Messy Underneath but Pretty on Top

Still feeling like I am getting physically and mentally ready for a long run. It might hurt a lot, or it might be very endurable, who knows. Very well meaning people assure me that feeling angry, or desperate to regain control of my life are very normal feelings and I shouldn't feel bad. Problem is I don't feel that way, at all. From the moment I heard  I knew this was the next brick on the yellow brick road. I would welcome a miraculous healing, but as I try very hard to listen to the still small voice of God, I'm not hearing anything about that. If you are praying with me,  then how about those stray cells that may have spread to places where they can't be seen...may chemo and radiation get every single last one. And while you are at it, please pray for my friend Kirsten who started this race a few months ahead of me and chemo is already hunting them down in her body.

I totally messed up my ultra sound appointment today. I have something on my liver that has to be checked out because of what is going on, and you can't eat for 6 hours before, which I only remembered after I had been driving for 20 minutes to get there and was thinking about how full I felt from lunch. Oh well, rescheduled.  I'm really looking forward to talking to the oncologist for the first time tomorrow. I'm expecting to get the last puzzle peace of the treatment plan from him and some more details about what will be taken out. (I hate to say the C word.) I will definitely post tomorrow with that news.

I can really appreciate the story Karla posted on the Facebook website about a poor man with an expensive white horse that runs away.  I remember the one that got away. At the time I learned what a broken heart feels like...and it did hurt with an ache I had never felt before. But looking back, had I not felt it then I certainly would have many times over in the years that followed, and as it stands, I've NEVER felt it again.

 The man who was lame from birth so that God would receive glory for his miraculous healing as an adult...who could have known?  The God man who got nailed to a cross so that all of mankind could benefit from his substitutionary death...who would have guessed? The girl whose body failed to fight of mutated invaders so that....well...I don't know the other side of that one. What I do know is that I have been asked to suffer so little compared to others, and I know that suffering is often like the underside of a needlepoint project; not much to look at itself but absolutely necessary for the beauty on top. That gives me peace.

Words Abiding in Me

Still counting things to be thankful for...

1. My doctor will be ready to operate in two weeks so I am going to wait for him instead of going with someone else. (He hurt himself yesterday but will be ok!) That means it will be scheduled for the week of May 13.

2. The mass has NOT attached to my muscle even though very close.

3.  flowers for 23 years of marriage

4.  creamy oatmeal with butter, golden raisins and Blue Lantern Inn granola

5. notes, cards, flowers and messages that remind me I am not alone

6. coming out of an MRI machine tube alive

7. nurses who treat you like their own daughter within minutes of knowing each other

8.  that only a partial mastectomy is necessary

9. being able to laugh over a flat tire on the electra... it matters so little

10. balancing on rocks that waves are crashing against


I'll bet you are all starting to think I am turning this into a little vacation, lol. Ben and I stole away to the Blue Lantern Inn perched on a cliff edge overlooking Dana Point Cove for a few days and it was perfectly timed. I imagined that falling onto the fluffy white bed would be like sleeping in a cloud and it was true...such a luxury to sleep when you want to! There were endless walks to take below or above the cliffs, each one with ocean smells, sights and wind in your hair.  Roses and electra bike rides down the coast softened the anxiety of waiting for final details, and when they came, we rejoiced by eating more good food.

 I guess you could say the shock is wearing off and I feel like I'm anticipating a really long run (years ago)...anticipation with the full realisation that what lies ahead will test my resolve, and that walking or quitting will never be an acceptable alternative to stop the pain.

Ben and I talked a lot about God, and healing, and prayer.  Did I just open a pandora's box?

"If you abide in Me and My words abide in you, you will ask what you desire, and it shall be done for you."  John 15:7

It's easy to forget that little phrase there, "and My words abide in you" and just skip on over to the "you shall have whatever you ask for" part.  One comes before the other because the asking done in the context will be done.  His word, abiding in me, the written words of God, the spoken words of God abiding in me.  Before I ask for anything I believe this is the place to start. Last Sunday the word to our church was, in order to hear God for yourself, you must read His word, and then listen for the very still and small voice like Elijah heard. Then like Samuel in the temple, call back to Him, "I'm trying to know
Your voice Lord. Am I hearing You? Please confirm to me that I have heard what you are telling me in your word."

 I've personally never been a patient listener. I get caught up in the urgency of the moment and my desire to start running rather than to sit at the crossroads and make sure I know where I am supposed to go. I guess you could say that is where I am in praying for healing. Three weeks from now they could open me and find nothing, if that is the will of my sovereign Father.  Three weeks from now they could open me up and take out what they expected, if that is the will of my sovereign Father.  Either way,  I am doing my best to abide and my prayer is that He is glorified in everything.

1,000 Gifts

(Hope Chassen)

If you've read the book One Thousand Gifts, you'll know what I am talking about when I say I'm going to write part of my "thankful list" to tell you how things went to day. The author harbored in her heart the burdens of a sister's tragic death in childhood, raising six kids on a farm with endless financial stress, and the death of two nephews as infants from the same disease, one right after the other.  Her release was through learning to see God'e grace in everything, and to thank Him for all things in good times and bad, big and small.  She kept a journal on the kitchen counter and entered things she could find to celebrate no matter what the day handed her. The goal was for 1,000 entries, but it became a lifestyle.  I was inspired to take the same frame of mind, so here is my news in a thanksgiving list format.

1. I have insurance.
2. Dr. surgeon Imler is a nice person who answers questions well.
3. He offered sympathy, a very non sterile trait.
4. I might be able to choose between a partial or full mastectomy, dependent on MRI tomorrow and how much it has spread.
5. I can recover by Tim's graduation and then chemo starts.
6. My hormone levels are perfect for after care hormone treatment receptivity. (My husband was surprised about this one.)
7. My friends are going to be with me in heaven forever because they are all busy talking to God on my behalf.
8. They are talking to God on our behalf, all the Chassens!
9. Ben and I came out to the appointment with more peace than when we went in.
10. My friend Kirsten Loy who started chemo Monday felt good the yesterday and came to our sons' lacrosse game.


"I am the vine and My Father is the vinedresser." John 15:1

Heavenly Father does the careful pruning of a branch like me. Tonight when I gather to pray with some  sweet friends, I will cry out to the Father for healing along with them,  but then I will also be ready for some pruning if the Sovereign Lord chooses to "trim me up" through the medical field.  Either way, He is Lord and I love Him.

Food

It dawned on me yesterday when I was thinking about going to crossfit, that I'm sick.   But I don't feel sick. I can almost do 1/3 of a pull up and everything else I'm told to do for the hour and feel great doing it, but I'm sick.  That was the moment it crystallized for me.  Every day since the big "announcement" I have been skipping all sugar, and tonight I finally pulled the juicer out and made a huge glass of vegetable juice as part of my dinner.  I combined carrots with the tops, beets with the greens,  celery, green apples, a few small limes and a piece of fresh ginger.  It ends up being dark purple and gives a burst of energy afterwards.  I 've heard so many people say, "You of all people, but you're so HEALTHY".  My mother was kind enough to tell me that she has personally known 4 people who were organic health food purists who each died of cancer, which means that organic food might kill you.  Well since it doesn't just target people who eat really well, I guess we can let that one go.

But cancer really does feed on sugar. (http://www.hopkinsmedicine.org/hnf/hnf_6037.htm) So I've been going without, but how long can a person survive without chocolate? And one more random thought about food. My friend Charlotte gave me two frozen meals... enchiladas and a lasagna.  I happen to know that this cooking took her outside of her comfort zone, so I feel loved all the more. Oh wait, one more thing about food. Thanks to my dear friend Honey for helping me to make 20 individual sized pizzas and two big ones for the freezer!

What's coming:

1- Tomorrow we meet with the surgeon for the first time. I think we will get more clarity about what we are looking at.

2- Thursday is the MRI to see how much is might have spread.

3_ Next Wednesday we meet with the oncologist,  and then to keep the fun from ending I run over to a bone density test.

Falling asleep as I write this because sleeping has also been compromised a bit.  My usual wake up once and go back to sleep has become a wake up one time and them flip flop for two hours.  I thnk it will be better tonight.

Thanks for all the love and prayers because I feel it in a real and tangible way, and even now I can say that I am so blessed.

Love,
Molly

Hair

I will be meeting with the surgeon this Wednesday, and then my MRI Thursday. I've been told this is the hardest part of the journey emotionally because the full extent of what I have and what it takes to get rid of it will be made clear. I've been initiated into a giant club, so I've been told 4-5 times by survivors, I've been given bath salts, enchiladas, wine and flowers. and getting a trip away with Ben before the storm hits.  This whole thing isn't so bad...at least while I still feel like my usual self. 

 I think I've shed all the tears I have in storage and more won't come until they replenish, but I did cry again yesterday when I started thinking about how chemotherapy takes away your hair. I know that probably sounds silly to any males out there, but all women will know what I'm saying. Our hair is a PART of who we are as women. What's rather ironic is that I have been somewhat secretly thinking that I might be able to grow my hair long enough to donate it,  to make wigs for cancer patients. Do I still bet brownie points if I donate it to myself? Maybe someone could give me their thoughts on that.

Living in a Tent

"For we know that if our earthly house, this tent, is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens."  2 Corinthians 5:1

You know, when someone tells you that the lump is cancer, you start thinking a lot about living. We live in a tent for sure ( ever noticed the tent stakes getting loose)?  By "we" I mean the eternal part housed in the vinyl, the spiritual in the physical.  It's not often that this consideration of "where will I be housed" is actually taken literally. Where do you want to live? How do you want to live while you are there? Although the hope of heaven is powerfully strong in my heart, I still want to be here in the tent because we're not done camping together!

So the tent is compromised. The wind is howling, beating on the sides and seems to be saying, "Just wait to see what I have in store for you!" Conversations about this seem surreal still. I keep thinking radiology is going to call me in a panic and say they made a huge mistake and they are so sorry about the awful fright they've given me.  Telling friends and family is like watching my own funeral happening before my eyes. I'm reaching up with my hands checking the roof of this tent, looking intently for the signs of wear that I somehow missed. 

Cold Hard Facts:

1) MRI Thursday at 2pm will tell how much it has spread.  Oncologist appointment will follow, then surgeon.

2) Primary doctor wants blood work and bone density checked in order to gage amount of bone loss caused by follow up treatments.

3) I'm first on the waiting list for surgeon with a great track record.

4) Primary says she has never lost anyone to this kind of breast cancer. They may have lost breast and hair, but she hasn't lost any of them, and assures me I will not be the first. I think of this promise often.

"Abide in Me, and I in you." John 15:4

Abiding has been on my mind long before this all happened. I've been rereading, dissecting  rephrasing, contemplating chapters 15 and 17 of John trying to find the keys to unlock my understanding about not only abiding in this tent I'm in, but in God Himself. In my journal I lamented, "Father, why can't what is in my head get into my heart. I'm beginning to lose hope that I will ever figure it out."  Looks like He is going to help me out here with a chance to practice.

 I'm answering the wind that taunts me outside, "Don't think you can scare me...my heart is already in another place!"  But despite that, we are going to fix this tent for now to finish the camping trip since  all those here would be eating bark soon enough without me along to cook! So here we go. I'll post again with news from the MRI after Thursday.