It is Well!
My friend, Garth, called to catch up with me a couple of weeks ago and he asked if I’d been writing to which I responded, “Nah. You know I only do that when the Spirit moves, and the Spirit hasn’t exactly been moving lately.” He then very honestly said “Oh, the Spirit is indeed moving. You’re just not listening.” Ouch. Takes a true friend to tell it straight, right? (:
From diagnosis to today, I’ve had 2 big surgeries, nearly 5 months of chemotherapy, 7 months of targeted therapy with 5 months to go and I began radiation this week. Sometimes I just feel tired and want it all to be done. Weeks after my last chemo, I became neutropenic and that was right when COVID was rearing its ugly head in my area. With the social distancing and my increased risk for infection and complications, I’m isolated most days and to be honest, that’s not the most healthy thing for me. I miss my family, my kids and my grandbabies. Ugh! My grandbabies ): I miss my friends. I’m on a physical/mental/emotional rollercoaster that sometimes makes my spirit feel heavy. There have been many times along the way that I haven’t even been able to pray. I’ve taken time out to talk to God, but found myself speechless, unable to put my feelings into words to share with Him, so I would just sit in the quiet. Last Thursday was one of those times.
In breast cancer surgery, the surgeon injects dye into the tumor and watches the tumor drain to the lymph nodes. The first node the tumor drains to is called the sentinel node. That node is removed, and quick pathology is done during surgery to determine if cancer cells are present; if the cancer has spread. If cancer cells are present, more lymph nodes are removed. If not, all remaining nodes stay. In my surgery the sentinel node was “clean,” no cancer cells were found. After surgery, all my tissue was sent to pathology for a final reading. Surprisingly, the final pathology on my sentinel node did in fact reveal cancer cells. Only about 250 cells, but they were there. This was concerning for several reasons. I’m not gonna get into those reasons here, but at the end of the day it meant radiation was in order and basically every lymph node on the left side of my chest would be destroyed. There are many risks with my radiation plan, but radiation is necessary. It’s almost guaranteed the radiation will damage the upper lobe of my left lung and what else is on the left side? My heart. Being a nurse – an oncology nurse at that – knowing the risks is difficult for me because I’ve cared for so many patients with chronic pulmonary and heart disease. I know what it looks like up close and I desperately don’t want to find myself there one day… this is a time when being a nurse is not helpful!
I went into my final radiation simulation on Wednesday before the real thing was to start on Thursday, and it was a tough experience. The first thing I had to do was undress from the waist up. It’s almost humiliating for me to let anyone see my chest now with all the scars and plastic aesthetics, let alone complete strangers. But I got undressed and laid down on the cold, hard radiation table as instructed. I was positioned with my head in a mold to help keep my head stable and my arms were pulled up over my head and placed into a very tight cast made just for me to hold my arms firmly in place. A handheld device with a button on it was placed in my right hand. My nose was clamped closed and a snorkel-like mouth piece was placed in my mouth. That piece was connected to a hose that was connected to a computer. As I laid there, doing my best to hold back my tears and trying to stay calm while I fumbled to keep the mouth piece steady and breathe, I watched as the lasers made patterns over my body and the techs marked up my sternum, ribs and left breast (if that’s what I can even call it!) with permanent marker. And just like that, I was alone in the dark room, on that hard table, in all my glory. From the other room, I was instructed to push the button in my right hand and take a deep breath, so I did. I pushed the button, took a deep breath in through the hose, and when my lung volume reached a certain capacity, my air was cut off. I couldn’t breathe in and I couldn’t breathe out. I couldn’t move. The system forced me to hold my breath for about 30 seconds, which felt like 3 minutes! (the breath hold is used to help protect my heart). I repeated the breath hold over and over as the radiation beams bounced off my body and the machine circled around me. It was a very mechanical experience. I felt conflicted because I am thankful my oncologists are being aggressive, and I am so thankful to have access to life-saving technology, but it was another stinging smack in the face reminding me that I’m a cancer patient, that this is my current reality.
I went home, kept my mind very busy and occupied with work Wednesday afternoon and tried not to think about it too much. On Thursday morning, however, I couldn’t shake it. Knowing the beams would be real that day, knowing the risks to my lung and heart, I struggled. I couldn’t even pray from feeling overwhelmed with dread, and if I’m honest, fear. I was low on courage that day – my tank was running on E. But, I listened to the Spirit that day, Garth (: I knew I needed divine intervention, so I shared with my husband and reached out to some very special friends and asked them to pray. I made it through Thursday’s treatment well. As I laid there holding my breath, watching the beams and hearing the sounds of the machine moving around me, I just closed my eyes and envisioned the beautiful, nail-scarred hands of Jesus holding my heart and cradling my left lung – his hands a shield from the harmful beams. I calmly made it through #1 and found #2 was a bit easier… 23 more to go.
My amazing husband and dear friends stood in the gap for me on Thursday. They prayed when I couldn’t. To stand in the gap means to “expose one's self for the protection of something; to make defense against any assailing danger.” My prayer warriors took on my burden that day and interceded for me to Christ because I just couldn’t do it for myself. Friday morning, I woke up singing “ it is well.” God reassuring me that all will be well… Through my precious husband and friends, God answered prayers and I experienced the divine intervention my soul was craving. Peace. Hope. Trust. Calm.
Being so vulnerable in front of others is not easy for me, especially when I’ve been “admired” for being strong and courageous through this journey. Society has taught us that vulnerability is a sign of weakness, but I’ve learned through this experience that vulnerability actually brings strength. Embracing the real, the emotions and fears transparently has been liberating, in a sense, and has helped me move through what will prove to be one of the most difficult chapters of my life, honestly. That is a gift. If you are going through a difficult time, if you are finding yourself unable to pray, if you are stuffing your feelings, sucking it up, and going through the motions, or if you are afraid of what others may think of you if you shared what you’re dealing with, I encourage you to reach out to people who love you. Find those people who will stand in the gap for you and tell them what you need. I promise it will bring you strength and courage, they will act as a shield to whatever danger is facing you, and you will find the peace and resolve you need to face your next battle.
When peace like a river attendeth my way, When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say
It is well! It is well with my soul!
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, Let this blest assurance control
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate
And hath shed His own blood for my soul!
It is well… With my soul
It is well! It is well with my soul!
His grace is sufficient, and His strength is made perfect in our weakness
2 Corinthians 12:9
