Good and Bad Days: We All Have Them

Matt. 13:48 (KJV) “Which, when it was full, they drew to shore, and sat down, and gathered the good into vessels, but cast the bad away.”

Good days and bad days: we all have them

I’m sure we all have our good days and bad days; we know they’re bad when things go wrong and we see them as good when everything falls into place like a row of dominoes. While yes, I admittedly suffer from PTSD, I myself see more good days than bad and to me, they are all positive steps toward my healing. 

Jer. 29:11 (NIV) “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

As home slowly becomes more familiar to me, I feel the healing in the core of my being. The first few weeks though, of being home, felt like an unending carousel ride. That very first Monday I was Mrs. Popular in that everyone wanted a piece of me. I had calls from the home health nurse, the physical therapist, my oncologist office and the Cancer Center’s radiation office. Emails were sounding in from my mother in law wanting to come see me, sister in law auntie and uncle, everyone wanted a piece of this broken woman and how do I tell them all to just SHUT UP in a polite manner? 

My first Monday morning was an assertion day, I was going to take hold of my surroundings, my activities, and my appointments. I was not going to be TOLD to come here, or do this or do that, I would tell THEM what I was willing to do! I was going to take back what I lost!

First up, the home health nurse, Mandy, the woman I had only met on that day I was exiting in an ambulance, yes, she could come. Physical therapist, yes she was allowed. The oncologist? I’ll see you sometime next week. The radiation nurse, I asked if it could be put off for a week as I regained my bearings now that I was home. They were fine with that, setting me up the following week for my two (week) five-day sessions. Ten treatments in all to the healing left femur.

The emails were more targeted to my husband than me because it hurt to type on my laptop. I didn’t have a bend and stretch out mobility, I had a stiff-as-a-board-lay-there-and-be- good, semblance. Computer stuff would have to wait for a spell. I’d send out a 'hey' to friends and let them know I was still alive and as I knew they would be, they were more than understanding and just happy to know I was home. 

Monday was going along smoothly except for me missing my husband who had to go to work with worry on his mind trying to remember if I was set up well enough to be alone. Since we fibbed a little to get me home, I assured him I would be fine, and I was. As scary as the surroundings were, I was HOME and that was good enough for me! 

Now keep in mind, I had not bathed in twenty days. A wipe-down at the hospital but not a thing at the nursing home! Not a wipe, not a rag, nothing! I even used my own kleenex when I had to do my business. So when my mother-in-law wanted to bring his uncle to the house because he’d be ‘in town’, I had to say no way! I was not up to ‘visitors’, I needed to HEAL. I needed time! It all felt so rushed and the kaleidoscope began with its pretty colors and I was getting dizzy.

She said she understood but could her friend from church bring out food? I think she mentioned cookies or something. I told hubby to gently say, NEXT WEEK! Dang. I loved that everyone was so concerned, but I felt like the people who just lost a family member and friends would clamor to come over and bring food at the most inopportune time. Not to be rude but please send love, condolences and give them some space and time. Not a month, just breathing room. Please, don't turn this into how you lost someone and loved those people doing that for you. I appreciated EVERY bit of stirring also. I was suffocating and I needed to BREATHE! 

All appointments set, I slept. I slept and slept some more. Now it was time to move onto healing. The home health nurse brought me a hair-washing cap. You place it on your head, rub your fingers intensely and voila, your hair is water-free washed. It worked marvelously! She supplied an ample amount of body-wipes, and hubby he produced a bucket of water and a rag where I felt refreshing water on my face for the first time in twenty some days! Moving right along. 

I did have the nurse in tears, not bawling because they need to maintain distance and composure in their job, but her eyes were brimming at the sad painful story I’d tell. I had to get it off my chest so each person, professional or family, my story spilled into their ears and leaked from their eyes. They were shocked, then amazed at the strength I carried. I made it perfectly clear it surely was not me, it was God that they saw IN me! 

My healing was nothing short of astonishing to all who were witness to me. The radiation nurses saw me go from gurney to wheelchair within a week. From assisting me onto the slab to minimal help to no help needed at all. This was happening in a ten day period of time! 

My oncologist even showed signs of wonderment at my speedy recovery time. Not only my Oral Chemo and blood cell count healing time but my physical mobility healing time. All were displaying awe and wonder and were quite vocal in letting me know that this was nothing short of amazing. Doctor’s will not touch the ‘miracle’ label, but here I was, in their face, a living breathing healing miracle!

So as I have good days and bad days, it is all a part of the intricate veins of healing. People sometimes think healing happens in the blink of an eye but they need to know and understand how to appreciate the time and effort that goes into producing a work of wonder. Noah’s Ark wasn’t built in a day, the great Pyramids didn’t appear out of thin air and Jesus Himself took nine months to make a physical show. One step at a time is truly meant to be one breath at a time, and it is never our time, it is always His time. 

All praise and Glory to God! AMEN! 

Ecc. 3:11 (NIV) “He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.”

Settling In...PTSD

1 Sam. 10:26  "And Saul also went home to Gibeah; and there went with him a band of men, whose hearts God had touched."

Settling in...PTSD

Settling into my home was not as easy a task as you’d imagine. Happy-go-lucky Joni was a shell of a being. The nurses had noticed in the hospital and nursing home, and they didn’t even know me, the physical therapists saw it, and my family just assumed I was sad. No, the trauma I had experienced was a little more than depression or sadness, it had all the earmarks of PTSD.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is not a light analogy of depression or sadness, it is a severe trauma that is triggered ever so lightly by sounds, pictures, faces, or names. It is a fear so intense that not even the Light of God Himself standing beside you can wash away, it is THAT severe. People who don’t have PTSD will never comprehend the magnitude of pain a person suffers through.

Last year is almost a complete blank to me, except for the trauma. Have you ever opened an MS page and saw a blank screen staring you straight in the eye and you felt a trembling panic for a few seconds not knowing what you were there to write? Every morning I open my eyes a blank page lay before me; what I put on that page shapes my day physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. What people say or do become triggers like a bullet waiting to be tapped and released from the barrel, words can shoot a person down. Without even knowing the triggers, friends, and family set off a ticking time bomb inside the psyche of a person suffering from PTSD. Anger, fear, frustration, guilt, and shame all become an open floodgate in the way of tears streaming down my face at any given time. At home, the doctor's office, the physical therapist office, or even in the food store, tears unleash without warning.

When my home health nurse noticed my PTSD along with my physical therapist, I was put in touch right away with a counselor. While I liked Dee, she was more about telling me her story than hearing mine. It was fine because that is the kind of front I put up, I’ll help you, you can’t help me; it’s an unbreakable barrier. I basically thanked her for listening and sent her on her way as I cringed inside. I was broken.

I could see the pieces of myself scattered on the floor. I wanted ever so much to take a whisk broom and scoop the particles onto a dustpan and toss them in the trash but I was immobile, disabled. There was no scooping going on any time soon. I would sit in the silence of the house, meditate in the quiet of aloneness, and pray to the only God I know and worship. Only He could get me through this, in time. HIS TIME, not my time. Here we go again.

Settling into my new surroundings would have me fearful of nightfall. Sounds would ricochet off the walls while shadows would pirouette. You would think that home was familiar surroundings but to me, I felt as if I was an orphan dumped off to this house with a family I didn’t recognize.

As the fragments of my life lie on the floor, images of last year shine like a mirror swaying in the sun, blinding me as I see good and bad portions flailing about. This trauma was not a phase I was going to laugh my way out of as if nothing bothers me. Each step I take would be like tiptoeing in a minefield, a trigger to tears or to laughter, to pain or to joy. I don’t have a choice in the matter, I just tread lightly and make every day a new day, every step a step toward healing.

God's time is not my time as I stroll along the healing path. I’ll endure the steps I needed to take to get me to the healing sea where I will eventually take a luxury dip and swim like a fish in open waters. Right now I’m still in an saltwater aquarium awaiting release in the open sea. God tells me ‘patience’, ‘faith’, and most of all ‘TRUST’, and in Him is where I’ll find my healing. The Joni I remember is still there in the windowed world… it's just going to take some patience, faith, and trust to find her again.

Lam.3:23 "They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness."

Rehab Story Continues: Mistakes Happen

Pss. 112:4 “Unto the upright there ariseth light in the darkness: he is gracious, and full of compassion, and righteous.”

Rehab Story Continues: Accidents Happen

As I said in the last post, my chemo meds never arrived after my hubby waited all day for them. After visiting me on Friday, he went home and placed a call to the online pharmacy where we get the chemo meds from. Turns out, the order was NEVER PLACED by my doctor’s office. So he went ahead and placed the order, they would now not arrive until the following Wednesday. Go ahead, you’re allowed to let your jaw drop. If me taking this Oral Chemo is so important, what on earth happened with the ordering? I don’t even think my doctor's office gave us an explanation. Hey, accidents happen, right?

Anyway, here we are on Saturday. My son would come before three if he had a 3-11pm. shift,  six o'clock after Steven left if he had an 11-7am. shift. Now with my son in his new apartment, he was closer to the hospital by about twenty minutes. His place was safely tucked right up the road from the Home, and a good thing because when hubby locked his keys in the car, my son still had a spare key from when he drove my car, to be able to just run the key up to the Home.

I thought Saturday would be a rest day in the Home, but no, the Phys. Therapist arrived about eight o'clock (before breakfast) to assist me in my fifteen minutes of physical therapy. Yes, you read that right, fifteen minutes of PT. I took it upon myself both at the Hospital and the Home to do PT throughout my day on my own. I was determined to make it to that commode without assistance! Back home, when my brother injured his hip his PT therapy sessions were well over an hour, he told my mother. Not for me, I get fifteen minutes. 

My son came and went for a visit by three, and hubby arrived for his visit after he got off of work. He works right up the road too, so no sense in going home, out of the way, when we had such short visiting time. I told him how my meds were never on time and asked if he could bring me some from home. Pain is pain as everyone knows and we NEED something to relieve the gnawing grip. If the Home wouldn’t supply, then my meds from my home would!

This would be my first weekend here and already I’ve seen differences. Well, the obvious is that the Administration nurses were off for the weekend and the young aides were left to fend for themselves. This home had a North and South wing, around thirty residents to each wing, two aides to each wing. It was under construction so the rooms were doubled up with patients, meaning four to use one bathroom, if they were able. They still needed a nurse to assist no matter what.

The cries in the hallway were deafening, the lady across from us kept yelling, “Can someone help me to the bathroom?” What seemed like forever the woman kept being told, “In a minute.” Then there were the televisions blaring, the visitors who thought it would be a good idea to bring their six-year-old to a nursing home, not knowing if it would traumatize them for life! Then the elderly men playing some kind of video games where beeps and whirs echoed.

Ray was in her wheelchair when she called for the nurse to get her into bed. It was about seven o'clock. The aide came in and told her, “Ray I’ll be with you in a minute, we have a situation out here. We’ll get to you as soon as we can.”  I saw no use in telling them that I needed to pee because I know I’d get the same thing. We’d sit and wait. We talked. I tried keeping the conversation light but Ray unleashed some bitter traumatic stuff from her past. I listened. Then she grew angry as her pain was heightening from being in the chair for too long. She pushed the button again, eight o’clock and ticking, the aide popped in with the same words but added, “Please be patient, there is only TWO of us on duty for North AND South, and lights are lit all over the place. Bert fell out of his chair and we have urine all running down the hall, it’s a mess out here, literally.” You could hear the pill cart being wheeled down the hall amid all of the commotion going on. She closed the door and left.

Nine o’clock came and here we were both still needing a tending to, Ray still in her wheelchair, in pain and I in my bed helpless against helping. Ray was now crying, and I too was silently allowing tears to stream down my cheeks. “Ray,” I cried out, “I am not going to sleep until they take care of you.” She sniffled and said, “You don’t haft ta do that. You’re tired too.”

“It’s okay Ray. I’m okay. I want you to be okay!” It was the best I could offer seeing I’m as bedridden as her, except she was left in her chair.

“I’m thore,” she cried. Her lisp could sound so endearing at times. It broke my heart. “We’re frendth aren’t we?” 

“Yes, Ray, we’re friends.”

A smell started permeating the room and I said nothing but knew, Ray had gone to the bathroom in her diaper. I could hear her mumbling under her breath how she had *expletive* herself and wanted to be transferred to another facility and how she paid to be in this place and they are PAID to take care of her.

She hit the call button again, it now being nine-thirty. “We’re almost there Ray,” a head popped in to say, “just a couple more minutes.” and the door closed. Ray was now sobbing loud and I tried so hard to comfort her but I myself needed comfort at this time.

This was hell. This is what the hellfires felt like surrounding you and you clawing to get out into some fresh air but you’re smothering, suffocating from lack of oxygen. You could feel your limbs going numb, sweat now pouring from your forehead. The screams now constant whispers as the echoes were in your head, tapping you on the shoulder mocking you and laughing saying, ‘I’m still here.’ 

The door swung open and a loud sigh came from Laura, the oxygen was leaking in, slowly, it was now ten-fifteen. “We’re so sorry,” I allowed her words of explanation to drift off as they finally tended to Ray. She needed two nurses too since she had to be placed in bed with a lift. She had sat in her feces almost two hours and she was extremely sore by this time.

One nurse came to the other side of the curtain to tend to me and I sat with my gait belt in place ready to be lifted. Only one nurse was tending to me, I said nothing when she appeared with no gloves or gown and she proceeded to lift me. I twinged in pain, “Easy please, my hip, it’s still sore from my recent surgery.” With some assistance from me, she lifted me to standing, I tightly grabbed my walker, as she let go of the belt. I said, “Oh no, please, you have to hold the belt until I’m seated, this is how my femur was broken in the first place.”  

I whispered as tears were now rimming my eyes, “Please, please be gentle with me.” She took hold of the belt and as I was almost seated, she let go. I almost plopped onto the seat but my strength and my prayer placed me gently on the commode. She just stood there, waiting for me to pee. A watched clock never runs, but my floodgates opened from holding it in for hours!  

I had my own Kleenex because they offered me nothing. I was ready to be placed back in bed. Again, amazon woman lifted frail 88-pounder me by the gait-belt, I pivoted and sat on the edge of the bed, I told her I could make it from here, I was good, go finish up with Ray.

Ray kept telling them that I ‘Thtayed awake for her’  and that I wath her real fren. I smiled my tears away and lifted my legs onto the bed. The nurses bid us a good night and wouldn’t you know it, the meds from the charge nurse finally arrived. With meds down the hatch, we both let out a sigh of relief.

“We made it, Ray.”

“We did, didn’t we! You thtayed awake for me. Thank you!”

“Not a problem Ray, we’re friends.”

"That’th right, we are. Okay, goodnight.” She was out like a light before I even got settled into bed.

I had been texting my husband the entire time we waited for the nurses/aides/whatever. He was calling left and right to the front office, he as helpless as I was. “Goodnight, Ray,” I whispered as I shut off my little nightlight.

Matt. 14:14 “And Jesus went forth, and saw a great multitude, and was moved with compassion toward them, and he healed their sick.”

Nursing Home Saga Continues

2 Samuel 7:22 (NIV) "How great you are, O Sovereign LORD! There is no one like you, and there is no God but you."

The Saga Continues

The first night at the Home didn’t go too bad but morning came and I was aroused by the lights on Ray’s side being swung into motion. Ray had to be up and dressed because she went for dialysis three days a week. It took a lot out of her physically. She’d be gone until noon at which time she’d arrive back at the Home to eat lunch. Some of the time she would eat in the room because apparently, her trip took too much out of her to be social. She was placed in her recliner and left to eat.

By five in the morning I was awake and most of the time I asked if I could be helped onto the commode. “Sure Joni, just give us a minute.” I was trying to memorize the voices that would be helping me, this day it was Laura. The minute usually took more than twenty to come back for me. I was hungry and wouldn’t eat until nine. A small cup of water sat on my table and I’d take small sips. If I asked for them to refill the cup I brought from the hospital, it would take every bit of thirty-five minutes for it to be returned like it did the day before on my arrival. I was hesitant. And no, I was not on any restrictions of food and water.

I wanted to turn my television on a couple of times but wouldn’t you know it, the previous aid sat the ‘gait belt’ on the stand right in front of the television beam needed for the remote to connect and it would not turn on. I would just sit there, looking around, alone in my thoughts. The curtains were still drawn in the mornings and I awaited the sunrise. My meds would arrive about eight o’clock to eight-thirty and I asked the nurse that day, Bird lady, if she could kindly help me to the commode, the other nurse at six o’clock had not returned. “Well let me get you your meds first.” This nurse was one of the sweet attentive nurses and also in charge of the other nurses, the Charge Nurse. With gloves on, she handed me all of my pills in one cup. My chemo pills were supposed to be taken at different times, like before I ate (which one of them was on time) but the other was supposed to be thirty-minutes AFTER I ate. I was still hungry, no food tray in sight, except the empty one from dinner the night before, and still waiting to urinate. She offered me three packs of crackers to hold me off and often offered me an Ensure drink. 

I wasn’t getting a good feel of the place even after one full day in the confines of the home. At around 9:45 I was scheduled for my radiation; that meant I had to get dressed. The physical therapists came in before eight (way before breakfast) to see what I could physically do. The one PT was very robotic. I would try to make her laugh and she would just deadpan stare at me as if to say, ‘really? I’m trying to work here!’ While the occupational therapist, Kay, was perky and friendly and loved to laugh with me. Our laughter I know could be heard echoing down the hall. When I cried, she listened, she’d hand me the box of kleenex, and it was very comforting having someone in my room to communicate with.

I couldn’t do much like get dressed, heck I hadn’t showered in twelve days and have only been sponge bathed a couple of times at the hospital. My hair was a mangled mess, and what make-up was still left on my eyes ran down my face and I was hesitant to even look in the mirror. I would go to the radiation treatment in my t-shirt and flannel, nothing else but a blanket to cover me because the days were starting to get chilly.

I could only pivot so far on my right foot with the aid of the gait belt so I didn’t fall. The cold radiation slab wanted to break my back but the nurses were very accommodating and brought pillows, a cushion with a sheet, and warmed sheets to cover me. They didn’t treat me like a toxic zombie. They treated me like a patient. They were impressed with my progress since the first round of radiation, where I was brought in on a gurney. They said I was nothing short of a miracle when I appeared in the wheelchair, stood and pivoted. They had seen the x-rays of my break and were surprised I was at the pivoting stage already. My determination to go home kept me pushing forward but never overdoing the exercises I needed to set me free.

After the session was over my husband and I usually rolled down and sat at the window with the beautiful fountain surrounded by a lush garden and benches. There were pumpkins decorating the garden for either fall or Halloween. I lost track of time. We would then wait for the bus driver to return to take us back to the home.

The weather was damp, dreary and chilly most days, at the hospital, I was wheeled by gurney to the CC. At the Home, the community Ryde (bus) bus driver would come to my room and pick me up, unless a nurse rolled me to the sitting room. I was then taken to the Cancer Center. The driver would then come back and pick me up to take me back to the home. Any time I was not alone was a cherished moment for me. Anxiety had built for the Nursing Home very quickly. I would kid with the bus driver and ask him if he wanted to break me out of this place. He’d laugh as we slowly approached the Home. He would take me back to my room if my husband wasn’t there, otherwise hubby would wheel me back to the cubbyhole of a corner in room twelve. Let me state now, the other rooms were EVENLY divided between tenants. With doors open, I could clearly see in each room I passed as envy filled my empty gut.

As I said, to lighten my time in the places I deemed a hellhole, only because it wasn’t home, I used laughter to muddle through. One time being transported on a gurney to the CC I was wheeled to the first floor, past a gift shop, past a Subway (what torture!) and then past a waiting room then out the door into the swift breeze and the only-for-me sunshine. The CC was right next door to the hospital, too close for ambulatory service. I told the guys wheeling me, as I was covered in a white sheet, looking like a dead body being transported, that I would put the sheet over my head, then when I get to the waiting room, I’d jump up, screaming. The one technician laughed so hard he almost stumbled, the other one just shook his head. These guys, as well as anyone who came in contact with me, were getting to know me and my infectious sense of humor. Laughter and optimism kept me ALIVE!

The days were passing by as slow as extra thick maple syrup could be poured from a bottle. Granted the days were full from five a.m until we turned our lights out at 8:30 as we slept until something in the night called us to awaken.

Pss. 130:5  “I wait for the LORD, my soul doth wait, and in his word do I hope.”

My Story Continues: The Nursing Home

Pss. 136:1 "O give thanks unto the Lord; for he is good: for his mercy endureth for ever."

The day came where it was time for me to be transported to the Nursing Home/Rehab center, I cried for more than one reason, I was losing all the familiarity I had for ten days, the closeness of the nurses and physical therapists was something I hadn’t expected. I think that was the reason they changed nurses every single day. The rotation of nurses didn’t allow for intimacy to grow between patient and nurses/physical therapist etcetera.

The Tuesday morning came when I’d await the arrival of my ride to the nursing home. No gurney was necessary because I was now semi-mobile in a wheelchair and I was commode mode so setting me loose was what my insurance called for. My husband and son were not allotted the time to look around at rehab places because conveniently a room had opened up for one woman, at St. John’s, I would be the one woman that the insurance insisted I take. 

Sadness, anxiety, and fear had all crept into my being as I was loaded on the van lift and taken to the nursing home/rehab across from the hospital I had called home for ten days. Gone were the days of very regular delicious meals that arrived between six and seven a.m., twelve and one p.m., and the dinner at five to six. Water refreshed and medication, always on time. The hospital was now a thing of yesterday.

My husband and I were escorted to the entry hall of the Home. A nice carpeted room with overstuffed chairs lining the walls, a fake fireplace was the central focal point and it looked cozy enough at a glance. We were met by a small older-than-me woman with tight curly blonde hair and a nurses uniform hugging her petite body.

“Welcome, Joni, let me get your vitals and we’ll wheel you down to your room.” 

I sat silently gazing off into space wondering just where it was I was being left. The vitals were fine and off we went, down a crowded hallway with patients lined up against one wall and equipment lined on the other wall. The patients looked helpless, hopeless and immobile, looking at me as if I was an alien that landed smack dab in their territory. 

I’ve been in nursing homes before so I knew kind of what to expect, but I honestly thought that there was a rehab wing that separates the long-term patients from us short-term patients that were just here for rehab. This was not the case. You’re not in Baltimore anymore, Joni. Back home my grandmother was placed in a similar facility but the long term/ short term patients were not together. The nurse I’ll call Bird because to me she resembled Big Bird but much smaller, she was the one who was in charge of the nurses on staff, her office was where we came in the door at and she met us there. 

I was wheeled down the hall as Bird explained that they were building a new wing to the home and for now the patients were being doubled up in rooms until construction is completed. Lucky me. Room number twelve is where we paused and she announced it as my room. Outside the door had a name and the picture of the tenant and below her was my name with no picture, just the note on the wall CHEMO PATIENT! Chemo protocols necessary. Gait belt needed.

I was wheeled into a tightly packed room of the current tenant. The room was about twelve by twenty-four, and I was wheeled back to the window where my bed was set and a side table all in about six feet of space. A commode was sitting against the wall where there was a bureau with a television on it. The home did not reek of the normal nursing home odors, for now anyway, so that was a plus.

My husband looked at me with pain in his eyes. He was horrified of the place where he had to leave me, where we had no options. This is the place where Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, also known as PTSD would set in. There were two metal chairs in the corner and I thought, at least I can have two visitors. I was already traumatized by the whole broken femur and surgery, now this. The story continues.

My husband went to work in getting my flowers from his truck to place in the window for me and to bring me my blanket that the church ladies made for me, he wanted it to feel as nice as the hospital environment but knew full well, this was not the environment neither of us envisioned. The comforter that currently covered the bed looked old and wrinkled and the sheets had a clean but well-worn look also, but I wasn’t here for sheets and blankets, let’s move on. 

“Will you be dining in the cafeteria this evening with the others?” Bird lady asked.

“No, not tonight, thank you.”

She went on, “Dinner is served at six in the cafeteria, and if you eat ‘in-room’, you have to wait until the others are back in their rooms. About seven your meal should arrive.” She was looking at her clipboard, “I’ll let you get acquainted and come back.”

Eyes filled with brimming tears I whispered, “Thank you.” My date with hell was beginning.

My son entered the room. He was finagling his time between work, moving into his new place, and visiting me often at the hospital. Husband and son were both trying to get back to a routine of working and visiting me after work. My husbands only problem was that he needed to be home before dark since he cannot see at night to drive. My son would stay until seven maybe, if he could, then it was me, all alone in what felt like an asylum. 

My husband ran off to the store and came back with a new quilt for the bed. He was not leaving me in that mess. Both husband and son went to work to make the place comfortable for me as evening was drawing near. My commode was set next to my bed on the left in a tight space with the curtain of the other tenant pressed against it. On the right of my bed sat a nightstand and the wheeled tray? That barely fit in front of the nightstand. 

I was still basically immobile, I could not bend my leg and the pain was still evident with each move. I did wonder how well I would be taken care of here. The tears...puddled the floor only to be dried by the sheet hanging down off of my bed. 

The night was closing in and the goodbyes were the hardest thing any of us have ever been through in our lives together. I would be alone. Alone in the dark, only sounds of the echoing hallways would be heard and all that the hallways held in them. I would be strong for my two guys. I would be out of here in no time. Right? I have to be.

the story continues...

"My heart is steadfast, O God, my heart is steadfast! I will sing and make melody!” Psalm 57:7 (ESV)

It's Hard...

Pss. 63:8 “My soul followeth hard after thee: thy right hand upholdeth me.” 

It’s Hard…

As you know I haven’t written in awhile and many of my friends might be wondering how I’m doing. A meme on Facebook wishing you a good day doesn’t tell you, a meme exclaiming all is right with the world is not a picture in my window that all is well and a meme certainly can’t carry the pain I have on a daily basis. 

I’ve stopped complaining about the cold, wind and snow that left the trees bare right up until this week when we did a leap into summer, no spring, right into summer. We were in the thirties and forties two weeks ago, then bam the eighties. That is not a complaint by any means but it kind of throws you into the unpreparedness of the seasons.

All I have in my wardrobe is turtlenecks and fuzzy socks and they don’t bode well for eighty-degree heat. I have pants that don’t fit, shirts that drape me, and pains that won’t leave me. At one hundred pounds even my size six jeans is too big so now I don’t even have shorts for the summer. I have tennis shoes and sandals but I prefer wearing clothes as to not scare anyone from looking at this skeleton of a body. 

I’m slowly changing up my protocol, I’ve gone gluten-free so I can eat food, but nothing seems to be working these days, and I think my PH is so wonkey, that it is keeping me in the disabled column. The extremely cold horrendous snowy winter was not a friend to my illness in any way.

Then there is the grass that finally turned green and with days on end of clouds and some rain, the grass began rapidly springing up like a time-lapse show of growth. Then there was the thought of mowing; that was my summertime pleasure. I knew in this condition, my summer would be spent in the house and no pushing the lawn mower from one row of overgrown grass to the next. I more than likely would just be sitting at the window watching it grow as the world outside the window went on around me.

Yes, I do have a husband and a son who are more than capable of mowing but my son works about forty-five hours a week and my husband’s schedule has changed to five days a week. Granted he only works five hours a day but no one feels like coming home, after being on your feet for hours on end, to mow the lawn now, do they?

I had been asking for a riding mower for the nine years that we’ve lived here but it was just not feasible on a part-time salary and only one person working. It was on my bucket list of things to do before I die, own a riding mower. Yeah, that’s sad, mowing makes me that happy. 

When we first moved here the owner had a really nice riding mower and I took care of all three properties for four hours a day. Each week a new set of growth sprung up keeping me happy and busy until the belt broke, and the owner never got the machine fixed. He didn’t care; he’s a millionaire and doesn’t have to look at the three-foot-high grass. Hubby’s mom gave us an old faithful rusted up push mower that lasted until a few years ago when it finally went kaput! Even then we’d thought of a riding mower but illnesses kept it out of the budget. A newer push mower was affordable, somewhat.

Now this year I’m faced with an illness that should’ve kept the option of a riding mower out of the equation but I can smell my husband’s fear. It's hard; he’s trying so hard to be supportive and he even tried giving up sugar and cigarettes for me but fear won out. Not everyone is as strong as I am and I totally understand where he is coming from. I think everyone has some small measure of fear in the back of their minds that this just isn’t going to work. No one has DARED voiced those sentiments but instinctively I sense the emotions.

On Thursday, the third of May, he let me know he was stopping by Walmart for a hitch for his truck (I thought he already had one). I assumed the hitch was for a trailer so he could take his mother a bench he made for her for Mother’s Day. When he got home and I prodded him for information he announced he needed to find a trailer for a riding lawn mower he was purchasing. I cried. Tears of joy leaked down my cheek and a faucet full of tears came streaming down. 

I told him, “Don’t you dare tease me!” He assured me he wasn’t. I asked if he could get it delivered and he announced that they wanted $250 for delivery. He called around asking if anyone had a trailer, his brothers' trailer had bad tires. I was calling around asking to borrow money but to no avail, maybe the rider wasn’t in the cards. 

Friday morning came and when the small trailer his brother-in-law had was just that, too small, he decided to go rent one. Not realizing how cheap the rental was, after a lot of running around from store to store, he finally arrived at Walmart to pick up the floor model riding lawn mower to deliver to my waiting heart.

When he pulled up with the mower I couldn’t stop the tears. I was visualizing the many hours of enjoyment on the mower and how my husband went above and beyond to see me happy even by going in debt to own this machine that was now lighting my face with tears of happiness.

After about twenty minutes of the how-to’s, I was well on my way to mowing my lawn! He took the trailer back and left me alone with my new friend, Murray the mower; not a John Deere, or a Craftsman but Murray was MINE, all mine!!!!

When he returned home half of my lawn was already mowed. It’s a big lawn and I had to save myself some to cut the next day. I parked the mower right outside my window so I could wake the next day and see that it all wasn’t just a dream.

While walking and maneuvering might be hard this summer, mowing my lawn will NOT be a problem for any of us. Life is hard all around, not just for me, for everyone. My petty annoyances are nothing to what some other people have to go through. I am blessed to be alive, I cherish every moment I get, and I’m most thankful for a husband who loves me more than the sun shines, the earth spins and flowers bloom! (But no, not more than pork chops)

Be blessed and be grateful! God created it and it was good!

And I Wait...

Pss. 59:9 “Because of his strength will I wait upon thee: for God is my defence.”

And I wait…

I don’t know what to think and I really don’t want opinions of what I should do. These past two weeks I’ve had a setback. I mentioned it before with all that’s happened and I feel the setback was the wheat bread and the eating of the toxic grains.

I’ve eaten all these wonderful foods all of my life and never in a million years would I imagine something so good for you could be one of the elements causing this disease in me. I’m not even fifty-five years young and already I’m being affected by the strong-arm of an illness that has laid its hands on me, gripping me, expecting me to ‘submit’. I can’t do it. I won’t give up on God like others have done, I just won’t!

I hear people say they care about me but in all honesty, I don’t feel it. How can months (sometimes years) go by and people say ‘I care about you’ and nothing more? How is that caring? You thought about me? Because you think about me and my suffering, that’s caring? I just don’t get it. 

I’m trying to be okay with people passively thinking about me when it’s convenient for them. I’m trying to understand why I sit alone crying my eyes out and no one to listen to me or hug me and say it will all be all right. Just a comforting hug could go a long way in my isolated world.

I notice people give up too easy too. If they’re trying to lose weight, and it doesn’t happen instantaneously they give up. If they pray, and the prayer goes unanswered they give up on God for not being quick with a response. I’ve seen people give up on God who has received miracles, then just gave up with all that hokey stuff and lived life for themselves now that the miracle is over; enough time has passed, they should be safe, right? I guess so, if that is what you believe.

I myself feel I received a miracle of the regaining of my walking ability. For a couple of years the pain was so bad I was relinquished to using a cane and allowed onlookers to pity me with their eyes. People don’t realize their eyes are like speakers when sizing people up the volume is set to high and the bass is felt loud and clear from the person you draw eye contact from. I don’t need the eye contact to feel the faces of pity looking at me.

Since my diagnosis, I’ve come a long way in regaining my strength and the ability to walk, so much so I proudly traipsed around feeling invincible. No one is invincible; a few slices of bread and overconfidence will knock you on your butt and take it all away with one night of sleep. Let me tell you if you don’t have those backup supporters who say, ‘they care about you’ the fall hurts even more.

I’m a mess this week. I had a bad day that led to a couple more bad days and now I try to pick myself up from the rubble I’ve left strewn about the place. I’ve needed a good strong physical hug but even that is scarce because my pain is so bad, it hurts to have a hug. I’m straining to see the light at the end of the tunnel that I know is there. When the pain is so overwhelming it is hard to see or hear anything.

I love the fact that people turn to me for strength, direction, assistance, aid in helping them but in times of my hurting, those tasks are impossible so I shy away from the very venue of that portion of love I receive. I’m hurting, how can I help someone when I’m in the throes of a setback and no one can visually see how bad my days are, again because ‘they care’ but not enough to consider I might be having a hard time or bad day myself.

I want to gently show my friends that while I’m having this hard time, I still can see the light way off at the end of the tunnel. My tears stream, my pain unbearable, my cries to the Lord louder than ever and the echo, the echo of my voice is haunting. In the days of these struggles, the scripture that stands out to me is from Isaiah 40:31

 “But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.”

I have a birthday coming up and I’m not even looking forward to the day. It’s just another day. That’s what people say when they get older, y’know? A good thing my son, who is young, says it now so he has no false illusions about the world around him. It’s just another day. I should get a plaque stating that and hang it on the wall! 

Along with my setback comes grumpiness, bitterness, and downright insensitivity. This is the point where I’m supposed ‘to think’ but I don’t. I put no rein on my thoughts or insensitive blurts. I fail. I don’t think of others and how they might be feeling when I boast of my weight loss when they can’t lose a pound to save their life, or my lack of pain when there’s has them bound to drug relief, or my rejoicing in how great I’m doing walking with a bounce in my step and light in my life. Maybe they want to hear the hard-grained steps I have to bear to wake up each day in the light of optimism. Maybe they long to hear of a setback so they can say ‘aha, I knew you should’ve gone another route’. I’m on the edge about to fall over the cliff and can’t find the upbeat rhythm of words they need to hear to get through their bad day. So there, I’m having a momentary lapse.

I have a loving relationship with God and I know we’ll get through this band of pain together. I wonder sometimes if people think that God has a special light set to shine just on my face but let me tell you, God’s love has no perimeter, His love for us is as personal as any loving relationship we’ll ever have in life. He has no preferential treatment for just me. He loves us all the same. Do we all love Him the same? I don’t know. I think we all try but we all have that period of ‘now we wait’, how each of us handles this period of patience is most definitely different! 

1 John 4:13 “Hereby know we that we dwell in him, and he in us, because he hath given us of his Spirit.”

I Had A Bad Day...

Job 7:14 “Then thou scarest me with dreams, and terrifiest me through visions:”

I had a bad day

When a nightmare wakes me throughout the night, this title should really be, I had a bad night. The other day I woke early in the morning not my usual chipper self. I woke in tears and tears defined the greater part of my day. I guess I'm allowed a bad day/night on occasion. Glad they're not frequent.

We usually wake and go shopping, but this day I woke grumpy with two inches of snow on the ground and heavy stuff still falling from the sky. This winter has been a temperature roller coaster ride as well as the ups and downs of emotions. Normally I have my emotions in check but here lately everything is triggering a reaction in me.

My nightmare began with a doctor visit located in a hospital room not much different than the room I was in last year when I received my diagnosis before being forced into test after detrimental test. 

In my nightmare the nurse squeaked into the room, tearing off linens on the bed across from me. She was running off in the mouth. I asked her what she was doing and she quickly spits out, “We’re prepping you for surgery. That breast is nasty looking and the doctor needs to remove it, or you’re gonna die, gonna die, gonna die.” The sound was echoing over and over.

“Wait, I’m not going to have surgery. I have a choice!” My voice didn’t echo like hers, it sounded more like a soft whisper.  

“But if you’re gonna die, gonna die, gonna die,” my husbands says with the echo now in his voice. His face was really close to mine as the echo made his face look like the wicked House of Mirrors.

“I am NOT having surgery,” I screamed that one pretty loud but still no one could hear me. It was like my lips were moving but everything went on, movements in the room heads nodding in disagreement as if I wasn’t there. I was seriously expecting Pennywise from the King book ‘It’ to just pop out and start cackling but instead…

“But you’re gonna die, gonna die, gonna die! It looks nasty, nasty, nasty,” the nurse cackled with an eerie looking grin.

You get the gist of the nightmare. Fear, laughing, taunting all in line before I forced the blankets off of me and battled the cold reality of the morning. Tears still streaming down my face, when my husband said something to me, I snapped at him. That is so unlike me! I said, “I just had a terrible nightmare, please don’t do this to me today!”

He shrugged and mimicked me until I looked at him with wet eyes and started bawling my eyes out. He realized it really had to be a bad dream for me to wake in tears.

He went on with his routine to start his day; I could see his mind wandering. He ventured outside to start his truck and brush away the snow on there from the windblown covering that blanketed his truck; only a total whiteout hindered any chance of venturing off to the store at this time. I was adamant about not going with him and carrying this negative crud through the store. My son was at work and heading home in the whiteout at this very time, so that added to my stress of the early morning.

When my son arrived home, he could see I had been crying, “What’s the matter?” 

“A nightmare! I had a bad nightmare!” I know I was snappy in my reply.

“It was just a bad dream,” he says downplaying my pain. He was just returning from an eight-hour overnight shift, drove through whiteout conditions and here I was snapping at him. 

There it was, the truth of the matter, everyone is so used to seeing me as the pillar of strength that when I’m in a serious bit of stressful turmoil they don’t recognize it; they downplay my pain and shrug it off. She’ll get over it, they figure to themselves. I couldn’t get over this, not quickly anyway.

I carried throughout the day a heavy chip on my shoulder and an old time movie projector in my mind, the nightmare kept playing over and over like a broken record, “you’re gonna die, you’re gonna die, you’re gonna die.” There was just no shaking the feeling or the nightmare. This gives night terrors new meaning.

I tried venturing onto Facebook, bad idea. I felt like everyone was laughing at me, taunting me, mocking me, and disagreeing with everything I’ve worked so hard for. They were not doing any such thing, but the nightmare had my paranoia levels up and shaking this was not going to just go away with a few passing smiles for the day.

Super Bowl Sunday was then spent napping and anticipating my long-awaited arrival on Monday, our new mattress! My back has been a problem for years now and I knew it was the fifteen-year-old mattress but I also knew we couldn’t afford a new one, but with the expectancy of an income tax check, I made the suggestion to my husband of a new mattress. We thought of the costs of a chiropractor for me and the mattress was much cheaper by far. With enough supplements for two more months, I was anxiously looking forward to a comfortable nights rest on a new mattress!

I didn’t put myself through the anxiety of a football game and my husband was kind enough to sit through a Disney movie with me instead of the year’s ending of the football show. Neither one of us watched football this year as it has become its own little world. No longer an enjoyable sport-like football game, it’s now added fluff and frufru make it a waste of MY precious time. He did catch the second half (he’s a man, whatcha expect) *wink-wink* and he enjoyed watching someone else win the Super Bowl this year. 

With the Philadelphia Eagles winning the Super Bowl it just reaffirms my hope that the underdog DOES WIN on occasion! It signifies that the underdog has a chance against the powers that be, the winners of society, the boasters, and braggarts, we little folk DO win! 

James 1:12 (NIV) “Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him.”

Monday, the mattress came…

Pss.3:5 “I laid me down and slept; I awaked; for the LORD sustained me.”

Light Through the Dark

Colossians 3:16 “Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom; teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord.”

Godliness with contentment is great gain

When people are hit with adversity, how they react defines who they are. When you whine and cry and want a shower of pity to fall around you, you are not shining a light on the power of Christ you’re shining a light upon yourself.

Many Christians define themselves by what they are going through, how bad their life is or isn’t, and all the pain they’ve suffered over the years, this is what defines who they are today and where they will go tomorrow.

When I was given the diagnosis of a lifetime, in that very moment of being swept away for tests upon tests, that I didn’t ask for, by the way, I shut down. For those hours in the day of being wheeled from CT scan, mammogram, biopsy etc, I was not myself, I allowed darkness to swallow me. I allowed myself briefly to be swept away in my own pity. I cried and cried, hours on end until it felt as if my eyes were bleeding.

I perceived the experience as if my very body walked through the pits of hell and it was not a place I was all too familiar with. Since becoming a Christian I had been through many fiery trials but this one was different, this one wasn’t one where everyone else who went through the pit came out alive. I needed to tighten my faith.

When I got home after leaving the pits of fire, I had time to pray, to contemplate what happened and ask, “God, what will you have me do, for YOU?” I did not ask the 'why me' scenario. I didn’t cry out that I’m not strong enough for this path set before me. My first thought was how can I shine the Light of God through this diagnosis. Sure enough, He showed me the way and that is the path you see me on today.

I’ve seen so many people face this illness over and over again. And as unique as this condition is, so is how each individual handles their treatment and all that we’re faced with.

I know of many people who will stay in the pits with fears, pain, loss, drugs, and medications, along with self-pity only because they won’t ask God, what would He have them do. When in the flames of the moment, it is just too hot and the focus is on the self and the urgency of take me out of here now, when all along we needed praise God for the chance to shine the Light on Him, not us. 

Yes, being in the pits are hell, yes it feels as if the fire will consume us, yes it feels like the pain will drown us in quicksand but rest assured if you take a chance and jump with faith, He will catch you. Another problem with people and their faith these days is it just doesn't happen quick enough, there is no patience in pain. I’m sure you look at me and say under your breath that I don’t know hell until I’ve been through what YOU’VE been through. I don’t say that lightly. What I’m saying is that your hard life is no worse than anyone else’s hard life. We could sit around for weeks and months comparing notes on who’s had it worse but is that getting anyone closer to God? Of course not because that is not where God resides in the midst of pity parties. That is not the path God chose for us as Christians.

The celebration God resides in is the one where He showers you in confetti when you’re praising and singing His name in the throes of the pits of hell. Are you afraid of dying? If you’re a Christian, do you understand there is no death, you are promised eternal life so why live your life in a pit of despair if you are carrying the promise of God? Walk boldly carrying your cross!

I think of the story of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego and King Nebuchadnezzar asking them to worship his god. Did they throw themselves a pity party before going into the fire? NO! They didn’t fear, you know why, because their God promised them eternal life, they had nothing to lose and everything to gain by shining the Light on God and not themselves.

We’re all wandering around in a world of ‘you don’t know what I’ve been through’. Let me tell you, I can guarantee Jesus went through ten times worse. I never once heard/read that Jesus preached a woe, woe is me story. No, every step of his pain He cried out to God and glorified HIS name, not his own. While hanging on the cross he cried out, “Why has though forsaken me?” The rest is history because God did not forsake him, He gave him new life, eternal life! Breathe that in for a moment.

Now don’t get me wrong I’m not saying the path you chose is not the right one for you, we each have a different path that is going to hopefully get us to the same destination. I have every bit of faith in where I’m headed and it surely isn’t in the pits of hell. I will walk on singing the praises and glory to God in the midst of this illness. My focus is on Him, not the bible, not the verses, not touting He said this and He said that, no, my focus is on HIM every step of the way and my sharing this with you is my way of leaving behind the path that *I* choose to walk, I choose to see the Light through the dark. 

Alleluia Amen!

1 Kgs. 20:22 “And the prophet came to the king of Israel, and said unto him, Go, strengthen thy self, and mark, and see what thou doest: for at the return of the year the king of Syria will come up against thee.”

“There are times when solitude is better than society, and silence is wiser than speech. We should be better Christians if we were more alone, waiting upon God, and gathering through meditation on His Word spiritual strength for labour in his service. We ought to muse upon the things of God because we thus get the real nutriment out of them. . . . Why is it that some Christians, although they hear many sermons, make but slow advances in the divine life? Because they neglect their closets and do not thoughtfully meditate on God's Word. They love the wheat, but they do not grind it; they would have the corn, but they will not go forth into the fields to gather it; the fruit hangs upon the tree, but they will not pluck it; the water flows at their feet, but they will not stoop to drink it. From such folly deliver us, O Lord.” 

― Charles Haddon Spurgeon

One Ray of Hope

Pss. 119:105 (NIV) “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path.”

One Ray of Hope

That’s all I asked for really, is one ray of hope. I think it’s been less than two weeks since the Family Practice office called and asked me if I’d like an appointment to see a doctor. They just wanted to see where I was at with my treatment.

Well, I was told that my doctor GP (general practitioner) was leaving the office due to her residency being complete in July. July came and I still hadn’t made an appointment to get in there to see her before she left. Not because of me, mind you, because my husband had an eye doctor’s appointment and after that, his tooth decided to be in pain and he HAD to get that worked on, too.

So here we are in July and the Family Practice office called ME and asked if I’d like to make an appointment. She was a somber voiced woman sounding like the stress of the job was getting to her;  I said yes, taking whomever she picked for me. I thought she said I could see the PA (Physician Assistant) and we could discuss a referral maybe. I was scheduled for July 18th the woman said. 

I didn’t put much promise into the visit, all I wanted was one ray of hope. I’d say almost a month leading up to the visit were wrought with tears and angst, feeling abandoned by all doctors and just left out here to die. I think it came through in my previous posts and yes my friends knew something was bothering me.

I wasn’t sad because I thought this alternative route was failing, I knew things were working and I could feel it and literally SEE it. But I feel satan had his own plans in planting doubt and fear in my mind by the appearance of a lump in my RIGHT breast this time. Before you all jump to conclusions that my disease is spreading allow me to tell you. 

Consistency.  When I was a kid and even throughout my adult years of menstruating my breasts were lumpy Lil buggers, that is why this disease went unrecognized for so long. The lump, the cancerous one, was hard as a marble and grew over the months. The one on my right feels like a spongy little fella, moves around, making me think this is the difference in a cyst and a tumor.  

Just so you know, I SEE visual differences and this one obviously drew concern at first but then I remembered all I’m dealing with, stress, life, heat, monsters creeping under my bed. Okay no monsters, I just wanted to see if you were still paying attention. You get the picture, I know. This is not a journey I would wish on my worst enemy! But I’m barreling through like a champ and am even wondering some days where I’m getting this strength! (Trust me, I KNOW where I get the strength from.)

I’ve never lost sight of the Lord and with every tear that dripped onto the floor I knew, God was right there catching them for me. Then the eighteenth came and the doctor visit was at hand. No expectations in the least. I thought I was seeing a PA and getting a referral. I know what I had prayed for but I was willing to wait a little longer for the answer.

But it came, an answer to my prayer. You all know for six months (on the 25th) what I’ve endured, encountered, been hit with from the doctors, all of my illnesses and I do believe you all have been praying the same thing for me. When the M.D., (yup, not a PA) came into the room, introducing herself as the doctor and asked me what I was looking for I told her straight up, I need blood tests done to check for any vitamin deficiency or any other tests she could run. 

She asked me why I chose not to go the chemo route, I told her, I don’t believe in chemo, it has killed too many in my family and I NEED to try something else, I have a lot of nieces that might need to see another route to take one day. I told her, I don’t want to die from chemo and that is basically what I’d be doing if I went that route. I also said that if none of this works and I die because it didn’t work, it is MY choice, MY body and MY death on my hands, no one else’s.

She asked if I’ve done any research on this method of healing and I basically gave her the rundown of my research for the past six months, she listened, asked questions and nodded in agreement. I never at one time felt like I was off my rocker. She looked at me as an equal not down on me as if she was the all powerful Oz. Even when I mentioned CBD oil (cannabis oil) she sounded interested. I told her of all of the success stories I’ve read, about THOUSANDS of people healing and being CURED, not just hundreds.

I threw names around like The Truth About Cancer, Chris Wark of Chris Beat Cancer to Dr. Hoxsey, founder of the Oasis of Hope in Tijuana, Mexico and the Vitamin C treatments being done in Colorado. She looked intrigued and didn’t roll her eyes or throw her arms in the air once, brushing me off. Instead, she said the words I longed to hear, “I can run some tests.” Tears started to well in my eyes, but I didn’t allow them to flow over. I said, “I think I love you right now.” She chuckled then went on to tell me she’d test my B12 levels, C and D levels, bone density and liver and the other organs, and as she was speaking I zoned out silently praising God, thanking Him for answering my prayers. “…lab.” That’s all I heard, I think I was in shock.

I did hear her say it could take a few days, maybe by Friday for results. I was just sitting in shock. I know I became quiet and couldn’t believe what was happening. My husband who I took into the office for support was kind of shocked too.

She did ask if I wanted to get a colonoscopy, and all of the other internal test and I told her, please let me get to know you first. Allow me one thing at a time; this is all so overwhelming. I thanked her profusely, gave her a firm handshake and off I went to the lab with a smile on my face and a sunbeam in my hand.

I only prayed for one ray of hope…my God gave me an entire SON! 

The following verse is what greeted me this morning. All praise and Glory to Him! 

Pss. 24: 3-6 “Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? or who shall stand in his holy place? He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart; who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, nor sworn deceitfully. He shall receive the blessing from the Lord, and righteousness from the God of his salvation.

Poetry Sunday ~ On a Monday ~ Tear Catcher

Job 16:20 “My friends scorn me: but mine eye poureth out tears unto God.”

Tear Catcher

I feel the doubts like shouts

lingering in my soul.

not from within but without

are ones that play a role.

I cannot find a protocol

that keeps this ill at bay

I cannot bear all the words

that people never say.

Taunted with their falsity

the fake façade they feel

their glazed over face says one thing

while the mind will whisper what’s real.

Tissues fill the trashcan

with tears that I’d cast down

tripping on my own thoughts

as a smile turns to a frown.

Dear God as you walk with me

along the storm-filled path

allow in me a peace unknown

Release this inner wrath.

Pss. 6:6 “I am weary with my groaning; all the night make I my bed to swim; I water my couch with my tears.”

Poetry Sunday ~ Dry My Tears

Pss. 6:6 “I am weary with my groaning; all the night make I my bed to swim; I water my couch with my tears.”

Dry my Tears

The sun slants over the horizon

Fears in the night fall asleep

A new day dawns of which I wake

Darkness slides into the deep.

Tears they dry by mornings’ breath

I dare not tell a soul

My heart it hides a rhythmic beat

Broken body bears the toll

Silence slithers in morning mist

Unspoken words decay

Alone am I on desolate land

Dried are tears I face the day

Frost it hides from rising sun

Scattered is the cold

It is with Light I dry my tears

Amid the mornings gold.

Pss. 116:8 “For thou hast delivered my soul from death, mine eyes from tears, and my feet from falling.”

*This poem was worthy of a repost from Oct. 2016

(c) all rights reserved

I Do Have Bad Days

Prov.1:21-23 "She crieth in the chief place of concourse, in the openings of the gates: in the city she uttereth her words, saying,

How long, ye simple ones, will ye love simplicity? and the scorners delight in their scorning, and fools hate knowledge? Turn you at my reproof: behold, I will pour out my spirit unto you, I will make known my words unto you."

Few and far between, I do have bad days...

As much as I carry ninety-nine percent of my days in positivity, there is always the chance of that little tease of negativity to slither in even without me knowing it was headed my way. 

It’s as if I’ve placed power blockades [GOD] up to protect me but as thin as a sheet of paper, the negative aspect of something simple can slide right under my door without notice.

While I had a great birthday, friends from all over the world wished me a happy birthday and one friend even sent me much-needed supplements to my front door! My son bought me a beautiful ceramic cross with the words, 'Walk by faith, not by sight' on it, my sister called me, and my husband bought me an essential oil diffuser (with six essential oils)! What a blessed day all around and it ended with a house trembling lightning storm, my gift from God Himself!

I’m feeling great with my daily walks, whether cold or not, my two fifteen-minute walks, are now leading into two twenty-five-minute walks. I just feel THAT good. I always share the positive and the good but need to let you all be aware that I do have my bad days. I’m not out here blowing rainbow bubbles oblivious to the negative elements that want to attack me.

The negative knocked on my door on Friday when my phone rang. I didn’t get to it on time but no message was left so I had to resort to my friend, google. All I know is my gut churned, my heart palpitated and quickened and I had my suspicions who it was and a google search confirmed that it was onc.2’s office. Why does just a phone ringing illicit FEAR?

Coincidentally (I DO NOT believe in coincidences!) my son came up the stairs and told me he received a spam phone call from a job search site he’s been accessing. Instinctively, I asked for the number and my suspicion was yet again confirmed, my onc.#2’s office had called him, no message!

I’ve been watching The Truth About Cancer’s ten-module online series, and one of the things they said in module #5 was that oncologists are no different than terrorists. The definition of terrorism is: 1.the use of violence and threats to intimidate or coerce, especially for political purposes.
2. the state of fear and submission produced by terrorism or terrorization.
3. a terroristic method of governing or of resisting a government. 
Could they be right in their assumption? Are oncologist using FEAR tactics to get patients to submit? I BELIEVE SO! 

Why had my oncologist called my son? My HUSBAND didn’t receive a call, my twenty-one-year-old son did! How did they get his number? I stupidly signed a piece of paper allowing my son, via his phone number, access to MY hospital records in case he should need them because remember, the oncologists basically handed me a death sentence. 

They ABUSED my RIGHTS! And yes, I’m documenting this because my gut is now telling me that they are NOT just ‘doing their job’, they are HARASSING ME WITH FEAR TACTICS!!!! I have to turn to my friends because they are the ones empowering me, along with God to go full steam ahead in my holistic healing. I will NOT be swayed and suckered into the oncologists’ web of terror!

Saturday came and I woke empowered once again, feeling great, Sunday came and I was feeling great so much so I went food shopping with my husband. I truly think it will be my last visit. Tears welled in my eyes as I could find nothing edible that wasn’t laced with toxins. I was relinquished to the small corner of organic vegetables, which by the way, are right next to the bakery laden with toxic sugar poisoning.

Home, I just wanted to be home. I knew my mother-in-law would be out to see me to hand deliver my birthday present so I had to perk up (no, I didn’t make coffee). I got home from the food store, had a good cry, and sat down to write, my healing place. 

I wanted to show his mother how well I was walking after seeing me for years unable to walk, zero meds, and mostly in pain, the majority of my days. It always felt like she looked at me with pity. I was the strength in her son's time of blindness and now here I was limping and suffering in back pain. Pity, pity, pity, poor Joni. I thought I would be a living testimony to hers and many others answered prayers as I am now walking! Joni is walking. Joni is doing good! 

‘Mom’ brought me a carved angel, yes people still see an angel in me, and she brought a fruit tray. Laden with raspberries, strawberries, pineapple, kiwi, red/green grapes overflowing in goodness. I didn’t ask if it was organic and at that point, I didn’t care, it looked DELICIOUS! Actually, it was, after she left I ate the entire tray for dinner. Ha ha ha!!!

She watched me walk up and down the stairs and her jaw just hung wide open in amazement. Score one for Joni! The visit didn’t go all bad, I tried talking about my healing but she informed me of her friends who were CURED by chemotherapy. I explained that it only appeared that way and I felt the small fog of fear creeping in with this slender built woman whom I love. Chemo is NOT A CURE, I stated, it is toxic poison. The makers of the chemo juice wear hazmat suits for crying out loud. 

I explained that if I had gone the chemo route, that the picture of me that she is witnessing would’ve been totally different. I’d be in bed, curled in a fetal position and vomiting, more than likely bald by the in her eyes ‘nontoxic’ treatments. But still, she seemed adamant that people have been CURED by chemo and are now alive twenty years later BECAUSE of chemo. To me, it’s amazing the illusion we paint for ourselves.

I tried to let the entire conversation go, but it was haunting. Haunting in the fact that what she said inadvertently hurt, more than I even knew. She said something like, “Sometimes God doesn’t give the answers we want to hear.” So there it is, my faith, my hearing and listening to GOD is being compared to how EVERYONE else hears and listens to God. What I psychologically heard her say was, ‘you heard wrong and God really wants you to do chemo. You’re choosing not to listen.’ Doubt slithered in with the remnants of fear left over by the oncologist Friday, imagine that!

Hmm, the God that pulled me from so many trials and tribulations, he literally pulled me back from the brink of death and is now leading me down a misguided path and is filling me with doubts, fear, and lies? Friends, you know me better than that, right? Even if she is a Godly woman, they too can use satans tongue to spew the doubt that we fight against. 

I let it slide, I went on with my day, took a twenty-five-minute walk empowered by the LIFE in me, grateful to be ALIVE by God’s fruits and vegetables that ARE HEALING ME, not making me sick! Which just an FYI, she informed me fruits and veggies made her literally sick. Her stomach could not handle them.

I went to bed feeling good but at two thirty I awoke unable to shake the negative undertones leftover from the entire weekend starting with the mock terroristic betrayal of the medical profession on Friday. Like a ghost rising from the dead, the haunting detail lingered. Unable to go back to sleep at four a.m. I got out of bed and walked to the kitchen to make me some coffee! 

I’m writing (documenting) this on March 27th, 2017 I started at four thirty and am just finishing this post at eight a.m., readying myself for yet another post. I’ll use writing to heal the detrimental doubt that I was spoon-fed over the weekend. I will rise from this funk with the love and support of my friends and family that care about lifting me up, not tearing me down. 

I forgot to mention, my MIL left me two Guideposts magazines, (she always saves me her old ones) but these two were left in the trash this morning as one story was talking about feeding eighteen families with turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes etc. etc. for Thanksgiving, (I mentioned the image yesterday and she apologetically replied, “I should have looked at the two before giving them) and another front page story of a woman’s battle with cancer and her success with chemotherapy (only two years out, mind you) I suspect my MIL did KNOW what she was giving me! I laughed and I cried as I skimmed only a few words and tossed the magazines along with doubts and fear in the garbage, where IT BELONGS!

And I’m rising above the doubt and fear with the wings of an eagle and I am getting back to soaring to my healing place that I know God wants me to be!

Isa. 41:10 “Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.”

Hope and Faith

The Tests - Be Strong

2 Corinthians 1:3-4  “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction so that we will be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.”

The Tests

As the nurse wheeled me over to the other side of the hospital to await the trials of the day, tears flowed as people passed. Tissues placed throughout the hospital were grabbed along the way. Faces flew by in a collage then a whirling kaleidoscope fashion. 

I had papers to fill out, my husband handled questions to be answered mostly because words got caught up in my throat and wouldn’t come out. The nice lady took one look at me with tears rimming her eyes before sending me on my way with the comforting words, “I’ve been right where you are today, be strong,” These words were going to be the most frequent words heard for the next year to come. 

Mammogram first – I have to say I think I landed in an Angelic domain of hospital workers because every single person who cared for me had a glowing beauty about them. The first one being, Shantay (I think that’s spelled right) I won’t put too many names out here but that was the most beautiful name and the bubbly blonde connected to that name filled me with laughter on one of my darkest days. 

You would have never known that I was just told I have cancer or that I was about to experience a squishing-squashing ceremony of the boob. I told her, “If I can’t laugh, I’ve got nothing to hold onto.” She agreed and we continued with our out of the ordinary sense of humor. 

For example, the door she wheeled me through had big taped up cracks and I told her, “You did that didn’t you? You just wheeled someone into the glass and cracked it!” She replied, “I’m a dangerous driver.” Chuckle. 

I was handed a smock? Dressing to cover ‘my girls’ but as she noted I would be needing to change again and again and that I should just leave it on. As we were wheeling to the next session of ‘boob academy’, she noted, “Are your girls in?” 
“Well no, I just wanna flash everyone I pass! After this experience, I think I’ve earned that right.” More giggles and laughter. My tears were drying, my nose tender from all the rubbing; my head was pounding from no food, no water and the whirling of the room and tests. She had to part but didn’t leave without the comforting words ‘stay strong’ tear-rimmed eyes, and a gentle touch of the hand, “I wish I could go with you.” Bonding words if I ever heard. 

Onto the c-t scan – The nurse who came to wheel me into the c-t room was another angelic beauty. With piercing blue eyes and wavy black hair, she introduced herself and handed me off to ‘the table’ where a Mr. Clean looking man stood awaiting me to get on the bed. Haha, not a funny thought there, is it?

The Zooey Deschanel look-alike saw that I was already dressed for the occasion (the left-over smock from the squishy room), and asked if my ‘girls’ were in and well… in Joni fashion, I said, “No, I’m in a flashing mood today.” Mr. Clean chuckled and said, “Well I need to take pictures.” He thought about what he said and said “No, not like that, hahaha” He went on to poke me with an IV which would be used for a fluid to run through my veins and, his words, ‘make me feel like I wet myself’. As if I didn’t feel that way already before we met. 

I was sent through a Stargate portal and as I looked at a blinking light, right beneath it said, ‘Do Not Stare at the blinking light.’ Too late, I’m in a fog, I’m flashing people and I don’t even care at this point. “Be strong,” Mr. Clean said as I finished up with the portal and I was slowly taken away and wheeled over to the next leg of the journey, the pre-op!

The doctor who would perform ‘the surgery’ they called it (it was really just a 16 gage needle being stuck into my ‘girl’), looked a little like Kevin James. He was a jovial dark-haired man with soft hands and very capable of the duty set before him. He comforted my husband and I and we were told how routine this procedure has become. 

I had never experienced such a wonderful group of teammates. Sure being in this profession you need a spot on personality and caring compassionate ways but they handled me as if I was the Queen of England and treated me with kid gloves in every aspect of this journey. My longest waiting time was in the pre-op stage because as you can imagine, this process is apparently routine and the doc was working on someone else as I waited. 

His soft voice talked me through every step and while I was laying in an uncomfortable position (due to my arthritic pain) I lay still as David Crowder music played in the background gently lulling me to a safe comfort zone as my breast was being poked. BillyBob (male anesthesiologist) had asked what kind of music I like and no hesitation went into proclaiming my Christianity. David Crowder and Kari Jobi I said, and the young lady at the sonogram machine smiled, BillyBob said it was a nice upbeat sound.

BillyBob had asked if a young lady could come in and observe the process since she is in training. I said, “Sure, the more the merrier!” My sense of humor was kicking into overdrive. This is when we waited for ‘the surgeon’.

As I lay a foot from the sonogram screen with my left arm over my head, I gazed at the huge lump with sadness. I just stared and then said something… “Is this like the sonogram they give to look at babies?” The doctor in all seriousness said, “Yes, that’s exactly it!” I said in a deadpan rye way, “Is that my baby?” I could see his face turn blistering red as to hold back an outburst of laughter. “Is it a boy or a girl?” I asked. He calmly offered, “We should know by Tuesday.”

He went on to clean me up, gave me the pat on the back and I finally hear, “Good job! You did great! I have some really good samples here and now onto the hardest part, the wait.” 

All of their faces screamed ‘poor girl’ but I wouldn’t allow the down faces to carry me or them through the rest of the day, I went on to say, “I’m hungry! I haven’t eaten all day, no water and I’ve been up since 3 a.m.”
The doctor said, “You deserve to go and eat something.”

I giggled, “Chili from Wendy’s?”

He offered, “You earned two!”

“Tell my husband?” a little chuckle came out and a tear passed my cheek.

The observing girl offered, “You should get a Frostee, too!” I laughed. “Yeah, you both need to tell my husband that!

They both wheeled me back to the pre-op station/cubby hole and announced that I did really well to my husband. “And?” I said. “And she earned two chili’s from Wendy’s.” And the observer piped in “And a Frostee.” Hubby laughed and shook his head. This has to be hard on him too, I thought.

Thirty minutes later after a jello, water, IV removal, and BP checked as well as my temperature, (and a long awaited pee!) Then we were sent on our way into the blustery cold and blowing snow filled day. Wendy’s (drive-thru), home, then reality to deal with all that happened on this much eventful, test and tear filled day. In that order.