Tag: cancer

Stripped

This last week has been rough.

We didn’t expect cancer. We didn’t expect BRCA2. And we definitely didn’t expect chemotherapy to be needed. But it is, and they tell me I will lose my hair, so I decided that I would do something I have never done in my life: cut my hair SHORT.

So, last Monday night, a few of my local friends accompanied me to the hair salon where we met more of my friends and family via Zoom. For the next hour, we talked, laughed, cried, and watched my hairdresser cut off all of my beautiful, long tresses. (Part of the crying came from my daughter surprising me by cutting hers off, too.)

Everyone raved about how great I look with short hair. And everyone who has seen me in person or in pictures has done the same. (Y’all are amazing and helping me make the best of a terrible situation.)

But, ever since the haircut, I have been dealing with something new.

Anger.

I’m mad. I’m mad at cancer. I’m mad at short hair. I’m mad that I’m basically entering my own pandemic-style lock-down for the next 12-ish weeks. I’m mad I can’t have fresh salads or fresh berries. I’m mad that I can’t lay in the sun at the beach.

But it’s more than just the inconvenience of it all.

I’m mad because I feel like I am being stripped of who I am. One breast is gone, the other one will be gone soon, and eventually I am facing a hysterectomy. My hair has been shorn off, and will soon be gone altogether. For the first time in 16 years, I don’t have acrylic nails. I don’t feel feminine. I don’t feel pretty. And I’m angry about it. I’m angry at cancer and the way it is stripping me of things that have been essential to my identity as a woman.

But, I guess, anger is a good thing, because that means I am doing what I should be doing and moving through the grief of it all. I’ve moved past the denial and the feelings that this can’t really be happening and right on into the reality of it all. And that reality really makes me mad.

So often, people will try to squash their feelings, push them down, and in essence, refuse to feel them. But that isn’t healthy. We don’t have to wallow in those feelings, but we do need to feel them. We need to acknowledge those emotions that well up, not so they can control us, but so we can feel them and move through them in a healthy way.

So, I’m gonna allow myself some time to be angry, say some bad words, and probably cry over the next few weeks. I’m not gonna stay there long, and I’m not gonna wallow, but when the anger bubbles up, I’m gonna feel it and then take a few deep breaths and move on. Then I will repeat as needed. Trusting that one day, I won’t be as angry.

(For specific details related to the health portion of my breast cancer journey you can check out https://www.giveinkind.com/inkinds/V5A7Q4H/care-for-chrisy.)

Why is It So Hard?

Less than a week out from surgery and if you ask me how I am doing and I say I’m doing fine – call me on it because I am lying. The truth is, while I am definitely anxious about the surgery and the recovery and whatever treatment comes next (before diving in to more surgeries), I am also anxious about something else.

Help.

I have so much I want to have done before surgery:

  • house (spotlessly) clean
  • spring yard work (perfectly) done
  • patio and deck prepped and ready so I can enjoy it while I am recovering
  • loose ends tied up at the office for my time away

The list could go on and on.

And let’s just acknowledge the fact that right after I got the cancer diagnosis, I also started a Doctor of Ministry program, so between those two things, I am behind on the basic upkeep of all of the above, which makes me embarrassed to invite people into my home that isn’t up to my normal standards of order and cleanliness.

Thankfully, I have friends who are being very good to push me to do something that I don’t do easily.

Ask for help.

Yesterday, I messaged a friend and asked her why it was so hard for me to ask for help. She told me three things:

  1. You are used to being the care-giver, not the care-receiver .
  2. You like being in control and not feeling vulnerable.
  3. You don’t want to inconvenience anyone.

And she’s absolutely not wrong. But one of the things I am learning through this process is that people really do want to help, and by not asking for help, I am robbing them of an opportunity to care for me and be of help in a situation in which they, too, feel quite helpless on my behalf. Not to mention, as a pastor, I think it is important to model asking for help when needed, and it is important for me to understand how hard it is for others to ask for help.

So, yesterday, I asked for help. And today a number of my friends are coming over to help me knock out my long list of to-dos before next week’s surgery. Am I grateful? Absolutely. Am I an anxious mess? Of course I am. Am I embarrassed about the current level of disarray in my yard and house? You betcha. But, am I doing my best to let go of all of that in order to both lessen my stress and invite those who love me to help in a tangible way? I’m trying.

Here’s to asking for help, and receiving it with grace and humility.

If you want to keep up with information about surgery or find ways that you can help us out, head over to https://www.giveinkind.com/inkinds/V5A7Q4H.

If Patience is a Virtue…

…then that is a virtue that I don’t possess.

Mike and I have always talked about the fact that neither of us are naturally patient people. It is definitely something that we have had to work on throughout our lives. If you don’t believe me, just ride in a car with us during heavy traffic, or when the people in front of us turning off of 59 onto CR6 don’t move fast enough with the green arrow and we have to wait another light cycle before we can get home.

And let’s be real, waiting for information and next steps when there is cancer growing inside your body doesn’t make patience any easier. And then when you add depression and anxiety to the mix, let’s just say my tear ducts aren’t clogged.

I was waiting for confirmation of the first surgery date this week, hoping that it would be moved to an earlier date than the “for sure” date of April 5. Needless to say, I will be waiting until April 5. And I’m struggling with that. It has already been over two months since the initial diagnosis, and by April 5, it will be over 3 months since the mammogram in which the cancer was seen.

But if there is one thing I know, it is that God’s timing is not my timing. It has been something I have had to learn and re-learn often in my (impatient) life. Pregnancy. Jobs. School. Ordination. Call. And any other number of times in my life when I had to live in the waiting space.

It is in these times that I find solace and comfort in the Psalms, when I remember that I can be strong, and take heart as I wait for the Lord.

I take refuge in you, Lord.
    Please never let me be put to shame.
        Rescue me by your righteousness!
2 Listen closely to me!
    Deliver me quickly;
        be a rock that protects me;
        be a strong fortress that saves me!
3 You are definitely my rock and my fortress.
    Guide me and lead me for the sake of your good name!
4 Get me out of this net that’s been set for me
    because you are my protective fortress.
5 I entrust my spirit into your hands;
    you, Lord, God of faithfulness—
    you have saved me.
6 I hate those who embrace what is completely worthless.
    I myself trust the Lord.
7 I rejoice and celebrate in your faithful love
    because you saw my suffering—
    you were intimately acquainted with my deep distress.
8 You didn’t hand me over to the enemy,
    but set my feet in wide-open spaces.

9 Have mercy on me, Lord, because I’m depressed.
    My vision fails because of my grief,
    as do my spirit and my body.
10 My life is consumed with sadness;
    my years are consumed with groaning.
Strength fails me because of my suffering;
    my bones dry up.
11 I’m a joke to all my enemies,
    still worse to my neighbors.
    I scare my friends,
    and whoever sees me in the street runs away!
12 I am forgotten, like I’m dead,
    completely out of mind;
    I am like a piece of pottery, destroyed.
13 Yes, I’ve heard all the gossiping,
    terror all around;
    so many gang up together against me,
        they plan to take my life!

14 But me? I trust you, Lord!
    I affirm, “You are my God.”
15 My future is in your hands.
    Don’t hand me over to my enemies,
    to all who are out to get me!
16 Shine your face on your servant;
    save me by your faithful love!
17 Lord, don’t let me be put to shame
    because I have cried out to you.
Let the wicked be put to shame;
    let them be silenced in death’s domain!
18 Let their lying lips be shut up
    whenever they speak arrogantly
    against the righteous with pride and contempt!
19 How great is the goodness
    that you’ve reserved for those who honor you,
    that you commit to those who take refuge in you—
        in the sight of everyone!
20 You hide them in the shelter of your wings,
    safe from human scheming.
    You conceal them in a shelter,
    safe from accusing tongues.

21 Bless the Lord,
    because he has wondrously revealed
    his faithful love to me
    when I was like a city under siege!
22 When I was panicked, I said,
    “I’m cut off from your eyes!”
But you heard my request for mercy
    when I cried out to you for help.

23 All you who are faithful, love the Lord!
    The Lord protects those who are loyal,
        but he pays the proud back to the fullest degree.
24 All you who wait for the Lord,
be strong and let your heart take courage.

Psalm 31 (CEB)

So, as I wait a couple more weeks for the first surgery, and who knows how long before the subsequent ones, I will continue to be courageous and filled with God’s strength in the waiting. Because simply honking the horn won’t speed things along this journey like it does the slowpokes in the left turn lane.

C is for…

If you didn’t start singing “C is for cookie” in a Cookie Monster voice, we can’t be friends.

Just kidding. Kind of.

One of my favorite necklaces, inspired by Alexis from Schitt’s Creek.

C is for a lot of things:

  • Cookies
  • Cake
  • Candy
  • Coffee
  • Church
  • Choir
  • Cheerleading
  • Coloring
  • Children (mostly my own)
  • Castle (as in the TV show with Nathan Fillion)
  • Cuddles (with my dog Brindley of course)
  • and of course, Chrisy (or Christina, as my dad would call me)

There are loads of things that start with the letter “C” that I absolutely love. But recently, I have become intimately familiar with another “C” word that I could do without.

Cancer.

Two months ago today, my annual screening mammogram turned into an additional mammogram, ultrasound and biopsy all on the same day. About 9 days later I got the results of the biopsy, and I was diagnosed with invasive lobular breast cancer. Because of my age, and other family history, I then underwent genetic testing which found that I am positive for BRCA2, a harmful variant in a particular gene that increases my risk, not only of breast cancer, but of other types of cancers as well.

I have to say, I’m not feeling too fond of that good ol’ letter “C” these days.

I have waffled back and forth whether to take this news public on a grander scale than how it naturally spreads. One day I feel like I should just keep it to myself and the circle of people around me. The next I feel like I should share my journey in case it can help others who may face this in the future. What ultimately pushed me into sharing this journey on my blog? A couple of things.

  1. I process things through words. Spoken words. Written words. Words that run through my mind. To be able to sit down and write what I am thinking and feeling (and sometimes to then erase it all and start over) is therapeutic and cathartic. I am keeping a journal, which holds some of my personal thoughts (and rants, and tears), but blogging helps me to really think through things and draw connections to other areas of life.
  2. I am realizing how important it is for me to hear the stories of others who have been on this journey, to hear their ups and downs, their struggles and fears, and ultimately, the way they have overcome this disease. If that helps me, then maybe my story can help others.

I’m not sure how often I will post. I’m not sure what the content will be exactly. I do know that I miss blogging and haven’t made it a priority for awhile, so this is impetus to get back to doing something that I love, hopefully in a way that is meaningful for both myself and for you, my readers.

At the end of the letter I sent to the congregation I serve telling them about this diagnosis, I wrote this:

As I was preparing to leave Greenville to relocate here for this call, a friend gave me a wall hanging, which hangs in my bathroom where I see it every day. It says, “Trust the next chapter, because you know the Author.” The circumstances in which I need to trust God may be different now than then, but the truth of this statement remains the same. 1 Thessalonians 5:18 tells us to give thanks in every situation because thanksgiving is God’s will for us. That is the stance that I will be taking throughout this journey, consistently looking for all the gifts for which I have to be grateful.

Gift from a good friend when I moved from Illinois to Alabama

So, I will choose to end each post with something for which I am grateful. Sometimes they will be very off-the-wall or funny, because if I don’t laugh, I will be a puddle of tears on the floor.

Today I am grateful for something my husband said the other night. It isn’t profound. It wasn’t particularly supportive. But it has made me smile every day when I remember it. When asked what he was thinking about and how he was feeling in light of the BRCA2 news, he looked at me and said, “It sucks. But so does dying.”

So there you go. Cancer sucks, and I don’t plan on dying, so instead, I’ll be kicking it’s a$$.