And the theme of March will be grace. Grace upon grace. 

grace ^{[ greys ]} 
noun. 
freely given, unmerited favor.

I am no theologian. I am not a biblical scholar. I did not graduate with a degree in Divinity or attend Seminary. Nor do I want to be any of those things. Of course, not because they are bad, but rather simply because I don’t want to be. So, disclaimer, let me be clear that I am not attempting to pose as any of the above when I talk about grace this month, rather, I’m just me. Grace, as I see it (in light of my own personal experience, my story, my life and its lessons), is so often misunderstood. Even more often, mis-taught. And even more often, misrepresented. Because I think if it weren’t, well, everything would be different. 

This month, each day I am going to reflect on grace. And I challenge you to do the same. Mind you, not the ‘strings attached’ version, though… So today. . .

The reality of cancer, my friends, is that as ugly as it sounds to hear it, it is hard to love a cancer patient. You might be tempted to automatically disagree with me, “Oh, NO, she can’t be right…” But I am. And as much as it’s tough to love the patient, it’s also hard to be the patient and 1, feel worthy of love (because we require so much of all of the everything) but also 2, to offer love (because we’re just working on putting the next foot in front of the other). Hint…those are the same reasons it’s hard to love the patient… 

Cancer causes an automatic disconnect between the patient and the caregiver – one not wanting the other to ‘get it’ because in that would be hurt and disappointment and tragedy and trauma. It IS ugly, folks. It’s lonely in a ‘don’t come over to my side’ kind of way. It’s protective in a ‘I love you so much that I want this chasm to stay a chasm.’  It’s upside-down because in our love to fiercely protect the other, our love ^actually hurts ourselves. 

So today, I found grace in a tired and worn-out caregiver/husband. He often carries a weight I’d wish on no person’s significant other. A weight I cannot relate to as the patient but a weight that is heavy. Oh so heavy with confusion, unanswered why’s, loneliness unlike any kind understood, looming unknowns, a lack of sensible solutions when sense seems so obvious. . .  I never blame him for his burdens and neither of us hold cancer against the other, but it is our companion whether we like it or not. 
Yet today, there was a lightness to him that I could feel in my soul and he didn’t look at me through tired-caregiver eyes. And I found grace there.

PS. I always want cancer to be conjecture even if that means love has to hurt.

*Post 1064

Oddities, Celebrations, Realities and New Appreciations :: 3/1/18 :: Post 179

I rocked my breathing today!!!! I didn’t have to repeat once! 

….it’s the little things. Like breathing.

Amazing that something so normally mindless can be so presently preoccupying. How a thing so mundane and rote and taken for granted can be so purposefully practiced, profoundly impactful and even celebrated in this current context. 

A sad reality, though, is that my skin and muscles are starting to hurt already. And with 19 treatments left…eek. I’m hoping some of the topical remedies I’m using will help keep it from getting much worse. It can’t get too bad or my plastic surgeon will have to delay my reconstruction…and the results would be negatively impacted, also. Not to mention, these tissue expanders are a special kind of hell. The pain they cause is wearing on me and July 11th can’t come soon enough. 

Another oddity of this whole chapter is that things of death-chemo poison….radiation…..removing body parts-are the very things saving and extending my life.

Hmmm. 

Tomorrow will be one page closer to the next chapter. One more treatment day behind me. One step further in this process. 

One more…

Intention :: 3/1/19 :: Post 535

Another surgery checked off the list. Today felt different, though. A good-different. I have a feeling the counseling session I had yesterday, the acupuncture I had on Wednesday and the fact that Christmas isn’t next week all played a part. 

My surgeon was in a great mood today….walked in my room this morning and said, “I’m excited to do this surgery so let’s get in there and see what we can do!” He appeared confident and sure of his skills (despite reiterating that radiation was not kind to my skin and tissue at all) plus the added perk that we were on the same page with our goals for outcome.

That felt nice. 🙂

Then after surgery, he told Chris that while it was a difficult procedure, he was happy with how it turned out. 

That felt nice to hear, too. 🙂

And then my doc called me tonight to check in and explained how hard he worked for me today. That he used many challenging techniques to help us meet our goals. That the nurses and him didn’t stop until they were all happy and confident that everything that could have been done today, was.

That felt extra extra nice to hear, as well. 🙂

That said, I haven’t yet looked down. There is anxiety all wrapped up in that one… I am hopeful but I’m not quite ready to look. I hear my surgeon’s and husband’s affirmations, but I’m not quite ready to face the reality. That has always been the hard part. Standing in the mirror naked and looking to see what I will be living with, seeing the story that the scars tell, acknowledging the ugliness and devastation of cancer.

So tonight, I will continue to hold my head toward the sky having hope that I, too, will be pleased with the results of this most recent effort. Maybe tomorrow I’ll look. Maybe I’ll wait till Sunday when I’m allowed to shower. Either way, I will need to remind myself that I will embrace whatever outcome there is as that has been my intention all along.

Okay :: 3/1/20 :: Post 849

I had the thought the other day that it’s okay to be ‘okay.’ It’s acceptable to not maintain the status quo. It’s okay not to try and fit into the mold. It’s okay not to force feelings or experiences to match those of others. I have a couple of acquaintances that are in a similar place in their cancer experience as far as timing and treatment/survivorship and when I asked them how they were doing a couple of weeks ago, “I’m great” and “Seriously, so glad that’s over” and “I’m never looking back” and “Things are SO good” and “I’m back to normal” and “I’m all better” are the responses I got. 

I just can’t relate. 

Oh the shame… ‘Am I weak?’ ‘Stop being such a victim’ ‘Where did I go wrong?’ ‘What is the matter with me?’ ‘Am I not grateful?’ ‘How can they be all better?’ ‘I must be the crazy one.’ ‘Why can’t I just let it go?’ ‘Is my faith not strong enough?’

While in the shame spiral, it was then that it occurred to me that it’s okay that I’m okay. I don’t have to feel like I have to put on the mask of “all better.” I don’t have to answer to any human, I don’t have to measure up. I get to be okay with being okay. I’m not weak – I’m strong. I’m not a victim – I am choosing to fully experience this reality, to let it change me forever. I didn’t go wrong – because right is relative. There is nothing the matter with struggle. I am grateful IN the pain. ‘Better’ is also relative. I’m not crazy – this is crazy-hard. It’s not something to let go, it’s something to hold close. My faith is deeper, not weaker because my cancer has taught me just how human I am and just how God God is.

I don’t have to assess progress according to a predetermined scale where ‘okay’ is simply an in-between…where ‘okay’ is the stepping stone from ‘bad’ to ‘good.’ 

‘Okay’ is not a failure word. 

I’m not behind the schedule of Better because I’m ‘okay.’ I am not losing the game of Better because I’m ‘okay.’ I am not failing at Better because I’m ‘okay.’

‘Okay’ can still mean whatever people want it to mean and it is quite likely that I will continue to experience people’s struggle and even dislike of me being ‘just okay.’ But I now find my own personal freedom in being ‘okay’ and that, well, that is good.