The Care and the Love

If you know my husband, you know one thing about him.  He loves to give.  He has a reputation of giving unexpected gifts to friends and family members, books and tuition money to college students, extravagant meals served to friends, time spent listening and drawing out the hearts of people he cares for...  I've said many times that I don't know how his heart fits inside his chest cavity. 

But now that we are in this new season of treatments, rest, medicine, procedures,  doctors' appointments and more rest, he has learned to do something new - receive care and love from others.

This wilderness we find ourselves in now has brought us to a new position of letting others help us and give to us in ways we never thought.  We are discovering that God is using His children to awaken our hearts to a new fresh understanding of the depth of His love.  We are humbled and awed to witness how our family and friends are reaching out to comfort and care and love.  It chokes us up on a regular basis and reminds us that God is near.

Let me list some of the ways that God is pouring out His love and care on us:

Thoughtful cards filled with encouragement and love keep arriving in our mailbox that we display and love to read and reread.  Meal Train dinners arrive on our porch twice a week lovingly prepared by sweet friends.   Loving gifts from family and friends continue to drive the message home that we are not alone or forgotten.  Donations of money and gift cards arrive from people we know, and some people we don't know!  Emails, texts and messages from family and friends surprise us daily. We've had visits from sweet friends, and some people Tony hasn't seen in years.  All these expressions of love absolutely wreck us, reducing us to tears, reminders every minute of the presence of God with us, of His provision in this strange place, and His promise to walk this path with us!

I'm learning a lot about how to give care to those who are suffering by paying close attention to all these precious extensions of love.  I'm thoroughly impressed by the expressions of encouragement and the level of thought that went into these messages and gifts.

We feel very strongly that we are carried along by prayers and God's grace.  There are challenges every day and temptations to fear what lies ahead.  We can't express just how much it means to us that other people take time and care enough about us to lift our names to God and pray!  I have one local friend who let me know that her "new way of crossing Indiana" was always to drive by my house and pray for us.  So no matter where she drives, my street is always the through-way.  Isn't that creative?  What loving intent and persistent faith!  Oh, the Care and the Love! 💛💛💛

A Different Kind of Christmas

It can feel mechanical to face a holiday when your world has changed.  Our hearts and minds were still adjusting to his diagnosis.  I had put up a tree but not decorated it.  I had made cookie dough but not actually baked a cookie.  I had bought some presents but not wrapped anything.  So many familiar things, and yet everything different.

Like most families we have lots of traditions at Christmastime.  3 days after we got the diagnosis our oldest son and his beautiful wife arrived from Arizona for a week's visit.  Our other son, his lovely wife and our 2 grandsons live in our town.  That meant that we could all be together for this holiday, come what may.

Tony is known for his Italian Feast of Seven Fishes on Christmas Eve.  But we told everyone that he was probably not up for any cooking of that sort this year, even though all the fish had already been bought and frozen.  Nobody cared, everyone just wanted to hang out together.  I kept saying that it might be "fish sticks and tater tots" and all agreed!  Just the thought of family together was comforting.

Our oncologist arranged quick scheduling of Tony's port insertion 2 days before Christmas.  And his first chemo treatment was set for the day after Christmas, no time was wasted.  We felt the urgency.  The first procedure was done skillfully by the hospital professionals.  Tony recovered easily.

Since I had no time to bake, my sweet daughters-in-law took over, baked and decorated the cookies for our Christmas. They wrapped the presents with a style I don't possess.  The kids even decorated the tree!  There's something comforting about admitting when we need help.

To our shock and surprise Tony had an unexpected surge of energy those few days before Christmas and decided to make the feast!  I was wary of him taking on such labor intensive cooking and kept trying to intercept him and help.  I was mildly successful but mostly did my usual sous-chef clean-up duties.  He spent a whole day cleaning clams and making his fabulous stuffing for his baked clams.  These gems are loaded with clams, shrimp, scallops, orange roughy, seasonings and then baked to perfection for our first course with fried calamari.

He also prepped his cold salad of monk fish and jumbo lump crab meat, second course.  And he cut up his orange roughy filets to be ready for the fryer.  Tony served these golden beauties with broiled shrimp and scallops in wine and butter, and thin linguine aglia e olio (garlic and oil), third course.

If you peeked in our window that night, you would never have known that even though some things were the same, everything felt different this Christmas Eve.  We didn't arrange fancy plates, just put all the food on the island while everyone helped themselves.  Our friends joined us and we talked and laughed and prayed, as always.  We gathered around the piano and did our best.  It was good therapy.

Christmas morning we opened presents and laughed with each other, savoring sweet moments with the babies, just glad to be together.  Our kids surprised Tony with a beautiful video montage and a recording of their thankfulness for their father who is showing them how to suffer in a godly way.  They are precious to us. Tony and I agree that raising children was the "best thing we ever did." It was such a gift to have our children all around us during that first week of our new life.

Similar to how cooking liquid gets reduced in a pan, non-essentials are evaporating from our lives.  I feel like we are in a refining process of losing everything that doesn't matter, clinging tightly to what is important.  

I spend a lot of time awake in the middle of the night thanks to my hot flashes.  But now I have traded my frustration for a keen sense of opportunity to pray and draw near to God with no distractions during these times.  God has been so kind to give me wonderful pictures and analogies to encourage us along our way.  I think He still speaks through dreams and visions when He wants to.  We believe He is in control in this strange place.

Our pastor started a series called "Wilderness" to start the new year.  I told him that it was like he was listening in to our private conversations and then teaching!  We laughed about that and once again, it was so comforting to know that God was with us every step through our uncharted territory.  It will be a time of provision, not abundance.  It will be a time of focusing on what matters to God, leaning in to hear His voice, choosing to trust Him, and letting Him carry us along.

The day of Tony's first chemo treatment I had a distinct image in my mind of an invading army going forward to obliterate the enemy while he was sitting in that infusion chair.  I sat next to him with a quiet sense of joy that help was on the way, the fight was beginning!  

Reflections on the Diagnosis

When we got the diagnosis that we never expected, seemingly from left "universe," everything changed.  Immediately our thoughts raced from future outcomes to present details, and everything in between.  

I couldn't speak for five to ten minutes in that ER room, shaken by the scan results the doctor had just read from her phone.  I just kept looking into his eyes and reaching down deep inside me for comforting words to help him adjust to this news.  I held his hands, kissed him gently and let him know that we were in this together.  Whatever the path we had to travel, wherever the journey led us, I promised to remain right there beside him.  I was going nowhere.

I knew we had to phone our sons and tell them.  I knew that they would be deeply saddened and shaken just like us.  But I also knew they would pray.  I texted my family and some friends also.  Somehow we knew the more people we had on our new team the better.  No one should suffer in isolation.

We were told that he would be transported by ambulance to a Pittsburgh hospital.  I was glad when they told me I could ride with him.  The gravity of the situation still slowly dawning on me.  I had a little time to pack a bag for our hospital stay.  It's funny now when I remember how I rushed into the house, grabbing what I thought was necessary, leaving some really important things at home.  My thoughts were all focused on staying next to him.  

The ambulance drivers were very nice.  They put him on a gurney and wrapped him like a burrito with insulated blankets and straps.  I wondered if he would be comfortable like that.  The pain meds helped him to fall asleep quickly.  He doesn't remember much of that ride.  I chatted with the driver in the front seat for a while and then rested my head against the window and dozed myself.

We arrived at AGH shortly after 11 pm, a flurry of activity, nurses, questions, paperwork, IV tubes, bags of fluids, medicines, pillow, sheets, blankets, and a comfortable chair next to him that would be my home for the next 5 days.

Just when the activity settled down our friend, Rick, walked into the hospital room.  We were happily shocked that he was there, in the middle of the night, with his loving smile, jokes,
ready to pray with us.  To know Rick is to love him.  He and his lovely wife have been faithful godly friends of ours for almost 40 years.  Rick is a Pittsburgh guy who bleeds black and gold for the Steelers, says "yinz" without apologizing, and just happens to have a doctorate in theology.  He loves God and His word, and on the rare occasion when I successfully get him to start talking about scriptures, it's like listening to beautiful music. He stayed for a couple of hours while we started to process all the new information, joking with Tony about the good old days when they taught together at a Christian school.  Before he left he pulled his anointing oil out of his sweatpants pocket and prayed over my beloved.  I don't remember the exact words, but I know that it was exactly what we needed.  Somehow I understood that in this strange new place, God was with us.

The next few days in the hospital brought lots of tests, waiting for tests, talks with urologists and oncologists, trying to rest, cafeteria meals, texting, reading, praying.  We loved our nurses, all of them.  Tony engaged each one in conversation, drawing them out and enjoying their stories.  One nurse, Vickie, told us she had never had a positive experience with anyone named "Tony."  So my sweetie made it his goal to change her mind about that before he left the 9th floor of AGH.  I think he succeeded.

On Sunday one of my friends texted me about a church that was across the street from the hospital.  Since it was mid-December they were having Christmas services.  I hadn't left the hospital for days and wasn't sure I should leave his side, but decided to venture out for a walk anyway.  I strolled through the park looking at people around me, almost like I was staring through a glass bubble at what normal life looked like.  I entered the back of the church auditorium and sat in the last row next to a lovely woman who liked to sing as much as me.  The choir was singing about Jesus enthusiastically.  I moved my mouth to sing but I'm certain that no noise was there.  I felt bathed in the comfort of God's praises all around me.

When I left the church I continued my quick tour of the park.  Through the cold air I heard worship music blasting from a truck and followed the sound until I saw the most beautiful sight.  A group of people were serving steaming hot meals and giving out warm clothing to the homeless in the park.  I walked through the crowd, choked up, tears filling my eyes, at the presence of God all around me.  People were eating, talking, praying, and trying on coats, unaware of their effect on me.  Once again, God was driving home His message to me, "I'm here."

The testing was finally done on day 5 at the hospital, the results of the biopsy would take a few days to complete.  We were discharged on a cold Tuesday afternoon.  Our friend, Bob, came to pick us up.  Tony sat in the front seat for the ride home discussing the details of our hospital stay.  I sat in the back and listened to the conversation, but keeping my heart and mind always open to whatever God would whisper to me.  I was beginning to understand that there was almost no line for me between breathing and praying.  It's just the way I exist now, the way to move forward.  At my feet I felt a glass container of frozen soup that Bob's wife, Danni, had sent for us.  It's something how a bowl of soup can speak of such love.  As we continued on the long drive home I kept bumping the soup with my feet, every touch a solid reminder once again from my Lord, "I'm with you, and I'm taking care of you."

We spent a few days at home waiting for our first visit to the Cancer Center to hear the biopsy results, all new territory for us.  When we arrived on that Thursday morning, one lovely nurse took us into an exam room and started taking vitals.  Then she looked at Tony and said he had a very calming presence about him.  She asked if he was a pastor.  He said no but replied that he loved God very much.  She asked if she could pray for us and, while we cried holy tears, spoke to her Father in heaven asking for healing and comfort.  God was proving to us that it doesn't matter where we went or what facts came our way, He was right there with us.

Our wonderful oncologist took some time to explain the different types of lymphomas and how they would be treated and then gave us the news, "Diffuse Large B-Cell."  It's an aggressive, common, but treatable lymphoma.  She outlined the procedures that my beloved would have to endure and gave us a warm smile to indicate that it would be ok.  She has proven to be a fierce ally in our fight against this formidable opponent.  

So now I have tapestries upside-down in various places around my house.  Each one a reminder of our earth lives.  Just like my hero, Corrie Ten Boom, wrote how all we see here is like the underside of stitching with knots, frays, tangles, all a vague impression of what the Grand Weaver is really working on.  Only when we are in Heaven will we see the final result, the beautiful stories of our lives as only He can embroider.  Only then will we see how the contrasting dark and foreboding colors allow the cheery tones to pop off the canvas.