Done! (Done?)

I've had my last chemotherapy treatment. I've re-gained my energy and gotten past the worst of the side effects (still have low immunity, a sore mouth, and a racing heartbeat that keeps me awake -- a galloping 90 beats per minute compared to my usual 70).

My question is: when do I celebrate?

• The day of my last chemo? (oops, missed it; wasn't feeling well)
• Today, when I'm finally starting to feel better after my last round?
• In two weeks when I would be due for another round, if I weren't finished? 
• After my final surgery? 
• When I get my hair back? 
• When I'm finished with the 5 years of tamoxifen treatment that still lie ahead? 
• When I'm ten years cancer-free? (God willing!)

In my last post, I joked about having a Final Exam week. In truth, that's a bad analogy. After a final exam, you are done. You get your grade and move on to something new. But, with cancer, there's no graduation ceremony or cap to throw in the air (though it might be fun to throw a big handful of colorful scarves and a really nice wig in the air...). Ironically, I am scheduled for a mammogram tomorrow -- the first in perhaps a lifetime of 6-month check-ups. It's a reminder that I'll never really be done and that cancer recurrence is a possibility I'll face for the rest of my life.

At first thought, it's enough to damper any celebration.

But, on second thought, there's plenty to celebrate. One of my key lessons through all this has been the beauty of "normal". Now I celebrate the normal day: a day when I have the energy and health to go about a daily routine. I can accomplish my work and enjoy my children and husband. I am content. This may sound dull and unambitious (What?! Am I not, after all, going to cure cancer and write the Great American novel? Shocking change of plans). Nevertheless, this attitude concurs with the wisdom of Ecclesiastes. The author, an old man (possibly King Solomon), takes stock of his varied life experiences -- pursuing wisdom and pleasure and riches and advancement -- and realizes that "...there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live. That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil -- this is the gift of God." (Ec.3:12-13)
We are to be grateful for the life -- the normal, everyday life -- we have been given. [There now, I'm "only" 40 years old and have discovered the wisdom of Solomon. Tee hee! (Oops, Solomon would never say "tee hee". There's probably some Proverb about the folly of tee-heeing.)]

Part of living a life of celebrating normal is not worrying. Again, this is Biblical. God tells us over and over again not to be anxious. Some famous examples:

• I Peter 5:7, Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.
• Philippians 4:6, Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. 
• Matthew 6: 25-27, Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?  Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?  Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?

Easier said than done? You bet! Worrying has always been part of my normal. But I am working hard to throw off my anxiety and make trust an important part of my normal.

Anxiety is a funny thing. We hoard up worries the way we hoard money and (in my case) canned goods. In some eras and cultures, people live hand-to-mouth and rely on each growing season to make it another year. I'm grateful not to live in a culture like that, yet I realize we've lost their perspective  -- our eyes no longer look to God to provide. We've lost our ability to trust Him for daily needs and instead borrow trouble ahead of schedule, focusing on the adequacies and inadequacies of our insurance policies and savings accounts. We have so much less to worry about but worry about so much more! Instead of our eyes looking to God for daily bread, our eyes look to Fox News for new and interesting anxieties beyond our daily bread: kidnappings, random violence, obscure medical anomalies, aberrant weather patterns, alleged alien abductions. Suddenly, we're a mess, worrying about our health and safety. How can we possibly feel safe?

The answer is simple and yet one of the hardest things you'll ever do. We can do exactly what people in hand-to-mouth situations do: trust in the Lord with all your heart. Why does God tell us again and again in the Bible not to worry? Because, if you believe in Him, nothing bad will happen? No, the world is fallen; bad does and will happen. Trust in the Lord because He will give you the grace to cope with this fallen world, no matter what happens. Do not worry about what the future holds -- that's borrowing trouble. You don't know what lies there, and worrying about it will not do any good. You can only know that God, in His loving care, will hold you in the palm of His hand and will give you the perfect amount of grace in every situation.

I am proof of this.

At tomorrow's mammogram, I might be flooded by bad memories of my last experience with cancer diagnostics. But I will also remember that God gave me sufficient grace to get through my cancer ordeal, and He will give me the grace to face whatever lies ahead.  This is something to celebrate. My daily prayer will be for grace and for the faith to put my trust completely in God, whether my day will be a beautiful normal or will hold something unexpected.

I Didn't Know There'd Be A Test...

My last infusion was this past Wednesday. Hallelujah! I don't feel done though, since I'm still recovering from the ill effects. But more on that later. My objective today is to report on last week. Apparently, it was Finals Week. I was sorely tested.  And I'm not kidding about the "sorely".

Background: If you who know me well, you know that I'm a fainter. I don't deal well with injury, especially if it involves blood. The sight, or even thought, makes me light-headed and, before you know it, I've passed out. It's been a source of tremendous shame and humiliation since junior high. I've managed to faint when injured (I'm leary of contact sports), when hearing of someone else getting injured (I'm leary of many topics of conversation), when seeing a movie in which someone is injured (I'm leary of anything rated R for violence), when reading about someone getting injured (and that was a work of fiction!), when experimenting with animals or hearing about experiments involving animals in science class (aren't you glad you didn't sit next to me in high school or college labs?), and when hearing a lecture involving blood or injury (aren't you glad you didn't sit next to me in medical school??). You can imagine how much I feared the surgeries I've had this year. And you can imagine the trepidation with which I face my children's screams. As I run to identify the screamer and the reason for the scream (usually sibling frustrations), my first thought is always, "Oh no, what if someone's bleeding?" Fortunately, we've only had one bleeding incident, and a guest in our house at the time took control.

All that to explain why last week felt like Finals Week: I had two bloody injury incidents.

Episode #1. Camping with friends in Middle-of-Nowhere, Pennsylvania, over Memorial Day weekend. We're on a hike, and the kids stop to play in a slippery, rushing stream two miles from any roads. I wisely sit on a rock and watch. But then -- oh no! -- a kid starts bleeding! She's got a bloody knee and she needs to reach her parents. Do I wisely call her parents? No, there is blood, so I panic. I trek through the slippery, rushing stream to her aid and, in my rush to guide her footing, I stop paying attention to my own footing and fall and split my chin open on a slippery rock. Now I'm sitting in the stream in a daze, trying not to faint. Fortunately, the water is very cold, which helps. Double fortunately, my husband has his wits about him and tells me to hold my chin tight. This gives me something to do and stops the blood. (Whew!) We hike two miles over rough terrain, then drive 45 minutes to Middle-of-Nowhere, PA, hospital. The whole time I'm aware that I'll need stitches. I'm terrified -- even the thought of stitches is enough to make me pass out.
But I made it! Thank God, I did not pass out, even during the stitching.
Maybe this cancer stuff is making a Tough Cookie of me? But my final exam week isn't over...

Episode #2. Infusion day arrives, and the nurse can't seem to hit the vein right. This has always been a big fear of mine. But my fears have seemed ill-founded, since the nurses have always got it right the first time, after which I sigh with relief, cover the site of entry so I can't see it, and all is well.
Not this time. After the first one, which hurts like billy-o (whatever that means), she says, "Oh no. Don't look. It's blowing up." Seriously, NEVER say that to a fainter. The hurting was bad enough; the commentary was one hundred times worse. But, through grace, I don't faint. Even though I know she needs to try again.
The second time (now I'm very tense), she choses a strange place mid-arm. I don't like strange places. It makes me feel faint. But she's doing her best, so I try to relax. She's a professional. My job is just to sit still and be a good patient. The second try doesn't "blow up", but it hurts again (not quite billy-o this time; maybe billy-h?). She sighs and says she had better try again.
"Are you sure?" I ask. "I really don't mind if it hurts, as long as it's working and doesn't--" (I can't get myself to say "blow up"; might pass out).
No, she insists that this shouldn't hurt and so she had better try again. ("ARGH! Trying again hurts!" I want to yell. But I'm trying to be a good patient so that, if I faint, she'll bring me juice and call my husband.)
Third try is back up near first try. I make the mistake of looking at my arm. It's black and blue and really gross. I start praying like billy-o. Or maybe like billy-g: Billy Graham. Not sure I can make that claim, though I suppose one could argue that my prayers are as valid as his.
Whew! Third time's a charm. It works, and I didn't faint.

So there you have it: I passed my Finals. And that's a big deal to me. I've never had stitches before and have fainted from much less traumatic blood draws. I know this doesn't mean I'm cured of fainting, but it gives me a big boost of confidence.
:)