...grace and healing...

“I wish grace and healing were more abracadabra kind of things. Also, that delicate silver bells would ring to announce grace's arrival. But no, it's clog and slog and scootch, on the floor, in the silence, in the dark.” 
― Anne Lamott, Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith


Thursday's mess of swelling and pain in my shoulder and under my arm, turned into a another fitful night of sleep.  When I willed myself upright Friday, I instantly felt the surge of the contents of my stomach rise up.  I ran to the bathroom and vomited, over and over again.  Each time I'd manage to keep a few ounces of G2 down, they'd come hurtling right up at some point.  I called off radiation that morning.  How could I lie still for 30 minutes straight in the midst of my constricting and threatening stomach?

The radiation nurse called and did her best to try and convince me to come in, but I was cranky and having none of it.  It was noon the second time she called to see if I might try to come in.  But still no.  I couldn't fathom dressing, or standing upright, when I was weak and dehydrated.

I'm not even sure what time the next call came.

"This is Panwalkar... you need to come in," he says in to uncertain terms.  "You need fluids, and meds to rehydrate you and stop the nausea.  If you don't come soon, the clinic will close, and then you will end up in the ER and then they..."

I realize "they" could then admit me to the hospital... I interject... "okay... I will come in."

If Dr. P is telling me I need to come in, I know that I do.  Plain and simple.

Superman and I gather up "vomit" provisions, just in case.  I throw on a hat and sweats and run a toothbrush over my teeth.

I'm taken right back to the infusion center and an iv is started in through my port.  The anti-nausea is added in, they flip the lights off and tell my to try and sleep. I'll be there a few hours.

I'm startled awake when I look up and see the radiation team of nurses who have come to ask me one last time if I won't please come back and get my treatment done.

They'll take me by wheelchair and I can receive fluids and get zapped all at the same time.

I have become one of those.

The ones I see too weak to walk on their own.  That vacant and helpless look in their eyes as their ravaged bodies, try to fend off the beast.

Where is my gratitude?

Where is my grace?

Where is my gumption?

Why is this suddenly so foreign and hard for me to do?

I pray during radiation for grace to find me.

I'm taken back to the infusion center with merely 20 minutes left in my iv.  My nurse is leaving and the extended stay nurse is taking over.  I have had her before.

She leans over me and says "The look on your face tells me you don't want to be here."  

  “That which tears open our souls… may actually become the thin, open places to see through the mess of this place to the heart-aching beauty beyond.”  Ann Voskamp

I glance up and read her name off her tag, "Joyal."  She is the one who grew up in my father's hometown.  I read her name again... "JOYal... and what I hear is grace, as I see my Dad's face.

Choose.  Vicky.  Choose.

I offer her a weak smile... My voice gravelly and low, "I'm grateful to be here actually, even though it doesn't show.  In almost three years of treatment, this is the worst I've felt, and that makes me feel extremely lucky- even though I am not expressing it well."

We finish up and the she has the Nurse Practitioner come in to see me.  I decline any further pain meds,  firmly convinced I'll stick with Advil if needed.  I am told to call or come back in, in the morning if more fluids are needed.  

But somehow I am more convinced I won't need to.  The vomiting and nausea have stopped.  I walk under my own power agin out into the cool air as I wait for Rick to pick me up.

While I rest Friday night, Nolan and his Bantam AA hockey team selected just two days prior, are playing in an early bird tournament at our home rink.  Here he is dressed for school on Friday.

By Saturday I am ready to attend his games. Here are just a few of his new team mates in action.

Carter...

Seth...

Joe...

Nolan almost pushing the puck through five-hole for a goal.

Hunter scoring a goal...

The team ended the tournament 2-2 and we all felt good about the potential they seem to have.

Rick and I went and finally put money down on a new mattress.  We pulled the old one off our bed and were shocked at the deep depressions in it.  We've been sleeping on an air mattress and although small, its been much better support than that old coil mattress.  

We did not go with the TempurPedic based on all the feedback we got!!  We went with an off brand and paid a fraction of the amount of money, but will still get the adjustable base and we're thrilled with that part of it.  Its due to arrive in about a week.  

Radiation treatment round 6 done- 9 to go!  

I just also need to say thank you for the grace being shown in and around me by so many friends and neighbors.  We've had a week full of scrumptious meals!  Thank you Angie, Heidi, Laurel, Jen, Suzanne and Stacy! 

I got the cutest box of breast cancer ribbon cookies from Jenny and we ate them all before I got a picture of even one.  

I've received cards and letters and texts and I know I am forgetting other blessings that fill my gratitude journal.  

And although I've been unable to sit and reply to each comment- they soothe my weary soul in more ways than you could possibly know. 

Radiation followed by infusion tomorrow.