Happy Endings

The Prodigal Charm Bracelet

It's been MIA for over a year. I didn't dare say this to anyone else, but as the weeks and months passed by I was beginning to lose hope that I would ever see it again.

Even as doubt began to creep in, I still refused to say the bracelet was lost. This wasn't just any old bracelet, though as one of my oldest pieces of jewelry, it was getting up there in years. This was my charm bracelet. The one dad bought for me one foggy day in San Francisco thus beginning decades of collecting pretty sterling silver momentos of the places we traveled to or lived in. Between the sentimental value, the added cost of each charm, and cost of travel, the bracelet definitely had a "priceless" quality to it.

For these reasons and more it was difficult to admit it was likely lost forever. For all intents and purposes I said the bracelet was missing. I was so sure at the beginning that the bracelet would miraculously appear...Under the bed amidst the dust bunnies on the floor...In one of the many trinket boxes cluttering my room...Tucked under the driver's seat of my little VW bug, along with the quarters, candy and gum wrappers that cluttered the floor...Jammed into the desk drawer that houses all the junk that you don't want to throw away, yet doesn't have a good home in the house...hanging out in the wet bar sink that has only been used as a storage bin for junk mail, bobby pins, cellphone charges and other devices...My list of places to look could go on and on.

Each place I methodically combed thru came up empty-handed...no charm bracelet, no sign of any charms. After all the years of collecting the silver replicas of the places we visited, it was hard to let go and resign myself to the fact that it was likely gone. Gone for good. Gone for bad. Gone. Gone. Gone.

My heart knew it. My mind knew it, but I couldn't bring myself to admit it out loud because once I did, all bets were off and my words would make it so. Gone forever. So I did the only thing I could do. I pretended to myself not to care which was a bold faced lie. I also pretended to be confident...it would show up at the least unexpected moment.

I also prayed to God that if were not too much trouble, could he lead me to my bracelet? After all, if there was one thing I knew for sure it was that God knew exactly where my charm bracelet was. If it was in some obscure place in my room, or stuffed into some box of junk we didn't know what do with, he would reveal it when the time was right.

Nothing.

I had only misplaced my charm bracelet once before which is surprising because I have a bad habit of subconsciously taking off my jewelry and putting the jewelry down without any thought which has resulted in the loss of many other bracelets, rings, earrings and necklaces. But my charm bracelet? Never! It had too much sentimental value for me to be so careless with it.

It was one of the first "real" pieces of jewelry I owned. Dad bought it for me one foggy day 40-years ago in San Francisco. What made him decide to do it, I'm not sure. All I know is we walked into a little store located on the crowded streets as we walked from Fisherman's Wharf to Pier 39 and we came out with a glistening silver bracelet, with a glistening clover shaped charm firmly attached. With all our travels, it was a perfect gift. Soon the links were filled with charms in the shape of the state in which we visited or some other sightseeing wonder. I mourned the loss of the Colosseum which we bought during my first visit to Italy and the Leaning Tower of Pisa which represented my second and likely (though I hope not) last trip to Italy.

It felt like a dream when I received a call from my baby girl last December asking me to "guess what". What? What? What?  Guessing games are difficult as well as annoying when one is woken up from a deep sleep with no clue of where to begin. After a few failed attempts, she took pity upon me and agreed to give me a hint or two.

Her first hint gave me enough of a clue that I was afraid to guess what I wanted to guess. "You've been looking for it for a long time now." I was afraid I would cry if I was wrong. Where was my confident hope that I always laid claim to.

"You found my charm bracelet?!?" I braced myself, closing my eyes as she answered with a yes that was too good to be true. Surely she was pulling my leg. I waited for the punchline. Only there wasn't. After all that time, it turned out my bracelet was hidden tight in a crevasse of my car. Stuck in a little compartment between the back passenger seats and the trunk. A compartment we never ever used. A compartment I don't believe I never ever even opened.

For some obscure reason, Brie decided to open the compartment and feel around the perimeter when her hand came upon a cloth Brighton bag. It had to feel like a miracle when she opened the drawstrings and there was my charm bracelet glistening hello. It felt like one to me when she brought it to my room later that night.

My tears flowed. I love happy endings

Why I have Hope

Where have I been? I wish I had a good, true story to tell, such as I caught a fast plane to France and have been writing with Hemingway, painting with Van Gogh while indulging in thick, creamy cups of hot chocolate chased by warm pieces of fresh baguettes topped with rich, fresh butter. All the while not worried at the least about the number of calories being consumed because I'm in the city of light and love, which means all the walking and metro rides are doing their part in consuming my calories.

How I wish I were the person living life as described above. If I knew then what I know now, would my life be any different? I want to think yes! It's far better than writing about the last few setbacks that I encountered which created not just a serious case of writer's and creativity block at a time when I felt I was running on eight cylinders, but also laid me up in bed for longer than I care to admit.

But, the setbacks are not what I want to spend my time writing about. They already consumed up too much of my life. What's worse is it's time I can't get back as much as I want to. I also don't want to spend time writing about the things I've been doing for the last two weeks even though it makes me believe the winter in my brain is finally thawing out. Time will be show the truth.

What I do want to do is thank God. For the fact that during all of this, He held on to my righthand and never let go. He was there before me, next to me and behind me, every step of the way never forsaking me, never forgetting me, no matter how much I whined. No matter how much I felt like throwing in the towel.

God is so good. All the time, God is good.

That's why I have hope.

Tired of the Pain

After days of positive thinking, of saying, at least, mentally I feel strong, of pushing past the pain, I took a step backwards. I could feel it coming all day yesterday as I did little to move off my recliner, pretending that I needed a Sunday of rest. As I pulled myself off the recliner this morning, anxious to get the morning started, apprehensive that with each step I took, the pain would commence. The truth is, I've gotten to the point where I want to move as little as possible so tired of the pain that I'm in.

At lunchtime, I tried to pull myself out of my funk by writing in my daily journal of gratitude. It wasn't working. I tried harder by moving myself to the patio. It made me feel a little better, but not enough. I tried even harder by walking one and a half times around the patio.

By the end of lunch, I was back on my recliner, my legs aching, crying out loud. The pain, I can take. The self-pity, not so much. Still, I pray for a reprieve from the pain. I am praying, pleading, begging the Lord that the new medication I'm taking will give me relief.

I was reading something today that someone wrote about waiting and how waiting for the unknown was the hardest. I get it. I think about one of my biggest fears, paralysis. It may come tomorrow, it may never come. Today, it was foremost on my mind. I can't sit forever, it's not good for compression, yet I don't know what else to do, standing is virtually impossible, walking not much better.

A thought struck my mind. I'm afraid of paralysis and yet, here I am, spending most of my time doing what I'm most afraid of...sitting...in a chair. Yes, I can still get up, take a shower, get my food, dress myself, but even that I'm not doing much of. I haven't taken a shower since Friday...yuck! I know, it makes me feel even worse.

In some ways I felt an amount of relief. If that would be my lot in life, well, then, I could handle it. In some ways, perhaps the pain would be limited, I don't know. I hope so.

Weary, But Not Exhausted

It's the end of a long day, I'm weary, but not exhausted. There is a part of me that is at peace knowing that tomorrow, I see another specialist which comes as a surprise to me. Not that I'm seeing another specialist, but that I'm at peace with it, hopeful, in fact, that it's the beginning of some relief from the constant pain and struggle to walk.

A week ago, I felt exhausted and, honestly, the thought of talking to my oncologist about the sudden disintegration my ability to move around was too much to bear. The last thing I wanted was to spend more time at the medical center, reciting my woes, being poked and prodded, especially since much of medical diagnosis is based on guess work and ruling out things. I was talking to a friend of mine who is going through pain of her own caused by spinal stenosis. After much research, she went to see a doctor who claims to have a good recovery rate. Out of pocket it would cost over $5,000. There is no doubt she is worth the money, but the problem isn't whether she's worth it, the problem is there is no guarantee in the results.

Which is why I'm surprised that I was relieved that I was able to get an appointment so early. But I go into the appointment believing, not in the doctors, but in God, whom I trust above all. He can give the doctor a clear direction, the right diagnosis, the perfect treatment.

While today wasn't perfect, it was good. It started the moment I got up and saw a note that Brie had written to me the night before. It was simple, it was sweet and included two hearts. It was what I needed.

I drove into the office, my walker neatly leaning on the back seat, my mind waffling back and forth about whether I would use it. I knew I should use it, but my pride was ready to get the best of me, except for the fact that I had to park a little further out than I normally do. That was my sign to pull out the walker as I got out of the car. I prayed that I wouldn't see anyone on my way in, but as I approached the building, I run into a co-worker. Instead of being appalled and embarrassed, I was strangely comforted. My comfort grew as we walked together into the building and got into the elevator.

As the elevator made its way up the building, I told her that she was my godsend, her presence was exactly what I needed. I had to fight back the tears and her words of encouragement made it easier to step into the office, pushing my walker in front of me.

The day wore on. I was busy throughout. Not a crazy, mind numbing busy, but a constant busy, one thing coming after another in perfect succession. My chair was so uncomfortable and just when I thought I couldn't sit in it one moment longer, I would forget about the pain and time continued to pass until 4pm came and I could get up and leave, thankful for the walker which made it easy to get to my car.

In between that time, my Sunny Boy called which always put a smile on my face and then I got a call from his little mini me, telling me that they were coming to visit tomorrow.

Yes, I am weary, but I'm not exhausted. Yes, I am weary, but I have hope. again. and it feels so good.

I am counting on the Lord; yes, I am counting on him. I have put my hope in his word. Psalm 130:5

The Full Makeover

How can I begin to explain the blessing of the prayers that have been said in my name? Prayers of loved ones. Acquaintances. Extended family. And strangers who have never laid eyes upon me. When this all began, I clung to those prayers because often times it was too hard for me to even begin to pray for myself.

The night before my mastectomy, my brothers, sister, mom, children and nephew, gathered around me, laying hands upon me, praying for protection, for healing, for mercy. I will never ever forget the peace I felt that night and how thankful I was for the love of such a wonderful family.

Since that time, others come to pray for me. My mom's cousins came shortly after my hip replacement, gathering around me in our living room, sharing with me scripture, words of hope and encouragement and prayers. A co-worker of my mom's came to our house several time to prayer over me, anointing me with oil, as did a good friend of my sister-in-law's when I went to visit in September.

I am in awe of the generosity of such faithful service to God when someone I don't know very well offers to prayer on my behalf. Yesterday, I was blessed by another experience when a friend of my dad's spoke to a men's group at her church to see if they would be willing to pray for me. They were and yesterday I met them during their prayer group where they lay hands on me, praying over me in tongues, anointing me with oil.

From the moment they first began to pray it was like a wave of rushing water surrounding me, their voices speaking different words, but yet all in symphony. My body shook violently at first, not in pain, but shuddering in response to the warfare I felt happening within my body.

I wish I could say that by the time I walked out of the church I was walking normal, completely healed. I was still in some pain, but I did feel stronger and more confident than before. I have no doubt, no doubt, at all that God has the power to heal me. I have no doubt at all that God will heal me, it's just a question of when.

Even as the doctor talked to me on Tuesday explaining that my skeletal structure was very weak, all I could think was God could make it strong again. I felt very much the same thing I felt when the doctors would warn me to get my things in order. The doctors see scans and test results. God doesn't need to see those things to know what's going on in my body. He knows exactly where I need to be touched, where healing needs to occur, what needs to be done. That gives me hope.

Today I felt more confident than I have all week. I moved around more, the tentativeness gone. It still hurt to walk, but the fear that has taunted me since last Thursday was gone. This evening I thought about moving around more, but there was this voice inside me telling me to rest and let the work that God began last night to continue to work. I satisfied myself with a quick stroll around the backyard and have been resting ever since.

I am very hopeful that by the time the next four weeks are up, that I will be strong again, that the doctors will look at me and wonder what in the world happened. Their plan is to make me comfortable, not make me whole. God has other plans. Until then, this time is about being still and listening to God. I need healing in more than one way. It's not just my body that needs work, but my mind and my soul. Might as well get the full makeover. I could use one.

Things for which I'm thankful:

1. A lovely lunch at home with Brie today
2. A body of Christ who prays so faithfully
3. The sound of my mom and dad laughing together yesterday
4. A wonderful phone call from Matt this evening
5. Feeling stronger both mentally and physically
6. A very good night's sleep
7. My sister's love
8. The support of my co-workers
9. A warm shower 
10. My feet hitting the ground as I got out of bed this morning

The Goodness of the Moment

After a long day, fighting with emotions, the evening started to look up. In the early evening hour, right after my mom got home, I walked outside for a few minutes. It had rained earlier, but the skies had cleared just enough to make for a wondrous composite of clouds, blue and reddish yellow hues.

As I shuffled across the sidewalk, a light drizzle began, cleaning off all the angst I had felt earlier in the day. My hope began to spring again. I only wished I could have stayed out there longer soaking in all the goodness of the moment.

I wasn't about to take any chances with the pain so I downed my douse of steroid and two pain meds sometime after 5pm. They both helped a lot, as did an unexpected visit from some friends in the neighborhood and a FaceTime call with my little family in the desert.

This morning I woke up in much greater spirits. The hardest part is trying to figure out how much pain I  should mask and how much activity I should endure. I do not in any way want to aggravate my fractures any more than they are already. I have hope for healing and want to do everything I need to do to make that happen.

Adding to my peace and comfort are the prayers I know are being sent up in my name. Yesterday I received a sweet card from my cousin's wife. While it made me cry, it also made me feel so loved and happy. That's what is so important. And it's equally important for me to find a way to love on my loved ones even with limited mobility right now.

It's why I also feel a compulsive need to find thanks all day long. In the little things and the big things.

Things I for which I'm thankful:

1. A delicious spaghetti dinner prepared by my mom and enjoyed around the table by the three of us
2. Brie so willing to run errands for me, including refilling my steriod prescription
3. A lovely rain yesterday that I enjoyed with windows open experiencing the full effects of the cool air and drip drip drops of the raindrops falling
4. Working today with the sliding glass open, the fresh air stirring my soul
5. My feed hitting the ground as I got up from bed this morning
6. My lovely daughter in law who shares her children with me so wonderfully
7. Friends who stop over with See's Candies for support
8. A sweet card in the mail 
9. The ability to wake up my daughter for school this morning
10. A day in which to give Thanks and Glory to God

I Still Have Hope

Went to bed last night with the lowest pain level I've had in a long time. I was hopeful that meant today I would awake with this behind me or as least able to forego my daily downing of Tylenol. I was wrong.

My devotional's title today was "Be Prepared to Suffer for Me". Really Lord? I didn't want to, but I read it anyway. "Pain and problems are opportunities to demonstrate your trust in Me. Bearing your circumstances bravely - even thank Me for them - is one of the highest forms of praise." I don't know that I'm bearing it all bravely, but I do trust in Him. I'm just thankful I'm not in that dark place I was this time last year.

Here's what I don't understand, the why. Earlier this year, a wonderful, beautiful person I have been lucky to meet was diagnosed with cancer. It was found in her lungs and other vital organs and she was given a mere six-months to live. This was in early March. Her journey has been a painful and exhausting one. Yet, she has trusted in God throughout.

Her caringbridge journal has almost 100K hits since it was created just 7 months ago. She has touched the lives of so very many. If you knew her and her devotion to God, you would agree she is someone God should heal. But he hasn't yet. She has endured one setback after another, with grace and dignity because she trusts in the Lord. Her latest setback came last week and she was told by her doctors it would be a miracle if she makes it to Christmas.

Yesterday my sister-in-law went to visit Kim and while she was there they worked on "getting her things in order". It broke my heart to read the news. It hurts my hands to type this now. Yet, I still have hope. Kim may very well outlast me. I haven't given up on a miracle in Kim's life and in mine. As long as we draw breath, I still have hope.

Reliving the Moment

It was the day that I had longed for throughout the end of 2012. Just one day where I felt some semblance of normal. I had hoped and prayed, but I was beginning to believe that day would never come.

And then, when I least expected it, God answered my prayers. The day started with rain and such gray cloudy skies that I half expected that we would call off our plans to get together with the girls. Much to my delight, no one was backing out. By the time everyone arrived at the house, the clouds had dissipated and the sun was in its glory.

The girls had planned for us to go to McClain's, but Denise had a better idea...a trip to The Langham, a beautiful hotel nestled in the hills of San Marino. First we had a leisurely lunch...

Followed by a walk along the grounds of the hotel. The girls were laughing and happy, as were us moms, thankful to be spending time together.

It wasn't until sometime during the walk that I realized, I was not limping along wondering when I would have a chance to sit down again.

I cry even as I write this so thankful for that day. I wish I could say that the next day I walked unimpeded, but I can say this, every day I am getting stronger. Every day walking is a little easier.

I have hope. And for that I am thankful.

And So It Begins Again

My first day back in the infusion center for a new round of chemo. What I remember about the first time...

1. Being so frightening and hating every moment of the whole experience
2. Feeling like I had to be strong so mom would know that I was okay
3. Realizing that it's the nurses who really know the score and it helps to have them as a friend (after all they're the ones with the needles)
4. Fearing the uncertainty, would I get sick, when would I lose my hair, was this going to be worth it

I went home and cried, feeling depressed for the whole week. I did not want to go back and it wasn't until I realized that I didn't have to go back if I really didn't want, that I began to feel better. I was in more control than I thought I was. I came to realize that it's one of the things I hate the most about the whole ordeal, feeling the loss of control.

This time around, I didn't have that deer in the headlights look. Even though I didn't know if I was going to have an adverse reaction, the fear was gone. Yes, I may feel fatigue, but if I'm lucky I'll be able to embrace the life I have and live it with hope, love and joy. That's what I plan to do. 

The chemo had a strange sensation as it flowed into my veins. The nurse had warned me that Gemzar could burn and that we may need to slow the drip down and pump more saline into me at the same time. At first everything was okay, but after about 10 minutes, I ended up asking her to slow the drip down. While it was never painful, it was just an unpleasant feeling. 

I'm so thankful that I had the presence of mind to ask my doctor about getting a port. It's getting harder and harder for the nurses to find a good vein and with chemo it's imperative that there is a good stick so the chemical doesn't leak out. 

I find it interesting to watch other patients at the infusion center. Some come alone like me, some have a relative or friend at their side, some are obviously tired and weak, some seem to have more energy, some have that deer in the headlight look (newbies), some obviously know the drill. Most are positive, most have hope and I see a lot of beauty in them. I often silently pray for the ones in my proximity as I know that prayer helps so much. I wish I could take more pictures there, but I don't want to intrude or make others feel uncomfortable.

Afterwards, Brie and I went to Starbucks and came home to start putting Christmas away. There is a part of me sad to see it go and another part happy to leave the clutter.