2013 Reflections of a Whirlwind

Whirlwinds come and go, with gale force winds leaving destruction and chaos in their paths. Before they arrive, all is calm.  While approaching one wonders with trepidation and fear, assuming a difficult future lies ahead.  One year ago we were looking at 2013 while caught in the whirlwind of seemingly endless testing, assessing, diagnosing, and of course, uncertainty. From the initial diagnosis of breast cancer in December 2012, it seemed the end to this journey would never arrive.  Now that the year is behind us and I am deemed by my doctors “cancer-free,” reality oozes in during the quiet moments accompanied by a head shake and the weighty question, “Wow, did we just live THAT?”  Really, this year has flown by.  Looking back it was not as incapacitating as we had imagined.  However, we are glad to say good-bye to 2013 and hello to a brand new year!

Several times since Thanksgiving I have thought of what I would like to blog next.  Thanksgiving Day, for example, was spent in Florida with my family.  Elizabeth enjoyed the time with her cousin and we all shared a holiday feast.  On another day in December we spent our final ABC ride of the year on the Harley with just a few points to capture to reach the next level of prizes.  Wet and very cold we were reminded of our multiple senses and thanked God for the ability to feel, breathe, and spend this delightful time as a couple together.  Pictures gathered and mailed to Milwaukee, it didn’t seem as important a few days later.

I also considered blogging about my first experience with the “Breast Friends” support group at MD Anderson.  I had attended one of their events in October and shared pictures on a blog, but December was my first actual meeting.  A survivor told her story, and we all shared some holiday cheer.  They gave me some gifts for being a new-by, and it was fun to see my radiation oncologist dressed like the 60s with her big hair and funky colors.  Fun, but blog-worthy?

At Christmas I thought about blogging when we decorated the tree, opened presents, and spent time with family.  Again, caught up in yet another holiday I simply didn’t feel like writing it down.  In retrospect, I am reminded of what Christ sacrificed for me as we sang one of my favorite songs in church on Christmas Eve:  “How many kings stepped down from their thrones, how many lords have abandoned their homes…only ONE did that for me.”  This is surely worth blogging about.  Once more, the keyboard remained silent.

I also considered blogging an update from my doctors’ visits, but my eyes were too blurry and motivation was low.  Tears streamed from my face as I met with my surgeon for the 6-week post-radiation follow-up.  What’s wrong with me?  I am cancer-free and I have so much to be thankful for.  Yet there is the nagging reminder of the trials I have just overcome.  Blistered feet remind me of the journey we have just hiked.

She talked about the possibility of a second mastectomy – is it still a consideration?  Another whirlwind to ponder. Acknowledging my affect with compassion in her voice, this is the time, she explained, when most of her patients “lose it.”  They do well during treatment, but when it’s over, reality bites unexpectedly.  When one goes through cancer treatment, friends and family are sympathetic.  People visit.  We give ourselves a break if things don’t go as planned.  We expect to feel bad at times, and are pleasantly surprised when we feel good.  We put one foot in front of the other, and trudge along each passing day, focusing on the future and not the cancer.  We delve into the Word of God and maintain emotional strength.

We have a tendency to hyper-focus on removing the cancer and the treatment while it is happening, then when it is over a self-induced expectation brings a false belief that everything will (and should) return to “normal.”  In my weaker moments I inflict myself with the notion that I am not normal.  I ponder: If I were normal I wouldn’t have to do these daily exercises to prevent lymphadema and tightness in my chest…forever and always.  If I were normal I wouldn’t be so tired all the time.  If I were normal …  Fortunately I don’t stay there long.

What is “normal” anyway?

Time, I am told, heals a lot of wounds. Scars fade and become a natural part of life. In my case, time has given me a chance to think.  Aside, I am not that much unlike Walter Mitty, who daydreams about adventure.  Walter doesn’t seem normal to those around him, yet he does something extraordinary.  I am once again reminded most great things are accomplished by those who don’t fit into the social mold.  I anticipate what God has in store for the next half of my life.

Reflections since the end of treatment have admittedly brought reality to the surface. Falling asleep early each night, missing the middle of most movies, and ongoing numbness on my right side are reminders that my body is still recovering. The radiation is still working as evidenced by the continued sensitivity in my chest. While the heavy lifting and the hard journey have ended, and the whirlwind has passed, there remains in its path change, chaos, and even destruction.

How long will You forget me, Lord? Forever? How long will You look the other way when I am in need? How long must I be hiding daily anguish in my heart? How long shall my enemy have the upper hand? Answer me, O Lord my God; give me light in my darkness lest I die … (Psalm 13:1-3, TLB)

But it doesn’t have to stay that way.

We watch HGTV quite a bit in our dream of adventure, so pardon the following analogy. Renovations are costly and often appear chaotic to the viewer. There is almost always a glitch which costs the homeowner more money, time, energy, and creates additional emotional turmoil. However, they must maintain faith in the process, and especially in the interior designer. Beauty can only take place after the demolition crew has finished. Old walls are torn down and replaced with new ones. A house must become an empty shell to be rebuilt into something beautiful. The designer’s vision is realized when the homeowner is awestruck by the transformation.

I trust my Designer to create something special from the chaos that has been left by this whirlwind.

The year 2014 will be a good time to focus on my reconstruction:  physically, emotionally, spiritually, relationally.  I know God has great things in store for this temple He has fashioned, and I look forward to fulfilling His will for my life.  The Psalmist, who felt like the Lord had forgotten him in the verses cited above, shifts his mood as he continues to trust in God’s unfailing love. My mood also shifts as I remember He has it all in control.

But I will always trust in You and in Your mercy and shall rejoice in Your salvation. I will sing to the Lord because He has blessed me so richly (Psalm 13:5-6).

Early in the diagnosing phase, when we succumbed to the Internet in search of “truth,” a friend whose wife had also experienced cancer simply said, “God is not a God of statistics!”  This was the truth we needed to hear!  No matter what the statistics say about survival rates, cure rates, staging, prognoses, and the like, God chooses to show up to defy the odds and perform miracles.  And He has done so on many, many occasions.  I put my trust in Him.  He defied the odds with me, and I continue to sing to the Lord for saving my life in 2013!

So today, this final week of December, I am blogging.  It is the tale from my journey’s beginning to the end of this year.  From fearful anticipation to whirlwind to chaos to rebuilding, this year has been quite a ride.

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While God surpasses all statistics, numbers can sometimes bring perspective.  So, I will conclude this blog by capturing 2013 in the following arithmetical fashion:

• 97 trips to MD Anderson
• 29 miles one way
• 5,626 miles round trip
• Approximately 20 pounds heavier (both of us, unfortunately)
• We moved houses two times (into a rental, then into our new home)
• We earned 53 ABC points traveling approximately 4,000 miles on the Harley
• Bryan had 1 surgery.  Tim had 2 skin cancers removed.  Elizabeth had zero health problems.
• I turned the big 5-0, with radiation as a birthday present.
• 1 girlfriend and 1 boyfriend were added to our family this year.

À la prochaine (Until next time) …