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 Hurt and the Healer

There is a song by Mercy Me called The Hurt and the Healer. The lyrics resonate so deeply within me right now. I've been listening to it over and over again and each time, there is a different part of the song that speaks to me.

It stared with these words

Breathe
Sometimes I feel that all that I can do
Pain so deep that I can hardly move
Just keep my eyes completely fixed on you 
Lord take hold and pull me through
So here I am 
What's left of me
Where glory meets my suffering
I'm alive
Even though a part of me has died
You take my heart and breathe it back to life
I fall into your arms open wide
When the hurt and the Healer collide

I've had this song on my playlist for years now and it's as though I'm hearing it for the first time, starting on Thursday sometime after my chemo. I was in such a low place, one the lowest I've had in a while. Since last Saturday, I've been fighting back tears constantly in part due to pain, in part due to fear, in part due to hopelessness. I've been flailing about by the wind. When I heard this song, I was brought to sobs, each word so graphically describing how I felt.

Even though the song brings me to my knees metaphorically, it has also given me the hope that I had lost. I am alive. And even with the pain, there is hope.

Yesterday it was easier to be positive. My pain was minimal, walking was easier and even though I was sure it was the residual effect of the Decadron I was given on Thursday for the chemo, it didn't matter. It was a good day and I needed it. Brie was leaving for a trip and asked me to come up to her room as she finished her packing. It felt so good to spend time with her laughing and talking like normal. Yes, he took my heart and breathed it back to life.

This morning, I took things easy and then seized what was left of the moment and went out armed with my camera, notebook and iPad. I could feel the strength slowly dissipating from my body, but I didn't care. Yes, I wanted so badly for it to stay, but I was grateful for the reprieve.

Now that the pain has returned, I pray that the hope stays. Even as I am weak, I feel His strength. He takes hold and pulls me through. 

Things I Wish I Could Do

Things I wish I could do right now…

1. Clean up my room
2. Find my comfy sweat pants
3. Bake some chocolate chip cookies…or at least make some cookie dough
4. Find my Rebel battery charger
5. Go to the beach and take pictures of the storm
6. Work on a scrapbook 
7. Go get a Mayan Mocha
8. Walk without pain

The truth is, I supposed I could do the first seven of the list above, but that rotten number eight is becoming the bane to my existence so I'm going to needy to find things I can do even in this condition…

1. Write
2. Pray
3. Find at least a dozen things to be thankful for
4. Finish my taxes
5. Create a photo book
6. Call someone I love
7. Read a good book
8. Stop feeling sorry for myself

Need to get to it.

First Things First

Saturday, February first, twenty fourteen. January began with much angst, but the reality was, the first ten days or so of the month were much kinder and positive than I could have imagined. This is why it's best to take things just one day at a time especially when I know things can turn one way or another with literally a blink of an eye.

The hardest part of January has been the discouragement I have felt. In my current state, moving around is difficult, painful, tiring. Just the thought of going anywhere wears on my mind. The bulk of my days are spent on this recliner which is becoming my prison, albeit a comfortable one at that. I long to go to the beach, walk along the ocean, the sound of the wave beating new life into my heart.

But even more than that, I long for the joy that I experienced late last year. At a time when I would have thought all was lost, I held tight to my confident hope in God. As the days continue, my confidence in him is still there, but my joy is not. The other day I tried to be angry, but I couldn't be. I know he is working in my life. I know he is here with me each and every step of the way. I know there is purpose to all of this. But I am weary right now. I need a reprieve. I need joy again.

It's the first day of February, the month of love and I want this month to be the month in which I love upon those around me, whether they be family and friends, co-workers, neighbors, acquaintances, strangers or those who grate on my nerves. I want to find love with my camera again. I want to get out on sunny days and on the days that I can't get out, make better use of my time at home, writing, reading, not just sitting and doing much of nothing. I want to find joy again.

So Brave

Cycle 13, Day 2 - For reasons unknown to me, as I sat down to journal today, it became important to document the cycle and day of my chemo treatment. The month is also officially half-way over. The year began with much trepidation and after days like Tuesday, it's no wonder.

As I was driving home from shopping this evening, I was giving much thought about the future and plans and I realized that I really have no choice, but to live by God's words to live from day to day and not worry about the future. There are moments when the future scares me more than anyone can know. Can I walk this path? Can I deal with what possibly is ahead? And then I do the only thing I can do, let it go, because I don't know what's ahead and I just pray that God would take me as I sleep. But not today and not tomorrow. Not this year.

I've been struggling a lot the last week. Though I smile and pretend that everything is okay, I grow weary of this "new" normal. I hate every step I take, my head perpetually pointed downward, unable to look anyone in the eyes from a standing position, shuffling my hunched body in such a way that people look pitifully at me or pitifully away. I long…hurt…wish…pray…for the days when walking from my car to the office, or wherever my destination, was done without a thought.

I've been asking God to help me find that place of thankfulness where my mind is in sync with the outward show that I display to convince my co-workers, family and strangers that I'm okay. I'm such a faker. Today's devotional verse helped a lot.

"Do not be discouraged, for the Lord, your God, will be with you wherever you go." Joshua 1:9

I thought of these words as I began my hated walk from the car to the lab this morning, silently cursing the nitwits who thought it was a good idea to put as much distance between the two by needlessly separating them with empty space and not one, but two water fountains.

These thoughts do me no good, but the truth is, they are there. But today as I finally arrived at the entrance to the medical office, I realized I had made the walk in less pain than previous weeks and I had not needed to stop to catch my breath. Never mind, that I must have looked a like a horrible sight because a lovely couple stopped to ask me if I needed them to get me a wheelchair. I smiled and thanked them for the kind offer. I am always thankful for the kindness of strangers. I am learning that there are many, many kind strangers in this world still.

At the Lab, the blood draw was incredibly painless. I didn't feel the needle slip into my vein at all. I complimented the technician, thanking her for being so good at her job. She simply responded, "You are so brave". I am? Her response made me want to cry. No, not really. Not this past week. I've been an insolent baby. Not as I sat in the lab chair, where I look away each time my blood is about to be drawn, refusing to look at the needle poking into my skin because if I look, I might have to run away. I was not brave on Tuesday, as I drove home, fear taunting me the whole ride home.

No I am not brave, I'm just doing what I need to do to survive, but it was sweet of her for telling me that I am anyway.

When a Plan Works Out

"If you don't come into the office, I'm going to come to your house", my former boss jokingly (I think) told me yesterday as he stopped by my office to make sure we were still on for our meeting for Wednesday. "I'm planning to be here", I assured him, trying to quiet that little voice inside my head that was saying something else. 

The whole day, I felt uncomfortable. My leg was still hurting, every chair I sat in pressed hard against my back and every step I took felt torturous. I couldn't concentrate, my thoughts muddled as I counted the minutes before I could leave. When the moment finally came that I could be set free, I left my laptop at my office in quiet defiance to that warning voice inside my head.

My plan on the way home..stop for a mocha at Ink & Bean, but my neck had other ideas. On the drive home, it began to stiffen like it was developing a bad case of rigor mortis. I continued on my path to Ink & Bean in quiet defiance to the pain that was growing by the moment. 

I can't deny there was relief mixed with disappointment when all the parking spots on the street where Ink & Bean is located were taken. Yes, there was a parking garage nearby, but there was no way I could put my body through the extra walk. Lack of front row parking was the sign I needed to say I tried and keep on driving home. 

By the time I arrived at the house, the pain was so great, I couldn't move my head without hiding my distress. Tired of going from 60 (30 really) to zero in less than minute, my tear flowed. If it weren't for the loving, kindness of my mom and Brie, I would have fallen into a mass of wallowing self-pity. 

Mom tended to my needs, getting me my pain meds (which by the way did NOTHING to relieve the pain), water, a blanket, the heating pad and serving me dinner, as I took refuge on my recliner, trying my best not to move my head.

Brie took off where mom left off, getting me Ginger Ale for my nausea and my things from upstairs since I determined that it would be best for my neck to sleep on my recliner and telling me to text her if I needed anything as she went up to bed. As I slowly put my pajamas on, I tried not to think about what would happen if I didn't feel any better in the morning. 

While the pain meds didn't do anything for the pain, they did make me drowsy enough to sleep most of the night. I woke up a few times. Once to take more pain meds, once to the feeling that an earthquake had just passed (it had, a 4.4 centered in Fontana, at around 1:30pm) and a few times to check the clock so I could count how many hours I had left to sleep. 

I awoke to the alarm at 6:00am, slowly moving my head, first to the left and then to the right. While I didn't have a lot of flexibility, I wasn't gasping in pain either. I got up from my recliner, still no gasping, my hope began to grow. By 7:05am, I was in my car, pulling out of the driveway, my confidence growing that I would make it in time for my 9:00am meeting. 

I had planned to head home after 11am when the meeting had ended, but there was no burning need. It was 1pm before I realized that I wasn't feeling any of the discomfort I had felt the day before. My mind was in the game so I worked through lunch with the thought that perhaps I could get out of the office at 3pm and stop at Ink & Bean.

I love it when a plan works out. I love it too, that healing came so quickly. I praise God for the day.

The Day After, The Day After Christmas

On the Friday after Christmas, we gathered at my dad's to celebrate Christmas with him. We don't do this every year, mostly years that Vic and/or Eliz are in town.

Before we went to dad's, I took any takers to Dripp since it's only ten minutes from his house.

I tried the Turkish Latte…blech! It was the most horrible coffee drink EVER!

It was the first time I ever sat upstairs. Up to this time, I had never even ventured into that section.

It allowed me the opportunity to get a few shots with a different point of view.

We had a fun time at dad's. It was odd having a gaggle of little ones again.

Max was exceptionally cute. He found a little flower that he went around giving and then taking back from all grownups. First he gave it to Aunt Sharonda, then asked for it back so he could give it to his mom. At least he was polite about it, telling Aunt Sharonda, "I'm sorry". He even gave it to Uncle Greg.

After a delicious Italian meal, some time just hanging around together, there were a number of scrumptious desserts to enjoy.

Then we got down to business exchanging presents. Aurora was given the first gift to open and Max excitedly asked if there was a "big" present for him.

Somehow he lucked out and Great Grandpa pulled out a large wrapped box with Max's name on it. Max was beside himself with joy and even more so after he opened it up to find a set of five jumbo action heroes in there.

Nothing sweeter at Christmas time than the pure joy of a child.