'Tis the Gift

It's rare that Cathy and I have a quiet moment just to chat.  We had one of those moments last night, though.  Clara was asleep and we were sitting at the kitchen table waiting for the boys to come up from the basement for a family game of Scrabble.  Cathy told me that when she's healed she doesn't want to do so much.  I wasn't shocked to hear her say this, but she hadn't said anything like it in the last six months.  I've been pretty vocal about the changes that I've needed to make in my priorities, but Cathy has been pretty mute on the subject.

It's tempting to go through a list of things that both of us did before cancer and sort them into piles "quit" and "keep doing."  I think both of us have done that already in our own minds.  What we've both realized is that in the process of doing less we've drawn closer to God and to our family.  Personally, I've prayed more in the last six months than in the last six years - and I prayed a lot before.  I also pray differently now. I still do a lot of talking, but now I do more listening.  In terms of family, I know that I am more mentally/emotionally present at home in addition to the obvious increase in time that I am physically present.

Cancer is life changing.  We are clearly still learning - and unlearning.

'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free
'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right
     'Twill be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gained,
     To bow and to bend we shan't be ashamed
To turn, turn will be our delight
     Till by turning, turning we come 'round right.

Over the last six months we've done plenty of turning.  We haven't found true simplicity, but we've been pointed in it's general direction.  I feel pretty confident that we can come down where we ought to be and I have faith that we'll see the valley of love and delight - but, not on this earth.  That is a joy, not a disappointment.

Cathy is a Mammal Again

About 6 months ago when we told the boys about Cathy's cancer it was a little overwhelming for them.  We had decided that we would give them small bits of information over time - nuggets that were the right size to digest - rather than all of the information at once.  We didn't let their reactions bother us.  In general, they were kind of unresponsive.  I don't think that means they were unconcerned or uncaring, they just didn't really understand and would rather play games than hear about cancer.

When Cathy cut her hair just before it fell out, Aaron said something that has stuck with us. "Does this mean that mom isn't going to be a mammal anymore?"  We laughed, but when you're 8 (and especially when you're Aaron) you deal with the world in a series of absolutes.  Mammals have hair.  If Mom doesn't have hair, she can't be a mammal.  Well, Cathy lost her hair and Aaron looked forward to the day that his mom would become a mammal again.

Cathy is now more of a mammal than I am.  While still a little thin and fine, her hair is longer than mine.  She's a little sad that she has to shave her legs again because the hair is growing everywhere else also.  Tradeoffs.  It's not enough hair to style or go out in public, or keep her warm, yet, but it's hair and it's there.

Cathy had one last (probably) fill in her expanders last week.  She was told that she is "out of vertical skin."  Which basically means that her skin can't stretch anymore and her chest will be pretty much the size it is now.  She's ok with that, because she fits into her old bras pretty comfortably.  After she's had her exchange surgery and all the healing and swelling is resolved, she's looking forward to bra shopping again.  As I understand, finding just the right bra is often as difficult as...well, a lot of things.  

In profile, Cathy looks about like she did when we started dating almost 20 years ago.  She's about 10 pounds lighter and her chest is as hard as a rock, but she looks pretty normal (which translates to beautiful).  It will be interesting to see how things change with the exchange surgery.  I'm predicting and hoping that much of her chest discomfort will disappear shortly after the exchange, simply with the placement of a softer, permanent implant.

Neuropathy has returned in the last week.  Cathy's lower left leg and foot are painful.  This pain is a little disheartening since it comes at the same time that she's worked her way down to taking Tylenol only at night for her chest pain.  As we've come to expect, some good, some bad.

I don't believe in coincidence

This post has a title, whereas I don't believe any of my other posts possess one. It's a meaningful title for a (hopefully) meaningful post. Tonight I had composed a rather lengthy entry on the iPad. I created a new tab so that I could attribute a quote to the correct person. When I returned my post was gone and no draft was saved. Coincidence - I don't believe so. Overdramatization is not my intention here, but I do believe that God guides us daily, particularly in the important times of our lives. I also don't intend to unpack a theological treatise that I don't really understand, nor do I intend to spark a debate. I just believe that within the framework of free will that God has given us he also places us in times and places with specific people because he wants us there. In short, I believe there is purpose for our situations. 

The quote that I was searching was "never let a good crisis go to waste."  I found that this quote is generally attributed to Rahm Emanuel, whose political positions are irrelevant at this time. This quote is also associated with Albert Einstein, Hillary Clinton, and somebody from the 15th century whose website caused safari to crash and not save my other post. I like this quote, though, because it provides hope in a time of difficulty, especially when we feel powerless. When I think of crisis I think of pain, suffering, trauma, chaos, doubt, fear - things that we all feel from time to time. From crisis, though we can also embrace the transformative power of opportunity and the comforting knowledge that we are exactly where God wants us, when He wants us there, and with the people He wants.

Don't think for a moment that I want or welcome crisis. To the contrary, I think my heart could do with a little less crisis at the present moment. However, the crisis that we experienced starting at the beginning of this blog, when Cathy was diagnosed with cancer, has opened the doors to tremendous loving opportunities that I would have otherwise missed. It has provided for a reshaping of my life and the organization of our family that will be more in line with what I believe God wants for our family. 

I don't know where to go with this next and it is not a coincidence that Cathy just told me how tired she is. Therefore I will stop. Perhaps I will have more on this later. Maybe not. There is plenty of crisis going around right now for everyone to cultivate their own thoughts with my little seed. 

This post is not about Cathy.

Today, my friend, Sammy, will lay his wife to rest.  She was only 33.  They were married barely a year when she began her battle with cancer.  She fought for seven years to the day of her diagnosis.  Her body gave up the fight, but her spirit didn't.

My heart and prayers have been with them for a long time.  They have both been an inspirational vision of strength and grace.  In their simultaneous careers as music teachers they reached thousands of students in addition to their friends and family, as we all collectively watched their struggles, ultimately powerless to change the outcome.  We've all learned from them the power of being positive and loving others.  These lessons will extend through generations thanks to the connection of so many young people to Sammy and Stephanie.

Being inspired by positive people doesn't make us immune to negative thoughts and negative situations, though.  It is a constant struggle that goes back and forth.  It's almost like a tug of war.  Sometimes I feel myself at the edge of the mud, peering over and feeling the momentum moving the wrong way.  It is at those moments that I feel the tug of my teammates behind me, pulling me away from the pit.  I relish the day that I watch the negative side fall face down in that mud.  We probably all feel this way at times.  Sammy and Stephanie have taught me to trust my teammates to pull me when I can't pull myself.

I've thought of Sammy a lot the last week.  How hard it must have been to have held Stephanie's hand as she drifted away.  How hard it must have been to bring her back to Ohio and enter his home without her.  How hard it must have been to stand beside her motionless body as he greeted the hundreds who came to pay their respects.  How hard it will be to see her lowered into the ground today.  He smiles.  He lives.  He gives.  He loves.

Cathy is Sunshine

Cathy is sunshine.  There are things that get her down a little from time to time, but she is sunshine anyway.  The pain is constant, the drain is an annoyance, she desperately wants to pick up Clara, and she loves hugs (which she can’t give).  Because I know her I can see that these things bother her, but she quickly pushes them aside through faith, love, and general cheerfulness.  She is the best person I know.

The left expander seems to be holding fluid adequately.  If the expander continues to do its job she will have surgery on Friday, January 4 to exchange the expanders for permanent implants.  All indications this week are that this plan will be a go!  She is down to one drain after starting with four.  This drain is only producing 20-25 ml of fluid each day.  Dr. Butterfield wants to remove them when they produce less than 30 ml in 24 hours, so I would anticipate the removal of the last drain tomorrow or Thursday at the latest.  Having this last drain removed will be a big boost for Cathy.  The drains are a pain - physically, mentally, and emotionally.  They are cumbersome, painful, annoying, a threat for infection, and a hindrance to clothing selection.

Cathy’s pain is under control, but definitely present.  Even though she is able to sleep longer stretches it still wakes her up from time to time.  She describes the pain as similar to the engorgement that came from the cessation of nursing Clara overnight.  It is a blessing, though, that she says the pain is less than that of the engorgement.  While the next surgery will surely bring a little more pain, from the description by Dr. Butterfield and her physician’s assistant, it will be a relief from the expanders in some ways.