God’s got this
This morning Maren woke up just before we had to leave for the hospital. Uh oh: I braced myself for tears, accusation, hurt; I was leaving her again. It was such sweet relief when she gave me a very average hug and a very average kiss, hugged her aunt and they started a project together. Thank you Jesus for that moment; her pain is the hardest part of this so far.
Brad and I drove to the fourth hospital I’ve been to this week for the port surgery. The staff was pleasant and efficient. My pre-op nurse was chatty and grandmotherly; by the time I was prepped and ready to go, she was gushing over the pictures of Maren and Greta on my phone. My girls do have the very best smiley faces.
Maren has a huge dimple on her left cheek . Discovering her dimple was probably the biggest surprise in her appearance when she was born. My side of the family has no dimples whatsoever. Brad and some of his family have “dimples” that manifest as an extra set of laugh lines (sorry honey, but it is true.) From the time she was little I would kiss Maren’s big ol’ dimple and tell her that she has a dent in her cheek because I’ve kissed her too many times in the same spot. She giggles every time. And then when Greta was born, she too had a big dimple. Hers is in her right cheek. Both my girls have permanent marks in their cheeks from Mommy’s kisses. I love that.
Brad and I feel settled in the steps of the process. We banter and plan, laugh and strategize. Dr. Awesome checked in while Brad and I waited. Given her Xavier U. loyalty, Brad was puzzled by the University of Cincinnati surgical cap she was wearing and he asked her about it.
“I’m operating on a UC employee next, so I thought I would wear it for her,” she replied. Yep, thats the kind of doctor she is.
In the blink of an eye, I fell asleep and woke up with my brand new port in my chest. Right now it feels like I took a paintball to the spot just below the right shoulder. I am holding off on the pain meds because they make me so sleepy and I want to stay up at least until Maren goes to bed. The 100 Days of School party was a smashing success; her super-teacher emailed me to tell me that she had a very normal day today. She went with the Chocolate Teddy Grahams after all (of course she did), so now we have some premium Skittles (premium because they were gas station pricing) on reserve.
We went directly from the hospital to our meeting with Dr. Wonderful. He got right to the point, and told us that the MRI of my liver showed that there are indeed some suspicious spots. We talked about the scenarios of what this might mean and how we will deal with it. There is a plan, there are aggressive treatments, there are options, there are tools. Bottom line, we will start the expert medical protocol from these brilliant doctors, and then we will see what God does.
For me, that is where the real story lies. Cancer is a tricky bastard and there is no scenario that comes with a guarantee. How would you end this sentence: “Okay God, I will have cancer as long as it … “?
There is no safe answer, no free pass. The details don’t matter to me and the fight I have coming. Therefore I won’t get bogged down in the details of these cells and those cells: that is Dr. Wonderful’s job. I have faith that God’s got this. He has the power to melt my cancer away. I can be cancer free. God heals. That is true.
I will have a liver biopsy on Friday morning, and then I will go directly to my first chemotherapy treatment and use my brand new port. Please, please continue to fight with me and pray. For my weapon, I choose the sword of truth.