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".
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