its been a while. I know.
I’m on a new treatment, as the everolimus failed and the cancer went up the spine as well as the liver continued to spread. I went to Florida for the Annie Appleseed conference, started verzenio and lost a dear friend to this disease. I’ve been grieving. I’ve been healing. I decided to share today’s Facebook post.
I hope it helps someone, somewhere.
Today is “Madame Swoosh” day. I’ll be driving about an hour to meet my French energy worker, Odyle Beauvelaine and her daughter Maryne. I love these women now, as they have become my friends. When I spoke to Maryne to make the appointment, she thanked me for all of the emails I’ve been sending to keep her mom informed. She said her mom has continued to work on me every day.
Jesus is my healer.
But He also gave his disciples the power to heal others through the Holy Spirit. Odyle had stage four cancer at thirty three and was healed. She is now seventy and said she was given this gift from God. She has also said I am directly connected, and that when we are together her energy is affected.
I’m hoping she can help my back pain today. I also feel pain in my breast pain and I think that breast tumor feels bigger.
Swoosh it away.
My kids are coming with me, as they’ve met her before and they told me her hugs feel like heaven.
They truly do.
We spent the day yesterday cleaning, and my floors were finally mopped for the first time in months. We also set up for Easter, and I felt good about that.
I watched the story of Jesus as I cleaned, then watched the Brene Brown Netflix special.
Man, she is amazing.
Alycia has been in my heart a lot, and I cried a little by myself in the bathroom so the kids wouldn’t see. We were in the arena together, and unless you’re in this crazy cancerland, you won’t understand. She always did, and always calmed me down, and I calmed her down as well. We spoke about Theodore Roosevelt’s “Man in the Arena”, and that was our poem.
So it was fitting that the Brene Brown special debuted yesterday on a day I missed her, and she spoke about the arena.
She also spoke about vulnerability and the story we tell ourselves, and how it takes great courage to be vulnerable. I’ve made myself extremely vulnerable here.
I’ve opened up my life, my cancerland journey, my time in the arena, my fears, my joys. I’ve been criticized, ostracized at times. I’ve wanted to stop after those moments.
But here’s the thing.
A friend contacted me Friday, and her mom was in the hospital for an illness. During a scan, they found a lump, and suddenly words like “cancer”, “malignant”, and “biopsy” entered their world. She said she didn’t know what to do, and knew she had to contact me.
During a frightening time, this friend reached out to me, because she knew I’ve been in the arena and have done all I can to make myself an expert in this arena.
And all the while, I’ve been vulnerable and somehow courageous enough to share it all through the stories I’ve been telling myself and learning from others.
Brene also talked about boundaries. I’ve been getting better.
There are people who will criticize those of us in the arena. They are all in the cheap seats. Think about sports games. The players are sweaty, putting in the work, sore, sometimes bleeding, bruised, and out of breath. The people watching in the cheap seats are yelling what the players should do, or worse, obscenities. Some are offering encouragement.
For those of us in the arena, we’ve got to learn how to step over the crap hurled our way and tune out the cheap seats, and listen to the coaches and people who love us even when we are losing, and continue to cheer us on.
Have boundaries like a motherf*cker, but still keep softness and love.
Then I went to church for Good Friday, and we exited the church in total darkness and silence all the way to our cars to symbolize the grief, anguish and pain of those who loved Jesus after He was crucified.
How was this possible that the man who raised people from the dead and healed the sick and gave sight to blind could have died? But according to God’s plan, Jesus has to die so He could be raised up three days later. His disciples didn’t know the plan though. The grief and sorrow must have been breathtaking.
Their Saturday was a long day.
I’ve been in my own personal “Saturday” since diagnosis. I dont know His plan for me, and won’t until death. So I’ll continue to pray that His plan is to keep me here in this arena for many more years, offering hope to others here and there. I never chose this life. It’s the life I’ve been given.
It’s been made easier by looking for joy.
I get joy every day from my job, and the children in my class who live in my heart.
I get joy from my friends who are not in the cheap seats, but in the front rows cheering me on and throwing me organic food and juices and massages and reflexology and love and texts and likes on posts and comments.
I get joy from my nurses who cry and laugh with me through painful treatments.
I get joy and hope from my oncologist and herbalist and specialist.
I get joy from my children, who are my whole world and make this world a beautiful place. I could not have imagined the deep love and admiration and joy I for from Madison, Morgan and Quinn.
I get joy from my family who have given me nieces and nephews (one who turns 13 today…. wooo Hunter!), and are my children’s best friends and sprites.
I get joy from my parents who talk to me every day on the phone and have given me a life full of love and support and strength.
I get joy from my husband, who is my rock. Who stands beside me in this arena. Who works tirelessly for our family. Who loves me even with the extra weight from the medications, the different phases of hair, the crying and sweaty long nights.
I went to bed and watched a movie about a girl who fell into a tree and was miraculously healed from a terminal illness. The mother said she didn’t know why God chose to heal her daughter and not other children.
That’s an answer I would like to know as well.
My Saturday has been long.
But there’s a Sunday coming.
For some, they are lucky that they don’t feel the long Saturday that lasts for years.
But for those of you who have been living the Saturday longer than the 24 hours, waiting for your own Eater Sunday miracle….
I see you.
I send you joy, peace, comfort and love.
May our Sunday come soon.
In Jesus’s name, amen.