Purpose in the Pain

Nausea from treatment had been hitting me pretty hard lately, so when I got really sick the other night, it didn't really seem like a big deal.

Then I woke up the next morning with a weirdly tight chest and it hurt to take deep breaths, but last time this happened it was because I had a cold (which I have now too), and I was throwing up a lot. So I just figured it was because of that.

Side note: If you ever have a hard time breathing, don't be stubborn or assume anything like me. Go to the doctors.

Then the following morning when I took a shower and that made it harder to breath and I got dizzy, I knew something was not right.

When I got to ER they instantly started poking and prodding me with needles and swabs. Then what seemed like hours later, I was left waiting for results with an IV and an oxygen breathing thing.

The results came back as an infection that had spread into my lungs.
*switch antibiotics hooked up to iv*
*shot in the arm*

Okay. Not Bad. Treatable.

Then they found some blood clotting in my lungs.
*insert another IV here*
*two shots in the stomach*

Again. Not too bad. Treatable. 

I sat there for the next 8 hours with two IVs and my oxygen breathing thing, unable to fully lay down because that hurt my chest and made it hard to breath.

Then around 7pm the doctors decided that I was going to be on a 2 hour wait and watch period before I could go home so they could make sure that my breathing was better, and that my temperature was back to normal.

All of a sudden I was getting really hot. My chest started to have sharp pains. It was hard to breath. The machine hooked up to me started beeping.

Then all I remember next was waking up several hours later.

My doctors explained that I went into septic shock because my picc line was infected and it had gotten into my bloodstream (something I have had my doctors test before because I had a visible rash, but they came back negative).

Then they began to explain how most people with this bad of an infection do not make it out of septic shock without any worse problems, or even alive.

"You are quite the fighter, young missy" is what they kept saying to me over and over.

I walk away from this experience not prideful of my strength, but humbled by the knowledge that the Lord is not done with me yet.

With all of the pain and nausea from treatments, I am reminded daily that this is not our Home, and have even thought about the fact that Home could be so accessible to me if I ever decided to discontinue treatments (just so you know: I have never intended to stop treatments, and would never do that).

When I see Christ in Heaven, I want to cross the finish line with no short cuts. Standing fully unashamed, knowing that I have endured all for His name sake.

I have been doing a study with a friend through Philippians, and for Paul, departing this life was easier and preferable. He knew that death was not defeat, but rather a graduation to glory. But he resolved that God would keep him aline since it was better for the church's sake that he live on to help them grow.

I believe that my life, even a life with pain that leaves me tears and scary incidents that leave me unconscious, can bring glory to God and growth to His bride.

I have a purpose. A great one. And in sickness and in health, I can live that purpose out:

"Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and love your neighbor as yourself." Luke 10:27.

Scattered Emotions

Treatment this time around has been extremely rough, leaving me with an intolerable amount of throbbing pain throughout my whole body most days.

I have been pretty high functioning but the sad reality is that it is only because the pain is becoming normal for me. Sometimes I even forget how much I am hurting until someone asks me about it, which is not necessarily a good thing.

I get so used to the pain throughout the day, my body tends to completely shut down at night; which means I have many nights spent in tears because of agonizing pain.

My mentality this time around is so different because pain really gets to my head. My last treatments left me nauseated, which meant I couldn't eat a whole lot. These treatments leave me feeling trapped and helpless. I would take nausea over pain any day.

Something else I have realized this time around is that I, the patient, am just the tip of the iceberg. I have become more aware of the many people my diagnosis has affected in ways big and small. Not only is everyone around me facing the impact of the disease and the disruption of daily life, but also the strain of emotional support.

Cancer really takes its toll, and it's cumulative. It's not just a giant shock on the day of diagnosis, but a daily fight against the side effects of treatment and emotional stability. There are some days that are easier than others, but then there are days when I want nothing more than to just give up.

I don't mean for this to be another blog about how hard this has been, but this is the part of the storm that I am in. Yes, it helps to have honest conversation with people. Yes, it helps to laugh. Yes, it helps to be distracted. But at the end of the day, I still have cancer.

So many people ask if there is anything they can do for me or if there is anything I need and I wish more than anything I had an answer. I am just as clueless as you all as to what will help me.

I got an assignment the other day that had the question, "If you were to die within the next year, what would your obituary say?

This really threw me into an emotional roller coaster because I had already been thinking about the idea of cancer and dying (in a completely non-morbid sense).

What if cancer is what eventually ends up killing me? 

This thought has crossed my mind more than it should, and what a scary thought it is. I would like to assure you that I am choosing not to live my life in fear though.

I would also like to make it clear to everyone that I am not dying, and I don't have that mindset at all. But the reality is that we aren't guaranteed anything in life, so I can only hope and pray that remission is in my near future.

All I can do now is continue to find strength in the roots that I have set deep in Christ, and through the people I allow to love me through this.

We can do hard things.
We can face diagnosis.
We can withstand the anxiety.  
We can manage the treatment.
We may not want to do it
But we can.