Why Me?

Why me?  Usually this seems to indicate someone feeling sorry for themselves and their circumstances.  I've been there a time or two, as has everyone I know.
"Why Greg?"  That was a question I had in the similar state of mind one day in Autumn of 2010.  I was outside when I looked up at Greg's bedroom window - he had been on chemotherapy for a couple weeks.  We were home from the hospital and I knew he was lying asleep in his bed.  He was very sick and weak - and the anti-nausea meds we had at the time were playing tricks with his mind.  It was just awful - It was definitely a "Why me... Why Greg?" moment.  He was such a good kid; always happy and helpful, setting goals for his life, etc.  Looking up at his window, I had a good cry... one of my better ones in fact.  Looking back - this was probably the beginning of change in myself...
At this point we were trying very hard to be positive and upbeat, and doing a pretty good job of it.  Embracing the situation, being grateful for this trial --this had not yet happened.  Then it did - I have written about this many times.

The sunrise on the way to Chemo

I went beyond knowing that this would turn out well in future years - I learned for myself that this could be well right now; all could be well in the present.  If I was going to be thankful for this later on, I was going to be thankful for this in the present.  After several attempts over a period of days I was able to pray and give heartfelt thanks that my son was able to have this experience.
And I meant it.
So do I still ask, "Why me?"  Sure, but in a new way with a new emphasis.  "Why" is a great question, but how about asking it and really meaning it... Take it deeper! Why?  Why this?  Why now?  Why not?  What am I supposed to learn?  How am I supposed to behave?  How do I need to change?  Who needs my attention? How will I be able to help others with my new-found knowledge and experience?
There are a lot of questions that go along with that Why?

Huntsman chemo infusion unit

What if there is no major life trial happening at the moment?  When life seems easy, do we ever ask why me?  Why?  Why are things going so well?  Why are awful things happening to other people but not to me?  Here is a chance to use the "who" question... Who around me is having trials?  Who needs my help?  How can I use  my time to brighten someone's day.  How shall I use this time to prepare for whatever is over the horizon.

Greg's fantastic view during Chemo

Enduring it Well - this is a radio program that I listened to a couple days ago.  I came in on the end... they were interviewing a man who was severely burned.  He said that everyone has trials, but some of them are very obvious.  He felt that those of us who have obvious trials have a responsibility to speak about it and share what we learn in order to help the majority whose trials are hidden.  I was so excited to hear him say that.  I have a very obvious trial.  I also have some that are not so obvious and I would not be comfortable discussing in public.  The strength I receive in being a mother of cancer-kids spills over and helps me in my other trials.  I hope that it can spill over and help my friends in all of their hidden trials as well.
If life has a purpose (and it does), then there is a purpose for our trials.
"Why?" is a good question, especially without the whine...

chemo-to-go!
Take one home today!

Speaking of not whining - let's check in on Greg.  He began chemotherapy yesterday morning.  He had a two hour infusion and then brought home a 48 hour infusion in a fanny pack to carry around for awhile...
...drum roll...

Greg sent me a screenshot of his
texting with one of his bishopric
member's wife.  I thought this was
so sweet!  Thank you!!

He is feeling great!  He texted me last night that, although he had not eaten anything at the hospital, when he got home he reported, "I have a huge appetite.  I ate almost a whole pizza.  I had pudding. Candy. Chips.   And I don't feel bad at all.  Being at home helps with sick feelings"
Has a mother ever been so pleased to have her child eating pizza, pudding, candy and chips?

Halfway done- there is a
hard ball in the center.

Greg has enough experience with anti-nausea pills to be able to manage this ---so far so good.  Another bonus - the chemotherapy is clear.  Last time there was one that was off-color.  I won't say the color because we try not to think of it... As he got progressively more sick the nurses would fill his hospital room with spearmint scented cotton balls before he was admitted.  We carried mint gum to sniff just in case... but the moment that off-colored chemo made it on the scene... ugh!  Let's not talk about it.
Anyway, the good news is that he is doing well.  I am humbled and grateful for the prayers of so many.  I have received many answers to my question of Why - and they are all good.  I will surely learn many more in the future.  We CAN be grateful for our trials!

Blogging question?  I have had so many people tell me that they comment on this blog but it never works.  Almost a year of blogs and only a few comments, but several people that try... who can tell me how to leave a comment?   I would love to have comments to read!

The Lower Lights

When I say that my children are my favorite people, it is more than a mother thinking that her kids are great.  They are strong and good  - smart and fun - and I learn from them.  They are more than that... and all of these things puts them at the top of my favorites list.
   Today, as I was walking down the sidewalk to church, I received a text from Greg.  He had read my blog post from this morning, and he agreed that it was good to write those things.  He also told me that while he was at church this morning they had sung Brightly Beam Our Father's Mercy (by Philip P. Bliss).  This was on Greg's mind while he read the blog - and he reminded me that we are the lights along the shore.  Here are some of the words:

Brightly beam our Father's mercy
From his lighthouse evermore,
But to us he gives the keeping
Of the lights along the shore

chorus: Let the lower lights be burning;
Send a gleam across the wave.
Some poor fainting, struggling seaman
You may rescue, you may save.

Trim you feeble lamp, my brother;
Some poor sailor, tempest tossed,
Trying now to make the harbor,
In the darkness may be lost.

chorus: Let the lower lights be burning;
Send a gleam across the wave.
Some poor fainting, struggling seaman
You may rescue, you may save.

It wasn't until I typed those words that I remembered I had used a wave/ocean metaphor this morning.

Bless that boy!  I felt like smiling all through church.

Why do I blog?  A year or so ago I continued to hear the message that there was a need to have clean and uplifting content on the internet... The feelings kept coming that I had something that I could share.  It was incredibly hard to begin - social media had never held too many charms for me.  However, I had a lot to say and was ever so grateful to be able to put it all into a format that could be viewed by friends, family and others.  I am usually not too inclined to share personal thoughts - but I do like to keep a journal.  In a journal I would be able to go deeper - but who would know about any of that until after I die and perhaps a great-grandchild shows an interest...
I have discovered that a positive, joyful, peaceful approach to life isn't natural for everyone.  Sharing this approach to a world that is saturated with trials of all kinds... well, I hope that it does provide light to someone.  As we shared our story with a medical assistant at Huntsman, he asked if he could share our story with others when it seemed appropriate.  We gave him our blog address and asked him to please share with anyone he felt could use it.

Christ can calm the waves
when we are tempest-tossed also!!

Back to the hymn - I read the words and pictured myself holding a light on the seashore, hoping to be of help to someone lost in the waves.  Here on the shore there are also storms.   It can be cold, rainy, windy and dark - but having a foundation under my feet is worth everything.  I am not tempest-tossed.  Out in the waves it is too easy to get
lost or feel like giving up.  Lights along the shore may be dim, but they are there, and their purpose is to help others.
Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and
glorify your Father which is in heaven (Matt. 5:16).
God is the source of our light.  Brightly beams our Father's mercy - He has provided our light and then "to us he gives the keeping of the lights along the shore."  It may be a "feeble lamp" - last week my light felt rather dim, but it was there.  I feel discouraged when I don't have the mental or physical strength to be out serving in a traditional sense, but I do have light.  My Savior is my light and I will serve for now, in the best way that I can for now... and simply share that there is hope for peace and stability in the harbor!

Purple Ports and Deep Breathing

   Sometimes I picture myself swimming in the ocean... I am underwater and can see the foamy white water above me... I swim toward it, anxious for some air.  As my head rises above the surface, I try to take in a nice big breath, but manage only a gulp before another wave knocks me tumbling back beneath the surface.

   This past week has felt like this.  Sometimes there is no energy, only heaviness.  I look at the things that I need to do and just think, "hmmm.  that needs to get done..."   I wrote that sentence in lower case because that best matches the depth (or shallowness) of how I feel about getting those things done...

   On top of our own cancer issues, my friend's stage-4-cancer-husband is back in the hospital.  We visited with them yesterday and hope that I can take some of her heaviness onto myself because I have an idea how it feels and wish I could ease her burden just a bit.  It is for her sake that I really, really wish I had more energy.  My friend with the darling little brain-tumor-removed-the-pituitary-and-drastically-changed-the-course-of-life daughter marked their one year surgery anniversary this week.  Bless her heart!

   I still feel very deeply all of my positive, uplifting, grateful feelings.  That is very, very real.  But this week the heaviness is here as well, and I cannot deny the weight of it all.  I also have had some great experiences that I am anxious to share, but not quite able - until this passes.

This is Greg's actual port from 2010-2011.  They saved
it for him.  He can make his wife a necklace.
Natalie thinks that it belongs on Dr. Who.

   In the meantime, Greg is working hard at his schoolwork, trying to catch up and maybe get ahead before chemotherapy begins this week.  His first infusion will be on Friday at Huntsman.  After this he will be able to go to a clinic which is somewhat closer to his apartment and will be able to schedule it around classes and work a little better.  This is truly the source of my burden this week.  I feel that I am going in with him, yet I won't even be there and the distance doesn't help me at all.  I can totally remember that first night with the nurses gowned, gloved and masked while hanging his chemo-bag which was in the dark brown wrapper.  It seemed unreal that they had to wear so much protection while it was being pumped inside my child's body.  

   These are the feelings that I am reliving.

   Enough of that...

   One of the best moments of Greg's first cancer experience was during our pre-op visit before he had his port implanted.  I have mentioned it before.  The doctor brought Greg a sample of what his port would look like and asked if we had any questions.  Greg took it, studied it, and said that he did have a question...... "Do they come in any other colors?"  The whole room busted up laughing.  I feel like that moment set the stage for our approach to his treatment.  

This is what Greg's new port looks like.
This would make a better necklace.

   When his port was implanted on February 12 - he was pleased to tell me that his port was, indeed, a different color.  They didn't give him an option - but this time it is purple.  He says that it is state-of-the art; MRI friendly and even three raised portions that will help the nurse locate the edges of the injection site.

   We are used to ports, but as I talk to people I realize that not everyone is familiar with them (lucky them).  Essentially it is implanted under the skin with an injection site and a catheter that can go into a larger vessel.  He will not need another IV during treatment.  His surgeon said that she would implant it at the same site as his old one which was in the center of his chest.  She got to surgery and went into auto-pilot and put it in her regular spot on the upper left chest.  Greg said he can feel the catheter at his clavicle.

   His surgery was on a Thursday and he went to work on Friday night and Saturday morning.  It hurt to wear a seat belt, but he did.  He tells his mom these things so that I am grateful he wore a seat belt and this lessens my scolding about going right back to work.  This is why he tells me to stay in Washington.  He has a sister and a grandmother to take care of him, and he does quite a good job of taking care of himself.  Apparently his roommates are trying to help him gain back the 20 pounds from last semester... so he is in good hands.

How it works...

 BLAH - I have not wanted to write anything while feeling so BLAH... but I think that it is important to record this experience as well.  It is a reality.  All of the wonderful parts of our trials are also a reality.  This is my focus - sometimes it is more difficult to keep that focus, but it is always there. I think that even these BLAH weeks are important, they make the peace and gratitude that much more powerful.   How can we know the magnificent if we don't experience the less-than-magnificent?  I wouldn't trade a moment!  The waves keep coming, I can scarcely catch my breath, but.... LIFE IS GOOD!!!