The woman stood outside the elevator catching her breath. Being fifteen minutes late on her end, she only hoped the doctor's office was maintaining their status quo. The arrival to the tenth floor couldn't come soon enough. She turned the corner. Luckily there wasn't a line. Her transition from the check-in desk to her appointment room was practically seamless—a first in her experience. Unfortunately, the woman still had to pass the time.
"I haven't as much seen the whites of the doctor's eyes yet today," said the clinical assistant.
Relieved to finally receive an honest estimate, the woman sat and waited, wondering what kind of news she would find out that day. It had been two weeks since her last appointment. The chemo treatments were pretty predictable and low key for her by now. Sure, she wasn't recovering back to her normal self as quickly, but she was making progress, and that's really all that mattered to her. Knowing her tendency to worry, she took some time to pray to calm her nerves. Then, she grabbed her cell phone and started reading through three years worth of text messages. I really need to bring a book next time, she regretted.
Just as she finished reading the last text, the oncologist apologetically entered the room, noticeably out of breath.
Like doctor like patient, the woman thought to herself.
There wasn't much to talk about considering her HCG results had not yet come back, but even if the levels hit zero, the woman discovered would still need to go through at least one more round of chemotherapy. The woman felt a bit discouraged. She was ready to move on to the next phase.
As if cued, the oncologist looked through the woman's eyes into her soul and said, "There is a light at the end of this tunnel. This is a bump in the road—a big one for you—but I am confident that you will be cured of this disease and you will go on to have more babies. I recently lost a patient to ovarian cancer. And do you know what she said of her situation? She said that it was a gift from God. I encourage you to think about how you might view what you're going through."
The woman swore this doctor had some kind of x-ray vision into her mind because the words pierced her heart. How does she know I've been feeling depressed about this the last few days and have been nursing a sour attitude? She was pretty sure she hadn't said or done anything incriminating, but somehow, the doctor knew.
The woman left the doctor's office in a contemplative mood and headed down to receive her first chemo shot of round four. She had plenty of time to think on the doctor's words—two hours twenty minutes, to be exact. She called her parents to kill some time.
"Your life experiences are a stewardship," her dad said. "Just like your time and your talents. What are you going to do with them?"
As she hung up the phone a nurse escorted her to her room. Her father's words still hung in the air. She had never thought of life that way. Sure, she was responsible to do good things with money, time, and talents, but life experiences? One cannot control life. Life just happens. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized either she could try to control her experiences, inevitably harboring anger and bitterness from her inability to do so, or she could let the Holy Spirit work through her, conforming her attitude to that of Christ, allowing Him to reveal His glory through her story of brokenness. If it were only that easy, she thought.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. A nurse entered the room handing her a piece of paper with a yellow Post-It note stuck to it upon which was written: "Beta HCG is Ok. Value is 20." Initially her lucky digit "0" was overshadowed by the "2" proceeding it. However, she caught herself before she went too far down that road. She reminded herself that it was an 83% drop from two weeks prior and the first time she had been in the two digits. Thank you, Lord, for six straight weeks of good news.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Monday, December 6, 2010
Part 24: Piece of Cake
"You are a piece of cake!" the oncologist said, her French-Canadian accent shining through. "You are a tree in a forest. You see the tree and I see the forest. My job is to get you through the forest."
The woman could not help but smile. She loved this doctor. There was always some kind of positive spin rolling off her tongue, a language the woman was not always the most fluent in.
The oncologist continued, "Not to minimize what you are going through. You have been through a lot, but I see the forest. Other trees are not as easy as you."
It was the prologue to one of the woman's most encouraging appointments yet. She sat in anticipation as the doctor turned the computer monitor in her direction. Her eyes locked in on the screen that posted her multiple weeks worth of lab results.
"Blood levels are good. Hemoglobin still a bit low, but going up. Liver function good. Creatinine still normal, but you need to drink more water," the oncologist reported.
They had gone through everything on the screen. What about my hormone levels? the woman thought. She looked at the doctor whose face wore an eager smile, like she had been saving the best news for last. The doctor scrolled down the screen while the woman leaned in for a better look.
119.
"This is very good!" the oncologist affirmed.
And it was good news. Prior to walking into that room, the woman had prepared herself for the worst—a rise in the levels marking the need to switch to a stronger, more aggressive chemo drug—and hoped for the best—levels to zero. The 95% drop to 119 from two weeks prior was really, really good news. She would still need at least another round of treatment since the weren't at zero, but these were the lowest levels yet, which was a great encouragement.
It's amazing what a good doctor and good news does to a person's patience. The woman left and settled in the waiting room once again, waiting for the assistant to bring her a new appointment schedule. Upon receipt of it began another series of unfortunate going-to-the-doctor annoyances. The scheduler had scheduled the appointments all wrong, the doctor had forgotten to write up her new prescription, the chemo shot took forever to get ready, and the pharmacy caught an inconsistency in the prescription which lengthened the ready time. Had it all happened at the last appointment, the woman would have for sure been annoyed, but oddly enough this time around she wasn't bothered a bit.
She walked down the corridor towards the parking garage elevator. Tears of joy stirred within her. While they never made it to her eyes, they filled her heart with hope of the weeks to come. She had come so far, and for that she was thankful.
The woman could not help but smile. She loved this doctor. There was always some kind of positive spin rolling off her tongue, a language the woman was not always the most fluent in.
The oncologist continued, "Not to minimize what you are going through. You have been through a lot, but I see the forest. Other trees are not as easy as you."
It was the prologue to one of the woman's most encouraging appointments yet. She sat in anticipation as the doctor turned the computer monitor in her direction. Her eyes locked in on the screen that posted her multiple weeks worth of lab results.
"Blood levels are good. Hemoglobin still a bit low, but going up. Liver function good. Creatinine still normal, but you need to drink more water," the oncologist reported.
They had gone through everything on the screen. What about my hormone levels? the woman thought. She looked at the doctor whose face wore an eager smile, like she had been saving the best news for last. The doctor scrolled down the screen while the woman leaned in for a better look.
119.
"This is very good!" the oncologist affirmed.
And it was good news. Prior to walking into that room, the woman had prepared herself for the worst—a rise in the levels marking the need to switch to a stronger, more aggressive chemo drug—and hoped for the best—levels to zero. The 95% drop to 119 from two weeks prior was really, really good news. She would still need at least another round of treatment since the weren't at zero, but these were the lowest levels yet, which was a great encouragement.
It's amazing what a good doctor and good news does to a person's patience. The woman left and settled in the waiting room once again, waiting for the assistant to bring her a new appointment schedule. Upon receipt of it began another series of unfortunate going-to-the-doctor annoyances. The scheduler had scheduled the appointments all wrong, the doctor had forgotten to write up her new prescription, the chemo shot took forever to get ready, and the pharmacy caught an inconsistency in the prescription which lengthened the ready time. Had it all happened at the last appointment, the woman would have for sure been annoyed, but oddly enough this time around she wasn't bothered a bit.
She walked down the corridor towards the parking garage elevator. Tears of joy stirred within her. While they never made it to her eyes, they filled her heart with hope of the weeks to come. She had come so far, and for that she was thankful.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Part 23: Triggers
As time went on, the woman settled into this new chapter in her journey. Life went on just like it used to. In the beginning, she worried that seeing pregnant ladies might be the most difficult for her. They were everywhere. Her sister was pregnant. Her close friends were pregnant. Gals at work were pregnant. Ladies at church were pregnant. Her facebook friends were pregnant. Oddly enough these reminders in and of themselves were not as discouraging as she had originally thought—as long as she stuck to her mental attack plan. She reasoned with herself that had her circumstances been any different, she would still be happy and excited for all these women. Why should it be any different now?, she thought. Sometimes she was successful, other times she wasn't, but at least she was ready. Every once in awhile, however, when she least expected it, something would happen that triggered a memory or resurfaced a feeling reminding her of her loss.
The couple had been finishing their basement that fall, one of her necessities on their life plan before starting a family. As they gave a tour to their friends of the recently drywalled space, the woman started sharing her plans for the living areas.
"We'll put the futon right here. The desk from upstairs will go in this corner. We'll move the bed from the upstairs office to one down here..." But then it hit her. They were going to move all the stuff out of the extra room upstairs to make room for a nursery—a nursery that was no longer needed. The thought saddened her for a moment, but then she was just perplexed. She hadn't even thought about what now to use the room for instead.
One time she went to the fridge looking for something to snack on. She spotted some olives, took them out and dished them onto her plate. The savory flavor filled her mouth. But then it hit her. She was eating the same olives that she had eaten during that first and only normal week of her pregnancy.
Another time she was talking to her pregnant sister.
"Do you want me to save some of my maternity clothes that are too big for me?" her sister asked.
"Sure! That would be wonderful!" she thankfully replied thinking how great it was to get some free clothes, even if it she didn't need them right now. But then it hit her. She began to cry. She would have needed them in a few months, but now it would be a long while before they'd be useful.
Yet another time she was writing on an online message board to encourage another gal who was experiencing the same disease on a time-line similar to hers. She pulled up a calendar to see which exact day she had first learned of her pregnancy. It was the last Friday in July. She looked at the number thirty. And then it hit her. At one point in time she was pregnant and happy about it, naive to the risks of it all, but that was a long time ago.
In the midst of these moments, she was at peace. As sad as the triggers were, they were comforts along her road to recovery. Their presence signified the passing of time, the acceptance of her lot, and the healing of her broken heart.
The couple had been finishing their basement that fall, one of her necessities on their life plan before starting a family. As they gave a tour to their friends of the recently drywalled space, the woman started sharing her plans for the living areas.
"We'll put the futon right here. The desk from upstairs will go in this corner. We'll move the bed from the upstairs office to one down here..." But then it hit her. They were going to move all the stuff out of the extra room upstairs to make room for a nursery—a nursery that was no longer needed. The thought saddened her for a moment, but then she was just perplexed. She hadn't even thought about what now to use the room for instead.
One time she went to the fridge looking for something to snack on. She spotted some olives, took them out and dished them onto her plate. The savory flavor filled her mouth. But then it hit her. She was eating the same olives that she had eaten during that first and only normal week of her pregnancy.
Another time she was talking to her pregnant sister.
"Do you want me to save some of my maternity clothes that are too big for me?" her sister asked.
"Sure! That would be wonderful!" she thankfully replied thinking how great it was to get some free clothes, even if it she didn't need them right now. But then it hit her. She began to cry. She would have needed them in a few months, but now it would be a long while before they'd be useful.
Yet another time she was writing on an online message board to encourage another gal who was experiencing the same disease on a time-line similar to hers. She pulled up a calendar to see which exact day she had first learned of her pregnancy. It was the last Friday in July. She looked at the number thirty. And then it hit her. At one point in time she was pregnant and happy about it, naive to the risks of it all, but that was a long time ago.
In the midst of these moments, she was at peace. As sad as the triggers were, they were comforts along her road to recovery. Their presence signified the passing of time, the acceptance of her lot, and the healing of her broken heart.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Part 22: Anxious Thoughts
The woman watched as the nurse attached the needle to the syringe filled with chemo. The transparent yellow liquid glistened inside its plastic shell. It was the woman's second injection in her second round of chemotherapy and she was grateful that aside from some fatigue, watery eyes, muscle cramps, and occasional mild nausea, she had not experienced any overbearing physical side effects from the treatment thus far. Mentally, however, the anxiety of her last appointment still plagued her because the syringe in the nurse's hand seemed wider that day.
"Are you sure that is the same dose as last week?" the woman asked delving into the details of her traumatic experience from two days prior. "That syringe looks different from what I remember."
"Yeah. It's the same," said the nurse. The husband peered over to look the computer screen and concurred.
"Okay," replied the woman, still in need of convincing.
She stood up and turned her back towards the nurse who, shortly thereafter, slowly dispensed the yellow liquid into the woman's backside—so slowly, in fact, that it caused the woman internal alarm.
It's never taken this long for them to give me the shot. What's she doing?
"Um...are you almost done back there?" asked the woman, starting to become anxious while the needle held its ground. "This seems to be taking awhile."
"Almost, I'm just doing it slowly so that it doesn't sting."
“It usually hasn't taken this long, so I'm just trying not to..." The woman didn't finish her sentence. A tingling sensation began to flood her body and she fought the urge to close her eyes. "Umm...I feel weird."
"Just a second," said the nurse. "I'm almost done."
"I...I think I need to sit down or something," the woman replied trying to remain calm.
Instinctively she began to sit back down the the chair, the nurse scrambling to get a band-aid over the injection site. She turned pale and her skin became clammy. She felt like she was going to pass out. The nurse quickly closed a blood pressure cuff around her upper right arm and began to get a reading. The woman's blood pressure had dropped in half. She breathed deep, trying her best not to freak out, but she was scared. Luckily, in a few minutes, she was back to normal, though noticeably shaken up from the experience. The nurse ensured that her vitals remained stable and then freed the couple to go on their way.
It had been a shaky start to chemo round two, but on the bright side, her HCG levels had dropped by 90% since her first round—down to 2400! Prayers being offered up from around the country and around the world were notably gaining momentum. She only hoped that these next two weeks held similar results.
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