I know the plans I have for you

There's a verse in Jeremiah 29:11 of the Bible that gives me great comfort. It says, " For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." I was thinking a lot about this verse today, in fact, when I woke up this morning, I was thinking about it. I'm a planner and I find security in knowing the plan. It's so much easier when there is a plan and I know exactly what's about to happen. Since I was diagnosed with breast cancer, all my plans have gone out the window. I've had to learn to be flexible. Instead of having a solid plan A, I've had to learn to be willing to move from plan A to plan B or even plan C, D, or E. It hasn't been easy, especially since I'm a type A personality. I like to be in control of things. I need to understand the plan.

I've never liked change. I like things to remain the same unless I get the urge to change them. Little changes don't bother me too much but big changes do. And it seems God has some big changes in store for us in the near future. 

My husband and I have been feeling a stirring in our hearts. It seems God is getting ready to move us. We don't know exactly when or exactly where but we know it's coming. Even if we don't know the details, we know God does. He knows the plan. We've been doing a lot of praying lately and asking God to give us the details, but He hasn't yet. This has been difficult. I like knowing the plan! I don't like waiting and I don't like wondering. My husband is more patient than I am. He doesn't mind waiting. I admire that quality in him but sometimes I wonder how he can be so calm and collected when we have no idea what the future holds. 

I guess God's continuing to teach me to trust Him completely. That's one area He's been working on in my life for some time now. I hate to admit it, but it's easier for me to trust when I know the plan! Maybe that's why He hasn't revealed it to me yet. He wants me to learn patience. 

So....as we wait, I'm trying my best to be patient. I'm trying to trust completely. I feel like a child sitting in the backseat of the car while my parents get ready to pull out of the driveway. I keep asking a zillion times where we're going and all they'll tell me is, "It's a surprise!" I feel eager and excited but also frustrated and confused. I sit in the middle of the back seat fidgeting. I want so badly to know where we're headed but all I can do is look out the window, watch, and wait. 

The destination looms far ahead of me. I can't see it. I am so curious it makes me crazy but I have to wait. I know God's timing is always perfect. I know the plans He has for me are good plans, plans that will be beneficial for my future. I know God loves me and wants the best for me. Knowing all these things help me stay put...but it's really, really hard. 

I can't wait to see what God does in the days ahead. I'm going to be watching and waiting for His revelation to come. Until then, I'm going to try super hard not to bite my fingernails down to the quick...I know the wait will be worth it. So, I wait.

Life Is Good!

It's a beautiful Saturday morning and I was up before the crack of dawn. 6:00 a.m. doesn't seem an appropriate time for waking when one is retired and has absolutely no obligations whatsoever, but 6:00 a.m. is perfect for me. For the past couple of weeks, I've been able to sleep like a normal person. This has been a major accomplishment! For the past two and a half years, I've suffered insomnia and haven't been able to sleep without some form of medication so it's wonderful to wake at 6:00 a.m. feeling rested and ready to meet the day.

My postings have been slack, I'll admit, but that's a good thing. It means life is good and I've been busy. It feels great to return to normal instead of living under the shadow of what if. Daily routine feels wonderful. Even doing a load of laundry feels amazing.

It's hard to believe we're already nearing the end of May. Time flies by so fast! In July, I'll be celebrating my third cancerversary. And while my oncologist won't say I'm cancer free, I feel cancer free! I'm so happy to finally be free of having to live my life as a victim. I am a victor! Maybe you're thinking I'm always positive about things and that's not necessarily true. I have my good and bad days but, I try to focus on the good days and let the bad days slip away unnoticed. I don't have energy to waste on negativity.

So today, I'm celebrating the goodness of life. I am blessed beyond measure. I'm feeling physically well and I'm claiming I'm cancer free. Those are good things to celebrate, don't you think? I sure do!

Another Cancer Scare

The call from the Gastroenterologist came in today. I had almost forgotten we were expecting to hear news about my husband's recent colonoscopy. We'd had a good feeling about it. It was just a routine test. Although he's had polyps in the past, we weren't concerned about this tiny one they'd found on this test.

For the past few months, my husband's had a nagging feeling. He knew he needed to get another colonoscopy. Since his mother and father both had a history of cancer, he wanted to stay on top of things. I was surprised by his insistence on getting the test scheduled. No one likes to have a colonoscopy, especially when you have to do all the nasty pretest prep, but he was diligent.

When the call came in, he was at work. The tone of the nurses's voice wasn't concerning as she gave me the results of his biopsy. Since I was expecting nothing but good news, I was a bit surprised when she said the polyp was precancerous. It had been so tiny on the photos the doctor had shown me. I wasn't prepared for the overwhelming emotions that came after I hung up with the nurse. While I was thankful, I was also fearful. My husband has always been my rock. He's the calm one. He keeps me grounded when things are out of control. As I began to go down the road of "what ifs" I got very emotional. God knew we weren't prepared for another dance with cancer.

After notifying my husband of the report, I encouraged him to think positively. We had gotten a good report. There wasn't any active cancer. The tiny polyp was only precancerous, meaning the cells, if left untreated, could turn into cancer at some point. The doctor's office assured me they'd recheck him in another three years and for that I'm grateful. We'll definitely stay on top of his colon health.

Isn't it funny how we take good health for granted? When anything threatens our health, we immediately become fearful and that's probably a natural fleshly response but Phil and I have chosen to put our faith in God. We're going to trust that He has only good in store for us and for our future. And even if we have to face another round of cancer one day, we know God is faithful. He's going to be right there beside us walking us through every single step of the journey just like He did with me. Knowing that brings us great comfort. So today, we celebrate good news! Even if it didn't come quite the way we expected, it's good news. No cancer! Thank you, Lord!

Writing a book is difficult!

I haven't written on my blog in some time now. I have a good reason, I've been working on my book. Writing about my cancer journey in a book format is challenging. I've never written a book before. People tell me it will be a piece of cake. Each year, at the end of the year, I've had my blogs printed into a book format to save for posterity's sake. Friends tell me I should be able to just cut and paste from my blogs and the book will just fall into place, but not so! Writing and re-writing dredge up memories that cause emotions to kick into overdrive. I've been working on this book for a couple of months now and I'm only up to chapter four because of having to process old memories once again. I don't like reliving my cancer journey. It wasn't easy the first time around and it's certainly not easy this time around either. But I'll do it because I'm hoping my story might inspire or help someone else who's going through breast cancer. I want my cancer to count for something positive.

Writing is challenging also because of the long hours of typing. Lymphedema makes it difficult to say the least. I try to write early in the day when the swelling hasn't flared up yet but by mid morning, my arms are so swollen, I have to stop.

It may take a year or more to get this project done. There's no time limit. I don't have publishers beating down my door to get hold of the manuscript. In fact, I'll probably end up self publishing because if you're a little peon like me, publishers aren't interested. They prefer to go after well known authors or celebrities. I'm not expecting to get paid for my work, although it would be quite nice to receive a little money on the side. I certainly wouldn't turn it down if an offer came my way...

So, that's what I'm up to...just writing. Life is good and fairly normal. I'm so thankful to say it's normal for a change. For the past couple of years it hasn't been even close to being normal.

On July 9th, I'll celebrate my third cancerversary. I'm looking forward to that. I'll have to plan some sort of celebration. It's hard to believe it's been almost 3 years since I was diagnosed. God is good!

My body my choice

Yesterday I was given the opportunity to review a booklet from my breast surgeon on D.I.E.P. flap reconstruction. I wasn't sure how I felt about the procedure but wanted to do some research before making my decision about reconstructive surgery. This was not a decision I could make lightly and there were many things to consider.

When I got home, I read the booklet. I got online and researched surgical videos, internet medical resources and talked to three breast cancer survivors who'd already been through this surgery. All of the information I found was overwhelming and I went to bed feeling bogged down. As I crawled into bed, I lay there and prayed asking God for His wisdom and direction.

This morning, my husband and I discussed the surgery. I shared information with him on what I'd found regarding the surgery and recovery period, complications, etc. After listening carefully to all I shared, he said he would stand behind me in whatever decision I made. So today, I've been doing a lot of thinking and even more praying. As I've processed it all, I've made my decision.

I've decided not to have the surgery and I have several reasons to support my decision.

1. The D.I.E.P flap surgery is major surgery. It doesn't only involve one surgery but two. The doctor said the surgery would be about 10 hours long. Anytime you're put under anesthesia for any length of time it's dangerous. The doctor said I would be in intensive care for 2-3 days after surgery and have about a month of recovery at home. A recovery period of that length doesn't seem doable. I would need in home care and there's no way my husband could take off work that long. 
2. Expensive - although the majority of the surgery would be covered by my medical insurance, we'd still have to meet deductibles, and pay our portion of the surgical and hospital bills not to mention labs and other expenses. 
3. Pain: I'm not really keen on going through a lot of pain again. It has taken almost 3 years for me to get over the last two surgeries. I don't know if my body could handle that much trauma again. I'd be cut horizontally from hip to hip and then have several incisions at each breast site. With all of my other surgeries, if I had these too, I'd look like I'd been mauled by a serial killer.
4. Why: Why would I want to do this anyway? Would having fake boobs give me more self esteem? I don't think so. Cancer has taken away my breasts, the ones God gave me, so why should I try to rebuild what He allowed cancer to take away? 
5. Would this change anything about my marriage? Not really. The only thing it would change is to cause us more stress and pain. 
6. The real reason for surgery? Would I be doing it to benefit my health (as the doctor suggested - I posted about this in yesterday's blog post) or would I be doing it out of vanity? Yes maybe having the weight of breasts replaced would help my spine, but is it really necessary? Couldn't I just continue to do stretching exercises I was taught in physical therapy sessions to help my back? Most of my back problems are from bulging or herniated discs and degenerative disc disease so I don't think the missing breasts are the main culprit of my pain. 
7. Complications: There's no guarantee I'd survive the surgery without complications? I was reading and studying about that surgery and many times tissue removed from the belly to make the new breasts will die. When that happens, doctors must remove the dead tissue and start over. This dead tissue is called fat necrosis or tissue necrosis. Since I've already had one episode of tissue necrosis after my initial surgery, I think my chances of developing necrosis again are probably very great. 
8. I'm getting old! At this time in my life I don't feel like I need to go through any more major surgery. I've already had so many. I'll be 60 in December and I want to maintain my quality of life. I'm enjoying going and doing exactly what I want to do when I want to do it. If I have surgery again, I'll have many physical limitations that would prohibit my current plans. 
9. It's my body! Just because the doctor suggested it and highly recommended it, doesn't mean I have to do it. It's my body and is ultimately my choice. Why do something I don't really and truly want to do?
10. Boobs: When I want to have them, I can. I have silicone prostheses and when I slip them into the mastectomy bra, you'd never know they weren't real. I'm the only one who knows the difference. When I get tired of the weight of the prostheses and want to take them off, I do! Flinging my boobs across the room has become very freeing and usually brings laughter to family members who are here when I do it. The boobs always wind up in random places like the back seat of my husband's car or on the kitchen counter. How many women can just take off their boobs whenever they want to? Not many! 

So I've made my decision and I'm sticking to it. I'm not going to cave to the pressure of my doctor. I hope she'll be respectful of my decision but even if she isn't, I feel good about it.

Where did this emotion come from???

When you're diagnosed with breast cancer, it's customary to see your oncologist, radiation oncologist and breast surgeon at periodic intervals throughout the first 5 years after diagnosis. The visits start out being every three months, then every six months, and then if you're doing well, stretch out to annual visits. Today was my annual visit to the breast surgeon. Although I haven't reached the 5 year mark, she'd moved me to an annual visit because I was doing so well. Today, not so much.

I waited for almost an hour to see the doctor. She's an excellent doctor so I don't mind waiting for her. I know she gives her patients her undivided time and attention. When she came into my exam room, she greeted me like she always does with a big smile and a "What's up?" I shared my concerns and then she began the exam. She found a place on my chest wall that caught her attention. As she began palpating it, I winced in pain. "That hurts?" she said. I nodded and asked what she thought it might be. She said she wasn't sure but definitely wanted to check it out since it was outside the surgical field from my last operation. She instructed her assistant to schedule an ultrasound and then turned back to face me. "So, when are you going to have your reconstructive surgery," she said. I was puzzled. I had never mentioned anything about reconstructive surgery and in fact, had never even considered it. When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer, all I wanted to do was get that nasty stuff out of my body and fast!

The doc sat there a few minutes and waited for my response. I told her I didn't know I was even a candidate for reconstruction since I'd had both breasts removed. "Oh, yes!" she assured me, " You can always have reconstruction even years after surgery. I highly recommend it and in fact, it's important to your overall health." When I asked her what she meant by that statement, she explained, "When your body is missing the weight of your breasts, your shoulders and spine try to compensate for the loss and begin to protectively curve forward. When that happens it can cause back problems and spinal misalignment. If you do the reconstructive surgery, you'll be replacing that weight and your body will respond accordingly."  As I listened to her, I felt this overwhelming emotion rising from the depths of my being. It was as if I was being handed a silver platter with hope sitting in the middle of it. I didn't understand what I was feeling but I knew I needed to process it. The doctor must have noticed I was dealing with something because she rolled her stool over closer to me and as she put her hand on my knee, I began to weep. I apologized after crying for a few minutes and she told me not to worry about it. She said she could feel my pain. At that point, I shared about the difficulties my surgery had caused in my marriage and the dam burst. I couldn't contain my tears any longer. The doctor grabbed a box of tissue and gently placed it on my lap. She instructed me to get dressed and said she wanted to give me a little time to regain my composure. I was thankful she'd left the room.

I removed the white linen robe and placed it on the chair in the exam room. As I gathered my clothing and began putting them back on, I wiped the tears away. I looked in the mirror and saw smeary black streaks running down my face. I made a mental note to wear waterproof mascara to my office visits from this point forward just in case I was caught off guard by another sneaky emotion.

The scheduler was kind enough to allow me to sit in her office for a while so I could calm down. She got an appointment for my ultrasound tomorrow afternoon. I'm not too concerned about the suspicious place the doctor found, but I guess I should be. I'm more concerned with whether or not I want to go through another surgery.

The doctor had given me a booklet describing the D.I.E.P flap reconstructive surgery. Basically what the surgery involves is removing abdominal tissue and using it to build and reform breasts. It's like getting a tummy tuck and boob job all at once. It's about a ten hour surgery and requires about a month of recovery. It's not an easy surgery. I tucked the booklet in my purse so I could read it when I got home. I needed to talk everything over with my husband and I wasn't sure I was up for that discussion just yet.

DIEP Flap reconstructon

Thankfully, the doctor assured me that my insurance would completely cover the surgery should I choose to do it. Even though it would be a delayed reconstruction, by law, the insurance company had to cover the surgery since I'd had bilateral mastectomies performed.

Now I face a huge decision. Do I have the surgery to replace my breasts or don't I? If I do the surgery, I will have a lengthy recovery period. It seems I've just finally started to feel good after my last surgery. I'm going to do a lot of research and give this matter a great deal of prayer. I'll keep you posted. If you would, please say a prayer for me to have clear direction on this matter. Thank you in advance.

Freshly mown grass

Me on the far right, sun in my eyes!

This afternoon, I was trying to take a little nap. I don't usually take naps but I really needed one today. I'd been up since 5:00 a.m. and I was dragging so I lay across the bed in our guest room hoping to catch 40 winks. As I lay there with my eyes closed, I heard one of my neighbors on his riding mower. He was out cutting the grass. As he made pass after pass, I couldn't help but remember my childhood. I'd always loved the smell of freshly mown grass because it signified the approach of Summer to me.

Daddy would always get out and cut the grass with his push mower. I took great comfort in knowing he was home and he was busy making our yard look nice. Our yard was very large so that meant Daddy had a lot of pushing to do. Our yard wasn't flat either, so it took some muscle to get that mower up and down the hills. With sweat upon his brow, Daddy worked hard to get the yard done while we were usually playing. We never hired anyone to cut the grass. Daddy was meticulous in performing yard work and I don't think he would've trusted anyone else to do the job as well as he did.

Years later, after we were grown and our parents had moved to another house, Daddy got a riding mower. We were all thankful he wouldn't have to struggle against that push mower any longer. It didn't take him long to cut the grass at their new location. The yard there was much smaller and very flat. Sometimes, when I'd go over to visit, I'd pull into the driveway to see him circling around on the riding mower. He'd smile and throw up his hand in a wave.

I'm on the back row between my Mom and my Aunt

But usually a few weeks before Easter, Daddy would stop mowing the grass. He'd let it get tall and shaggy. He knew, when we were children, Mama would want to hide Easter eggs and short grass isn't good for hiding. Later on, as we started having our own families, Daddy did the same thing for the grandchildren. We'd all gather at my parent's house for a huge Easter egg hunt with all the little ones. After a huge dinner of ham, potato salad, green beans, rolls, and some kind of dessert, we'd take the children outside and let them run wild and free through the tall grass. Daddy would laugh as he'd watch them head out and then he'd watch for the one child not finding quite as many eggs as the others. He'd make a special point of going to help that one fill their basket. In my mind's eye, I can still see him stooping low to point out an egg hidden beneath a bush or lifting a little one to retrieve an egg hidden in the V of a tree. We all had such fun back then!

As the neighbor finished up the last few passes on his lawn, I began to tear up. I hadn't realized how much I've missed my Daddy. Easter will be here in a few days and as I walk out to my car to go to church, I'm sure I'm going to glance around my yard hoping to see an egg hidden here or there. But there won't be any. None of my grandchildren will be with us this year for the holiday. They have plans with their own families, and that's okay. At least I have precious memories of Daddy at Easter and the smell of freshly mown grass to remind me of days long past.

Isn't it funny how something like listening to the soothing sounds of a lawnmower running can bring up memories like that? I hope you have some special memories stored away, too.

The Challenge

Earlier this week, I began writing my book. Six months ago, I felt God prompting me to go ahead and begin working on it. I'd prayed and prayed asking Him if I was to proceed. I wanted to do it but was scared to death to start. I've never written a book before but I felt God wanted me to use my breast cancer journey to touch the lives of others. I was compelled to write my story.

Yesterday, I worked on the book for 8 hours. I was able to get through the introduction and the first three chapters. Today, I have writer's block! I am overwhelmed and can't think straight so I stopped working on the book. Maybe I need a day off to gather my thoughts. The difficult part isn't in compiling the material, I already have that pretty much done. For the past two and a half years, I've been blogging about my journey. I've been diligent to record every detail. But shifting all those blog posts into a book format is challenging. I want this to be exactly what God wants it to be not what I want it to be. So I'll take some time to pray about the direction He wants me to go. There's no hurry and no deadline so I'm not going to let Satan pressure me into making wrong choices. I know God has a perfect plan and He's going to reveal it to me as I trust Him.

I always wondered how writers could take years to complete a manuscript. Now I understand completely. Writing, reading, re-reading, editing....it's complicated and exciting and fun all at the same time. I'm thankful for computers and the ease in which we can write these days. I'd hate to think I had to peck out the words one letter at a time on an old typewriter. I remember how challenging it was back in the 70's when I was taking typing in high school. My typing teacher, Mrs. Brake, didn't have much patience. It didn't help that there were several members of the football team in our typing class. They didn't want to learn typing. They just wanted to goof around and be silly. They distracted the class, especially when Mrs. Brake stepped out of the room for a minute. I remember once, one of the football players took a little screwdriver and loosened the platen on the typewriter. The platen is the round cylindrical part that moves back and forth as you type. When Mrs. Brake returned to the room, he acted like he was typing the assignment rapidly. As he hit the return lever to move to the next line of type, the platen went flying across the room with a great force. All the students cracked up at what we knew was a silly joke. Mrs. Brake was not happy. She yanked the guy up out of his seat an sent him to the principal's office. We began to tap away at our lesson and the room was quiet until someone in the back of the room couldn't contain their snickers any longer. One muffled laugh set of a chain reaction and soon the entire classroom was hysterical. Mrs. Brake got so frustrated she walked out into the hallway until we calmed down. By the time she came back into the room, the bell had rung and class was over. As we walked down the hall to our next class, word of what happened spread like wildfire. I don't know what ever happened to the football player but I'm sure he got a few extra pats on the back from his teammates and a lot of the students in our typing class. I don't remember what happened the following day in class but I'm sure Mrs. Brake gave him the evil eye and dared him to pull another stunt like that again.

Royal I used in high school

I still have my old Royal typewriter. It's an antique and the one I first learned to type on. It takes great effort to depress the keys and doesn't have a correction tape. If you made a mistake, you'd have to roll the paper up, erase the letter(s) with a correction pen and start again. When White Out or Liquid Paper correction fluid came along, it was so much easier. At least the correction fluid didn't rub a hole in the paper like the correction pen did if you scrubbed too hard to erase the mistake. Thankfully computers afford us the opportunity to delete mistakes quickly. We can backspace, replace, or delete with just a keystroke.

I just realized I'd written more than I intended on this post. Maybe I should have stuck with the book...Oh well, tomorrow's another day and I can always pick up then.

The case of the missing boobs

In my house, you never know where my boobs will turn up. Wait a minute you say...what is she talking about??? I'll back up and explain for those of you who don't know. Almost 3 years ago,  I had both of my breasts removed due to breast cancer. After surgery, I chose not to have reconstruction. I didn't want to go through the pain of more surgery. The breast surgeon said if I didn't choose reconstruction I'd have to either be flat chested forever or wear prostheses. I figured my best choice would be to remain flat chest for most of the time and wear prostheses only when necessary. It's worked out pretty well for me.

My first set of silicone breasts were a large C cup. The fitter at the little boutique selling after care items for breast cancer patients encouraged me to go with a large cup size. She said the prostheses needed to match my body. (I guess that was her way of saying I was overweight or of large stature?) I had no idea what I was doing so I trusted her. I went home with those heavy breast forms. The first time I tried to wear them, I felt so weighted down. My natural breasts hadn't been that heavy and certainly weren't that large. Needless to say, I only wore them once.

Around the house, I don't wear my prostheses. I'm more comfortable sans breasts. My husband and children have gotten used to seeing me this way and think nothing of it. When I go out in public, I do wear the prostheses. I'm still not comfortable being without breasts when I'm around others. I guess I don't want to disappoint them or have the constant stares that come with judgmental eyes.

We were on the way to the nursing home recently to visit my mother so I slipped on my mastectomy  bra and prostheses. I knew we'd be gone all day and would probably go out to eat. Although uncomfortable to wear all day, the prostheses were going with me.

The ride to the nursing home was long. We had a good visit with my mother and on the way back home, stopped for a quick dinner out. On the way home, I told my husband I was tired of wearing my boobs. He said, "Why don't you take them off then?" (I've made a point to remove my boobs whenever I felt I couldn't wear them one second longer. My family is used to me whipping them off at random places and times.) I've gotten quite adept at removing my bra and prostheses without removing my blouse. I smiled at him in silent agreement. "Here they go," I said as I unbuttoned the sleeves of my blouse, reached inside, grabbed my bra straps and pulled them down until I could slip my arm through. After getting my arms free, I reached up and under the back of my blouse to unhook my bra. Next I grabbed one of the bra straps through the armhole of my blouse and gave it a quick yank. The bra and prostheses came out easily. I threw them into the back seat of the car and breathed a sigh of relief. I was so thankful to have the excess weight removed. When we reached home a couple of hours later, we were both exhausted. We went inside just as it was getting dark and got ready for bed.

The following day, I had a doctors appointment. After showering and getting my makeup on, I was ready to get dressed. I'd already picked out my clothes and had them lying across my bed so they wouldn't get wrinkled. I slipped on my pants, socks and shoes. I went to my dresser drawer to pull out my bra and prostheses. I keep my silicone breast forms in two small round zippered cases with built in sling hammocks. The little hammocks are to keep the forms from being damaged. As I looked inside the cases, the breast forms weren't there. Now where in the world had I put them? I went into the kitchen to look. Sometimes I leave them on the kitchen table when I come in from a trip. They weren't there. I looked in all the usual places and couldn't find them. That's when it hit me. My boobs must still be in the back of my husband's car! Quickly, I sent him a text and asked if he'd take a look. He left the warehouse and went out to the parking lot. Sure enough, my bra and boobs were lying in plain view on the backseat of his car! I couldn't help but laugh as he told me. I wondered what his coworkers thought as they passed by his car and noticed the intimate apparel with flesh colored silicone breasts peeking out. Did they think he was a transvestite or transgender person??? Heaven forbid!

I remembered I some microbead breast forms I'd made last year for a summer trip to the beach. I dug them out of my closet and put them into another mastectomy bra. Without weights in them, the bra kept crawling upward as I moved. Pretty soon, the bra and boobs were practically under my chin! This was inconvenient! I stripped that get up off and decided I'd just go to the doctor without anything on. If I chose a print or checked blouse, it wouldn't be quite as evident that I was flat chested.

When my husband came home from work later that evening with my bra dangling from his fingertips, I was so embarrassed. I asked if he got teased by any of the guys at work. He told me none of the guys had seen my gear. I was so thankful! I guess I'm going to have to be a little more selective about when and where I strip off my boobs. I'd certainly hate to have them turn up unexpectedly at a most inopportune time.

We're all broken, a lesson learned from a butterfly

Cecil B. Day Butterfly House

There's a place not far from here where butterflies flourish. If you choose to visit, you will surely not be disappointed. The Cecil B. Day Butterfly house is located on the grounds of Callaway Gardens. The ornate glass building is conducive to providing the perfect amount of sunlight for plants and warmth for the butterflies. At times, it's hard to deal with so much beauty in one place but I go because I love butterflies.

Yesterday was a warm, sunny Sunday afternoon. My husband and I decided to take a "mini vaca day," as we like to call them.  They're short jaunts we can accomplish in a day or less. Where should we go? We talked about several locations and agreed Callaway Gardens would be the perfect place to spend the day. We hadn't been there in many years and felt it was time to go back for a visit.

Callaway Gardens is a 2500 acre property nestled in the southwest part of Georgia. Some of the many attractions included in the gardens include a man made beach, zip lining, playgrounds, picnic areas, walking trails, golf course, restaurants, circus tent, a bird of prey exhibit and much more. There are always flowers blooming on the grounds and the management makes sure to include native species found here in Georgia.

Southern Pearly Eye

After driving for about an hour, we entered the gardens. Without even asking, my husband began to drive toward the butterfly house. He knew it was my favorite place and where I'd want to begin our day. I smiled as the warmth of the sun heated our car knowing the butterfly house would be much warmer. We pulled into the parking area outside the massive building constructed of glass and steel. I marveled at the architecture though I'd seen it many times in the past. The hexagonal angles of the glass bounced the sunlight in all directions. It seemed to glow with a heavenly radiance.

We entered the building and walked past the information center and gift shop. There weren't too many people and we were glad. It's always nice to enjoy the butterflies without crowds. Opening the door to the butterfly room, a wave of moist heat slapped me in the face. "Instant sauna," I said to my husband, as I grinned and continued forward. Beautiful butterflies glided through the air. In and around us they flitted. Instantly a large Blue Morpho landed on my hand. I was in heaven! I'd purposely worn my sweetest smelling perfume, Jessica McClintock, to attract these delicate beauties and it had worked! Hubby snapped a quick cell phone picture of me. We stood and watched the brilliant colors and shapes of these delicate creatures as they darted to and fro. I took out my 35mm digital camera and popped on my telephoto lens. As I readied for a shot, I realized my lens had fogged up. The transition from the air conditioning in the main building to the sauna like temperatures in the butterfly house had collided producing an unwanted misty film over my lens. Quickly, I took my lens cloth and wiped the foggy haze away. I began shooting and my husband disappeared further into the plant filled room. He knew I'd take my time capturing each and every butterfly.

More beauty

There were so many varieties of butterflies! I'd read on the website there were over 1000! While in elementary school, I'd taken an interest in learning to identify our native butterflies so I was tickled to find there were still a few I actually remembered. There was a pretty brown, camouflaged butterfly called a Southern Pearly Eye, a delicate white and orange one called a Dainty Sulphur, Yellow Swallowtails, Black Swallowtails, a pretty orange, black and white one called a Postman, several types of fritillaries, and many I'd seen before but couldn't identify. As I continued photographing my favorites, one butterfly in particular caught my eye. It was a medium sized black winged butterfly with red spots. I watched as it landed on top of a brilliant purple flower. It was gorgeous. As the wings of the butterfly unfolded, I couldn't help but notice one of its wings was broken. The jagged edge was torn and rough. I felt sorry for the butterfly, but I was disappointed. I didn't want to photograph this less than perfect specimen. I'd always worked hard to choose butterflies without imperfection for my photos. No one would find beauty in a photograph of a butterfly with an injury. I continued to watch the broken, beautiful butterfly suck nectar from the flower.

Dainty Sulphur

It perched delicately on top of a tiny purple blossom and probed deep for the sweetest sustenance the flower could give. That broken wing kept my attention. I wondered how and when the wing had been damaged. Had the butterfly flown into something causing it to be ripped and torn away? Had the papery thin appendage been grabbed by some small child clasping with an eager hand? Whatever caused the wing to become damaged had apparently not kept the butterfly from continuing on with its life. It still flew. It still fed. It still did what butterflies do. Although the average life span of most butterflies is only a month, this little guy was thriving. His injury was not debilitating. And that's when it hit me...

Feeding upon a flower

We're all broken. In some way, shape, or form, we're all damaged. None of us are perfect. A butterfly quietly slipped in front of me gently kissing the front of my blouse. I looked down and remembered. My chest. The butterfly had touched my most vulnerable place. The place I protected and shielded. Since breast cancer surgery to remove both breasts, I was always conscious of my chest. I didn't like to go out in public because I always felt like people were looking at me. The silicone prostheses I'd slipped into my bra before our trip today made me look like a woman on the outside but sometimes I didn't feel like one on the inside. I was broken. I didn't feel beautiful.

The black butterfly with the broken wing darted away. I watched as he flew from one flower to another. On and on he flew, rising higher and higher until I could no longer see him. How did you learn to fly so high, butterfly? Who taught you to ignore your damaged wing? Did the other butterflies ever notice your brokenness? I stood with my camera dangling around my neck. My husband was coming toward me. I felt tears welling up in my eyes as he approached. He saw them. "What's wrong?," he questioned. My chin dropped to my chest and I turned to walk to a secluded spot in the thickest part of the floral garden. I looked at him and whispered, "I'm broken." He had no idea what I was talking about so I tried my best to explain what I was feeling. When I'd finished, he put his arm around me and we made our way out of the butterfly house. I could feel the tiniest little butterfly kiss of a whisper right beside my ear saying, "We're all broken, but it's okay. Be like the butterfly and choose to live life anyway."

Our drive home was long. We were tired. We'd hiked, picnicked, and enjoyed the entire day at the gardens. The eighty degree weather and the pollen filled air had zapped our energy. Leaning my head back on the seat, I thought about the broken butterfly's wing and the messaged whispered as we'd left the building. We're all broken and it's okay. We truly are. We're all defective in some way.  Some of our injuries are visible and some are not. That little butterfly was my hero. He was valiant and brave. He'd decided not to focus on his injury but on his blessings. He could still fly, even with a broken wing. He was still beautiful, even with the raggedness. He was still alive! And so was I.

What a powerful lesson. Thank you little butterfly. You'll never know how you touched my life one warm, March day or maybe you do? Maybe I was meant to witness your brokenness and maybe you were meant to be my teacher. And without saying a word, you said so much.

Goodbye sweet friend...

Rows and rows of greeting cards line the drugstore shelves. I peruse them laughing at silly ones and cringing at racy ones. Some are beautiful with heartfelt sentiments while others are too graphic for my taste. Greeting card artists choose different ways to present our feelings on paper. As I look over the cards, I'm overwhelmed. There are so many from which to choose. How do I pick a card to convey my deepest sorrow over the loss of a dear friend? I leaf through several cards and read the wording. None of them seem appropriate. None of them come close to explaining heartbreak. None of these will really reach out and touch the recipient in the way I intend. I forego a purchase and opt for a handwritten note. I can express my feelings more clearly than an anonymous greeting card writer. I leave the store and head home.

In the past few weeks, I've attended funerals, visited dear friends in hospitals, and focused on the brevity of life. No one knows the number of days we're allotted on Earth. One minute we're here and the next we're not. I'm reminded of a verse found in the Bible, James 4:14: "Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow. You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away." Poof...gone. A wisp of life dissolved.

And that's the way it was with my sweet friend. Her life was too, too brief. We buried her on Saturday. What a wonderful woman. She was kind, caring, loving, and had a heart of pure gold. She found joy in serving others. She was someone who loved others well. One minute she was here, the next she was gone. No one expected it. It was such a shock, especially to those close to her. And no one can ever take her place.

The sadness at her sudden death continues to rock us with confusion and shock. But God knew best. He was ready for her to come home. He'd just slipped the last shingle onto the roof of her mansion. Everything was ready for her great move in day! The angels gathered together preparing her welcome home party with glorious choruses of hallelujahs. As she slipped out of this Earthly realm into the heavenlies, what a sight to behold! Her Heavenly Father, waiting at the gate, reaching out His Almighty, Loving hand toward her as He softly and gently whispered, "Well done, thou good and faithful servant." I can just picture her kneeling before Him as He placed a beautiful golden crown of good works upon her head. Then slowly she rises and slips the crown off, laying it at His feet. He reaches for her and she moves closer until finally in His tender embrace. Once again He speaks, "Welcome home sweet daughter, welcome home." As He guides her toward her new home, she never turns to look back. She has no desire to do so. The life she lived on Earth has vanished and has been forgotten. And why wouldn't it be? Psalm 39:5 says, "Behold, You have made my days as handbreadths, And my lifetime as nothing in Your sight; Surely every man at his best is a mere breath. Selah. (Pause and calmly think of that.)"

A few lines on paper can't express the deep, painful sadness over the loss of a beloved friend. But sometimes the gentle squeeze of a hand, tears mingled, or a loving heartfelt hug can speak louder than any words and that's exactly as it should be. Words aren't always appropriate or powerful enough to cover the depth of pain.