I have cancer. The words permeate my brain even through the haze of sleep. They haven’t been far from thoughts, since my diagnosis the week before. I offer up another pleading prayer for guidance and snuggle back to sleep.
My double stroller cast a long shadow in the cool morning. I push it along the sidewalk in front of my house, sauntering our way to my son’s elementary school around the corner. My youngest resting inside while my four and seven-year-olds run ahead.
I have a disease people die from. The words still ring surreal. This isn’t the sort of thing that happens to women with three young children to raise. Had I done something wrong? Was God done with me? Or maybe He just wanted me home.
Continue reading “Chemotherapy Made Me Ugly…Beautiful”
I have stage two breast cancer. Now is the time to decide if I want to do chemotherapy because there is no turning back after this procedure.
I lay on the pre-op cot awaiting the surgery to insert a port below my collarbone. The device will permit powerful chemotherapy drugs to be administered directly into my heart so my blood can dilute the chemicals enough to prevent them from burning my blood vessels.
My brain’s foggy from lack of sleep, and my thoughts whirl with the sentiments of the anti-chemotherapy crusaders whose words kept me from sleeping the night before. They tell me I’m young, and there’s still time to undo my cancer with healthy foods and herbs to allow my body to heal itself. The medical professionals say they have a treatment with a high success rate.
A treatment that could kill me, give me a different cancer, leave me damaged and unable to raise my three boys.
The confusion swirls in my mind. Who do I trust?
Please go to http://jerushaagen.com/child-of-god-facing-illness-without-fear/ to continue reading my guest post on author Jerusha Agen’s Fear Warrior Blog.
The nurse squeezed my arm before rolling me into the MRI machine. I hadn’t missed the pity in her warm brown eyes. She’d read my chart. Stage 2 breast cancer at 39.
But breast cancer wasn’t a death sentence anymore. Unless my tumor hadn’t responded to the Chemotherapy and God chose not to heal me. Sweat broke out on my brow. The machine clanked over the foam headphones I wore. Soon I would know the answer.
I closed my eyes. Please God. Heal me. Allow me to raise my boys. Be David’s wife.
I swallowed and tried not to move. Or will I be meeting you soon?
Continue reading “Indivisible: Learning to Recognize God’s Love in My Cancer Journey”