Metamorphosis?

“Two roads diverged in a wood and I – I took the road less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” – Robert Frost

Today is the first day of Lent. In the days leading up to today, the Ultimate Bengal Fan and the B-Man have been trying to figure out what they wanted to give up for Lent. The Bengal Fan ultimately chose chocolate, which is tough for my chocoholic son, while my youngest one had yet to settle on something. It’s run the gamut from refraining from throwing soccer balls at his brother, to broccoli (which he doesn’t eat anyway) to changing his underwear daily (I really do NOT want to know). He eventually decided on Lego.com. This is HUGE! I am really proud of him. He spends his entire computer time on Lego.com. I chose a different route this year.

The choice came upon me slowly. I have known for nearly two years that something needs to change in my life, but it’s a nebulous idea. There’s nothing solid to grab onto. Yet, I know God is nudging me. I took a huge step when I signed up for a Women’s study at church called “The Life Ready Woman.” The title intrigued me. Seriously, how much more ready for life can you be than to face ovarian cancer head on while homeschooling two young kids, make it to remission and carry on? Apparently not as ready as I’d like to believe.

In the interim, I’ve let myself go. My weight has ballooned to an all time high (and as open as I am with my readers, I’m NOT sharing that number) and I move less than I did before cancer. Now I could play the cancer card and say, “Well, I have neuropathy and my joints hurt, blah, blah, blah.” And it would be true. However, I’ve lost my love for most things. Oh sure, I love my boys beyond measure, I love my husband more than ever, and I’m surrounded by an incredibly supportive group of family and friends. But why do I feel so empty?

I know why. I’ve allowed myself to fall into a sort of complacency about things in my life. After all, I’m in remission from one of the most deadly forms of cancer. Woo Hoo! I have the right to kick back and rest on my laurels. Well, the world would say that, but I think God is calling me to so much more. And as I’ve said before, He generally needs to use a 2×4 or other heavy object to get my attention. This time, however, it was my feet and a scale.

I had lost some weight this summer and I did it mostly by exercise, which was painful. As summer turned to fall, my back and feet would hurt as soon as I got up the street to the corner. Walking wasn’t fun. Nothing was fun. I shut down and opened the bag of M&M’s. Fall turned to winter and I closed in on myself. It was just me and my coffee and chocolate. The treats I had right before a chemo treatment – because in a cruel twist of fate, chocolate gave me heartburn during chemo – were my secret allies. They made me feel good, or at least I thought they did.

Earlier this month, I made the decision to finally find out why my back and feet hurt. I found a great PT office that looks at the whole body, not just what hurts. Not only do my feet hurt less, but my back feels better. I still have an incredibly long way to go, but at least I can go up and down the steps the right way (alternating feet) and not like a two year old. It’s the little things. Walking “funny” because of neuropathy screws up your entire lower body mechanics. I’m working on muscle memory to get a new normal (there’s that phrase again!). My goal – the 5K OCAGC walk in September without pain.

So for Lent, rather than giving up something, I’ve decided to DO something. I am spending less time ruminating on the aftermath of cancer and more time on what the next chapter holds. It’s too easy to focus on where I’ve been. It was hell, plain and simple and I know that the Beast can come knocking at any time. I already hear its footsteps since I have my 3-month check-up and labs early next month. I’m not a betting person, so I try to ignore the odds, even if they are in my favor for the time being. Learning from the past is one thing, dwelling in it is another.

So with the courage I have been given, my Lenten journey is to begin a transformation; a metamorphosis of sorts. My goal is to muster up my courage daily and dive into this new life God is calling me to. Like a tadpole or caterpillar, it takes time. It won’t happen overnight. My goal for each day is to just find a way to not fold in on myself, but to do something that takes courage. For me, eating less takes courage, since food is my comfort. Cleaning my house takes courage (my beloved calls me a pack rat and he’s right). Writing takes courage. Spending time with God and listening takes an incredible amount of courage. Think about it – you ask God what He wants you to do and when He answers you should do it. I think I’m guilty of asking, but not really wanting to know what He thinks. It’s like if I ask, I’m good. So not only will I ask, but I will seek to act after the 2×4 smacks me in the head. I’m hoping after this period of reflection is over, that I may find myself being changed into a woman that God is proud to call daughter.

While cancer may have caused me to take the “road less traveled,” I need to let it make a difference. I’m getting ready for the next adventure. Who’s with me?

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Life’s NOT a Blessing

Before the fireworks begin, please note that I asked my pastor to read through this and he did. I am not trying to be sacrilegious or start any battles. I didn’t ask for his blessing; I just wanted to be sure I wasn’t crossing any boundary lines. Enough said, let’s move on.

Anyone who says cancer is a blessing is an idiot. It’s not. It’s a horrible disease that takes far too many people and kills them, maims them, disfigures them or just messes with their minds. Cooked up in Satan’s kitchen, its sole purpose is to obliterate any cell that does not share its mutation. I believe the correct terminology would be “Conform or die!” It’s not content to just tear down the patient. No, it has to wreak its havoc on entire families; often ripping them to shreds and leaving nothing that resembles any sort of previously known reality in its wake. It’s like living through an earthquake with just a few minor cracks and broken objects, then having an F5 tornado blow through and destroys whatever’s left of your home and those you care about.

The destruction doesn’t have to be immediate. It can occur months or years later. Ask someone who’s been in remission for 5 or 10 years how they feel about cancer knocking and saying, “I’m back.” Talk to my friend Lisa who has managed to beat back the Beast for 5 years (YEAH Lisa!), but faces a lifetime of worsening neuropathy, debilitating migraines, bone pain and a whole host of other crap while she raises her two grandbabies (who, by the way, are absolutely adorable). Other people deal with continuing bowel issues, anemia, vision problems, lymphedema, bad teeth, osteoporosis, or who knows what.

Sometimes I wonder if the cure is worth the price I paid. Now don’t get me wrong, I am eternally grateful to God for the healing and the life I have. But I am really ticked off at Him as well. Great, I got cancer, which has deeply affected not only me but also my husband and children. It’s okay for me to get it, but did my family have to suffer? Yes, it was a learning experience and my children are richer for it. I’d hoped a mission trip would have sufficed, but apparently not. There is a deep lesson to learn. Yeah, right. Before my kids could tie their shoes well, they had to learn about life and death. This does NOT work for me. And yes, I know other kids have lost a parent. I’m thankful I’m still here, but mad for those other kids who weren’t nearly as fortunate.

Then there’s the whole, “Well, you’re done with chemo and life goes on,” song. Maybe for you, but not for me. True, there are days when cancer isn’t even a blip on my radar any longer. It’s taken me months to get to this point. Then my feet go numb and well, here we go again. It’s like a crazy merry-go-round created by Phineas and Ferb (guess what my kids watch on Netflix?) that I just can’t get off. Right now I’m struggling with PT. My body is so far out of alignment that to walk without my feet swinging out, I have to physically look at them and will them to move heel toe while focusing on my pelvis and lower back alignment. Seriously, walking should NEVER be this hard after the age of 2.

I’m mad, REALLY MAD! No one gets it. The chorus of “You’re cured. You’re in remission. You’ve been blessed with healing,” are sung by the choir. Choir music has never been my favorite. Give me Switchfoot, Casting Crowns, or Mandisa any day. If God was blessing me with healing, why couldn’t he have gone all the way? No neuropathy, no chemo fog, no digestive issues; just pure healing. Oh yeah, because when I asked for healing from my ovarian mass, he didn’t do that either. Okay, he did, just not the way I asked. I asked to avoid surgery. His answer was an awesome surgeon, but surgery with the added bonus of a pulmonary embolism necessitating a 4 day stay in ICU before I could begin recovery from the 13” incision on my belly. As my beloved Coach Cathy would say, “It’s your new normal. You need to accept it and go on.” And being a beloved friend, she knows why I say, “I don’t like it. It sucks!” She nods and gives me a hug. She grapples with the same issues. That’s why I love her so and always count her among one positive that came out of the whole cancer mess.

You know that saying that goes “God never gives you more than you can handle?” Well, He does. What most people DON’T read is that you can only handle it if you give it over to God so the two of you can handle it together. What if you never wanted it in the first place? The catch is you still need to deal with it. Sounds like a bad deal to me. I didn’t ask for any of this, but sometimes a tough life is the gift that keeps on giving.

I am not turning my back on God nor am I questioning His Sovereignty. He reigns in Heaven and set the universe in motion. I believe that Jesus carried the sin of the entire world of His time and for all time to come until His return so that we can rejoice in Heaven when our work here is done. I just have trouble with the fact that the monkey wrenches of life don’t merit immediate intervention. Yes, I can look back and see how God laid the groundwork for our children through our infertility struggle and my husband through a previous relationship that toxic doesn’t begin to describe. I think that may go along with the prayer that goes “Give me patience Lord, NOW!”

My greatest struggle isn’t over what’s happened. You can’t change the past. It’s what’s to come. I know God is beating me senseless to take this blog and create a book, a study, a series, something with it. He needs to imprint that on the 2×4 He’s beating giving me so I get the idea. I think about Beth Moore and get this glimpse of “That’s it.” Holy cow Batman, putting that much of my life out there is not on the agenda. Wait, not my agenda anyway. Then there’s the whole recurrence thing. Seriously Lord, you put me on this path with the dark cloud of recurrence over my head. Harsh, don’t you think?

So no, cancer is NOT a blessing and I will smack you if you tell me that. I really don’t believe God wants me to look at it that way. What He does desire is that I try to find the blessings that came from my experience. God doesn’t want bad things to happen to us, but they do. He created the world and the natural laws that go with it. We sinned and haven’t been good stewards so now we pay the price. I think God gave me hindsight so that I could take some solace in the journey.

What I have learned is that God brings special people to come along side throughout the journey. Coach Cathy and I knew each other to say “Hello,” and that was about it. Now I count her as a confidant that I can share my deepest, darkest fears with and not be judged. There’s my Facebook friend Lisa, whom I’ve never met, but share a bond with that goes beyond the internet. My boys are blessed with someone they can call “Mom” and I can call friend at any time. Kelley, you’ve opened your arms and heart to my family. You’ve shared my tears and triumphs. Momma Renie, I relied on you like the Mom are to me and felt blessed that I was able to be there for you as well (just don’t do it again!). My sister Sue was a constant presence as she’s always been over the last 30+ years, pushing me to get past the wall. Denise visited and cried and hugged and helped me decorate my tree when I was too tired to do it myself, leaving her own family to support mine.

I still hate cancer and the fact that I face a lifetime of shadows. It’s not a blessing, nor will it ever been. It’s a fact of life for me. Like it or not, this is my journey and I’m sure there are many more 2×4’s to come. Here’s hoping I’m up for it.