All I Need

When you come to the place that I'm all you have,

you will find I'm all you need.

What do you need to be happy? During our marriage when we faced difficulties or disappointments, we  would sometimes say, "At least we have our health." After cancer struck, the mantra became, "At least we have each other." With Jim's death, I can no longer find consolation in that rationale. Good health and a loving spouse are wonderful things to have but like any of God's gifts, they can be taken away. The only thing that cannot be taken from us is our relationship with Christ. 

Not that everything has been taken from me; I have so much to be thankful for. But at my low points, the loss is crushing. I know that  many of you are heavy-burdened today. I hope this song is a comfort to you as it has been to me as I learn to live without Jim.

Lean on Me  (click on the hi lighted title)

Victim or Victor?

Cancer is a traumatic event for survivors and those who love them. The trauma affects people in different ways but nearly everyone I know feels a sense of helplessness when faced with a cancer diagnosis. Some who survive the initial trauma, seemingly unaffected, experience post-traumatic stress reactions years later. A year after Jim's first surgery (during which I received the news that the cancer was more advanced than expected), I returned to the ICU waiting room to visit a friend. I became weak and nauseated as the horror of that time came rushing back to me–a completely unexpected reaction.

No one likes suffering, but there is an upside. Having come through the crisis, you can look back and see how you have grown stronger. Some trauma survivors become depressed or bitter, but other super-survivors actually benefit from the traumatic course of events. They not only survive but use the event as a springboard to a happier life. This positive reaction is called post-traumatic growth or some might call it character building. 

For post-traumatic growth to occur, the survivor must be able to integrate the catastrophic event into his world view. Saul's world view was radically changed by a supernatural encounter with the resurrected Christ. In Him, he saw a loving and forgiving God. Though we might not have such a dramatic experience as Saul, we too can come to know the character of God–through prayer and study of His Word.

For people of faith, a traumatic experience can result in increased or decreased faith.

Some people reject their faith while others embrace it. How they respond depends in part on their view of God. Those who see God as benevolent and kind rather than judgmental and harsh, generally have a more positive outcome. (See Cancer Journey: A Caregiver's View from the Passenger Seat, Chapter Seven, "Last Man Standing" p. 103.)

Though suffering can be beneficial, I've never met anyone who says, "Sign me up."  Even Paul asked God to end his suffering by removing the thorn in his flesh.  God didn't remove the thorn, but Paul persevered.

"Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me.  But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong" (2 Corinthians 12: 8-10).

Has a cancer diagnosis changed you for the good? Are you getting better or bitter? Do you see your disease as a punishment from God or do you view God as a benevolent father who loves you and wants only the best for you? A life-threatening disease is a game-changer. Will you be a victim or a victor? The ball is in your court.

Look Beyond the Earth-Suit

Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are creating for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.

2 Corinthians 4:16-17

Physical bodies are essential for life on this earth but they are not who we are. Bodies are nothing more than vehicles for our souls. Yet, we make the mistake of judging the essence of a person by these external trappings. We attach far too much importance to the vessel while overlooking the more important contents.

Because we are judged by the exterior that make us recognizable to other souls traveling the planet, we spend an inordinate amount of time embellishing, polishing, and even worshiping our bodies. What is nothing more than a temporary suit for our souls can become the focus of our lives. 

I heard a minister say that if you want to know where your heart is, look at your checkbook. I’m afraid a large portion of my money goes to the preservation and beautification of a body destined to return to dust. Sephora, Lifetime Fitness, my beautician, and esthetician take more of my money than I like to admit. Add onto that the amount I spend on “suits for my earth-suit” and I’m right down embarrassed.

This phenomenon is not peculiar to the twenty-first century. Right or wrong, beauty has always been equated with goodness. The Egyptians, Mayans, and many pagan cultures before us attempted to gain favor with gods and men by beautifying their bodies. 

Our God is not fooled. He sees our innermost being. He communicates with our souls not our bodies. Bodies are essential for life on earth but they will not be essential when we return to our heavenly home. The bodies will go back to the dust from which they were created, but our souls are eternal. While it is our responsibility to care for our physical bodies so that we can accomplish God’s purpose for us, we need to remember what and whose we are.

Imagine that for a day you would cover your body with a big paper sack, peepholes for the eyes. How would your day be different? How would your perception of others change? How would you spend your extra time? I’m sure the change would be welcome initially, but being human, we would most likely turn to decorating the bags. Best costume wins.

Cancer patients are understandably troubled as they watch the changes that occur to their earth suits. They lose their hair, develop acne like rashes, lose muscle mass, gain weight from steroids, develop jaundice, and even have parts of their bodies removed. Every look in the mirror, every hair on the pillow is a reminder of the battle raging inside them. 

They need to know that those of us who love them are able, like God, to look beyond the earth suit, right into their ever-beautiful souls.

When the Doctor Has Bad News–Again

 October 24, 2017

Todays post was first published almost two years ago. I hope it speaks to many of you experiencing a cancer recurrence.

As you may have read in the previous blog on Managing Scanxiety, last week Jim had a CT scan-—his first in 6 months. The results were not good—better than devastating, worse than disappointing. He has a several new tumors—some small ones at the apex of the upper left lobe, an area that was resected during his original surgery in 2002, and perhaps more upsetting, a 1.2 cm. lesion in his "good lung" which heretofore had been free of cancer. When you only have one functioning lung, you want to keep it that way.

You  might think that after fifteen years and scores of scans, bad news wouldn't  be such a big deal. During each remission, as irrational as it might be, "when the sky is a bright canary yellow," I remain optimistic. Call me crazy, but, even after nine recurrences and multiple grim scan and biopsy reports, I am always hopeful that the cancer will never comeback. So a scan indicating progression of disease always requires some adjustment of my expectations. But this time, even I was surprised by the intensity of my reaction. Immediately upon hearing the word "lesion," my stomach dropped and my hands started shaking. I fought back tears as I attempted to take in the news. 

Even more disturbing was my response in the following days. When I am worried about anything, I become somewhat manic. (Some might say deranged). To those who know me well, this manifests in shopping sprees, rapid-fire talking, and sometimes impulsive behavior. After the scan on Wednesday, I called a realtor, went to look at a zero lot line, fell in love with it, called my son-in-law to see what modifications we could reasonably make, and prepared to put our house on the market. I spent the next two days (and nights), mind spinning, going over all the details—arranging my furniture in the new place, deciding what to sell, and how to decorate. Had I not come to my senses, you would have seen a For Sale sign in our yard this week, admittedly drastic diversionary tactics in an attempt to take my focus from the problem at hand—the return of the cancer.

When the mania frenzy passed—as it always does, thank God—I had to come to grips with emotions very like the ones I   experienced after Jim's original diagnosis. Although, our oncologist told us that considering his remarkable response to treatments thus far, he believes Jim could live another twenty  years, I was overcome with sadness. I reverted to anticipatory grief thinking what my life would be like without him. I realized that I am no more ready for widowhood at 71 than I was at 56. 

To put everything back in proper perspective, I actually re-read the book I wrote which reminded me of the things that matter. Relying on God's promises, I pulled myself out of the pit much faster than I did in 2003. I refuse to let fear of the future ruin the present. We are moving forward with this next phase of the journey determined to live joyfully in the present. 

Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

Lessons Learned from Cancer

Living in the Moment

A few months ago, a dear friend died three weeks after a cancer diagnosis. The sudden, unexpected death reminded me that everything can change in the blink of an eye. 

Life is fleeting. When Jim was diagnosed with cancer, I thought I had thoroughly assimilated this fact and would never again take life and good health for granted. Yet, as years have passed and I've adjusted to the new normal, sudden death still catches me off guard. 

I have become so used to living with cancer that I sometimes forget to be grateful for each and every day God has given me.

All of us are living on borrowed time. God doesn't owe us anything. Every good thing we have is a gift from Him who loved us enough to give us life and, more importantly, to give us eternal life. Everything can be taken from us at any time–except our soul which is in His keeping, in the bank where, unlike our earthly treasures, it is protected from deflation, loss, and theft.

One of cancer's gifts is the realization of life's uncertainty and the resulting appreciation of each morning's sunrise. The trick is how to stay fully aware of life's brevity without becoming wary, watchful, and worried.

The answer is to stay in the moment, to abide in Him, and, as Brother Lawrence teaches, to "practice the presence of God." Awareness of our mortality allows us to engage fully in our present world. Understanding our immortality keeps us free from worry.

No one knows what tomorrow will bring, but when we are in Christ Jesus, 

"We do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all."  2 Corinthians: 4:16

Can Pessimism Kill You?

April 25, 2019

Jim was by nature an optimist, a gregarious extrovert--cheerful almost to excess. To him the world was a good place where "everything will turn out all right in the long run." Pessimists see the glass as half-empty; optimists see the glass as half-full; Jim saw the glass as overflowing. He never met a stranger, a trait which provides a nice balance for my more reticent, introverted personality. When entering a crowded room where I was expected to make small-talk, he was the man I wanted by my side.

Some experts disagree, but I am certain this positive attitude was a factor in his long term survival. Judging from the people I know, optimism seems to be a common personality trait among those who out-live their prognoses.

That emotions affect health is indisputable. Physiological responses have been scientifically measured proving a direct link to positive and negative feelings. But optimism is not in the strictest sense an emotion. How then can this attitude affect a physical outcome?

1.      Optimists tend to take better care of themselves because they expect to be around for a long while.

2.      Optimists have a healthy sense of control.

3.      Optimists have better interpersonal relationships.

4.      Optimists probably have larger social networks.

5.      Optimists make better patients because they believe following the doctor's plan will result in a positive outcome.

Let me make this perfectly clear. While I believe optimism had a positive impact on Jim's long term survival, I do not believe we can directly control cancer with our thoughts--an idea which puts undue guilt on the already overburdened patient--and his caregiver. "The incessant pressure to be positive imposes an enormous burden on patients whose course of treatment doesn't go as planned."  I know I have grappled with the thought that my lack of faith might somehow contribute to Jim's demise.

We like to think we can control the outcome of cancer by our thoughts--simply "think" it away. But the reality is: optimists AND pessimists die from cancer. "Cancer doesn't care if we're good or bad, virtuous or vicious, compassionate or inconsiderate" (Ibid). One thing though is certain: the journey is a heck of a lot more pleasant for the optimist.

But what if you are not wired for optimism? If you are not a Pollyanna by nature, should you throw in the towel? Are you doomed by a personality trait formed in utero, or, according to child development experts, during the first seven years of your life?

I bring good news. Optimism can be learned. A recent study at the University of Pennsylvania showed that a group of students, identified as pessimistic, who participated in a workshop on cognitive coping skills reported fewer adverse physical problems and took a more active role in maintaining their health than those in the control group (http://health.discovery.com/centers/mental/articles/optimism/optimism.html).

Although I am a great supporter of cognitive behavioral therapy, I doubt that any of you have the time or energy to devote to psychotherapy while you are battling for your lives. Take heart. Jesus, the great psychologist, knew that we human beings have the capacity to change our way of thinking. In Philippians, He gives us directions for rewiring.

"Summing it all up, friends, I'd say you'll do best by filling your minds and meditating on things true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious--the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not things to curse. Put into practice what you learned from me, what you heard and saw and realized. Do that, and God, who makes everything work together, will work you into his most excellent harmonies (Philippians 4:8, The Message).

If you are a cock-eyed optimist, good for you. If your glass needs filling, don't add to your guilt by blaming yourself for your cancer. The best you can do is to control the emotions which can and do affect physiology and follow God's instructions to modify your thought processes. Cancer might not go away, but with your rose-colored glasses, everything will look better.

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Managing Scanxiety

October 18, 2017

Pre-scan anxiety—does it ever get better?

After fifteen years of watching and waiting while my husband undergoes the alphabet soup of diagnostic procedures—EKGs, CBCs, CATs, MRIs, PETs, with a few 'oscopies thrown in for good measure, my answer to that question is: not better but different.

It doesn't take long for scanxiety to develop, but it sure takes a long time to go away. The first scans leading to a cancer diagnosis cause so much trauma, that every scan afterward evokes the same emotional and often physical response. Even a few clear scans aren't enough to extinguish the associations of the first.

Prior to Jim's first recurrence (five years post diagnosis), my greatest fear was the cancer coming back, because I knew that a metastasis portended a less likely cure, and thought  that a metastasis heralded the beginning of the end. 

Seven recurrences and eight years later, Jim is living proof that there can be life after metastasis, so I no longer fear recurrence or spread quite as much as I did. But that knowledge didn't eliminate the fear and anxiety. Anyone who has survived cancer treatment knows what a return of the cancer means. Every scan determines what your life will be like in the succeeding months—whether you will be tethered to an IV pole or free to live your life as you did before cancer.  

After eight recurrences, my fears are different—not as intense, and manifested in a different way. In years past, while waiting to hear the scan results, I fortified myself with xanax, a practice I no longer find necessary, since I have acquired some tools and tactics to manage my anxiety. You might find some of these helpful:

1. Prayer.  I have memorized scripture that I repeat when I awaken in the night or when waiting in hospital or doctors offices. (Cancer Journey: pp. 125-128)

2. Yoga. (I plan to discuss the benefits of this practice in upcoming blogs.)

3. Meditation. 

4. Medication.

5. Reading at bedtime--though not on an e-reader or iPad 

6. Mindless games like Candy Crush. (The Candy Crush Theme is to me a lullaby more soothing than Brahms.)  

With this upcoming scan, my fear is that we might hear the dreaded words: out of options. Or that if an option is available, Jim won't have the strength to tolerate the drug. Although the techniques I've listed above are helpful in my waking hours, I am not able to eradicate the anxiety dreams that interfere with my REM sleep. In the past week, rather than sailing off like Wynken, Blinken, and Nod on a river of crystal light, I have tossed and turned in bed while my mind takes a trip to places filled with land mines, where every step is fraught with danger. 

I would love to hear from you if you have suggestions on managing "scanxiety".