Who's your Daddy?

I'll be telling my age when I mention a really cool song by the Zombies - Time of the Season, but I thought it appropriate as I write this post about Father's Day. 

In 1967, the song came out and I fell in love with the melody and the lyrics. The chorus would get stuck in my head and live there for days. See if you remember it -

What's your name? (What's your name?)
Who's your daddy? (Who's your daddy?)
(He rich) Is he rich like me?
Has he taken (Has he taken)
Any time (Any time)
(To show) To show you what you need to live?

(Tell it to me slowly) Tell you what
(I really want to know)
It's the time of the season for loving

You can watch/listen to it on YouTube if you aren't familiar with it: 

https://youtu.be/T8ecsAI3FhY

Anyway, I always wondered about those who had no idea who their Daddy might be. I'm thankful I know who mine was and boy, do I miss him. 

My Daddy was a character. It's hard to believe he's been gone for 11 years now. He was an honest, hardworking man with a great sense of humor. I could write volumes about him but I won't. Instead, I'll share one very special moment from the Caring Bridge journal I kept for him during his last months as he was battling lung cancer.

 
This journal entry was dated Wednesday, June 22, 2011:

....As I was preparing to leave, I leaned down to tell Daddy goodnight and encouraged him to go back to bed. He always thinks he has to stay up until the last visitor leaves. I rubbed him on the back and said "I love you" and to my surprise, he said, "I love you three." "I love you three???" What does that mean? I had to think about it a few minutes until I got it. Usually when someone says I love you, the recipient of that sentiment responds back with "I love you, too."

 
You'd have to know my Daddy. He loves to joke around and so instead of saying, "I love you, too (two)", he said, "I love you three." Daddy never has been a very affectionate father. Oh, he's always loved us, but he just wasn't very vocal about it. I don't guess he ever thought words were really that important. I think he thought if he knew he loved you and you knew he loved you, then why bother wasting words. For him to tell me, "I love you three," was a really powerful statement and one I'll always treasure. Daddy, in his dying state, wanted me to know that he really does love me and though he's a man of very few words, he chose those four very carefully before he said them. Those four words were meant just for me. "I love you three." ...I love you Daddy. I'll always love you.

 
On August 18, 2011, Daddy went home to be with his Eternal Father. I'm sure this Father's day, just like every other day in Heaven, he'll have a grand celebration.

I sure loved him and miss him every single day. 

Hope on the Horizon

This weekend, my daughter emailed a copy of a newspaper article to me. She knows I like to keep up with all things cancer related and would definitely be interested in this miraculous news. 

As I opened the email and began reading, my jaw dropped. I could barely believe my eyes. 
The email contained an article about a small clinical trial involving a dozen rectal cancer patients. The trial participants were given a monoclonal antibody, Dostarlimab, every three weeks for a period of six months. (This drug is sold under the name, Jemperli, by GlaxoSmithKline and has been approved by the Food and Drug Administration for use in treating some types of endometrial cancer.)
During the trial, diagnostic tests were performed on each patientand the results were almost impossible to believe- the rectal cancers were gone! This was remarkable news and oncologist, Luis Diaz, Jr., MD, with Memorial Sloan Kettering, said: “I believe this is the first time this has happened in the history of cancer.” 

All I could say was, “Wow!!!” The news was so exciting and all I could think was, “Now there’s real hope on the horizon.”

For the past 8 years, I’ve prayed for a cure for breast cancer. I’d always hoped for a cure for cancer since my first brush with it over forty years ago, when a dear friend was diagnosed and I’d watched her succumb to the disease, but when it entered my life, I took it personally. That’s one reason I’ve read and studied everything I could related to breast cancer. But breast cancer isn’t the only cancer out there. There are so many types of cancers and all cancer, in my humble opinion, needs to be eradicated. 

Of course, there’s big money in cancer treatment and I’ve often wondered if that’s why we haven’t found a cure for many cancers yet, but this clinical trial is so promising, I hope people will understand the magnitude of it. 

Though promising, the trial authors cautioned more research needs to be conducted on the effects of Dostarlimab. They hope to increase the size of the study by adding participants but are optimistic that this drug will prove safe and effective. 

The medication is extremely expensive, running about $11,000 per dose, but many experimental drugs are very costly in the beginning and hopefully, as studies continue, the cost of the medication will be lowered. 

The study indicated there was a low evidence of side effects and seemed to be well tolerated when compared to other types of conventional treatments for cancer. 

All in all, it sounds like this clinical study was a huge success. 

As a cancer survivor, I am extremely happy to read about a successful study. More often than not, we only hear about the bad news with regard to cancer treatments. There are so many negative side effects from chemotherapy, radiation, and even anti-hormone therapies. 

The possibility of new drugs with few side effects able to cure cancers is almost too good to be true, but this small study proves it can be done.

There is hope and we must cling to that. We need more survivors in the world today, ones who will join us in hoping soon that we won’t have to fight cancer anymore because there won’t be any cancer to fight

Hindsight is 20/20 and then some

 

I read a quote today that really hit home: 

"You will either step forward into growth, or you will step backward into safety." — Abraham Maslow

As I read the quotation, I felt it prick my soul. How very true those words were for my life. I'd always been a person who needed safety and security. I'd always found comfort and solace in the known. The unknown, however, always tempted me with curiosity and a hint of danger, but more often than not, I opted for stability and routine. My type A personality enjoyed the control of knowing what lay ahead. 

For the past 7 years, I did freelance writing for a cancer publication. It was a huge blessing in so many ways. It provided an outlet for me to discuss all aspects of my cancer journey and gave me a huge perk of getting paid for sharing those experiences. When the 7th year rolled around, I felt I'd said all I had to say about the subject. I was tired of cancer and found myself dreading coming up with articles for the magazine. After some serious thinking, I felt my time with the magazine was over. I submitted an official resignation letter along with a debt of gratitude. Wishing them well, I opted out and decided to spend more time focusing on enjoying life. As I left my thoughts about cancer behind, I felt lighter. 

About six months passed and I began to get itchy. I needed something to do. I felt like I was wasting my days piddling around doing crafts, cleaning house, and doing some yard work. I needed a purpose and so, I contacted the magazine to see if they might be interested in me working for them again. They responded immediately and gave me a positive response. They'd missed my submissions and would be happy to have me back. I was glad to hear it and began writing for them again. But this time, things felt differently. There had been several staff changes and the editor I'd worked with in the past had left the company. They'd also taken on more freelance writers making the odds of being published much slimmer. They'd even sent out a notification that the "pot was full of submissions so it would take time to get each writer's work up." We were expected to be patient and understanding. 

I was used to having at least 4-5 articles published each month and suddenly, I'd been cut down to 1-2. That meant my income from the freelance work had been greatly reduced. That income supplemented my social security check and it hurt to have it cut so drastically. 

Even though the workload had been greatly reduced, I still enjoyed writing and kept going. I submitted 4-5 articles each month and waited for them to be published. In the past, I'd always get a quick reply from the editor thanking me for my submissions and shortly after she'd received the work, it would be published. But now, I'd check the magazine every few days only to find none of my work being published. Wondering why, I contacted the new editor. She gave me the same spiel as before, "We have so many submissions..." 

The more I thought about it, the more I realized I should have never gone backward. When I decided my time writing for the magazine was over, at the 7-year mark, I should have stayed away. 7 is the number of completion - my work was done, but no...I couldn't let it go. 

Now I'm seeing clearly that my time writing for that publication is over. I just need to find a new outlet for my creative juices to flow. 

It's hard to let go of something you love but as the quote says, I need to move forward for growth. 

Who knows where the Lord will take me. I'll wait for the next door to adventure to open. Until that time, I'll focus more on my blog and other things I enjoy. 

Too bad the magazine has so many other contributors now! I enjoyed that extra income, but c'est la vie! 

Normal feels good!

Lush berries ripe on the vine

 Today was a gorgeous sunny day! After church, we decided to visit a local farm that was open for a few hours. They were offering to let folks pick berries - strawberries, blackberries, and blueberries. Since I'd already visited at the end of May for strawberries, we decided today would be a blueberry picking day. 

My husband and I checked in at the farm's checkout stand, picked up our buckets and headed into the fields to pick berries. We had arrived right when they opened so there were only a handful of people there and none of them were interested in the blueberries. It was nice to have the blueberry fields all to ourselves. 

We picked and picked for about an hour. The sun was getting hot, and we were so thankful we'd thought to bring our hats and sunglasses. 

A young mother and her little boy joined us for berry picking and we enjoyed listening to the little boy get so excited over every berry he found. Each time he'd spot a berry, he'd yell out - "Mom! I found a big one!" Of course, we couldn't help but laugh and be reminded of the times we'd brought our granddaughter, Heather, to pick berries with us. She'd done the same thing. 

As we moved down the rows of bushes, I let Phil pick the high berries and I picked the low ones. Everything was going along great and our buckets were getting full until I looked down and found my feet covered in ants! They were biting like crazy and all of a sudden, I was jumping up and down trying to get them off my feet. I should have remembered not to wear sandals. Last year, I'd had the same thing happen but it was too late now. 

I did the best I could to brush the ants off and move out of that area fast. Phil kept picking a little longer while I stood in a "safe zone." 

As I stood in the bright sunshine watching him pick, I took some photos of the berries and of my husband. As I was working, I realized how good it felt to be doing something normal for a change. I wasn't having to be concerned about any doctor's appointments. I wasn't having to be concerned about feeling bad or having an upcoming test. It was just a good day! How long had it been since I'd had a really good day, I wondered? It seemed like it had been a pretty long time. 

Me in berry bushes

It's amazing how much we take for granted when our health is good, isn't it? But when it's not so good, even the slightest thing can be a chore. 

We picked about 11 pounds of blueberries so I'd say we had a pretty productive day. Tomorrow, I'll be busy making jam.

I'm thankful I had the opportunity and the energy to go pick berries today. I'm thankful the weather was perfect and the farm was open, usually they're only open on weekdays. I'm thankful I got a chance to talk with little Issac and his mother as he was picking berries and to overhear his joy. I'm thankful the berries will provide months of deliciousness to our biscuits, pancakes, and toast. Most of all, I'm thankful I'm alive and can do something normal again. Normal feels good! 

I hope you don't take your everyday "normal" for granted. You never know when it could be snatched away from you by some rogue injury, illness, or disease. Be thankful for every day and for the many blessings that come your way. They're too good to miss. 

When Will Cancer Stop Being Part of My Identity?

 

Almost 8 years ago, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Since that time, I've learned more about the disease than I ever cared to know. Part of that knowledge came from my own research and part of it came from actual experience. Either way, I wish I'd never become acquainted personally with the disease. 

Cancer has brought both good and bad things into my life. The bad definitely outweigh the goods on the scale of justice, I'd have to say, but instead of focusing on the negative, today I'll focus on the positive. 

Cancer has given me new opportunities to meet people I'd never have met otherwise. I've met people through online breast cancer support groups, through classes at the cancer treatment center, and through other activities offered solely for cancer survivors. Although it's seemed like a secret sorority at times, it certainly isn't close to one of those. Though I've never belonged to a sorority, I've watched enough movies to know what they're about - a society of comradery and sisterhood, a place to live, laugh, and love in an unfettered, unconditional way. Cancer and all that entails is completely opposite in my opinion. Oh yes, there are times when it draws people together, especially as we share our experiences with one another, but more often than not, it divides. 

Cancer has also given me a voice. Oh, I've always had one, and those who know me well, know I use my writing more than my speaking voice, but I always have something to say. The first couple of years after diagnosis, I wrote an article about cancer and my marriage. The article was very open and raw. It shared the way cancer had affected my relationship with my husband in a very intimate way. For some strange reason, I submitted it to the editor of a popular cancer magazine I'd found online. I had no idea they'd want to publish it, although I secretly hoped they might. That publication opened the door for me to become a contributing editor and for the past 6+ years, I've written diligently for them. They've even paid me for my work, so cancer helped me claim the title of freelance writer. Through that publication, my articles have been syndicated and have appeared all over the world! That's pretty amazing to me, but I can't help but wonder when cancer will stop being part of my identity. 

It's almost as if I've forgotten who I was b.c. (before cancer). 

I'm still the same fun loving, happy go lucky person I always was, only now, I'm more cautious. I'm more reserved. I'm more anxious. 

Before cancer, I never suffered insomnia or panic attacks. Since cancer, those have been an ugly part of my life. And they've been a part I don't like. I don't like things I can't control. As a typical type A personality, I need to be in control at all times. Cancer robbed me of that. 

So, I've tried to make peace with the fact that cancer will always be part of me now. Even though I'm officially living in a state of N.E.D. (No Evidence of Disease), somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind, I can feel it. It's embedded and no matter how hard I try; I can't rip it loose. 

Maybe it's supposed to be there. Remember Paul, from the Bible? He had a "thorn in the side," a constant reminder of his weakness as opposed to God's great strength. Maybe that little embedded "cancer bug" is supposed to remind me to lean hard on Jesus at all times. If that's the case, I can thank Him for it because without it, I might just forget that He's in control and I'm not. 

Yes, cancer has become part of who I am, I think, and I'm at peace with that as long as it lies dormant...forever!

The wait is the worst part

 

The day started early. I woke at 6 a.m. and tiptoed into the kitchen to have my devotional. My sweet husband had taken the day off work so he could accompany me to the hospital for the test. I didn't want to disturb him. He'd set his alarm for 7 a.m. and that extra hour of sleep would be good for him. 

The kitchen was dark when I entered. The red light from my head lamp made things take on an eery glow. Pulling out my devotional book and my Bible, I sat down at the table and began to read. 

The time went by quickly and before I knew it, I heard hubby's alarm going off and a few minutes later, the shower running. While he got ready, I went back in the room to make the bed and get dressed myself. We needed to leave the house as close to 8 a.m. as possible so we could arrive at the hospital in time to find a parking space, get registered, and pay our co-pay. 

As I busied myself with small details, I tried to keep my thoughts in check. Of course, I was worried, but I did my best not to show it. 

When we arrived at the hospital, the parking lot was already pretty full. We couldn't find a space up close, so we parked a good distance away. Thankfully, as soon as we cut off the car engine, a hospital volunteer, an elderly man, pulled up in a golf cart. He asked if we wanted a ride to the front door. We took him up on it and were amazed at how quickly he drove. 

At the registration desk, I gave my name and other information. The receptionist printed a hospital bracelet and attached it to my arm. Another volunteer, a very white-haired gentleman, escorted us to the radiology department. I wanted to tell him I knew the way already, but I didn't. 

We checked in at the radiology desk and about 2 minutes after I'd sat down, a technician called my name. Rising, I turned to Phil and said, "I love you," as I followed the young man through double doors. 

I was asked to take a seat in the blood draw chair, a large, vinyl chair with a pull-down arm. I sat down and proceeded to tell the tech about my lymphedema and my arm restrictions. He didn't balk when I said my only option was the left hand. Taking my hand in his, he began to slap the top of my wrist and hand. I knew he was trying to coax veins to stand up so he could find them better, but he explained to me anyway. After finding what he thought would be a good vein, He pulled out a syringe and proceeded to jab me working the needle side to side hoping for flash - blood flow back into the needle indicating a vein had been hit. There was none. He apologized and moved the needle to another site. I watched as the sight of the first prick swelled and turned blue. Once again, he couldn't find a vein. I laughed and told him 5 tries was his limit. He said, "No. I won't try again, but I'll call a nurse in." The nurse came and hit the vein on the first try. I was glad. I hate getting stuck over and over again. 

When the needle was in, she threaded an IV and the tech injected the radioactive tracer. It only took a few minutes. I was told we could go home but would need to return around 11:30 a.m.

Phil and I left the hospital and went home. I did a couple of loads of laundry and tried to guzzle water as I'd been instructed by the tech. 

When it came time to head back to the hospital, I began to feel anxious. I knew this was going to determine my future. 

We checked back in and my tech, Doyle, met me at the double doors. As we walked down the cold corridor, he said the test would be about an hour. 

Doyle helped me climb onto the scanner table and covered me with a warm blanket. I'd had this type of test several times before, so I was familiar with what was going to happen. The table underneath me began to vibrate slowly as the machine came to life. Doyle's cell phone went off and he left to answer it. He came right back and we got started. 

The machine moved very slowly over my face, down my sides, over my chest and trunk, then down my legs. After the first set of scans was complete, Doyle ran extra scans of my hips, spine, knees, and ankles. He said he could see degenerative changes in those areas, which my last scan had revealed. 

Finally, it was over. Doyle reminded me to drink a lot of water to flush out the radioactive tracer and we left. 

We ran by a local restaurant to pick up lunch, then headed the Cancer Treatment Center. There was a nice covered pavilion there and we planned to use it. 

It was so quiet and breezy beneath the pavilion. I talked with Phil about our future asking him if he thought I should do chemo this time if the cancer was back. He told me he didn't think I was going to need it. Secretly, I hoped he was right. 

We sat and talked for about an hour, then went home. The doctor's office told us we wouldn't get a call until later that day or perhaps the following day. 

At exactly 4:30 p.m., I got the phone call from the oncologist's office. When the phone ran, my caller I.D. did not indicate who was calling, but I answered it anyway. The nurse said, "Hi, this is Kelly, Dr. P's nurse. He asked me to tell you what your scan showed." At that very moment, I felt my heart begin to race and I held my breath. I was so scared! She said, "The news is good, there's no evidence of cancer!" It was all I could do not to drop the phone. Tears welled up in my eyes. Phil came running over and I had to motion to him that everything was okay. 

I don't remember how the conversation with the nurse ended, but I do remember, as I hung up the phone, I gasped for air. I'd been holding my breath the entire time. 

Phil and I both began to cry and hug each other. We were so very grateful for the good news and immediately began to praise and thank God. 

Waiting on test results is such a hard thing to do, especially when those results could change your life forever, in a split second. 

I have no idea why God, in His mercy, has given me another chance at living life cancer free, but I am so very grateful. I haven't taken a second of life for granted since my initial diagnosis and I'm not about to start now. 

I group messaged all of the kids with the good news. Their texts of gratitude started to pour in. 

It was such an emotionally stressful day and I was so glad it was over, but even more glad that it ended on a good note. 

The fear of recurrence is a horrible thing. None of us like to live in wonder. 

I really want to learn to thrive this year instead of merely surviving. Hopefully,  this will be the year I do that. 

God is teaching me to number my days. I don't want to waste one of them. I hope you don't either. 

When can I be free of worrying about a recurrence of Cancer?

 

Bone scan with bone metastases 

A cancer recurrence isn't something anyone ever expects and as a survivor, we do our best to not think about the possibility of a recurrence. But occasionally, we get a reality check. Though we want to believe we're completely and utterly cancer free, a random test or procedure can break that glass bubble reminding us that there's always a possibility of its return. 

For the past few days, I've been anxious. I've tried to overcome the nagging feeling that something is about to happen. I don't know what the "something" is, but I definitely feel like something is just over the horizon. My feelings of anxiousness are probably related to the upcoming full body bone scan my oncologist recently scheduled. Though I've had them several times over the past 7+ years, I never once gave a thought to the possibility of them finding something. 

It's strange how God works things out. I'd been having issues swallowing and the ENT wanted to do a CT scan. That scan didn't reveal my swallowing problem but did reveal a possible tumor on my right lung. That's when I was forced to think about the big "what if." 

After contacting my oncologist to let him know about that test, he scheduled me for a chest CT with and without contrast. Though he was wanting to clarify the potential problem in my right lung, which was later determined to be scar tissue from radiation treatments,  a new area of concern appeared on the T6 vertebrae. 

Those test results caused his office to schedule a nuclear medicine full body bone scan. (That's a mouthful, isn't it?) Though they didn't tell me why, I assumed it was to look for cancer. Since hearing the words uttered, "area of concern," uttered by the oncologist's office, I've borrowed a whole lot of trouble. I've let my mind wander, letting it dip into the vast ocean of what ifs. 

It's funny, but I assumed when I reached the 7 year cancer free mark last July, that I was home free. I mean Biblically speaking, 7 is the number of completion right? But was I being naive in thinking my bout with cancer was completely over? I wanted to believe that trial from God's hand was over but what if...

Three days from today, I'll go in for the scan. They'll inject a radioactive tracer into my vein and 3 hours later, I'll return so they can scan my entire body. I'm praying that nothing lights up. I'm hoping that the "area of concern" at T6 is just degenerative disk disease or osteoarthritis or something minor like that. If it is cancer, I don't know what I'll do. 

I have several friends who've gone long stints of being cancer free only to have the cancer return many years later. One of the longest periods of cancer freedom was in my friend Bonnie Ferguson's life. She went 22 years without a recurrence and I can still remember the day she told me it was back. I could hear the tremor in her voice. I could see the worry on her face. 

She went straight back into warrior mode and began treatments at the cancer treatment center. For the first few weeks, she was hopeful, but as her body began to weaken, she decided it wasn't worth it to do chemo again. When she stopped, she felt better but it was only months later that she grew extremely ill and eventually passed away. I don't want that to be the case with me. 

When my brother was diagnosed with cancer, he only did 2 chemo treatments before giving up. They made him so sick he couldn't continue. Cancer and the treatments wreak havoc on the body. 

So, I don't know what I'll do. I guess I'll have to wait for the test results. If they find more cancer, I'm sure I'll be shocked, especially after almost 8 years, but I'll also have to trust that God has a reason for allowing it into my life. 

I'm no saint, believe me, but I do know, from past experience, that God handpicks our trials. I just hope He doesn't have another round of cancer on His agenda of scheduled trials for me. 

We can't understand why He allows such hard things into our lives sometimes, but if we try to look at them as teaching tools, they're a little easier to accept. 

Please say a pray for me on May 31st at 9:00 a.m. That's when I go for the radioactive injection. They always have trouble finding my veins, especially since I can only have injections in my left hand. And then later that same day, around noon, please pray again as I go in for the actual scan. Pray that if there is a problem it will be illuminated clearly so the doctor can see it. But if I had my druthers, I'd like to ask for a completely clear and perfect scan result. I know God's able. 

Waiting isn't my strong suit, never has been, never will be, but I'm going to do my best to wait patiently. I'm also going to do my best not to worry. A friend told me earlier today that worry will just rob my day of strength. I think she's right. Worrying never accomplishes a thing other than giving us something to do. 

Thank you in advance for your thoughts and prayers. I'll keep you posted. Now off to do some crafting!

One thing leads to another

They say hindsight is 20/20 and I've found that to be true for the most part. When I look back on various things in my life, I can see so much more clearly, especially when those things are health related. 

In December 2021, I was extremely sick with some weird illness that caused me to be unable to swallow. I went to the emergency room twice, to urgent care twice, and to my general physician 3 times. During that time, I had all sorts of tests run - bloodwork, laryngoscopies, MRIs, and CT scans. At first they thought I had a salivary stone. Next, they thought Sjogren's Syndrome, after a positive ANA test, they thought it was a rheumatological disorder but nothing definite was ever determined. After 2 rounds of steroids and 2 of antibiotics, I got a little better, but then, I got Tracheitis. Unsure whether or not my CPAP machine may have contributed to that issue, I was told to stay off of it for 3 weeks. 

The CT scan on my head and neck revealed an area of concern on the upper right lobe of my lung. How it picked up that area, I have no clue, but it did. Immediately, I freaked out thinking the cancer had returned. Calling my oncologist, I shared the news. He scheduled a CT scan of my lungs with and without contrast. That was earlier last week. On Friday, I got the call from his office. They said the area on my lung was damaged tissue from radiation therapy. Whew! I was glad to hear that, but I wasn't expecting what came next. The test also picked up an area of concern on the T6 vertebrae of my spine. Great. Just what I needed. Another area to freak out about! And now, they want me to have a nuclear medicine full body bone scan. They didn't tell me why they wanted me to have the test, but I know. They're looking to see if the cancer has metastasized. 

When they lopped off my boobs, they did find cancer in my sentinel lymph node, too. That meant the cancer was traveling. Thankfully, after removing a total of 6 nodes in my right arm and 2 in the left, They didn't find any more cancer. So, I assumed everything was all good. 

In July of this year, I'll celebrate 8 years of being cancer free...I hope. 

I have to look back at the circumstances of the way everything happened with gratitude. If I don't, I can't accept that God allowed each thing to lead to another thing to hopefully take care of a potential problem before it gets out of control. 

I don't want to go through cancer again...EVER! But if I have to, I'd rather know very early on so the doctors can help me figure out how to battle it. 

I don't know what I'll do if they say it is a recurrence. I don't know how I'll choose to fight it. The first round, I refused chemo but did do radiation therapy and anti-hormone therapy for a few months. If I'm told the cancer has returned, what will I do? I've already started to think about it. 

My friends and family tell me not to borrow trouble, and I'm not trying to, I'm just a practical person. I like to have a plan. I like to think ahead. 

I never really thought long and hard during my first round of cancer. I just did what I had to do. I knew I wanted the cancer out of my body as fast as possible so I went radical and said, "Cut them off!" If I get news it's in my spine, I'll probably lean toward doing chemotherapy this time. I know it will make me extremely sick, but if it means I'll have a better chance of living longer, I'll do it. 

My Aunt died of bone cancer. I watched her during the last few weeks of her life. She was in excruciating pain. The morphine didn't help lessen her pain or control it. Her agony is not something I think I could endure. 

I wish I didn't know so much about the spine. Working for a two chiropractors I learned a lot. And now it all makes sense. I've been having a lot of back pain in that area for some time. I thought I was just dealing with a herniated disk. I guess time will tell. 

The funny thing is, even before I find out the results from the complete body bone scan, I have a sneaking feeling I'm going to get bad news. I'm not trying to be morbid, it's just a gut feeling I have. 

Back in 1976, I read a book by Betty Rollin called, First You Cry. It's about how she felt when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Little did I know that 38 years after I read her book, I'd face the same plight. 

Last week, while visiting a thrift store, the spine of a book caught my eye and it nearly jumped off the shelf at me. It was Betty's book. For some reason, I purchased it and brought it home to re-read. It's been 46 years since I've read her story and I felt the need to read it again. 

Maybe it's just a coincidence or maybe mere curiosity, but as I've been reading the book again this week, it's felt comforting to know her feelings are so similar to mine. I'd forgotten about her sick sense of humor that cracks me up. For instance, at a dinner party, she's talking with a speech writer and all of a sudden he asks her what she does for a living. Betty pipes up and says, without missing a beat, "I had a breast cut off recently and I'm trying to get over it." Naturally, the man sitting with her is caught off guard by her candor and nearly drops his fork. I had to laugh out loud when I read it. Only those who've been there would get it, and I did. Sometimes, we say things for the pure shock value because it's the most suitable thing we can think of at the time. 

It will be interesting to see how all this plays out. The scan is on May 31st. I'll go into the hospital at 9:00 a.m. to be injected with a radioactive tracer then I'll return to the hospital 3 hours later for an hour long scan. I don't know how long it will be before I receive the results, but I'm praying now that whatever is on T6 will be miraculously gone. If not, I'll try to receive the news with grace and trust that God has everything under control. He's the only one who knows what my future holds. 

Oh, sure, I'd love to have a crystal ball and be able to see what happens in the days, weeks, and months ahead. I'd love to know how long I'm going to live and how I'm going to die, but God doesn't give me that ability. If He did, there would be no reason for me to have faith, would there? 

It's hard. I won't lie. It's so hard to think about possibly going through cancer again. I know I'll beat myself up with the what ifs - did I do the right thing in my choice for the first fight? Did I do something to feed the cancer and cause it to grow again? Was there something I ignored? The questions are endless. 

All I can do is wait and I suck at that. In the meantime, I'm going to spend some time at the beach trying to think about nothing other than watching the rolling of the ocean waves, seeing the splendor of the sunrises and sunsets, feeling the sand beneath my feet, and allowing my mind to be soothed by the sights and sounds of nature. 

Please keep me in your prayers. I'll keep you posted in the days ahead. No matter what, I know that God is good and He has a good plan for my life. 

I’m trying really hard not to cry…

I don't want to go there

 This past Friday, I went in for a routine colonoscopy. I wasn't expecting them to find 2 polyps, but they did. Although my mind doesn't want to go there, I can't help but wonder, could it be cancer? 

Today, I was scheduled for a CT scan on my lungs. A couple of months ago, after visiting the ENT for some swallowing issues, he did an MRI on my head and neck. That test also revealed a "small tumor" in my right lung. He didn't think it was anything, but I begged to differ. When you've had cancer, even the smallest thing can turn out to be something big. Immediately, I called my oncologist and told him about the findings. After he reviewed the report, he wanted me to have a CT scan with and without contrast. I was glad he was being proactive. My mind didn't want to go there, but once again, I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps the cancer was trying to come back. 

In exactly 2 months from today, I'll celebrate my 8th cancerversary. I really want to make it to this celebratory event. I'm hoping neither of the aforementioned tests screws it up, but they might. 

Survivors always live with the fear of a possible recurrence. Just because we pass the five year mark, the standard where oncologists tend to take their hands off and allow your visits to slow considerably, doesn't mean we're home free. Cancer can come back any time and usually, when it does, it comes back with a vengeance. 

The polyps in my colon have already been removed and biopsied but I don't have the results yet. As for the tumor in my lung, I'm praying it's already gone, that it magically disappeared. But if they do call me in to do a biopsy, I'll probably have a melt down. I don't want to go through anything to do with breast cancer again. 

Did you know, even if cancer were to show up in my bones, spine, or any other place, they'd still say it was a recurrence of the breast cancer even though I've had both breasts removed? Yes! They'd just say it had metastasized. 

I am doing my best not to dwell on the what ifs, but it's hard. I don't want to allow my mind to go there, but it's not listening very well. 

Please pray I don't hear the word cancer in the next few days or even next week. I'm planning a beach trip! I definitely want to go there. And I want to go without the awful news that my cancer came back. 

Growing up poor

I didn't realize, until I was an adult, that I'd grown up poor. I was raised in a household whose income fell well below the poverty line. My Daddy’s upbringing was in a home with an even lower income. He was the first of his siblings to graduate from high school and after that, he took night classes at a technical school to learn a skill. He was one of the hardest workers I've known. While most of the years he was the sole wage earner, my Mother was a stay-at-home wife and mother. When she could, she'd take in ironing or make clothes for women who were much better off than we were, but most of my growing up years, we lived on Daddy's meager income. 

Watching my mother and father worry about making ends was hard. No matter how hard Daddy worked, it never seemed to be enough to take care of my sister, brother, and I. I was determined I wasn't going to live that way forever, so when I was 12, I took my first babysitting job. I was determined to rise above such intense struggle to survive. That job only paid a dollar an hour and I was babysitting 7 children, but I didn't care. I was making my own money and it felt good. 

When I was 15, and still in high school, I wanted to get a real job. Back then, parents had to sign a work permit for children under the age of 16. I begged my mother to sign the permit so I could work and thankfully she did. The next problem was how to get to the interview I'd been lucky enough to schedule. 

Our cars were usually very old and in ill repair. Daddy did his best to fix them up and keep them running, but sometimes, we only had one working car and of course, he needed that to Atlanta to work. Luckily, the day I was to have my interview with a local department store, Mama's car was running and she agreed to take me. I put on my prettiest dress and my best game face. As I talked with the gentleman at W. T. Grant Company, I did my best to be posed and mature. Mr. Weaver had no idea how hard my knees were knocking as I listened during the interview. I prayed he couldn't hear them. I landed a job in the collections department at $1.25 an hour. I was ecstatic.  Working hard every day after school, I managed to get raise after raise until I topped out at their maximum $1.65 and hour. I worked there almost a year before becoming engaged. 

At 16, I got married. Young, stupid, and in love, or so I thought, my young husband and I did our best to make ends meet. He was the only wage earner while I worked at completing my education, but $80 a week didn't go very far. We lived in an apartment down the road from my parent's house. The apartment rent was $135 a month and took almost 2 paychecks to make. On top of that were utilities and groceries. We lived off of peanut butter or bologna sandwiches that first year. I washed clothes in the bathtub and hung them out on the balcony of our apartment to dry because we couldn't afford a washer and dryer and certainly didn't have spare change to use the on site laundomat. Growing up poor taught me to survive. 

When my husband got a new position with Georgia Power making a little more money, we moved to Covington, GA. We'd found a repossessed single wide trailer that came fully furnished. It had red and black shag carpet and black naugahyde furniture in the living room. We thought we were stepping up in the world! The trailer payment and the rent at the trailer park were well within our budget. We were doing okay until I got pregnant. 

Adding a new baby to the mix brought on even more challenges. There were extra expenses for diapers, bottles, formula, etc. We did the best we could but had to rely on family to help pick up the slack. Soon, tensions were high and our marriage on the rocks. After 3 years, we called it quits. I ended up moving back home, baby in tow and lived there for about a year until I could get on my feet and get my own apartment. 

My life took a lot of twists and turns. It always seemed I was taking two steps forward and three steps back. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to get ahead. I was determined I was not going to live paycheck to paycheck as my parents had done all their lives. 

So much has changed since those early days. I said goodbye to a second marriage and hello to third. My family grew in size from one little boy to one boy and three girls, all grown now and three of those children have blessed me with grandchildren.  

It's funny how growing up poor shaped me into who I am today. I don't take anything for granted. 

There were many lessons I learned from growing up without money - 

Here are a few of them.

1. Don't waste a thing. Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without. 

2. Respect the value of money. It doesn't grow on trees and if you can save a little, you'll start to see it grow.  

3. Money can't buy everything. It’s amazing how little it takes to survive if you learn to “make do” and improvise.

4. People are worth immeasurably more than things.

5. You don’t have to own something to love and enjoy it.

6. Memories are treasures. They don't take up space,  can't be stolen, don't have to be maintained, and never cause worry. 

6. Don't live above your means. Going into debt isn't worth the stress or hassle. 

7. If you maintain an old car properly, it will last a long time. Regular oil changes and checks cost less than a car payment. 

8. Working hard never hurt anyone. 

9. You're stronger than you think. 

10. You can't take it with you when you go. Have you ever seen a hearse pulling a U-Haul? 

My parents struggled because they had to. Back then, jobs were tough to come by and for those without college degrees, manual labor was about all that was available. Daddy took pride in what he did. He came home from work exhausted every day but got up each morning to do it all over again. He never asked for anything. As soon as he got paid, he handed his paycheck to Mama. She was responsible for paying the bills, buying the groceries, and taking care of our needs. She didn't always do a good job but did the best she could with what she had. 

I'm thankful I grew up poor. I wouldn't have learned many valuable lessons that I've carried into my life today if circumstances had been different. I'm glad I didn't know I was poor at the time I was living it. It would have been much harder to swallow back then. Today I can look back and be grateful. 

I've done my best to teach my children valuable life lessons without going into a lot of detail about my past. Hopefully they've learned and accepted those and will let them trickle down into their own families. 

Life is hard whether you're rich or poor. I consider myself lucky to have grown up the latter. 

Silver Splendor

 Yesterday, I was in the kitchen working on a project when Phil pops in the front door calling to me. "Come here, quick!" he said, so I dropped everything and went to see what he needed. As soon as I walked through the door, I could see his back. He stood, faced turned upward, looking at the sky. It had just started to rain. "Look at that!" he exclaimed. I stood beside him and looked up. At first, I didn't see it and asked what he was looking at. His long arm lifted and he pointed to a specific spot just above our roofline. "There - look!" Following his pointing finger, I saw the most beautiful, silvery drops falling from the sky. 

They weren't ordinary raindrops. They seemed to be illuminated by a special kind of light, making them appear as long silvery threads. I'd never seen anything like it before. 

We stood in amazement, watching. And both of us knew, we were being allowed to see how rain looked when it first fell from the floodgates of heaven. Beautiful, silvery sparkles continued to fall but only in that specific spot. All around us, rain was falling, but those drops looked ordinary. The only ones that were illuminated were the ones directly above our house and seemed to be coming straight down from heaven. 

Of course, we could have reasoned it away. The sunlight could have caught them just so and made them look silvery, but there wasn't any sun shining at that point. And why would both of us be overcome with such a powerful sense of God's love, provision, and power at the same time, if it weren't something so unique and special? We felt His presence as we stood staring at the sky and smiling. 

Cars passed by as we stood on our walkway looking heavenward. I'm sure they were wondering what in the world we were looking at. The huge smiles on our faces and the tears in our eyes probably made them think we were looney, but we didn't care. 

What a priceless moment in time! I'm so thankful Phil called me out to share in the splendor. 

After we'd watched for about fifteen minutes, the silvery threads of rain disappeared and were replaced by regular raindrops. 

We have no idea why we were allowed to witness such a spectacular sight, but we saw it together so we know it was real. 

Some may say we're crazy and that's okay. We're firm believers in the majesty and power of God. Even though this was a tiny sliver of His majesty, we'll take it and hold it in our hearts forever. 

Little God signs are everywhere. We have to be on the lookout for them. If we look with the eyes of our hearts, He'll reveal Himself in ways we may have never imagined. No matter what tool He chooses to use to get our attention, we must give Him the praise and worship He deserves, even if it's just because of a little rain.