Rainbows and Moles

My, what a difference a day makes. I started composing this post three days ago as I was driving to work. It was raining, yet the sun was out, so I started looking for rainbows. I’ve been seeing them a lot lately, or, at least, the conditions that produce them.

It started a couple weeks ago. I was leaving the hospital after being rejected for chemo because my bone marrow was in bad shape, having not recovered from the previous treatment. I was disappointed, to say the least — another two weeks of not actively fighting the cancer. Then I saw the biggest rainbow I had ever seen. I don’t recall ever seeing a full arch rainbow ever in my life – this one, however, could not be missed. It seemed like it covered the entire sky, stretching miles from end to end. I pulled over to take a picture, but it was so big that I couldn’t get the entire arch in the frame. In addition to its size, there was the beginning of a second rainbow right beside it. It would have to remain, as one of my friends says, in the photo album in my mind.

Since then, there have been an unusually high number of days where the sun has been out while it was raining. Some of the resulting rainbows I could see, others I couldn’t, usually because I was driving. I suppose that’s what faith is like – knowing that something is out there, but not being able to see it.

As I was driving through the “sunny rain” two days ago, it occurred to me that maybe the rainbows had been another hummingbird experience. After all, in the Bible, the rainbow represents God’s promise. I reveled in the idea that God was sending me promises.

That was supposed to be the end of my post. Then the next day came.

I went to the hospital to start another 24-hour round of chemo (the one that had been postponed two weeks earlier), only to be rejected again. My bone marrow still hadn’t recovered, so still no cancer treatment for me. I just heard bits and pieces of the conversation that followed; I couldn’t find any silver lining to what was being said and my usual optimism started to dwindle.

I left feeling like I was playing “Whack-a-Mole” and I was the mole. I’m sure you remember this arcade game, which was especially popular at county fairs. You try to hit moles that pop up at random with a mallet to push them back into their holes. I thought, “How much disappointment, setbacks, and bad news am I supposed to take? How many times am I going to be hit with the mallet and pushed back into my hole?” — an especially frustrating thought when I’ve tried to be so optimistic and faith-focused during this battle. I went home and had quite the pity party.

So what’s a girl to do next? I woke up yesterday to a new day, put my big girl pants on, and started looking for rainbows. I have yet to see one, but, then again, the last two days have been sunny, which is a good thing. I know the rainbows will be back, though. After all, as Michael Krauszer stated in one of his blog posts, “It [a rainbow] can provide us with comfort, knowing that even after a terrible storm, God can and will be with us.”

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I’m a Weeble

I don’t remember the last time I got really good news from my oncologist. Just when I think things are going well, BOOM, something gets in the way. So far, the only progress that has been made regarding my health has been made by the tumors, which continue to get bigger and have gotten more aggressive recently. Almost every time I have gone to the doctor in the last few months, a bomb has dropped and my spirits drop with it. There have been times when I thought I would never regain my positive outlook on life, or even stop crying for that matter.

In August, I was taken off chemo after just barely starting because it was doing too much damage to my liver and bone marrow. The news was devastating to me – how was I supposed to fight cancer without any treatment? I felt like a soldier without a gun. I usually try to be stoic in the doctor’s office; however, this time, the news was a little more than I could handle. I crumbled – and, once again, I thought there was no way I would be able to crawl out of the depths of my disappointment. But I did. I’ve discovered I’m a Weeble.

People of a certain age remember these egg-shaped character toys that featured the tagline, “Weebles wobble, but they don’t fall down.” There have surely been times during the last two years that I have been parallel to the floor, but somehow I keep returning to an upright position. I’m not sure why this is. It most likely was the way I was raised. My father had a wonderful, positive outlook on life; he expressed his faith through his actions every day.

In a post last year, I talked about denial, optimism, and faith – a combination that I believe are characteristics of Weebles, at least they are for this Weeble. Denial comes in handy when I look in the mirror and don’t see a sick person, and I’m as active as I ever was. A stranger would never know what’s going on inside my body. In fact, I refuse to identify myself as being sick and have banned the word from my friends’ vocabulary, as well. Don’t get me wrong – I am not pretending that I don’t have terminal cancer; however, it doesn’t need to be my main focus in life.

I think that denial helps me be optimistic. I have found that once I absorb the bad news from the doctor’s office, I can pick out a nugget of news that is positive, making the bad news fade into the distance of denial. Yes, I had to have a lung resection, but two of the tumors taken out were the biggest ones at the time. Yes, I have a lot of tumors, but there aren’t any new ones. Yes, the tumors have gotten bigger, but now I’m eligible for a clinical trial. I can hang my hat on those nuggets and be optimistic again, hoping for the best.

Then, of course, there is faith. Once shattered when I found out the cancer has returned, my faith is stronger than ever. For the first time, I intimately understand something my father always said: “I don’t worry because I’ve turned all my troubles over to the Lord. If I’m still worrying, I haven’t truly turned them over.” I don’t know if I’ve quite done that; however, I do know that I have a calmness that I haven’t experienced for a long time.

I hope the Weeble in me continues to do its job – just wobbling, but not falling down.

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Eclipse of the Spirit

There was a hit song in the early ‘80s called “Total Eclipse of the Heart” (I sense a lot of you are smiling and nodding right now!). Last night, as I was watching the lunar eclipse, I thought of that song. Not only did I think about how our heart can be eclipsed, but I also thought how often we have an eclipse of the spirit. Lunar eclipses can be rather fleeting. Eclipses of the spirit, however, can be more lasting – if we let them — because, unfortunately, they are not caused by the rotation of a planet.

At various points in our lives, our moon will shine brighter than any star.  Other times, shadows will encroach upon the brightness. But sometimes, those shadows engulf all light, extinguishing even the smallest glow around the edges. Only we can determine how long our personal eclipse will last – and that may be difficult.

How do we try to find light when we are in a dark place? One way is to remember that lunar eclipse last night. If you looked up at the sky at a particular time, you may have seen a spectacular full moon. If you looked up at another time, all you may have seen is darkness. That’s the same way we tend to experience the snapshots of our life – all we can grasp is what we see at that moment. We can’t always see the trajectory of the planet rotating – moving us beyond the eclipse.

NASA says the total eclipse lasted only a little over an hour. In other words, it passed — rather quickly — and the moon eventually shone brightly once again. We just need to hold on and have faith – faith that whatever is causing our eclipse will pass as well.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” – John 1:5

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Hi, God. It’s Me, Ann.

Are you there? Hello? Hellooooo? Of course, I really do know He’s around — somewhere; however, my faith has been shaken to the core the past week. As a result, this post is especially difficult to write. Since I started this blog a year ago, I’ve shared many views on life as I journeyed through a nine-month battle with cancer. I have written a lot about faith, optimism, affirmative prayer, living for today and not worrying about the future, and counting one’s blessings. Just last month, I wrote about looking for the silver lining when life knocks you down – using God’s study guide of faith to pass life’s exams.  However, right now, this “glass half full” gal is seeing the glass half empty.

You see, last week I was told that my cancer has returned and spread to both lungs – an “incurable” condition, according to the doctor. Translation: I’m terminal. The doctor says the average life expectancy for someone in my condition is 18 months. Bummer. I imagine I know what you’re feeling right now as you read these words, especially if you know me. Stunned . . . shocked . . . sick. That’s how I felt. I didn’t expect that news either, and I deeply apologize to the many of you who are finding out about my condition this way. Telling people has been extremely difficult. After the recent losses of my father and brother, I feel like I’ve been kicked while I’m down. How much is one person supposed to take? I feel deflated and defeated.

I truly – deep, deep down truly – thought I had beaten cancer. I thought I was going to be a beacon, the shining success story that could inspire others who might face the type of rare, aggressive cancer I had – correction, have. I didn’t want that for egotistical reasons, but rather so that something good might come of a bad situation. I thought that was the purpose behind my first battle – that God was giving me the gift of words to start this blog and provide encouragement to others, people who were not just experiencing cancer, but also any difficult situation.

The first time I found out I had cancer, I thought, “Why not me? What makes me so special that something that horrible couldn’t happen?” This time, however, I am indulging in the classic “Why me?” question. I thought I had done everything right last time. I maintained my faith – in fact, it got stronger – and I shared it with others. I tried to face my challenge with poise and optimism. So I feel slightly abandoned by God right now. Yes, I know, saying that may be perceived as blasphemous by some. I rather feel like Pinto, Tom Hulce’s character in the classic movie “Animal House,” when his date for the toga party passes out in his bedroom and an angel appears on one shoulder and a devil on the other, resulting in a tug of war to decide what he should do next. My mini angel and devil certainly aren’t uttering the dialogue they had with Pinto, but they’re there nonetheless – arguing acceptance and anger, patience and indignation, faith and doubt.

I’ve always felt like I had a personal relationship with God. My prayers have often taken the form of a conversation. And just like you experience a range of emotions with a close friend, including frustration, so have I expressed, and am expressing, that emotion with Him as well. I’m not going to feel too bad about that, either, for even Jesus, in the Garden of Gethsemane, asked God to let death pass Him by and later cried out on the Cross, “My God, why have you forsaken me?”

I can’t begin to fathom why this is happening. As I have said in other posts, I don’t believe God causes bad things. I’m disappointed He didn’t step in to stop this from occurring, though. Once I adjust to this news, I will, hopefully, be like Job, who accepted numerous sorrows without losing faith. Right now, however, I’m more like David, when he entered the cave – afraid and lamenting.

Share YOUR strength — please.

Optimism, Denial, or Faith?

Ever since I was diagnosed with cancer, people have commented on my “positive attitude.”  Actually, people told me this a lot even before the cancer.  It’s true that I (almost) always try to look at the bright side of things; I strive to find that silver lining to each dark cloud, so I approached cancer like I would anything else in life.  It has made me wonder, however, what positive attitude really is.  I believed my cancer was gone before the tests said so and I believe it won’t return – is that optimism, denial, or faith?

I admit to being a Pollyana.  If you’re not familiar with her, she is the star of a self-titled children’s book about a little girl who always found something good in every circumstance.  Through the years, the name has been given to those who are optimistic, and sometimes it’s used in a negative sense to describe someone who refuses to accept negative situations for what they are, which leads me to denial.  At what point does positive thinking turn into denial, and is denial a bad thing if it keeps your attitude positive?  Whew!  Quite a conundrum!  Then, of course, there is faith – believing in what cannot be seen, letting go and letting God.

I’m definitely am optimist.  I believe people are raised in environments that will determine whether they are an optimist or pessimist.  I was raised in a family that was told to “roll with the punches” and I choose to look at the world in a positive light.  I also believe optimism is something that can be learned if people are open to the possibility.  Recently on Facebook, I’ve seen a “7 Day Positivity Challenge” popping up on my friends’ timelines.  I think that’s wonderful!  I don’t like being around negative people because, quite frankly, they are depressing, which can rub off on those around them.  Just recently, someone told me I shouldn’t consider myself cancer-free because the cancer will always come back, even 20 years later, and will return with a vengeance.  How disconcerting!  I don’t want to hear that, even if there may be scientific evidence to support the claim.  This is a perfect example of cognitive dissonance – hearing something that disagrees with what you believe.  It can literally cause physical stress, and I certainly don’t need that.  Doubt can bring you down.

I do sometimes wonder if my optimism borders on denial.  More often than not during the last 10 months, I did not focus on having cancer, even when looking at a bald head or a big scar.   I’m not sure if that’s denial or simply choosing not to think about negative things.  I do know that I have a strong faith, which has helped me not to worry because I knew God had a plan even if I didn’t know what it was.  I have always trusted that the parachute would open.

So, are optimism, denial, and faith three separate things, or do they intertwine somehow?  They seem like they should be different.  The definitions I came up with are that denial is refusing to acknowledge a negative situation; positive thinking is acknowledging the situation, but focusing on the positive and hoping for the best; and, faith is acknowledging the situation and knowing the best will happen.  That said, I can see myself across the entire spectrum, so maybe they’re not distinctive after all.  Perhaps it doesn’t matter how I categorize it as long as I keep doing it.

“… there is something about everything that you can be glad about, if you keep hunting long enough to find it” — Eleanor H. Porter, “Pollyana”

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The Mustard Seed

Even if you’re not religious, you most likely have heard the story of the mustard seed.  It appears in Matthew 17:20, when Jesus is talking to his disciples: “You don’t have enough faith,” Jesus told them. “I tell you the truth, if you had faith even as small as a mustard seed, you could say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it would move.  Nothing would be impossible.”

The mustard seed has become a major part of my fight against cancer.  I am a Christian and was raised to hand things over to God and not to doubt or worry – much easier said than done, even on a good day.  But when you’re diagnosed with cancer, it’s hard not to worry – about everything.  Every time I would start to fret about my treatment, my future, my finances (the list goes on), I would then start worrying about worrying!  It was like a constant mental tug of war.  I felt that if I truly believed that everything was going to be OK, I wouldn’t (and shouldn’t) be worrying.  It was a vicious circle with which I became obsessed.

Then one day I was reading a daily devotional and the scripture for the day was about the mustard seed.  I felt a calmness and assurance I hadn’t felt in a long time.  Have you ever seen how small a mustard seed is?  It’s tiny!  I thought to myself, “I already have that much faith.  If I believe in that, everything will be OK.”  My outlook changed that day.

When I was a little girl, mustard seed necklaces were popular – glass spheres with a mustard seed suspended in the center.  I didn’t have mine anymore, so I made one.  I ordered a perfume vial, about the size of a dime, from eBay and put a mustard seed in it.  I began wearing it the first day of my treatment and have continued to wear it ever since.  Coincidentally, shortly before surgery, one of my childhood friends from my hometown gave me a mustard seed bracelet, not knowing how important the mustard seed had become to me.  It is visual reminder that a little faith can go a long way.

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