I have discovered a rather quirky pattern in these 7 months of treatment. After spending a day in appointments or in the infusion center, I must come home and DO something physical outdoors: weed the garden, clean up our woods, burn debris in the fire pit. The harder the better. I don’t know what this is or why it is (or what’s wrong with me and my wiring) but this is what I do. I DO something and allow myself to process what has transpired earlier in the day.
Because, truth is, there’s always something. I don’t seem to be able to go to Emory each month and leave with only lab results in hand or good medicine in my body.
There’s always something extra thrown into the deal.
This morning was no different. I was in my seat waiting on the IV hook up. Honestly I was feeling a bit frustrated as things weren’t going quickly or smoothly. I was probably feeling a little sorry for myself having to spend it in a treatment room. Lately I’ve been feeling tired of it all. Just tired. Maybe even grumpy.
And this morning the room was extra full, the wait was extra long, and I suppose I was extra impatient.
But because I was there much longer than anticipated my path crossed with a woman who I’m pretty sure was exactly what I needed this week.
I knew there was something different about her. She had a joy and a softness that was noticeable immediately. I was strumming my fingers and tapping my feet in impatience and she only had a smile and kind words for everyone around her.
She was peaceful.
We ended up in conversation. We shared our stories, our sadness, our fears … but, most importantly, our Hope.
Also a stage 4 metastatic breast cancer patient, Lisa, told me she was starting a new chemo drug today as her scans have recently shown progression. She’s had over 117 radiation treatments and 108 chemo infusions.
She told me about her children, her grandchildren, her beautiful, full life. She called herself blessed.
But she also told me about how when the treatments are hard and she can’t get out of bed for a day or two she pulls the comforter up around her and she reminds herself that the Holy Spirit is her comforter. He covers her and He comforts her and He reminds her whose she is.
She reminded me that none of what we are going through is a surprise to the Lord. He knows it all. She said she has never felt so loved by Jesus.
To some this might feel like a fake kind of happiness, but it’s not. Her confidence is in the Lord. It’s the real deal. Dear ones, fake happiness just doesn’t happen after 108 chemo treatments.
I know today I needed my bone strengthening medicine, but way more than that, I needed the hope strengthening medicine of Lisa.
I might have been there twice as long as I had planned for my appointment, but I left doubly encouraged by my time spent talking with this beautiful soul.