But before I start, let me say this, "I am fine. Really. I'm doing well. But its not all sunshine and smiles. So please read with the understanding, I am only being real and giving you the Dr. Phil "tell it like it is" account of the occasional bad day I have."
But then I went to get the mail and couldn't help ripping into the pretty envelope from the Mayo Clinic. And there it was in black and white. My report. First from the nurse practitioner, Nurse Ratched, oops, did I really just call her that? Next, from Dr. P.
Let me start off by saying, there was absolutely nothing new in that report. I've heard it all, and read most of it before. So I am not sharing anything new. But, the cyclone of emotion that settled over me was astonishing even so. Maybe it was the rainy day, on top of more gloomy days already. Maybe I was just in a mood. It wasn't like me, but I have to say it WAS me yesterday.
In reality, I completely get what "they" (the medical personnel) have to do. When you go for a second opinion, they tell you what they think from A to Z. And I am only at letter B or even C, with my own Doctor. We aren't skipping ahead to Q, R, or S. But at the Mayo Clinic, they needed to remind me of the whole alphabet, A to stinkin' Z. Cause Z? Really stinks.
So my eyes skimmed right over the "Patient is a pleasant woman, and seems to be coping well...," and lasered in on the more ominous language.
"Palliative care." Bam, it cuts through me like a nail on the cross.
"Comfort measures." Bam. I recoil with the sensation of pierced skin.
"Incurable." Bam... sears me to the core.
For the second time, I want to shout at them, "But I am alive, and I want to live. Can you not obviously see my two boys alive in my eyes, whom I breathe for? My husband, my Superman who is every and all things to me? I am not cancer. I am alive in spite of the cancer. Please see ME."
I am a sobbing, weeping, mess, leveled on the floor.
I can't help but think of Easter. Its Good Friday today. Why has the word "good" never seemed ironic before to me? I think I have always pushed past the sadness of Christ on the Cross, to the joy and celebration of the Resurrection. I've never invited in, the pain of the cross.
How did Jesus feel, washing the feet of Judas who would betray him? My thoughts circle and swirl around the events of Good Friday.
I sat with it all day yesterday. My very best "virtual couch" friends were by my side.
"Please God, give me the shift in perspective I need to go back to Hope."
Robin encourages me to read chapter 8 of One Thousand Gifts, and as I do, my faith restores piece by fragile piece.
Ann's words again, a balm to my weary soul... she reminds me "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me." (John 14:1) Bible verse after verse she reminds me.
Her words, now pierce me, "I've got to get this thing, what it means to trust... because I can't fill with joy until I learn how to trust."
The last nail hits especially hard and truthful... Bam.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To show you I am okay, look what my friend Roxane brought me this morning "hope" in the pewter cross on the book above. Roxane blogs at Peace Garden Writer, and Peace Garden Mama, and its worth a visit to her blogs. Thanks for a wonderful morning, Roxane!
As I go to snap the photo of the cross, I realize the renewed feeling I have, hope- restored.
Have a Blessed Easter everyone!
