My first post of 2014.
Looking back on
my last post,
I'm overwhelmed with many emotions. It was the last post before our
world was turned upside down, before the cold weather hit hard, before
doctor visits became our norm. Before Halloween, Thanksgiving, my 30th
birthday, Christmas and New Years. Looking back at the title of that
post, I'm struck with how appropriate it was for the rest of the
year. I tried to blog a few times since October 13th. But I never got
to the point where I felt like I could publish. I had a million and one
thoughts constantly tumbling around in my tiny mind. Writing helped to
unload it, but just like it is with my trusty old dishwasher, there's
always dirty dishes to take the place of the clean ones and I found
myself overwhelmed and overcome with both good and bad...clean and
dirty. My brain has felt like mush since October. Add holidays, getting
sick, taking care of sickies, being the strong one, being the brave one,
being the healthy one (for the most part) only added to the mushiness.
It's
been 13 weeks since we first heard the word lymphoma. Since we were
first struck with the very awful sense that there was something
really
wrong with my husband. That this wasn't just the common cold. The
fevers, the fatigue, the night sweats, the immense swelling of lymph nodes on his neck,
the loss of weight (16 pounds in 2 weeks - sign me up. Or not). It was
all so very real and scary. I'll never forget the night when Peter sat
me down and said that the doctor had called him earlier that day with
the news that they did in fact find traces of lymphoma from the needle
biopsy...two weeks after the biopsy had been done. I'll never forget the
emotions of hearing the phone ring, hoping that it was the doctor on
the other line with news. ANY news. Every time that phone rang, my heart
would stop and then start up again, beating 100X faster. The waiting
was the hardest. We live in a day where we can get whatever we want at
the swipe of a finger. The age of the smart phone, the internet -
technology at its best. Everything is faster, speedier. Everything
except for medical test results. 3 days. A week. 2 weeks. At the end of
the week. Inconclusive, second opinions. Positive. Negative. We heard it
all. Our eyes were opened to a whole new world. A world of cancer. Of
hurting people, of pain, of the
unknown. Weeks full of doctor
appointments. We were drawn closer together as husband and wife, as a
family. Our friends and family reached out to us with genuine love and
care. Our church family
made themselves available, they prayed for us during their staff prayer
time...and personal prayer time as well. Our elders prayed over Peter
with outstretched arms and oil. Our Pastor of a congregation of 5,000 people
(spread over three campuses) was kept up-to-date on how Peter was doing
and prayed for him as well. We had people stop by the house to drop food
off, to pray with us. We even had a friend show up at the hospital with
coffee and food in hand, unexpected. Care packages were sent from
people I hardly know. We were humbled. We were loved. We were made aware
of God's goodness and ever present presence in a whole new and
beautiful way. Scripture jumped off the pages at us, the radio played
songs that made us cry and spoke to us in a time of need. Random texts
from people popped up on our phone screens and made us weep. God made
Himself so real. The intimacy was sweet.
One of the songs that became precious to us was Tenth Avenue North's
Worn.
It's become quite popular now, but back in October, it was brand new to
us. We had never heard it. It popped up on my Pandora station that I
was listening to. I remember having to sit down because I was so
overcome. A sob escaped me and Peter called out from the other room
asking if I was okay. As soon as the song was over, I went over to the
bed where Peter was resting and had him listen to it. We wept together.
Since we first heard the song, our Christian radio station began playing
it non-stop. And every time it came on, Peter and I would catch each
other's eye and smile a weary and knowing smile.
I remember going to bed the night Peter told me he
had lymphoma, the night before his surgery was to take place. He was
reading a devotional out loud to me. It was about Jesus' birth in a
stable. I remember thinking,
God I already know the Christmas story -
I can't really apply this to my life right now. Why are we reading
about Christmasy stuff on November 18th.? Why couldn't this chapter be
about pain and suffering? I need help. I need to be encouraged. I need
to know how to encourage my scared husband... To be told that everything
is going to be alright. That you are still mighty to save. And then Peter got to the last page and my spiritual ears suddenly perked up.
"
And
in that is a Christmas word to us. There are times while seeking to
follow God faithfully, we find ourselves in a desperate moment, forced
to a place we would not choose to go. It's then we must remember: our
lives and circumstances are not ultimately about us (1 Cor. 6:19-20).
They are about Jesus Christ.
The Father has purposes for
us and our hardships that extend far beyond us. What often appear like
misfortunes in the moment later prove to be means of great mercies.
In your place of desperation it may be that what you need most is not less turmoil, but more trust. For God chooses stables of desperation as the birthplaces of His overwhelming grace." (Not by Sight - Jon Bloom
)
I
was speechless. I was in awe. I was crying. We both were. I took the
book from his hands after he was done reading, to reread it. I then
snapped a picture of the page on my iphone so I could take it with me
the next morning to read during his surgery. Nine weeks have passed and
Christmas has come and gone. The realness of that night still glows
bright in my memory. I still tear up when I read that section of the
book.
Since that night, my husband had surgery to
remove an actual lymph node. Surgery went well, as did recovery. He was a
trooper. He also met with an oncologist on December 2nd. Sitting in the
waiting room of the Cancer Care Center was unreal. I noticed blankets in
baskets at easy reach for the patients, I read signs saying
please refrain from wearing perfume in respect of the patients. I noticed knitted hats on hairless heads. And I quickly realized that the nurses
knew these patients not only by sight, but also by name and vise versa - these were all
things you don't see very often. At least I don't. We felt very much
like visitors and outsiders. As I sat there absorbing all of the sights,
I fought back tears thinking that the stranger sitting across from me
with her cancer-ridden loved one, might be me in a few weeks
. The
thought was very sobering. I remember how encouraging the visit was
with the oncologist. He was very impressed with how well Peter was and
had been feeling. He gave up hope and was pretty convinced that the test
results would be available at the end of that week and that they would
be favorable. If indeed the results came back negative, he still wanted
Peter to schedule a CT scan and followup with him at the end of January
(8 weeks out). Just to see how things were looking (even though he was
encouraged with how well Peter was feeling, he could still feel way too
many lymph nodes that he shouldn't be able to feel by hand). I for one was
beyond excited to not have any doctor appointments in our near future. 8
weeks out seemed like a beautiful eternity. We left with restored hope and once again, we
were jumping at every phone call Peter received. That next day, on
December 3rd, we celebrated my 30th birthday. My wish as I blew out my
candles was an easy one to make...and I didn't have to think on it like I
usually do, because it had become a daily wish ever since November 18th.
I wish God would heal Peter and make his cancer go away.
I'll
never forget that Thursday afternoon, just a few days later after his
appointment. Peter called me. He said that his doctor had called him and the results came back with
no traces of lymphoma. They
had even sent the samples over for a second opinion with the Mayo
Clinic. NO CANCER! We were in shock and honestly, a little numb. It took
us a few days to digest the good news and to feel up to letting
everyone know. It was almost like finding out that we were pregnant. We
wanted to let the whole world know...and yet, it felt wrong spreading
the news just minutes after finding out. We needed a couple of days
where it was just us knowing the
good precious news. I
also knew that it wouldn't be so simple to pass on the word. Just as it
was with keeping everyone updated, it took a lot of planning to let our
loved ones know the good news. First our families needed to know (in
person, phone, email, texting), then close friends (phone, email,
texting, fb messaging), our small group and church (email, phone call),
and lastly, our facebook world of friends and family. I had learned
early on in this journey that I was in sore need of a personal assistant
to help me keep everything and everyone up-to-date and to help me stay organized. By the time
the good news came around to spread, my brain was indeed mush. BUT, I think I
made the rounds without forgetting anybody. :p
This verse came to mind so often, and still remains precious. It
really helped me to know that Peter wasn't going through this for
nothing. That there was a purpose for and through this.
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who
comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort
those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we
ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too. If
we are afflicted, it is for your comfort and salvation; and if we are
comforted, it is for your comfort, which you experience when you
patiently endure the same sufferings that we suffer. Our
hope for you is unshaken, for we know that as you share in our
sufferings, you will also share in our comfort. - 2 Corinthians 1:3-7
Since the good news, I've felt drained and have fought a few
battles of depression. Which I find to be strange and confusing.
Shouldn't it be the opposite? Shouldn't I be jumping up and down with
happiness and contentment? A small part of me was. My goodness, I was
ecstatic, to put it mildly. But only a small part of me found the ability
to dance a happy dance. The rest of me was fighting for strength. For
weeks I had been the strong one, the one at peace, the optimist. And yet
when all finally seemed right with my world, I was at my lowest. I blame it partly
on the stress of the last few months, the stress of Christmas AND the
stress and blahness of MN winter. Homesickness too. Also, on a stubborn
sinus headache that lasted a good 6 weeks. The fatigue and pain that
overtook me was intense. My 30th birthday was no fun. A birthday that I
had been highly anticipating. All of this did not help my depression at
all. Thankfully, I am close to feeling back to my normal, whacky self.
My husband has been patient with me and my kids have loved me
unconditionally. And God has been constant. Even when I was at my
lowest, He was still faithful. This song was sung at church on Sunday
during the offertory. I fought back many tears...and let a few escape, much to my mascara's horror. I have since claimed this song as mine.
On a happier note...
Our Christmas card makes me smile for so many reasons.
1) We're together and smiling - genuine happy smiles. 2) The bible
verse under our names was a verse we held very dear to us through
Peter's illness. We claimed it daily:
By His stripes we are healed. 3) I knew that each person that we sent our Christmas card to had been praying for us. That was so very humbling.
Now
to Him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or
think, according to the power at work within us, to Him be glory in the
church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever.
Amen. - Ephesians 3:20-21
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Blog posts without pictures can become quite dull...especially loooong ones like this one. Thanks to
my instagram, I was able to journal via pictures during those dark weeks.
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| A dear and sweet friend showed up unexpectedly at the hospital during Peter's needle biopsy.
She wasn't sure if I was going to be able to be in the room with Peter
during the procedure, and she didn't want me to be alone, so she showed
up to sit with me. She ended up sitting by herself in the waiting room,
with food and drink in hand for us. I was blown away by her kindness and thoughtfulness. |
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| My
first nephew was born while Simon and Peter were sick. We met him the night after Peter's needle biopsy, a couple of weeks after he was born. Holding him was magical. |
|
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| Simon's
prayer life increased as Peter's health deteriorated. He was constantly
asking his daddy how he was feeling and then he would pray for him. My
heart cried happy tears every time. |
 |
| Like his older brother, Miles would often remind us to pray. |
  |
| Miles
became Peter's little shadow during Peter's illness. He could tell
something was wrong and only wanted his daddy. They have been super
close ever since. |
 |
| Our
sweet friends who now live in California were in MN visiting family.
They took time out of their very busy schedule and drove all the way to
Saint Paul to visit us - bringing bags full of food and goodies. Sweet
darlings. |
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| My husband right before surgery. So brave, young and handsome. |
