All Shall be Well

Its raining, sleeting/snowing and thundering outside tonight and I've heard rumors there was hail.  It seems the weather took a cue from my internal state and can't quite decide how it really feels at any given moment today.  Oddly that makes perfect sense to me.

It hardly feels like just a week ago today, I was in that tiny exam room with the tech telling me I had cancer.  One test, 1 page of images.  And she knew.  And so did the Doctor.  But he wanted to wait till they did more tests to tell me.  But she didn't wait.  With his permission, she told me first.  She normally isn't the one to deliver such news.  I can't help think it was such a brave thing for her to do.  She felt I should know, so I could start preparing.  I think I learned a lot from her in that moment.  The doctor stammered and stuttered more than she did, when he later confirmed her suspicions.  She may have been afraid, but she did it anyway.  With grace and compassion.

I cried, called Rick, and sat in shock for a bit.  I've had cysts before on two other occasions.  This one just hasn't resolved on its own, and when it quickly developed a hard ridge to it I knew I needed to have it checked.  I really hadn't been prepared for this.

As I sat there gathering myself, I remember thinking to myself,  please God, just let me know how to walk out of here on my own two feet.  Please God, just help me breathe.  The tech returned.  Somehow I made it to the mammogram machine, and back to the exam room for the needle biopsy.  The staff were all warm and compassionate.  The doctor's hands were gentle.  I breathed and walked, breathed and walked.  Calmness descended.  Please God, be with me.  I am no fan of needles.

"Snap," the needle enters and brings out its first sample.  I startle at the loud sound it makes, but I hardly feel them.  10 total samples and 2 shots of lidocaine, one hour later I am done.  1 more mammogram.  Bleeding stopped, bandaged.  And I went home.

And fell apart.  Are you sure God?  I think it takes a really strong person, and I am not feeling all that strong.  Soreness settles into my side and arm.  How am I going to do this God?  Please show me the way...

Thursday I awake with the nurse's words in my head, "Grab a book, stay in bed, and read."  I've been waiting to have the time to read this new book.  Suddenly the whole day has been made just for this.  I reach for my nightstand and this is what I grasp, "one thousand gifts, a dare to live more fully right where you are" by Ann Voskamp.

I read and read, barely stopping for anything.  Eucharisteo.  Giving thanks, for the gifts and blessings I already have.  Take the dare.  Its the only way to do this.

And this is how I am doing it.  Being thankful in everything.  I absolutely think this book, on this day, in my hands, is a God thing.



My list is growing daily.

Thunderstorms in March

virtual couches online

doctors with a sense of humor

the smell of freshly ground morning coffee brewing in the pot
blue paint samples that make me want to dive right in

And yet I stumble.  I fall in weakness, and break down.  But someone is always there to pick me up, stand me up when I don't think I can, until I know I can again.

I hardly know how to express my gratitude for all the love, prayers, concern, tears, joy, and laughter, I have been surrounded with these past few days.  I am humbled to say the least.  And I think you all are answered prayers.

Writing has always been a therapy of sorts for me, and my hope is to chronicle this journey when I can.  My sweet friend Sara, has agreed to fill in for me when I am unable to do so myself.

Love and blessings to you all.  Count your gifts todays.  I am finding you can see them in the tiniest moments.  If you are open to seeing them, they are all around us.