Mardi Maigre?

(or Tuesdays with Morrie, er, Lessie?)
[Really, titles ARE half the fun]

Yesterday before church, one of the prayer warriors of the congregation, a man half my height with a spirit of fire twice as bright as anything I've ever experienced, told me that he plans to fast on my behalf every Tuesday throughout my cancer treatment.

My first thought was alarm -- I'm not worthy of this! It's too much and too undeserved. And I hardly know this gentleman!

"Oh," I stumbled, "You don't need to do that for me."
He grabbed my arm and said ferociously in his clipped Filipino accent, "Yes. I must. And I will."
"Um, thanks."
How does one respond to that? I felt like a spiritual lightweight. When have I ever fasted on someone else's behalf? When have I ever fasted?? Man, I love eating.

But, as I walked into church, I was even more blown away by a quick revelation: if I am awed that a human would fast on my behalf, how much more awe-inspiring is it that a perfect God would die on my behalf? It's shocking, unexpected, almost ludicrous.

Romans 5:7 says, Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

Just think about it and be amazed. No other religion has a God, a perfect and creative and all-powerful God, who is willing to sacrifice himself on behalf of completely undeserving-to-be-rescued, and even often undesiring-to-be-rescued, sinful people. We are not worthy and never can be, even after a lifetime of pursuing a Christlike heart.

It makes me feel almost giddy to accept such a gift.

Milking It

Dialog #1.
Husband, moaning: My head hurts. I think it's my sinuses. And I'm so tired.
Me with feigned indifferent: Whatever. It's not like you have cancer.

Dialog #2:
Huckle: Hey! Who ate the whole bag of M&Ms?
Me: I did. Because I have cancer.

Dialog #3:
Me: Could someone please take out the garbage? I can't because I--
Husband, Huckle, and Sally: WE KNOW, WE KNOW. Because you have cancer.
Me: Well, actually, because I'm cooking dinner right now. But, you're right. Cancer patients shouldn't have to take out the garbage. Thanks!

Family Feud Category: Things That Grow Inside You

The ultrasound looking for cancer brought back vivid memories of other times I had lain on that table, looking at the images of Baby Huckle and Baby Sally growing in me. I found myself nonsensically scanning the screen for a beating heart, even though the probe was nowhere near my abdomen. And, obviously not seeing any beating heart, it struck me all over again why I was there. It was chilling, literally (you know what I mean if you've had one of those probes run across your naked flesh) and figuratively.

Oddly enough, the experiences have some things in common besides the technology used to image them. Both were experiences of heart-pounding anticipation and of having a secret inside me that would rock my world and the worlds of people who love me. Both were mysteriously growing inside me and using my metabolic energy to feed themselves.

And obviously that's where the differences end: one was a sweet baby, desired and already loved. The other was cancer, dreaded and detested.

Decisions

I've been agonizing over some big treatment decisions. Today's realization: stop stressing about taking care of this current cancer and future cancers all at once. That makes the decisions too big and requires information I will not have now. Instead, I need to start by coping with just this cancer. I will then deal with future risks as a separate issue.

Sounds obvious, but it isn't when you are in the middle of it all.

You Know Your Problem Is Serious When...

... the head pastor of your big church calls to pray with you.

Chariots of Fire

It's a Bible story about which you may have not given any thought since your Sunday school days. It's one of those great in-your-face-you-idol-worshipers! stories from the book of 2 Kings: God blinds the vengeful enemy army and Elisha leads them into the middle of the main Israelite city. When the confused soldiers' eyes are opened, they are not surrounded and killed by the Israelites (as they can planned to do to the Israelites) but they are wined and dined and sent on their merry (still confused) way.
That's the story we taught last Sunday to our very wiggly 1st grade class. It's a fun one to teach.

There is one part of the story that had come to my mind several times before preparing the lesson, and that's the part way at the beginning (pre-blinding) about Elisha's terrified servant, seeing the enemy army with their horses and chariots surrounding their city. A calm Elisha prays that God will open the servant's eyes, and suddenly the servant can see "the hills full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha."
Sometimes over the past few weeks I've felt like Elisha's servant. I've felt as if I've had my eyes opened to see beyond normality. I see purpose where others might only see meaninglessness or bad karma, I see a plan where others might think chaos reigns.
Last year was tough by any human's standards. But the life outcome of the pain was even better than the pre-pain life -- I was blessed beyond imagining -- and Lesson #1 was this: don't trust in others, trust only in God. Others may betray you, but God never will.
Cancer is a word that strikes fear in most people's hearts. But I feel as if my eyes have already been opened to Lesson #2: don't trust in yourself, trust only in God. Your body may betray you, but God never will.
It's a logical progression and beautiful plan. But it will be a tough lesson. I am used to being healthy and able and active and self-sufficient. My strong sense of self is what my friend Carolyn would call a 'stronghold' in my life. I need to find my identity in Christ, not in my body or my health or my feelings. And shaking my sense of self will be shaking my world to its fiery core. But I also see that God has gathered for me an amazing support network. The chariots of fire are in place.

And then sometimes I fall back into weakness and I think, why me? Why should I have so much pain and heartache and testing in rapid succession? Why can't I have my normal life back?

I'm a former athlete, a runner who found self-esteem and confidence in high school track and cross country. (Eh? You seeing the 2nd reason for calling this post 'Chariots of Fire'? Heh, heh, I think I'm pretty clever] Our coach did not push all his runners equally. He definitely pushed some harder than others. I remember being extremely annoyed that he sometimes made me run with the boys instead of letting me run with my friends, who would have made it much more fun instead of acting all awkward and doing all that spitting and sweating and putting on macho displays (nothing could be more insulting to a high school boy's masculinity than to make him run with a girl). But it was because my coach saw in me some undeveloped potential. He pushed me harder than others because he knew I could perform better than I was. And I hope that is God's purpose now in my life. I am honored that He is allowing these events to happen in my life because He sees undeveloped potential and He wants me to move beyond my current state to bring Him more glory. Lord, help me trust in you and persevere in the lessons you are teaching me. Help me use this opportunity to develop a heart more like Yours.

My First MRI (And My First Pasties!!)

As a medical writer, I've been writing about MRI (magnetic resonance imaging) technology for years. I know, though only very basically, how they work, how they are used, and their advantages and disadvantages compared to other imaging technologies. Well, today I had my first MRI experience. It was pretty much as expected, lying as still as possible in a big white machine that clanged and banged and rumbled.

My life has been clanging and banging and rumbling since this breast cancer diagnosis last Friday, or really since my doctor first felt a lump a month ago. Life has been a maelstrom of doctor appointments, mammograms, ultrasounds, and consultations on top of the usual parenting, work, and seasonal Christmas preparations. But the half hour lying still in this machine, unable and unallowed to do anything except lie still, gave me moments of peace in the center of the storm. So I got some good quality prayer time. And that's a blessing, since -- even though I know how critical prayer is -- it's hard to have a calm heart and take time from a frantically busy time. And prayer was also a blessing during the MRI because, when someone tells you to keep your breathing regular, the last thing you want to do is concentrate on keeping your breathing regular. Prayer was a perfect distraction.

Although the MRI was much as I expected, there were some surprises. First, the technician (who wasn't warm and friendly), sticks her hand into my 'dressing room' holding two little spongy doughnut-shaped stickers. "Here," she said gruffly. "These go on your nipples. I don't know why, but the radiologist said to." Ok! My first pasties! (No tassles though.) All the same, it was nice to have an unexpected laugh. The other surprise, far less pleasant, was that the experience required an iv. Less than a week ago, I fainted after my biopsy (yep, I'm a fainter), so the thought of more bleeding-related medical experiences made my heart drop. And I didn't dare even ask why I needed an iv -- too concerned that the explanation would make me queasy. Ms. Crankypants Technician wasn't crazy about having a fainter on her hands either. "Next time, you might want to go to the hospital for your MRI. We aren't nurses, you know." Apparently technician school doesn't have a required course called MRI-Side Manners 101. (And, really, if I had known the experience would involve an iv and a grumpy tech, I wouldn't have signed on for an MRI anywhere.) Anyway, after getting all settled on the "bed" (the tech was unhappy that I was too tall to fit as well as her normal-sized patients; I was turning out to be a very bad patient!) and lying in the machine listening to clanks for a good 20 minutes, I felt a faint coming on (when our friendly technician said she was putting something in the iv and this was the most important part so hold still) -- the racing heart, the pounding blood in my ears, clammy skin, loss of sensation in my extremities. [Technician, disgusted: "What do you mean, you feel like fainting?! If you do, we'll have to start completely over."] Usually, that's the end of it -- I've never stopped a faint before. But I prayed double-over-time, picturing God as my refuge and strength, my ever-present help in time of need. And I've got an incredible network of family and friends out there praying for me too. AND I was lying on my stomach with my heart level with my head and feet. Hooray! My heart rate calmed and I was flooded with relief. Thank you, Lord! I felt empowered.

And now more waiting for results, all of which are supposed to help me decide among my surgical options. Too bad 'no surgery' isn't an option. This is going to involve more blood, isn't it.

Graceful Friends

Some of the most important friendships in my life are less than a year old. Through the church my family attends and the Christian school my children attend, I have come into contact with some amazing Christian women and developed deep friendships with some of these fun, wise, caring individuals. And God's timing is perfect, because the past year has been one of the toughest in my life.

This past week, I had to get a breast biopsy. These kind women offered to come with me, but I -- weak in my self-sufficiency -- declined.

And then I wished I hadn't declined when the procedure was more involved and traumatic than anticipated.

Still, I didn't ask for help when I came home, even though I felt weak and nauseous when I got home and my husband was out of town and my children are young enough to need help with homework and supper and bedtime.

I thank God for staging a friend intervention! One friend insisted on coming over to help with bedtime. Then she came again in the morning to help get the kids off to school. Another friend drove them to school and picked them up. Dinner was brought to our family and more offers to childcare and accompaniment came.

It was truly overwhelming and humbling to be on the receiving end of so much kindness. I did nothing to deserve these women's kindness and love. At first, I felt indebted and ashamed of my needs. I like to stay 'in the black' when it comes to favors -- always offering, never asking. I like to feel that I have everything under control.

But then it struck me that these women's actions are a beautiful illustration of grace. We do nothing to deserve God's love and providence in our lives. And that's the whole point of grace -- freely given, never earned or deserved. My friends are so in tune with God that they are acting as His arms and legs and loving heart. And I need to get over my insolent self-sufficiency and accept grace graciously and humbly because I do not deserve it, not in spite of my not deserving it.

Today I was diagnosed with early stage breast cancer. I still know very little about the treatment pathway ahead of me, but my mother's fight with breast cancer is still fresh in my memory. All the same, it's comforting to know that God is on His throne and in control despite threats to my health and life. I dread the diagnosis and treatment and its effect on my family, but I also look forward to seeing how God will use this situation to draw me closer to Him. And I am grateful for His perfect timing, gathering godly friends around me to hug me with His arms and speak His words of comfort.