A Few Thoughts on Gratitude

Last night I was reading the private blog of a fellow Hodgkin's Lymphoma survivor who wrote, what I think, are some very provoking thoughts on positivity and gratitude.  After being in remission for some time, she just learned that she has relapsed.  Here is an excerpt from her blog...

"I don't want any other cancer warrior to think I am bubbly and optimistic twenty four seven even after receiving such disappointing news.  There is a huge difference between being 'happy' and being 'grateful.'  The gratefulness piece is always in me. Always.  However, it was tough to get out of bed the last few days and to look at the bright side of things when the reality is that more treatment will continue in the future.  I think it's important for those that are ill or receive hard news, that we are still gentle with ourselves.  In the beginning I used to repress these feelings and ignore them, realizing they would only come out later to bite me in the butt.  Now, if I feel down for a few days, I let myself.  Usually after a week or two, I find myself back on my feet again and moving.  I am no superwoman -- none of us are, so I believe its truly important to let yourself 'be' in these types of situations."

Now, I am generally a very grateful person - and 99% of the time a very optimistic person - but I have to admit that this girl is one step ahead of me because I've only just learned what she already has, that it is ok to let yourself feel down when you actually do...and to let yourself 'be' when you need to.  Sometimes it is necessary to experience those feelings, and then they pass and you move on.  Like she says, for me the gratitude and hope are ever present, but I've come to realize that it is not just ok - but healthy - to let myself experience the emotions of sadness or frustration.

Over the past few months of dealing with chronic Graft versus Host Disease (since my previous post), I've had a few of these moments as my strength has been sapped and my body has been changing in not-so-pleasant ways from two months of being on high-dose steroids.  It has been a frustrating two months, and Wednesday I was admitted to the hospital yet again, while the doctors try to figure out why my blood levels all tanked over the past week.

Yesterday they performed another bone-marrow biopsy on me...and afterwards I decided that I needed to reward myself, since it is such a painful procedure.  This is another good lesson learned - how to allow myself rewards - and so I walked across the street from the hospital to Starbucks and treated myself to an iced mocha caffe with extra whipped topping!  Yum!  Now, that is something to be grateful for!  Also, during the biopsy I just kept thinking, "yeah, this hurts, but at least I'm not cutting off my arm with a dull pen knife!  (Have you seen the movie, 127 Hours?)

So, in addition to those two, I'd like to share a few other random things that I'm grateful for (in no particular order):

- back porches and hammocks
- having a car that is paid off
- dental floss (i love that feeling of freshly flossed teeth!)
- Sunday breakfasts with Sherri and Pam
- spring flowers and a mom with a serious green thumb

- chubby babies - they're just too cute!
- being one of the few people of my generation who has actually benefited from Social Security, and not just paid into it
- today I'm not sore from yesterday's bone marrow biopsy
- CHOCOLATE!!!
- being able to encourage people
- wash -n- wear hair
- best friends, birthdays, ice-cream pie from Handel's, and licking the plate clean!

- the independence of being single
- joyful memories
- finding those perfect shoes that aren't just cute, but make your feet feel awesome...and then buying them in two colors!
- friends with campers who invite you over and feed you yummy camp food (Peggy)
- kids who innocently ask why that girl is wearing a mask, and parents who aren't afraid to give a real answer instead of embarrassingly shushing them
- new home office furniture that I will soon be assembling...it's like a big jigsaw puzzle and I love it!
- Jesus, who never changes and is the source of my gratitude, hope, strength and life
- my laptop, cell phone, ipod, Netflix, and HGTV
- living next door to my parents
- wonderfully supportive friends at work who check in on me and two years ago helped send me to Europe
- looking forward to traveling again
- my nurses at the stem cell clinic who always make me laugh and smile with their antics

It's certainly not a comprehensive list...I could keep going - fruit, indoor plumbing, clothing with elastic, eyesight - but I'll stop for now and just ask this...

What are you grateful for?

Learning to Leap

This is an essay that I submitted to "Real Simple" magazine last fall for their Life Lessons Essay Contest.  I waited to post this, as the judging only took place in January.  But, seeing that I didn't win, I thought I'd put it here for all to read.  Enjoy...   :)

“Make sure you jump far out, away from the rocks,” my German guide Lukie shouted over the roar of the waterfall. I trembled inside, my legs wobbling, and wondered if I could jump at all, but I smiled at Lukie, closed my eyes, and pushed off with all my might from the small ledge in the boulder. Seconds later, I plunged into a deep, swirling pool of frigid glacial-melt water thirty feet below.

I was never one to leap. I was practical, responsible, careful – a planner, a list-maker. I was the kind of person who made lists about the lists I needed to make. In college, my architecture curriculum included the opportunity to study in Florence, Italy, during the Spring semester of third year. At the time, I was strapped for cash and involved in a serious relationship with a guy at home. My school loans were already sizable, and I simply couldn’t envision the value that the study abroad program offered. Not wanting to add to my debt or leave my boyfriend behind – or to experience change of any kind – I decided to stay behind in the familiarity of snowy Ohio while my classmates gathered their passports and boarded a plane. Many evenings that following summer, I came home after work, opened the mailbox and greeted postcards of Big Ben, the Spanish Steps in Rome, or the blue waters of the Mediterranean from friends who remained in Europe for the summer backpacking. Swallowing my envy, I felt at that point that I had forever missed my opportunity.

By the age of thirty, I had passed my professional exams to become a registered architect and was well established in a stable job at a large architecture firm. I methodically saved a portion of each paycheck, sacrificing while others spent. Within five years, I had actually saved up a down payment for a modest starter home. Just as I had done all my life, I was doing the sensible, responsible thing. I was becoming independent. I was establishing equity. And then, I drastically changed direction.

A month earlier in May of 2009, my best friend Sherri and I daydreamed about all of the goals we wanted to achieve in life. We both dreamed of backpacking through Europe, traveling by train, staying in hostels, and going wherever a whim might take us. I also shared that I wanted to travel to Munich, Germany, with my mom and sister to see where my mom lived as a little girl. As Sherri scribbled our list in her journal, I privately wondered, would it ever really be possible for me to steal away from the responsibilities of life to take a trip like that?

A month later, I met with my oncologist to review the results of my most recent PET/CT scan. For the past two years, I had been receiving treatments for Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. As I sat in the exam room, my doctor looked at me with concern showing in his kind eyes, to tell me that my most recent radiation and chemotherapy treatments weren’t effective. My only remaining option was an Allogenic (donor) Stem Cell Transplant. He told me that I would need to have my bloodwork compared to that of my sister to determine if she could be a match. If not, the hospital would search for a matching donor among the Bone Marrow Registry.

For hours on end, my doctor and his team thoroughly reviewed the overwhelming magnitude of what the transplant would entail. Flinching, I heard the nurse rattle off, “No travel – for years possibly,” because I would have a low immune system and an increased risk for contracting infections. Not hearing her next words, my mind flashed to the list Sherri and I wrote.

“How soon will the transplant take place?” I asked.

“If your sister isn’t a match, it could take six to eight weeks to find and schedule a donor.” Six weeks. The words resounded in my ears.

The surprising calm I felt in my heart shocked me as I knew I was about to do the first radically impulsive thing of my life – to give up the tangible security of a house for the intangible promise of an adventure. If not now, when?

The plan formed quickly over the next few days. I would be going on extended disability leave for the transplant anyway. Surely my office could spare me for six more weeks. Within two weeks, my faithful traveling companion Sherri and I had received the blessing of both of our employers. Our jobs would be held for us, and we were free to go.

The blessings continued to flow in as I shared with family, friends, and coworkers about the Europe trip I was about to take. Their generosity was overwhelming. My sister donated a travel stipend that she had received as a bonus at work, a gift that perfectly covered the cost of two Eurail passes. A benevolent coworker shared his unused frequent flier miles so that I could purchase our roundtrip tickets. Coworkers took up a collection, hosted a casual day, and put on a raffle to raise money for me. On my final day at work, my work family presented me with a generous check and told me that, in addition, many kind coworkers had willingly given their own vacation days to add to my own to cover the entire duration of my six weeks abroad. I could barely speak the words “thank you” through the lump in my throat, stunned at their extreme charity and selflessness.

That night, our brand new, carry-on sized backpacks sat open on my kitchen table as Sherri and I stuffed them with our six changes of clothes and an extra pair of shoes each, travel guides, maps, and an assortment of other gadgetry. Early the next morning, we caught the first of our series of flights to Greece. As the arrangements for our expedition had unfolded rapidly, we only knew that we were landing in Athens, the following day catching a ferry to the island of Santorini, nine days later flying from Athens to Barcelona, 26 days later meeting my family in Paris, and 42 days later flying home from Paris. These dates were the only fixed points in our nearly non-existent itinerary. We had reserved rooms for our first few nights in Athens, Santorini and Barcelona. The rest, we would make up as we went along! With my house savings transferred to my checking account, we skipped excitedly down the boarding ramp to our plane and the start of a life-defining adventure.

With each day, new sights, sounds, places, tastes, feelings, and experiences bombarded me. There was the unforgiving heat of Athens, the breathtaking grandeur of stained glass cathedrals, and the soulful, melancholy sounds of the accordion echoing off the stone buildings and cobble streets in the Bari Gotic. There was the thrill of stepping off the train in Reims and searching for a place to sleep, the hustle of the crowds on the nighttime streets in Venice, and the sticky, sweet taste of chocolate crepes eaten in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower. I had never envisioned myself lunging over waterfalls, cliffs, and canyons in Switzerland, or racing off a mountain while air currents carried my parachute high above steep hillsides where sheep grazed. Certainly, I never imagined standing on a peak in the Alps, where I looked out over clouds below me and asked God to show me the view, and then watched the clouds part before my eyes to reveal a brilliantly blue lake far below.

And since we were living the dreams of our list, we were joined in Munich by my mom and sister. I had hoped – but never expected – to witness the unbridled joy on my mom’s face as she explored the familiar rooms of her childhood apartment or to hear the stories she told as we stood in front of her school.

More than any of those unforgettable experiences, though, I never anticipated learning the value of letting go, of simply being, and of not dictating the activities of my day based on responsibility, obligation, or the expectations of others. I was liberated, carefree, and living life fully and abundantly.

On a Friday in late August, Sherri and I flew home. I was to be admitted to the hospital on the following Wednesday, after another PET/CT scan. Tuesday, I met with my doctor before admission to review the results of the scan. He walked into the exam room, grinning. “What did you do in Europe?” he asked. And then, a smile playing in his twinkling blue eyes, I heard him say what I’d never dreamed of hearing: “The tumors are shrinking. You don’t have to come to the hospital tomorrow. Your transplant is cancelled.”

Stars

Tonight a friend pointed me to an awesome webpage. My last post (quite some time ago, I know...) was all about how God speaks through the stars to communicate His love for me (us) and to let me (us) know how precious I am (we are) to Him; so much so that He would focus not only on the major life events and the big picture, but He also communicates in the most minute details. He is communicating in these details, but we must look for it, or we will miss it. And we must be open to receive it.

The website that had me fascinated tonight is www.bethlehemstar.net. It contains the most intriguing astronomical evidence of the star - actually the entire array of celestial signs - that signified the birth of the Messiah to the wise men a couple thousand years ago. As I poured over the history, details and symbolism presented on the website, it struck me again the incredible attention that God gives to every single detail...nothing - absolutely NOTHING - goes beyond His notice and care. As the website states, the "Star finally means that from the very instant at which God flung the universe into existence, he also knew the moment he would enter human history in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. He marked it in the stars. And from before the beginning of time as we experience it, God knew the very moment when Messiah would breath his last on the cross."

This is nothing that I haven't heard before. But when I really stop to contemplate it, it inspires awe - and praise - in me.

God not only knew the exact moments of the birth and death of the Messiah at the very commencement of all creation, but He also knew every detail of EVERYTHING for all eternity. At that moment, every single thing about all things became known.

AMAZING :: our God is more than amazing, but really there is no word - or collection of words - that adequately or even remotely begin to describe Him.

I just wanted to share that praise with you tonight! I hope that you are as inspired to praise our God and our Messiah as I am...

Gratitude

I don't know if there is a gratitude quite like that which comes with facing the possibility of losing your life, or your quality of life, and then receiving it again. This is the gratitude that I've been experiencing since last week when I got my wonderful news. Every morning since then, I wake up and tell myself, "I was supposed to be in the hospital today, and I'm not! I'm here in my own bed, with a whole day before me!" It seems that the possibilities are endless. And the truth is that they pretty much are!

Last night, I laid in my hammock after dark, wrapped up in a blanket to ward off the chilly night air. I laid there for over an hour just gazing up at the stars. I am in awe of everything right now, just as though I'm seeing it all with new eyes...or at least with more appreciative ones. Looking at the stars took me back to Greece and to Italy, two places where I also laid and watched the stars. In Greece, we were on the beach with the waves of the Mediterranean sea lapping up at our feet. We faced south and the big dipper was just over my right shoulder. The stars were so amazingly clear that night. Sherri saw a shooting star. In Italy, we watched the stars from the roof terrace of our hotel. Again, we were facing south so we had much of the same view. From that vantage point, we stargazed for our two nights in Cinque Terre. The first night, I asked God if He would show me a shooting star like Sherri got to see when we were in Greece. After making my request, I saw two shooting stars. The following night, I saw two again. Last night, as I stared at the vast array above me, I was overwhelmed with the enormity of God's goodness to me. While I watched, yet another star shot across the sky. I have never in my life seen so many shooting stars, and now when I do, it is like I am receiving a special promise from God that He sees me and He knows me.

There is a song that I've been listening to since my doctor's appointment a week and a half ago. The song, by Selah, is called "All My Praise." The entire song voices for me the amazing journey that God has taken me on. One line in the song says "You made every star and You taught it how to shine. You knew my name before there was time. This is just part of Your glorious design." When I hear that line, I believe the truth in that thought, that God did know me before there was time. We are taught that because of the distance away that the stars are from the earth, and the time that it takes for light to travel, to see a shooting star means that it actually fell around hundreds or thousands of years ago for us to see its light now. Stars that we see shining in the night sky might not actually exist anymore, but their light is still traveling to us. When I asked God to show me a shooting star, it didn't just shoot across space that night, but God made that star shoot through space hundreds of years ago. He knew me then, even before I ever existed. And He knew my request, and cared enough about me, to direct those stars. This thought brings me to my knees every time I think it. I am humbled by it, and at the same time filled with such awe and adoration for a God who knows and loves me like that. A God who cares for me so, who is in control of everything, and who is so big yet cares about such small details.

This wonderful song has much meaning for me throughout the rest of it as well. The opening line alone brings me to such a place of worship. It begins "I will follow You through green pastures and sing 'Hallelujah' to Your name." When I hear it, I think of hiking through Switzerland, through the green pastures on the hills, through the lush mountain forests, through the grassy valley, the whole time singing praise songs to God with Sherri. It didn't matter that we didn't sing well...we sang...we couldn't help ourselves. We were surrounded with God's amazing beauty that we had to sing to Him. Not only that, but He took us on that trip. He worked out every detail so perfectly and blessed me so abundantly. My gratitude has been just dripping off of me, because I've been immersed in God's goodness.

The song continues after that line with, "I will follow You through dark disaster and sing 'Hallelujah' through the pain. Even in the shadow of death I will praise You. Even in the valley I will say 'Holy, my God, You are worthy of all my praise.'" Our trip, our walk through those green pastures in Switzerland, was in the fore shadow of death in that it was in the shadow of an upcoming hospitalization and stem cell transplant. For these last two years, I have followed God through dark disaster, and all the while I have been praising Him. The reason that I praise Him is that around every turn, no matter what the situation might be, His goodness is always bigger and more apparent. I can't help but to praise Him because all I see is Him, and He is so worthy of all my praise.

This song seems to have been written for me, for this time. I listen to other music also, but this particular song I keep coming back to and I've been listening to it over and over again on repeat. This feeling of gratitude that has overwhelmed me is nurtured when I listen to this song, and that is something that I want to nurture. So often, we go through life nurturing feelings of doubt or anger or hurt. We feed our minds with self talk of all the different events of the day and our take on them. I am thankful that right now I've gotten a reprieve from the cares of the world to just focus on this one thing, praising God. And right now, that is all I can focus on. Afterall, yesterday I was supposed to receive a stem cell transplant and I didn't. Instead I laid on my hammock beneath a sea of stars and a large moon, listened to the crickets chirping, and felt the cool night air turn my nose into a popsicle. And a star shot across the sky.

Good News!

Hello Everyone!
Well, the world traveler has returned home and has some wonderful news to share with each of you!
Sherri and I arrived at home Friday evening after some flight delays due to poor weather. We were greeted by friends with silly string at the airport, drove home, and tried over the weekend to recover from jet lag and a 6 hour time difference. We went to church on Sunday, which was like returning home. It felt so awesome to be standing in church again, worshipping God. It was such an incredibly wonderful feeling and just so right and perfect. Pastor Thomas told the congregation in both services of Sherri’s and my return home from our European trip, and explained why the trip was necessary, about my upcoming stem cell transplant, and then invited me to stand before the congregation (in both services) surrounded by all the cancer survivors in the congregation, and they all prayed over me. It did my soul such good to be again surrounded by my family – my church family – after 6 weeks of separation. I had missed being in their presence as we together seek God’s presence. Truly, nothing can replace that.
On Monday morning (the 24th) I had a PET/CT scan scheduled at Hillman. Dr. Agha wanted to get this scan done prior to the scheduled Stem Cell Transplant in order to reassess the disease progression before admitting me on Wednesday the 26th, as planned. This morning, Tuesday the 25th, I had an appointment with Dr. Agha to review the results of the scan.
Dr. Agha and his team walked into the exam room smiling. He welcomed me back and asked all about the trip…where had I gone, what had I done, how did I feel, etc. I told him the various places and adventures that Sherri and I had gone on, and impressed him with the extent of the physical activities I had done, from hiking to kayaking, to rock-climbing, to canyoning, and everything in between. He asked me, rather pointedly, if I had drank any red wine. I assured him that I hadn’t, that I don’t like the taste of wine. He inquired if I had been taking any supplements or medications on the trip. No, I stated that I hadn’t. He did the rest of his typical routine, throughout which he and his team asked me a few more times about drinking red wine. After again confirming that I hadn’t had any, Dr. Agha sat down in front of me, stating that he had personally reviewed the PET/CT scan himself since the radiologist hadn’t prepared a report of it yet. Then he told me very simply that the tumors have begun to shrink. He said that although he isn’t a radiologist, he can read a scan and has done so many times, and that indeed, the tumors were smaller! He said that he wanted to wait for an official report from the radiologist before postponing the stem cell transplant, but that he expected the radiologist report to state the same and that he fully anticipated that a stem cell transplant at this time isn’t necessary. He said that his team would call me later this evening, one way or the other, and let me know the results of the official report, and whether I would need to be admitted to the hospital the following morning.
Around 10 pm tonight, I called the hospital answering service and soon received a follow-up call from Dr. Agha…inadvertently, the individual responsible for calling me tonight forgot…but Dr. Agha told me that he had indeed reviewed the radiologist’s report by that time and that yes, the tumors had shrunk! He said that we will not proceed with the transplant, that the donor would be put on a hold (so that he is still reserved for me if I do need him at some point in the near future), and that he wants me to wait two months and have a follow-up PET/CT scan.
CAN YOU BELIEVE IT!?!?!?
I believe that this is the beginning of the supernatural healing that has been prayed for by so many people. I believe that this reversal of the disease, this shrinking of the tumors, is God alone. I believe this, for one, because I have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ and through that relationship know that God is able to do anything, that He truly is all powerful, and that He truly is in control. (He doesn’t just take control when it isn’t given to Him, and He isn’t always responsible, but He is always able, and He is always bigger and greater than our comprehension.) Secondly, I believe that this is a miraculous healing because there is nothing else that it can be attributed to. The doctors are stumped and want to believe that it is because of some red wine (which I didn’t even drink!). It isn’t due to medical treatment, because I haven’t had any since January when I had radiation (and previous scans showed that the tumors grew and increased in number since then). It isn’t due to changes in my diet, because although I did try a special “Macrobiotic” diet for about 4 months, I ended this diet prior to leaving for Europe because I didn’t want to be restricted when on vacation. While on the diet, I had a PET/CT scan that showed an increase in the tumors. While on vacation, I indulged in sweets and other foods known to be foods that certainly don’t aid in eliminating cancer, but rather promote cancer. So diet is certainly not a reason to explain the sudden regression of the tumors.
All Dr. Agha could say is that sometimes diseases such as this will experience a spontaneous regression and a change in their biological state. True, but even that doesn’t state ‘why,’ but rather only ‘what.’
Judge for yourself, but I believe this to be God’s hand at work. And Praise God for it! Throughout these two years since being diagnosed, I have praised God continually. I do so all the more now! This is the work of God alone, in response to the thousands of prayers that have gone up on my behalf.
To Him who is able to do exceedingly, abundantly more than we could ask or think, to Him be the Glory!
I look forward to writing you another letter in two months!
Much love and blessings, Amy