Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes while her abdominal muscles tightened, forcing an involuntary voiced breath with each glottal release. When all usable air had escaped, she'd gasp deeply and run through the whole cycle all over again. She hadn't laughed this hard in months. An evening of family game night was just the diversion she needed, though it took her a little convincing at first to participate. While looking at the faces joining her around the table she thought to herself how thankful she was to be a part of a family that knew how to laugh.
Christmas vacation was turning out to be somewhat emotional for the woman, something which she hadn't prepared herself for. She found herself reliving some of the deeper emotions that had plagued her early on and she couldn't fully understand why. Disappointment, denial, and despair had all made their rounds wearing heavy on her heart. The woman carried with her a sadness that occasionally unleashed mini crying sessions throughout the day. She had just started her period that week, so her hormones were most certainly out of whack, but she knew that couldn't have been the sole cause.
Laughter, however, managed to break her free from the depressing funk. The others' laughter only fueled her own. The longer it continued, the lighter her soul became, as if to disperse little stress relief bubbles throughout her entire body, indeed so proving the time tested saying: a joyful heart is good medicine.
Showing posts with label Joy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Joy. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Part 29: Changing Seasons
The newly fallen snow crunched beneath their feet as the woman and her husband briskly crossed the street under the evening glow of the street lamps. She usually went to her appointments alone, but considering the road conditions that day, he volunteered to drive. Her mind flashed back. The last time he had accompanied her to an appointment, autumn leaves had just started falling off the trees and coats were still optional. It was hard to believe how much time had actually passed since then.
They sat in the waiting room together. The warm reality of it was enough to take her lingering chill off. She was glad he was with her again. For the last two months she'd been living in her own little world, one that could only be somewhat understood through her retelling to him upon her arrival home. It was true he didn't miss much, but something about his presence put her at ease. When he was with her, she didn't feel so alone.
Soon they were called back to the appointment room where they were shortly thereafter joined by the oncologist, who carried with her a calming radiance—something that wasn't learned in med school, but rather was an innate gift. Bi-weekly it instilled confidence in the woman; she could trust that every word from her doctor's lips was sincere, honest, and true.
"You need to drink more water," the doctor said.
The woman had no argument to that fact. She had no excuse either.
The doctor continued, "And your levels this week are at 2.0. This is very good! We will wait and see how things go in two weeks."
The woman was a bit discouraged. She was hoping for an early Christmas present, but according to the test, her value had to be less than 0.8 to be considered negative. Another round of chemo shots were in her immediate future. Count it all joy, she told herself. And she could. She was blessed to be following what the doctor said to be the textbook case. Her numbers had been dropping consistently every time. She knew others weren't as lucky.
"There is a saying in french," the doctor began, "'Patience et longueur de temps font plus que force ni que rage.'"
"Ummm...all I got out of that was patience. Patience what?" the woman replied.
The doctor chuckled and then translated: "Patience and time do more than strength or fury."
The woman had plenty of strength, fury, and certainly time. She would trek through all four seasons at least twice before she realized her dream. Patience, unfortunately, was harder to come by.
They sat in the waiting room together. The warm reality of it was enough to take her lingering chill off. She was glad he was with her again. For the last two months she'd been living in her own little world, one that could only be somewhat understood through her retelling to him upon her arrival home. It was true he didn't miss much, but something about his presence put her at ease. When he was with her, she didn't feel so alone.
Soon they were called back to the appointment room where they were shortly thereafter joined by the oncologist, who carried with her a calming radiance—something that wasn't learned in med school, but rather was an innate gift. Bi-weekly it instilled confidence in the woman; she could trust that every word from her doctor's lips was sincere, honest, and true.
"You need to drink more water," the doctor said.
The woman had no argument to that fact. She had no excuse either.
The doctor continued, "And your levels this week are at 2.0. This is very good! We will wait and see how things go in two weeks."
The woman was a bit discouraged. She was hoping for an early Christmas present, but according to the test, her value had to be less than 0.8 to be considered negative. Another round of chemo shots were in her immediate future. Count it all joy, she told herself. And she could. She was blessed to be following what the doctor said to be the textbook case. Her numbers had been dropping consistently every time. She knew others weren't as lucky.
"There is a saying in french," the doctor began, "'Patience et longueur de temps font plus que force ni que rage.'"
"Ummm...all I got out of that was patience. Patience what?" the woman replied.
The doctor chuckled and then translated: "Patience and time do more than strength or fury."
The woman had plenty of strength, fury, and certainly time. She would trek through all four seasons at least twice before she realized her dream. Patience, unfortunately, was harder to come by.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Part 28: Routines
It was the start of the woman's third month of treatment, her fourth oncologist appointment. By now, she had the routine down:
"Your value is 8.9," said the oncologist.
It was a 55 percent drop from two weeks before—still good, because it was dropping, but not yet negative, so it meant at least two more rounds of chemo. Luckily, by this point the injection schedule had worked itself out to be after she got off work, so she wouldn't have to make up time.
"I'm hoping for an early Christmas present next time," the woman said.
"Well, I can't make any promises," the oncologist replied. "When is your birthday?"
"February third."
"We might be able to make that happen."
It wasn't the best news, but it was good. The woman resolved to keep her hopes up for next time. She made her way over to her next stop to get her shot.
Count it all joy, she thought.
- Check in
- Verify her med list
- Take a pain survey
- Wait
- Get called in
- Get weighed
- Have blood pressure and temperature taken
- Wait some more
- Talk to the doctor
- Hear that she needs more chemo
- Walk over to the infusion therapy center
- Wait some more
- Get called in
- Have blood pressure and temperature taken
- Wait some more
- Get a shot
- Leave
"Your value is 8.9," said the oncologist.
It was a 55 percent drop from two weeks before—still good, because it was dropping, but not yet negative, so it meant at least two more rounds of chemo. Luckily, by this point the injection schedule had worked itself out to be after she got off work, so she wouldn't have to make up time.
"I'm hoping for an early Christmas present next time," the woman said.
"Well, I can't make any promises," the oncologist replied. "When is your birthday?"
"February third."
"We might be able to make that happen."
It wasn't the best news, but it was good. The woman resolved to keep her hopes up for next time. She made her way over to her next stop to get her shot.
Count it all joy, she thought.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Part 27: Nonsense
The woman sat in the front seat passenger side and gazed out the window at the clear blue sky. Random thoughts flowed through her mind like the leafless trees passing through her line of vision, leaving as quickly as they came. It had been a good time with family. She looked down at the soft-covered book resting on her lap. Right before she left, her aunt had given it to her. The timing of the gift was all to coincidental. Just days before, the woman had thought to herself how she needed to find a book to read that would help her gain perspective as she walked through this season of her life, something to help her deal.
She sensed a still, small voice had been trying to send her a message. The doctor's words, her father's counsel, her grandfather's story, her aunt's book—these had all happened within a weeks time and each instance built off a similar theme: attitude. This combined with her own conviction was enough to get her attention. If someone was making an effort to tell her something, she was going to make her best effort to listen.
She picked up the book admiring its newness as she flipped through the crisp pages and opened to the first chapter. A sobering emotional sting took her by surprise upon reading the chapter title: "Accepting the Truth." She stopped there. It was a loaded phrase, one that had been haunting her daily since the very beginning of this ordeal. Just when she thought she had gotten to a point of acceptance, something would happen and she'd have to do it all over again. Initially she had viewed acceptance like painting a sphere—there was one surface to cover and then it's done. But it was more like painting a polyhedron—there were multiple faces that needed painting, and each had to be done one at a time. And so it was with the woman, each aspect and each residual effect had to be accepted. Some were easier than others.
As she continued to read, it talked about expecting trials and troubles as a norm of life. That part seemed true enough to her and explained why this situation had been such a jolt to her system. The past few years had been easy; everything she had reached for, she had accomplished. She hadn't experienced any major disappointments, and while she knew she that was a blessing (for she was no stranger to hardship), she had lost sight of the inevitability of trials.
She read on: "Count it all joy when you when you fall into various trials." She stopped again. She knew those words, but knowing and doing are two very different things. She had read and heard them many times before, but never had she realized how ridiculous they sounded. Consider it a pain in the neck? Yes. Count it an emotional blow? Yes. Consider it a reason to feel angry and sorry for yourself? Yes. Count it as joy? What? Wait a minute here. Now that makes no sense. Apparently the author thought so, too, but that did not negate the advice. As the woman understood, to count suffering as joy was an act of the will, not the emotion, and it was not a senseless choice. Patience, perseverance, character, and hope were the fruits of that decision, things that she could use a little more of.
Not knowing exactly what she was doing, she decided to give it a shot. It wasn't going to be easy, and it wasn't going to be a one time decision, but at least it was something to help combat her misery. That day, contrary to her feelings, she decided she would try to count her situation as joy.
She sensed a still, small voice had been trying to send her a message. The doctor's words, her father's counsel, her grandfather's story, her aunt's book—these had all happened within a weeks time and each instance built off a similar theme: attitude. This combined with her own conviction was enough to get her attention. If someone was making an effort to tell her something, she was going to make her best effort to listen.
She picked up the book admiring its newness as she flipped through the crisp pages and opened to the first chapter. A sobering emotional sting took her by surprise upon reading the chapter title: "Accepting the Truth." She stopped there. It was a loaded phrase, one that had been haunting her daily since the very beginning of this ordeal. Just when she thought she had gotten to a point of acceptance, something would happen and she'd have to do it all over again. Initially she had viewed acceptance like painting a sphere—there was one surface to cover and then it's done. But it was more like painting a polyhedron—there were multiple faces that needed painting, and each had to be done one at a time. And so it was with the woman, each aspect and each residual effect had to be accepted. Some were easier than others.
As she continued to read, it talked about expecting trials and troubles as a norm of life. That part seemed true enough to her and explained why this situation had been such a jolt to her system. The past few years had been easy; everything she had reached for, she had accomplished. She hadn't experienced any major disappointments, and while she knew she that was a blessing (for she was no stranger to hardship), she had lost sight of the inevitability of trials.
She read on: "Count it all joy when you when you fall into various trials." She stopped again. She knew those words, but knowing and doing are two very different things. She had read and heard them many times before, but never had she realized how ridiculous they sounded. Consider it a pain in the neck? Yes. Count it an emotional blow? Yes. Consider it a reason to feel angry and sorry for yourself? Yes. Count it as joy? What? Wait a minute here. Now that makes no sense. Apparently the author thought so, too, but that did not negate the advice. As the woman understood, to count suffering as joy was an act of the will, not the emotion, and it was not a senseless choice. Patience, perseverance, character, and hope were the fruits of that decision, things that she could use a little more of.
Not knowing exactly what she was doing, she decided to give it a shot. It wasn't going to be easy, and it wasn't going to be a one time decision, but at least it was something to help combat her misery. That day, contrary to her feelings, she decided she would try to count her situation as joy.
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