resurrection.

This small, albeit difficult season in my life is merely a brief moment in time compared to the big picture of my deeply personal faith - eternity.

 

 

2 Corinthians 4:18 - So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

 

1 Corinthians 2:9 - However, as it is written: "No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him".
 

Random Observations From The Couch

Saturday marked seven days since, to quote mom, I "fell like a ton of bricks" on my living room floor.  I've spent the better part of the week laid out on the couch, under the watchful eye and direct care of my husband and parents.  They've just blown me away with their patience and endurance.  For those of you reading who have ever suffered a fall or bad car accident, you have my love and respect - this slow healing process stinks!

A few late night thoughts...

1)  I had no idea the human body or parts thereof can swell to sumo wrestler size after a fall.  Ice or heat?  Heat or ice?  No one really knows.  You kind of have to try both for relief.

2)  Dear Food Network.  Let's kick it down to one "Diners, Drive-in's and Dives" a night, OK? One.

3)  I'm convinced they make up gemstone names on the Jewelry Channel.  I could have sworn I heard them trying to sell a Michabartonite ring 2 nights ago.

4)  It's only a matter of time before I buy that Ninja Blender or take out a high interest payday loan just because I like to see Montel Williams gainfully employed. 

5)  I "discovered" the Homeland connection to Mean Girls and almost lost my mind.

Diego Klattenhoff, Homeland's "Mike Faber", as "Shane Oman"

 

6)  I don't think I appreciated the depth of my mother's love until this week.  I also underestimated her ability to blow dry my hair.  You did good, Jo.

7)  You don't need to watch Snapped during the day and you certainly don't need to watch Snapped at night...in the dark.
 
8)  I don't care how old you are - if you're an Italian kid and there's a bowl of piping hot Pastina and grated cheese, everything's gonna be alright.

So yeah, it's been an interesting week. I'm a fiercely independent person who was basically left upon the total and complete dependence of others.  It's not the chemo thankfully, it's the healing following the fall that's been the setback.   In my late night prayer time, usually on the recliner trying to find that sleepy sweet spot, there's one verse He's repeatedly put on my heart:

Proverbs 3:5-6 - Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.

I sometimes forget God's Word is full of promises - beautiful promises.  He's a God of His Word.  His Word promises that He will never leave us or forsake us (Hebrews 13:5) and that nothing can separate us from His love (Romans 8:39).  I all too quickly forget sometimes when going through a difficult time.


I do want to take a moment and thank you for your continued prayers and encouragement. A very special "thank you" to my church family, friends and extended family for their love and generosity by making sure Lou and I don't miss a meal. 

Hey Ma, Look What I Can Do!

My very lovable, very overprotective, very Type A mom and I had housekeeping plans this past Saturday.  By "housekeeping plans", I of course mean a good mommy cleaning, ninja rearranging of my drawers (she moves like a Cheetah when your back is turned) followed by a subtle game of "Mom thinks your couch would look better here".  Lou was working locally, Dad was home nursing a cold and I was excited to have some quality mother-daughter time.

It was a "fatigue" day for me so I spent the better part of the morning enjoying the inside of my eyelids. As I got up to administer my 9am shot, I noticed I had sweat through my pajamas and sheets.  I took my temperature, which was just under normal, and figured I would check the chemo side effects handouts to see if "cold sweats" were listed.  Within an hour I was on the phone with my treating facility's weekend on-call doctor, as now I was starting to feel pressure in my ears and the glands in my throat were swelling.  I went back to bed to relax for a while, guessing at some point over the weekend, I'd end up at my treatment facility's urgent care center. 

Within a couple of hours, I heard Mom at the door.  She was having a problem with one of the locks.  I remember jumping out of bed, walking down the stairs and I do remember turning the knob on the front door thinking "this is not going to end well". 

FADE TO BLACK.

It's surprisingly very much like the movies - coming to after passing out.  My eyes opened slowly, and I could feel part of the cold, wood floor on my face.  I felt most of my body on the living room area rug.  I didn't immediately hear anything.  I felt a calm, almost eerie relaxation throughout my body.  "What am I doing on the floor?" I thought.  I blinked a bit and took in the light reflecting from the window.  My ears were slow to translate noise, but I eventually heard my mother's terrified screams as she hovered over me. 

"Mom, I'm OK" I said softly.  "I'm OK".  I told her not to call 911.  I had been trained in First Aid before, my fingers and toes were moving and I could move my neck.  I was quick to blame the blood thinner.

Mom called my brother and Lou.  Within a short time my husband, my hero, burst through the door, dropped on the floor and in the most tender, controlled manner (this is kinda his area of expertise) began asking me a list of questions as he checked my body.  As much as I detested the thought of it, I knew we had to go to the local Emergency Room.  Lou eventually helped me get up and onto the couch.  When I felt comfortable and confident to walk outside with their help, off to the ER we went. 

The intake nurse was kind enough to tell me she was a 10 year endometrial and cervical cancer survivor. I started to tear up and thanked her for sharing that with me.  Don't take this the wrong way, cancer sucks period, but I don't have a "glitzy" cancer - no one's running around promoting a "free uterus shaped coffee mug with beverage purchase" for women like me.  I appreciate hearing an endometrial cancer survivor's story and her caring for me at that moment wasn't accidental.

Because I had started chemo, they placed me in a private ER room with a door and toilet for my own safety.  "Hey, there's a plus" Lou said.  I was told I would be placed on 24 hour observation and released.  They knew right away I had a throat infection, my blood work was good and they wanted to treat me for dehydration.  Thank God my CT scan was normal.  I wish I could say I was my bubbly, upbeat self, cracking jokes with the nurses and staff, but I really wasn't.  As I laid on the uncomfortable ER gurney, looking at my emotionally spent mother and husband hunched forward in their chairs, I felt broken and weak, guilty for what my body was putting them through.  I didn't feel much like talking to God and apologized to Him for feeling that way.  While I'm sure at some point this story will help someone, I was in no mood to experience it.

Sunday turned to Monday.  The Dr. P posse strolled into my room.  "Dr. P, I have chemo tomorrow.  I have to get out of here".  "Well, you need to see the physical therapist, cardiologist and neurologist before I can clear you to go home."  By now I was experiencing full on neck and upper body pain from the fall, my arms were severely swollen from all of the IV fluid  (and impact of slamming against the floor) and I was just overall exhausted.  I was of course cordial, but barely spoke to anyone.  I didn't care to even turn on the TV.  The only encouragement I could find came from the first verse of the beautiful hymn, "It Is Well With My Soul":

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

 

We were home on Tuesday by 5pm.  My poor mother spent the night with me on the couch to make sure I was OK and I know I must have driven her nuts - there was just no getting comfortable.  Chemo was only delayed a day and I got my Taxol last night, which wasn't without its challenges (honestly I'm usually not the problem child). 

 

I was concerned I somehow damaged my port in the fall and sure enough, it wasn't working right.  Three very experienced, very determined nurses got that sucker returning fluid.  As a precaution they did administer the chemo through an IV in my hand, just so they were assured regardless of the issue, I would have my treatment.

 

I had my first good night's rest last night in several days and I was excited to see my wrists and knuckles come back to life this morning.  I'll be over the moon when we find my left elbow.   

Psalm 147:4 - He heals the brokenhearted and binds their wounds.

 

Day 3 - Week One

For just about every medical ailment or disease, there seems to be that one expensive drug that works miracles; the treatment you'd sell your right pinkie for.  For cancer, and keep in mind, I still have so much to learn, it appears the Mercedes of nausea prevention medication is "Emend".  Three, unassuming little capsules, worth around $115 per pill, secured between layers of thin cardboard in a Z-Pak set up.  Once again - God, husband, insurance - thank you. "If you drop an Emend pill on the floor, pick it up, dust it off, and put it in your mouth" said every doctor, nurse and pharmacist I came into contact with on Tuesday.  I promised. "I will put it in my mouth if it falls on the floor".

They also provided me with a steroid, to be taken with the Emend, as well as two additional anti-nausea medications as backup, if needed.  There's OTC digestive remedy recommendations, the greatest has been Pepcid.  This stomach acid is a wee bit mean and mocked my precious TUMS.   Being a reformed Type A, I appreciate the specific details and instructions my medical professionals have provided.

So far everything I was told to expect has happened.  Rosie, flush cheeks.  Fatigue.  Acid reflux.  I'm just barely in my first week but as long as we're on the road to completly obliterating my cancer, that's all that matters. 

If I allow it, I can quickly become overwhelmed just thinking about the long weeks ahead.  The tests.  Waiting for updates and answers.  I know for myself, my mind can race a mile a minute, and it's a battle, especially now, to not permit any negativity to take root.  In my prayer time last night, I was reminded of the following verse:  Philippians 4:8.  Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things.

That's not a suggestion.  That's a glorious command rooted in freedom from anxiety as far as I'm concerned.


In addition to God, husband, parents, family - I'm making a list of 5 good things, excellent and praiseworthy things, to meditate on...

1)  Some wonderful women in my life are making sure I have a cleaning person, eyebrows, constant encouragement, hats, medical support and today, a massive Costco chocolate cake.  I had a sliver earlier with some Chai tea and company.  It was  the most delicious, guilt free piece of chocolately goodness I've ever devoured (doctor's orders).
2)  As much as my own vanity dreads the first fistful of hair loss, after years of chemical hair relaxers, aching arms, straightening irons, blow dryers and curling irons, I think I'm actually looking forward to experiencing life as a care-free bald woman with head wear options. 
3)  Months of wax free Sicilian menopause upper lip?  No razor burns or nicks?  Yes, please!
4)  I truly never stopped to appreciate, nor did I have any idea, how much love I've been given in my life until cancer. 
5)  And of course, this little guy (Penguins + Christmas = awesome):

I'm going to continue to strive to think only on whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable-- anything excellent or praiseworthy.

"Live from New York"

I couldn't have been more excited to start treatment this morning. It wasn't like "free pastry" excited, rather, more "let's get in there and fight the good fight" excited. 

Below is a breakdown of the day.  I should note, unless I walk in on the elderly in the facility bathroom (happened at least once a week while at the last hospital - poor old ladies couldn't figure out how to lock the floor to ceiling doors) or something significant takes place, I don't expect to document each trip. I also note that each appointment time is different.  So if you're interested in learning my schedule patterns so you can break in and try to steal my collection of creepy animal statues from HomeGoods, you're out of luck, pal.

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5:30AM - Showered and applied copious amounts of under eye concealer, foundation and other makeup.  Mascara.  Spent an extra 10 minutes on my hair.  Mascara. I take more time getting pretty for my oncologist, just so she can say "You look fantastic!", than I do for my own husband. Mascara.

7:30AM - Arrived at destination with my posse, Lou and Dad.   That HOV lane is mint.  It's wonderful to have you back Brooklyn Battery Tunnel.

8:30AM - Vitals checked. Blood pressure, weight and blood work noted. "I need to take blood from your hand."  BOOO!  ANYWHERE BUT THE HAND!  Fortunately my phlebotomist retrieved my blood like a boss...from the top of my right hand but she did an outstanding job.  Her reasoning for taking blood from my hand?  In case there's an issue with the port and they need to use a vein, to administer chemo, they can use a good vein.  Uh, what happened to the sales pitch from 2 weeks ago that they can take my blood from the port?!  Once again - things they fail to put in the brochure!

8:40 AM - Met with doctors and discussed treatment plan. Now I had lost several pounds over the past two weeks and I brought it up with the doctors. "I read a few articles about cancer and sugar so I haven't been eating much of anything. No white breads, pasta, cake. It's mostly fruit and a little chicken when I do eat". Lou chimed in. "She barely eats".  El Raton!  "If you want a piece of cake, eat a piece of cake. You already have cancer. We don't believe it accelerates its growth at all". My hands are tied. I have to eat a piece of cake. Doctors' orders.

11:00 AM - Two women just passed through the waiting area pushing a cart overflowing with 3rd grade art supplies.  Now I want to make a tissue paper flower with a green pipe cleaner.

Wait!  Back it up.  I almost forgot to tell you about the best part of waking up: 

This morning I was reminded of probably my favorite Bible story, before I even stepped foot out of bed. It was just the "LET ME SEE YOUR WAR FACE" motivation I needed:

Matthew 21:12 - 14 - Jesus entered the temple area and drove out all who were buying and selling there. He overturned the tables of the money changers and the benches of those selling doves. "It is written," he said to them, "'My house will be called a house of prayer,' but you are making it a 'den of robbers. The blind and the lame came to him at the temple, and he healed them.'"

I was further reminded...

1 Corinthians 6:19 - 20- Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body."

Jesus had righteous anger. The temple was a place for prayer and healing and people were completely violating the temple. My body's a temple to God's Holy Spirit. Evil, malicious, despicable, vile, loathsome cancer has settled into His temple. See where I'm going here? Jesus, let's flip some tables!

11:20AM - OOH! Random tech just came out. They're mixing my cocktail. I'm "next". We'll see what "next" means.

12:20PM - The chemo needle is in the port!  Weird feeling.  

How lovely is this? Since I'm here through lunch, I can order a "free" sandwich from a limited menu from a DELI next door. A Manhattan deli - not some sloppy mess from a hospital kitchen. And, my companions, although they have to pay, can also order lunch. The hospital takes care of the ordering. Score!

 
They started me with several pre-chemo drugs including Pepcid and Benadryl. 

Why hello IV Benadryl.  Where have you been all my life?

"Butterfly in the sky, I can go twice as high. Take a look. It's in a book. A Reading Rainbow..."

HEY! The Arts and Crafts cart ladies are here! Yes, please I would love to make a paper flower. Thank you for the materials!!  

1:00PM - Preliminary meds over.  Commence Chemo...

 

I admit, the Apocalypse Now bit in the helicopter was what really entered my mind - but that's not at all appropriate.

Let's go Carboplatin <clap, clap, clap clap clap>!! Let's go Carboplatin <clap, clap, clap clap clap> !!

I didn't feel any different or weird.  It was as though I was just chilling in a recliner, with an IV hanging out of the top of my chest while I sipped on apple juice and a strawberry smoothie. 


2:24PM - Time to change the medication

Let's go Taxol <clap, clap, clap clap clap>!! Let's go Taxol <clap, clap, clap clap clap>!!

2:40PM - Flower done. 

3:00PM - First treatment down.  Making my way to the pharmacy for some legitimate drugs to help prevent nausea.  God bless union insurance, man.  If not for coverage, and I say this with all gratitude and humility, between my surgery, radiation, testing and now chemo, we would have had to sell our house.  Thank you husband for your life choices.

5:00PM - Home and joyful.  I'm finally an active player in the fight.  It's empowering.  It's also terrifying - I'm pumping my body with toxic matter which we pray will cure my disease but could potentially open the door to secondary cancers down the road (ironic, no?).  But as God reminded me last week, He's bigger than a pulmonary embolism, He's bigger than cancer and He just wants me to fearlessly trust Him. 

Why Trees? By Guest Blogger, Mom

A Mama’s Thought:

Why Trees?

I can’t remember when I first read Mark 8:23-26, the story of the Blind Man of Bethsaida. Here Mark records when Jesus’ arrived in Bethsaida, the people brought a blind man to Jesus begging Him to heal this man. Now, there is so much going on in these few verses that one can do an entire lesson. What I want to focus on is what the man saw after Jesus first laid hands on him. When Jesus asked “Do you see anything?” the man’s reply was he saw people as walking trees. It was after the second time Jesus laid His hands on this man that he saw perfectly. Why trees? Why did Jesus allow him to first see people as walking trees?

It took “Sandy” and this personal storm we, both individually and as a family, are facing with our Amy, that I think Jesus allowed this blind man to first see people as trees.

After “Sandy” I noticed a number of huge, massive, immobile healthy trees had fallen right out of the ground - root and all. I was surprise just how shallow their roots were under a blanket of grass. This is called ‘Blow-over’, I looked it up.

We are used to seeing tree branches break and fall down after a storm. Or trees split in two due to tree rot or lighting but these were not young or sick trees, and there was no lighting during Sandy. No, these were old, seasoned seemingly healthy trees that fell. Of course, not all trees fell during the storm and I wondered why. The winds during Sandy were the same and yet only certain trees were affected.

We don’t know what kind of trees the blind man first saw as people, but as I looked at these trees that had fallen I was struck with the idea they, seemingly immobile trees, were like Christians who from the outside are well rooted in the word but not in their relationship with Jesus.

I thought of myself and my walk with Him. I have been blessed with the gift of wanting to know more and the hunger to study His word but it’s not until we experience a very personal storm that we see just how true we are to Him.

I have been the man who believed but asked for help for his unbelief and I have been the centurion who knew by Jesus’ command the servant would be healed (Matthew 8:7). In my mind’s eye I have ‘sat’ in the court listening to Satan accusing me of not being faithful and just the thought of asking the Lord why – why is this happening to us, I could hear Him ask me where was I when He set the lines of the earth. (Book of Job)

Jesus did not heal everyone but He did perform miracles. He promised to be with me and either through a message or song or through everyday experiences He has. I have been in the ‘meeting tent’ but I don’t ask Him why. I talk, ask, plead, and pray for our Amy. I know, from past experiences, to listen and see what the Lord has to tell or show me. And He has been faithful to me so far through this journey.

I am a tree bending, swaying in the storm. On any journey we each choose to walk a certain ‘street’ – hope, faith, love, despair, fear, anxious, etc. I am on the street called Miracle Street and until He tells me otherwise this is where I will stay. There are storms on Miracle Street, the winds do blow. It’s how I stand – It’s my willingness to stand firm so that I can grow firmly rooted to Him.

There are other reasons that can cause a tree to be affected during a storm such as root and stem failure and crown twist …there are wonderful lessons going on here. This is how the Lord distracts me from being anxious and fearful. It’s from lessons to be learned through His word from life’s experiences. Our Lord is making His presences known to us, teaching and comforting us. He is very much alive and He is answering me maybe not the way one expects to get an answer to our prayers. It’s His timing and His will. The question He is asking us is “Are you willing to hold tight and believe in Me?”

One thing I am appreciating is that I have ‘today’ and with each today I intend to enjoy my Amy as I continue to ‘grow’ in and with our Lord, Jesus Christ.

Adventures in ICU and the Geriatric 5th Floor

Hospitals can be awful, smelly buildings where no one rests or eats.

After almost 22 hours in the ER, we were told I had a room in ICU.  "ICU?  That's for people with tubes and on life support.  I'm not even on oxygen".  I suppose I had taken the day's events a little lightly.  Up to ICU we went. 

Since I was shuttled around during the day for tests and the procedure, by default I ended up being one of the ER hallway creatures.  As I entered my new home away from home, I let out a grateful "thank you".  I was desperate for a better bed and some quiet.   As I looked around the modest room, I noticed something missing.  "Excuse me.  Where is the bathroom?" I softly asked my ICU nurse.  "Oh, in ICU most patients use a bed pan or a commode.  We can get you a commode". 

Say what now? 

The nurse brought in the commode and placed it near my bed.  I was mortified.  I had 3 large windows in my room facing the nurses station and only a small movable curtain.  Not to mention, whatever happened in that commode, a human being would have to remove it from my room, clean and return the bucket.  I thought for a moment.  "Do you have any strong plastic bags"? I asked.  "Sure, let me see if I can get some for you".  My nurse brought back a small stack of clear patient belongings bags.  I thanked him, got out of bed, took a bag, lifted the commode seat and securely placed a bag in the commode bucket.  "Oh no, that's my job to clean after you" he insisted.  "As long as I'm capable, no one should have to do that" I said.  It ended up working perfectly during my ICU stay.  I'd take care of business, securely seal the bag, replace it and I retained a little dignity.

I was in ICU for a couple of days.  My nurses were fantastic.  On Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving, Dr. G, the lung specialist, and the head of ICU paid me a friendly visit.  They had put me on the transfer list for another floor the day prior.  Unfortunately the hospital didn't have a non-ICU bed available.  Since I was on the transfer list however, and my vitals were great, they could try and discharge me.  Lou and I were overjoyed.  My friend Yvette, who happens to be a nurse, was up for a visit. Even my day nurse was cheering.

Then my Dr. P walked in.  

We all greeted him with excitement but he wasn't excited at all.  In fact, he appeared a bit concerned.  He wanted my blood pressure and temperature checked.

Blasted!  He knew.  I had a fever the night before.  My friend Karyn came Tuesday night.  She brought me a sesame bagel with veggie cream cheese - it tasted glorious.  Then things started to get hazy.  I remember she gave me a cookie, organized my Ricola in a cup and read me a devotional.  I was fever loopy and don't remember much else. 

Following Dr. P's request, the nurse came in.  My temp was 101.5.  All medical staff quickly turned and exited the room.  Yvette looked at me with sad eyes and said very matter of factly "Honey, you're not going home". 

I had a word with my Savior.  "Jesus, I am tired, I am disappointed.  I am so disappointed.  If it's in my best interests to stay, I am not happy but I'll stay.  Thank You for my care and please heal me."

I heard my day nurse outside of my room speaking with the doctors.  "I'm not giving her the bad news!" she exclaimed.  The doctors shuffled back in.  Dr. P, in a very fatherly tone, firmly stated "I suppose you know I can't let you go home with a fever.  Your blood work is fine - it's the blood clots causing the increase in temperature".  I tried to plead my case but he wouldn't have it.  As the doctors shuffled back out, Dr. G stayed.  He pointed his finger at me from the edge of the bed and said "I'm here early tomorrow morning and I'm starting with you on the 5th floor.  You better not have a fever when I get there. I want you with your family for Thanksgiving".  We smiled and he left.

Soon after another test I was relocated to the 5th floor.  The geriatric floor.  My roommate was an 80-something year old woman who just broke her hip.  I never take pleasure in another person's misery but this was, what I perceived as "a gift".  "She'll be morphined up and she can't get out of bed.  I have a toilet with a door all to myself". 

We'll call her Helen. 

Around 9pm Helen called over to me.  "Ms. in the other bed, can you help me?  I can't call the nurses".  "Sure thing" I responded.  I got up and showed her the button to press to call the nurse.  Someone would be in for her in a moment.  She began to explain that she has a pacemaker and they didn't give her a very important, very specific medication.  "Can you call my daughter?  I'm very concerned" she asked.

Now, I had been in a hospital before where a nurse entered into my records that she gave me a medication that she never did.  I felt bad for Helen and for goodness sake, I can't have this sweet old lady's blood on my hands.

I picked up her phone and asked for the number.  Her phone hadn't been activated. A nursing assistant came in and Helen started to ramble.  "My son's going to beat you up!" she shouted.  Oh gravy.  Helen has dementia.  I turned around and went back to my bed.  Another nurse came in and reassured her that she has more medication at 10pm. Helen tried to con me to use my cell phone.  I lied and told her my husband had it.  God forgive me but I knew if I said yes once, she'd want to call the universe by morning.  Helen was relentless.  "I understand.  You just don't want to help me" she moaned. Nice Grandma guilt Hels but it's not happening.

Did I mentioned the patient in the room next door?  I'm certainly not making fun of the mentally ill, but imagine if you will a large desert cat eating a screaming baby for 15 hours.  Was I an extra in a horror movie? 

Helen liked to party.  Girlfriend was non-stop chatter for the better part of the night.  She was also incredibly gassy.  I begged God "please Lord, don't let me go insane". As frustrated as I felt, I couldn't help but listen to the conversations she was having with herself.  Helen was basically telling her life story in snippets for hours.  She mentioned her children and her old union job and relived conversations with her husband about household duties.  Although my heart broke for her, I was starting to lose it.  "Honey, please I need you to go to sleep" I would gently plead.   I think she finally passed out around 3am after scores of nurses and assistants had to beg her to be silent. 

Morning came and before I knew it Dr. G was at the foot of my bed.  "Your temp was 99 - I'm discharging you!" he cheered.  It took several hours but before long, Lou and I walked out of the hospital and into the car.  The crisp fall air and bright sun on my face never felt so marvelous. 

Now in the entire experience this past week, no matter where we were in that hospital, God kept a steady stream of kind hearted, loving believers in our path.  A great lady who I just adore from my church was at the hospital for a treatment and heard I was there.  Although we missed each other, she managed to give a simple note to a nurse to let me know I'm in her prayers.  It meant the world to me.  We prayed with a couple in the ER who was facing a difficult health crisis.  One of my nurses hadn't been to church in years and was feeling lost.  Her and I had a great time in conversation together. 

So I had to use a commode and my roommate drove me a little batty.  There's always more to these trials of ours than meets the eye.