Death

I'm close to a breakdown...not sure I can handle this...I just learned someone I knew in college recently died. Of cancer.

Yaacov didn't understand the magnitude of the situation, which means you all reading this probably won't either. That's part of the isolation of the ridiculous disease. Especially in my situation--hardly anyone my age can relate to having a terminal illness at all, because, well, there aren't many of the and they die before we can really "bond". So that stinks, and then when you throw in that I was miraculously healed, it's even harder to find people that "get" it. Not that I'm complaining, really. 

There's something about being told time and again that you're going to die soon that changes you. I used to think it was like teaching English as a Second Language--you don't have to speak multiple languages to teach the new one. But I'm pretty sure that in this case you have to live through it or have some really, really, really awesome insight straight from God to get it. 

That said, most people don't have the ability to turn from a happy thought into a mess of tears because someone they barely knew is dead. I have that ability, and right now I don't want it. It's like I'm living his death. I already lived my own, you know. It's not much easier this time. If he had died in a car accident or something, I probably wouldn't be too upset. But the second I read "cancer" I knew. I knew what it felt like for Jim to hear the diagnosis for the first time. For him to hope and pray for good test results. To hear bad news instead. To hope and pray for the miracle. Without ever having set foot in a hospice, I knew how it felt to have to move there, knowing it would likely be his last earthly home. Then finally, to hope and pray for a removal of the agony--mental and physical--that the bastard disease caused himself and loved ones. 

I couldn't tell you what color his eyes were, but I know exactly how he felt. And I know he wanted to live as much as I did. I know he deserved to live as much as I did. And I know he didn't. And I did.

I'm so sad. Confused. Surprised. Everyone in the body has a part and I always thought mine was minor. I did hope sometimes for a position of higher impact, but life and death with myself as an example is beyond my capabilities. Why aren't I called to be a beacon of hope for something lighter? Simpler? Easier? Less painful, perhaps? 

"After he was healed, the man...begged Him that he might be with Him. However, Jesus did not permit him, but said to him, 'Go home to your friends, and tell them what great things the Lord has done for you, and how He had compassion on you." Mark 5:18-19

I am quite certain the scripture above is a direct command for me, so I will keep doing it. It's not particularly hard with the right audience, but what can I say to people grieving from actual loss? "See how healthy I am?!" 

I know it sounds so ungrateful to complain, when I'm still alive, but I don't know how many more deaths I can live through. I suppose the point is that I am utterly unable to perform these duties without the help of the Lord, so when I feel this way I'm on the verge of breaking through--become less so He can become more. So, come on then, God! I'm ready to feel numb again.

Texas

We got in last night, right before a storm. It started this morning, just in time for my appointments at MD Anderson. There was a tornado watch and flooding everywhere. The signage here is awful so I trudged through the rain (without an umbrella) for half an hour before finding the place. Soaked and frozen, I texted with friends that it could only get better.

I was wrong.

Now that I've lost my hair, at my best I feel like a hideously disfigured clown, so it wasn't hard for the cruel doctors to crush what was left of my spirit. Still, they did everything in their power to make sure I was utterly devastated. It worked. First, the nurse practitioner met with me and told me there was no point in my ever having surgery to remove my tumor, because I'm going to die of cancer anyway. Then the esteemed Dr. Litton came in with two witnesses to drive it home. "Don't look at this like chemo will be done in 6 months and the you'll move on. Think of it like you're chronically ill and maybe you'll be on chemo until you die." When I became teary eyed she pursed her lips, tilted her head in an exaggeration motion and said without emotion, "I know." Just like she learned from reading the back of an empathy book. I didn't bother taking notes on all the helpful tidbits she shared, but she repeated them all for me so I wouldn't forget or get confused. "I would hate to give you false hope...our goal is not remission, it is just to control it... Metastatic means it spread. If it hadn't spread, it would be different...cancer is smarter than us..." Then she sent me on my way.

I wish I had been strong enough to say something awesome about how God is smarter than her and cancer. Instead I thanked her profusely. Then I ran to our rented minivan and sobbed until I was dry heaving. The agony and profound sadness I felt was incomprehensible. I knew there was a chance there wouldn't be good news here, but I didn't need to drag my family over here to be pounded with negativity. And why on earth did I feel such peace and joy about coming here?

I'm barely even breathing so haven't worked much out yet, but the general thoughts I have are that God gave me the excitement about coming so 1) I would come and 2) I would feel hope when I needed it. Maybe for some reason when the trip came together, God knew I really needed that good news. And of course there is a time for every season, "A time to weep, and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance..." (Ecc 3:4).

A pessimist might think I'm here to learn that I'm going to die. But I don't see a point in that. I've heard it before, and don't see why I would need to go through all this hassle to get it engrained in me. It is well-documented that people with the most positive outlooks stay healthier and respond better to treatment, so I'm going to reject the hypothesis that God would send me here to learn to shut up and die. Instead, I'm going to consider it more documentation that humans aren't responsible for my imminent, total, (unexpected to the medical community) healing. Selah! 

Before my appointment, God showed me a verse I now think pertains to these doctors trying to get me down. I'm going to cling to when I get upset about this experience: Col 2:8 "See to it that no one takes you captive through hollow and deceptive philosophy, which depends on human tradition and the elemental spiritual forces of this world rather than on Christ."

Please note that Yaacov and I are trying hard, but this one is still a pretty deep wound. If people are looking for something to pray about, I would really appreciate a focus on lifting our spirits. I very much appreciate all the prayers so far, and we'll continue to pray for supernatural healing as evidenced in my next PET scan (didn't have one here yet but probably will in Tallahassee in the next month or so). 

We were scheduled to be here through Friday, but I'm done here so we're going back in the morning. 

Jeremiah 14: 19

"Have you rejected Judah (Erin) completely? Do you despise Zion (the Petschers)? Why have you afflicted us so that we cannot be healed? We hoped for peace but no good has come, for a time of healing but there is only terror. We acknowledge our wickedness, Lord, and the guilt of our ancestors; we have indeed sinned against you. For the sake of your name do not despise us; do not dishonor your glorious throne. Remember your covenant with us and do not break it. Do any of the worthless idols of the nations bring rain? Do the skies themselves send down showers? No, it is you, Lord, our God. Therefore our hope is in you, for you are the one who does all this."

One More Day Until Chemo

I'm freaking out about chemo and everything right now. I had a great weekend (I don't think I mentioned yesterday that we had a dance party at church! In our pajamas!), and Yaacov and I just watched a movie, which is the first entertainment I've had since the diagnosis.

There were crummy parts to the weekend too and I'm having a hard time getting past them. We learned our Mayo visit won't be covered by insurance, which is okay except that means Texas definitely wouldn't be, and I thought we'd get into a clinical trial there. Even with massive fundraisers it wouldn't be possible to pay out of pocket for all the treatment and whatnot to be done there. And I took off some of my bandages from the surgery and I literally have holes in my neck and chest. Anyone walking by can see them. This is seriously happening. I can feel the tube in my neck when I cough, and when I laugh it feels all gurgly. This is really happening. God can still heal me but it probably won't be before chemo. Before an earth-sized dose of hell.

Abi asked me last night how many days until we go to heaven and meet God and Jesus.


We'll be okay. Somehow. Psalm 34:18 says "The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit." I guess I wish there was a due date in with that promise.

Day 2...Living with Cancer...?

Tired. Is it the cancer or the stress? Had a nice day with the family today. I like the distraction. Now the girls are in bed and Yaacov is playing video games. I spent half an hour looking for matching Christmas pajamas for the family, and just looked up and saw the time. Then I realized: I'm DYING. Right now. Who knows how much longer I have to live, and I just spent thirty minutes of it messing around on the internet. I'm such a loser.

My dad showed up today. That was a huge surprise. We were at Costco and he called but I didn't answer because I was driving. When we got home I saw flowers at the door with his business card. He was going to come from West Palm on Wednesday anyway, so he came up early and is staying the week. It'll be good because he can watch Naomi while I'm having the PET scan Monday. But I'm still in shock. I don't deal well with unplanned things. You know, like schedule changes. Or getting diagnosed with advanced, invasive breast cancer.

Cancer. Is this for real? Not just any cancer, but apparently stage 3 or 4. What was that shooting pain in my leg? Ow. Am I being paranoid or is my cough bad? It is only manageable when I'm on antibiotics then returns when I finish the pills. Lungs are one of the first places the idiot cancer cells move after breasts. Please, Lord, don't let the cancer have spread. On a happier note, perhaps we'll see that the lymph nodes don't light up in the PET scan, which would be awesome. Imagine that, good news!

Before the diagnosis I determined this would be my life verse, so I guess that shouldn't change now: Philippians 4:4-7, "Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. the Lord is near. do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and  your minds in Christ Jesus."