The Promise

A year ago tonight, after a family Christmas shopping trip, my then-17-year-old son took me to see The Hobbit:  An Unexpected Journey. Tonight, we watched it again on DVD so my guys could be up to speed for viewing The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug.

Well, I didn’t actually watch the whole thing tonight. I just hung around long enough to hear my favorite piece of dialogue. When Bilbo is trying to decide if he should journey with the dwarves to hunt down their enemy, the dragon Smaug, he questions the wizard Gandalf: “Can you promise me that I will come back?”

Unflinchingly, Gandalf replies, “No ~ and if you do, you will not be the same.” 

That phrase brought me comfort during the first weeks of my cancer journey. No one can promise that I will make it through alive. But I know that, if I do, I will never be the same. And that’s a good thing.

One year ago today . . .

One year ago today, my cancer journey began ~ although I didn’t realize it at the time.

I had actually already had a scare back in 2006. I was 38 years old, and my doctor had been suggesting for a while that I go for my first mammogram. I finally scheduled an appointment, but then thought about canceling. It seemed troublesome to ask someone else to watch my kids in the middle of the day while I went for an unnecessary scan. But I went ahead and kept the appointment. It was just to get a baseline, right? I figured that couldn’t hurt.

Well, five days later I received a phone call to come back for a follow-up ultrasound, which led to an appointment with a surgeon, which led to a scheduled lumpectomy. “I’m 85% sure it’s not cancer,” the surgeon told me. But I still lived through days of uncertainty and fear until the surgery was over and the pathology report came back. She was right ~ it was a benign fatty nodule. I stepped into the chapel on the way out of her office after the final follow up, just to thank God for delivering me.

After that, I had a mammogram every year. Once in a while I’d be called back for another take, but the results always came back negative.

Then we moved to Canada, where I found the protocol to be a mammo every two years, unless you have a history of breast cancer. Well, I didn’t, so there seemed no need to push for a change of plans.

In the spring of 2012, I asked my family doctor when I was due for my next mammogram. “October,” she said. So I put a note on my calendar and called in October to schedule. Trouble was, they were booked clear into December. I scheduled my appointment for the first available spot, kicking myself that I’d waited so long to make it.

December 13, 2012, rolled around. I knew my appointment was scheduled for 1:30 p.m. ~ but I got busy after lunch and forgot . . . until 1:45. In a panic, I called the hospital to apologize and try to reschedule. Knowing how long it had taken to get my first appointment, I could only imagine how long it would be before I could get in again.

Then I heard the receptionist say, “We have an opening tonight at 7:30. Could you make that?” Could I??!!! I felt that God had parted the waters and made a way just for me.

I remember how peaceful it was that night in the radiology department.  The lights were low and the waiting room was nearly empty. I soaked in the stillness, wishing that all my appointments at the hospital could be at that time of day.

The mammogram went pretty much as usual ~ until the technician said, “I’m going to take another picture.” 

My heart dropped. “Oh.  Did you see something suspicious?” I asked, stepping back up to the machine.

“No, not suspicious. It looks like a cyst,” she assured me.  “But I know they’re going to ask for extra views; so rather than call you back, I’m just going to do it now. And I’m sure they’ll want to follow up with an ultrasound, so expect a call next week.” She finished the procedure and sent me on my way.

I felt a bit unsettled as I dressed and headed for home. I mean, there probably wasn’t anything to worry about. This happens to a lot of people, right?  I determined not to let fear get the best of me ~ to just take it a day at a time and face the tests as they came.

You know the rest of the story, since you’re reading my blog. (At least, you know the story as far as I know it!) You know that it would be over 2 months before I was finally diagnosed with breast cancer. 

There have been many, many times I have wished I had been diagnosed sooner, that I had had a mammogram in 2011, that the tumor could have been removed when it was smaller. 

But I trust in the sovereignty of God. He could have let my cancer be discovered sooner. But He could have let it go a lot longer, too. For whatever reason, He allowed it to hide as a cyst until He was ready to reveal it for what it really was. I have seen His hand every step of the way . . . allowing me to get doctor’s appointments when it seemed nearly impossible . . . leading me to just the right medical personnel . . . bringing the perfect friends alongside to walk this journey with me.

I’m right where I’m supposed to be.

Thankful

My big feeling of thankfulness came after Thanksgiving this year.  On Monday, I received a phone call from my doctor's office, letting me know that my routine PAP smear had come back normal.  

Although there were some signs of inflammation, there were no atypical cells like the ones that showed up three years ago.  I know now that every normal test result is cause for rejoicing. Praise God Who gives good gifts ~ and walks with us through every test!

The Little Things

Facing a life-threatening illness has a way of altering your perspective, even (especially?) in the little things.

Take Thanksgiving, for example. This year we spent it with 5 of Greg’s siblings, his dad and stepmom, and many nieces and nephews. It was much the same as other years . . . but different, too. Our kids are growing up, moving on. This may have been the last time for the BIG family Thanksgiving. And that made it bittersweet.

Travelling five hours to get there wore me out, so I curled up on the couch for a little rest while conversation swirled around me. The mid-afternoon meal showcased everyone’s cooking skills and was delicious, as usual. Then, after dessert and conversation around the table, I headed upstairs for another nap. (It’s hard for me to admit it, but I still tire easily. I’m not yet back to my pre-cancer self.)

Two hours later, I awoke in a darkened room to the sound of Christmas carols. Someone was singing, somewhere ~ a whole group of people. Was the family gathered down in the living room?

I lay snuggled in bed, soaking in the sound. I wanted to be a part of whatever was going on, but I just wasn’t ready to get up yet. Then the music shifted to worship songs. Angelic voices blended in melody and harmony. It was irresistible. Like a magnet, the music drew me from my bed. I groped my way through the gloom to the door and opened it a crack. The light hit my eyes ~ and I was dazzled by what I saw.

My children and their cousins lined the loft-landing at the end of the hall. Some were singing; some were listening. One strummed a guitar, and another sat at the piano.  But all were caught up in the music. I couldn’t drag my eyes away.  I didn’t want them to know I was watching, didn’t want to break the spell. But I wanted to be a part of it, too. Finally, I stepped into the light and joined them.

I imagine that’s how it will feel someday to wake up in Heaven.

That evening, I sat around the kitchen table with my sisters-in-law, swapping stories, knitting, and looking at the Black Friday flyers. Ah, Black Friday . . .

We used to do the leave-the-house-at-6AM-and-scramble-to-get-everything-on-your-list-before-the-deals-are-gone routine. Two years ago, we actually headed to the mall at midnight. This year, however, we were content to wake at a reasonable hour and leave for the stores at 8AM ~ all 13 of us! 

How times have changed since we young mothers went looking for the best toys for our kids. Now, I think our daughters look forward to the trip more than we do; and we spend most of our time looking at clothes!

We hit Old Navy first. I was tired, and my back already hurt.  I eyed the checkout line wearily, and wondered just how long I’d last as I played the role of “gopher” and fashion consultant. But on one of my trips from the dressing room to the clothing rack for yet another item, it hit me. I was HERE. I was with my girls. I was helping to provide for one of their most basic needs. Suddenly, a crazy shopping trip wasn’t just another bead on an ever-growing string of Black Fridays. It was priceless. 

I must confess, I’m still tired, although we’ve been home nearly 48 hours. I’m still dealing with post-trip clutter. I’m overwhelmed by everything I want to do before Christmas rolls around. Probably some things just won't get done.

But I’m choosing to savor this Season, to relish the traditions that make it so precious, and even to create some new ones. I don’t want to take anything for granted. Every moment together is priceless.