simply living

Someone is always watching over me, so it seems.  While preparing for my MRI a week ago, I received a call about my PET scan.  Could I do it the 8th of June?  I had to laugh- of course I was scheduled to get the results of the test from Dr. Panwalkar on the 7th of June.  Lucky for me, when word made it back to Dr. P he simply said lets get her scanned on the 7th and I'll see her on the 8th.  

As I sat in the exam room waiting for Dr. Panwalkar, Annie peeked her head in to say hello and show me the cutest new picture of Grace, her puppy.  We chatted briefly and she wished me well. 

Dr. P strode into the room and over to the computer desk, flipping the screen on right away.   In a straightforward manner, he said "Well your PET scan report was good.  I just read the report- haven't looked at the scan, but lets see."

I'm still a complete rookie looking at scans.  But he spends his time orienting me to the various organs and directions we're going.  Its when he gets to the lungs that he slows.  "Here's the spot.  Lower left lobe of your lung, is lit up.  The radiologist says its consistent with inflammation of some kind."

But I don't feel relief.  My questions come into play right away.  Is it radiation scarring?  Is it treatment related? I have such a long standing history with Dr. Panwalkar, he seems to know he has to give me more to stand on.  

  

 As I ask the questions, and Dr. Panwalkar seeks to find answers to them, he decides to go back through old scans.

And there it is.  Glowing bright yellow.  In the exact same place. 

6 months ago my scan was clean, and 3 months prior to that was ok, but last summer before I started chemo?  My lung lit up in the same spot, as it is now.   That was not inflammation.  Therefore, this is most likely not inflammation.  But only time will tell.

So even though the report sounds really good?  Dr. Panwalkar most likely thinks as I do now, the new spot is cancer again.  And again I need his reassurance that we can formulate a plan A, and B or even C, for treatment. 

He says we can go back to Taxotere- weekly maybe this time.  And he stretches way back in my history and somehow remembers I stopped Halaven, after having a really good response to it.  So I can go back to that one if need be.  He names off several chemos.  I'm just not letting it all soak in- I just want to float on the surface right now.

Yet, Dr. P is throwing lifelines like he knows I need him to.  He knows.  So much space and silence sits between us, but he doesn't fill it with anything but what I can handle right now.  There's knowing in the silence.

We also go through my brain MRI, which looks precisely the same.  Stable Mable.  

He motions to the exam table and I climb up.  He repeats his instructions to me, even though I should have every part of the exam down pat.  But he listens to my lungs, and then takes a moment and simply rubs my back.  No words.  Just compassion.  Slow. Steady.  He then checks my eyes, my mouth, my stomach, my lymphedema- everything.  Then he thumps down my spine and I tell him its fine.  He stands then and pats that place on my back again, reassuring, and says "I think you are doing really good."  

He goes to sit down and I ask, "How are you, Dr. Panwalkar?"

"Me?"  He responds, sounding surprised.  "I'm doing well.  Thank you for asking."  

I tell him I see how the chaos of the construction, and all of the congestion going on in and around the hospital can be daunting on a daily basis.  So if he decides to move on- away from all of this- just let me know!  His hearty laugh reverberates through the exam room, but then he offers this gem- a life-preserver.  

"I'm not going anywhere.  Don't worry, I won't abandon you."  

With that I let go and feel all of the air start to expand my lungs again.

I may be treading water, but my head is still above the surface breathing oxygen.  I'll just keep swimming.  It's all I know how to do. 

A new treatment plan will take shape and the right time will come in the future.  

For now,  I'm just going to keep living in the "meantime." 

 It takes Rick most of the day Saturday to get the motor running on the boat.  With the hours of sunlight stretching into the evening, its time to go, despite our late start.

We're equally thrilled that Nolan decided he'd like to go.  He starts "remembering when..." on the quick ride to the lake and my mother's heart is brimming with the resonance of his sweet stories.  The summer we spent at The Miller's lake- weren't we so lucky they let us use the cabin for the summer?  Every detail he remembers and shares with us.  

The fishing starts off slow, little nibbles and bites.  We laugh at the little blue gills, and crappies they catch.  Then Nolan fights to land a northern that he lets his Dad hold up for him once its in the boat.  We're merely catching and releasing this day.

Once again, few words are needed.  It doesn't get much better than this. 

We end our night with pizza at Zorbaz.  I'm drunk with sunshine and being on the water and living with joy in the "in between."

We came home to conclude our weekend with game 6 of the Stanley Cup Finals.  It was the most "on the edge of my seat" anxiety-inducing, intense hockey I've endured in a long time.

But in the end?  There he is, our #7 Matt Cullen, with the rest of the Penguins, winners of the Stanley Cup!!  

Tears of joy and celebration fall, as I watch Matt's family gather around him.  Much more Stanley Cup celebration is anticipated in the weeks ahead.  

This morning, as I ease into this week, I begin my day with Jesus Calling.  

Sarah Young

June 13th

I am creating something new in you: a bubbling spring of Joy that spills over into other's lives... My spirit flows through you to bless others.  Let yourself become the reservoir of the Spirit's fruit.

Your part is to live close to Me, open to all that I am doing in you... Just keep focusing on Me as we walk through this day together.  Enjoy My presence which permeates you with Love, Joy, and Peace.

  

daddy's girl

"There's something like a line of gold thread running through a man's words when he talks to his daughter, and gradually over the years it gets to be long enough for you to pick up in your hands and weave into a cloth that feels like love itself. " ~John Gregory Brown, Decorations in a Ruined Cemetery, 1994 






Dear Dad,


Its hard to imagine its been two years ago July 5th, that you passed on to your heavenly home.  I see myself perched on your lap on the old "pontoon."  We never had fancy.  We never did name brand, or expensive.  The cabin was rustic with an outhouse and all eleven cousins slept in a loft overhead.  I can still smell the sawdust that clung to you no matter how many times you washed.  You were undoubtedly fishing, and a can of Old Milwaukee is probably hovering somewhere nearby.  Its a wonder lake water doesn't course through my veins.  

I have a love of the simple things, just like you.  A rusty shovel, a tin can, the sun, the sand, and lake water lapping at my feet.  Ahh, bliss.

Who and what we love is clearly written on our faces.  My baby brother, Lee, must have been just a month old. 

So, just like we did two years ago, we all came together.  This past week, Lee came home with Kelly and Madi and Alex.  

The cousins picked up right where they left off.  They built forts out of grandma's blankets.  Went tubing  at the lake.  Ate Hawaiian pizza at Zorbaz.  Stayed up way past their bedtime, and laughed so hard their cheeks hurt.  

We told old stories.  Whispered about the things we hope our children will never find out we did.  We laughed.  Kelly cried.  Nobody wanted to leave.  

The kids all decided to go to The University of Minnesota and live in the same house some day.  Except Nolan. No way would he ever be a Gopher, not even for the love of his cousins.  

We took mom to church and filled up an entire pew- yep the back one, just like always.  And we pointed out all the things your hard working and skilled hands had made for the church.  The baptismal fount, the table that holds the guestbook, the information kiosk, etc.  Then we sat down with pastor Roger and discussed the stained glass artwork going on two wooden frames, made in memorial to you.  

Pastor Roger's sermon talked asked us to think about what we want people to remember about us.  Dad, I want them to remember, I am a Daddy's girl, who grew up to be just like you.  

This is a really big week.  I feel as though I am traveling at light speed through my days.  Today I have sedation at 1pm with an mri scheduled at 2 pm.  We will peek at my pesky brain blob and see if the zap we aimed at it took hold.  I will get results early Wednesday morning.  I'm taking my prayer list with me and if anyone would like to be included, please feel free to leave me a request here or in an email.  Blessings to you all... 

"Soul Patch..."

It isn't often that a gift lands in your lap that is so nearly perfect you didn't know that piece of you was missing until just at the moment it squares up in your lap.  You see, along with those Twins tickets we received a few weeks back?  Was a set of keys... to a cabin... on a lake.  But not just any lake, it happens to be the very lake, (out of 10,000 lakes in Minnesota) that I spent a good portion of my childhood at.

In fact, Rick and his family camped at the same campground that we did, even though we didn't know each other then.  Laying eyes on this lake?  Felt like coming home, like all the way, completely home.  For over 20 years, I spent summers at the lake with my family in and around the Detroit Lakes area.

When I was really young, we started out in a pop up camper and rented a weekend spot at Lost Valley Resort, for the summer.  For vacation, my dad would take a week off from work and we would spend all week at the lake.  I was in heaven.  It didn't matter to me that we used an "outhouse,"  I could pinch my nose closed and hoist my nightgown all in one swift move... Laura Ingalls had nothing on me.

Oh the things that stay with us.  Like trips to the resort store for maple nut ice cream, and jolly ranchers for a penny.  The distinct smell of hotdogs and s'mores made over the fire.  The way a sunburn stings and how my mom would let us cool it off in the lake late at night sometimes under the glow of the moon.  I can still hear the laughter of my cousins who camped nearby, and the roll of the Yahtzee dice as they clacked against the picnic tables.

Its abundantly clear, I have and will always be a water-loving, lake-swimming, sand-digging, rock-skipping, sun-worshipping, boat-riding, summer girl at heart- who has longed for a week at the beach.  We've been spoiled with Rick's parents lake up by Park Rapids, but we never have much time to spend.  By the time we start to unwind and relax, its time to go home.

So I decided to ask for help in making something happen for us this summer.   Maybe in our network of friends someone would know of a place we could rent ?  Less than 24 hours later we had an offer that took our breath away.

So we've become a lake family, in a whole new way.  We have packed a few things and jumped in the car and in 40 minutes or so we feel like we are lightyears away from home.  The cabin is cozy and has every amenity-you wouldn't need to leave it, but then the loons call from the lake and you can't help but go out and explore.

I don't know how to begin to say thank you to our friends.  To first of all have the generous and giving spirit to turn over their lake home to us, but also to trust us with something so special to them, is very humbling for us.

AnnVoskamp mentions her "soul holes," in her book "One Thousand Gifts."  Cancer may be my soul hole, but I feel so "alive" and am busy filling my gratitude journal with oodles of new gifts through my lake-filled eyes.  It indeed has been the patch to any hole in my soul.