The Journey Of A Thousand Miles

Today was R's day for surgery.  Thankfully we were not dealt any surprises, and he seems to have come through the procedure well.  I had no reason to doubt that things would go according to schedule, but my mind always has the "Grief" app running in the background and draining my battery.  Thankfully, The Lord stepped in and shut that business down through the servant hands of so many dear friends and my beautiful, sweet pastor, all of whom were there for our family and have blessed us with meals, child care, prolific prayers, and great conversation.

It's hard to know exactly what to expect from here.  Obviously there will be a recovery period from surgery and further information about the degree and severity of his cancer.  Will he or won't he need to undergo radiation therapy?  How will he feel from the lack of thyroid hormones in his system?  Or will there be an overabundance of the hormones, and if so, what surprises will that bring?  How will this affect his long term health and attitude?  Will our relationship change?  Will his relationship with our children change?

One thing I know will not change, and that is the fact that I love him and never leave his side.  In fact, he probably wishes I would leave his side -- he detests being hovered over, which is one area in which I happen to specialize.  In fact, I struggle with knowing how best to support him in a way that will touch his heart.  I want to be able to take care of him and soothe him -- he wants to be left alone. He wants me to leave him at the hospital, visit once or twice, and pick him up when it's time to go home.  I cannot handle that type of laissez faire policy.  I want nothing more than to see him lean on me and let me in to what he is experiencing, and instead I feel like more of a spectator.  I don't want to whine about this or complain.  Put simply, it is difficult to find a balance between what he needs and what I feel.

We thank everyone for all of the prayers, love, and support you have shown our family.  This is just the beginning, my friends.  As I told R earlier, the journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step.  This was just the first one in that journey.  Praise God this journey has begun on a strong foot.

On The Road Again

I'm sitting in my kitchen in Virginia, feeding the baby a snack that I hope will appease the savage beastie until lunch comes out of the oven.  We are on our umpty-jillionth snow day this school year, and while I rather enjoy having my husband home from work and all of the kids home to snuggle down on days like today, it's different this time.  Watching the birds jockey for seeds at the bird feeder outside my kitchen window is usually a beautiful distraction for me, but my mind is a million miles away and my hungry stomach isn't in knots yet, but it's getting there.  I'm hoping and praying that tomorrow goes off without a hitch, but I'm skeptical and I know I need to pray about it...

We had been preparing for my husband to deploy and instead were given the news that he has papillary carcinoma -- thyroid cancer.  There --  I said it.  The dreaded "C" word.  Cancer.  I add it to "widow" in the lengthing list of adjectives and nouns that are now associated with my life story.

We got the diagnosis on 18 FEB.  Our world was so happy and plugging right along when the word "cancer" came along and kicked us in the collective face.  And what's more is that everyone keeps telling us that this is the "good cancer to have."  (Sorry for the prolific use of quotation marks today.) That the 20 year cure rate is 99%.  That R will undergo a very common, routine procedure, followed by a treatment with irradiated iodine, and that he will more or less be as good as new.  You know what?  The doctors in the ER on 29 NOV 2005 told me that T didn't have life-threatening injuries and that he would likely have a hospital stay and then come home.  Only he died the next day.

I know my tone is angry, irritable, anxious.  It's the first time I've really allowed myself to step a toe on this path.  I struggle with anxiety a lot, the truth be told.  But what I am seeing is God showing up in ways that are now, as they were when T died, nothing short of miraculous.  I am experiencing God's presence and power in ways I've never experienced them before, and we haven't even stepped foot in a surgical ward yet.  The more I pray and focus on this, the more the anxiety melts away and I see this situation for what it really is:  an opportunity.

It's an opportunity for God to receive glory.  For God to demonstrate the power and might and grace that only God possesses.  For lives to be touched.  For veils to be removed and sight to be given to the blind.  For God to pursue me in the middle of this storm, reach out a hand to me once again, and guide me down the only safe path through a field of land mines, making sure I put my feet directly into God's footprints.

So, Lord, here we are together, on the road again.