Category Archives: cancer

on strengthening my bandwidth…

Two things I know for certain as I begin this week:

1. My emotions and the feelings attached to them aren’t reliable; they are ever-changing.

2. God and his Word are reliable; they never change.

In regards to number one, I’m in menopause … an induced menopause due to my ovaries being removed. Forget the 5-6 years of perimenopause experienced by most women prior to the full onset of menopause. There’s been nothing gradual or measured about my introduction to this new phase of life. Eight rounds of chemo forced my body into a medical menopause; the oopherectomy (ovary removal) following the chemo sealed the deal.

What does that mean? The estrogen/progesterone that my body once produced because of the ovaries have now been eliminated. In addition, the adjuvant course of treatment I’ve been prescribed, Armidex, works to prevent the remaining estrogen in my body (mostly produced by the adrenal glands) from growing. Confused? Maybe this will help. According to EMedTV:

“Arimidex is part of a group of medications called aromatase inhibitors. Aromatase is an enzyme found in various places in the body. These enzymes help produce estrogens (in particular, a certain estrogen called estradiol). In postmenopausal women, most of the estrogen in the body is made by aromatase. By blocking these enzymes, Arimidex helps to decrease the amount of estrogen in the body.

Many breast cancers are sensitive to the estrogen hormone, meaning that the tumor grows with the help of estrogen. When a tumor is sensitive to estrogen, it has receptors on the outer surface of its cells. Estrogen fits into these receptors like a key opening a lock. When this connection is made, the cancer grows.”

So … I think it’s fair to say that my emotions and the feelings attached to them aren’t reliable in this season. My body is constantly playing tricks on me, and my reactions are often either “off the charts unreasonable” or “completely unavailable.” There seems to be little middle ground between these extremes as I recently wrote about in this post. My precious friend, Judith, tells me that (as cancer survivors) “We don’t have the bandwidth that we used to have, Elaine.” She’s right. I don’t currently have the range of frequency with which my body can operate effectively, nor the transmission capacity I once had.

For example… a precious lady approached me in church recently, obviously upset as indicated by the tears pouring down her face. She was in deep, emotional pain and desired to share that pain with me. I was mostly with her up until the point that I needed to “feel” for her. I knew what my reaction should be, but my empathy had a difficult time catching up with my should. When this happens, my compassion becomes functional, not felt. For some folks, this is a typical way of handling the issue of another’s pain. For me, this a huge departure from the way I’ve always operated. And friends, I don’t mind telling you that this is a tragic loss for me. Perhaps one of the most costly surrenders I’ve had to make in this journey through cancer.

I don’t tell you this to garner your sympathy. I tell you this solely for educational purposes, so that if you’re someone who is going through the same thing or you know someone who is going through a forceful, immediate menopause, you might better have an idea as to the “goings on” behind the scenes.

All this being said (and I realize it’s a lot to digest), all is not lost. Which brings me to number two—my second certainty regarding my upcoming week (really regarding my life). God and his Word are reliable. They never change. They are the consistent underpinning of my heart and life, my walkabout in faith. Regardless of how my emotions are or are not presenting themselves on a daily basis, God is presenting himself as he has always presented himself.

Truthful. Reliable. Strong. Steady. Certain. Fixed. Constant. Unchanged.

Who God IS and everything that he has said about himself in his holy Word is, in fact, reality. The same God who cradled Eden’s soil in his hands and fashioned Adam in his image, is the same God who cradles us, shapes us, and breathes over us his holy validation. The same Jesus who cut through choppy waters and walked his peace on top of those waters to a boatload of fearful disciples, is the same Jesus who walks to us in the middle of our darkest nights to extend his hand of kingdom courage as ministry to our doubting souls.

Creator God, Savior Jesus, Companion Holy Spirit, cannot be anything other than what he has always been. Others have tried to make him less—tried to box him in and call him by another name—but their attempts at renaming him are futile attempts at control. And really, when personal control becomes an issue, then truth becomes relative—easily shifted by the changing winds and temperament of the individual involved.

Still and yet, God does not change, and it is this one reality, this one certainty that keeps me moving forward in my faith. Keeps me digging into the treasure of Scripture to take hold of truth, even though my feelings lag behind my obedience. God’s Word is my anchor, my hope, my “go to” resource as I navigate these strange waters of this new season. In its entirety, it doesn’t feel like it should, but it’s my reality.

The temporal reality of menopause. The eternal reality of God.

In the end, it’s the number two certainty of my season that will trump all others. God doesn’t ask me to ignore the other realities that are present and pressing … just to temper them with the greater reality of his presence. In doing so, my bandwidth increases, and I am better able to engage with the life that he has entrusted to my care.

Whatever temporal reality is staring you in the face today, I pray it tempered by the truth and witness of our living Lord. Spend as much time with him examining eternal truth as you are spending looking into the mirror examining temporal truth. In doing so, your bandwidth will increase and your perspective will regain proper focus.

Lose yourself within the truthful, reliable, strong, steady, certain, fixed, constant, and unchanging God who created you. The Jesus who saved you. The Holy Spirit who sustains you. The Truth that renames you…

Survivor.

As always, peace for the journey!

practicing my faith…

Lumps and bumps. I’ve been feeling them for awhile now. One in particular along my scar line. Left side. Hard and pronounced. Enough to warrant my concern. Accordingly, another trip to Cape “Hope” today where the oncologist pronounced me as “fine.”As quickly as he entered the room, he exited. Abrupt is the word that comes to mind … almost as if my being there was unnecessary. Apparently my concerns weren’t concerning enough, or so it seemed.

He moved on, and I held my tears until his departure. And then I wept. It’s that “noticing” thing again. Feeling overlooked and feeling insecure about my body. My emotions. My standing in this life. My place in this world. My “next.” Feeling my pain, my husband took me to the Bordeaux lunch counter, where I doused my woes with egg salad and sweet tea.

Apparently, I’ll live to see another day, and while I should be rejoicing … all I’m feeling is deep sadness. It doesn’t make sense to most of you. I get that. It really doesn’t make much sense to me, this rallying between emotional extremes. I’ve never lived with these edges before—the swing between highs and lows. It doesn’t feel safe to me. Just wildly out of control with no foreseeable end in sight.

It’s hard to manage the peaks and valleys. I’m not doing a very good job of it; probably even a poorer job of explaining it to those I love—those who need to know, who want to know, who have a vested interest in my health and my being able to move forward. Most days, I mask it in an attempt to keep from having to define it. It’s just easier that way. Truth is, most folks seem to prefer it that way. Pain is a hard handling, and all of us seem to have our fair share without taking on the pain of others.

So I contend with it. Take hold of it. Refuse to bury it, and instead allow it room enough and words enough to work its witness in my heart. I may fool others, but I cannot fool myself. I can only walk it through with the tender love and willingness of God who always notices me. Who understands my heart and who knows my every word before one of them lands on my tongue. He tells me to keep doing what I’ve been doing for most of my life.

Practice your faith, Faith Elaine. Practice your faith.

Practice means praying some strong prayers and rehearsing some strong words. God’s words. His promises to me.

“Blessed is the nation whose God is the LORD, the people he chose for his inheritance.
From heaven the LORD looks down and sees all mankind;
From his dwelling place he watches all who live on earth—he who forms the hearts of all, who considers everything they do.
No king is saved by the size of his army;
No warrior escapes by his great strength.
A horse is a vain hope for deliverance;
Despite all its great strength it cannot save.

But…

The eyes of the LORD are on those who fear him, on those whose hope is in his unfailing love,
To deliver them from death
And keep them alive in famine.” (Psalm 33:12-19)

God’s eyes on me, noticing me. Not removing me from my season of famine, but instead sustaining me through it. Keeping me alive. Making sure that I am watered and fed by the truth from his heart as I swing from one emotional edge to another. Only God can manage these peaks and valleys of mine, for only God has the vantage point from which to see it all. And while my painful extremes are a hard handling for me, they have become the willing handling of God.

No army will save me. No warrior. No horse. No oncologist. No one person. All vain attempts at hope.

Only God and the Hope that springs forth from Calvary’s tree.

Today, I’m practicing my faith, friends. Praying my faith. Writing my faith. Speaking my faith. It’s all I know to do in this, my lean season. It will be enough to walk me through to peace. Peace for my journey—Jesus Christ, the great stabilizer in the midst of edges.

Thanks for listening.
~elaine

on noticing the care-givers

I just wanted him to notice me. It had been an hour since he returned home from his meeting at the church. I spent most of that hour in bed, nursing a pulled muscle in my back. Nursing a heart-hurt as well. Seems as if there have been a few of these kinds of aches lately. Internal, soul-pains with no immediate cure but for the passage of time and the tenderness of God. And so I waited for him to make that trek down the hall to our back bedroom … to notice me. To ask a few questions. To join me in my misery.

Ever tried that one before? Using your pitiful estate to procure collective pity? I can’t be the only one out there wielding this emotional manipulation. We all (especially us women) have an arsenal full of management techniques we’re willing to implement in order to secure the attention of others. Unfortunately, mine wasn’t working. My husband is an “S” on the Myer-Briggs Personality Test, meaning that he gains information through his senses. If he can’t taste it, touch it, feel it, hear it, or see it, it doesn’t exist in his cognitive awareness. So, while I’m back in the bedroom nursing my wounds, he’s not thinking about checking up on me; he’s simply noticing the partially shut door, indicating to him that I’m resting and wanting to be left alone.

What I’m wanting is for him to intuitively know my need without me having to tell him—that’s part of my being an “N” on the Myer’s Brigg, an opposite of being an “S.” But really, this isn’t a post about personality types. Mostly, it’s just about my needing to be noticed, and when he didn’t acquiesce to my silently kept expectations, I added a few frustrations to the wounds I was already self-medicating with self-pity.

Why isn’t he coming back here? What’s more important than my pain? He’s usually so attentive to my needs? Why isn’t he taking the time to notice me?

An hour into my self-soothing, I received my answer. Not through him, but rather through the faint sound of silverware clinking together in the kitchen sink.

He can’t notice you, Elaine. He’s too busy noticing the messy kitchen—those after-dinner dishes that never got washed. He is taking care of you, just through different means. By the way, who’s noticing him? When was the last time someone paused long enough to stop his/her personal self-centeredness to ask Billy, “How are you? How are you handling your pain … your wife’s pain?”

Noticing him. The guilt from not having made many meals in that kitchen for nearly a year is bad enough, but to intuitively feel the pain regarding his pain on this one (again the “N” at work in me) added to my heart ache.

I can’t tell you the last time that someone ministered to my husband along these lines. I don’t know if it’s a guy thing or a preacher thing (maybe even a human nature thing), but it’s not right. As the primary bread-winner and care-giver to a sick wife, my husband carries a heavy load. I couldn’t ask for a better help-mate as we have navigated and continue to navigate these uncertain times. But few have been those who have noticed him … have taken the time to ask the hard questions, wait for the answers, and then act upon the pain that is obviously masked by his need to be strong for all of us. Who’s noticing him?

Few.

Why is it that few people take the time to notice the care-givers of sick patients? The friends, spouses, children, extended family members who are caring for the infirmed? Is there a threshold for concern … as if there’s only enough room in our hearts to offer compassion, send comfort to the sick? Is taking on the care-giver simply too much burden added to an already heavy-laden list of those needing care? When did we stop noticing the corporate nature of care-giving? If it “takes a village” to raise a child, then why would it be any different with those who are suffering? Suffering need, needs a village of concerned inhabitants to tend to the sick, care-givers included. They should not be overlooked. Instead, they should be noticed. Be consulted. Be loved, even as the patient is loved.

As the wife of a husband who has valiantly endeavored to “love me as Christ loves the church,” I am sometimes saddened by the response of the “church at large” to love on my man. He needs to be noticed. And I can honestly tell you that he isn’t wielding any weapons in his emotional arsenal to procure attention. He’s just not the type. He’s a humble man with a beautiful heart willing to bend low to wash the feet of a stranger, despite his own feet being sorely in need of a thorough cleansing of communal love.

I don’t tell you this to elicit a response in our direction. I tell you this in hopes that you might consider a care-giver who is within arm’s reach of your ministry today. Someone who needs noticing, who needs a few minutes of your time and your tending. Someone who would benefit from a phone call, a note, a lunch date all offered in the name of God’s love because you understand that loving “the most excellent way” (see 1 Corinthians 13) means putting others’ needs above your own. It’s such a simple thing … noticing the pain of others. It doesn’t take much to abate the human need to be noticed. It simply requires your willingness to re-direct your attention away from self and to channeling that attention in the direction of others.

Perhaps, today, you could give your attention to the care-giver of someone who is sick; in doing so, you give to the patient as well. Don’t wait to be asked. Just do. Do it today; do it because our God has done the same for us.

He noticed us. He notices us still. We must give our hearts–our energies and our efforts–to the same. As always…

Peace for the journey,
~elaine
PS: The winner of Michael O’Brien’s CD is #13, Stephanie! I’ll have this in the mail to you be week’s end.

what crowd are you running with?

She lapped me twice yesterday. Twice. She an avid marathon runner. Me an avid “hope I get through this jaunt without tripping on a rock” walker. My lap around the neighborhood is about a mile in lengt

h. Her lap a bit further than mine. We made our cursory nods at one another the first time she passed me. She’s not much of a talker. Running is serious business for this gal. But when I heard her steps encroaching upon my territory the second go around, I decided to break our customary silence.

“I’m going to ‘facebook’ that you lapped me twice today! I used to run, but I can’t anymore. I’ve been through cancer, and it’s slow

 

ed my pace. You’re my inspiration!”

It was then that she did something I’ve never seen her do before. She stopped running (she was now several paces ahead of me), turned around and said…

“No, you’re my inspiration. Look at you. You’re jogging slowly. Someday we’ll run together.”

I nodded my thanks, and we departed company. It’s highly unlikely that I will ever be able to keep pace with her stride, but I liked her idea—this “running together.” It started me thinking about the men and women with whom I currently keep pace. Those who are stepping the path of cancer and who are moving forward with their healing. There are many of us. Too many to name in one post. Another 1.5 million will be added to the roll call this year alone.

And while I may not be able to run with the marathon momma in our neighborhood, I’ve been privileged to run with many valiant cancer-warriors in the course of my last year. Some of them I was able to meet face-to-face this weekend.

All of us cancer survivors. Three of us breast cancer survivors. One a momma-survivor—her precious son, Andrew, marking the path home to heaven increasing our hopeful expectation for what awaits us all at the end of the road. I am honored to call these women friends; they have stood with me, prayed for me, touched me with their love—all from a distance, and just this past weekend, in the flesh. As I recently wrote in my book proposal…

“Suffering need, needs a suffering friend. Not just any friend, but a friend who has walked a similar road.”

Certainly, we need a variety of friendships. But there is something uniquely special about having a “come-alongside” friend who grasps the fullness of our pain, whether that pain issues forth from cancer or from some other type of “disease” that is eating away at our flesh. We need those who will keep pace with our stride, not move ahead of us or lag behind but who willingly enter into our struggles because their stories mirror ours. Out of the comfort we have known we must, in turn, offer comforting comfort to others (see 2 Cor. 1:3-5).

I don’t know what that will look like for you in the days to come, but I imagine there will surface a person in the next week who will need the benefit of your comfort. Perhaps a “suffering need” with which you are well familiar. Promises regarding a “future run together” fall flat to a heart that is suffering. What proffers hope is an offer of willing participation, a decision to stop running ahead and to start keeping pace with personal pain. A slowing down so that the hurting heart might catch up, look up, live up in the midst of trial.

God needs you to minister his comfort to his children. You cannot be all things to all people, but you can be a friend to one. Would you be willing to pay attention to the lives that cross your path today? There is someone who needs the tenderness and kindness of heaven. God has entrusted you with the privilege of this glorious dispensation. Suffering need, needs a suffering friend. Out of the comfort you have known, minister comfort. As always…

Peace for the journey,
~elaine
PS: According to random.org, the winner of Glynnis Whitwer’s I Used to Be So Organized is Kathy S. And because my friend, Cindy, is the queen of organization and simplicity, I’m sending her a copy as well. Leave a comment today to be entered into a give-away for Michael O’Brien’s CD Be Still My Soul.

Cancer Survivor’s Picnic… my toast to hope

Cancer Survivor’s Picnic… my toast to hope

There are a few things I’d like to tell you about today. They’ll make better sense if you have the opportunity to watch the video. I’ll give you ample time; I need a break from writing this week so that I can spend some concentrated time of resting with my Father. We have a great many things to discuss.

First, I specifically felt your prayers over this past week. I am grateful and humbled by your kind words; I needed them. They made all the difference for me as I sought to prepare my thoughts and, then, to deliver them with the full peace and assurance of God.

Secondly, last night as I was reading in Romans, I came across this verse in 10:20. Words first spoken by the prophet Isaiah and then reiterated by Paul:

“And Isaiah boldly says, ‘I was found by those who did not seek me; I revealed myself to those who did not ask for me.'” 
After reading those words, I bowed my head and prayed this very prayer over those who would attend today’s event. I talked to the Lord about all the people who might show up at the picnic–in particular those not intent on seeking God, much less asking anything of him, but those whom he might so willingly and graciously reveal himself to in unexpected and unanticipated ways. That is the single prayer I carried with me as I marked the hours prior to my speaking.
{Patsy, Cancer Center Social Worker… one of the kindest people I’ve met}
Thirdly, there came a strange moment for me early on in my speaking. The microphone wasn’t situated close to the tents where the attendees had gathered around tables beneath the sweltering heat of a North Carolina afternoon. I couldn’t see the faces of those sitting beyond the first row of tables. Of course, my family was in view, but my eyes fixed, instead, on a woman sitting to the left of them at the edge of the tent’s shading. She wore sunglasses, but she looked oddly familiar… like one of you, a twin maybe. And I thought to myself, “Did Sassy Granny fly all the way from Washington to hear me speak today?”
I could tell she connected with me throughout the course of my speaking. Several nods, smiles, and encouraging glances were sent my direction; I made a mental note to seek her out at a later time, but I never saw her again. She helped me, reminding me of Sassy and all of you as well. It was as if you were saying, “We’re with you, Elaine… yesterday, today, and for the long haul.” 
Thirdly, as I was talking about survivorship, I carried the memory of my friend Jeff with me; he went home to Jesus this past week. Jeff was a cancer survivor and valiantly lived each day with godly intention. Cancer was not his undoing; rather the threshold of his emerging… whole, healthy, and home to Canaan with the morning dew of Eden to greet his stride and with the company of his Creator at his side.
I also thought of you, Joy, a cancer survivor as well. You begin your journey with chemotherapy in the morning, and I can say to you as well, “Cancer will not be your undoing, sister; rather cancer will be the threshold of your emerging.”
Lastly, I met some wonderful “survivors” today; in particular two people. A woman named Jennifer whose breast cancer has returned for a second time, this time in her liver; an eighteen-year-old-boy named Wayne, a testicular cancer survivor. I was reminded, yet again, of the fragility of life… of how each day should be memorialized with grateful thanks for the earthly tenure I’ve been allowed.

{Joyce, one of my chemo-friends; we adore Nurse Sarah; we miss her as well!}
Entrusted with a story… with Jesus as my “next.” He’s your “next” as well. Take hold of your moments this week, friends; plant some kingdom seed, and live each day like you mean it. I’ll see you on the other side of a much needed break. As always…
Peace for the journey,

PS: The winners of Cindy’s cards are Lidj and Cheryl! Girls, please look over Cindy’s cards again and let me know which two are your favorites. Email me your selections. My e-mail has been acting up in recent days, so if you haven’t heard back from me in a while, then chances are I haven’t received your e-mail. We’ll work things out somehow.

error: Content is protected !!