Living with the Certainty of Uncertainties

I am a few days shy of the 3 month post-treatment mark. It feels wonderful to be putting more time and distance between chemo & radiation, and my daily experience. When I compare these photos, it is hard to connect with the first picture. I find myself asking "Did I really look like that?!" Of course I did; it just feels so foreign as compared to where I find myself now only 5 months after the final chemo treatment. My recovery is not completely in a forward motion, though, and I have to continue being patient with my body and its ssslllooooowww regeneration. I am still dealing with fatigue from the radiation therapy, and with the impact of peripheral neuropathy. My hands and feet are usually quite painful by the end of the day, but at least I am able to be up and around more. My recovery plan keeps getting modified as the nerve damage lingers, so I am learning to tune into what my body is telling me about my day-to-day activities, in order to prevent permanent damage. For now, I see enough forward motion that I feel optimistic about the healing process, and continue to anticipate a day when I am fully free of both the nerve damage and breast cancer. I will have a few detours along the way to putting this behind me, though. My oncologist suggested I complete genetic testing to ensure that I was not a carrier of the 2 known breast & ovarian cancer genetic mutations. If I carried them, I would have to make some decisions about surgery to prevent the likely return of breast cancer, and the onset of ovarian cancer.(There may be more mutations related to these cancers, but at this point, scientists can only clearly identify these 2). I received my results a few weeks ago, and it is a good news/uncertain news scenario. The good news is that I do not carry the specific mutations known to create breast and ovarian cancer. WHEW! The uncertain news is that a different rare mutation was discovered in those particular genes. It is so rare, that scientists have not found a large enough pool of patients to study it. At this point, it is assumed to be benign, and nothing to worry about. I must admit I felt unsettled by the discovery of a rare genetic mutation. What if it's not benign? What if, down the road, it is linked to cancer or other serious health issues? How do I make decisions with such weak data?? When faced with uncertainty, I have learned to pray, and to turn to Scripture. This passage from Psalm 139 has long been a favourite of mine, but in light of these test results, these verses are all the more precious to me: "O Lord, You have searched me and known me. You know my sitting down and my rising up; You understand my thought afar off. You comprehend my path and my lying down, And are acquainted with all my ways. For there is not a word on my tongue, But behold, O Lord, You know it altogether. You have hedged me behind and before, And laid Your hand upon me. For You formed my inward parts; You covered me in my mother’s womb. I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Marvelous are Your works, And that my soul knows very well. My frame was not hidden from You, When I was made in secret, And skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth. Your eyes saw my substance, being yet unformed. And in Your book they all were written, The days fashioned for me, When as yet there were none of them." (v. 1 - 5; 13 - 16) There is nothing in my circumstances that are a surprise to God. He has "hemmed" me in from the beginning of my life, and knows every detail of every cell and DNA pattern that I have. Because I can trust Him and his plans, I can rest in knowing He is with me, and has his hand on all aspects of my life. The uncertainties of life, including a rare genetic mutation, do not overcome God's faithfulness and his all encompassing grace He provides to live fully and abundantly. That is where peace is found (at least for me!) And then there are all the good people placed in my life that are cheering me on to the finish line. A wonderful friend and neighbour who has been on the same journey keeps encouraging me to look forward to a time when all this will be a distant memory, and all the details of treatment, side effects and cancer itself will be hard to recall. She inspires me and I am so appreciative of her support and example. I have so much for which I am thankful: a husband who supports and encourages and continues to love me through every moment of this experience. Family who are always at hand - sister, parents, children, nieces - even grandchildren who light up our days! Colleagues who continue to write, call and visit... Friends from all over the country who support us with love and food and listening ears. Life is rich and full, and I am so thankful for all the blessings that fill my life.

Signs of Spring

April 22. It is a whole 9 weeks post treatment, and SO MUCH has happened in our lives. As most of you know, Pete has made some big changes in his career path, having resigned from WMB. He is now working for Mennonite Central Committee, leading teams on mission trips to the urban landscape of Toronto, ON. He is also working at Integrity Home Services, doing residential construction & renovations, and landscape work. Both jobs pull at his passions: working with the poor and marginalized in our culture, and getting his hands dirty with active, hands on work. Many of you have asked me: How was Pete's first week? Busy, new and a bit strange. Transitioning from the comfort of the church community into such new roles has meant some hard things. Saying goodbye to colleagues and friends. Letting go of the comfortable, known routines and income. Getting used to a new rhythm, making new connections with strangers and hoping to make it all make sense. At one point, Pete turned to me and said "This feels a little weird, to be away from the church." Yes it does. But we are SO grateful for the fact that we have been able to stay in this community, and to stay planted in our little house beside the river. This means we can see people we love and miss. We look forward to reconnecting with friends along the way, and getting caught up on the story of your own journeys. This has already begun - yesterday I spent the afternoon with a good friend, Blythe, celebrating her upcoming marriage and seeing so many women from WMB who are dear to me. I felt so blessed to just be out in a social setting. I can't recall the last time I was able to do this, and it is nice to have the energy to go out for a few hours and visit! I take that as a sign of spring on its way in my body. Yes, I still have peripheral neuropathy & am dealing with pain, tingling, weakness and numbness in my hands and feet. This side effect from chemo is lingering and while I wish I could hurry it along, there is nothing to do but take the meds prescribed for the symptoms and simply wait it out. My hair is also returning quite quickly. At my last visit to the hospital, I was told that I don't look like a cancer patient only 2 months out of treatment, because of how much my hair had grown in. Yay hair! Hurray for eyebrows and eyelashes! Here's a few photos for comparison in various phases of the journey: (forgive my lousy self-portraits) Next steps are simply to focus on recovery, and take steps towards reclaiming our lives. Pete and I will be "doing church" in a different way, attending a small house fellowship. We are excited at this new opportunity to grow in our love for God and others in a more intimate setting. As we were sharing yesterday, I said that it feels like I am nearing the completion of this journey. Did I even say that out loud? There is a freedom in breathing deeply, knowing that in the midst of turmoil, & the uncertainty of change, we still follow a path marked out for us. A friend sent us this yesterday, and I found it moving and appropriate in light of the twist to our journey. It is called the Drake prayer: "Disturb us, Lord, when We are too pleased with ourselves,
 When our dreams have come true 
Because we dreamed too little, 
When we arrived safely 
Because we sailed too close to the shore. 

Disturb us, Lord, when
 With the abundance of things we possess 
We have lost our thirst
 For the waters of life; 
Having fallen in love with life,
 We have ceased to dream of eternity
 And in our efforts to build a new earth,
 We have allowed our vision 
Of the new Heaven to dim. 

Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly, 
To venture on wilder seas 
 Where storms will show Your mastery; 
Where losing sight of land,
 We shall find the stars. 

We ask you to push back 
The horizons of our hopes; 
And to push back the future
 In strength, courage, hope, and love. 

This we ask in the name of our Captain,
 Who is Jesus Christ." We happily anticipate a future where cancer is behind us - if this is the place Jesus leads us to. If not, then we anticipate finding continuing grace, courage and peace in the face of challenges. For now, I feel a quickening inside me as I ponder the new experiences before Pete in his new job, and the new energy that is building inside me as I continue to heal. New, new new - I love that word! Thank you for your continuing support, prayers and love as we take these steps. We could not have come this far without you.

Comfortable or Uncomfortable faith

This is my final week at WMB. It has been 3 weeks of saying goodbye and processing with hundreds of people. It has been a little harder yet a little better than I expected and I feel loved, that i will be missed, communicated with and affirmed in my decision to come here and work and my decision to move on and continue this journey. Yesterday we had a final youth service where youth, leaders and some parents came out to spend some time together for our last time. One cool thing we did was share communion together. Before we approached the table, we each were to write something we were grateful to God for or seeking forgiveness from God for and then stick those on a cross in the middle of the room. It was great to see all the notes stuck to the cross and littering the floor around the cross at the end of the service...an indication of Him in our lives. A morning of lots of hugs. This morning I had breakfast with a young adult from the church who has grown up here through my time in the youth ministry. She is now a youth leader and devoted follower of Jesus. We spent time chatting about life and then she told me that I was the first person to truly make her feel uncomfortable in her faith lived out...she explained that I had challenged her and rattled her cage a bit asking her to consider and do things outside her comfort zone and for that she was grateful. I was grateful that she shared that with me. It meant a lot. Should our faith be comfortable or uncomfortable? Was Jesus teaching a life of comfort or something else? Not sure when He said ,"For my yoke is easy and my burden is light" that He meant there was no yoke and no burden and but that there was work to do and he would be there with us. You decide. Do not believe and live your live. Believe and do nothing for the Kingdom. Believe and follow in Jesus' dust picking up a cross and adventuring with Him into lonely places and frightening adventures. It truly is your choice. Good luck. Tough decisions can lead down unique paths...peace and grace to you.

...the next leg of the journey...

The winds of change are blowing and it is both exhilarating and frightening at the same time. I have resigned from my position as Family Pastor at WMB. I have been in that role for almost 5 years and have grown and developed in the position here and within this community. It has been a journey exploring how God works through his church and in spite of us gets things done. There are so many people I will struggle with leaving behind but... the road is in front of me and I'm walking it. The future is somewhat planned out. Half of weeks will be spent working as the new coordinator of MCC TOOLS in Toronto This will entail hosting teams from various churches and organizations and connecting them with the various service agencies in downtown Toronto that serve the poor and marginalized. I am not exactly sure how that will unfold but I'm excited and ready to roll. the other half of my time will spent working in renovation/construction and landscaping with a good friend of mine from Guelph. This means that for now, Cindi and I will continue to live on the riverbank with our 4 dogs and chickens. Cindi continues to heal from the chemo damage at a slower rate than we would like but is beginning to turn and consider the journey back to work as a VP in the Waterloo school system next September. It has definitely been a year...looking forward to the next leg of the journey.

Looking Beyond

Today I am officially one month post-treatment! I think I am beginning to see some 'green shoots' of improvement: today I got up, and was able to walk with less pain. This is a first since the arrival of the neuropathy in December, so I was pretty excited this morning. I was even able to take all 4 dogs out for a long walk, and while my feet were pretty sore by the time I got back, it was worth it to enjoy the time outside again. My hands are still quite painful, but I am hopeful that the bursts of tingling and achy bones are signs that the nerves are beginning to regenerate. I still feel fatigued, but am able to cut back on the medications, so at least I am not quite as drugged. (Sixteen pills each day has proven a bit much, so I am relieved if I can get by with fewer meds to manage my symptoms). Small steps towards improvement have helped to keep things on a positive note, but it is a discipline to stay focussed on the improvements rather than getting impatient with the slow pace of recovery. As I was walking with the dogs, snow fell in large fluffy flakes around us, and it gave me time to contemplate the simple joy of being able to move more freely even for such a short distance. The stroll reminded me of the passage in Hebrews 12, where Paul compares our lives to the experience of running a race. His language in these chapters acknowledges that the race is sometimes hard; he speaks of persevering, of not growing "weary or faint-hearted." Instead of focussing on how hard the journey is, he exhorts his readers to remember they are surrounded by a "crowd of witnesses" - folks who have lived lives of faithful service and who have gone on to heaven. Paul draws a picture of those faithful saints, watching us as we tough it out here, and reminds us that we have a crowd cheering us on with each step. I began to think about the many friends and family who suffered hardship while they lived here, and then died - but were faithful despite the struggles and pain. As I walked my menagerie today, I recalled by name and face those who touched my life, and have passed away due to accident or illness. Relatives, friends, neighbours...Rather than feeling sorrowful, I actually enjoyed the memories of these dear ones, and considered the legacy they left with me. I could recount the suffering that each one experienced - whether from lung cancer, or leukaemia, or a host of various illnesses or accidents - or even political persecution of those overseas. Their own journeys provide examples of faithfulness in the midst of adversities of all kinds. It was humbling to consider these personal histories, and helps me to frame my own experience in a positive light. Someday, we will swap tales! We will remember together the challenges, and celebrate that in the midst of it all, none of us was ever alone, and that we experienced God's faithfulness with each faltering step along the way. Paul also reminds us that the key to completing the race is to look beyond: to see the rewards that await us, whether we stumble along, or run freely, on the path laid before us. Sometimes, I grow impatient and wonder why the neuropathy clings to my hands and feet - but my impatience is tempered when I look beyond this "momentary affliction" and consider the future. Somewhere, someday, I will be free of the pain and able to return to my life, fully healed. When I wonder why God has put my feet on a path called "cancer," I have to look beyond by trusting that He will equip me with the tools I need to make the journey. As I begin to look for His presence in the midst of the struggle, only then do I enjoy the grace and peace to be found in waiting on his healing touch. Until "then" - the end of this pathway through cancer - I can only give thanks, recalling with gratitude the blessings provided by so many faithful friends and family along the way! "Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or faint-hearted....Therefore lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees, and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be put out of joint but rather be healed." (Hebrews 12)

Pathetic Fallacy

A "pathetic fallacy" is a literary device, whereby the author uses the weather to reflect the mood of the protagonist. My recovery has been very much reflected by the changes in weather as of late. Some days I feel brighter, a bit more energetic - like the sunny, crisp winter days we have had. On an "up" note, I am seeing my hair come back. Funny, I was more excited to see the return of my eyebrows than anything else. That little bit of definition on my face makes me feel less like a cancer patient, and more like myself! But the sunny days are often punctuated by grey weather and strong winds. As some of you know, my last day of treatment was overshadowed by a potential new lump. Talk about a swift moving storm! It took my breath away to realize how little control anyone really has over this situation. Thankfully, that gale blew over quickly, as the ultrasounds revealed nothing of concern. A more lingering shadow comes in the form of the peripheral neuropathy (nerve damage) that continues to plague me. This is likely to fade over time... so it requires ongoing patience. I have not seen any significant improvement since it arrived 10 weeks ago. In order to help me with the pain/tingling/burning in my hands and feet, I have been prescribed a long list of medications: sixteen pills a day. So the February/March winter weather truly reflects the ups and downs of recovery. Lots of grey, cloudy skies, interrupted by sunshine at times. Getting through this period of recovery is tough slogging at times. I want to be back on my feet, to return to life as it was before cancer...but there is no rushing this process. All I can do is continue to wait for full healing and trust that the purposes set out for this time in my life will be achieved. The weather of my walk continues to be unpredictable, and I can only kneel in submission to the One who is the source of strength, step by step. "The Eternal should be honored and revered; He has heard my cries for help. The Eternal is the source of my strength and the shield that guards me. When I learn to rest and truly trust Him, He send His help. This is why my heart is singing! I open my mouth to praise Him, and thankfulness rises as song. The Eternal gives life and power to all His chosen ones; to his anointed He is a sturdy fortress. Rescue your people, and bring prosperity to your legacy, may they know you as a shepherd, carrying them at all times." (Psalm 28, 6 - 9, The Voice).

Photos of our story

From Barbados to Nicaragua to New York to Algonquin to Kitchener-Waterloo the story continues with FAMLY and FRiENDS, PUPPiES and ADVENTURE!!!

Our home- the foster factor

Well, February is coming to an end. Cancer treatments are ended. Life has turned a corner in our home and we are looking at a new normal. Besides the tsunami of cancer treatment that has enveloped our lives for the past 9 months, there has been the foster factor here on the riverbank. Arnel, our foster son turned 18, pulled his school marks up from from 50s and 60s to high 70s, celebrated living with us for a year and bought his first car. What a gift he has been to us, with his gentle faith, his loving care for Cindi through her treatment and his slow journey building a life in our home. Our dog Jake adores him and that's the litmus test isn't it? Our three rescued and adopted dogs Sammy, Jake and Harley have been great, albeit expensive at times what with cuts and sickness and even a Quail egg blockage in the intestines for poor Harley. They are most definitely a part of the family fabric here. We saw our first "Friendly Giant" foster dog come and go last year. Maggie was a lovely 75lb. lapdog. She was with us for a few months of fostering and now lives permanently just outside of Parry Sound on the edge of a lake with a wonderful couple. Yesterday we rescued our second "Friendly Giant" dog, an 8 year old Mastiff mix. She's probably about 15-20 pounds overweight and clocks in at about 110lbs. She's a talker and amazingly friendly. Sad story is that her owner lost his job, his disability, his home and pretty much everything and had to make the tough decision to give her up so she would be cared for. He lives out of his truck and friends basements. She would never have made it at Humane Society - probably too old to be adopted out quickly. So here we are, rounding a corner, fostering people and dogs and trying to live lives of honesty and integrity and sometimes actually getting that right. I believe that Jesus was in the business of redeeming and because we want to follow him (although that may be hard) ... Well we believe we should be in the redeeming business too. It just makes sense to my heart. So in the midst of the dog hair and teenage laundry we foster and we love it. It has proven great for the soul...Pete

The Celebration that Almost Wasn't

February 12, 2013 will always be a day to remember. The final day of treatment for breast cancer! The first steps towards freedom from daily medical appointments, parking at the hospital, long walks down crowded hallways, and cold fingers prodding and poking. Time to shed the aches and pains of active treatment and just focus on rest and recovery. And celebrating! So the plan was to complete the final treatment, check in with the family doctor at the end of her busy day, and then go home to celebrate. Dear friends were waiting to make homemade waffles as a nod towards pancake Tuesday. But while my family doctor examines me, she finds what looks like another lump in the same breast. Suddenly i am going home with a very different plan in play: another mammogram to be scheduled, along with an ultrasound - which is likely to fall in the middle of our little mini-getaway planned for next week. WOW - talk about a curve ball! So instead of going home and celebrating with my husband and friends, i have to deliver some sobering news. We had planned some serious parties: lunch with my sister, mom and niece on Wednesday. Friday leave for a weekend with friends in Parry Sound. Next week, go to Toronto to relax, unwind, visit one of our favourite haunts, the zoo. Now all of this is put on hold while we wait to hear from the doctor about when the new mammogram is scheduled... Deflated does not begin to cover it. Fast forward to this morning: our neighbour, herself a breast cancer survivor, hears the update. Another lump, with ominous possibilities. So she makes a few calls and suddenly i have a mammogram and ultrasound scheduled for THis AFTERNOON! it is a whirlwind, but we leave the hospital with good news: nothing suspicious at first glance. Looks like scar tissue, or perhaps something fibrous, but not anything to worry about. Nothing out of the ordinary. Music to my ears! The celebrations are back on, and there is no lingering cloud of worry hanging over us. THANK YOU DEAR NEiGHBOUR - you know who you are!!! Recovering from cancer means living a "new normal." i think this experience was our first step into this new reality. Pete asked me today if this was always going to happen when our doctors and oncologists found a suspicious lump. The answer to that is yes - now that i have survived cancer, the medical community will always act in the interest of caution. That is part of the "new normal" for us. i am thankful to have such a thorough doctor! i am also thankful to be surrounded by friends and family who are so quick to respond to our cries for help and prayer. Another friend in Nicaragua sent me the following verse that has helped her breathe in difficult moments: Living one day at a time; Enjoying one moment at a time; Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace; Taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it; Trusting that He will make all things right if I surrender to His Will; That I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with Him Forever in the next. Amen. --Reinhold Niebuhr

i went to see the chemo oncologist yesterday for a follow up. My mouth is almost completely healed, and i am well on my way to eating a more varied diet. Good news! As for my hands & feet: i have developed something called "peripheral neuropathy." This is a common side effect of the specific chemo drugs used in my treatment. Lots of people experience it, and it often interferes with the chemo regimen. Sometimes it gets so bad, that doctors have to adjust the chemo or stop treatment completely so that no more damage is incurred. Once again, i managed to get lucky in that the neuropathy began after the final treatment. So i was able to get the full dose of chemo, which is important in fighting the cancer. i am grateful for that. Peripheral neuropathy involves the nerves in the hands and feet, causing tingling, burning and pain. i am clumsy, and sometimes drop things. Depending on the task, it can be a challenge to get it done - zippers, buttons, turning the page on a book take a little more time and effort. My feet are sore and tender at best; at worst there is pain in my heels and toes. Thus my gait is different, as my body tries to compensate and find the least painful way to move. Someone asked yesterday if i can walk at all. Yes i can, but not for long periods, and standing in one place for a period of time is very difficult. So i am able to do tasks that do not involve long periods of standing or walking very far. it is a matter of learning to adjust my activities as much as possible. For example, i can continue my regimen at the gym, because the workout routine involves more sitting and lying down than it does standing. However the elliptical at home is off limits until my feet heal up. :( As for a recovery timeline: the oncologist advised me to "think months, not days." She told me the very worst case she saw took a year to heal. i kinda knew from my own research that time is the only thing that will bring healing - these nerves have to regenerate themselves and so that means i need to be patient with this recovery. in the meantime, my medication has been tripled in order to dull the discomfort. The drawback is that it will make me feel drowsy which, coupled with the increasing fatigue from the radiation treatment, will probably put me back in the comfy chairs with Sam for a few weeks again. Sam continues to be a constant companion, and has taken to following me around the house as i hobble from room to room, dealing with daily tasks. He curls up by my feet when i am on the computer, laying on a blanket. i know he prefers sharing the chair with me though so he will be happy when i retreat once more to the comfort of the living room and stay put with him! So the journey continues, with all its ups and downs.

A dear friend sent me some encouragement the other day, in the form of this Scripture from Psalm 18: "As for God, his way is perfect: The Lord’s word is flawless; he shields all who take refuge in him. For who is God besides the Lord? And who is the Rock except our God? It is God who arms me with strength and keeps my way secure. He makes my feet like the feet of a deer; he causes me to stand on the heights." (v. 30-33). Pete and i are trusting God to continue his healing, invisibly reworking my body cell by cell. i love the imagery in these verses: as i limp along through the upcoming months, i rest in the knowledge that with time i will definitely stand up, strong and healthy.

The Journey

Well January has come to an end and time ticks on. Yesterday was a low day and those come and go regularly. Last night just before bed Cindi heaved a big sigh and said, "I am so ready for this to be done". It gently breaks my heart to hear those words and to realize that the journey is not over yet and we still have a way to go.

But ... there is talk of the future in our house. We had a dinner out last night - the first in a long time - and it was nice to have a steak and a gentle conversation about "tomorrow" with my wife. Last weekend we had our grandchildren stay overnight for the first time and it was absolutely restorative in so many ways. Their parents ended up a bit stranded on a road trip and we were able to send help their way. We enjoy supporting 2 little waifs who live in a Nicaragua community where I devote some of my spare time yearly. We are helping our pseudo adopted son get his first car on the road and all of these things make us feel alive and engaged. These are the chapters of the journey that breathe life and hope into the mess. Can't believe the toll this has taken on Cindi's body and energy. Can't believe the toll it's taken on both of our hearts. This journey has tested our metal and in many ways has found us lacking but ... There is the love of our friends and family and the love of our God and that is enough to take the next step. What will tomorrow hold? Well, (with a deep sigh) I believe it will hold more of tha same and frankly, we are prepared for it.

This whole process has given us a new perspective of things around us for sure. Friends who are living elsewhere are missed more. Family who we may have taken for granted have become more precious. Setbacks are felt in deeper and more real ways. Life that is somewhat frivolous has been put in an honest perspective. This has been an opportunity to measure the worth of who we are, what we do, who we live beside and the God who holds our hand. We feel tired but blessed. We feel a deep need to pause and make sure we are really getting what we are being taught through this. This is a story and although we are not writing it, it is ours and we want to be able to tell it well, with integrity and honesty and to honour Him. So...on with the day...Pete

Down to the Nitty Gritty Today is one of those days. Nothing seems easy, not even finding keys or getting cars on the road this morning! We are feeling the strain of this journey very keenly in the last few weeks. Perhaps it is because both i am impatient to move forward in my recovery. it is difficult to have to wait for so many things to sort themselves out. Physically i am moving forward, yes, but it is SLOW GOING and at times follows a pattern of one step forward, two steps back. There is damage in my system from chemo that lingers, making my bones achy and joints sore. The worst is the pain in my feet, which hinders my walking. i can get around, but often at a slow pace, or a downright shuffle if i have been on my feet too much. Last week the folks at the gym slowed down my workout plans here at home, concerned that i might be pushing my heart too hard. So I was banned from the elliptical for a few weeks until my system strengthens. Not a happy conversation, but i have not touched the home gym since. And then there are the daily trips to the hospital. Believe me it is humbling to walk so slowly and gingerly down the hospital corridors, and watch seniors with canes pass me. Really? Sigh. So i look for the green shoots of recovery to encourage me. My hair continues to come back, but it is much more silver than when it left. Hmmm. Kinda indicative of the strain this journey has been both physically and emotionally. My husband, bless his heart, shares so much of this anxiety. He told a dear friend the other day that he is "sick and tired of seeing his wife sick and tired." in some ways, i think this has been harder on Pete. The rest of my life shut down so i could focus on my medical concerns, giving me more space to get through this. But for him, nothing else shifted: he still goes to work each day, trying to cope with the day-to-day demands of ministry, maintaining all those relationships, managing details, supporting staff, parents and students. And then there are the simple realities of home where his wife just... can't. So he picks up that slack too. All very willingly. All with good humour and a loving spirit. But as he does all this, there is the constant drain on his spirit and his heart. There is not much margin in his life these days, and that takes a toll. As we pray, and trust God, we are still oh-so-aware of our humanness. We are frail and inadequate to this task! So as we walk this pathway, we both get weary. We are indeed fragile "jars of clay" and "hard pressed on every side." We are "perplexed" sometimes at the whys of this experience... and yet choose to live by faith that we will be neither "crushed" nor left in " despair." This morning i am taking a deep breath, and reaffirming that Pete and will not be "abandoned... struck down..." or "destroyed" by this experience of cancer. (2 Cor. 4:7-9).

One month after chemotherapy and... ... I have begun to grow "peach fuzz" on my head. It is like fine baby hair that is standing up on end - and it is WHITE (uh oh). Really hoping my dark hair will wake up soon and make an appearance. (Pete keeps asking me why I am concerned about this - "What's wrong with white hair?"he wants to know). Perhaps a few of you ladies could explain it to him. ...I have developed neuropathy in my hands and feet. This is nerve damage from the chemotherapy, and it is like a constant tingling/burning sensation. My feet in particular are affected, and quite sensitive and painful if I am on them too much. I am not able to go stocking foot, and have to have a good pair of running shoes on all the time, to give my feet support. There is no treatment for this, just painkillers to make life a bit easier. I am told this will fade over time as my nerves begin to regenerate themselves, but there is no set timetable for this healing, either. So a bit of patience is required on my part. In the meantime, I move slowly and hobble around like an old woman sometimes, but it does feel good to begin to MOVE again even if my feet are sore. ...my energy is coming back, and I can be more active. It's so great to not be chained to the chair in the living room anymore. (Sam disagrees with this, of course.) It will take time before I can say I am back to full speed, as the fatigue is hard to shake off. But it's getting better, and that is wonderful. ...I begin radiation therapy shortly - as in this week! Radiation involves 4 weeks of daily 30 minute hospital visits. Side effects involve increasing levels of fatigue, and perhaps a bit of sore skin. Folks who have undergone this therapy tell me it is much easier to manage than chemo, which is good news indeed. Pete and I continue to be blessed and humbled by the continuing love and support of family, friends and our church community. The hardships and challenges of this journey have been softened by the outpouring of encouragement, prayers and visits. This has made our experience with cancer richer, and a reminder that we do not walk this difficult pathway alone. Thank you so much for joining us and supporting us. The result, as you can see, is that we can still experience joy and laughter in the midst of the mess (as the picture demonstrates).

As we head into the next phase of treatment, both Pete and I can agree with the psalmist when he declares the following: Praise be to the Lord, for he has heard my cry for mercy. The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and he helps me. My heart leaps for joy, and with my song I praise him. (Psalm 28:6-7)