God With Us

I've just come through another scare. Right at Christmastime, again.

Funny how a routine visit to the doctor can turn into déjà vu . . . x2? x3? x4? How many times have I been down this road?

Three weeks ago I found a little spot near my most recent scar. Not a lump, exactly ~ but something that felt different to me. Was it scar tissue? Had it been there before? I couldn't be sure.

The next day I had an already-scheduled appointment with my family doctor to discuss my colonoscopy screening and some heart issues I've been having, so in the course of the visit I mentioned the spot to her.

She felt it and wasn't overly concerned, but suggested that I check in with my oncologist. I had a six-month check-up scheduled in a few weeks anyway. So I tabled the issue and went on with my life.

Then last Wednesday, I saw my oncologist. I always look forward to my visits with her. She has such a way of putting me at ease, talking me through my concerns and giving me hope. 

When I showed her the spot, she wasn't worried, either. But she said it wouldn't hurt to do a breast ultrasound, just to check it out and document the location. I readily agreed ~ better safe than sorry.

But as I left her office, the doubts and fears began to creep in. And after I'd shared the situation with Greg, we both began sliding into a dark hole, the same dark hole that we've been in several times before. 

All the memories came flooding back: for me, of tests and treatments and isolating fears; for Greg, of walking through this with me twice before . . . but even more deeply, of losing his own mom to cancer when he was only 15 years old. These memories may fade, but they can re-appear in full colour in a heartbeat.

The hospital scheduled my ultrasound within just two days. But those 48 hours were still long enough for us to convince ourselves that the results would not be good.

In the darkness of Friday morning, as I woke on the day of the test, I whispered from my heart, "God, please remind me that you are with me today."

And He whispered back, "I will never leave you nor forsake you."

The Greatest Gift, by Ann Voskamp, is an Advent book of devotionals I've been walking through this month. On that morning, December 8, the reading was from Genesis 28 ~ God's promise to Jacob: "Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go . . . I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you."¹ Another word from the Lord!

Then I turned to the Christmas story in the Gospel of Luke. My son had recently shared with me how moved he was by Mary's response to her impossible assignment. So that morning before the ultrasound, I decided to read it again.

Sometimes a passage of Scripture, so quotable it's become cliché, suddenly pulses with powerful meaning for me in the moment. This was one of those times. And though the words were spoken to a specific Jewish girl at a specific time in history, their message resonated across two thousand years and sank deep into my soul.

"The Lord is with you."²

"Do not be afraid."³

"Nothing will be impossible with God."⁴

And then Mary's sweet response:  "Here am I, the servant of the Lord. Be it unto me according to your word."⁵

I carried those words with me to the hospital. And God was there for me! In the next 48 hours as I waited for the results, He gave me so many reminders of His favor ~ not the least of which was the opportunity to empathize with several others who are facing their own medical tests.

It's a funny thing about worrying while you wait. If the news turns out to be good, then all that energy spent on worry has been wasted. But if the news turns out to be bad, all that worry won't help you deal with it when the time comes.

I'm not sure it will even soften the blow. By Sunday night my heart was lurching every time I imagined a phone call from my doctor's office the next day. I finally had to just hang onto the hope that everything would be fine ~ although my sleep was still restless.

And then, early Monday morning, the call came: "Nothing to worry about." Hallelujah! Praise God from Whom all blessings flow! Of course, I still want to meet with my doctor and ask some more questions, but now that can wait until after the new year. I feel like I've been given a new lease on life!  

Sometimes I wonder, will I ever be completely free of this fear? Will there ever come a day when my gut doesn't wrench and my heart doesn't clutch with the thought of what could be? Knowing myself, probably not. But I also know that God will be there to walk with me, whether through life or through death. 

And that's what we celebrate at Christmastime ~ Jesus . . . 
                                                                                  Immanuel . . . 
                                                                                      God with us.⁶

Typography by my friend Victoria

@victoriasircar

¹Genesis 28:15
² Luke 1:28
³ Luke 1:30
⁴ Luke 1:37
⁵ Luke 1:38
⁶ Matthew 1:23

The Second Time Around

My last post was eighteen months ago. Yes, there's a reason. And I'm here to take up the tale.  

But first, let me say with gratefulness . . . I am here! And I've reached another milestone. Last month, I turned 50! Since facing cancer almost 5 years ago, I have welcomed every birthday with open arms. And now they are doubly special, because of what happened just a dozen days after my last post.

On May 20, 2016, I went for my annual mammogram. The doctors had ordered a breast ultrasound, too, as a precaution after my questionable mammo results in 2015. Even though I was 3 years out from cancer, my heart was still anxious as I faced these routine tests.

And it grew more anxious the longer I lay on the ultrasound table. When the technician left to consult with the radiologist, and then came back to take another look, I was sure something must be up. I met my husband in the waiting room afterwards and, with fearful resignation, voiced, "I think they saw something. I want to talk to my doctor."

A quick walk around the medical arts building revealed that neither my family doctor nor my oncologist were in. (It was Friday afternoon on Victoria Day weekend here in Canada, and the hospital was eerily quiet.) As a last resort, we headed down the hall to the Breast Health Centre, and there I received news that sent my heart into my throat. The results of the ultrasound were already in ~ and they wanted to do a biopsy.

"We can get you in on Wednesday," the compassionate receptionist said. I just looked at Greg. We already had plans for the following week. We were to be in Ohio on a family vacation. Our boys were coming from their college towns and we were all going to be together. I had been so excited ~ this was going to be the "re-do" of my worst vacation ever, a chance to relax and rejoice with my family and put the spectre of cancer behind me. 

Instead, it felt like deja vu. 

We decided I should have the biopsy as soon as possible, even if it meant changing our vacation plans. Greg called the chalet where we had reservations, and they graciously offered to send us a gift card to use at another time. Our boys came home anyway and we had some precious, funny family days together.

The day of the biopsy, I woke up singing, "If Jesus goes with me, I'll go . . . anywhere!" My quiet time brought me the great encouragement of God's presence. My surgeon wasn't worried, and the radiologist was kind. I kept repeating my surgeon's words, that even if it was cancer it would be "early stage and curable."

The next day we headed to the States on an abbreviated family trip. And it was wonderful. I've been through these scares enough to notice a pattern ~ even though I stand aloof, isolated from my loved ones by my bubble of personal pain, I feel a depth and sweetness to our time together. Maybe I appreciate it more.

We wandered through Stratford, ON; browsed thrift stores; walked on the shores of Lake Huron; made a spontaneous stop to look at the teardrop campers I've always admired; and took the ferry across Lake Huron into Michigan (something we'd never done before). Then, a scenic drive along a peninsula in Lake St. Clair, a walk downtown to a frozen custard shop, a nephew's graduation open house and time with extended family . . . it all seemed special, even though fear still nagged at my soul. 

One week after my biopsy, we sat in the waiting room at the Breast Health Centre again. These are the hardest moments for me . . . the breathless waiting while your future hangs in the balance. After all the other patients had been seen, we were taken into an exam room. And I heard the dreaded words: "This is breast cancer." Again.

My surgeon was surprised. My oncologist (whom we saw later in the day) was surprised. This kind of thing (a second breast cancer on the opposite side) doesn't happen very often. But they were both convinced that it was a completely different cancer from the first one, and that it was slow-growing and very treatable.

And so, in the summer of 2016, we made room for cancer . . . again. I felt more prepared to handle it this time around, but we had so much on our calendar already. "I don't have time for cancer!" I chafed. We basically just squeezed the treatments in between everything else we had planned.

Looking back, I don't know how we did it. In between church activities and six family trips, we scheduled a lumpectomy and several follow-up appointments. We also celebrated our kids' birthdays and twenty-five years of marriage.

And I found that I wasn't as prepared as I thought. Even though I'd been through all of this before and knew what to expect, waiting for the pathology report after my surgery was still terrifying. I felt paralyzed by fear and all of the "what-ifs." 

But looking back, I also see the hand of God so clearly. I see His perfect timing, and His grace in allowing us to carry on with all the special things we had planned. I see how he met me for sweet fellowship during my quiet time. I see providential meetings where He brought people into my life to share a word from Him. I see phone calls with sweet encouragement from faithful friends and new acquaintances. I see sermons and worship songs that spoke directly to me in my need.

Praise God! Although the pathology report came back five days late, He kept me quite calm while I waited. And as my doctors had expected, the news was good:  the lymph nodes were clear; the tumor was small and slow-growing; the cancer was only stage 1A. It was indeed a completely different cancer, not a metastasis from the first time around. I would only face radiation (not chemo) this time; but because this cancer was fed by hormones, I would need to take Tamoxifen for at least five years. And so the second journey began.

When I was diagnosed the first time, the stories that encouraged me the most came from people who'd survived cancer more than once. Now I'm happy to join them ~ to share with people that the lessons you learn the first time through a trial really can help you through the second. "God goes before you. Don't be afraid!" *


*Old Testament, Deuteronomy 31:8