Lessons of Winter

Winter can conjure images of staying warm by a cozy fire, snuggled safely with those you love most. You can also imagine one staggering in the bitter cold, trying to find his way while fighting the elements. I wish I could say that this winter had been one of coziness, where my heart found a relaxing peace, where safety was ensured and my chest was able to breathe a giant sigh of relief. It has actually been the exact opposite. However, what I find to be fascinating is this theme that continues to play itself out in my journey, and that is-the “place” that I seek to find after cancer, this place of relief and safety, it doesn’t exist. It never really did. Since this is an idea, rather than an actual place that we arrive in our lives-how do we sanely carry on?

I went back to work in early November thinking it was the beginning of getting back to myself. 2016 had looked like port surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, five internal radiation treatments, and finally a radical hysterectomy to remove remaining recurrent cancer. Surely, although slow, recovery had begun. I started to denounce the comments of “I bet you’re just ready to get this behind you and get back to normal.” Cancer had been gigantic. Yes, I did want to get it behind me, but I had started to come to terms with there being a “new normal,” as nothing about my body or thought life was “normal” or the way it used to be.

One week into work, I started feeling terrible. I had pain that continued to get worse and the fatigue was so drastic that I was literally bed ridden. After weeks of trying to figure out what was going on, a pelvic CT revealed I had an abscess. I was hospitalized for several days to get the infection under control, and was eventually sent home on IVs and rest. This was a setback, but I was still on my way to recovering.

A day after being home, I started having incontinence issues. SURELY this was not what I thought it was. My OB/GYN oncologist and I had discussed the risk of fistulas from day one of knowing I needed surgery, but I had had both an in office fistula test and a cystogram at the hospital. Both of them were negative. This had to be something else.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t. I went in for an exam and another in office test and my doctor did not even have to complete the test before the fistula presented itself. It was bad. It was large and evident that surgery would the only way to “hopefully” repair the pathway. It was going to be a slow process, since I had been exposed to so much radiation. Rushing me off into surgery was not going to fix this. I was going to have to live with this for a while.

I cried. I cried a lot. I just couldn’t believe this was happening to me. Why? Why wouldn’t cancer and it’s stupid side effects go away? Hadn’t I done everything I was supposed to? Even mentally, hadn’t I done the thing survivors are supposed to do-accept the new normal? Hadn’t I already accepted that I had permanent ringing in my ears from chemo, a damaged vagina, 38 and in menopause, infertility, and that my body had just been through hell and back in order for me to be alive? NOW I was 38 and in Depends too?

The first two weeks of this, I mostly sat. I sat at home waiting for my next round of IVs and in an adult diaper. I didn’t want to do anything or go anywhere. However, soon my body started to feel better. I could tell the drugs were working on the abscess and physically I was feeling good. I was still in a diaper, but I felt better than I had in months. Now what? Here I was better, but still with this GIGANTIC issue and waiting for surgery. I felt like everywhere I turned, it was a fight both physically and mentally. I wrestled a lot with what I was going to do with this. I felt the unfairness of this life and the ugly truth of what cancer and treatment had done to my body.

One day, I can’t pinpoint the exact day, but I remember hearing my oncologist's words in my head, "Holly this happened because I had to perform a surgery to save your life. You still had cancer and without your hysterectomy you would have only lived maybe three more years. You have every right to be mad at this and angry, but you are alive and can get through this or whatever is next." I heard her words, that I hadn't thought about in weeks, and I decided to get up. I had to keep on fighting. I was missing out on life. I was CHOOSING to hold myself back. I couldn’t sit any longer. Was going about normal activities going to be difficult? Sure it was. Was I possibly going to have an accident on myself while shopping? Yep. Was it going to be uncomfortable and somewhat stressful feeling like people could smell me or know I was wearing a diaper? Oh yeah!

But I wanted to LIVE.

I honestly have felt like the past 12 months have been winter-the picture where I am fighting the elements. It has been one thing after another. Fight after fight. This last experience has shown me that there really is no true safe place that we arrive, where life is easy. There will be seasons that are better than others, and I pray that I am on the cusp of one of those. BUT there really is no place that is completely out of the harshness of the elements. Not for anyone. It is a choice that we must make. For me, I am in a season where I must choose life daily. I must choose happiness instead of bitterness, contentment over self pity, the positive over the negative, bravery over fear. Some days, some moments, I fail at this miserably. And when I do, I wipe myself off, dry up the tears(and there are many), and get back up because I am alive. It may be winter, but I want to live.

Craig Sager speaks on choosing hope, seeing his cup half full, and the fight!

*I designed a shirt, to bring awareness to cervical cancer and to help raise money to cover the expenses of this past year and the surgery to come. The campaign is live on Bonfire until February 20th. Check it out!

www.bonfire.com/start-the-conversation/

Dry Shampoo and Coffee

It’s Saturday morning and as I sit with coffee in hand, my mind is still on a reel from the past several weeks. The only thing that keeps coming to my mind is “How did I do that?” This month comes in, in at least the top three most stressful eras I have faced. I teach at what is considered a satellite campus for the district. The first week of school was a MONSTER. Did I mention the internet being down and parents impatiently making requests for registration that I could not grant and administrators frantically demanding paper work?  As a PreK teacher the first day is very chaotic and stressful as there are tears and often blood curdling screams from students and sometimes parents, who are emotional leaving their babies for the first time. This year was no different. Thankfully by day two internet had been restored and we were able to continue with enrollment (notice I said enrollment and not teaching…somehow I was expected to do both. I’m good but not that good). The building had flooded two weeks prior, so we had gotten in with JUST enough time to set up. Documents were damaged in the flood and paper work was missing that had to be redone for registration. I have many English language learners and really cannot explain to you how extremely stressful it is to walk refugee parents with limited language, through online registration. Yet, all of the above, oddly enough, are reasons I love my job. I love the population I serve in a Title 1 program. My heart is there. It thrives there. In the midst of the crazy and the stress, I was beginning to feel like me again. Not the cancer patient. Not that one teacher who had cancer and was out last spring. But me. The old me.'

In the middle of first week chaos, I had an oncology follow-up and results from the biopsies taken the week prior. Unfortunately, the news was not good. Cancer remains. Right now the treatment will be surgery and depending on how surgery goes maybe another round of chemotherapy. My heart is so thankful for an oncologist who will sit and talk to me. Who will shoot straight with me, who I feel has my best interest at heart. I am beyond thankful for a plan forward. I trust her with my very life.

Yet…I am so sick of being sick. Wasn’t I JUST starting to gain some energy? Wasn’t I JUST feeling like me again? And now major surgery?? I am tired of this. I long for normalcy, but I don’t even know what that is. I was looking through photos last night and can’t even pinpoint when things changed. I can kind of get it within a few months, but not really. Part of me wants things to go back to how it was before cancer, but I know I never can. And would I really choose that anyway?  I am not the same person. I don’t even feel like I look like the same woman and on a realistic note, it has aged the hell out of me. Inside, I am changed beyond what I can fully explain. Perspective shift is an understatement. I see absolutely nothing the way I did before. Nothing. Even the, “Oh wait, you still have cancer” thing looks and feels completely different on this side.  Before, cancer was unknown. I didn’t even want to say the word. I was completely fearful, and unsure. I am still those things to an extent, but it feels more familiar. I have been around it a lot, which is the part that makes me feel comfortable yet afraid because I have watched with my eyes what it can do. The fact that mine is still hanging around is unnerving and yes, I am afraid. Yet there IS a plan forward and reasons to be thankful.

Which leads me to lay out the constant conversation I have been having with myself the past few weeks….Can you be afraid and unsettled YET still thankful there is a plan? Can you admit fear and still have faith in the One who holds your very life? Can you admit your weakness, weariness, and frustration and STILL be thankful there is a plan forward in treatment? 

Every single one of those feels like they are in opposition to one another but I feel every single one of those-at any given moment. At any point during my recent days I have been on the verge of either tears of fatigue, tears of fear, tears of frustration, tears of thankfulness and humility, OR cursing out of frustration because people want to either act like I’m their hero (which can feel very uncomfortable) OR like NOTHING has happened, or cursing out of frustration that I have been feeling more like me and now I am getting my legs kicked in again. Now, you tell me….does THAT sound like someone who trusts in God’s plan for her life? Does that look like someone who has it together and is holding fast to her faith?

How beautiful and amazing, that the answer to those questions is a big fat NO…..yet a big fat YES at the same time? See, God is showing me that admitting my weakness is actually strength. Y’all, I’m talking about the kind of weakness where you cry out in tears, throw up your hands, and yell out some F bombs because you got nothing. I’m talking about admitting that you are terrified that cancer will not ever fully go away and you’re bound to a life of treatment. I’m talking about admitting that you don’t understand why God chose you to carry this burden, even if just for a season. I’m talking about weakness, where you say “I’m confused by God’s choice for ME to not have biological kids, but I see first-hand, every day, selfish adults who appear to be baby factories.” I’m talking about asking God why He asked me to do this for a little bit longer.

The beauty of it is that when our hearts get to that point and we are stripped naked with nothing left to hold on to-and we admit out weakness, we have a choice. We can either continue to wallow in those questions and live in limbo and anger OR we can choose to lay them at the feet of the One who made us. Think about it. He made me. He knows I am pissed. He knows I am scared and afraid. He knows I am wondering how in the world He will redeem this? The absolute beauty of the gospel is that I can be honest with Him, He can hold me in my weakness and that I am may NEVER understand any of this….but He will hold me. AND in my weakness, I may crawl out of His lap several times a day, thinking “I got this” “I can do this now”….. and when I finally start seeing how very much “I don’t have it” and how “I can’t do it, “ He scoops me right back up and I bury my head in His lap and weep.

The truth is, I am no one’s hero. I am weak. I do not have it together in any way. I just admitted to you that I am basically on the verge of either tears or cursing, at any given moment. I am not “doing great” and I feel like I hobble home every day and hobble around my house and then fall into bed. I really am mostly dry shampoo and coffee.

The only thing I know for sure, is that my heart desires to stay in His lap. I fail miserably at this daily, sometime multiple times. Maybe you do too? Is that okay? Does that make your faith weak? Does asking questions make you weak? I have personally never felt so close to God than I do now. It’s funny how that is. I have not been able to attend church regularly since February, I have said more F bombs in the last 8 months than I ever have in my life, I am admitting that there is a lot I do not understand and a lot that I want to go away, I am admitting that I am weak and want this cup to pass, and yet….He is with me. Daily I feel Him more than ever. As I hobble around my life, every moment I am aware of His presence and that only by His provision and goodness, am I here. He is here.

A flower I found on a walk this week.

Luna keeping me company after biopsy surgery.

New Girl Confessional

North Texas is known for many things, weird weather patterns on a regular basis, among them. A couple of weeks ago, we had pop up showers all day. While they are called “pop ups” you can usually look at the sky and use some common sense, to see it’s about to rain. I had been out earlier in the day and had experienced one of these showers, from the car. You know the kind, where it comes on suddenly and just down pours for like 10-15 min and then the sun is out?

Later in the evening, Luna needed to go for a walk. I looked out quickly to assess the weather situation and it was fine. Sun was shining-there were clouds but more sun, so Luna and I set out on our walk. We got about half a mile from home and I felt a drizzle. In my head, I thought it was no big deal-on days like this that happens sometimes and it’s SUPER SUNNY at this point, so I’m good. Man, before I could even figure out if we should turn around, the bottom dropped out. It started coming down so fast and every which a way-like sideways rain. My initial thought, was to take off running. So I did. That quickly turned into a not so great idea, as I felt every muscle in my lower half yelling at me-(this was around the time I started back running intervals and I was sore from running earlier in the day PLUS this time I was in flip flops). I slowed down because my thighs were on fire and I was just soaked. I noticed how wet my clothes were. They were feeling heavy and my hair had gotten so wet in just these quick moments that it was dripping. It didn’t matter if I ran, I was in a down pour and I was drenched already. I wasn’t stuck, like I could move-but in a sense, I was stuck. Because, it didn’t matter how quickly I ran to get home to shelter-I was already wet. There was nothing I could do about it. I looked down at Luna-and she was tongue out, ears perky happy. She was getting soaked but it didn’t matter to her-she was lovin' it. There was an extra spring in her step, as she must have felt so cool and refreshed. Luna wasn’t trying to get out of the situation, she totally embraced it. I wanted to be her.

In these moments (and they were quick mind you), I asked myself why couldn’t I be like her? As we walked back home, I resigned myself to the fact that yes, I was drenched from head to toe and that upon getting home, I would need to strip down and find us towels. After I accepted where I was in that, I intentionally let myself feel the rain coming down-the coolness of it and the sensation of it washing me. It felt pretty amazing. But it felt even better to let go of being frustrated that I was wet. I even started to smile. 

See, that whole incident helped me to see something in myself that I didn’t like. At first, I was mad that I was wet and wanted to get out of that situation as quickly as possible. I wanted so badly for the circumstances to be different and while the moments were quick, I had a choice to make. I could either A-be really mad that I was inconvenienced by getting wet and let that small snippet ruin the rest of my afternoon or B-embrace the fact that it was happening and accept that I could not change the circumstances, and even be intentional about finding joy.

All too often in life, I choose A. Like all the time I choose A, from small things to huge things. You know what A does? It makes you anxious, it makes you feel like a loser because you are pressuring yourself to change an impossible situation, it makes you bitter because things are out of your control, it makes you angry because you’re inconvenienced, and honestly it makes you selfish because you have an attitude that everything is about you. A is poisonous.

I am striving to choose B. I am working to accept the things in this life that I cannot change, the people I cannot change, and the circumstances that I long were different. AND to always, always, always find the most joy in the hand that I have been dealt-no matter how great or small. I could lie and say I only struggle in relinquishing control in the big things, because that would sound better, right? Like if I said, I’m striving to accept my infertility, people would be so understanding of that. Sadly, this is also a struggle for me in the small things too-like getting caught in a down pour, to Kroger being out of the Chobani I want, to people not being who I expect them to be, to traffic causing me stress or tardiness. You name it and I got issues if it’s not going my way. I struggle when things don’t go as planned, but the sad thing is-things RARELY do.

Thankfully I have had some amazing people speaking truth into my life and I understand the importance of striving to be gracious with myself in this, as B is NOT where my heart goes first most of the time. I am determined to not RUN from the difficulties at all and certainly not ignore the fact that they are hard, but to be intentional in my purpose of unearthing joy in the midst. Choosing B isn’t about ignoring reality, it’s about relinquishing control and finding rest.

Some people feel the rain others just get wet.

Bob Marely 

Unexpected Freedom

I just came from lunch with a close friend. We have known one another for a few years now, and there is much comfort in knowing that someone knows your junk and chooses to stick around. As usual our lunch turned into 2 and half hours of us sharing life and all the craziness it brings.

One of the ideas we camped around today, was sometimes our heart truly desires things that are good, yet we may or may not ever get said thing. I’m not even talking about actual things. Without throwing my friend under the bus, I’ll just use myself as an example. I am 37. The last person that I actually dated(until recently), I got engaged to. He was incredible. We started planning our wedding, going to pre-marital counseling, discussing how our lives would merge as a married couple, making plans to start a family etc. He made me feel like I was the only woman on the planet. He knew what he wanted, and he wanted me…until suddenly he didn’t. And he dumped me. I won’t say “clear out of the blue” because there was some discord there for about a week, prior, but who doesn’t argue? Arguing doesn’t mean you quit. To me if felt out of the blue, because it was nothing that couldn’t be addressed and dealt with-if you love someone. But alas, he broke our engagement and contact with me, without a lot of answers and I have had to learn to deal with not understanding what happened. To let go of trying to fill in the giant gaps and to accept the apology that I never got and probably never will. Fast forward about 9 months and I get a cancer diagnosis. I am single and having to make decisions about my reproductive health, alone.

So, I say all of that to say-my heart desires to be married. That is a not a bad thing. I don’t even desire it above all. Trust me-after the last go around (and some full on jokers in between who wanted to jerk me around), I really would be more than okay. I can do my Netflix and hang out with Luna-and run lots of miles. I can serve others and find so much joy in my job. I realize that happiness is not found in finding a spouse and that I can live a fulfilling life that is God honoring, without a husband. Totally get that. BUT I sure would like one. My heart desires it. On super practical levels, it’s hard getting the groceries in when I buy dog food. I want a man to help me. Sometimes I forget that I need gas and its 9pm on Sunday-I have to choose to either go out again, or get up earlier. I want a man to help me. I also hate taking the dog out in the rain and giant bugs. I could totes use a man, y’all. Haha! AND I realize what all of this actually communicates is that it’s hard being alone. I CAN be alone. I am more than capable, but I don’t necessarily WANT to be alone. My heart desires marriage (and for more than help with the dog food). J For whatever reason, this has not happened for me yet and may not happen for me. I remember going to a wedding a couple of years ago, on my birthday. These friends were amazing and made for one another. I really was so very happy for them. What I didn’t tell them, or anyone else I was there with, was that I had been dumped a year to the day (on my birthday), by a guy I dated for over a decade, who decided that “he just wasn’t sure about me being the one anymore, and he really wanted to date other people.” I remember feeling like my heart was literally broken and sick. There I sat, a year later at the wedding of two, fantastic people. I was happy for them, but it was hard to be there. Inside my heart still hurt and questioned why it had not happened for me yet.

Today at lunch, those are the kinds of “things” my friend and I were discussing and questions we were asking ourselves. See, I think true friends do their best to hold up mirrors to one another, in love, and have hard conversations. So today, we asked ourselves is it okay to be around others who have what we want and acknowledge the pain that may be caused by our heart’s desire not being fulfilled? Or is that comparing? Is that coveting what someone else has? Shouldn’t I NOT be comparing myself? Shouldn't I just trust God?

I’m going to tell you what I told my friend today-and just like I told her, I am open to being wrong, but here is what I think. I think it’s absolutely okay to acknowledge the pain in our heart’s due to an unfulfilled desire. The person I was a year ago, would not have said that. I would have been afraid to admit that I was even mad at Him for not giving me what everyone else seem to have, with such ease. BUT, I am learning that God created us with all of these desires and emotions and its okay to lament.  There is a whole book in the Bible on it…and it’s there on purpose. It’s okay to say to God-why not me? Why is this happening? Have you forgotten me?  How cool that in Psalm 57 David hid in a cave, yelling at God, afraid for us life, because people he loved had turned their backs on him-he wondered if God had left him, didn’t see him? And yet God called him a “man after My own heart.” Y’all that’s cool and gives me freedom and hope. Now, it doesn’t give us freedom to hate or resent other people who have what our heart desires, but it does give us permission to feel the hurt and pain, and ask our questions.

As a church goer my entire life I often missed the point. I used to be so caught up in the “is this a sin?” question that I would gloss over pain sometimes in fear that it’s wrong to feel hurt by God. Or get so legalistic in my head, that I would drive myself nuts in trying to figure out if I was wrong to have certain “feelings” like He had abandoned me. I found the safest place to yell at Him and pitch a fit, is in His arms. I found healing in throwing out f-bombs, shaking my fists in furry, while wallowing in His lap. The truth is He hasn’t abandoned any of us, but sometimes it sure feels like it. I don’t know why He allows what He does. I think of my friends who have lost spouses and children. I think of people I met at chemo who are not getting better. I think of agonizing horrible experiences people have had like rape and abuse.  I consider myself and not able to conceive because of stupid cancer. My mind cannot wrap itself around some things, like a soldier seeing entire villages burned to the ground or watching a brother die by his side. Y’all life can be hard, messy, and confusing. It can hurt badly. It can feel like He has turned His face. It’s okay to say that. It’s okay to be a Christian and say that. The absolute beauty to me, is that He knows, and continues to extend Himself to us-which makes it entirely okay to allow yourself to feel and grieve. After this year, I can say with embarrassment, that it has taken a broken engagement and cancer to pry some of these things out of my hands. So I understand that it’s not easy. Cancer put things in perspective rather quickly and has a tendency to shed light on all the bull shit, on all the levels.  It’s crazy that something so scary can make you STOP, and feel His grace and mercy. How a doctor looking in your face, saying you have three years without treatment, gives you freedom to experience that grace and mercy in your life.-sans legalism. I hate to make every conversation about cancer, but it’s kind of a big deal and has completely shifted my world view for life. Pain, abandonment, and cancer has lead me to MORE hope and freedom. Weird. 

Amy gave me this stone at Valentine's Day ,the week I found out the cancer had spread to tissue surrounding the tumor.
Surgery was no longer an option. Conceiving was no longer an option. Yet there is Hope.