There is a woman in my neighborhood, whom I've never met. Her name is Amy. Many a Sunday I see her husband walking to a nearby church with their children. I know that she's 37. I know that she homeschools. I know that she is dying of breast cancer.
She has chronicled her story here. She is a beautiful writer, and I believe her story is an encouragement to many. She has peace - a peace that passes all understanding, yet, as I read her blog, I am overrun with grief for this woman I don't know, and for those who call her Mommy, daughter, wife and friend. I wish it could be different for her, but as I read through the comment stream on her last post, I am blown away. God's grace working through her life has ministered to many, many people. Maybe her strength will touch you, too.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
Gratitude
It's been a long while since I've been here. When I first started to write, the memories and feelings associated with my cancer and its treatment were like birds banging in my head, desperate to be uncaged. The more I've written, the less intense is the urge to free my thoughts. I began to feel a need to put my cancer 'behind' me, to make a break and quit talking about it. But I continue to deal with cancer-related issues. Maybe it will never be behind me. And this past week, as I've felt the foul breath of discouragement breathe on me, I am reminded how therapeutic it is to write about it. Interestingly, yesterday my pastor preached on ... gratitude. How dare he, when I'm so satisfied wallowing in my disappointment? Sarcasm aside, his words made me remember something. I cannot control my circumstances, but I can control my state of mind. It is my choice. If I choose to allow resentment to fill my heart, the only person that impacts is -- me. If I choose to live without joy, that not only cripples me emotionally, that affects my whole family. And if I choose to live without gratitude and allow a complaining spirit to fester, well, that impacts everyone. So this is my exercise, my search, my attempt to find the spirit of gratitude.
I want to share what I've been dealing with, because there must be other cancer survivors out there who are dealing with similar issues. I take Tamoxifen, as do thousands of other pre-menopausal women who've had breast cancer. I am dealing, long-term, with side-effects of the drug that are so painful and private, I cannot even put words to what I'm experiencing. But I will say this - sometimes the situation completely derails me. I sit and cry tears of bitter frustration and self-pity, and I truly want to throttle someone. The problem is, there is no one to throttle, there is no one at fault. There is nowhere to direct this overwhelming emotion, so it just floods over me. It is a reality of my cancer.
Then there is the mental fog that has been with me since I had chemotherapy. While I was having chemo, they told me there is a name for it - Chemo Brain. Unfortunately, for me, it has never truly gone away. For instance, the other day, I was holding a bottle of pills in my hand. I couldn't remember if I had just taken them, and was putting the bottle away, or if I had just reached for the bottle and had yet to take them. However, I was able to do the mental gymnastics required to remember the day the prescription was filled, dump all the remaining pills in my hand to count how many were left, subtract that number from the original amount, and thereby come to the conclusion that I had taken the pills. The action of taking them had been just a moment before, yet I couldn't retrieve it. It was ... gone. It is a reality of my cancer.
And then there are my teeth. I went years without a cavity, yet since my cancer I have had about ten fillings. Chemotherapy demineralizes the bones and teeth, and thins enamel, so I am still dealing with decay sneaking its way into my teeth. My last cavity turned into an infected tooth, with an abscess in my jaw, and resulted in an emergency root canal. Although I am fastidious about oral health, all the brushing and flossing in the world doesn't seem to have an impact. Because I don't respond well to local anesthesia (it is hard to make me fully numb) I feel queasy with anxiety when I think about my dentist going back into my mouth and finishing the work. This is a reality of my cancer.
Well, complaining about things is very easy, and it actually feels good to dump these problems out into the ether. But what about the spirit of gratitude? How do I find it?
Now, I know many of my readers do not walk the Christian walk with me. But I hope you can respect the fact that I cannot divorce my faith from my experience, and so, unsurprisingly, my answer to my search for the spirit of gratitude lies in God's Word. I really believe that He listened to my griping and complaining, and then brought me to these words of Jeremiah, who lived a life full of sorrow.
Lamentations 3: 19-25 Remember my affliction and my wandering, the wormwood and bitterness. Surely my soul remembers and is bowed down within me. This I recall to my mind, therefore I have hope. The Lord's lovingkindnesses indeed never cease, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Thy faithfulness. 'The Lord is my portion,' says my soul, 'therefore I have hope in Him.' The Lord is good to those who wait for Him, to the person who seeks Him.
My hope must lie in the Lord, not in the physical things of this world. The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases. His mercies never come to an end. They are new every morning - and therein lies the spirit of gratitude, in the fresh and refreshing, constantly new mercies of the Lord.
I want to share what I've been dealing with, because there must be other cancer survivors out there who are dealing with similar issues. I take Tamoxifen, as do thousands of other pre-menopausal women who've had breast cancer. I am dealing, long-term, with side-effects of the drug that are so painful and private, I cannot even put words to what I'm experiencing. But I will say this - sometimes the situation completely derails me. I sit and cry tears of bitter frustration and self-pity, and I truly want to throttle someone. The problem is, there is no one to throttle, there is no one at fault. There is nowhere to direct this overwhelming emotion, so it just floods over me. It is a reality of my cancer.
Then there is the mental fog that has been with me since I had chemotherapy. While I was having chemo, they told me there is a name for it - Chemo Brain. Unfortunately, for me, it has never truly gone away. For instance, the other day, I was holding a bottle of pills in my hand. I couldn't remember if I had just taken them, and was putting the bottle away, or if I had just reached for the bottle and had yet to take them. However, I was able to do the mental gymnastics required to remember the day the prescription was filled, dump all the remaining pills in my hand to count how many were left, subtract that number from the original amount, and thereby come to the conclusion that I had taken the pills. The action of taking them had been just a moment before, yet I couldn't retrieve it. It was ... gone. It is a reality of my cancer.
And then there are my teeth. I went years without a cavity, yet since my cancer I have had about ten fillings. Chemotherapy demineralizes the bones and teeth, and thins enamel, so I am still dealing with decay sneaking its way into my teeth. My last cavity turned into an infected tooth, with an abscess in my jaw, and resulted in an emergency root canal. Although I am fastidious about oral health, all the brushing and flossing in the world doesn't seem to have an impact. Because I don't respond well to local anesthesia (it is hard to make me fully numb) I feel queasy with anxiety when I think about my dentist going back into my mouth and finishing the work. This is a reality of my cancer.
Well, complaining about things is very easy, and it actually feels good to dump these problems out into the ether. But what about the spirit of gratitude? How do I find it?
Now, I know many of my readers do not walk the Christian walk with me. But I hope you can respect the fact that I cannot divorce my faith from my experience, and so, unsurprisingly, my answer to my search for the spirit of gratitude lies in God's Word. I really believe that He listened to my griping and complaining, and then brought me to these words of Jeremiah, who lived a life full of sorrow.
Lamentations 3: 19-25 Remember my affliction and my wandering, the wormwood and bitterness. Surely my soul remembers and is bowed down within me. This I recall to my mind, therefore I have hope. The Lord's lovingkindnesses indeed never cease, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Thy faithfulness. 'The Lord is my portion,' says my soul, 'therefore I have hope in Him.' The Lord is good to those who wait for Him, to the person who seeks Him.
My hope must lie in the Lord, not in the physical things of this world. The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases. His mercies never come to an end. They are new every morning - and therein lies the spirit of gratitude, in the fresh and refreshing, constantly new mercies of the Lord.
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