Changes...

Hello Friends,

I've created a new blog and will not be using this spot any more. Due to the current events of my life, the blog is titled Love In the Time of Chemo and will chronicle the events, the chemo, and historical events in the life of our family.

If you are interested, you can just click on the link above to visit the new blog.

Thanks for all your support and encouragement,

Tamara

Psalm 51:10The Voice

 Create in me a clean heart, O God;
    restore within me a sense of being brand new.

Love In the Time of Chemo - Part Two

As it was in the beginning…

I was divorced in 1975, it was a ‘dissolution,’ or better, I was disillusioned. As a single mom I was attempting to make a living and raise my daughter. I learned of available jobs and went to make application for something, anything that paid better than the minimum wage nursing assistant position I was working. I was frightened, but determined.

A coworker saved her coins in a glass water jug. She provided the money to me so I could get a telephone – at no obligation. I went to the telephone company to get everything set up and was told I could not, as “I” owed for a past due account. I left and returned in short order with a copy of the divorce decree that showed the “Ex” was responsible for all debts incurred during the marriage. The same employee told me it did not matter. I informed her as I had a minor child, it did indeed matter and asked to speak with her supervisor. I presented all the information to the supervisor and informed them both if I did not leave with a work order for a telephone that day, they could expect to hear from my attorney. I left with that order. What I didn’t have were funds for an attorney!

What I didn’t know was that to secure a job at one place of employ I would have to cross a picket line.

What to do? What to do? After much deliberation I did cross that picket line and apply for a job. More than my safety, it was the care of my daughter that was the driving force. I stood there and explained as best I could to the protesters that either I cross the picket line and make application or they support me with their tax dollars. A way opened and I went through the line. I was employed at a bio-medical manufacturing plant.

For me, it was a miracle, I was hired. Secure employment, regular hours, and I became a Quality Control Technician. Think what you may about my crossing a picket line. I did what I had to do and I have no regrets. In fact, I worked for the company eight years before moving away.

History taught the importance of unions during the industrialization of this nation. Sweat shops had destroyed women’s and children’s lives. Like all good things, politics included, things often go bad. As they progressed, unions were rife with racketeering; mafia influence and government kick backs, not to mention political scandal and support.

It was difficult for a while being called a Scab, cursed at, people “bumping” into you hard enough to cause bruising. All in all, when payday came, it all faded away. I could afford an apartment, food, a car, clothing, and the utilities. It was by no means Easy Street, but it was sufficiency. Eventually the animosity settled down and we all worked together to accomplish the J.O.B.

I and other “new” persons worked for a number of months when a lay-off was announced. We newbies were of course, last in, first out. It was as if someone had thrown a pitcher of ice water on me. I was able to make do with the unemployment benefits, but not having medical insurance for my daughter or me was frightening. Especially since it appeared I had another thyroid issue. I’d had my first thyroid surgery at the age of 19, and now, here at the age of 24 is appeared to have “come back” with a vengeance.

I saw the physician who referred me to a surgeon. I explained I did not have insurance and would not until I returned to work. After all, The Consolidated Omnibus Budget Reconciliation Act (COBRA), was not first enacted until 1985. It is a federal law that requires most employers to provide continuing health insurance coverage to employees and their dependents who are no longer eligible for the company's health insurance program.

So we waited. We waited until such time as I was recalled to work and covered by insurance once again. Once that happened, tests were run and were inconclusive. Due to my age, the surgeon and physician were sure this was thyroid cancer.

That was a frightening prospect. A single mom with a child, cancer… What was I to do with my child during surgery and recuperation? Her father was basically non existent, not visiting, not providing support. At a loss of what could be done, I contacted my attorney and suggested a family member. He suggested he would write a letter to the ex-husband and see if he would be willing to take her for the period of the school year, prior to doing that. As we talked through the prospect, I offered to pay child support IF it would be set aside for her. He said, “Let’s do the letter first and see what happens.”

Wonder of wonder, the Ex agreed to take our daughter for the period of the school year and all with no mention of child support. I was to have every other weekend visitation. He was remarried by this time and they had their own child. It was a difficult solution, but one I hoped would be workable.

It was the hardest decision I ever made. I cannot begin to tell you the tears that were shed. To add insult to injury, the family member I had considered for custody decided to have contact with the Ex and make plans to have custody transferred to her by attempting to prove me an “unfit” mother. Truly, I thought I would die… I wanted to die. I could not imagine life without my daughter. I could not imagine this betrayal by a family member. As it happened, the surgery was successful and it was not cancer.

All this I kept to myself, not sharing it with my young daughter. By this time, working full time, any overtime I could and all this extra stress, I weighed a mere 106 pounds. I wore a size two. Yes, I dated men, but what I didn’t want was marriage. I felt I could never trust a man again. The pain was too much.

That’s when I met him… He was bar-tending at the VFW as a part time job. I was attending the company Christmas Party. One of the older, single women considered herself something of a matchmaker. One by one she led every single female out to the bar to perform a walk around and introduction. This was Ohio. It was not unlike the County Fair’s 4-H cattle show. Indeed, heifers on parade! Well, maybe not heifers.

I was mortified that Pat, my co-worker, my “friend” would do this! It was humiliating! Nothing became of that first meeting, but a month later, in January of 1978 Ohio was enveloped in one of the worst blizzards I have memory of.

At the factory, I was working the graveyard shift. The news had cautioned about an impending storm, but we were young… and ignorant. We arrived at work on Wednesday evening to begin our shift at 10:00 p.m. Even though it was Wednesday, by record keeping it was considered Thursday, January 26^th. Our shift would end at 6:00 a.m.

At every break, my friend and co-worker Theresa and I would go outside and check the weather. We could not believe the doomsday predictions of the weatherman! It was temperate, in the very high 40’s and clear at midnight. At 2:00 a.m. it was still warm, but now raining. We returned to work. By 4:00 a.m. it was a disaster! A monster storm with hurricane-force winds slammed into Northeast Ohio early Jan. 26, 1978, spreading an icy coat of death and destruction. You couldn’t see at all with the horizontal snow blowing into your face at gale force.

The Blizzard of 1978, often called the Storm of the Century, killed more than 50 people in Ohio and caused at least $100 million in damage.

The factory was closed down, radio stations were called cancelling the next day’s work, and all who could, piled into vehicles and attempted to leave and return to their homes. Six of us piled into the front of a pickup truck and attempted to leave. We traveled a quarter of a mile east to the first stop sign and turned south. The gale force winds literally blew the pickup truck into the snow covered ditch on the east side. We had no alternative but to “walk” out.

We must have looked like a chain of paper dolls as we held hands and attempted to remain upright. The chain would break and one or another was blown into a deep ditch. Back the quarter of a mile we traversed and added yet another quarter mile to it until we found a home with lights on. The woman was reluctant to let us in, but after seeing our predicament, she did. We set up a triage of sorts to help those with frostbite and called the local fire department. They were making emergency pickups and delivering the stranded to the Methodist Church in town.

We waited and waited. Finally we called back. The truck sent to get us had rolled and they would be for us later. When they finally arrived and were taking us to the church, we told them we wanted to go elsewhere, as one of our other co-workers has an apartment on the way so we were all dropped there.

I called my roommate – another female coworker and explained what was happening and that I wouldn’t be home until much later. She said she would send “Denny Swerline” to get us! I said not to, as the weather was horrific. She didn’t listen, and sent him to pick us up. He would be picking my friend Theresa and I up and delivering us to our residences.

With this information, my dear friend said she needed to be left off first, even though she lived on the other side of town where he lived. You see, her sister had been trying to fix her up with “Denny” and she wanted no part of it. Her guise was to say she was giving me a pack of cigarettes to “pay me back” for saving her frostbite fingers. REALLY? 

Nonetheless, that’s what this guy did. We took her home, and then he took me to my place. Once we got there, I invited him in for a glass of wine as a thank you. Since we were out of groceries and I had received my paycheck that evening, he offered to take me to the grocery store. He then helped me carry all those groceries up the frozen stair steps and into the apartment.

We talked for a substantial period of time and made a date to see a movie about the afterlife. Life After Life, I think it was called. That was our first date.

We were married in May of 1979. He adopted my daughter as his own.

This life, not unlike your life, has not been a ‘happily ever after’ event. It has been one of blood, sweat and tears. Yes, tears, lots of tears.

Tears are magnificent. They have a baptismal quality.

Tears can miraculously transform into the oil of joy, and wash away the ashes of mourning. Words that comfort me are these from Psalm 56:8, via the Message

You’ve kept track of my every toss and turn
    through the sleepless nights,
Each tear entered in your ledger,
    each ache written in your book.

I have cried. He has cried.

We have cried individually and corporately.

We have cried in anger.

We have cried in love.

We have cried through prayer.

We have cried in pain and sickness.

We have cried through the pain of loved ones making catastrophic choices.

What we have determined is this: Life is tough.

I want the light to overcome the darkness and some days are very dark.

We have determined that love is a choice.

When I open my eyes from sleep, I roll over and look at him sleeping. I make an active decision to love him this day. And only for this day. Tomorrow, I will do this again. And the next day, too.

We don’t always agree. Our lives combine and run over each other and we have debates that spill over at our dinner table. We both believe that even with God’s Word as the final authority, our individual thoughts and beliefs are wholly sanctified, even if not holy.

I believe in Eucharist Theology.

I believe like the Eucharist, our hearts, like the bread are made to be broken and yet loved in all that brokenness.

We should live our lives as the spilled wine, allowing ourselves and our lives to overflow, spill out and come into contact with those who desperately are thirsting.

I feel the pull, an actual pull to become involved in community justice issues. To pour the oil, to bind up the wound. To quell the brokenness of our community.

Yes… brokenness… and I am so filled with broken hallelujahs.

In some ways I think my cancer diagnosis has been more difficult on him than it has on me. He has become my care giver and drives me to each appointment. He sits in on them with me as an extra pair of ears and asking questions I don’t think of.

After the surgery, he bowed his head and in tears said, “You were supposed to outlive me. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” I held his hand and told him that none of this was a surprise to God. Not one bit. How could I argue with God about this? I am the one who did not take good care of herself. The outcome thus far looks good as well as the prognosis.

I am having extreme tiredness from the chemo, some nausea but all in all, the side effects are minimal compared to some of my Sisters’ of Circumstance. I have determined that ginger ale is a miracle drug. Soda crackers too, are healing. Isn’t that a strange Eucharist mix - broken soda crackers and flat ginger ale? Yet the nausea stops.

Today is eight weeks since the VATS surgery and I’ve had the first chemo. Three more chemo sessions are scheduled, and anticipated to be over the end of July. There are other appointments and blood work scheduled at various times.

I am optimistic. I am confidant. Philippians 1:6 in the New International Version reads, “being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.”

I choose life.

In the face of what seems insurmountable, I choose life. I choose to live with my husband and grow old. With that being said, if this does not happen as I anticipate, I still choose life. Eternal life.

Until the next installment of Love In the Time of Chemo.

Love In the Time of Chemo - It Begins

Dress Comfortably, they said
being a bit eccentric helped

Jeremiah 17:14 TLB

Lord, you alone can heal me, you alone can save, and my praises are for you alone.

Yesterday, May 28th was a long day at the Cancer Center. Husband and I arrived at 9:45 a.m. There is always the check in, then the pager, then traveling to the various offices. The first visit was with oncology nurse practitioner. It is on the ground floor and just down the hallway heading north.

The entire campus of the Cancer Center is beautifully decorated. There are numerous paintings and photographs that have been donated. Some have been given as gifts and some are for sale. There is one in vibrant blues and reds and oranges depicting a wash during the time of monsoon. It is for sale. I want it. But do I need it?

It gives me joy to view it every time I'm there. I stand in front of it and ponder the artist's technique and juxtaposition of contrasting elements. My eye is then drawn to the similarities and the differences between the objects. It is a wonderful piece. I've always wanted to own an "original" piece of art, oh, something other than my own jots and scribbles.

It seems as if other things are occupying my time, but the art world certainly takes my heart and mind to another place and I find I stop and view and my spirit and soul are filled up with something other than cancer and chemo. 

It is now time to head upstairs to the infusion pods. We take the elevator to the second floor, check in at the station then find a waiting room for our pager to yet signal once again to proceed elsewhere. This time it will be either South Infusion or Central Infusion.

We sit in the waiting room and are gently drawn into conversation by two sisters. Mere observation lets you know which sister is receiving treatment and which is the caregiver. I sit closer to them and share in the conversation for a bit. Time passes ever so slowly as you await your turn, for your pager to vibrate you into your next reality. 

I picked up a magazine on home decor for multi-million dollar homes. Briefly glanced at it and put it back down. Things I will never be able to afford in this life time. Nor would I want these things. They would demand more of my time, my spirit, my soul. It is almost like J.R.R. Tolkein's "Lord of the Rings" where it owns the possessor - My Precious! I desire Comfort & Joy over opulence & debt.

One by one, pagers vibrate and persons excuse themselves to traverse to another area. We are a community of circumstance, drawn by a common theme yet individual in its nature. Some talk through their disease. Others seem to quietly clutch it to their heart and hold it and the poison deep inside. I'm not judging, only observing. 

Finally our pager vibrates and off we head to Central Infusion, where a smiling oncology nurse is waiting. First things first... the restroom, this is scheduled to be a four hour infusion, with other breaks in between. Her name is Setiva and she and Jennifer are my nurses in this infusion Pod that can seat four patients and one family member each. She is immensely pleased I've had the Chemo Education and have the Bag It! book all together and organized. 

Next it is time for my spa treatment. You see, even with all the hydration I've been pumping into my body, my skin is parched and dry. Warm washcloths cover my arms then are wrapped yet again in warm blankets. After 5 - 10 minutes the wrapping is removed and my veins are examined for a potential spot to infuse the chemo. Since my four sessions are not a long term treatment, I will not need a port. I did start rethinking that when the first and second attempts of accessing veins in the top of my hand were unsuccessful. The first was a beginning go, but started leaking at the very end of an anti nausea med. There was only a minute left on the bag! Then the second attempt on the left hand didn't work. Finally, they brought another nurse over and she found a perfectly good vein on my right arm. 

They finished up with the one minutes worth left of the anti nausea med, then it was a bag of fluids prior to the Cisplatin infusion. That infusion alone takes two hours, followed by more fluids and then finishing with Alimta and another small bag of fluids. We were in Central Infusion until 5:30 p.m. 

There is so much more to share. They provide you with snacks, you can purchase lunch, even Dennis was offered snacks. I had brought a "busy bag" with me, however with the IV in my right arm I would not be able to use my adult coloring book, or journal, so I will be making some adjustments to the bag. 

After the fluids were administered and it was time for the Cisplatin, our nurse came over, put it on the hook then invited Dennis to join our circle. We held hands, she placed one of her hands on the Cisplatin and we prayed. We prayed for healing, for minimal side effects, for strength. I am so very humbled by her. She may be an oncology nurse, but she is a true minister to those whom she serves, as far as she is allowed to be. Some persons do not wish to have that particular benefit. 

I am becoming more and more aware that healing is not unlike our belief in the trinity. It must encompass the body, the soul and the spirit. It is a holistic approach to healing.

After the Cisplatin infusion was going, Dennis went to find something to eat for himself, then returned bringing me a yogurt parfait! Whattaguy! Being that my dominate arm couldn’t be used, he helped to feed me.

I think I’ve always known that if something befell me, he’d step up. I am an observer. When we dated I watched how he treated his mother, his grandmother and his sisters. I knew I would be “safe” with him. Yes, though our roles have changed and evolved over the years of our marriage, I consider this to be “Love In the Time of Chemo”.

I offered him a reprieve from the Infusion Pod and asked him to go check on our critters. He did. He texted me at 4:00 p.m. saying he was on his way. It takes about a half an hour for the trip and allowing for the Tucson traffic at that time.

We still had about an hour wait as the infusion wasn’t finished until 5:30 p.m. It was good to get home, see the critters and relax. It didn’t feel like I was having any side effects, except for dry lips, dry mouth so I continued to hydrate with water. Then I ate some custard pudding I had fixed the day before. Later I cut up some avocado and made some guacamole. It tasted good too! I was afraid to try my regular salsa as it was so very, very hot. And in the event I ended up with mouth sores, well, better safe than sorry.

This morning I had another piece of custard pudding, some cantaloupe, a banana and a piece of multi-grain toast with butter and orange marmalade. The coffee didn’t “taste right” so I didn’t have any, I’ll continue with water and green tea. I also had a bit of a metallic taste in my mouth, and was cautioned that could happen, so at the nurse’s suggestion I am using plastic ware and no metal in the mouth!

That is all for this installment of “Love In the Time of Chemo.”

The Coming Week

This will be a busy week. Tuesday holds five medical appointments and / or tests. Beginning at 8:00 a.m. it will be the phlebotomy lab, then chemo education, a B12 injection, then off to another location for an MRI followed by a CT scan without and with contrast ending at 3:00 p.m. Next is Thursday with a visit to hematology oncology and then to the chemo infusion. This begins at 10:00 a.m. and will end at 2:30 p.m. The chemo takes four hours.

Yes, a busy week indeed. I haven’t included a “fun” visit with a friend on Wednesday for lunch. This should prove to be a bit of respite and a break between medical procedures. I’ve packed myself a “busy bag” of things to keep me occupied on Thursday. It includes a journal for recording thoughts, doodles, and to write out prayers. I also have a “grown up” coloring book, color pencils, and word search puzzles. I will also throw in the current book I’m reading on Sabbath Keeping. Now that I’m thinking this through, I will also throw in my calligraphy pens.

I have two friends, actually, Sisters of Circumstance at church who are also facing their own cancer treatments. One is taking oral medications and the other was just changed from a two chemical regime to one chemical. She is doing much better with this treatment. She sang with the group Grace Multiplied Sunday and she looked so well. She was radiant and lovely. It was good to see her, hear her lovely harmony with the songs that were sung and to speak with her and hug on her!

Yes, Sisters of Circumstance. We can share our fears, each others strength, pray for one another and be encouragers. All too soon enough, there will be others who will join our ranks as Sisters of Circumstance. It is my desire to gather wisdom from this journey and then to be able to minister to the next set of sisters.

God knows, there are those who have shared their journey with me of what has and what has not helped. It has been my prayer, my desire that through all of this, God would “make it count” for the sake of eternity.

My sister, “She Who Walks in Prayer” was the epitome faithful endurance in the face of pancreatic cancer. My other sister, “She Who Walks in Grace” continues to be a testament of sustaining faith in her health crisis. So very much has befallen her, not the least of which has been a recent heart attack. She continues to exemplify grace and dignity in each step of her journey.

I am “She Who Walks in Faith” and I pray it is so. May my faith sustain me throughout this journey. May my attitude stay positive, even when I may not feel so. May prayer be always on my mind, upon my lips and in my heart. May praise be my stronghold.

The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer;
my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge,
my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.
 Psalm 18:2 (NIV)

Maternal Reflections

It is the throes of remembrance. Sunday was Mothers’ Day, perhaps that’s the reason. The young woman, girl actually, holding her newborn daughter, unwrapping the blanket to count fingers and toes, to hold this newly birthed child to her breast, to smell the newness of life. To be so filled with love that she thinks her heart will explode from the sheer magnitude of it.

I held this child, this baby girl to my breast and my breasts began to weep. My breasts wept the love of sustenance. I could not hear her crying or cooing without my breasts weeping, weeping for the closeness of contact, skin to skin. It was a bonding ritual of continuing life, of sacrificial giving.

This happens again and again and again and as many times as we give birth or welcome a child into our hearts and home through adoption. Can you cut a heartstring the way you can sever an umbilical cord?

Heart strings are forged through love, through pain, through sacrifice. Like the strings of a violin, they play a familial melody, often in the haunting strain of a minor chord that pierces our heart and even our soul.

There is nothing like a newborn child to impress upon your mind, your heart how very insignificant you are. How you will stop at nothing, absolutely nothing to ensure this child’s well being, even unto the point of death.

The sheer act of mothering can teach us much about the Father’s sacrificial gift of love. Which of us has not seen our child hurt or ill and wished we could take away all the hurt, the pain and the heartache? To bare it ourselves, even gladly so this child, our child would remain unscathed. So they might live a full and productive life.

The truth is… the truth is there is much pain that goes into parenting. As a parent we do the best that we can with the resources we have at hand. Some days it is two steps forward and three steps back.

Sometimes a family unit is fractured, broken beyond repair and husband and wife go their separate ways leaving a child or children in the wake of irreconcilable differences. I can attest to being a single parent and raising a child alone. I know the fear, the insecurity, the loss of financial security and the fear of second guessing of each and every decision. I have felt the fear of living from paycheck to paycheck, the fear of job loss or serious illness. Yes, I know the fear, the fears that surround single parenting.

I know the love and the pride that comes from seeing your child succeed. And then I know the opportunities to learn from failure. Yes, the child’s failures and more so the parent’s failures and the myriad of learning opportunities.

I have two children. The firstborn – my daughter (from my first marriage) and almost ten years later our son. It was like having two separate families. After we were married, my husband asked my daughter if she wanted to have the same last name as we had and be adopted. She agreed.

Families are a combination of pain and joy. With my current medical status, I am grateful to have my family to share this with. We can cry together, we can rejoice together and we can encourage one another.

Thirteen lymph nodes were removed and examined. All thirteen were free and clear of any sign of cancer cells. For that I am grateful. Still, it was recommended that I see an oncologist who specializes in lung cancer.

I met with her on May 6^th. We discussed the options. Due to the size of the tumor (approximately 1 inch) I will be having four rounds of preventative chemotherapy. Once every three weeks. All this has been set up and will begin on May 26^th.

In the meantime, I had two emergency department visits on the 7^th and the 8^th. I knew the backache. I knew it well. It is another kidney stone. The pain was unbearable. I had to return the second time for more (stronger) pain relief. I had only two hours of sleep from the evening of the 6^th, through the early morning hours of the 8^th. I will be seeing the urologist on the 21^st. There is a very real chance I can “pass” the kidney stone. That is what I am praying for, as I don’t wish for anything to interfere with the chemotherapy.

James 5:14 The Voice
Are any sick? They should call the elders of your church and ask them to pray. They will gather around and anoint them with oil in the name of the Lord.

Tonight's Televised Special

Tonight will herald the Diane Sawyer – Bruce Jenner interview. I will not be watching. It may be a story of human interest, but frankly, I’m just not interested. Not in Bruce, not his struggles and certainly not the Kardashian Klan.

What does concern me is the loss of life as a boat packed with hundreds of migrants capsized in Mediterranean waters, many were trapped inside behind locked doors. This is nothing short of genocide.

Maltese authorities, who were working with Italian rescuers, said around 50 of 700 people on the boat had been saved. A migrant, who spoke to investigators after being airlifted to a hospital in Catania, was among dozens who authorities say were saved from the sinking vessel. He told investigators there were 950 people on board – a number that hasn’t verified. 

It was the latest in a series of dangerous voyages for hundreds of men, women and children who boarded the boat in Libya, hoping to make it safely to Europe. Passengers on the boat were from a number of nations, including Algeria, Egypt, Somalia, Niger, Senegal, Mali, Zambia, Bangladesh and Ghana, prosecutors said.

According to the International Organization for Migration, Italy registered more than 10,000 migrants arriving in the first three months of 2015, and about 2,000 were rescued at sea during the first weekend of April in the Channel of Sicily.

Most migrants recorded this year come from countries in West Africa as well as Somalia and Syria, the IOM said. They use Libya as a country of transit.

At least 480 migrants have died while crossing the Mediterranean since the beginning of the year, often because of bad weather and overcrowded vessels used by smugglers, the International Organization of Migration said.

Sometimes the captains and crews abandon the ships, leaving passengers to fend for them selves.

Most of the migrants are asylum seekers, victims of trafficking or violence, unaccompanied children and pregnant women.

Dear God? Where are our priorities? And what can I do outside of penning these words?

God my Father, God my Mother – keep my heart soft and in tune to “the least of these” – my brothers and my sisters. Guide me, direct me and show me how I can make a difference in this world.

Even so, Amen.

The Final Analysis

My medical adventure began during the end of January. I had a meet and greet with a new Primary Care Physician who was not happy with test results from the previous year and had them all rerun. It turns out she may be intuitive. All the tests were rerun and there were some changes from the prior year. This resulted in more tests… and on and on.

I have a new primary care physician, a new cardiologist, a new cardiothoracic surgeon, and soon I will have a new oncologist. Do not suspect the worst. This is the best possible outcome, I can assure you.

I met with the cardiothoracic surgeon on Tuesday. All the biopsy results showed the seven lymph nodes that were examined are negative for metastasis. All final surgical margins are negative for malignancy by at least 3.7 cm.

With this being said (and copied directly from the surgical pathology report), the tumor itself was 2.5 cm at its largest point, is a non-small cell lung cancer called adenocarcinoma. It is considered to be at a stage 1B. According to the cardiothoracic surgeon, it is at the size where an oncologist needs to determine if chemotherapy is required or not. If it were smaller, nothing further would be required except for regular checkups.

When Dr. Kim said all the lymph nodes were clear, I responded by saying, “Thank God!” and Dr. Kim responded by saying, “Yes, hallelujah!” I will see him again in October and will have another CT scan before that visit. I will be seeing him on a very regular basis for the next five years.

With all this good news, my only response is that I still wish for the Lord to make this count and that I may honor and glorify my God and my Savior. I have numbness from the spinal anesthesia and it makes wearing a "support garment" uncomfortable - very uncomfortable. I may never wear a bra again, but use a one piece camisole type garment. But again, it is only a temporary set back.

I also learned this week that my primary care physician is leaving her practice effective in July. That means I need to find a new PCP. Finding someone you trust is difficult, but not impossible.

Indeed, “Prayer is one of the deepest forms of relationship with God… and through relationship there can be healing in the absence of cure.” ~Sara Miles

I will remain, “She Who Walks in Faith” and I am extremely grateful for your prayers and your spiritual support. To quote Dr. Kim, “Yes, halleluiah!”

Yours, because we're His,

~Tamara

Warrior Names

My dear friend and sister in faith also had the very same surgery I had. She has graciously shared her knowledge with me, yes, and withheld some until the timing was right. During her health crisis I called her "She Who Walks in Grace" - this was my Warrior name for her as she fought her battle.

Our scars don’t completely match. She has four wounds on the right side, I have five on the left. The surgery we had is VATS (Video-Assisted Thoracoscopic Surgery) is a minimally invasive surgery used for a variety of treatments within the thoracic cavity.  If you’re brave, you can watch it HERE.

Scars aren’t always reminders of trauma — they can be symbols of healing.

Our friend and sister Barbara was "She Who Walks on Prayer". She is now in the presence of our Lord & Savior and is healed completely. 

Indeed, “through relationship (with God) there can be healing in the absence of cure.” ~Sara Miles

It seems I can come up with Warrior names for my sisters, but not for myself... so I asked my FB crew what my Warrior name should. It was a resounding “She Who Walks in Faith”.  But I have a secret. I want you to understand there are times I waiver. Times I feel like I have no faith at all, that I am a fraud and a phony. Times I hide, and weep and feel sorry for myself.  

Then I stop and recall Christ's prayer in Gethsemane... “Father, remove this cup if it be your will...” (Matthew 26:36-39) Then again I read His prayer for us, for us before we were born or were even believers... (John 17:20-25) I remember my prayer about this illness: God, make it count!

Tomorrow I have a chest X-ray and then Tuesday I meet with the surgeon. I shall learn at this meeting what stage the cancer is and if there will be any follow up treatments such a chemo or radiation.

I have good days and I have not so good days. Tiredness seems to be my constant companion, so when I am tired, I nap. If I am in pain, I take the medication. If I am hungry, I eat. If I’m not hungry, I don’t eat.

I wanted instant healing. I wanted to have the cancer removed and to be better immediately. I have learned that with this surgery, although much better and less invasive than all the previous surgeries, it still takes time.

My voice is “strained” as if I have laryngitis. I am assuming it is because of the intubation used during the surgery. As my friend explained it, they use a larger breathing tube. They have to deflate the lung that is being worked on and keep air going to the other lung. That sounds like a very delicate dance.

I have moments when I “feel” like I cannot get enough air and I begin to panic, gasping for air. Well, the upper left lobe has been removed, so of course I don’t use as much air and it will take time to re-learn this process and for that portion of my lung to completely heal.

I suppose it is the American prayer, “Dear God, grant me patience, but do it right now!” Only it would be for healing.

Hebrews 12:1-3
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.

I think of that great cloud of witnesses who surround us. Are they the saints who have gone before us? I believe they are. Will they welcome us when our time comes? I believe they will.

But for now, I must persevere and run the race that is set before me and do so with joy!

Even so, Amen!

Cardiothoracic Surgery

Adenocarcinoma…

     Cancer…

          Nodule…

               Tumor…

                    Mass…

Yeah, dramatic words. Powerful words. Words we don’t wish to hear but sometimes we come face-to-face with them. Depending upon what type of person we are, we deal with this sensory overload in various ways: head on; with tears; with research; with prayer; with screams; with hope or even with anger.

This is cardiothoracic surgery. Video assisted thoracic surgery (VATS), is a minimally invasive (keyhole) surgical procedure. It allows the surgeon to directly examine the chest cavity without a big incision. Three or four small incisions will be made to allow the surgeon to use the special instruments (video camera and endoscope) needed for this operation. A very small video camera is used to project pictures of the chest cavity onto a screen during the procedure.

If interested, you can watch a procedure here: 

After today after my shower, we counted five keyhole openings in the chest wall. It does not involve a large incision and the separation of the rib cage. Yes, there is pain. Yes, there is tiredness. Yes, there is the potential for pneumonia to develop. My upper left lobe was removed during the procedure after the confirmation of cancer was verified.

We are still waiting for the biopsy results to confirm the “stage” of cancer. This will determine the future course of action – radiation treatment or chemo therapy. Or, if it was caught early enough, no further treatment could be required.

In the face of all this, I can say with confidence

“We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed. We are perplexed, but not driven to despair.”  

2 Corinthians 4:8 New Living Translation

Yes, I have pain. Yes, I am tired. Yes, it is as if I have no voice due to lack of air. Yes, I am praising my Savior and Lord!

No matter the staging results of the biopsy, I will offer my praise, for this I know to be true:

Prayer is one of the deepest forms of relationship with God…and through relationship there can be healing in the absence of cure.  ~Sara Miles

Thank you for your prayers. Please continue!

Yours, because we're His,

Tamara

Maundy Thursday

Sometimes I find a room, close the door and weep. I weep for my failures, my shortcomings, my sins – yeah, that’s plural. I weep for the sins of commission and for the sins of omission. I long to be a better Christian, to be filled with the Holy Spirit and to be able to discern when someone other than me is hurting. Then to be able to comfort and ease the pain through what I have experienced and lived in my own life.

Life isn't always pretty, in fact it can be downright ugly. Even in the realm of Christian community. We see ugliness, hurt, death, disease and broken families. When will we be able to pour the oil and anoint the heads of those the walking wounded? When will we see past our politics and differences and come together for the sake of Christ and for community?

When will we be able to live in the light of Eucharist Theology – knowing that our hearts, like the bread, are broken. When will we pour out ourselves like the wine? Oh Lord, break my chalice, my jar of clay – and allow the wine to flow out and touch all it comes into contact with.

Then heal the broken vessel in the manner of Kintsugi – the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer and gold dust, thereby making a perfectly imperfect piece of beauty. Yes…broken, yet healed and beautiful in the eyes of God. The repaired vessels are indeed more beautiful, more compassionate and also stronger than before they were broken.

I long to be healed of my infirmities, but to claim with boldness the quote from Sara Miles' book Jesus Freak: Feeding Healing Raising the Dead which reads, “Prayer is one of the deepest forms of relationship with God…and through relationship there can be healing in the absence of cure.”

I want to know that my life has mattered, that for the sake of Christ it will count. That this new stage of life I am entering…no embracing…will count for the sake of eternity.

I need to garner strength for the coming battle and find my inner warrior. Somehow in my mind’s eye I see a woman warrior not unlike St. Joan of Arc. Depending upon what happens on Thursday; I will need the strength of a woman warrior to battle against cancer. I may need to remind myself more than once that instead of asking “How much time do I have left?” the better question may very well be, “What options do I have?” With this being said, I may be quiet for awhile for healing. I would appreciate your prayers.

“And who knows but that you have come to the kingdom for such a time as this and for this very occasion?” Esther 4:14  Yes…for such a time as this.

There was a wonderful program on PBS Sunday evening - Winning By Living: One Cancer Story. 60 Minutes shared a hopeful story about how polio could possibly be the cure for cancer. Yes hope…and light in the face of the dark night of the soul.

And so I pray: God my Father, Christ my Lord, Holy Spirit creative force of the universe – hear my prayer: Draw me closer to You. Heal my infirmity, if not a cure then make it count.  

Even so, Amen.

Vocabulary Words

Nodule…

Mass…

Adenocarcinoma…

Cancer...

New vocabulary words. spoken.to.me. …by three different physicians. And icy hands grasp my heart and squeeze until I feel like I can no longer breathe. BREATHE.BREATHE. Take a breath…and don’t forget to exhale. Slowly. Wrap your head around this diagnosis…and your heart, don’t forget to include your heart…don’t forget to use your brain, your logic, your reason.

And don’t forget…it’s not just about you. YES it is just about me. What about husband? And daughter? And son? And mother? And brothers? And my job? AND…AND…AND…

How long does one sit on one’s Pity Pot before the call to action comes? How long do we wallow in self pity and muck and mire? Is the call to “fear not” different from the commercialized slogan of “no fear”?

Matthew 14:22-33

Then Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side of the lake, while he sent the people away. After sending the people away, he went up a hill by himself to pray. When evening came, Jesus was there alone; and by this time the boat was far out in the lake, tossed about by the waves, because the wind was blowing against it.

Between three and six o'clock in the morning Jesus came to the disciples, walking on the water. When they saw him walking on the water, they were terrified. “It's a ghost!” they said, and screamed with fear.

Jesus spoke to them at once. “Courage!” he said. “It is I. Don't be afraid!”

Then Peter spoke up. “Lord, if it is really you, order me to come out on the water to you.”

“Come!” answered Jesus. So Peter got out of the boat and started walking on the water to Jesus. But when he noticed the strong wind, he was afraid and started to sink down in the water. “Save me, Lord!” he cried.

At once Jesus reached out and grabbed hold of him and said, “What little faith you have! Why did you doubt?”

They both got into the boat, and the wind died down. Then the disciples in the boat worshiped Jesus. “Truly you are the Son of God!” they exclaimed.

Lord, Lord? I lift my hand to you, pull me from the muck and mire so that I, too, may claim “Truly you are the Son of God!” But… but… what happens in the absence of a cure? Does that mean you are not the Son of God? Or I am somehow not worthy of healing? Do I not have enough faith?

Author Sara Miles wrote, “Prayer is one of the deepest forms of relationship with God…and through relationship there can be healing in the absence of cure.”

The saga has begun. Surgery is scheduled for April 2^nd. This Tuesday I will be having a pulmonary function test. Wednesday it is a PET scan. A positron emission tomography (PET) scan is an imaging test that allows doctors to check for disease in your body. The scan uses radioactive tracers in a special dye. These tracers are injected into a vein in your arm and are then absorbed by your organs and tissues.

I continue to learn. Learn about things in which I once held no interest. Learning is good. Learning is active participation.

Here is the most important thing I’ve learned thus far: Have a good network of persons who will be your prayer warriors. And I do.

There have been occasions when I have been one of many who had prayed for persons and they have said, "I could literally 'feel' your prayers." I thought that was 'hooey', but just this morning I was overcome with such a sense of calm & peace... I know, that I know, that I know - this is the power of prayer!

I can say with confidence, I am not afraid. That does not mean that at some point I will not waver when entering that tube for the PET scan, or laying on a surgical table find that my heart is pounding faster. What I know is this - God's got this and I am asking God to “make it count.” Indeed, Abba, Father, “make it count.”

From this point forward, my posts maybe fewer. Since the end of January, I’ve had 14 medical/testing appointments. I share this not to gain your pity or sympathy, but as you think of me, please pray. Pray for God’s will. Pray that this entire event will have counted in the scope of eternity. Pray that I am able to Praise God through the storm…in spite of the storm.

I will leave you with a question: How just and righteous would God be if he only allowed “bad things” to happen to unbelievers? Perhaps he allows bad things to happen to believers so that others may see a bit of His glory. I certainly did with my friend “B”. In the absence of healing, I pray to be a vessel like she was. I pray my vessel, my pot of clay is cracked…fractured, so that all the contents may overflow, be spilled out and brush glimpses of glory to those who come into contact with it. 

Even so, Amen.

...and so it goes!

The angiogram was clear! There were no coronary blockages and thus, no stents were placed, in spite of what of what the CT scan showed and the awful results of the cardio stress test. God is good and I believe in the power of prayer and miracles! I remained off work for the week. The angiogram was done through my wrist. It was quite tender and swollen. Limited use precluded typing or lifting anything over five pounds. Forgetting and trying to turn a doorknob was awful.

Day two after the procedure I developed a fever and a rash. The fever is due to a localized “crud” that’s been traveling around. It involves upper respiratory symptoms and lots of coughing and sneezing. The rash was due to the surgical tape that was used. I’d forgotten I have that issue. A teensy bit of “itch” cream applied very sparingly is very beneficial.

The Hubs has been very good at care giving. Cooking, cleaning, doing laundry – what a guy! But then, he’s been doing that since his retirement. I must admit that during the dating years I watched the way he treated his mother, grandmother and sisters prior to committing to any kind of a relationship. I knew from observation, that my name was “safe” in his mouth and that in the event of a catastrophic illness I could trust him to be my caregiver. He meant the “in sickness and in health” pledge.

Since Monday’s angiogram turned out so well INSPITE of what the CT scan showed and the awful results of the cardio stress test, I am hoping for similar results with the nodule in my lung. Who am I to argue that this was:  a) a bad CT test  or b) (and I am soooo leaning towards b) this was the result of prayers and healing!

In the event the results do not turn out that way, then it is my prayer that the Lord God will “make it count” and that I will be able to face what comes with grace, dignity and trust.

Years ago, the Hubs and I purchased a prearranged funeral plan. Yeah, yeah… morose, isn’t it. Or not. It’s been paid off for years now and after moving to Tucson we needed to find a mortuary service that honored the plan we had. Not a problem! We met with counselors and discussed the plan and what was provided. We not doing fancy funeral finery, we determined cremation was more in line with our belief system and for the care of the earth. The place we settled upon stated, “you know, by purchasing this when you did, you saved $1500 each.” Good to know, but more importantly, our children will not have to make decisions while going through the grieving process.

The church were we attend has a Memorial Rose Garden. There is a lovely wall where the deceased’s info is placed and the ashes are interred in the rose garden. It is a lovely, peaceful spot. That is where I wish to be. There are benches, Arizona beauty and a sense of peace that permeate this space.

Now… back to the matter at hand. If you are so inclined, please pray that when I meet with Dr. Kim, the cardiothoracic surgeon on Tuesday that I will have clarity and the ability to communicate. I want this "thing" removed and the sooner, the better. This will be our first meeting and we will hopefully be discussing options for the nodule in my lung. Biopsy, excision, etc. Thank you.

No matter the outcome of this next process, it is my desire that I am able to face it with grace, dignity and trust. I want God to make this count!

Simply yours,

Tamara

Broken Hallelujahs

More often than not, I am on the verge of tears these days. They are the tears of compassion. Compassion for others, for humanity, for man’s inhumanity, for the world’s state of crisis.

Twenty-one Egyptian Coptic Christians beheaded by ISIS – in the year 2015, how can this happen? Where is the world outcry?

I find that when journaling my devotional thoughts I am also doodling. They are weeds. 

Specifically dandelions that have gone to fluff. We do not have dandelions in the Southwest the way we had them in the Midwest.

When my children were young, we would pluck the yellow dandelions and hold them under each other’s chin to see if it reflected. If it did, it meant we liked butter. I still like butter!

Later, when they turned to fluff, we pulled the heads off – a symbolic beheading – and would blow them into the wind with a wish. One head, thousand of seeds sent to germinate.

Will the martyred Coptic Christian heads symbolically germinate? Deeply within our hearts? Will the seeds of revival take root?

When we lived on the farm, I gardened. We grew beans, tomatoes, corn, bell peppers. I had herb gardens that grew lovely chamomile, sage, parsley, and thyme. The flower beds were a delight and I miss the peonies, even with all the ants they attracted.

Our son was nine and came into the kitchen to show me his latest find. It was a snake. A garter snake. I screamed, I ranted, I raved until he took it outside. He returned with a rather smug attitude knowing he had bested me.

Then, in all his nine-year-old wisdom, he started talking to me about the garden. He told me there were weeds popping up and I needed to take care of them. “Weeds,” he said, “are like sin. You need to care for them when they are small, before they take root.”

Who was this small child telling me about sin? Why was it hitting my heart dead on? Where had he learned this?

As I recall this I think how now as an adult he denies there is a God. How can this be, I wonder… Again I find myself at the foot of the cross praying for him by name.

My mind wanders and I think of those who had a hand in the beheading of the Egyptian Coptic Christians. They were once infants, suckling at their mothers’ breast, the beloved sons… who grew to be terrorists. How can this be, I wonder…

God! God, how am I to pray? ^“But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you,” (Matthew 5:44). Really? Lord? You want me to pray for the terrorists, not just for the situation, or for those whose lives have been cut short at the hand of the terrorists?

“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven; for He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. For if you love those who love you, what reward have you? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet your brethren only, what do you do more than others? Do not even the tax collectors do so? Therefore you shall be perfect, just as your Father in heaven is perfect.

That’s a very tall order, Lord! Indeed. A very tall order. Is this a step towards sanctification? Is it a test? Lately I wonder about all sorts of things. In the background Matt Redman’s 10,000 Reasons plays… Bless the Lord, O my soul.

I was blessed in the past two days to have shared three communions. Not that I seek Holy Communion as a means of holiness, but that it is my act of remembrance, my act of acknowledging the resurrection and the hope we have. This was an Emmaus Walk weekend and I participated in two open services that offered the broken bread and the cup. Sunday we were asked to assist with passing out the elements during our church services. I am always, always humbled to serve in this capacity.

I believe our lives should be lived as Eucharist Theology. Our hearts, like the bread are made to be broken and yet loved in all that brokenness. We should live our lives as the spilled wine, allowing ourselves and our lives to overflow, spill out and come into contact with those who desperately are thirsting.

Yes… brokenness… it is the Lenten season and I am filled with broken hallelujahs.

Even so. Amen.

Make It Count, Dear Lord, Make It Count

I’ve been quiet for awhile. For the past month I’ve been reflective, pensive... Just lost in thought. During this time, I had a dream. It was an odd dream. I don’t place much stock in dreams or their interpretations, unless I’m reading the Old Testament and the accounts of Joseph. Now he had a gift for being able to discern the meaning of a dream and that was a true gift from God.

As a rule, I don’t remember my dreams. I’ve had a few reoccurring dreams and they stay with me. The most recent I’ve dreamed is a variation of one from some time before. In the dream, I’m looking skyward, watching a blimp (but I’m sure in the dream it was a dirigible).

Rigid airships (like the Hindenburg), semi-rigid airships (like the Zeppelin NT), and blimps (like the Goodyear blimp) are all dirigibles. A blimp (technically a “pressure airship”) is a powered, steerable, lighter-than-air vehicle whose shape is maintained by the pressure of the gases within its envelope. From www.airships.net/dirigible.

I’m watching this dirigible floating in the sky when suddenly it loses control. It acts like a balloon full of air that you release from your hand and it begins to zig and zag back and forth across the sky. My breathing quickens and I’m sure I am watching the demise of the airship and all aboard when it plummets toward the earth and makes a rough, but safe landing on the ground. I am running towards the ship and awaken, gasping for air and remembering the vivid details of the dream and wondering why I had this particular dream.

Half the day passes when it finally occurs to me that the symbolism of the dream and recent events in my life are simply telling me that I am not in control. There maybe occurrences when all about me everything seems to be falling apart, there maybe some rough landings, but after it is all said and done, things may return to a semblance of normal. But once you’ve been through a “near miss” things may never be the same again.

On Tuesday, the 17^th, I had a “stress test”. It didn’t go well and they wouldn’t release me until they got a cardiologist in to read the results. On Wednesday, my primary physician called to stay I needed to see a cardiologist sooner than later. With her help I was able to get in to see a cardiologist on Friday.

After meeting with the cardiologist, he explained I have atherosclerosis and an arrhythmia with atherosclerotic calcifications scattered in the aorta. I am now scheduled for a heart catheterization on March 9^th. Depending on the outcome of that will determine if a PET scan will be required. Basically, this is cardio vascular disease and possibly an electrical issue with my heart.

Of more concern, the cardiologist pointed out, is a nodule on my left lung that has increased in size over the past year – from 14 mm to 18 mm. Preliminary reports show this to be adenocarcinoma, at least a minimally invasive subtype. Yes…lung cancer. The cardiologist can do nothing for the nodule.

I saw my primary care physician again on Monday to discuss further treatments and testing as it relates to this aspect of my health care. The doctor explained the different ways to biopsy the node. There are needle biopsies that may or may not get enough of the tissue to make an accurate diagnosis. If that is the case, then they must surgically excise some of the tissue and that means cutting into the body. As we discussed these options, I told her I wanted it out, to have it removed from my body. She agreed with this decision. After it is removed they can test, examine and determine what further course of action is required. She referred me to a specialist who she said is excellent and has a good bedside manner. I have an appointment with him at the Arizona Cancer Clinic on March 17^th to remove the nodule.

I am a former smoker. I cannot be angry about this as I was a willing participant, even though the warnings were abundant as well as previous family medical history. I was aware even when I quit smoking that it was no guarantee that I would never have any effects from the consequences of smoking.

And so it goes… another bump in the road. Another dirigible losing control and careening across the sky. One thing I know for sure, none of this, not one iota is outside the will of God. My prayer? God, make it count! Please see this post bronlea.com for a wonderful post on prayer.

Romans 8: 37-39  But in all these things we overwhelmingly conquer through Him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, will be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.