I’m on the other side of surgery now – surgery to cut out the Cancer.  It’s been a week and a half.  The title of this post lists a few of the hurdles I am experiencing now.  Pain – for sure.  Still taking the good drugs around the clock (which is also why there are no automobiles.  Can’t drive on the good drugs), but have been able to cut them by half since coming home from the hospital.  On full dose I was sleeping all the time.  In fact, when I looked at the calendar to see how far past surgery I was, it surprised me.  I honestly can hardly recall much of last week, living it in a drug induced haze.  That’s probably good.  I have pain and soreness in my reconstructed breasts, but mostly in my abdomen, where the tissue for reconstruction was taken.  I have a long and gnarly scar from hip bone to hip bone and a newly created belly button.  (For some of you this may be WAAAAYYY too much information, but I have had a lot of questions).  I also have JP drains in my abdomen.  I don’t want to gross you out explaining the drippy details, so feel free to google that is you want.  They are a nuisance to keep out of the way, especially when trying to bath – which is difficult enough.  I feel like I have completeld a marathon when the shower is over.  One drain quietly does it’s job of removing excess blood and waste from the surgical sight.  She gets in my way, but we can peacefully co-exist.  The other drain has been mean and contentious since I woke up from surgery.  The only explanation offered to me by medical staff is that it must be sitting on some nerves or something else that it is irritating.  I have named said drain Brutus.  Because he is constantly stabbing me.  He delivers sharp pains if he is bumped, stripped (that is a whole process that must be done on both twice a day), or just feels like reminding me he is there.  My sweet Shelby sat down next to me on the couch yesterday and stuck her elbow unknowingly into Brutus and I screamed like one those banshees everyone talks about but no one really knows.  Scared Chuck and Allie out of their ever loving minds as they came racing from the other side of the house.  I am praying the drains will come out at my follow-up appointment on Thursday, and I will not be sorry to see Brutus banished for all his crimes.  I do, however, plan to double up on the pain meds in anticipation of his removal.  I can only imagine it will be at least as painful, if not more so, as our co-habitation.

While still dealing with the physical aches and pains, I am now dealing with the emotional pain of the final pathology from my surgically removed tissue.  Where I had been previously told they could find nothing but Stage 0 non-invasive cancer, actually having the tissue to examine unearthed a 5 mm tumor of invasive cells.  This discovery has only upgraded my diagnosis to a stage 1, but because my cancer is not hormone receptive and the proteins multiply quickly (did that sound like I understand it all?  I don’t.), my doctor isn’t sure we can completely rule out chemo anymore.  My surgical oncologist is referring me to a medical oncologist for consultation.  When she gave me this news I could barely hold it together long enough to get out of her office.  I cried in the car all the way home.  I cried because I was afraid of being sick and loosing my hair.  I cried because I couldn’t imagine my rock star husband having to take care of me any longer than he already is.  I cried because every piece of news I have been given on this cancer journey has, initially, seemed like a small problem (as far as cancer goes), but I keep getting surprised with bigger issues.   So I cried Friday afternoon – actually sobbed.  But by the time we got home I wiped away the tears and they have not returned.  After the initial emotions of shock and fear, I am left with what I have always held in my possession.  The assurance that God is in control.  His presence all around me.  My mom texted me this scripture, “Why are you in despair, O my soul?  And why have you become disturbed within me?  Hope in God, for I shall yet praise Him, the help of my countenance and my God.” Psalm 42:11 NASB

God gave us our emotions.  They are a part of the whole human experience.  He understands and expects our fear, sadness and even anger.  But when we know Him, and trust His love and care for us, we don’t have to live in those negative emotions.  “Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning.”  Psalm 30:5  I am choosing to let my morning come.  I’m not on the other side of cancer yet.  I still have a lot of recovery to do before I have found my new normal.  And I’m still waiting to find out if chemo is in my future, but I am focusing on the joy in this.  The joy of getting to see my family and friends more often than usual.  The joy of having time to write and read books because I am on leave from work.  The joy of getting delicious meals delivered and getting a break from the kitchen.  The joy of having more people than ever reading this blog because cancer is so universal.  The joy of getting cards and sweet texts and being prayed over.  Isaiah 25:4 says God is “…a stronghold to the needy in his distress, a shelter from the storm and a shade from the heat.”  So I will praise Him.  I “…with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that [I] may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”  And even if the tears come again, they are as welcome at His throne as my praise.

The pastor at my church used a sermon illustration at church this week that I can’t stop thinking about.  He was preaching from Ephesians 2:1-10, among other passages, but it’s verse 10 that is holding my attention captive.  “For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them.”  The word “workmanship” in the original greek is the word for “poem”.  I had never heard this before.  As a writer, this idea is precious to me.  I have thought in terms of us being God’s handiwork; He as the creator and man as the created, but never really considered myself as an artistic piece.  I think of God as an artist when I see a breathtaking sunset or a flower-covered field, but dare I consider myself a work of art?  Maybe even a masterpiece?

I fancied myself a poet at the tender age of 10 and continued the practice up into high school.  I laugh now, however, when I dig out any of my old verses.  At 43, I have both the distance and taste to recognize that I was far from a talented poet.  I was merely smart enough to rhyme words and form them into coherent thoughts.  It was a harmless pastime and helped me express my pre-teen angst.  But since I still love the creativity of putting words to paper (or keyboard), this imagery opens up new angles from which I can see myself.

As a student, my favorite poet was William Wadsworth Longfellow.  If you aren’t familiar with his work, can I suggest “Evangeline” or “The Children’s Hour”?  I can see my life as one of his epic poems.  God is weaving my days into a story.  And the greatest part?  The story isn’t finished.  Dravet Syndrome isn’t the end of my story.  Cancer isn’t the end of my story.  Sin is not the end of my story, and thanks be to Jesus, death will not even be the end of my story.  My Savior, “the author [yes, AUTHOR] and perfecter of faith” (Hebrews 12:2) is writing new stanzas even now.  And “The Song of Hiawatha” will have nothing on the length and magnitude of the story of Christ in me.

To get a full picture of the meaning of Ephesians 2:10, we need to look at the the next part.  We are “created in Christ Jesus for good works”.  We are not poetry just for poetry’s sake.  Our lives are intended for good works.  And our good works have a greater purpose.  Matthew 5:16 says to “Let your light shine before men in such a way that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven.”  Our good deeds = glory to God.  The things we do should point others to Christ.  But before our actions can have kingdom significance, we have to be “in Christ” as Ephesians 2 says.  Do you know what it is to be “in Christ”?  Do you have a relationship with Jesus?  We all want our lives to count for something.  In Christ, they count for EVERYTHING.  If you aren’t sure you are in Christ, please message me.  I would love to talk with you about Him.  In the hands of the greatest Author the world has ever known, the iambic pentameter of your verses will flow with the purpose of His goodness and love.

Warning:  the following post sounds like an advertisement for the Epilepsy Foundation of Texas, but I can assure you that I do not work for them, nor did they have anything to do with the following piece.  But they have lots to do with the care and keeping of our daughter Shelby.

Today, the question was presented to me, “If you became rich and famous, what’s the first charity to which you would make a donation?”  It’s pretty safe to say that I will remain middle class and somewhat anonymous, but my thoughts still went to eftx.org.  When I was a young mom (typed wistfully), the people I met through this organization threw me a lifeline.  When I was frightened and alone, they connected me to others in the thick of seizure meds, therapies and hospital stays.  They educated my husband and me and allowed us to come alongside them to educate others.

Before connecting with the Epilepsy Foundation, we quite frankly, felt helpless.  Helpless to stop the violent seizures or advance her development and education.  The Foundation gave us useful and meaningful things to do.  We brought awareness to others.  We helped put on seminars at schools.  We served on committees to fundraise and plan events, we wrote articles, and we shared Shelby’s story at galas and even the National Epilepsy Foundation’s annual conference.  We went to our state capital with a professional lobbyist paid for by the Foundation to fight for Shelby’s right to take a form of medical marijuana.  My husband has even served on the eftx board multiple times, once as president.  The Foundation turned our helplessness into helpfulness, and we are so grateful.

Donna, the Executive Director of the Epilepsy Foundation of Texas, called me personally in 2008 to ask if I would consider sending Shelby to their summer camp.  I argued with her that Shelby demanded too much care.  She assured me that she had just the counselor to take care of her – and boy did she.  Without that invitation, I would never have dreamed of camp as a possibility for my daughter, but what a blessing it has been.  This summer Shelby will go to the same camp for the 9th time.  We all look forward to that week every year.  It is much needed respite for my husband and me, while Shelby gets the fun, independence and socialization she craves.

March 26 is National Purple Day for Epilepsy Awareness.  I can’t think of a more fitting time to tell the folks at the Foundation how terrific they are and how much they mean to my family.  But I also want to challenge you, my reader friends.  1.  Wear purple on March 26 and tell others it’s for Epilepsy Awareness.  If you wear our color in honor of Shelby, please tag me on social media.  It would be such an encouragement.  2.  If you have any funds you could share – any amount at all – click here to support my husband Chuck and daughter Shelby as they Stroll for Epilepsy on April 1.  All funds benefit the Foundation and I want them to be able to continue to touch families like ours for years to come.  3.  Study the instructions below on what to do if you see someone have a seizure.  Educate yourself on the proper first aid.