365

The rain is dancing against the gigantic picture window as I sit inside the windowseat on MD Anderson’s 5th hospital floor. The text from Sarah just arrived and it said: 365. It's the number of times Jesus tells us in the Bible not to be afraid. He knows I am afraid at MDA this day!

This place is a metroplex of hallmark hurting humble souls. I met some Christians here and God says about them Heb 11:38 - “The world is not worthy of these people.” My daughter Brooke’s college friend who works at MDA told me the story of how she walked into a room to check on a patient not doing well on their chemo. The patient’s reply was: “I’m blessed!” I looked hard into faces I’ve never seen weathered with pain, attached to appliances so foreign. We walked the halls of a house of suffering. 365.

Why is it God always seems to be doing big things in my life when it’s raining. It’s raining in my heart. Tears are storming down my face as I walk out of my last appointment in my stay at MD Anderson’s Breast Cancer Center. 365.

Here’s what happened at MDA…and I must say that this will probably be too long of a post for most. So the punch line is this: I didn’t get the good news I had hoped for---I need to have both chemo and radiation after my June 9th surgery because I have cancer in my lymph nodes.

My hospital stay started with a simple mammogram---except it was anything but normal. Dozens and dozens and dozens of bi-lateral scans reduced me to heaving and sobbing. I knew right away something had to be way wrong when they called me back again, twice. When alone, I slipped to my knees in my dressing room and sang “Jesus Loves Me” to myself.

An hour later, the ultra sound imaging tech showed up and I wasn’t ready for what would happen in that next couple of hours. I watched as the technician took 47 pictures---about every five frames--- she would click on them and they would light up like fire. Not good. She finished and said: “I have to go get the doctor to take a look at this.” In comes Dr. Dryden, dressed like he was going to a wedding. He took all those pictures over again as I tried to lay my head on my Lord’s lap and ask HIM to speak to me as those pictures kept lighting up like a fire in my breast.

The news was terrifying to me in that moment. 365. “We have found another tumor in your breast and in your lymph node and suspect it to be cancer. The size of the lymph node was very suspicious. We need to biopsy it. “Can my husband come back with me?” The answer was no---something about how he might faint on their floor. Actually, I’m the one that usually faints in stress---vaso-vagal syncope.

You’ll do fine. “You’re in good hands with Dr. Dryden.” I replied that I was really in Good Hands with my God.. They weren’t listening. Too busy prepping me for the procedure. All four of them had to walk out of the tiny room and the doctor made me promise I wouldn’t burst out the door and take off. Funny comment. Great idea! I guess he read me right. Could he see the sheer terror in my face when he said that if the biopsy came back cancerous, they would need to take out all 26 lymph nodes. I was alone in the room for a moment. I smoothed out the sheets and invited the beautiful God I so trust and love and adore to hop up and sit real close to my scared self. 365. Take my hand! 365! Say it to me God, one more time. “Don’t Be Afraid.” Cause I am.

The friendly four returned armed with gadgets and needles and draping and stuff. Too much for me to look at. All of a sudden, God brought to my mind: “A bruised reed He will not break; a dimly burning wick He will not extinguish.” Isaiah 42:3. The team moved quickly and walked me through every step. Local anesthesia---I would be awake for this. My recent lymph node dissection surgery had not healed fully and they were messing with it. Peace flooded my self---no other way to explain it.

It was over. Armed with my tissue in his hands, my new doctor friend went straight to the pathologist on the other side of the wall to look for cancer. 10 minutes, he said, and I'll be back with the news. It became the longest thirty minutes of my life as I cried out to my good God. I begged for them to let my husband come back and they did. He cried when I told him what I had just been through. I tried to prepare for the worse.

Dr. Dryden burst through the door and I searched his face for an answer. “We’ve got it. It’s benign.” Could you say that one more time? I burst out sobbing.

I’m still sobbing, but this time it’s because of my visit with the next oncologist to go over my case. Even though the cancer in one lymph node is microscopic (that’s the controversy), this ancient doctor firmly believes I need chemotherapy and radiation of the worst kind. It’s a systemic disease and it has metastasized into my lymph node. That means it is in your bloodstream. The chemo that will soon make me sick and drain my white blood cells of life will save my life. The radiation that will destroy my cells will kill the good and the bad cells. It’s toxic. It’s necessary. I’ll lose my hair. I’ll lose some of my good health. I’ll lose my energy. But I will never lose the love of my beautiful God. He’ll be with me every step of my lonely dreaded way. And No One will snatch me out of my hand. John 10:29. I’ll fall forward. I’ll advance His Kingdom not my own.

And I won’t lose the friends that matter to me. I think you’ll stick with me. I met Annette and Kathy in Houston and they both so brought God to me after a very tough biopsy. I’ve lost some things through my life but losing my friends has been harder than most anything I’ve faced. I hope I can do something for you during these next 12 months or so while I undergo chemo and radiation. Maybe you’ll talk with me by phone or text or blog. I’m actually out of cell phone minutes already for this month. Last month our bill was $1,200 and I was flabbergasted---can’t do that anymore. I’m just grateful we don’t have to live in a box on the street. The medical bills stream in every day of our lives now. They say this will topple $1 million plus. And God keeps on providing in ways I never imagined every day.

So, I’ll lift my sobbing head to the Maker of this mountain that I cannot climb. I love that Bebo Norman song. He’ll pull me up. It’s not what I had hoped for. My other friends have clear margins and their lymph nodes are cancer-free. But that’s not the way it happened for me. And my Jesus says: “What’s that to you. You follow Me.” John 21:22. I’m incredibly sad. And, yes, I know there are people and some of you that have been through far worse. But don’t minimize my pain. I’m hurting. I’m scared to put toxicity in my healthy body. I’m so disappointed. But this one thing I know and am convinced of and rest assured---my Jesus loves me so. So, I’ll trust Him in this as I wrestle with Him and embrace my loss of being sick during my son’s special senior year. I’ll fall forward and long to advance His Kingdom, not my own. Somehow, I will welcome this trial as my new friend. Again and again, I’ll wrestle through this. I’ll embrace my loss somehow. I’ll find my beautiful God even when I won’t feel beautiful. And for those of you who will stay with me, I’ll deeply appreciate your love. 365.

I'll be back in Austin on Wednesday for appointments with my surgeon getting ready for my upcoming surgery June 9th. And I'll meet with my medical oncologist to decide the final protocol---chemo and then radiation. And one more appt. with a new dermatologist to see if I have skin cancer for two spots that have changed in all of this.
My Love & Gratitude, Bev