The Kindness of Cancer…

Chemo pump and kitty comfort. Thank you, Rick, for my kitty. Thank you Rachel for my cozy, brown nest.

 

Cancer is not kind. It takes healthy cell growth, turns it into something tumorish. It comes as a surprise. Cancer is an unpleasant turn of events. It can hurt. Sometimes, it kills you. But……there is kindness on this cancer path.

Cancer gives you time to prepare for possible death. I’ve had an interesting season of cleaning up messes so family won’t have to, should I leave early. I tumbled in to a bin of baby toys, little dresses and rompers, dusty stuffed animals. It wasn’t too long ago that I put those away for the kids. And this reminded me of how short and super life has been. I am mindful of unfinished projects and important paperwork. I have my funeral planned. (That was kinda fun, and is a work in process. I wish I could be there. There will be cake.)

Cancer gives you time to grieve with those you love. As hard as it is to see the sorrow on the faces of friends and family, it is a precious honor to sit with them and hug them, to comfort them and pray with them. They walk this valley with me. I am not alone, and either are they. We can talk about “plans and wishes.” It helps normalize this season of life, the “possibly” terminal time. It is a blessing to share this journey.

So blessed to spend time with family

Cancer gives me reason to prioritize oh so many things. Marie Kondo has no idea. “Does it spark joy?” is replaced by “Do I really want to spend my limited time on this?” That doesn’t mean I don’t do laundry and cook, but when I go to the book shelf…..I’m asking myself what’s worth reading? Which DVD do I really want to watch again? (LOTR, The Hobbit, Inn of the Sixth Happiness, oh, and an old early 50’s Sherlock Holmes series, complete with wobbly screen on occasion and in glorious black and white for Rick and I. Chariots of Fire is probably next.) Guess what? Ask yourself those questions too. We all have limited time. Here are some family toes after spending some quality time together…keeping our priorities straight.

 

Prioritize and don’t forget the little stuff. It’s the big stuff.

Cancer gives opportunity to grow in character, just like all the other tough challenges in life. Will I whine and complain about chemo, or enjoy the white cheddar popcorn, the cheerful nurses, and time to sit and rest, thankful that I can even have the medical opportunity at a prolonged, better-quality-of life? Will I pout that I may miss out on my plans for the next 30 years, or will I acknowledge that I have lived a rich, extraordinary life, with few regrets. Will I choose to believe that God is the Lord who can comfort me in my distress?

Yesterday I came across this in Psalms 86:4-7.

Gladden the soul of your servant;
    to you, Lord, I lift up my soul.
Lord, you are good and forgiving,
    most merciful to all who call on you.
Lord, hear my prayer;
    listen to my cry for help.
On the day of my distress I call to you,
    for you will answer me.

He is with me, live or die. His forgiveness has blessed me with a peaceful, purified heart. His mercy is there when I call. In my distress, He answers.

Cancer gives me the opportunity to show my dear ones how to “die well.” I am still discovering what that looks like. But I know it involves focusing on loving others and not letting panic take over. As I look at surgery, I take a matter-of-fact approach. I will use the mind God gave me and the wise ones around me to make the best decisions I can. Then, full speed ahead, until I know that it is time to lay it all down. Today isn’t that day. It is still time to fight the good fight, but with a joyful heart and lots of love. I may yet beat this thing.

Ready for more popcorn and chemo/lifesaving treatment

Cancer gives me time to encourage others in difficult situations, cancer or not. It is interesting to me that at Compass Clinic, the infusion room is open. We all sit side-by-side. I have the feeling this is not just to save money on divider material. Patients laugh together, encourage each other, listen to one another. It’s pretty sweet. It’s not terrible; actually, in many ways, it’s wonderful. The sense of community and care in that room is amazing.  What a joy!

Part of my beautiful support team

Cancer gives me a new “hobby.” I don’t want to make light of it, but cancer is not the center of my life. Jesus is. My family is. My friends are. The hobby part is the part that changes my calendar and sends me researching. It’s the part where I have to manage a failing body and take time to rest. I have unique opportunities to learn about cancer. I develop new relationships, based on our mutual “hobby.” What an encouragement it has been to chat with folks about this path and to hear their stories, too.

Cancer gives me the experience of being showered with love from those around me. I get to see the beautiful image of God shine out from friends and family. People have been incredibly kind and generous, tenderhearted, attentive, caring. They take time in their busy lives to remember me and my family, to speak an encouraging word, to send a card, to call, to give gifts, to show love. AND I still can get together with my people and sip coffee, share and pray. It is a blessing to be able to love and listen to them, even in this season.

Breakfast with Dear Alisa, Prayer warrior/mentor

Cancer gives me the opportunity to see if what I have always professed to believe holds up under pressure. Is God good, even though I have a deadly disease? Can I trust Him to carry me through? Is Heaven a lovely myth, or my ultimate destination?

Psalm 77 shows that this struggle is not unique to any of us. The writer shares:

“I cry aloud to God; I cry aloud, and he hears me.
In times of trouble I pray to the Lord;
    all night long I lift my hands in prayer,
    but I cannot find comfort.

He keeps me awake all night;
    I am so worried that I cannot speak.
I think of days gone by
    and remember years of long ago.
 I spend the night in deep thought;
    I meditate, and this is what I ask myself:
‘Will the Lord always reject us?
    Will he never again be pleased with us?
Has he stopped loving us? Does his promise no longer stand?’

I will remember your great deeds, Lord;
 I will recall the wonders you did in the past.
 I will think about all that you have done;
I will meditate on all your mighty acts.
Everything you do, O God, is holy.
No god is as great as you.
You are the God who works miracles.”

The miracle of this experience may or may not be a healed body and more years to walk
the earth, but the biggest miracle for me is to feel the encouraging prayers of God’s people, lifting me up, freeing me from fear, helping me live in joy today, recalling His faithfulness for the past 54 years.

So much silver, with a lining of suffering. It’s hard, but not horrible. I am grateful for the kindness of cancer.

Me ringing the bell after 13 chemo sessions. Celebrating!