I've noticed a pattern these past few months, one I was hoping to be a flook or at least short lived. But like an annoying piece of tape stuck to my finger, it won't seem to go away. Every month, feelings of sadness stir within in me, daring me to cry, and leaving me to question, "Why am I so sad?" This is not me.
Anyone that knows me is aware I'm a happy sort of person, a personal cheer leader even though I was not an actual one in high school. It's not in my nature to not smile or laugh. I found this out early in life when I had to take school pictures in the 3rd grade. These prints had two photos on one page - one smiley and one straight-faced. I had the smiley photo down but the straight-faced one always ended up looking like I was mad or my lips were at war with the laugh that was trying to break through. This was confirmed a few years ago when I dressed as a Gothic plaid girl for a high school camp spirit day. The black stringy-haired wig and black lipstick clashed with the happy smiley persona hidden under the plaid dress, fishnet stockings, and black combat boots. I freaked the heck out people! I realized at that point I could never be goth.
Lately though I've felt like part of the Gothic plaid girl has come back, not in my outward appearance but in the sadness that seems to touch my soul. I began to question myself to see if there's any validity to these feelings. I have had a stressful few months filled with death, heartbreak, and additional job challenges. Each of these events has warranted time to process. This sadness though seems to happen on a regular basis, a week before my period. Could this be PMS? I've never had PMS before, not until I had my surgery last year. It was then my hormones went crazy due to the estrogen overpowering the lack of thyroid hormones in my body. It felt like my body had become possessed by a pregnant woman who all of a sudden started going through menopause. I had hot flashes, major body aches, was extremely weepy, and my body was swelling in places I didn't think possible but might have welcomed if circumstances were different. This freaked me out! I frantically googled my symptoms praying for some clarity as to what was happening to me. My doctor didn't seem fazed by the ordeal as he confirmed the hormone imbalance. I wish he would have warned me but how can you prepare for that!
Thankfully a year later, my symptoms are not that extreme but still leave me to question. The last tests showed my levels were normal but now I'm not sure. Adding additional symptoms of excessive tiredness and joint pains in my hips cause the question to linger.
On a positive note, I had a follow up ultrasound in June of my neck which showed no cancer. I will meet with my doctor later this month to discuss the balancing of this happy (and hopefully temporary) Gothic plaid girl. Thank goodness the black lipstick isn't permanent!
Showing posts with label The Cancer Chronicles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Cancer Chronicles. Show all posts
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
The Cancer Chronicles X: Anticipating Aftershocks
It’s always there lingering in the back of my mind, that one question which makes me anticipate the worst.
It’s been nine months since I was deemed cancer-free. Such a title I never thought I would have need to welcome into my life, but do so gratefully.
During these months, I’ve had time to rediscover myself while I adjust to the new ‘no thyroid’ side of normal. The proper medication dosage has been determined, my thyroid levels are where they should be, and my weight returned to its pre-surgery range, making my clothes and I much happier.
With such distance between then and now, one may be inclined to think, “Yea! The battle’s over! I can relax, put this behind me and get on with my life.”
But just when my body feels safe to give a sigh of relief, it happens. I get a cold or the flu that hangs on for longer than I think it should. I forget things I normally would remember or I get dizzy riding a short distance in a car when that never was the case. Like an aftershock to a devastating earthquake, every abnormal health issue that presents itself awakens that dreaded question in the back of my head, “Is the cancer back?”
I recently found that I’m not alone in these feelings. I met a lady in her late 30’s at a writer’s conference who was diagnosed with breast cancer. She had just undergone a double mastectomy and was writing a book about her experience. In our conversation, she mentioned she’s always wondering if every little ailment she has is a symptom of the cancer coming back. I hadn’t really thought about it, but I was having the same feelings.
Just because I was given the cancer-free title doesn’t mean I’m off the hook. I will need to have a body scan every year to see if the title still rings true. It reminds me of when I was a victim of identity theft in college. My purse was stolen out of my car while I was paying for gas. Even though that ordeal happened years ago, I still check my credit report yearly because I never know if suspicious activity will appear.
I admit when my doctor reminded me of this at my last appointment, I wasn’t thrilled for this very reason – cancer won’t let me go despite our breakup. Even though this initial ordeal is done, cancer is still part of my reality, even if it is a lingering thought.
I’m a little gun-shy of doctors right now. The New Year has come and gone. With that come reminders to schedule my yearly physical, eye exam, and any other routine medical appointment. I still have yet to do so although I know I need to. I don’t want to go and have the doctor find something else wrong with me, having yet another ordeal to go through when I just began to catch my breath from the last one. I know this can’t be avoided and face it, with age come additional ailments. We live in a broken, fallen world where no one has escaped alive, except for One.
While I may always carry this lingering question with me, it is during Easter that I am reminded of this – I have been saved by the One who defeated death, Jesus Christ. I have been made new in His eyes.
Through Christ’s death and resurrection, I know the trials I face during my life are temporary. I have been given hope that one day, what has been made new in my spirit will be made new in my flesh. This hope is one I gladly anticipate.
It’s been nine months since I was deemed cancer-free. Such a title I never thought I would have need to welcome into my life, but do so gratefully.
During these months, I’ve had time to rediscover myself while I adjust to the new ‘no thyroid’ side of normal. The proper medication dosage has been determined, my thyroid levels are where they should be, and my weight returned to its pre-surgery range, making my clothes and I much happier.
With such distance between then and now, one may be inclined to think, “Yea! The battle’s over! I can relax, put this behind me and get on with my life.”
But just when my body feels safe to give a sigh of relief, it happens. I get a cold or the flu that hangs on for longer than I think it should. I forget things I normally would remember or I get dizzy riding a short distance in a car when that never was the case. Like an aftershock to a devastating earthquake, every abnormal health issue that presents itself awakens that dreaded question in the back of my head, “Is the cancer back?”
I recently found that I’m not alone in these feelings. I met a lady in her late 30’s at a writer’s conference who was diagnosed with breast cancer. She had just undergone a double mastectomy and was writing a book about her experience. In our conversation, she mentioned she’s always wondering if every little ailment she has is a symptom of the cancer coming back. I hadn’t really thought about it, but I was having the same feelings.
Just because I was given the cancer-free title doesn’t mean I’m off the hook. I will need to have a body scan every year to see if the title still rings true. It reminds me of when I was a victim of identity theft in college. My purse was stolen out of my car while I was paying for gas. Even though that ordeal happened years ago, I still check my credit report yearly because I never know if suspicious activity will appear.
I admit when my doctor reminded me of this at my last appointment, I wasn’t thrilled for this very reason – cancer won’t let me go despite our breakup. Even though this initial ordeal is done, cancer is still part of my reality, even if it is a lingering thought.
I’m a little gun-shy of doctors right now. The New Year has come and gone. With that come reminders to schedule my yearly physical, eye exam, and any other routine medical appointment. I still have yet to do so although I know I need to. I don’t want to go and have the doctor find something else wrong with me, having yet another ordeal to go through when I just began to catch my breath from the last one. I know this can’t be avoided and face it, with age come additional ailments. We live in a broken, fallen world where no one has escaped alive, except for One.
While I may always carry this lingering question with me, it is during Easter that I am reminded of this – I have been saved by the One who defeated death, Jesus Christ. I have been made new in His eyes.
Through Christ’s death and resurrection, I know the trials I face during my life are temporary. I have been given hope that one day, what has been made new in my spirit will be made new in my flesh. This hope is one I gladly anticipate.
Sunday, July 8, 2007
The Cancer Chronicles IX: The Scientific Makings of a 'Dumb Blonde'
I’ve heard all the jokes. Yes, the one about putting a scratch N sniff sticker on the bottom of the pool to get a blonde to swim, even the one explaining the scientific ramifications of putting a blonde between two brunettes, causing a massive wind tunnel. I’ve heard how blondes get easily lost, misread signs, are slow to understand and are hardly understood due to their over usage of the word ‘like’. They laugh at the stupidest things, and have been accused of having more fun than people with other hair color hues.
As a lifelong, card holding member of the blondes, I have endured these stereotypes and jokes, many of them eagerly repeated to me, of all people, by my friends and family. They think since I’m a blonde, I’ll somehow think jokes that make fun of my hair color and in direct correlation, my intelligence are funny. Like, oh my gosh! Like how ‘blonde’ do they like think I am?!
After talking with my thyroid doctor this week, I’ve come to realize those moments I’ve been accused of being an airhead, those moments that have been categorized recently as ‘blonde moments’ in my life, can be scientifically explained.
Based on my recent lab work, my doctor said I am still considered to be hypothyroid – in other words, my body is still functioning at a slower rate. As my doctor stared me in the face, he grinned and said, “Yes, I can tell.” Curiously perplexed I replied, “What do you mean ‘you can tell’?” My mind raced in slow motion as I tried to guess what he meant. Was my face still puffy? Had my eyes bugged out and I not notice? What?! He said my speech pattern is slower than before and the inflections in my voice have changed, small observations only people trained in thyroid disorders would pick up on. He also showed me other affects of hypothyroidism on my body, showing me how my reflexes are slower and justified the reason for my muscle soreness. My energy level is much better but not 100% yet.
As my doctor bent over to wash his hands, he asked me if I’ve been finding things unusually funny lately. Being that my mind is slower than normal, I couldn’t remember, but I laughed at the question. He says an unusual sense of humor can be a symptom, referred to in the thyroid profession as ‘hypothyroid wit’. Great. I’m now a slow talker, who is slow to comprehend things and once comprehends them, finds them abnormally funny, but can’t remember them. All I kept saying was, “Are you serious?” I realized later that night my doctor could have totally been pulling my leg and I wouldn’t have known. That would be the ultimate injustice – taking advantage of a ‘blonde’ in her time of need. As life would have it for now, my blonde moments are justified!
I’ve found it ironic though that the moments I’ve had to be at my sharpest, be my best medical advocate have been during this experience through hypothyroidism when I’m not functioning at my best. I’ve really had to focus hard and rely on those friends and family around me for guidance, to be the hands that grasp a hold of me, leading me down the correct path instead of the wall I was headed for.
My doctor has increased my medication dosage in hopes of getting me out of this hypothyroid state. This has been interesting as this new dosage is not manufactured as one pill, but two, which I found means two co-pays. Since this medication is not on my prescription administrator’s preferred list, the co pays are at a higher rate. Co pays do add up, especially if they are multiplied by two and taken for a lifetime. I am aware my medication may be adjusted again when I see my thyroid doctor in a couple of months, but I want to find out all my options now so I can make wise, informed decisions.
I have found these past few days my personal and professional lives have crossed. At work, I am the Benefits Specialist, where a portion of my job responsibilities lie in being an advocate for employees and their families with issues regarding their benefits. I have had to be my own medical advocate as I find the best course of action that will be cost effective and address my medical needs.
With this new dosage of medication, my doctor says I should be feeling better in about a month. In a year, I will have another iodine and full body scan to make sure all is well. As for now, I’m still learning to be patient with my body and have thrown out any expectations I have for it until my thyroid levels are deemed regular again. So the next time someone tells you a blonde joke or you happen to see someone exhibit a ‘blonde moment’, be kind. Like oh my gosh! There like just might be like a reason for it, like okay! Ugh…like gag me.
As a lifelong, card holding member of the blondes, I have endured these stereotypes and jokes, many of them eagerly repeated to me, of all people, by my friends and family. They think since I’m a blonde, I’ll somehow think jokes that make fun of my hair color and in direct correlation, my intelligence are funny. Like, oh my gosh! Like how ‘blonde’ do they like think I am?!
After talking with my thyroid doctor this week, I’ve come to realize those moments I’ve been accused of being an airhead, those moments that have been categorized recently as ‘blonde moments’ in my life, can be scientifically explained.
Based on my recent lab work, my doctor said I am still considered to be hypothyroid – in other words, my body is still functioning at a slower rate. As my doctor stared me in the face, he grinned and said, “Yes, I can tell.” Curiously perplexed I replied, “What do you mean ‘you can tell’?” My mind raced in slow motion as I tried to guess what he meant. Was my face still puffy? Had my eyes bugged out and I not notice? What?! He said my speech pattern is slower than before and the inflections in my voice have changed, small observations only people trained in thyroid disorders would pick up on. He also showed me other affects of hypothyroidism on my body, showing me how my reflexes are slower and justified the reason for my muscle soreness. My energy level is much better but not 100% yet.
As my doctor bent over to wash his hands, he asked me if I’ve been finding things unusually funny lately. Being that my mind is slower than normal, I couldn’t remember, but I laughed at the question. He says an unusual sense of humor can be a symptom, referred to in the thyroid profession as ‘hypothyroid wit’. Great. I’m now a slow talker, who is slow to comprehend things and once comprehends them, finds them abnormally funny, but can’t remember them. All I kept saying was, “Are you serious?” I realized later that night my doctor could have totally been pulling my leg and I wouldn’t have known. That would be the ultimate injustice – taking advantage of a ‘blonde’ in her time of need. As life would have it for now, my blonde moments are justified!
I’ve found it ironic though that the moments I’ve had to be at my sharpest, be my best medical advocate have been during this experience through hypothyroidism when I’m not functioning at my best. I’ve really had to focus hard and rely on those friends and family around me for guidance, to be the hands that grasp a hold of me, leading me down the correct path instead of the wall I was headed for.
My doctor has increased my medication dosage in hopes of getting me out of this hypothyroid state. This has been interesting as this new dosage is not manufactured as one pill, but two, which I found means two co-pays. Since this medication is not on my prescription administrator’s preferred list, the co pays are at a higher rate. Co pays do add up, especially if they are multiplied by two and taken for a lifetime. I am aware my medication may be adjusted again when I see my thyroid doctor in a couple of months, but I want to find out all my options now so I can make wise, informed decisions.
I have found these past few days my personal and professional lives have crossed. At work, I am the Benefits Specialist, where a portion of my job responsibilities lie in being an advocate for employees and their families with issues regarding their benefits. I have had to be my own medical advocate as I find the best course of action that will be cost effective and address my medical needs.
With this new dosage of medication, my doctor says I should be feeling better in about a month. In a year, I will have another iodine and full body scan to make sure all is well. As for now, I’m still learning to be patient with my body and have thrown out any expectations I have for it until my thyroid levels are deemed regular again. So the next time someone tells you a blonde joke or you happen to see someone exhibit a ‘blonde moment’, be kind. Like oh my gosh! There like just might be like a reason for it, like okay! Ugh…like gag me.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
The Cancer Chronicles VIII: A New Kind of Normal
I AM CANCER-FREE!! Yes, I found the result out today from my iodine scans. They only found two places on the left side of my neck where the iodine concentrated itself on left over thyroid tissue, most likely from my first thyroid surgery. This is considered ‘normal’. The next step will be to focus on adjusting the dosage of my thyroid medication. I will meet up in a few weeks with my thyroid doctor for monitoring. My nuclear medicine doctor says I don’t have to come back to see him anymore, unless I want to visit or say hi. I smiled but declined the invitation. I am quite relieved at hearing the news, but am still in a state of shock, not fully able to comprehend what has just happened.
I long to be ‘me’ again. This is my desire. I think of the magical characters in Disney’s “Beauty and the Beast.” Due to no fault of their own, they were turned into objects, loosing their human form, their normal way of living. How they wistfully sang the line “to be human again.” In an odd way, I can relate.
This is the
first week since my surgery where I have felt like me. I have normal energy and am greatly encouraged to be on the road to resuming my normal routine. I’m working full days and resumed exercising. I’m a bit sore but my stamina is there, I believe due to making exercise part of my life prior to the surgery. My surgeon says the scar, while being deemed ‘angry’ due to its redness, is healing quite nicely. Since I now have my energy back, I thought I could resume living my life as I always have, put this chapter behind me, resume some control of my life, but I was wrong.Although my swelling has subsided for the most part, I am now starting to deal with the emotions of being diagnosed with cancer and the whirlwind of adventures that have come with it these past few weeks. I had a horrible nightmare a couple nights ago where I woke up screaming. I can’t remember the last time this has happened. I still have periods where I break into tears. I’ve gained 4-5 pounds. From what I’ve read and discussed with my doctor, these symptoms are ‘normal’, as it will take a few weeks/ months for my thyroid hormone levels to stabilize. I’ve only been back on my medication a little over a week. I have a ways to go.
I think the other component is realizing I’m not in control of my life, like I ever was. I am vulnerable. Bad things can happen to me and frankly, one just did called cancer. It violated me. It has taken part of me away that I can never get back. It has caused an increase of fear and anxiety in me because I couldn’t prevent it. I am grieving and sad and angry and grateful and thankful, all at the same time. I feel like I’m loosing my mind. However, I’m told this too, is ‘normal’ as I’ve just undergone a traumatic, life-changing experience.
So far, this journey to ‘normal’ has been the scariest part. It’s like I’ve come out of the fog-encrusted woods, grateful to have the warmth of the sun caress my face, to be deemed ‘cancer-free’, to be home, only to realize this was just a clearing in the midst of the trees. A forest fire of emotions forebodingly lies in my path and I must somehow venture through. I am not done and don’t know when life will be ‘normal’ again or what ‘normal’ will even look like for me. I feel like a foreigner in my own body, trying to learn the customs, putting away my presuppositions about how life is supposed to be. This is a whole new world with a new kind of ‘normal’. I must constantly remember to be patient with myself and take each day one step at a time as I get my bearings.
As a result of this realization, I have lost trust in myself for the time being. My intuition has been shot as I originally thought this nodule to be benign. I was proven wrong. I would like to say everything will be all right from now on with no more troubles, but I can’t. None of us can. Life is not a fairytale. We’ve never had the assurance that life would be easy. We only have the promise we’ll never go through it alone.
As I start to deal with the emotions of having and now DEFEATING cancer, I must accept these truths: God is good. Bad stuff happens. I am not in control. Therefore, I am dependent on a good God to get me through the bad stuff. And He will. He already has!
I will resume my place in the safety of His hands as I enter this firestorm of emotions. I am thankful for those of you willing to venture this storm with me. As gold must be heated to be purified, it is my hope that what the fire doesn’t consume will purify instead, leaving me changed for the better.
Cancer has opened my eyes to my own mortality, bringing a reverberating awareness that life on this earth is temporary. For months now, I’ve been looking forward to Maui, having this trip celebrate turning 30 and the accomplishments of having a good job, the means to go on this trip in the first place, and the achievement of being in the best shape of my life. While these are good reasons to celebrate, they no longer are my focus. This trip is a celebration of life and the person I am becoming. Like the phoenix rising from the ashes, I have been given a new chance at life. I may never be considered ‘normal’ again, but ‘normal’ is overrated anyway.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
The Cancer Chronicles VII: Rediscovering Me
I think I see it. As I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, there’s a very faint but definite, violet hue creeping up, overtaking my fair, now puffy pink completion. Yep. I think I’m blowing up into a blueberry, like Violet Beaureguard in Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. For her, all it took was a stick of gum gone bad but for me, it’s worse. Whose to say the radioactive iodine pill I swallowed last Wednesday didn’t somehow react with the gallons of fruit juice I had to drink over these past few days to flush the iodine out of my body, causing me to become what I drank? Or maybe I’m becoming an apple, an orange, or even a cranberry! Ok, maybe I’m not blowing up into a blueberry, but it certainly has felt like it over these past few days as my body has been adjusting to the radiation treatment and my hormones to the thyroid medication I’ve resumed taking. It took me by surprise that my body was capable of acting out in such ways, but after talking with my doctor, I’m hopeful to resume my normal form in no time.
This past week has been filled with uncertainty as I ventured down this unknown path, which started bright and early Wednesday morning, the day of my radiation treatment. I was jarred awake at 7:20am, not by the buzzing of my alarm clock, but by a phone call from the Cancer Center requesting my presence at 8am for registration. I was a bit frustrated, ok, ticked, that I was only given a half hour notice to get ready and get over there, a trip that normally takes a half hour during morning traffic. I threw myself together in my foggy state-of-mind and headed off to the hospital, arriving about 15 minutes late, all so I could wait. And wait. And wait some more. I did voice my constructive criticism.
Meanwhile, I sat in the waiting room, thumbing through the cheesy magazines I bought to entertain me during my stay. I politely greeted the elderly gentleman who sat beside me, who ventured to ask, “ I haven’t seen you around here. Are you new?” If I weren’t in the cancer ward, I would have thought that to be the lamest pick up line I ever heard, but I guess there could be worse things. “Yes,” I replied and went on to tell him I hope this to be my first and last visit. He was midway through a series of treatments for prostate cancer. During our conversation, a bell rang, which the gentleman told me meant it was someone’s last day of treatment. I was sincerely happy for them as I looked forward to getting my own treatment over with. I am constantly reminded how fortunate I am, seeing that things could be much worse.
About two hours later, I was led to my room, pleasantly surprised to find it in the new wing of the hospital. I was thankful it wasn’t the white, sterile room I had imagined, but was a hospital room with a hotel vibe, complete with Bath and Body Works amenities and floor to ceiling windows looking out to the forest. There was one big difference though— the
room was saran wrapped. Yes! The door knobs, handles, eating surfaces, light switches, chairs, pillows, TV remotes, the phone, the bathroom floors -- all were wrapped. It was like Grandma’s plastic covered sofa blew up to encompass an entire room. Like a little kid, I found myself touching everything that was wrapped just because I knew I could.
While I was waiting for my doctor to come, a hospital volunteer named Ellen came by my room to pay me a visit. In the chaos of nurses coming in and out, the absurd reality of sitting in a wrapped room flipping TV channels with a wrapped remote, and the frustration and anxiousness welling up inside of me, I didn’t quite know why she was there. In a gen
teel manner, she explained she was a cancer survivor twice and shared snippets of her story. I found myself easily conversing about my own experience thus far. As I talked more and more, hearing myself talk about my cancer, realizing I relate with this woman because of cancer, I started to tear up. This month has been a merry-go-round ride that has left me little time to deal with all that has happened for the sheer will I’ve needed to keep myself strong and together, to not let go. Ellen helped me realize I haven’t fully processed all that has happened yet.
About an hour or so later, my doctor came with his entourage staff of radiation safety personnel, pushing a grocery-like cart with a black box in it with biohazard symbols adhered to it. Before he came in, the nurses had me lock away my belongings an
d change into hospital attire, which consisted of what appeared to be garments they were going to throw away – 3xx drawstring pants, a blue gown and a robe, both with only one tie on them. Why is that? Why only one tie? I tried to make it work the best I could.
With gloves on, my doctor unlocked the little black box and with tongs, took out a little two-inch corked tube. He uncorked it and with the tongs, set it before me to consume the radioactive iodine pill inside it. I’m thinking, “I’m consuming something these people are protecting themselves from. I must be crazy!” Instantly, I was radioactive. At that moment, it was as if everyone in the room took a huge step backwards towards the door. The radiation safety doctor tested the radiation levels in the room with a Geiger co
unter, took notes, and left. It was quiet. I would have sporadic conversations with my doctor and the nurses until my discharge the next day. However, I got to eat anything I wanted because I was now off that diet. Yes!! The victory was sweet as I savored every morsel that my mildly nauseous stomach could handle.
After a cleansing shower, I was released to go home Thursday afternoon to the confines of my room at home, taking a twinge of nausea and swollen salivary glands with me, both of which I am still fighting. The hardest part in this experience was being home and to not hug any person or furry critter. Jasmine, on of the furries, has thus forgiven me from locking her out of ‘her’ room. I promptly celebrated by eating the breakfast of my dreams, which was found at Denny’s. Hey, it doesn’t take much to impress me. ☺
Through this experience I have become quite thankful. I’m thankful for plates and utensils that aren’t disposable, for cheese, milk, and the foods that were forbidden, indoor plumbing, remote controls that aren’t saran wrapped, the strength to get through this experience, a God that carries me, and the hugs, thoughts, and prayers that have guided me along the way.
I’m struggling to rediscover me, who I am now, and be patient, as the end result will take time to come to the surface. My body’s been through a lot this past month and I constantly need to remind myself of this.
As far as the next steps go, I go for an iodine scan next week to see where the iodine went in my body, hopefully just to the thyroid cells. I meet with the doctor the following week after the scan to go over the results. In the meantime, I look to ease my way back into my regular routine with thoughts of Maui in the forefront of my mind.
This past week has been filled with uncertainty as I ventured down this unknown path, which started bright and early Wednesday morning, the day of my radiation treatment. I was jarred awake at 7:20am, not by the buzzing of my alarm clock, but by a phone call from the Cancer Center requesting my presence at 8am for registration. I was a bit frustrated, ok, ticked, that I was only given a half hour notice to get ready and get over there, a trip that normally takes a half hour during morning traffic. I threw myself together in my foggy state-of-mind and headed off to the hospital, arriving about 15 minutes late, all so I could wait. And wait. And wait some more. I did voice my constructive criticism.
Meanwhile, I sat in the waiting room, thumbing through the cheesy magazines I bought to entertain me during my stay. I politely greeted the elderly gentleman who sat beside me, who ventured to ask, “ I haven’t seen you around here. Are you new?” If I weren’t in the cancer ward, I would have thought that to be the lamest pick up line I ever heard, but I guess there could be worse things. “Yes,” I replied and went on to tell him I hope this to be my first and last visit. He was midway through a series of treatments for prostate cancer. During our conversation, a bell rang, which the gentleman told me meant it was someone’s last day of treatment. I was sincerely happy for them as I looked forward to getting my own treatment over with. I am constantly reminded how fortunate I am, seeing that things could be much worse.
About two hours later, I was led to my room, pleasantly surprised to find it in the new wing of the hospital. I was thankful it wasn’t the white, sterile room I had imagined, but was a hospital room with a hotel vibe, complete with Bath and Body Works amenities and floor to ceiling windows looking out to the forest. There was one big difference though— the
room was saran wrapped. Yes! The door knobs, handles, eating surfaces, light switches, chairs, pillows, TV remotes, the phone, the bathroom floors -- all were wrapped. It was like Grandma’s plastic covered sofa blew up to encompass an entire room. Like a little kid, I found myself touching everything that was wrapped just because I knew I could.While I was waiting for my doctor to come, a hospital volunteer named Ellen came by my room to pay me a visit. In the chaos of nurses coming in and out, the absurd reality of sitting in a wrapped room flipping TV channels with a wrapped remote, and the frustration and anxiousness welling up inside of me, I didn’t quite know why she was there. In a gen
teel manner, she explained she was a cancer survivor twice and shared snippets of her story. I found myself easily conversing about my own experience thus far. As I talked more and more, hearing myself talk about my cancer, realizing I relate with this woman because of cancer, I started to tear up. This month has been a merry-go-round ride that has left me little time to deal with all that has happened for the sheer will I’ve needed to keep myself strong and together, to not let go. Ellen helped me realize I haven’t fully processed all that has happened yet.About an hour or so later, my doctor came with his entourage staff of radiation safety personnel, pushing a grocery-like cart with a black box in it with biohazard symbols adhered to it. Before he came in, the nurses had me lock away my belongings an
d change into hospital attire, which consisted of what appeared to be garments they were going to throw away – 3xx drawstring pants, a blue gown and a robe, both with only one tie on them. Why is that? Why only one tie? I tried to make it work the best I could.With gloves on, my doctor unlocked the little black box and with tongs, took out a little two-inch corked tube. He uncorked it and with the tongs, set it before me to consume the radioactive iodine pill inside it. I’m thinking, “I’m consuming something these people are protecting themselves from. I must be crazy!” Instantly, I was radioactive. At that moment, it was as if everyone in the room took a huge step backwards towards the door. The radiation safety doctor tested the radiation levels in the room with a Geiger co
unter, took notes, and left. It was quiet. I would have sporadic conversations with my doctor and the nurses until my discharge the next day. However, I got to eat anything I wanted because I was now off that diet. Yes!! The victory was sweet as I savored every morsel that my mildly nauseous stomach could handle.After a cleansing shower, I was released to go home Thursday afternoon to the confines of my room at home, taking a twinge of nausea and swollen salivary glands with me, both of which I am still fighting. The hardest part in this experience was being home and to not hug any person or furry critter. Jasmine, on of the furries, has thus forgiven me from locking her out of ‘her’ room. I promptly celebrated by eating the breakfast of my dreams, which was found at Denny’s. Hey, it doesn’t take much to impress me. ☺
Through this experience I have become quite thankful. I’m thankful for plates and utensils that aren’t disposable, for cheese, milk, and the foods that were forbidden, indoor plumbing, remote controls that aren’t saran wrapped, the strength to get through this experience, a God that carries me, and the hugs, thoughts, and prayers that have guided me along the way.
I’m struggling to rediscover me, who I am now, and be patient, as the end result will take time to come to the surface. My body’s been through a lot this past month and I constantly need to remind myself of this.
As far as the next steps go, I go for an iodine scan next week to see where the iodine went in my body, hopefully just to the thyroid cells. I meet with the doctor the following week after the scan to go over the results. In the meantime, I look to ease my way back into my regular routine with thoughts of Maui in the forefront of my mind.
Friday, June 8, 2007
The Cancer Chronicles VI: Freakish Wonderland
For those of you fascinated with the thought of me glowing in addition to my already beaming disposition, you will be disappointed to hear I will not know if radiation does indeed make a person glow until tomorrow. Yes, the radioiodine treatment has been postponed until tomorrow; 6/6/07 because my thyroid hormone levels were not where they needed to be last Friday, that is in a state of hypothyroidism.
I was bummed of course because that meant a few more days of being on the low-iodine diet – a diet that was originally only to last two weeks extended to almost a month. It's like when you go to an exercise class and the instructor tells you to do 2 sets of some excruciating exercise that makes your muscles scream obscenities at you, but with much grunting and sweating and perseverance, you push through, only to hear the instructor tell you, "Just give me 1 more set!" Ugh! They're lucky my communication has been reduced to a series of gasps and grunts!
My body has 'grunted' over this diet in a different way -- through a dream. A couple of nights ago I had a dream I was going into a restaurant for breakfast, which is my favorite meal of the day. I eagerly surveyed the menu, salivating over the thought of ordering eggs, sausage, hash browns with ketchup, and pancakes only to realize I couldn't eat it. I couldn't have ANY items on the menu. With a huge disappointed sigh, I left. Needless to say, my body's over this diet.
I had my thyroid levels tested on Monday and had the doctor confirm today I am ready to be admitted into the hospital tomorrow. What time that will be, I don't know as it sounds like there is only one of these special rooms and I must wait until it is vacant. The uncertainty and lack of communication has been frustrating as it makes it difficult to plan for my days of confinement. Thankfully, I've done my own research so I have an idea of what to expect. I should be in the hospital overnight Wednesday, coming home Thursday.
The journey to hypothyroidism has been a gradual process; leaving me pleasantly surprised with the energy I had which allowed me to get successfully through this past workweek. An answer to prayer! Due to the fact this energy was a by-product of my thyroid levels not being where they needed to be, a friend of mine jokingly said the prayers worked too well, but we'll just ignore that.
The weekend though, was like falling down the rabbit hole into a freakish wonderland, not knowing if I'll be able to get out. I've become increasingly tired, exhausted in the afternoons and foggy-headed. My normal, organized, put together self has been in a state of forgetfulness, making regular tasks that normally take a wisp of time, now drawn out over several excursions.
I had the interesting experience Saturday of getting turned around in our local party surplus store looking for birthday candles for my Dad's 65th birthday surprise party. I came across one section of birthday candles and didn't find what I needed so I continued to look throughout the store. Lo and behold! I found another section of birthday candles. Yea! It was the same section. Oh. It was a scary feeling and the first time I can recall seriously questioning my sanity. It takes much more energy and mental effort to concentrate and accomplish tasks. How ironic. I need more energy and concentration to make up for my lack of energy and concentration.
I'm thankful these symptoms are only temporary and will fade when I'm permitted to take my thyroid medication again. I'm fortunate. For some, this is just a taste of the daily battles they must face. I've often wondered, how does Jesus care for those who find themselves slowly falling into this foggy wonderland? I now have an answer. He holds them. Many of you, in one way or another, have been His arms wrapped around me.
I am eager for tomorrow, to get this show on the road, to truly see if I will become a household night light in my state of radiation (which I believe, my dear friends, is a myth), and to get my strength and clarity back. I'm especially looking forward to eating eggs, cheese, Mexican food, drinking a non-fat, no whip Caramel Macchiato from Starbucks, and going to a restaurant to eat the breakfast of my dreams.
I was bummed of course because that meant a few more days of being on the low-iodine diet – a diet that was originally only to last two weeks extended to almost a month. It's like when you go to an exercise class and the instructor tells you to do 2 sets of some excruciating exercise that makes your muscles scream obscenities at you, but with much grunting and sweating and perseverance, you push through, only to hear the instructor tell you, "Just give me 1 more set!" Ugh! They're lucky my communication has been reduced to a series of gasps and grunts!
My body has 'grunted' over this diet in a different way -- through a dream. A couple of nights ago I had a dream I was going into a restaurant for breakfast, which is my favorite meal of the day. I eagerly surveyed the menu, salivating over the thought of ordering eggs, sausage, hash browns with ketchup, and pancakes only to realize I couldn't eat it. I couldn't have ANY items on the menu. With a huge disappointed sigh, I left. Needless to say, my body's over this diet.
I had my thyroid levels tested on Monday and had the doctor confirm today I am ready to be admitted into the hospital tomorrow. What time that will be, I don't know as it sounds like there is only one of these special rooms and I must wait until it is vacant. The uncertainty and lack of communication has been frustrating as it makes it difficult to plan for my days of confinement. Thankfully, I've done my own research so I have an idea of what to expect. I should be in the hospital overnight Wednesday, coming home Thursday.
The journey to hypothyroidism has been a gradual process; leaving me pleasantly surprised with the energy I had which allowed me to get successfully through this past workweek. An answer to prayer! Due to the fact this energy was a by-product of my thyroid levels not being where they needed to be, a friend of mine jokingly said the prayers worked too well, but we'll just ignore that.
The weekend though, was like falling down the rabbit hole into a freakish wonderland, not knowing if I'll be able to get out. I've become increasingly tired, exhausted in the afternoons and foggy-headed. My normal, organized, put together self has been in a state of forgetfulness, making regular tasks that normally take a wisp of time, now drawn out over several excursions.
I had the interesting experience Saturday of getting turned around in our local party surplus store looking for birthday candles for my Dad's 65th birthday surprise party. I came across one section of birthday candles and didn't find what I needed so I continued to look throughout the store. Lo and behold! I found another section of birthday candles. Yea! It was the same section. Oh. It was a scary feeling and the first time I can recall seriously questioning my sanity. It takes much more energy and mental effort to concentrate and accomplish tasks. How ironic. I need more energy and concentration to make up for my lack of energy and concentration.
I'm thankful these symptoms are only temporary and will fade when I'm permitted to take my thyroid medication again. I'm fortunate. For some, this is just a taste of the daily battles they must face. I've often wondered, how does Jesus care for those who find themselves slowly falling into this foggy wonderland? I now have an answer. He holds them. Many of you, in one way or another, have been His arms wrapped around me.
I am eager for tomorrow, to get this show on the road, to truly see if I will become a household night light in my state of radiation (which I believe, my dear friends, is a myth), and to get my strength and clarity back. I'm especially looking forward to eating eggs, cheese, Mexican food, drinking a non-fat, no whip Caramel Macchiato from Starbucks, and going to a restaurant to eat the breakfast of my dreams.
The Cancer Chronicles V: The Road Less Traveled
It seems like it's taken forever for this month to pass and it's only half way through! So much has happened in such a short amount of time. A whirlwind of words has blown through my life these few, but seemingly long weeks--words such as surgery, thyroidectomy, and cancer. I'm about to add a couple more – radioiodine treatment.
I met with the doctor of nuclear medicine last week at the hospital. It appears each hospital I have gone to these past few weeks feels the need to notify the heavens and the neighbors of my presence through the blaring of bells and whistles and strobe lights staged as a fire drill. The first time this happened, I was recouping in the hospital bed after surgery, strapped down by protruding tubes from my body which were connected to some very important beeping machines. I lay there listening to crashes, slamming doors, and scurrying feet running away from my door. I was concerned. This time, the drill was upon my arrival. I don't know what I have done to deserve such attention. It does make hospital check-in challenging when blockades and limited staff are present.
I did find my way to the doctor's office, located in the cancer center. Again, that word – cancer. I flashed back five years ago where at that same hospital; I crossed paths with cancer, embodied in my former colleague at the Highlands Inn, Oralia. She was diagnosed with cancer, which after a long, valiant battle eventually took her life. I was there for my first iodine scan of the nodule on my left thyroid lobe, unsure if it was cancerous. She was there for lab work. Her stoic words spoken to me have guided my doctor's visits to this day. In summary she said, "Kristi, you need to be your own advocate. Don't wait for the doctor's office to call you. You call them. Be persistent."
I was now walking in her footsteps, down the road less traveled to the
cancer center, descending into what seemed like the depths of despair or a very clean, white-walled dungeon with beautiful art on its walls and sporadic zapping sounds in the distance. If anyone should consult me on hospital design, I would highly recommend putting all patient services above ground. Although, I'm sure they have their reasons.
Considering the fact I tend to fight stress with humor and sarcasm, my doctor's visit was informative, despite my response to the doctor when he asked me after a series of yes/no questions if I ever experienced periods where I lost consciousness, to which I blithely replied, "Not that I can recall."
Seriously, I had a great meeting with the doctor and have a plan for my treatment. I've already begun the low-iodine diet, which I will be on for three weeks—lots of fresh fruit, veggies, and meats. No iodine, salt, or pre-packaged items. This is to limit the amount of iodine in my body so the treatment is the most effective. Amazingly, this limits a lot of foods. I've been experimenting with recipes and for the first time made spaghetti sauce from scratch!
I'll be stopping my thyroid medication at the end of this week to start the process of starving my body of thyroid hormones in preparation for the radioiodine treatment. If all goes well in the prepping process, I'll be admitted into the hospital on Mon. 6/4 and will be given the radioiodine pill, making me radioactive. The next day, they'll monitor my radiation levels and when they are safe, I'll be released to go home. While at home, I'll have to be separated from the rest of the household for three days, keeping a 6 ft. distance between all humans and furry critters. The 
cats will seriously be ticked off. During this time, I'll be put back on my regular thyroid medication and begin the process of adjusting my medication levels to fit me personally. It looks like I'll have periodic iodine scans to verify the cancer is indeed gone. All said and done, I hope to be recouped, adjusted, and rested in time for my Maui trip in late July.
I'm currently concerned about strength these next two weeks. I started back to work this week and fight being exhausted when I come home. My stamina seems to be slowly increasing each day, which is good. I have to be strategic with my energy. I don't know how I will do next week, being off my thyroid medication. I hope to power through.
I continue to be indebted to you for your prayers and encouragement. For some thyroid cancer survivors, this was one of the loneliest phases to go through, since it involves limited human contact. I'm thankful the 6 ft. 'cootie radius' is only for a few days. I'm learning to patiently endure on this road less traveled, a road which seems to be getting more and more crowded lately. I continue to be grateful in advance to join the ranks with thousands of others, bearing the name 'cancer survivor.'
The Cancer Chronicles IV: Peak Experiences in the Valley
Since returning from the hospital, I've had 4 self-deemed tasks – sleep; eat; watch movies (I mean rest); and write. Thanks to my laptop DVD player, I've f
allen to sleep to the likings of "Mary Poppins," Groucho Marx, "Monsters Inc.," and "Pirates of the Caribbean: The Dead Man's Chest." Such movies and characters leave for interesting dreams and late night insights.
In the midst of 'resting' this week, I've been trying to define my body's limits. I get tired often and have found one outing for about 2 hours is all I can do at the moment with limited talking. I've encouraged myself to take a brief walk around the neighborhood to start building up my strength, which has been quite delightful, filling my lungs with fresh air and my mind with many thoughts to ponder. I've also been flirting with singing to see if I'm still a soprano after all. I don't believe there to be any damage to my vocal chords, which is an answer to prayer. I continue to get a little better each day.
Unfortunately, for those keeping tabs on the latest body piercing fashion trends, y
ou will be sad to hear on Wednesday, I had the 20 or so staples removed from my neck. I was on the verge of throwing on my black wig and black lipstick to go for the total Goth look, but alas, I was too late. I will have to settle for knife and bar fight stories to explain my 3-inch scar once the temporarily glued tape wears off.
In the meantime, the hunt continues for any thyroid cancer cells that may still be at large. I met with my thyroid doctor this week and he wants to start the second phase of treatment ASAP – radioiodine treatment based on the results sent by my surgeon.
He identified my attacker as Papillary Thyroid Carcinoma, exactly what they had suspected. In further research, it appears this is the most common type of thyroid cancer, found in at least 70% of all cases. Great. The one time I find myself in the popular group it's because of a disease. ? It does also happen to be one of the more easily treatable of all the thyroid cancers. However, since part of the cancer broke through the thyroid capsule, there is more of a concern that there are some cancer cells on the loose.
Therefore, my thyroid doctor wants to get the radioiodine treatment process underway– yes, I say a process, as it involves a special low-iodine diet for two weeks prior as well as prep time for my body to be starved of thyroid hormone. I'll be meeting with the doctor of nuclear medicine at the hospital to find out more of the particulars. Although I will be radioactive for a few days with the need for temporary isolation, this type of "chemotherapy" won't cause me to loose my hair or get nauseous, which is great!
With that being said, this means I will need to postpone my Maui trip until this process is complete. So my days lying on the beach enjoying my little frou-frou drink with an umbrella in it will need to wait until July. The point being, I'm still going.
On this journey thus far, I question whether these valleys we go through in life are really mountaintops turned upside down. Don't get me wrong. I don't prefer going through them, but it's during the pain, the hard, and the struggle we have the opportunity to find who we are and what's important in life. We can clearly see how blessed we truly are. I have been wonderfully overwhelmed at all the help and support and prayers that have come my way. We indeed can have peak experiences in the valley and for that, I am thankful. I guess it's all a matter of perspective.
The Cancer Chronicles III: Life Goes On
I'm watching the second Spider Man from the comfort of my home, which means I was released from the hospital today! Yea! Hospital's are not the ideal place 
to get rest, especially when you're being pricked and poked and squeezed for what seemes every 15 minutes. I will be thankful to sleep in my own bed without a roommate yelling "help me!" in the middle of the night.
I came through the surgery quite well. It turns out the nodule was not my twin lost at birth but was indeed cancerous. However, it did not spread to the other areas of the neck. It was a very good thing it came out when it did. I will have to go for radioiodine treatment in a month or so to kill the remaining thyroid cells, stopping any spread of remaining cancer. My thyroid and calcium levels will continued to be monitored throughout my life as I will be dependent now on medication to fulfill what used to be my thyroid's function.
As for my recovery, I'm quite tired and feel like I have the world's worst sore throat. Dealing with the reality of cancer and out of whack horm
ones has led to an emotional roller coaster ride brought further to the surface last night when I ventured out of my hospital room for a walk, only to find myself in the 'cancer wing.' I did not know they had placed me on this themed floor. It's the first time I have truly been aware of my mortality and that I was staring at my cancerous attacker, not knowing why it had chosen me to violate. However, it will not have me, not today! A very sobering and motivational thought to live my life to its fullest.
My nurses were great! They made me feel at home as best as one can in a hospital. My doctor's are taking great care of me. Their insights thus far have been right on target. On a light-hearted note, my p.j.'s were the talk of the floor, bringing smiles to many faces, including my own.
Thank you all for your prayers, thoughts, kindness, and flowers send my way. They have encouraged me tremendously. I am blessed to have such people in my life. I will be recouping at home for a couple of weeks, pondering wonderfully exciting stories to share with inquiring people as to why I have a slit throat. Being in a knife fight has always been a fun story to throw out there to unsuspecting people not aware of my true character. :) As for now, thankfully, life goes on.
The Cancer Chronicles II: Let the Games Begin!
Tomorrow is already here, my d-day, my surgery day. It's gone by so fast. A frenzy of plans and emotions have been processed in this short amount of time to prepare for this day and to my amazement, it's come together quite beautifully, like steps to a complicated dance that I'm only vaguely familiar with. It looks almost effortless when performed with someone who knows what they're doing! Thankfully, I have not been alone on this adventure as I am in the prayers of friends and family and the hand of my God, my Creator.
Part of me though, can't help but be sad that tomorrow, I will loose a part of my team, the rest of my thyroid. It has served me well for so many years and for the past three, has been pulling double-duty in producing the thyroid levels for my body. Its efforts have not gone unnoticed and will definitely be missed. It just couldn't withstand the overpowering threat of cancer. Why this happened, I do not know.
However, tomorrow brings answers to many questions, specifically finding out if the nodule on my thyroid is cancerous or if they will find what I've secretly expected all these years, my twin separated from me at birth. Perhaps instead of finding cancer, they will find teeth and a spinal chord just like in the movie "My Big Fat Greek Wedding." However, I will be happy if they find nothing and this adventure will come to a halt.
I have been preparing weeks for tomorrow and the adventure that awaits me. It now comes down to those few hours prior to a race or competition where the sound of the crowd and all that's frivolous fades to the background and it's just me and the road before me. My mind is slowly zeroing in on the goal at hand, allowing all worries and risks and uncertainty to be smothered in the sweet honey of incomprehensible peace. I am toned and in the zone, armed with clean hair, smoothly shaven legs, clean sheets, and cute pajamas. Bring tomorrow on, baby!
Let the games begin!
Part of me though, can't help but be sad that tomorrow, I will loose a part of my team, the rest of my thyroid. It has served me well for so many years and for the past three, has been pulling double-duty in producing the thyroid levels for my body. Its efforts have not gone unnoticed and will definitely be missed. It just couldn't withstand the overpowering threat of cancer. Why this happened, I do not know.
However, tomorrow brings answers to many questions, specifically finding out if the nodule on my thyroid is cancerous or if they will find what I've secretly expected all these years, my twin separated from me at birth. Perhaps instead of finding cancer, they will find teeth and a spinal chord just like in the movie "My Big Fat Greek Wedding." However, I will be happy if they find nothing and this adventure will come to a halt.
I have been preparing weeks for tomorrow and the adventure that awaits me. It now comes down to those few hours prior to a race or competition where the sound of the crowd and all that's frivolous fades to the background and it's just me and the road before me. My mind is slowly zeroing in on the goal at hand, allowing all worries and risks and uncertainty to be smothered in the sweet honey of incomprehensible peace. I am toned and in the zone, armed with clean hair, smoothly shaven legs, clean sheets, and cute pajamas. Bring tomorrow on, baby!
Let the games begin!
The Cancer Chronicles I: What Does It Mean To Be Strong?
He said I was a strong lady. Why? Was it because I didn't cry or that I tried to make a light-hearted comment upon receiving the news? Was it because I didn't fall to pieces upon hearing the word 'cancer'? Or maybe it was because I've been through this surgery before, so I sort of know what to expect. Perhaps it was part of his regular spiel he gives to all his patients with the threat of thyroid cancer-- a mind game of positive thinking to make them think they are strong. However, upon hearing the news, they feel like they've been playing a game of tag and with one solid blow to the back, they are stunned to realize they've been tagged 'it'. Who knows?
As for me, this was exactly what I had hoped not to hear, but now that it's staring me in the face, I must rethink my strategy in this game called life. I was told this was a 'good cancer' (like any cancer is good!), meaning, it's treatable through surgery. Fair enough. I will need to step up my game in other areas to ensure my health-- take thyroid medication, calcium supplements, be on a special diet, and exercise to name a few. Upon reflection, I'm already doing most of these requirements, so stepping it up won't be such a shock. I am fortunate. It could have been much worse.
In any situation, we can rise to the challenge or let it consume us. We choose to be strong. Now this doesn't mean we are fearless, but despite our fear, we find the courage to stand and fight as we come face to face with our own personal Goliaths.
I think of David-- a small wisp of a kid who saw these big, buff, armored men - strong men, he thought - cowering in the face of fear, that is this armored, giant of a man, Goliath. None of these 'strong men' would stand and fight, yet knowing the odds were against him, David did. David stood his ground, weak kneed and wobbly and fought with all he had, a slingshot and a shepherd's mentality. He knew just as he looked after his father's sheep, his Heavenly Father, his Shepherd, was looking after him, protecting him, and would give him the strength to defeat fear, whether in life or in death. Risking it all, he chose to stand anyway just as himself, not with the strength of armor, but with strength of heart and faith in his Shepherd--- and he won. He defeated Goliath.
God and I have had many adventures together—some that were amazing and others I wouldn't have chosen for myself and frankly, would not want to experience again! Regardless, my relationship with God has flourished because of them. As I embark on another adventure, I know I'm not alone. My God is bigger than the threat of thyroid cancer and all the risks associated with it and the dreams that hang on its crux.
Am I strong? Well, I choose to be. I have surrendered my life to my Shepherd so I will do my best honor Him in all I do, even if it is weak-kneed and wobbly.
"I can do everything through him who gives me strength." Philippians 4:13
As for me, this was exactly what I had hoped not to hear, but now that it's staring me in the face, I must rethink my strategy in this game called life. I was told this was a 'good cancer' (like any cancer is good!), meaning, it's treatable through surgery. Fair enough. I will need to step up my game in other areas to ensure my health-- take thyroid medication, calcium supplements, be on a special diet, and exercise to name a few. Upon reflection, I'm already doing most of these requirements, so stepping it up won't be such a shock. I am fortunate. It could have been much worse.
In any situation, we can rise to the challenge or let it consume us. We choose to be strong. Now this doesn't mean we are fearless, but despite our fear, we find the courage to stand and fight as we come face to face with our own personal Goliaths.
I think of David-- a small wisp of a kid who saw these big, buff, armored men - strong men, he thought - cowering in the face of fear, that is this armored, giant of a man, Goliath. None of these 'strong men' would stand and fight, yet knowing the odds were against him, David did. David stood his ground, weak kneed and wobbly and fought with all he had, a slingshot and a shepherd's mentality. He knew just as he looked after his father's sheep, his Heavenly Father, his Shepherd, was looking after him, protecting him, and would give him the strength to defeat fear, whether in life or in death. Risking it all, he chose to stand anyway just as himself, not with the strength of armor, but with strength of heart and faith in his Shepherd--- and he won. He defeated Goliath.
God and I have had many adventures together—some that were amazing and others I wouldn't have chosen for myself and frankly, would not want to experience again! Regardless, my relationship with God has flourished because of them. As I embark on another adventure, I know I'm not alone. My God is bigger than the threat of thyroid cancer and all the risks associated with it and the dreams that hang on its crux.
Am I strong? Well, I choose to be. I have surrendered my life to my Shepherd so I will do my best honor Him in all I do, even if it is weak-kneed and wobbly.
"I can do everything through him who gives me strength." Philippians 4:13
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