I shared this elsewhere yesterday, but decided to expand it and post it here.
This is a topic I have thought deeply about in previous years and previous sufferings, and they are coming to mind again as my family enters these current struggles.
So many people who I’ve encountered seem to believe that courage is always expressed through fearlessness, strength is always expressed through smiles or stoicism. and faith is expressed through calm acceptance or joyful singing without questioning or wrestling with difficulties. I don’t believe this is true.
I have thousands of favorite quotes. One is by Larry Crabb:
“For every one of us, ruthless honesty about what is happening inside of us will lead to brokenness. In a spiritual community, people don’t merely talk about woundedness and brokenness. They leave their comfort zones and expose the specifics, not to everyone, but to at least one other person. It’s terrifying to do so. It seems so weak, so unnecessary, so morbid and self-criticizing. Worse, in many eyes, to admit brokenness means to admit a poor relationship with God. We often hear that brokenness is the pathway to a deeper relationship with God, but we rarely see it modeled. I sometimes think we want others to believe we know God by demonstrating how unbroken we are…Everything in spiritual community is reversed from the world’s order. It is our weakness, not our competence, that moves others; our sorrows, not our blessings, that break down the barriers of fear and shame that keep us apart; our admitted failures, not our paraded successes, that bind us together in hope.”
2 Corinthians 1:4 says: Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Yeshua the Messiah, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort; who comforts us in all our affliction, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, through the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.
Yes, sometimes I’m scared and sad and I cry. God designed us with emotions. He gave us both laughter and tears. He never said, “Always laugh and never cry” but he said there is a time to laugh and a time to cry. He said to “rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep.” Yeshua (Jesus) Himself cried at Lazarus’ grave and He groaned at other times. The Bible says that when we can only groan, the Spirit hears the words within it and translates them into prayers. Having a seriously sick child is a parent’s worst nightmare and greatest fear. Why would anyone think we ought to bear it without a few tears?
Fighting dragons
I believe that if I never admit that I am scared, confused, hurt, heartbroken…I don’t not feel those emotions, I just don’t share them–and those fears and sorrows can then grow in secret and I am forced to battle them alone. I prefer to drag scary dragons into the light and slay them there, even if I’m shaking in my boots and get singed in the fight. If I can gain others to help me, so much the better.
If I never admit to struggles, how can I be comforted by others? I could erect a strong facade and I’d end up appearing pretty awesome–but at what cost? I have received so much love and support through this battle with cancer BECAUSE I dared to be honest about it. What comfort I cut myself from if I can’t be honest about tears and heartbreak! And what comfort I withhold from others as well. Like the women in my story in Get Real, if I am silent certainly a wailing cry must echo through a broken heart, “You could have helped me through this…but you said nothing!”
I realize that being transparent will cause some to think I am a faithless mess, which I kind of am. I used to be strong and smiling. I knew exactly how God worked and what He liked and didn’t like. It’s only as suffering has broken my heart that I have gotten loose in my joints and very shabby…like the Velveteen Rabbit. I love this conversation in the children’s story:
There was once a Velveteen Rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid. He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit should be; his coat was spotted brown and white, he had real thread whiskers, and his ears were lined with pink sateen.
He loved off all my hair.
“What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?
“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you….”
“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.
“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real, you don’t mind being hurt.”
“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”
“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time…Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out, and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”
I once told God that I asked Him to make me beautiful, and instead He loved off all my hair. Maybe God’s idea of beauty is different from mine. And you know what? I wouldn’t ever be afraid if He’d just let me stay wrapped snuggly in my comfort zone. Instead, He drags me to the things I fear most, and then helps me overcome it. I mean, what kind of God is He anyway, who forces me to face dragons and learn to be brave?
I have found that when I risk sharing both the ups and downs, strengths and weaknesses, victories and failures, good days and bad days, an amazing thing happens. Some come to bring me comfort and some come for me to comfort. “I thought I was the only one suffering this way!” we say to each other. And “I came to you because I know you understand. You’ve been there.” To me, it’s worth the risk of honesty to have such connections forged. If we never share, we become lonely fortresses of professed strength.
The Bible says this: “Two are better than one because they have a good return for their labor. For if either of them falls, the one will lift up his companion. But woe to the one who falls when there is not another to lift him up. Furthermore, if two lie down together they keep warm, but how can one be warm alone? And if one can overpower him who is alone, two can resist him. A cord of three strands is not quickly torn apart. (Eccl. 4:9-12).
I wonder how two can stand together and keep each other warm if neither shares their struggles? An isolated strand can be easily torn apart, an isolated deer can be brought down by wolves, and an isolated person will fall.
Red Rover, Red Rover
I remember when I was a child, we used to play a game called “Red Rover.” In this game, kids form two opposing lines and attempt to “break through” the opposing team’s line. At first, two teams are chosen of equal size, and they form two lines, facing each other and holding hands. One side starts by picking a person on the opposing team and saying “Red Rover, Red Rover, send right over.” Johnny then lets go of his teammates and begins a headlong rush for the other line. His goal is to break through the line by overpowering the kids’ hold on each other. If Johnny breaks through, he chooses one person for the opposing team to join his team, and they both go back and join in their line. If he fails to break through, Johnny becomes part of the other team. Each team alternates calling people over until one team has all the people and is declared the winner. The strength of the team depended on how strongly one held the hand of the other. In life, it’s really God who holds on to our hands, but He can do it through us. Maybe we can’t hold on to the hands of everyone, but maybe we can hold on to the hand of those standing next to us by reaching out. However, I can’t help another person remain strong if I don’t know he is hurting, and I can’t know he’s hurting if he doesn’t tell me. I just assume he’s ok and I go on to pray for those with broken hearts.
Maybe people can’t share with many others, but I think they ought to share honestly with someone.
Anyway, an occasional day of tears doesn’t mean that EJ and I are modeling to our son negativity or weakness or lack of faith. It’s important to us that we model genuineness to him. We don’t want him to paint a false smile on his face if his heart is breaking or he’s scared. That’s hypocrisy. We want him to learn to be honest and let others be honest with him. We want him to bravely endure hardship which includes bravely admitting that he needs help and can’t make it alone. Perhaps JJ is doing so well through this because we are modeling transparency to him and allow him to be genuine about where he is.
Glowing Super Power
JJ doesn’t hide that he has testicular cancer. He jokes about it with his friends. He also express dislike: “This SUCKS!” he announces. We have no idea what the treatment options are at this time, or which we will choose, but we are facing various possibilities. Last night, JJ humorously joked, “If I have to have radiation, will I freakin’ GLOW???” I told him that if he ended up having radiation to not to worry about it. Everyone knows that many normal people gain awesome superpowers by exposure to radiation or toxic waste. Maybe he’ll become a superhero and it’s possible, I suppose, that his super power will be the ability to glow like Zach in the movie Sky High. He gave me THE LOOK that only teens can give. “I’m going to throw this pillow at you for saying that,” he said with pretend disgust.
We have all kinds of troubles, but we are not crushed; we are perplexed, yet not in despair; persecuted, yet not abandoned; knocked down, yet not destroyed. (2 Corinthians 4:8-9)
Years ago, I had a friend who was going through a very difficult time. I loved my friend, and I truly cared, and I reached out to her as best I could, but I didn’t really understand the journey she was on so sometimes my encouragement was clumsy and likely not helpful. A few years later, I went through the same sort of suffering. We cried together in understanding. Then she said something very powerful to me:
“I always knew you cared, but now I know that you understand.”
Wow.
I have found that it’s not easy helping those who are suffering. They are in a place I am not in. They are dealing with issues of life and death while I’m trying to decide what to have for dinner. I have often felt like a bystander whose clumsy words and fumbling help is just…inadequate…for the things they are dealing with.
Silly me, I used to think that a sinus infection was merely a long-lasting cold. I didn’t understand how seriously debilitating they were until I suffered several years of chronic sinus infections, and eventually needed surgery. I always cared, but now I have great compassion for people who suffer from sinus infections. I cared, but I didn’t understand the heartbreak of a miscarriage, the deep down fatigue of chronic illness, the deep wounds of rejection, or the horribleness of fighting cancer until I suffered them. How could I? I had never traveled that path before.
This post is really for me. As I begin this newest journey, I am starting to observe and take notes so, on the other side of this, I can remind myself of what is helpful or not helpful to others traveling behind me. I want to be there for them, as best I can. It’s easy to forget what is helpful when the pain is gone so I want to jot down what is helpful now, when I’m going through it.
Notes to Myself:
I am finding that any sort of loving touch–whether from friend or stranger–is a priceless treasure, a beam of light in the dark, a lifeline. It doesn’t matter whether the words are eloquent or not, many or few. It doesn’t matter if the message of love comes through a comment on FB or a blog, a card in the mail, a package of goodies, a visit, sharing a favorite movie, or any of a million other ways a person expresses love. They all say, “I am here. You are not alone. I love you.” So speak. Reach out. Share your advice and stories of hope.
I am finding it helpful when a person lets me feel what I feel. I KNOW God is with us through this journey, and we actually have a lot of strong hope. Even so, it’s a difficult road and there is a roller coaster of emotions. For goodness sakes, don’t assume we have lost our faith or hope because we cry. Our tears do not mean that our faith is shaken. My family, all three of us, are facing this honestly–laughing, talking, crying. Our tears are as necessary as our laughter. We are not only modeling strength and courage to our son, but also realness, humor in the face of difficulties, how to confront fear, and many other things. Please don’t tell us we are not supposed to feel what we feel. I feel so relieved and strengthened when I am fighting to hold back tears and a friend says, “I know this is hard. It’s ok to cry. I am weeping with you.”
Also, realize that even when facing the same trials, everyone deals with it differently. Each journey is unique. Don’t expect our journey through this to look like yours. Don’t criticize a person if he does it differently. He is not you and you are not him. Listen to what the suffering one says he needs. He needs a hug? Give it. He needs someone to hear his fears? Listen.
My friend yesterday heard my need and practically put me in touch with someone who works at a cancer center so I could ask my questions. That was a huge help. One piece of helpful advice the cancer center lady gave me is that I need to be a Mama Bear and fight for my son. I told my friend that I was concerned that I can’t be a ferocious Mama Bear because confrontations are difficult for me. I can dig in my heals and stand firm if I KNOW what I am doing is right, but not if I am uncertain–and I am uncertain about what treatment is best for JJ. I told my friend that I need prayer about that. From that point on, she has sent me Mama Bear growls and pictures and reminders. Silly, but it makes me laugh and reminds me that I CAN BE A MAMA BEAR. She heard me.
Years ago, I considered being a Hospice volunteer and I attended a training session. I ended up not participating in this awesome ministry, but I did hear a very important thing: There is a difference between honesty and truth. At first I thought that was crazy because aren’t truth and honesty the same thing? However, as I pondered it, I realized that there was a lot of truth to it. The teacher of the class said that people who are ill (or their caregivers) are under tremendous stress and have ups and downs, good days and bad. Sometimes they will say honestly say something on a bad day that is not the truth of what they really believe. For example, they might say, “I don’t want you here. Don’t come back,” but they honestly feel that only that ONE moment or day and they really don’t feel that way ALL the time. They want you to be there. So, the hospice teacher said, don’t get offended if someone expresses hopelessness or anger one day. Keep coming back. Be there.
I’m trying to get through this the best I can. If on a stressful day I accidentally say something in the wrong way, please don’t get offended. I might feel that at that moment, but it’s not what I truly feel. I love you and NEED you. I want you HERE.
Keep sharing your advice, especially if you have gone this way before. We are considering your advice. We are getting hit with a lot of different information about many different things. It’s all overwhelming and we have a lot to figure out. We are finding much of your advice very, very helpful. Some of it we are saving to use when necessary. However, not all will apply to our situation. Please be supportive of us even if the decisions we make isn’t what you recommended. (It’s about the one suffering, not about you or me, and they need you to help them.) We love you, we are thankful for your help and advice, but we still have to figure out what is best for our son.
I find myself both more sensitive and less sensitive to what is going on around me. Individual stories of suffering are intensely sharper as I am more able to imagine the turmoil, fear, pain, and sadness they are going through. I’ve always cared but now, once again, I understand more deeply.
At the same time, the political debates and theological discussions have less relevancy. I’ve always been interested in them, and I certainly have always valued questioning and discussions. However, they are meaningless background noise right now. Well, sort of. They are both more important and less relevant. I mean, what do I care about politics when my son is fighting for his life? Except…I’m worried about Obamacare because it touches MY FAMILY. Whether others around me think it’s a disaster or a deliverance doesn’t matter to me right now. What matters is that it’s going to change healthcare, and I don’t know how. I’ve heard horror stories, and I wonder how it will affect our son’s treatment and our ability to pay for it. I also don’t care about theological debates right now. Go ahead and debate whether people aren’t healed because they lack faith, but I won’t get involved. It’s personal to me, not an academic theological debate. Personally, I believe that it takes great faith to believe God can heal and great faith to endure, and my ability to trust God as much with non-healing as with healing is being put to the test. What I am saying is, “Abba, Father, all things are possible to you. Please remove this cup from me. However, not what I desire, but what you desire.”
The one thing I would say not to ever, ever do is to tell a suffering person that the reason he or his loved one is not healed is because he doesn’t have enough faith. It’s cruel. You don’t really know what that person is faithfully enduring or what God is doing in his life through the suffering. God works in different ways in different people and at different times. Don’t make a person’s suffering harder.
I understand that you also have things going on in your life, and you are fighting your own battles. I can understand if you can’t be here all the time. Life is hard for us all. I also understand that you, like me, might not know how to help or what to say, and your words might be clumsy. Don’t worry. Even if you accidentally say the “wrong” thing, I am not offended. I see and hear your wonderful love. You are very precious to me. I am finding all of you to be absolutely awesome as my family begins this battle with cancer. I have never before experienced such love and support. JJ is very touched by your concern. I keep telling him about all these messages and prayers he is receiving from all around the world. He says, “Wow. Why are they doing this? Why are they so interested in me? I’m no one special.” “It’s really amazing how many people care, isn’t it? I can only say that I really think it’s God.”
These are the things I want to remember when people around me are suffering.
I fear that today’s post is rather rambling. I couldn’t make it seamlessly flow.
Today I cried.
When I was growing up, my church sort of taught that it was wrong to question God. It was taught in a spiritual-sounding way: Questions were doubt and doubting God was sin, so trust God and don’t question. I’ve heard this sentiment expressed many times over the years. It sounds good, sort of. Who wants to doubt God? However, in my teens, it occurred to me that God already intimately knows what I am thinking and feeling (Ps 139)–including my doubts, fears, and questions–so I might as well be honest with Him. How can God help me if I refuse to acknowledge when I’m scared or in pain or, yes, even mad at Him?
So I began to respond to God as if He was real (which He is) and as if I were really in a relationship with Him (which I am). Relationships can be messy. At times I’ve utterly enjoyed God’s nearness, delighting in His creation, overwhelmed by His love, laughed at His humor. However, I’ve also cried on His shoulder when I was hurting, ran to Him when I was scared, gotten angry at Him when He’s done something that didn’t make sense to me. I’ve asked Him questions and wrestled with His answers…or silence. Sometimes I’ve stamped my foot in a bratty tantrum. I can totally relate to Tevye’s honest relationship with God in The Fiddler on the Roof, one of my very most favorite movies.
There are times I’ve tried to pretend I had more strength than I really did. Then it always seemed as if God said, “TJ, get real” as He punctured my pretense. Like when the counselor asked,”How are you doing?” when I told him about losing my baby in a miscarriage years ago. “I’m doing well. I know God has a reason for this. I am trusting Him,” I said piously. “So how does it feel to be a mother who has lost her child?” The question stunned me and broke through my facade as I began to sob and wrestle honestly with grief and questions. I came out the other side, wounded but deeper. On my last day of counseling, the counselor said: “You are the most real person I have ever met.” A real gift. I had asked God to make me real….like Pinocchio.
“Get real, TJ.”
I’ve since discovered from my studies of Hebrew that the Jewish people have always been a concrete-thinking, action-oriented, and passionate people. Their language reflects this. They don’t talk their faith, they live it. They confront God honestly, questioning wrestling, bargaining with Him. They cling to Him even though He cripples them. I love Psalms 77, written by Asaph:
My voice rises to God, and I will cry aloud;
My voice rises to God, and He will hear me.
2 In the day of my trouble I sought the Lord;
In the night my hand was stretched out without weariness;
My soul refused to be comforted.
3 When I remember God, then I am disturbed; When I sigh, then my spirit grows faint. Selah.
4 You have held my eyelids open;
I am so troubled that I cannot speak.
5 I have considered the days of old,
The years of long ago.
6 I will remember my song in the night;
I will meditate with my heart,
And my spirit ponders:
7 Will the Lord reject forever?
And will He never be favorable again?
8 Has His lovingkindness ceased forever?
Has His promise come to an end forever?
9 Has God forgotten to be gracious,
Or has He in anger withdrawn His compassion? Selah.
10 Then I said, “It is my grief,
That the right hand of the Most High has changed.”
Wow. Asaph honestly questioned–what we might even call doubted. Who knows how long he struggled before he could continue:
I shall remember the deeds of the Lord;
Surely I will remember Your wonders of old.
12 I will meditate on all Your work
And muse on Your deeds.
13 Your way, O God, is holy;
What god is great like our God?
14 You are the God who works wonders;
You have made known Your strength among the peoples.
15 You have by Your power redeemed Your people,
The sons of Jacob and Joseph. Selah.
Through questions and doubt, he found a new depth of trust. He wrote several psalms. Each one a gem to me.
I also love the story about the rabbi who came to substitute teach a class at a yeshiva. As he lectured, the students were silent, not asking any questions. So he deliberately said something controversial. Still, they said nothing. Finally, in frustration, he roared, “How can I teach you if you refuse to argue with me?!” So different from the sit down, shut up, and memorize style prevalent in our society.
Years ago, in the church I grew up in, a woman’s son was convicted of a serious crime and sent to prison. I’m sure the woman must have suffered and cried, but her face was always smiling. Time passed and a new woman started attending the church. Her son also was in prison. One day the second woman learned about the first woman’s son. She went to the woman in tears, or so I heard, and lamented, “Why did you never tell me about your son? I struggled so much, and you could have been such a comfort, but you said nothing.” I’ve never, ever forgotten that.
I think we are all different. I think that God designs us for different purposes. No doubt people express their faith in different ways. I cannot say how people “ought” to express their faith. I can only say that I can’t not be real. I mean, I can for a while, but not for long. I’ve sometimes told God that I asked Him to make me “Real” and He made me to bleed all over the pages of my writing describing my fear, my tears, my strengths and weaknesses, my good days and bad days. I write about my problems that are sometimes too big and many and overwhelming for me. Sometimes I want to hide under the blankets and wish the monsters away.
This morning I saw the pots of tender plants on my window sill that I am hoping to keep alive through the winter. I thought, “This blog is turning into a different sort of blog then I intended.” I was going to just write about my garden and day-to-day life. Now I am writing about my son’s battle with cancer. Yet, he feels to me like a tender little plant that I am trying to keep alive. I’m still writing about my garden, but now my garden is my son.
Bilbo Baggins
Today I cried because I felt overcome by the hugeness of this Unexpected Journey my family is on. I feel like Bilbo Baggins in The Hobbit, dragged off on an Adventure that he didn’t expect, didn’t want, and wasn’t at all prepared for.
I feel clueless about and overwhelmed by having to decide on a cancer treatment. Some people choose to have chemotherapy and some say that natural methods are the only way to go. I don’t know who is right. I don’t want to gamble, either way, with my son’s life. It just seems like a confusing maze to me. I just want Jared to be well. I don’t want to lose my son. I don’t know what is best for him.
The nurse called today. She said, “The pathology report is positive.” “Oh, good!” I exclaimed in huge relief. Positive means good. The nurse replied, “No…It’s positive for cancer.” Oh. I just got educated. Of course. Positive means good….unless it’s cancer. I felt so stupid. She must think I’m an imbecile. I told EJ about it, and we laughed a shaky laugh.
Be a Mama Bear.
My friend called me soon afterwards. She let me cry for a bit, and she gave me a gift of comfort and laughter. She also mentioned her sister’s friend who works in a cancer center in California. She wanted to know if I would like her to ask her sister if her friend would call me and prepare me for what to expect. “YES!” A bit later, the woman called. She was so nice. She explained what was happening and told me what to expect in the days ahead. She also said, “Keep a pen and paper near you at all times. Write down all the questions that come to mind so you can ask the doctor.” She also said, “It’s important to understand that you are your son’s advocate. You are fighting for his life. Be a Mama Bear and fight for your cub. If you don’t understand something, ask. If you aren’t comfortable with something, confront it. Be a Mama Bear.” I told EJ that maybe I will have to start practicing my Mama Bear growl. Meanwhile, he can practice his Papa Bear growl. The truth is, I think I’m a pathetic bear. I’m not a confrontational person. I need a Bigger Bear to roar for me.
I must say this: I am not a stranger to suffering. I’ve lost a baby to miscarriage. I’ve had a difficult second pregnancy and almost lost my son and myself when he was born. I’ve struggled with the sorrow of infertility. I’ve struggled through years of painful rejection from a dysfunctional family who refused to forgive me for not being able to live up to their demands–and I finally have had to say a heartbreaking “no more” to their presence in my life. I’ve suffered from chronic illness. I have a husband who suffers debilitating back pain–and several other health problems. There have been many times when we’ve had to live on little. And there have been many other sorrows and struggles. Now here is my son afflicted with cancer. And even my dog is sick.
Through all the struggles, I often been scared, and heartbroken, and overwhelmed. Each new journey is different and challenges my faith in a different way. However, I also experience my God in a different way. I see His love in a different way. He reveals His faithfulness in a different way. I experience His provision in a different way. I think sometimes He weeps with me. Already, God is showing us in awesome ways that HE IS HERE. We aren’t alone.
JJ
I’ve discovered an interesting thing along the way: When I share my journey, there are probably people who think I am a total mess, which I am. However, there are also people who say, “I came to me because I knew you struggled with… infertility.. miscarriage.. rejection… and I knew you’d understand because you’ve been there.” I’ve also been comforted by others who understood my struggle because they have “been there.” Today I cried at Facebook, and found people around the world who hugged me with love and prayers. Many are praying for JJ. I think we all need each other, and we can’t help each other if we don’t share.
So, I will share my journey with you, if you want to come along, as honestly as I can. Because, who knows? Maybe my journey will help you. Or maybe your journey will help me. But be forewarned: My faith isn’t always pretty. I will be honest about the joys and sorrows, the strengths and weaknesses.
I woke up at 5 a.m. this morning feeling overwhelmed about various problems I have to deal with, such as JJ’s paperwork for college.
Then I remembered a historical fiction novel that I read years ago. The story took place in China just before the Boxer Rebellion. A man and his wife had come to China to help run an orphanage but they had died, leaving their daughter in the care of the elderly director. At the beginning of the book, the girl was in her teens. The director had gotten sick (and then died), leaving the girl alone to care for the orphans. Often she felt overwhelmed by the responsibilities placed on her. “But,” she said, “Whenever I don’t know what to do, I simply do what comes next.” For example, the first thing she needed to do when she woke up in the morning was get the children ready for the day. Then she had to fix them breakfast. No food? She had to go get some. By doing the next thing, she dealt with the problems in her day, one by one.
I’ve often thought of that through the years, and whenever I don’t know what to do, I pray about it and then I simply do what comes next. It’s sort of like throwing the shoe. Throwing the shoe divides impossibly huge tasks into small doable ones. Doing what comes next helps me focus on one task at a time.
First, I drank a few cups of coffee to clear my mind. When EJ woke up, the next thing was to eat breakfast. It’s hard to face a day when hungry. Then I got dressed. I was now ready for what comes next.
Yesterday I had wondered about what the pathology report would tell us when all other tests and the surgery were good. The girl who helped us load wood yesterday evening is hoping to go into health care. She read my blog post and wrote me an email:
The purpose of the pathology report is to determine the cause of the mass that JJ had. The Pathology Report sometimes allows physicians to determine the severity of an illness, the prognosis, and what additional treatments or precautions must be adhered to based upon the patient’s condition. All of the medical information that I am giving you following this sentence may be incorrect due to deficient recollection of previously learned information. A Pathology Report is completed by means of a culture and sensitivity test. In this situation, a culture and sensitivity test would be completed by taking a sterile swab and swabbing the mass that JJ had removed….[putting it in a petri dish]. The petri dish contains a gel-like medium over which the swab is moved over. The swab is discarded and the petri dish is placed upside down in an incubator to grow whatever bacteria or foreign organisms were found in that mass. The causative agent is then left on its own to incubate for 5-7 days. After 5-7 days the petri dish is removed from the incubator and the organisms that grew in that petri dish are then examined by a pathologist under a high-powered microscope. The pathologist is able to determine the nature, and strain, of whatever organisms grew within the petri dish. After the organisms are accounted for and examined, then the Pathology report is filled out. The Pathology Report is the legal documentation for all of the laboratory findings discovered through the completion of these tests. Sorry to be so long-winded, but I hope that that helps give you some peace of mind. I think that the prognosis at this point will be excellent because the surgery went well, the results from the blood work and CT Scan were good, and JJ has his appetite back and doesn’t appear to seem as fatigued. These are all very wonderful signs of good health. I can’t completely say for sure, but that’s just what I think.
That information was helpful.
I called the doctor’s office to ask about the results of JJ’s pathology report. I listened to umpteen options, and selected to talk to a nurse. However, the voice message then said that that option was only for certain things, and the pathology reports was not one of them. I hung up and called again. This time I chose the option for lab results. I’m not sure if pathology results is part of lab work, but it was the closest option to what I want. The voice message said to leave a message and they’d get back to me within 24 hours. Ok. That was done.
What comes next?
Danny
Danny has been scratching and scratching. A couple months ago I took him to the vet who said it was the skin condition he gets every year at the end of summer. The vet gave him a cortisone shot. It helped for a while but then Danny’s itching returned. I thought it was due to his skin problem again so I took him back to the vet for another shot. However, the second shot didn’t seem to work. Danny has been breathing more shallowly and has also begun to ask to go outside frequently. When he’s outside, he lies on the ground as if the coolness of the ground is soothing to him. At night, he has been going through the cat door into the unheated back porch and lying on the cool cement. Something is not right with Danny. So I called the vet to ask if he could see Danny today. The receptionist said the vet was in surgery, but could see him about an hour or so later. Ok. That was done.
EJ had gone outside to unload the firewood from the truck, so I went out to help him. It was raining, but just a heavy sprinkle and not a drenching rain so it wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t time to take Danny to the vet when we finished so I made winter shelters for the outside cats using covered kitty litter boxes that I am not using. I put them under the tarp covering the patio table on the front porch for added protection. EJ will make the litter box shelters warmer with insulation when he has time.
Then it was time to take Danny to the vet. On the drive there, I wondered if Danny was seriously ill and would need to be put down. We’ve had the worst ever year for sick pets. It has been awful. We had to put one cat to sleep and I sure don’t want to have to put my beloved Danny to sleep. Sigh. When the vet examined Danny, he said that the itching was caused by fleas. I had thought we had gotten rid of the fleas, especially since I hadn’t noticed any on me for quite some time. I thought Danny’s skin problem was flaring up. The vet gave me “the best” flea medication and also gave me some for the cats since it’s no use treating Danny if I don’t also treat the cats. He said Danny’s lungs were not clear, so he’s probably got some sort of respiratory infection. Laying on cool surfaces likely helped him feel better. (Maybe like a cool soothing cloth on the forehead?) The vet gave me two different pills for him–one to be given three times a day and the other to be given twice a day. So I’m back to giving pets medication–but I only have to put the flea meds on the skin of all the animals once a month, so that’s not too bad. I sure hope Danny gets to feeling better soon.
Ok. That problem has been addressed. What comes next is dealing with JJ’s college classes. One instructor said JJ could re-join his class whenever he can, the second said that there was too much work for JJ to make up so he needs to drop her class. I have been waiting to hear from the third instructor. I do not yet know if she would prefer JJ withdraw from the class or rejoin it. I do not know if I should just withdraw JJ from the one class or go ahead and withdraw him from both even though I haven’t heard what to do. Since I do not know what to do, I wrote an email to Student Services explaining the situation and asked for their recommendation.
Ok. That situation is addressed.
The next thing I did was fix lunch. Then I prepared dough for homemade bread so JJ can have sandwiches later. He loves the all-beef bologna we get from the meat market.
This morning as I was fixing breakfast, an old song began to play on the radio. Throughout EJ’s childhood, his Dad always played old songs on the radio and often sang them, and EJ grew to love them too. Old songs bring good memories to EJ. So when he heard the old song on the radio, EJ grabbed me and we waltzed around the kitchen. Just before we stopped, I held up our arms as if I was going to twirl EJ around. He said, “You aren’t supposed to twirl me! I am supposed to twirl YOU.” And we laughed.
This made me thing of the importance of laughter. I remember reading a Reader’s Digest article years ago about POWs in Vietnam. The author, a former POW, said that whenever a new POW was brought into the camp, the older prisoners would talk to him at the first opportunity they had, and tell him that their captors were expert at torture and, sooner or later, even the strongest would break. It was important at that point to try to give the least amount of information that they could, and to forgive themselves afterwards. They also said that even though the situation was deplorable, it was essential to keep a sense of humor. Those who couldn’t forgive themselves and those who lost their sense of humor didn’t last long.
I know that humor is essential in the difficulties of day-to-day life. If we forget how to laugh, we lose an important tool.
On my Facebook page, among the many different types of things I share, I also share interesting, happy, and funny things. I do so to give myself a reason to laugh or find wonder in the midst of difficulties. I also try to give others a reason to laugh. I have many friends going through very difficult situations. It’s easy to forget to laugh when life gets hard.
That reminds me: I probably shouldn’t reveal this, but EJ decided to ask me to marry him because I farted. EJ grew up on a farm and he was always strong. Before he learned to hug gently, he used to hug me tightly, squeezing me into breathlessness. He didn’t realize his own strength. One day, he hugged me tightly and he squeezed a fart out of me. Not a lady-like fart, but a HUGE fart. It was embarrassing, but I laughed because it was so funny. We laughed together until we cried. EJ said he decided to ask me to marry him right then and there. Because I farted. “NOT,” he protests, “because you farted, but because you laughed about it.” He says that he knew that life can be difficult, and he wanted a wife who had a sense of humor and knew how to laugh in undesirable circumstances. The fact that I laughed instead of being mortified showed him that I was the type of wife he was looking for. So my husband asked me to marry him because I farted and laughed about it.
I’m not sure anyone else could have a funnier “That’s why I married you” story.
Yesterday we all spent the day resting. We slept in, studied, talked, and just relaxed.
Today we were busy. I didn’t intend to be so busy. As I told EJ, one thing led to another, sort of like in the children’s story, If You Give A Mouse a Cookie…except without the cookie. “Or the mouse,” EJ said.
First thing this morning, after a cup or two of coffee, I got the laundry sorted and took it to the laundromat. EJ usually goes with me, but he and JJ were sleeping soundly so I went without them. I got the clothes in the laundromat and then realized that I had forgotten the detergent. The laundromat wasn’t busy so I put the clothes in the washers and then drove home for the detergent. We only live a couple blocks away so it wasn’t a problem…except for the inconvenience.
After I got the washed clothes home and the first load in the dryer, I swept and mopped the floors. EJ woke up and had breakfast. Our dog Danny has been scratching, so I wanted to give him a bath. I couldn’t find any dog shampoo, so since I had to get a few other things anyway, I decided to go to the store. Normally EJ would go with me, but we are trying not to leave JJ home alone much while he recovers.
The ten-mile drive to the store was beautiful. I thought the scenery looked like a landscape painting, with the white/blue clouds and the colorful trees. I think the leaves must be at the peak of their colors. I would have taken a picture of it, but I didn’t have my camera…and, besides, I was driving. It’s sort of hard to drive and take pictures. On the way home, I saw a leafless tree with three black crows sitting in it. It was worthy of a picture, but….
After I had fixed lunch, I lifted Danny into the bathtub and gave him a bath. He was pretty calm about it. When I was done rinsing him off, I told him he could get out of the tub and he just stood there staring at me. “You aren’t going to make me lift your wet body out of the tub, are you?” I asked. Yes, he was. Ugh. I had a towel ready to rub him dry but he shook himself before I could get it on him. I wiped him off and then let him out of the bathroom while I wiped up water from everywhere and cleaned the bathroom. Danny has thick hair that takes all day to dry and he had tracked wet footprints through the house, so I mopped all the floors again. I realized that I needed to wash the shower curtain and liner, as well as the towels I used on Danny, so I drove back to the laundromat and washed them.
I was tired by this time, but I cut off some of the tarp we had used to cover the RV, which we sold a couple of weeks ago. I used the tarp to cover the patio table and chairs on the front porch.
I was about ready to sit and relax while I finished folding clothes, but EJ’s friend called and said he had wood ready for us if we wanted to come get it. It’s supposed to get cold and snow this week, so all the wood we can get before then is a benefit. We have gotten wood when it’s snowy and cold, and brrrr. A few years ago we stacked wood in the pouring rain. We had bought wood from this guy, and he let us haul the wood home in his trailer. We had to get all the wood unloaded and the trailer back before EJ left for work in the early afternoon, so we really had to scramble. As we went out to unload the trailer, it began to rain–a drenching downpour. We were carrying wood from the truck to the woodshed while it poured rain. We were absolutely soaked, sloshing with every step. We kept laughing; it was so ridiculous. Later a neighbor told us that her elderly husband looked out their window and saw us. “Why are the J’s unloading wood in this pouring rain? Why don’t they wait until the rain stops?” She said he was getting upset that we were working in the rain, worrying about us. She told her husband that maybe we HAD to do it then rather than wait for later. It was actually one of those family memories we remember with fondness: “Remember that time we carried wood in the pouring rain? Ha, ha!” But I must say that it really is more pleasant to get firewood on a nice autumn day with no cold temperatures or snow or rain.
Anyway, this evening I asked JJ if he thought he’d be ok to be alone for a little while I helped his Dad with the wood. JJ is doing very well, but I think it’s very lonely to be recovering from surgery with no one around, so I try not to leave unless EJ is here. JJ said he’d be fine and he had his phone near him if he needed us. We were not far away.
I took this picture of our truckload of wood with my phone.
So EJ and I went to our friend’s place for the wood. This is the same friend who has the pretty chickens. RB and his 18-year-old daughter jumped in the truck and we drove through the harvested field to where RB had cut down a dead tree and sawed up the wood. They helped us load wood into the truck and then we all drove home and unloaded it. At first we were all stacking the wood in the woodshed, but then we decided that to save time we’d just toss it out of the truck so we could go back for another load. It was getting towards twilight and we had to finish before it got dark. So back we went to RB’s place and the four of us loaded the pickup again. We still have more to get, but we didn’t have time tonight.
A couple of days ago, I had asked RB’s wife if she had eggs she could sell to us. She said she didn’t have any to sell us, but she did have some she would give us. So RB told his daughter to go get the eggs, and then we all said goodbye and EJ and I left for home. On the way home, we saw a lot of deer. Several of them crossed the road in front of us. We got home without hitting any of them, and EJ backed the truck into the back yard. We will unload the truck and stack the wood as soon as we can.
We were hungry so I made us popcorn. Then I sat down and said, “I am not going to do another thing today!” And so far I haven’t, although I do need to fold the last load of clothes in the dryer.
Tomorrow we need to try to call the doctor and see if the pathology report is back. I tried to call on Friday but there were so many answering machine options (Press 1 if….) and I wasn’t sure which one to choose. None seemed to fit. There was no option to talk to the receptionist to ask which option I should choose. I was so tired that I finally gave up. On the day of JJ’s surgery the doctor said that the CT scan and blood tests were clear and the surgery went very well, so I wasn’t sure what the pathology report would tell me or how it would change the situation. I mean, if the tests were good and the surgery went well, wouldn’t that mean everything is good? All this is new to me and I don’t really know about these things. I chatted on FB about this with a friend who has recently had cancer and she said, “…Sometimes, even though the surgeon gets the entire tumor out with good clean margins, they still opt for some chemotherapy.” Then I thought, “Oh, yikes! Maybe we aren’t totally safe yet.” I sure hope the surgery was the end of it. EJ has talked to several guys at work who had testicular cancer and none of them needed chemo except one guy who lived with the problem for a year before seeking treatment. I hope we can get the pathology results tomorrow and I pray everything is ok.
I also have to figure out what to do about JJ’s college classes. One professor, who has JJ in two of his classes, said we don’t have to worry about his classes. Another professor said JJ needs to drop her class. We haven’t heard from the third teacher yet, although Student Services emailed her and I have emailed her twice. So I don’t know if JJ needs to drop her class or not. We were told we need to fill out a NonAcademic Complaint Form for the class (or classes) JJ has to drop so that he can get an Incomplete and not have to pay for his classes again. We need to get official documentation from the doctor to prove that JJ has a valid reason for dropping the course(s). So I don’t know if I have to drop one class or two, or if I should fill out the withdrawal forms before I have the information from the doctor or not. We go to the doctor on Friday for JJ’s followup, so we can get the information then.
I just feel like this is such frustration and I don’t want to have to worry about all this paperwork when I just want to help my son recover. I was thinking about people who have to deal with a bunch of paperwork when they are struggling with chronic health problems, or caring for a sick loved one, or grieving the loss of a loved one. I have great sympathy for them. They are already stressed or tired or grieving and have to deal with stupid paperwork.
JJ’s tiredness is understandable, of course, since he just had major surgery. He sleeps until about 1 p.m. He has always been a night-owl so he states up late, but even so I still think he’s getting a lot of extra sleep. That’s good.
After the health scare and all the rushing around we had to do, I suspect that EJ and my bodies are saying, “Now it’s time to REST.” I’ve heard that sometimes after a time of difficulty in which the body has to stay on alert, it will get sick when the “danger” is passed. I sort of wonder if that is what is happening to us. Only, I hope we only get tied and not sick.
EJ has been sleeping better at night, I think, and taking little naps now and then throughout the mornings. Today he was really dragging as he got ready for work. I can’t take morning naps because there is too much that I have to do. By the time EJ leaves for work, I’m so tired that I immediately curl up on the couch. I don’t get much sleep, however, because noises wake me. Today JJ made a noise that scared me awake–I still don’t know what caused it. After I woke, I drowsily laying on the loveseat watching the leaves fall and the clouds drift by outside the window.
Then I remembered that I had to return movies to the library. I had rented a couple so JJ could watch them while he’s laid up on the couch. I brought home another movie today to watch: The Avengers. We just rented Ironman 3 and I couldn’t remember what had happened in Avengers that gave Tony Stark panic attacks in Ironman 3. I like superhero movies and don’t mind watching them more than once. I wanted to get The Hobbit, one of my favorite movies, because EJ said he didn’t remember watching it. We know he did. How can he forget? Anyway, I could also enjoy watching that movie again and again. However, the movie was already rented by someone else. Bummer.
The weather has been getting colder–dipping into the 50s during the day and the 40s or 30s during the night. EJ and I have been debating whether or not it was cold enough to get a fire going I the woodstove. We don’t want to start one before it’s cold enough outside and get overheated. It’s sort of difficult to regulate the heat with a woodstove. We are either too hot or too cold–although, actually, we aren’t ever too cold for very long because we just put more wood in the woodstove and then everyone complains that it is too hot.
I’m waiting for the hours to pass until EJ gets home from work so I can go to bed. As I said, we’ve been tired the last day or two.
JJ is recovering nicely, with much less pain and groaning than I expected. He sleeps quite a bit, which is good. His appetite is returning, which is a delight. He had not been hungry for many weeks and had gotten much too thin. JJ said a few days after his surgery that he keeps expecting to “freak out” about all this, but so far he hasn’t felt like freaking out.
JJ’s greatest concern has been his college classes. I contacted Student Services the day before his surgery to tell them what was going on. They were kind, but said JJ needed to sign a waiver so they could give us his information. Silly JJ was supposed to fill it out when he was signing up for classes. He said he had, but he probably forgot. Anyway, I printed off the form before the surgery and JJ filled it out. We had to it again after the surgery because I accidentally knocked my coffee cup and it soaked it. Oops. Monday morning EJ drove to the college to drop it off. He was the best one to do it because I get easily lost. We couldn’t trust me to get there and back again safely.
I also emailed JJ’s college professors to tell them what was happening and how long he’d be gone. One professor, who has JJ in two of his classes, called me on the phone. He said JJ is a nice young man and he had nothing to worry in his classes. He should just concentrate on recovering and he could rejoin the classes at any time. He said at the VERY WORST he would give JJ an incomplete so he can finish the class next term.
Another instructor said JJ would need to withdraw from her class. It’s a math class and he could never keep up after missing so many weeks. Hopefully JJ can also finish that class next term without having to pay for it again. I haven’t heard from the instructor of his final class.
I hope I can get this all resolved.
EJ and I are so very tired now that we can breathe. As soon as EJ left for work today, I curled up on the loveseat and fell asleep for an hour.
Today I am especially thinking about many I know who are going through cancer and other serious ailments. Not all their suffering is the whirlwind that JJ’s was, here and over before we could take a breath. They walk a slower path with many twists and turns and ups and downs.
I have a friend who, several years ago, had severe heart palpitations. She was afraid something was seriously wrong, and she was afraid she was going to die, and she was very afraid for her three young children if she died. Everyone in her life told her, “Oh, there’s nothing wrong with you! You are going to be ok. Nothing is going to happen.”
Everyone told her that except me. I couldn’t promise that nothing was wrong and nothing bad was going to happen. I am not a doctor and I didn’t know what was wrong with her. I know that sometimes the worst DOES happen. Sometimes young mothers with children die. She lives several states away and I knew that I could not promise that I would be a constant presence in her children’s lives. So I promised my friend what I could do: “I promise that if this is serious and you die, I will faithfully pray for your three children every single day.” Not much comfort, except that my friend relaxed. I had heard her fear, and I let her express her fear, and I had addressed her greatest fear: to have someone care for the spiritual well-being of her children.
It never has helped me to pretend that bad things can’t happened. As I said a life time ago last week, it helps me to acknowledge and confront my fears, which is why when JJ said, “This sucks,” I replied, “It absolutely does!” When he said, “This is no fun,” I said, “Being sick and in the hospital is not supposed to be fun.” When he said, “I’m scared,” I answered, “It’s ok. This is a scary thing.” I suspect JJ found courage through the last few days at least partially because we let him express fear. We also clung to hope and faith.
I don’t think a courageous person is a person without fear. I think a courageous person is one who continues despite fear. And I don’t think a person of faith is one who is always laughing and singing and shouting “Praise the Lord” all the time. I think a person of faith is one who chooses to hang on to God when life is scary, and unfair, and falling apart, and there are no answers. A person of faith might sometimes sing and shout “Praise the Lord,” but sometimes he might sob desperately, “Help! I can’t make it another step without You.” Sometimes faith dances. Sometimes it chooses to get out of bed in the morning and put one foot in front of the other through dark days. I, personally, think faith can look quite messy sometimes.
Years ago, I pondered that there are two different kinds of faith. I call them “Because” faith and “Even Though” faith.
“Because” faith loves and trusts God because He heals from sickness, delivers from harm, changes situations, reveals answers, and provides for needs in ways that we can tangibly see. I think it takes a lot of faith to believe that God can answer prayer and heal, deliver, change, reveal answers, and provide, and it is definitely worth praising Him in those situations. There are times we really need to see God work in such ways. He IS loving and good and answers prayers and we can praise Him because of it.However, if a person stops there, and only praises God when everything is going his way, there is a danger of having a superficial faith that loves the gift more than the Giver, and praises God only because He does what we want Him to.
Another form of faith is “Even though” faith. “Even Though” faith holds on to God even though He does not heal, deliver from harm, change situations, reveal answers, or provide for needs in a tangible way that we can see. This is a more difficult, painful, messy form of faith, often involving heartbreak and tears and desperation and wrestling with God.
It is, perhaps, unfair to categorize types of faith because I don’t think it can be so neatly packaged. “Because” and “Even Though” faith is often intertwined, and not so easily separated.
However, I have known people who accuse others of having faith that is too weak if it does not result in tangible, miraculous answers of healing or deliverance. They do not see the strong faith in the midst of tears and heartbreak and unanswered questions.
I, myself, experienced several years of sickness when JJ was small. I had months of sinus infections, several bouts of mono, and was diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome all at the same time. The specialist I was sent to for CFS said that I could suffer from this for the rest of my life. On my best days during my illness, I could homeschool my son, do dishes, and clean the house a bit…but no more. On my worse days, I had no strength for anything. CFS made me feel like limp elastic with no elasticity: If I got stretched out, I couldn’t bounce back. Rest did not restore my strength or energy. Often tears streamed down my face–not because I was sad, but because I was so utterly completely weary. I strongly felt during this time that I should not pray for healing, that I needed to trust God through it. A man in the church told me that in not seeking healing I was being proud. He said that a man needed a strong wife and I was being a burden to my husband. He didn’t know that I had been raised to earn love and approval through performance and CFS forced me to face a lot of fears–fear of being incredibly weary forever, fear of being a burden to my husband, fear of not being able to “please God.” He didn’t know that I was learning to trust God even if I was never healed, learning to thank Him for the strength for THIS moment, learning the depth of His love for me. There came a day when suddenly everyone in my life began to spontaneously pray for my healing, and I was healed. That was AMAZING. However, what I learned during those weary days when I chose to trust God for the strength for the moment, and when I trusted He loved me when I couldn’t earn it, was most precious still.
I also remember the utter joy when I FINALLY got pregnant, only to lose the baby in a miscarriage. I tried to be strong, to bravely “trust in God,” and I was doing quite well until I was honestly asked, “So…what does it feel like to be a mother who has lost her baby?” (A counselor I was talking to about abusive relatives asked me the question.) Then the tears I had been holding back with pretend strength poured down my face, and I began to honestly wrestle with a God who let me get pregnant only to take the baby away. There came a day when I faced that either I must believe that God is GOD and is good and loves me or I must believe He wasn’t and I should go live life as I pleased. I imagined myself putting all my heartbreak and questions into a box and handing it to Him. “I do not know why this happened, but I choose to trust You with it” I said. I have never received answers about why the baby didn’t make it, but my faith deepened at that time. I didn’t NEED the answers anymore. It was enough that He knew them.
We haven’t gotten the pathology report, but it looks like JJ is going to make it. Our son had a few days of illness, not weeks or months or years. To have my son have cancer felt like Hell was opening at our feet and Death was stalking him. EJ and I wanted to get between JJ and Death and roar “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!” I am so relieved and thankful because it looks as if Death was cheated this time. Some day, death may take him. But not THIS day. I will be glad when death is forever defeated and there are no tears or pain.
However, I currently have friends who are suffering from years of chronic illness, who are struggling with cancer, who have children who are suffering with severe health problems. I see their strong faith in the midst of the ups and downs, the good days and bad, the fears and the hopes, the laughter and the tears. Sometimes faith is messy and doesn’t look like faith. I am awed by the deep faith of my friends.
Yesterday was quite busy. I had to go to my neighbor’s house in the morning to feed her adorable little dog one last time. She arrived home late yesterday afternoon. After I fed Keno, I did laundry. Later in the afternoon I ran to the store for a few things for JJ. I did, however, have an opportunity to rest on the loveseat for a bit and enjoy the view out the window. I was tired after sleepless nights and the whirlwind of JJ’s emergency surgery.
All summer long we have been trying to buy our winter’s supply of firewood. One thing or another often prevented our getting the wood, so last week we had only about three face cords. We wanted ten face cords for the winter. We found a local guy who was selling firewood, and he even said he’d deliver or no extra charge, so last week EJ called him and arranged for him to bring us wood. He dropped off the wood yesterday evening. It was nice to not have to drive to get the wood, load it in our pickup, and then unload and stack it in our woodshed. This guy just backed his dump truck into our back yard and dumped the wood.
Firewood
This morning while EJ and JJ slept, I went outside and began stacking the wood. I enjoyed working in the beautiful morning. I got about half of the wood stacked before hunger drove me inside. An hour or so later, EJ helped me stack the rest of it. We now have about 5 1/2 face cords of firewood. We are getting there….
JJ is sleeping quite a bit, but he is recovering very nicely. Last night he ate a footlong Subway sandwich and today he ate a sandwich and then asked for another. After weeks of him not being hungry (we thought it was due to stress from starting college), it’s a joy that he is getting hungry again. “Make you another sandwich, JJ? OF COURSE!”
Two days after we first took him to the doctor, JJ was having emergency surgery. We scarcely had time to take it in. JJ said last night that he keeps expecting to “freak out” about all this now that it is all over, but he continues to feel very upbeat and calm.
I’m quite sure it’s due to all the prayers on our behalf.
The last few years we’ve experienced a lot of difficult things, such as EJ’s Dad dying and his nephew getting killed in Afghanistan. Our spirits were getting tired. A week or so ago, I asked God to please give us a sense of His comforting love. I KNOW God loves us, and I KNOW He is good, but sometimes it’s just nice to be reminded, you know? I mean, a wife might know her husband loves her, but she still wants to be told and shown occasionally, especially when she’s tired and having a bad week. It’s like that.
I wouldn’t have chosen to have my son get cancer (NOT AT ALL!), but through this experience, God has overwhelmed us with His love by the loving support and prayers of people around the world. I know I keep mentioning it, but I have never experienced such an outpouring of love before and I am finding it utterly amazing.
Just before JJ needed surgery, a former co-worker of EJ’s knocked on our door and asked to buy our RV. This gave us extra money going into this emergency. And this morning a friend EJ hasn’t seen in quite some time (I think he moved to a different state a few years ago) knocked on our door and asked EJ if he could buy an item of EJ’s that he wanted. In the last day or so, every time we turn around, something like this is happening.
It’s amazing. It’s refreshing. It’s strengthening. We are joyfully overwhelmed. It’s like being at an oasis after a long hard journey.
Today I think that sun is shining brighter, the sky is bluer, and the autumn leaves are more colorful than ever before.
Challenging Death
I feel weak with relief. My spirit is trembling with relief. My legs feel as if they can barely hold me up.
I feel as if we have stared into a nightmare, into the face of Death…and Death blinked and backed away.
This isn’t the first time Death has blinked.
Five years after EJ and I got married, I discovered that I was pregnant. We were absolutely overjoyed. We had been trying for a long time, praying and longing for children. Our joy turned to sorrow when, during a doctor visit in which we were to hear the baby’s heartbeat for the first time, we discovered that the baby had died. I think the most horrifying thing about this time is that I had to wait two weeks to have surgery to remove the lifeless precious one from my womb. Two weeks of tears. “Poor little one,” I whispered. “So very sorry I couldn’t keep you safe and give you life.”
A month later, I became pregnant again. About the same point in the pregnancy, I began to bleed. I remember a fear-filled journey home from work, tears streaming down my face as I cried to God, “Please, do not let me lose this one. I cannot bear to lose two babies in one month.”
I didn’t lose the baby. I spent most of my pregnancy bedridden. Poor EJ was working 12 and 16 hour days and having to come home and take care of me. Difficult days.
Our precious baby.
I went into labor at 12:30 a.m. on my due date. JJ was born about 12 hours later. The birth was rather difficult. JJ had broad shoulders and he got stuck in the birth canal. I tore and it took a long time to sew up the tears. I was tired and scarcely aware that JJ wasn’t breathing when he was born. The worst thing was that the person who was supposed to fill the oxygen tank hadn’t done her job. It was empty. A call went out, “Get oxygen up here STAT!” Apparently the woman was on her break and didn’t rush to respond to the emergency call. The medical staff used a mask and a squeeze bag to put oxygen into JJ’s body. Finally, he coughed and began to breathe and cry. Our precious baby was alive. He had made it.
We challenged death, and again Death blinked and backed away.
A week after JJ was born, I began to hemorrhage badly. EJ rushed me to the hospital. The medical staff was able to stop the bleeding, and they sent me home a few hours later. Two days later, I began to hemorrhage again, even more badly than before. My blood pressure dropped to nothing. I needed emergency blood transfusions. Later, EJ told me that I kept talking about seeing a beautiful field filled with beautiful flowers. The doctor and nurses were crying as they tried to keep me alive. I remember EJ kept squeezing my hand. “I love you,” he repeated. “Don’t leave me. I love you.” I remembered feeling slightly irritated. Part of me wanted him to let me be, to stop bringing me back. The other part didn’t want to leave him or my baby son. I came back. I lived.
Death blinked again and backed away.
I know that God is good, and God is loving. I know He can and does answer prayer. But I also know that Death does not always blink or back away. Loved ones sometimes die. Bad things happen. So when Death threatens, I confront it. I do not pretend to myself that bad things can’t happen. I ask myself, “If the worst happens, can I endure? Will my faith endure? Can I see that God is good?”
Our precious baby after his surgery
This time, as JJ faced cancer, he and I and EJ stared Death in the face together. We honestly faced and dealt with our deepest fears–fears of losing our only son. I am so proud of how my son faced this. He was so courageous, had such a positive attitude. JJ said this morning, “You and Dad were very calm about this. You handled it very well….except for the couple of times when you cried.”
And you, my friends, linked arms and faced Death with us, supporting us with love and prayers. And Death blinked and back away.
I am not unchanged by this experienced. This experience has brought me, EJ, and JJ even closer. And we are humbled by the love of God expressed through a worldwide outpouring of love from friends and strangers.
I have an even greater compassion for those with sick loved ones. Our ordeal lasted about three days (three horribly long days that feel like one very long day), but many must endure weeks and months and years of suffering with a loved one. And at the end, Death doesn’t always blink and back away. I am amazed at the incredible strength and faith of these people.
We got to the hospital earlier than scheduled this morning, but as soon as we checked in the nurse said that Jared was a priority and they got him immediately prepped for the surgery without waiting for the scheduled time of his surgery. He went into surgery about an hour and a half before his scheduled time. As the nurses prepped him for surgery, he became a precious toddler in my eyes, small and vulnerable and defenseless.
Our greatest concern was that the cancer had spread. When the doctor met with us before surgery, he said that the CT scan was clear. We felt so relieved.
EJ’s sister and her son came to the hospital and sat with us while we waited. They were such a blessing. I also had friends texting me encouragement throughout. I love technology. I felt so encouraged and overwhelmed by the love and support of people around the world who were praying for our son. Everyone was such a blessing to us, including those of you who read this blog.
When JJ was in recovery and we could rejoin him, the nurses told us he was an incredible young man. Later the doctor said that the surgery went very well. He sent the mass to pathology and should get a report back in 5-7 days.
JJ is now at home and doing quite well. He had a good attitude through it all and was very courageous. The nursing staff said he is a remarkable young man.
We have survived a parent’s greatest nightmare. Thank you again for all your support! You gave us strength!
JJ fell asleep on the couch as soon as we got home from a whirlwind day of medical exams and tests. He has been video-chatting with a friend across the country. He is actually handling this quite well. We have a courageous son.
EJ slept a bit in his recliner. I heard him and JJ’s voices talking at some point in the night. EJ has also chatted with family and friends on FB.
I tried to sleep on the little loveseat. It’s not the most comfortable place to sleep. It’s too short, for one thing. About 4 p.m. I went upstairs to try to sleep. I know that I need energy for the coming day. The bed is comfortable, but the aloneness is not. After a few minutes of crying in the lonely dark, I headed back downstairs to rejoin EJ and JJ.
I have been trying to share what has happened in general terms so as not to embarrass JJ, but he said a few moments ago that I have his permission to share exactly what is happening. Who knows? Maybe this will help others be aware–more than we were.
JJ waiting to get his ultrasound on Day 1
JJ has a mass in one of his testicles. The mass is very big. Like the size of a baseball. The urologist said that there is a more than 95+ chance that the mass is cancerous. He said that if JJ were in Stage 1, trying to do a biopsy would push him immediately into Stage 4. So the testicle is being removed in a few hours. We only hope the cancer hasn’t spread. I am worried because JJ has gotten very thin. We thought he wasn’t eating because of the stress of working and starting college. He’s been very, very busy. Jared said that at first he thought, “Oh, wow, I’m a MAN!” Uh, they don’t get THAT big, son.
This has happened so quickly that we are stunned. We haven’t had time to adjust to anything. We believe that God is good, and He loves us, and He will help us through no matter what we have to face. However, we also are facing a terrible thing: Cancer, a person’s worse nightmare, a parent’s greatest fear. We want to hang on to hope, but not false hope. We know that God can heal. However, we also know that sometimes really awful things happen. To me, faith isn’t about only trusting God in good times, and it isn’t about trusting Him only if things turn out the way that we want–in this case, that JJ would come through this ok. Faith also involves trusting God when our world is falling apart.
I once went through a very difficult time. Well, actually I have been through many difficult times, but in this particular time, I cried with a friend. And after we had cried and talked for a bit, she said, “You know, TJ, your faith and my faith isn’t pretty. It’s messy. We cry and struggle. But deep down below the messiness there is within us a solid foundation that says, “I love and trust God and I will not let Him go.”
I have always believed in honesty, in being real about where I am. My faith isn’t always pretty. I don’t want this thing to happen to JJ. I want to be angry, but I don’t know who to be angry towards. My heart breaks that JJ has to endure this surgery. I do not know how I will endure if the cancer has spread. One moment at a time, I expect.
Meanwhile, we try to face this honestly. JJ says, “You know, this really sucks.” And we agree. It does. He says, “I can endure losing a testicle, but it’s going to be really bad if the doctor finds out that I have to lose two, or that the cancer has spread through my body.” Absolutely. We agree. He said, “Oh, wow, if I get through this, does that mean I can wear a ‘I survived cancer’ t-shirt?” Of course. He also is honestly looking at the possibility that he might not ever be able to have children. Only one testicle is involved right now, but if it spread to two? “I’d adopt,” he says.
EJ and I are facing the nightmare of having a sick child. We would suffer this for him if we could. I feel as if I am on the edge of a cliff. We are thinking, “How can we endure if JJ’s cancer spreads?” Please, my Adonai, do not let it have spread. Please let us have joy at the end of this day. But if not, help us endure.
Our friend finished working on my not-working computer a day or two ago, but we haven’t had time to retrieve it. EJ is sharing his computer with me. A few minutes after I rejoined my family, EJ handed his computer to me and settled back down in his recliner to try to sleep a little bit more.
I am overwhelmed by the love and support and prayers of people. As I read the comments here and elsewhere, tears slipped down my face. “Stop crying, Mom!” JJ said. Ok. I wiped the tears away.
But I am crying because I am scared and I am crying because God won’t let me go through this alone. He is sending wonderful people.
First thing this morning I called the specialist, as directed, to get an appointment for our son JJ. The doctor took a moment to look at the reports that had been sent to him and then said that he wanted us to get to his office ASAP. So we got there as quickly as we could. The doctor examined JJ and said that there was a 95+ percent chance that the mass was malignant. He said JJ needed surgery to remove the mass. He ordered blood tests and a CT scan to make sure the cancer has not spread to other parts of his body. He will have surgery tomorrow at 12:30 to remove the mass.
JJ has been really healthy through his life and has never experienced being a patient in a hospital and all that it involves. Now he has experienced blood tests, an ultrasound, and a CT scan, all in just a couple of days. He is also experiencing not being able to work, having to drop out of college, and many other difficult possibilities.
Jared is handling this all pretty well, considering. We try to keep things light so he can laugh. I am very glad that he can vocalize his questions and fears. We don’t try to offer him false platitudes but let him express that he hates this, or is afraid, or ask questions of how this will affect his life. We honestly discuss the realities of the situation and the options we have.
As parents, we have to face the greatest fear a parent can have. We have to face the fear that our only son is sick, that his cancer could have spread, as well as the fear that we could lose him. These are hard things. We are aware that no matter how strong a person’s faith is, sometimes heartbreaking things happen. Pretending it can’t happen isn’t helpful to me. Knowing it can happen and then struggling to trust God with it is more honest to me. We know He is near, but it’s ok to cry.
Of tremendous comfort are those who have gone through this sort of heartache, who understand the fear. To have them wrap their arms around us and cry with us and give us their wisdom is of great value. One friend, who has a disabled son, wrote such a beautiful letter. Part of it says:
Whatever you want to share or talk about – I am here for all of you…I am weeping with you my friends and maybe this will be one of the times that we see Adonai work His miracles – I am praying for it – pleading for it. There is a hope for our children,TJ. Yeshua [Jesus] is collecting up all the tears we weep and bringing them before the Father.
I am crying too hard to say things the way I mean and to be encouraging. You are a strong family and your faith is strong. Hang onto Yeshua and He will not let you go! He is our strength and our refuge – we can hide in the shelter of His wings. Hide there and you will remain strong.
Other friends have written similar things, and I feel strengthened by their tears and love
. It is also a comfort that so many friends are praying for JJ, and they are asking their friends to pray for him. It’s like a web reaching around the country and world. How awesome.
We are exhausted.
We are all sleeping downstairs tonight on recliners and couches. We need to be near each other, not alone.
Today we started out on a new journey, one that we never wanted to have to take.
Last night JJ told us about a health issue he was having. First thing this morning we went to a doctor about it. She told us to go immediately to the ER in a big hospital about an hour away for an ultrasound.
The results weren’t as good as we wanted. JJ has a mass. We don’t know yet if it’s benign or malignant. First thing tomorrow morning we have to call an urologist and get things going. Hopefully we can get in right away.
On the way home, JJ said, “You are being calm about this.” I think we are actually rather numb right now. It hasn’t sunk in. I told JJ that I think that the hardest point is before you have a diagnosis because then you fluctuate between hope that it is minor and fear that it is not. Once you have a diagnosis, even if it’s bad, you begin focusing on treatment and what to do next.
JJ has begun considering how this will affect college, work, and his future. Should he quit college? Quit work? It’s a lot to deal with. I told him to take one thing at a time, hold on to God, and seize moments of joy.
We stopped for Chinese food on the way home. A moment of joy.
On Monday, EJ and I went to the book sale at the library. We can’t resist book sales. We ended up buying another couple dozen books for $3.20.
As we arrived at the library, we saw an older man on foot pull a good-sized wagon and park on the library lawn. EJ talked to him a bit and discovered that he is walking across America. Usually people who are walking or biking across the country have some reason for doing so–a personal challenge, to experience the country up close, or to raise awareness for a cause. EJ said this man didn’t say why he was making this journey. He just said that he is looking for a place to rent over the winter before continuing on his way in the Spring. I thought it was really interesting.
I often think that there are interesting people and events happening all the time. Some of them are big and some are small. Today EJ and I went to the grocery store, and we saw a woman with a dog on a leash at the deli counter inside the store. I always enjoy encountering cats or dogs in a store, but usually they are not allowed in grocery stores unless they are service dogs. Usually service dogs have vests on indicating that they are working. This dog had nothing of the sort. We wondered why there was a dog in the store. Did the woman sneak the dog in? Did she have permission from the store? And, if so, what was the reason? We will probably never know, but it’s interesting to speculate.
Keno
I have been caring for my neighbor’s little dog while she at a wedding in another state. I walk the two blocks to her house twice a day–once in the morning and once in the evening–to let the dog out and feed him. I think caring for an animal involves more than just providing for his physical needs. It also involves giving him love and attention. However Keno is very timid and skittish and for four days he kept out of my reach, running away when I got close to him. I kept speaking gently to him, and when he was ready to come back inside, I would gently pull on his chain to draw him close and pet him. He always ran away as soon as I got him unchained and in the house.
Keno sitting on my lap.
Monday morning, for the first time, he came close to me on his own. I sat down on the couch and he pressed his little body against my leg so I could pet him. That night when I had provided for his physical needs, I sat on the couch again and he ran up to me and jump into my lap. I held him for about 20 minutes, talking to him and stroking him. Now we are buddies. He watches for me at the window and greets me with excitement when I come into the house. As soon as I finish caring for him and sit in the big chair, he leaps into my lap and cuddles with me.
Keno reminds me of little fawn. He is very small and delicate, with doe-like eyes. His face is very expressive. He studies my face intently, as if he is trying to see what will please me. When I talked to him, his ears perk up. He is very adorable. I’m always somewhat sorry to leave him because I think he must be lonely. I spend as much time as I can with him. His owner will return in a few days.
Today was a beautiful sunny day. This afternoon I went outside and harvested my sunflowers.
I Love To Go A Gardening 