Flee or Face the Giant?

Flee or face the giant? That question has crossed my mind so many times this week.  I have to admit after my first round of Power Aid (aka chemo), I would love nothing more than to run for the hills, hide in a cave, cover my head, avoid further confrontation. This giant seems huge! How could anyone stand up to such a menace? This is no normal fee-fi-fo-fum  giant. Oh no, this particular giant is a master of disguise. At times he appears to be a disease I must conquer. Then his shape shifts, and it is my cure itself I must wrestle.  What is designed to heal me must first destroy me. My body says, "Run away!" What shall I do? Flee or face the giant?

How does one face the giants of the day? Each day I wonder how do I approach the fight? As a little girl, I remember witnessing a giant in the form of a big old bully. She was the meanest person I knew.  I never saw her be nice to another person--ever. Her face was hard and her words were mean.  I was afraid of her. On this particular day, she threatened to cut another little girl's ears off, and by my youthful estimation she could and would have. I remember my stomach being a wriggling bundle of nerves, my knees shaking and my voice quivering, but I knew I had to stand up to this giant. It took all my courage, but I looked at her and said, "Oh no, you won't."  I braced myself for the response, afraid that now I would reap the wrath. But you know what? She just looked at me, surprised and speechless. There was nothing else for her to say. She walked away. She didn't say another word. I beat the giant. I just had to muster some courage.

Sometimes you have to face the giant, but that doesn't mean you will always feel brave. Sometimes your stomach will wriggle, your knees will shake and your voice will quiver, but you know inside it is what you have to do. So you draw a deep breath, look at the giant who says it will defeat you, and say, "Oh no, you won't." 

My giant has made me want to flee the past few days (although Praise God, each day is getting better), but this is what I know. I am not alone. I have this promise: "For I am The Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, "Do not fear. I will help you." (Isaiah 41:13).  Therefore, "I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength. (Phillipians 4:13). 

Tomorrow I will wake up and that giant will be back on the battleground, ready to intimidate me again. He will probably have a few new tricks up his sleeve. Tomorrow I will have to choose-- fight or flee? My puny self will want to run for my life --literally. But I don't have to fight this on my own. I do not face this giant alone.  You are not alone either!! We have one who stands up for us to face the fight. It is not my voice that says, "Oh no, you won't", but the voice of one with far greater power. And in the face of that voice, the giant will be surprised and speechless. What will it be? Fight or flee? Tomorrow I will fight. See you on the battlefield!

The Power of Words

Tomorrow begins one of the biggest challenges I have ever faced. I begin CHEMO (cue the scary music). Chemo is a word than sends fear into most people's hearts. A word that makes us say, "Oh no1" when we discover a friend or loved one will have to endure it. I am getting CHEMO to treat CANCER.  My CANCER is THYMOMA. It is RARE and there is NO ONE I know that has ever had it. Look at all those words. Chemo, cancer, thymoma, rare, no one. Those are some pretty scary words. Can you feel the weight of them as you read?

You know what? You have scary words, too. Yours may be different. Maybe yours are lonely, scared about the future, in debt, conflicted with a loved one, unemployed, sad, failure, ill, lost, stressed...you fill in the blank.

The impact that my  words have had on me, and others in my life, has led me to think a lot about the power of words. As a student of human behavior and the brain, I have long known, from multiple research studies, that what we think and do has a direct impact on how we feel and our physiology (how our body feels). Where we can control what we choose to think and what we do, it is more difficult to change our feelings and physiology. The only way we can change those areas, is by changing how we think and act.  Our emotions and our physical states follow our thoughts and actions. When we think our scary words,  it changes the chemistry of our brain. Our brain in turn sends signals to our body to react. Our body receives the message and responds accordingly. For example, I can sit here and think, "I have a headache." If I dwell on that message, my brain sends it to my body, my body reacts, and soon I will indeed have a headache. There is even research to indicate that people who smile, even though they are in an an unpleasant situation, actually experience more happiness and comfort than those who frown through the same situation. Our feelings follow our thoughts and actions.

The Bible talks about thoughts, too. 2 Corinthians 10:5 says, "...We take captive of every thought to make it obedient to Christ." And how are we to do this? Many scriptures speak to this, but one that stands out to me is Phillipians 4:8 "Finally brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable, if anything is excellent or praiseworthy-- think about these things."

My scary words don't meet those criteria. They are not true, noble, pure and lovely. They are not admirable, praiseworthy or excellent.  I am not alone. That is a lie. Cancer and chemo are not lovely. The fear they produce is not admirable or praiseworthy. The way they make me feel is not excellent. If I listen to those words, I am weakened. My brain becomes tuned in to the negative messages, on what seems to big to overcome.  My body will hear my brain, and believe it. It will begin to manifest the lies.  If you listen to your scary words, you are weakened, too. But if we hold our thoughts captive to what we are told to focus on, we unleash God's power in our lives. That is not to say our problems disappear. It doesn't mean we will walk around happy and strong all the time. This life isn't for sissies and the naive. What it does mean, is that as we walk the more challenging paths we will be able to do so more gracefully and will be able to see light in the darkness. The darkness may remain, but we have hope. And not only hope, we will also find joy. Joy endures when happiness fades.

I won't take on the personality of my scary words. I will not own cancer and thymoma. I have a "Nuisance" that I have to deal with so I can continue on my journey. Instead of seeing chemo as something that is going to make me ill and fatigued, and kill off cells in my body, I am choosing to see this healing treatment as "Power Aid".  What flows into my veins is going to make me stronger, not weaker. My rare "nuisance" does not make me alone. I am surrounded by people who love me and are lifting me up on prayer and daily thoughts. The fight does not disappear, but my strength for the fight greatly increases when I stay focused on the truth.

What about your scary words? What lies are hidden in them? How can you reframe those thoughts so that you hold them captive, rather than being held captive by them? I want to challenge your thoughts. Rather than focusing on what you don't want in your life, focus on what you do want. Rewrite your scary words. Let conflict become forgiveness; fear become hope; and failure become second chances. Don't focus on where you are, focus on where you want to be. Most importantly, never lose sight of the one who will take you there.

Let's revisit that first paragraph:

 Tomorrow begins one of the biggest opportunities for healing that I have ever had. I begin my healing treatment that I like to call "Power Aid". I am getting "Power Aid" to treat a little "Nuisance"  so that I will have a long, healthy and joyful future!  Those are some powerful words. Can you feel the strength of them as you read?

I challenge you. Rewrite the paragraphs of your life. And know this, "In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world!" (John 16:33).

As you pray with me along this journey, I pray for you, too. We have different struggles, but we all struggle. Thanks for praying and cheering me on!! I am so blessed!! Now, we have to get back to marching around those walls of Jericho!

Life Lessons From A GPS

Rush hour traffic in Houston (or should I say Rush HOURS)--you have to be NUTS to try to travel during that insanity, but we had no choice. After a change of MD Anderson appointments and necessary cancellation of flights, we were faced with picking up a rental car in one part of town, driving to the airport to drop off another, then trekking all the way across town again.  In order to pull off this challenge, Rodney and I would have to travel in two cars. We were in unfamiliar territory, dependent on our GPSs for directions. We entered our location and began the slow moving, bumper-to-bumper excursion. It was far to crowded to glance down at my map and see where I needed to go. All I could do was listen and obey. If I was careful to listen, and do exactly as told, I would arrive at my destination (in a few, loooonnnggg hours). If I ignored instruction and took things into my own hands, I would soon be lost. Fortunately,  if I somehow got off track (which I did---the only way to change lanes in that traffic is to buy the car next to you)  all I had to do was slow down and listen for further input. My GPS would reroute me towards my original destination. The trip might be a little more complicated, and take a little longer, but I would safely arrive at point B.

I began to see a moral to this story. I realized God is like that GPS. If I will listen and respond to his instruction, I will safely arrive at my destination. Sometimes I don't do that. Sometimes I rush and miss my turn or decide I know a better way.  But because of mercy, God, like the GPS, is happy to reroute me when I mess up---if I will slow down, listen and obey. 

Today I am lost in the rush hour traffic of cancer. I am daily receiving input on the best way to arrive at healing. I have heard from surgeons, oncologists, radiologists, nutritionists, well-meaning strangers and a few cracked websites. Today I got directions to schedule a port placement so we can begin up to six rounds of chemo, one every three weeks. Then we are to travel to MD Anderson after two rounds to see how we are doing and decide on next steps. Looking at this "map" can be too distracting right now.  There is too much going on. Glancing down could easily lead to a crash. My best option is to follow my GPS--God Positioning System. I am counting on him to give me one instruction at a time, redirect me if I get lost, and safely deliver me to my destination . Although I feel stuck, he can see the big picture and knows just how to get me where I need to be. 

So buckle up my little prayer travelers, we are on our way. I may be the only person to ever be grateful for rush hour traffic but I am grateful for the lesson learned!  "Proceed on to your destination." 

In the Details

Thursday was to be our last day at MD Anderson. We had been there for 9 days and were more than ready to return to our home and our family. It had been a week of anxiously waiting for answers, and never feeling like we had quite enough to know where we were heading. Our final scheduled appointments were with a series of doctors who would deliver the game plan---or so we thought.

As we arrived for the series of appointments, we were told that my oncologist, and lead doctor, had been called away for an emergency. I would have to see another physician. My heart dropped. The man who had requested all the tests, who promised all the answers, wasn't available. A week of waiting for this moment and we would not be seeing our primary caregiver. We would start from scratch with a new doctor. There was nothing to do but swallow and say, "Oh, okay."Dejected, we moved to the waiting area, but we quickly decided that God had been so faithful during this trip. He would be faithful in this as well.

After a time, we were called back to the exam room. As they tried to sort through who would see us, we got lost in the shuffle. As we waited for the new oncologist to be assigned, we fell off the radar of the radiologist. It took radiology awhile to realize we were there and had not missed our appointment. Nurses came in and out trying to figure out who would see us and how we would get everything done. They were diligently trying to sort things through.

Finally we were assigned to a new doctor. As we waited to meet her, the radiologist came in to see us. He had index cards on a book ring with information about my case. He was very knowledgeable and helpful. He answered our questions and offered information. His thoroughness was comforting.  As we sat with him, the newly assigned doctor popped in to meet us. We wrapped up with radiologist and began to visit with the her. She had to catch up on our case, but tried hard to do so. She tried to answer our questions to the best of her ability. Ultimately, these two decided that radiation was probably not our first line of defense as we had originally thought. It is important to know that when we originally began this journey, we were hopeful that radiation would be our source of treatment. We thought it had less side effects and didn't sounds as scary. What we didn't realize is that radiation would mean 4-6 weeks at MD Anderson---away from our family. What had seemed desirable was now amazingly frightening. We were thrilled that it would be a final option rather than the first. The doctors were in agreement on that point, but couldn't decide was what should happen next, chemo or more surgery. It was then decided that we should meet with a surgeon for his input. They asked if we could stay another day for an appointment. Doing so would mean missing our flight home, changing our travel plans, delaying hugging our sweet boys. I was so ready to be home, but Rodney quickly said we would stay. As the nurses went to make arrangements, they discovered that the surgeons were already gone for the day. They could not promise we would be seen or what doctor would be available. They would call us and let us know.

We left the office with that familiar feeling of uncertainty. As we sat in the cafeteria, eating and waiting for our shuttle, they called. We would be seen. We began to cancel flights, change rental arrangements and notify our family. Now this is where the story gets good!!

Friday we arrived for our appointment. After a lengthy wait, we were called back to the exam room. The surgeon finally came in and began our consultation. He explained in great depth, with vivid illustrations, what thymoma was and how it functioned. He described how it spread and how it responded to treatment. He began to talk about the two remaining tumors on my diaghram. These tumors were not removed in surgery because we didn't know about them until I was on the operating table. He said that in retrospect, the two remaining tumors could probably now be seen on the original CT scans since we knew what to look for. That was interesting. My surgeon in Lubbock said those exact words to me. I looked at him and said, "That is what Dr. Springer, my surgeon, told me." At this point he replied, "I know Bill well. I trained him. We have had several conversations about your case." My heart jumped in my chest. This doctor, who I wasn't supposed to see originally; who squeezed me in last minute; who was one of eight possible doctors I could have seen; who I might not have been referred to at all had my original doctor been there, had trained the surgeon who operated on me in Lubbock. He had conferred on my case long before we met. Weeks, no years, before this appointment, God had been ahead of me preparing for this moment. Preparing the men who would assist in my healing. Once again, I stood amazed.

We finished our barrage of questions and came to an understanding that surgery was probably not the best place to start. The surgeon was very certain that chemo, which of the three options could be done at home, was the place to begin. We wouldn't begin with weeks of radiation or surgery away from home. We would go to our boys and begin to heal.

 The appointment began to wrap up. The doctor leaned forward and tapped on the cross ring on my hand and said, "I like your ring." I replied, "It is a reminder". He referred back to my Lubbock surgeon, Dr. Springer, and their prior conversations about me.  I asked, "So how did I get up to you and you already know me? How did I randomly end up with the doctor who trained my surgeon and had prior knowledge of my case?" He looked at me and said, "I think you'd have to say it is a God thing." Tears filled my eyes as I replied, "I asked for that today."  He came and hugged me and said, "We'll take care of this." And you know what? I have full faith in that promise. God has been working since my surgeon was in medical school to take care of this. He has rearranged appointments, schedules and doctors to take care of this. God is in the details.

I would never wish this situation on anyone. I would never have chosen it for myself. I wouldn't choose it now given a choice, but I would not want to miss these moments for anything in the world. God has made himself so abundantly evident. Now I know, that I know, that I know that God is God.  My prayer comes from 1 Chronicles 16:11-12: Look to the Lord and his strength; seek his face always. REMEMBER THE WONDERS HE HAS DONE, HIS MIRACLES, and the judgements he pronounced." I pray I never forget HIS wonders.

A Day at the Beach

January 26, 2013
A Day At the Beach

Here we are in Houston, but this is no vacation. We are here to get answers from MD Anderson regarding our future. Getting here was a miracle. We submitted a request on Friday, received a call on Tuesday and were in the doctor's office Thursday morning.  Over the next week I will be poked, prodded and scanned as we seek answers to questions. Between appointments there are days of time when nothing is happening. On these days I desperately want to be home with my boys, but travel back and forth is just not feasible. So Rodney and I try to pass the time.

Yesterday we drove to Galveston. We needed sun. We needed to be away from sickness. We needed normal. It is funny how God will speak to you when you get away like that. Here are a few lessons from our day at the beach.

As I stood with my feet in the sand, the waves would wash up and swirl over the sand, changing the surface with it's power. I could feel the sand shift beneath my feet where I stood. The thought occurred to me that God has the power to do that in my life and with this illness. With a wave of his hand he can wipe away all traces of disease. I knelt and wrote the word Thymoma in the sand. I stood and watched the wave wash it away. I claim that kind of healing in my life. I look forward to the day when it is all washed away!

As we walked further down the beach I saw sea gulls standing in a line parallel to the water's edge. The waves would come in and wash right up to the line at their feet and they would retrieve the meal that had been delivered to them. They didn't frantically run around looking and searching. They stood, patiently waiting and their needs were met. I have a tendency to run around, impatiently trying to solve problems. Those of you that know me well know that problem solving is something I enjoy. I am pretty good at it actually, but now we face a problem that I cannot solve. Now I have to tap into my "inner sea gull". I have to stand, face the one who has power to deliver, and patiently wait. He will deliver.

It was time to return home. I am still recovering from major surgery so my stamina isn't up to par yet. Tired, yet refreshed, we got into the car for the drive back to the city. As we drove, I closed my eyes and prayed. I prayed waves of mercy would wash my illness away. I prayed all of our needs, especially those of my boys, would be met. I prayed treatment would not require more of them than what a child should have to go through. I prayed for help. As I opened my eyes and raised my head, the very first thing my eyes saw was a billboard. That billboard read, "God Listens".

I

My day at the beach taught me my God has the power to shift the sands of my life and wash away my fears. It taught me to stand patiently and wait and at just the right moment he will deliver just what we need. It taught me "God Hears". Funny what you can learn at the beach when you are not on vacation!

Jesus in a Pink Sweater

Recording the little things that happen each day during this journey has become a way for me to remember that I am blessed. They are not stories about me, but of people and actions that have touched me. Jesus in a pink sweater is one of those tales.

I was in the hospital for the eighth day. I had been moved from ICU to a regular room. It was so good to be able to shower, but I was unable to lift my arms to fix my hair. A sweet nurse had braided my wet locks for me the previous two days, but on this day she was not on duty, so I sat in my bed with the prior day's slept-in braid, no make-up, my healing scar peaking over the neck of my designer (not) hospital gown. 

My husband, father and another guest sat visiting with me, when out of the corner of my eye, I noticed an elderly lady in a pink sweater walk past my open door. She said something to herself as she walked by and then turned back around to step into my doorway. She said, "Honey, you are too young and beautiful to be in this hospital. " A nurse that had entered the room said, "She is beautiful, isn't she?" and continued with her duties. I felt like looking around to see who they were talking about. I was anything but beautiful. I wouldn't use the term beautiful on my very best day, much less on this one.

The lady in pink asked me when I would get to go home.  I replied that I hoped the following day. She looked me in the eye and said, "I am going to be praying for a long and healthy life for you." With that, she turned and left my room. Her surprise visit touched my soul. It was very obvious to me that she saw something I couldn't see.  She saw me the way my father (earthly and heavenly) sees  me. I felt as though Jesus had just stepped into my room to tell me how he sees me. He doesn't see the scars, his are greater. He doesn't see the hair and make-up. He knows they aren't what make a person beautiful. He sees his child and he loves her. He thinks she is beautiful. He intercedes on my behalf and I truly believe he asks his Father for me to have a long and healthy life. I saw Jesus that day. He was wearing a pink sweater.

Hand-stitched With Love

Sometimes blessings come in the most unexpected ways. I have been blessed beyond measure by the amazing things God has done in my life during the past ten days.  I will never be able to record them all, but this is possibly one of the most visible gifts God has given me.

When we learned that I would have to have a sternotomy (cracking the chest) to remove tumors from my chest, I experienced a wide range of emotion. There was fear for my health; anxiety about the surgery; and dread for the scar that would forever mark my body. The scar would be a lifelong, visible reminder of the journey. I dreaded seeing the rope-like scar down my body, but in times like this there is little choice but to accept and move on.

In a last ditch effort to minimize the scar, I asked the surgeon if it was possible to use something besides staples to close the incision. I had heard the use of glue might reduce scarring. In response they apologetically told me, "Absolutely not. We always use staples to close the wound to lower the risk of infection. And we leave them in longer than most as a precaution." I swallowed and replied, "Well, I had to ask."  So be it.  

Surgery took place. That is another story. Days after surgery, my bandages were removed. As people entered my hospital room, and caught the first glimpses of my scar, they all made the same comment. "I don't see the staples. That is much smaller than I expected."

As I would look down, I agreed it didn't have that serpentine appearance I had expected , but I would reply, "Well, they must be there because they said there was no other way."

Days passed, I slipped in and out of awareness due to pain medications, but on one particular morning I was more alert as the surgeon's nurses entered my room. I said to them, "Tell me about this scar..."

They didn't allow me to even finish my statement when they began, "Oh my goodness, we couldn't believe our eyes. We walked into the operating room as they were closing your incision. The doctor who was closing, was carefully doing two layers of stitches to safely close your chest and prevent infection and then he sealed it with glue. We have NEVER seen him do that ---EVER. We told him that we had prepared you that you would have staples. He responded, "She was just so young and sweet that I wanted to do this for her."

Unbelievable. I had never met this particular doctor. He had no connection to me. We had never spoken and yet when he looked down on me, he saw something, and was moved to give me a gift he had never given before. His hand-stitched gift will forever remain as an emblem of God's love for me. Through this man's handiwork, God shows me He cares about the details.  I am eternally  grateful.  When you see me, you will see my scar. I will not hide it from you, because it is one of the most beautiful gifts I have ever been given. I am hand-stitched with love.

Yes, Anna, Miracles Still Happen...Big and Small

     

The steps that seemed so simple evolved into a journey unexpected.  In October, I participated in our school wellness program. No big deal, just a blood draw. I do it every year. This year, I was to discover, would be dramatically different.

My blood work came back fairly benign (a word that would soon be a constant part of my prayers). I learned I had high calcium and low vitamin D levels. I began my search for what causes that combination. As I entered my phrases into the search engine, I realized that I would probably get many different possible causes, but that wasn't what happened at all. All research pointed to one cause, a hyperparathyroidism. This is caused by a tumor on a parathyroid gland. They are fairly rare and have one treatment --surgery. The surgery, while complicated, is straightforward and leads to an immediate, permanent cure. A small little scar on my neck and I would be good to go! My mind could absorb that. I really wasn't afraid.

I went to my doctor with my results. Because it is rare, many doctors are not well-versed in hyperparathyroidism. Through my research I had been warned of this. I went to my appointment armed with information and feeling very in control of my health. She said exactly what the resources had warned. I shared with her eight pages from my research. She sat and read each page as I waited. (Miracle 1). She said it was a great resource and that I had peaked her curiosity. Without my research, the problem would have been missed. There would be not story to be told. But I was driven to research and she was willing to hear. She quickly began to plot our course. We would run another blood test to confirm high parathyroid hormone levels (PTH). She referred me to an endocrinologist and we were off.

Within hours of setting up the endocrinologist appointment I received a callback from the doctor. My blood work came back and revealed high PTH levels. Change of plans, now I was being sent directly to a surgeon. This was the first of many forks in the road.

Still feeling quite in control of my life, I went alone for my first appointment with the surgeon. He confirmed what I knew about parathyroids and referred me for a scan (sestamibi) to see if we could locate the bad gland. Each person has four of the glands. They are the only part of the body that can be in various locations. Locating the bad one before surgery would make the operation much easier. I knew the scan did not always show the glands, but when it did it was helpful. I had no fear.

On November 21, I had the scan. I was frustrated to realize I would have to wait over the Thanksgiving holiday to get my results. I pushed to get the results faster. I called daily, but could get no answers. I couldn't control the pace. Impatiently I waited. This would become a familiar feeling.

After the holidays, I returned to the doctor, alone once again. Armed with a list of questions, I was eager to learn my results and schedule surgery. Maybe I could get it done before the end of the year and be done! The doctor walked in, sat down on a stool and began to tell me the results of the test. The scan showed a hotspot, which was good, but he was a little uncertain because it showed the spot in my chest. Now, this is not unheard of. These silly little glands can migrate to your chest in 1% of the population. I was not too alarmed. I knew that was possible. I had researched it. I was in control. Until he told me that in order to reach this one there was a good chance they will have to crack my chest to get to it. What?! Like open-heart surgery? For this? He wanted to do a CAT scan to confirm what we were dealing with. I made it to my car and fell apart. I wasn't in control after all. I cried anytime I spoke of it for the next day. Fear creeped in. I forged through work and tried to be normal. Begin Miracle 2. My boss shared her story with me of her open heart surgery. She is my age and knew firsthand about the surgery. Talking to her eased my tension. The miracle that she had been put on my path for such a time as this was noted. I found my feet again, grateful that she was in my life. Through her God whispered I could handle this.

A week later I went for my CAT scan. As I was being prepared for the test, I asked the radiologist what this would tell us. He said that it would show anything that was going on with the tissue like cancer, infection, etc. I flinched a little and asked, "Should I be prepared to hear something bad from this test?" He replied that I shouldn't. The location didn't seem to be too worriesome. It would probably be fine.

On December 5th, my husband with me (lesson learned after the chest-cracking shock), I went to get my results. The scan confirmed the tumor we suspected, but also revealed a tumor on the other side. Suddenly the words lymphoma, teratoma, thymoma, chemo began to enter the conversation. Another scan was needed. As I sat and cried, I was told I needed a PET scan to check my lymph nodes to see if it had spread. How did this happen? I had a plan! I knew what was going to happen. I couldn't breathe...what would I tell my kids? How could I put Rodney, who had already lost his parents to cancer, through this? It was too much to handle. I couldn't talk to anyone for a day without choking up. Full blown fear took root. My scan was set for December 10. Breathe, Anna, Breathe.

Time moved slowly, but the scan was finally done. On December 14, Rodney and I returned to the doctor. I have now learned I am not in control. I know to expect the unexpected. I no longer bring a list of questions with me because experience has taught me they will crumble in my hands only to be stained with tears. Shaking, we wait. My doctor came in and out of the room telling us he was trying to gather all the facts before he talked to us. My blood pressure rose as we waited. When he entered he told us I still had him scratching his head. He took us to look at the scans. Thankfully there were no signs that whatever it was had entered my lymph system. Thank you, Father. We celebrated, but still needed more information. A biopsy had to be done. The good news was that second tumor, the one we didn't know about, would be much easier to biopsy than the original tumor. Something good came from something bad. The sweet nurse worked to get me the earliest appointment possible so I would know something before Christmas. I was to have a biopsy on the following Tuesday. Malignant or benign? My mind was constantly working with those two words. I felt numb and oh so tired.

The day before the biopsy I received a call to do intake for my biopsy. A nurse I had never met, and never will, took my health history. In the midst of her routine questions she asked, "Mrs. Jackson, do you mind if I ask what is going on with you?" I told her my story. She took a deep breath and said, "Mrs. Jackson, I am going to be praying for you". I was deeply touched. As we continued with her routine questions, she realized that I had taken an aspirin product. She told me that they might not be able to do the procedure the following day after all. She would have to check with the radiologist and told me she would call me back soon. I sent out a prayer text and began to beg God to let the biopsy happen on time. She soon called back to confirm I would have to wait. It was the straw that broke the camel's back. I fell to pieces. If we had to put it off I might have to wait through another holiday not knowing. I couldn't do it! I didn't have the strength! Of all I had been through, this seemed to be too much to bear! As I sobbed, the nurse took control. She told me she was going to make some calls. I put my head on my desk and cried. I couldn't lift my head. The last reserve of strength was gone. A minor setback became an obstacle I didn't think I could overcome. I was devastated.

Soon she called back. This nurse, whose only job was to do intake, had called my doctor and the radiologist to tell them that I MUST HAVE results by the end of the week. She told them, in no uncertain terms, that I needed answers. This angel, who I would never even see, fought for me. Miracle 3. I am moved and can now stumble from my desk. As I made it to the bathroom to wash my face, I saw that it was beyond repair. I told my office that I was going home for lunch and would be back soon. I cried as I drove myself home. Begin miracle 4. When I arrived home the surgeon's office had called. Had I not been so upset that I had to come home, I wouldn't have received her message until 7:00 that evening. I would have missed peace. When I returned her call she told me the nurse had called her. She said they all knew how scared I was and that they were praying for me. She promised to keep watch all day Thursday to get results. She said, "I will think of you all day long. We will take care of you!" As I realize how these women ministered to me, my strength returned. God ministers to me even when I think it is hopeless. Their compassion was a boost. I could go on.

Yesterday I went for my biopsy. When the prep team came for me, Miracle 5 began. The lead nurse was the sister-in-law of a lifelong friend. This friend and I have been through some challenging times. She is a prayer warrior. I am in the best hands. The nurse whispered to me, "I am rushing this a little". They were trying to move things along. I heard God in her words. She went out of her way to make me comfortable. She answered each question with precision. She was straightforward and honest. She reassured me with her confidence. The biopsy was completed. Now we would wait.

The surgeon's office called twice that afternoon to tell me they were watching for results and hadn't forgotten me. The final message of the day was that the report was in, but hadn't been read yet by the doctor who performed the biopsy. They were told to call back in the morning. I would hear from them then.

As I type this I await that call. I am filled with peace. I have learned some valuable lessons. When I think I can't go on, I can. When it seems impossible, it will look differently tomorrow. God uses people to minister to his children just when they need it most. I am not in control, but God is. My timing and his are not the same. His is better. God speaks to his children through the friends who pray, the family members who encourage, the people who show kindness when they don't have to.

Whatever the news, I know I will be okay. I know my journey will continue to be filled with miracles and angels. My brother-in-law told me that his grandfather always said, "In troubling times God's children have his full attention." I find that to be true! Thank you, Immanuel!

December 21

The day was a roller coaster as I awaited the call. The first one came. Anxiously, I answered on the first ring. The nurse called to tell me they were watching for my results, but nothing was available yet. More waiting.

Every time the phone rang, I jumped to answer it. When it wasn't "the call", I quickly ended the conversation to free the line. As morning turned to afternoon, and afternoon to evening, I felt as if I were watching my hopes of an answer slip through a sand timer. When the sand was almost gone, the phone rang again. The nurse was on the line. She said the doctor had taken my number and was planning on calling me, but it might be Monday. The last sand dropped. I hung up the phone. A tear fell.

Within the next few minutes, the phone rang again. Deflated, I didn't even look at the caller ID this time. The doctor's voice greeted me. "The biopsy is inconclusive. We still do not know what we're fighting. “The only thing the doctor, and those he has consulted, could agree upon is that the tumors must come out. He said I had become a very interesting and challenging case and that you never wanted to be an interesting and challenging case. In the midst of the confusion of the news Miracle 6 evolved-- what originally looked like two very difficult surgeries may turn in to one. A sternotomy and VATS and both tumors can be removed. Not an easy surgery, but much better than our original fear. Pathology will determine if further treatment is needed.
A plan has been made. I feel peaceful. I have a solution.

I began my morning reading my devotion from Jesus Calling. This is what it said:
December 21
My plan for your life is unfolding before you. Sometimes the road you are traveling seems blocked, or it opens up so painfully slowly that you must hold yourself back. Then, when time is right, the way before you suddenly clears—through no effort of your own. What you have longed for and worked for I present to you freely, as pure gift. You feel awed by the ease with which I operate in the world, and you glimpse My Power and My Glory.

Do not fear your weakness, for it is the stage on which My Power and Glory perform most brilliantly. As you persevere along the path I have prepared for you, depending on My strength to sustain you, expect to see miracles—and you will. Miracles are not always visible to the naked eye, but those who live by faith can see them clearly. Living by faith, rather than sight, enables you to see My Glory.

I think that message was just for me! God's plan is still unfolding. I do not know what lies ahead. The road has certainly seemed blocked and slow moving at times, but along the way I see glimpses that remind me that this isn't about my weakness, but about His strength. I expect a few more tears will fall, but good things lie ahead!

Mine...Not Mine

I am not sure when it changed. It was so subtle that I didn't notice it happening. For years my ears had grown accustomed to the sound of, "Mine!"

As the mother of twins, it was an all too familiar expression. Before the boys could speak they had their own preferences for which of two identical items belonged to them. It began with teething toys. They wordlessly struggled to get, "Mine!".

Then the words came. Now they "knew" which of the identical bikes were "Mine!". This identical scooter is "Mine!" This identical wii controller is "Mine!". This identical shirts is, "Mine!". This mommy is "Mine!".

But something has shifted. Some of the items are not identical as they have developed their own preferences, but that is not the change that snuck up on me. The one I can't explain is how "Mine!" has morphed into "Not mine!"

I enter the living room and pick up the basketball cards on the couch. When I ask who's they are I am quickly told (by both voices) "Not mine!"
"Who's shoes? "
"Not mine!"
"Who's book?"
Well, course, "Not mine!"

Isn't it funny. ..before everything was "Mine!" even when it wasn't. Now everything is "Not mine" even when it is! There is bound to be a spiritual lesson in there somewhere, but it is "Not mine!" (spoken with my tongue in cheek).

The Summer House



My mother and aunts playing by the summerhouse.
My grandmother made their skirts and leis just for fun.
Many a generation passed the days away in this spot!

Today I took a walk
through the corners of my mind.
I returned to a little summer house
that I'd left far behind.
It is hidden beneath the shade
of my Mimi and Grandad's trees
cooled by the whispering freshness
of a summer afternoon's breeze.
The walls are made of white lattice
covered by heavy vine.
The floors are of cool packed dirt
smoothed by the winds of time.
Many an afternoon
was spent in this shady spot
naking mudpies with sisters and cousins
in a place of forget-me-not.
Our crowns were made of lantana,
our bonds were made of love,
our music was the cooing
of a lonesome turtle dove.
Oh, to get to stay there
for just an afternoon
for childhood is just a memory,
that ended way too soon.


Last night this poem came flooding into my mind. I had to get out of bed to go type it out before it slipped away. I had been reading a book on the history of my family and their lives in O'Donnell, Tx. It brought back so many memories of the wonderful times we spent there. My childhood was so very blessed. The backyard that held this summer house was filled with all types of shade trees. It had a treehouse and a beautiful old rock fireplace/bar-b-que pit. We had so many wonderful hours of make-believe and magic. I'd love to be able to go back in time to grab one more scoop of those precious memories--to get one more hug from my grandparents; to have one more hotdog cookout; to climb up the old pear tree one more time; to be cool in the shade on a hot summer day. Nowadays the memories serve as shade for a mind that is hot with the stress of adult life. I am so grateful for the little summerhouse that stands waiting for my mind to run and hide inside---if only for a moment!