Comments (0)

By doreen, February 26, 2010 5:13 pm

It’s been brought to my attention by a handful of faithful friends, that I haven’t posted any updates to my Blog in quite some time. That’s not to say that I haven’t been writing at all. In fact, I have nearly completed the first of a 3-part series on creating health and wellness in the midst of disease.
This labor of love was birthed out of a tumultuous fall and winter where I was on the celebratory heals of my own healing while interacting with close friends, loved ones and complete strangers who were recently diagnosed with very serious types of cancers. In some cases, friends, family and colleagues who were moved by my own experience shared my story, my name and my contact information with someone they knew who was struggling in a similar situation. I suppose that my journey was a source of hope and encouragement to them, and the need to connect, share and have me pray for them was a momentary comfort. In one case, I was asked to have a weekly coaching call with a lovely young woman in Oregon recently diagnosed with a rare brain cancer. In a more intimate situation, one of the men from our church Fellowship Group received shocking news in October that he had advanced pancreatic cancer and would most likely not live more than 4 months. Ray was 53 years old and died on January 4th.
Our small group consists of 6 couples from our church who have been meeting every other Friday night for many years. We’ve become “family” to one another as we have watched our kids grow through different stages of life, have helped one another in times of need, and have prayed, laughed, studied and played together.
Ray’s life and death were an inspiration to so many who knew him. He was a man of quiet strength, deep commitment, and enduring faith – even as his body rapidly declined with multiple setbacks and disappointments. My energy, my thoughts, my waking and sleeping moments were racked with prayer and intercession, advocating for his life over cancer. Following his funeral, I was off to Chicago to spend several days with my cousin during her surgery and recovery from breast cancer.
All this launched me into a fever-pitch to accumulate and document much of what I had garnered in the way of diet and nutrient for cancer patients, how to think and speak effectively in the midst of crisis, and what the Word of God has to say about God’s character, desire, and response toward sickness and healing. Without claiming to be neither an expert nor an exhaustive work on any of these 3 approaches to illness, I have wanted to put something tangible, immediately applicable and focused into the hands of people who feel overcome with fear, confusion and hopelessness because of their diagnosis. The work itself has served to reinforce my own faith, tenacity and thankfulness toward all that I have learned and been exposed to as a result of this experience called “cancer.”
On the 8th of this month, I was scheduled to return to Baltimore for my 2nd round of “6-month scans.” I left early in the morning to undergo PET CT scans and then meet with my oncologist. As I anticipated, nuclear radiology wouldn’t have the reports ready for a few days – at least that’s what they told me. Consequently, my visit with the oncologist was fairly uneventful. We did a routine physical exam and then went over my recent blood work. I felt great, my markers were good and we hashed through a list of obligatory questions designed to assess my well-being.
Later that evening I received a call from the doctor. I have to say that I was impressed that she’d be working so late and would bother to call me at 8:00 pm with my radiology reports. From skull base to mid-thigh, the report findings showed NO abnormal hypermetabolism. The inflammation in the right middle lobe of the lung that they noted in August was gone. The metastatic disease found previously in my vertebrae was not evident or definitive by any measure. What the doctors call a “positive response to treatment,” I call a miraculous clean bill of health. And though they are not ready to push back my scans to every 9 months, I will politely oblige them, knowing confidently that God’s healing hand has done its work. I am more than a conqueror through Him who loves me [paraphrased, Romans 8:37].

Comments (3)

By doreen, November 23, 2009 2:50 pm

There is a principle in the field of personal and organizational performance, behavior and efficacy which states that we don’t get what we want; we get what we expect. Our expectations filter what information our senses will pick up and pass through the reticular activating system at the base of our brain. The level of expectancy that we have for ourselves, others and the world around us directly impacts what we will and will not allow ourselves to see and experience in life –even if the opportunities are right in front of us and of great benefit to us.
Most of us know this principle as that of the self-fulfilling prophecy. We expect a bad day, and sure enough, little annoyances seem to follow us everywhere. We expect that all [fill in the blank] are the same, and you’ll see it every time you run into “those kind of people.” You expect your kids to be sloppy, your neighbors to give you trouble, your checkbook to be at a minimum….you get the picture. We have an amazing creative capacity to produce results in our lives equal to what it is that we expect. That’s true whether we expect very little or we expect a great deal from ourselves and others.
This principle really hit home for me when I attended a 4-day conference on healing last month in Baltimore, MD. I really didn’t know what to expect. I had three separate and unrelated avenues that brought this conference to my attention. It seemed oddly coincidental and a bit prophetic, so I thought that I would go. I wasn’t looking for personal healing, as much as I was looking for insight and direction on what I should do with my own healing and how to help others. I have felt drawn to share my personal experience with those who are suffering or questioning. So I attended, with little background or knowledge of the speakers, the agenda or the take-aways
When I arrived on Wednesday evening, the facility was packed with 3000+ registrants from 20 nations and representing all 50 states. The first-tier seating closest to the stage was cordoned off, held for individuals who had registered in groups of 20 or more. I was surprised, but impressed, by the diversity represented on the signs for reserved seating. Catholic, Evangelical, Episcopalian, Protestant, Assemblies of God, Messianic, Bible churches and more – all present to learn and receive from what I would have considered a “charismatic” type of event.
Cautious of the “excesses” expressed in many charismatic types of things I had witnessed or seen characterized in TV movies over the years, I tried to play an even hand between being conservatively sensible yet open-minded enough to whatever God wanted to do. But as the event opened with invoking music and heartfelt worship, I was moved more and more by the deep humility, insatiable hunger and confident expectancy that God would show up and do great things. And He did. Things were happening all over the place during those 4 days – people were being healed, physically, spiritually and emotionally. Prophetic words were being spoken over people that only God could have known and directed. Some of these things even happened to me, and I was blown away.
Sure, there were times when the logical, “realistic” side of me tried to analyze what was of God and what was someone’s need for attention. But mostly, I was warmly overwhelmed and energized and grateful by being in the company of people who had a positive assurance that God would answer their cry for “more.” More joy, more healing, more intimacy, more vision, more anointing, more direction, more strategy, more PRESENCE.
These were not passive people who hoped for something to happen. Hope is simply desire without expectancy. These were an engaged people of faith – desire with expectancy – or as the author of Hebrews defines it, “being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.” Their attitude wasn’t demanding or inappropriate or presumptuous, as many communities of faith might mistakenly label this type of activity. Rather, it was celebratory, confident, and collaborative – people who were ready and eager to receive what God had already communicated about Himself and His promises. They came expecting more and were poised to receive it.
“If we know how to give good gifts to our children, how much more will our Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask Him” [paraphrased from Matthew 7:11]? I guess a lot of that depends on what you expect.
As I thought about my own son, Nicholas, I thought about how much more delighted I’d be if he thought I could and would move heaven and earth for him than if he constantly cowered in my presence, questioned my desire to help him or begged for things that I have already made available to him. I’d much rather have him think too big of me than not big enough. And somehow, I don’t think God gets too put off when we do the same.

Comments (0)

By doreen, October 13, 2009 10:48 am

I’ve been beating myself up about the fact that it’s been well over a month since I posted my last update. The truth is, I could have had something composed in the middle of September – I was half-way done with a new entry. But a series of events sapped my time, my attention, and my spirit.
On a positive note, I have gotten extremely busy with work. As you can imagine, leadership development and improving human effectiveness in organizational cultures isn’t high on the list of expenditures when the economy and businesses are suffering. While it is, indeed, the perfect time to help leadership think in new ways to handle new business environments, it is much more difficult to get them to sign a consulting contract that would help them do so. So when I see existing clients ramping up again and potential new clients scheduling meetings and events, I see signs that economic recovery is ahead.
I wish I could say that this has been the only thing clamoring for my attention, distracting me from making another Blog contribution. During the past two months, I have been experiencing an expanding circle of people challenged with cancer. A young mother who isn’t even old enough to qualify for annual mammograms, going through a double mastectomy and chemo; the brother of a colleague with stage 4 lung cancer preparing to enter Hospice; a nonprofit ranch in Nevada for children battling cancer; a dear friend from our bi-monthly fellowship group, just diagnosed with advanced pancreatic cancer metastasized to the liver. It seems that each week my prayer list grows longer and my heart is moved deeper by people suffering from this pandemic disease straight from the pit of hell.
As I have been involved with these people, I’ve heard the insidious sound of doubt creeping into my mind. I’ve questioned whether the truths that I engrafted into my heart and healing are universal enough to help others. I believe that they are. But can I be so bold and so certain as to say to others that healing is in the hands of those who believe and receive it? And how do I account for those with faith in God and hope in their hearts who fall victim to the disease that claims them? How can I answer the inevitable questions that arise about some who are healed and others who are not? How can I, or anyone, assess another person’s faith? I dare not. So, I have been struggling with how and when and if I should share what I’ve learned through my journey.
While I don’t espouse a formula, I do believe that there are body, mind and spirit factors that empower us to create health and wellness in the midst of disease. In the Blogs ahead, I will begin to put together power-filled principles that will help fighters, families and friends support and overcome the ills that plague us. We are more than survivors – we are conquerors and over comers. When we believe that, there is little that disease can do to us.

“Cancer is so limited….It cannot cripple love; it cannot shatter hope; it cannot erode faith; it cannot eat away peace; it cannot destroy confidence; it cannot kill friendship; it cannot shut out memories; it cannot silence courage; it cannot invade the soul; it cannot reduce eternal life; it cannot quench the Spirit; it cannot lessen the power of the resurrection.” -Carol Larsen, cancer patient

Comments (16)

By doreen, August 31, 2009 6:36 pm

What if you were told that the beliefs you hold determine how your life goes? Would it change the way you think about your circumstances? And what if you learned that your self-talk either moves you closer to your hopes, goals and prayers or it negates them? Would it cause you to take every thought captive and think before you speak? Or what if someone said that if you have faith, you can ask for anything, and as long as you don’t have doubt in your heart, it will be accomplished? Could you trust, waiting patiently in the unseen while current reality stares you in the face? These are some of the opportunities I have lived in for the past seven months that have allowed me to move stronger and deeper into a commitment that says, “OK, Jesus. You said all these things. So I am taking you at your word and believing you with all of my heart.”
Perhaps it’s the quality of the crisis confronting us that impacts our hope, faith and trust. Let’s face it, when you’re diagnosed with stage four, “incurable” cancer that has gone out into your bloodstream and begun to manifest itself in other areas of your body, there’s not much to lose in looking like a religious zealot. In fact, even among non-believers, there is sympathetic license to talk and walk in ways that would, otherwise, be considered alienating or politically incorrect, at best.
Some have been dumbfounded by my “cavalier” attitude toward the medical professionals involved in my case. It’s not that I’ve been disregarding their diagnoses or protocols; it’s just that I don’t put my focus, faith, my hope, and my life in their hands. They’re certainly a vehicle for restoring health and wholeness, but so are the nutrients and exercise I feed my body in order to starve the cancer; the elimination of stress and worry to minimize inflammation in my system; the degree to which I dwell on the goal of what I want versus the prognosis I have been given; and how I reinforce either images of disease or health by how I speak and the words that I choose. And while these are all worthy vehicles that can fuel my progress, it’s ultimately my driver, not the vehicle, who holds the keys to my faith, keeps me on course and delivers me safely to my destination.
I have believed with great confidence that God has both the desire and the ability to heal me according to my faith. It’s not been unfounded, wishful thinking. My foundation comes from the many promises of health and healing that God gives us in Hebrew and New Testament scriptures. It’s up to me to accept or reject; receive or refuse. Daily, I’ve searched out, studied and personalized these promises. I recite them aloud in the first person, present tense to create a mindset that is fixed and unwavering. I haven’t just hoped that it would be God’s will to heal me. I believe that it is God’s will that I am whole as surely as I desire and work to make Nicholas feel better when he gets sick. And whether God’s desire cemented my certainty, or my certainty moved the hand of God, I can not say. But I do know that the night before my PET CT scans, I felt great peace and the image of Jesus telling me, “Rejoice. Be glad. Stop focusing on yourself. Celebrate. Laugh. We miss so much of life because we piddle away our time with groaning, worrying, whining and striving. Rest. Trust. I’ve got you in the palm of my hand.” I actually burst out in uncontrollable laughter with tears and mascara streaking down my face. The more I tried to stop, the more it kept coming over me. I laughed and laughed in utter joy until I was exhausted. It was a weird phenomenon – even for me – but I loved every minute of it.
The next morning, I met first with my oncologist who was suggesting a few clinical trials that we might try depending on the outcome of my scans. I smiled politely and responded with all the right words, but in my heart, I knew that none of it would be necessary. She informed me that it would take 2 days before she would get the test results, so we made plans to be in contact with one another by Friday afternoon.
I arrived home that evening and prepared dinner for me, Brent and Nicholas. Just as we sat at the table, the phone rang. Typically, we don’t answer the phone, but I thought I should check the caller ID in case it was the doctor. It was. She was amazed by the fact that she had already received the reports – just hours from the completion of my scans. She said that I must have done something right, because that never happens. Then she proceeded to read the findings. She noted some inflammation around the lymph nodes, likely to be residual from May’s surgery. She also noted some inflammation in the right node of my lung, possibly left over from an undiagnosed case of pneumonia (so THAT’s why I felt so cruddy in June). Then she addressed the metastatic breast cancer lesions on the spine…. “There is NO metastatic uptake appearing on the spine.” I screamed with excitement and fell on the floor. Brent and Nic were stunned by my reaction, having no idea who was on the other end of the phone. I made her repeat it again and again. “What about the L-2 lesion (lumbar 2 vertebrae),” I asked? She replied that it’s not even showing up on the report. “Well what about the T-12 (where the larger cancer lesion was found)?” Again, she noted that the spot is there, but there is no metastatic uptake – there is no cancerous activity present at this time. She asked if I would still like to consider the clinical trial for some time in the future before turning her attention to scheduling a 6-month re-scan of my body. I agreed politely, knowing full well that their intervention would not even be necessary.

Comments (8)

By doreen, July 26, 2009 1:55 pm

I spent the morning weeding again, which was probably not the greatest activity for my back. But it’s useless. I just can’t help myself. The minute I see those menacing greens sprouting through my mulch, I get completely obsessed. For some undiagnosed reason, I take it as a personal affront that they are back again after my last back-breaking episode of digging and spraying. I hold this unrealistic expectation that one valiant extraction for the season is all it should take to keep my grounds pruned and pristine for the summer. If I had known the constant attention that was required to keep weeds from populating my plants, I would have zeroscaped our yard or filled it in with rocks.
In the midst of these musings, it quickly occurred to me that my mind is much like my garden. The seeds I plant there produce after their kind. And though I desire and even envision breathtaking landscapes of health and happiness, it requires constant attention to keep the weeds of doubt, fear, suspicion and resignation away. Though it would be so much easier to make a sporadic affirmation of faith in my wellness and pull out any negativity that has grown in, I realize that by the time those weeds appear on the surface, they have already been taking root in my heart. A pain here; a persistent cough there; an ache in my back that I’m certain is well below the muscle and deep in the spine – those little physiological feelings that, prior to my diagnosis, would have been easily dismissed. Now they get sifted through this filter of fear called “cancer.”
I know that it’s not just me. It’s a universal principle that applies to all humankind and has been explained across the ages. In the language of the mind, it’s described as being “teleological” – we move toward what we think about. In the language of the heart, the Apostle Paul implored us to “hold every thought captive unto Christ.” Why? Because “whatsoever a man sows, that also shall he reap.” In the halls of science, it is known as the biology of belief. Popularized by Dr. Paul Lipton, our DNA does not control our biology; our DNA is controlled by signals received from outside the cells that include energy from positive and negative thoughts. Regardless of our bent, we are endowed with creative power, born from the thoughts we nourish and fertilized by what we say.
So here I am in this season of stagnation – waiting for my next PET CT on August 26th. I’m disappointed that the longer and deeper I’ve gotten into all of this, the less vigilant I’ve been about guarding my thoughts and words. I found myself challenged this week in conversation with a friend who doesn’t understand my trust in God’s promises and my body’s ability to heal. The blades of her comments struck close to the root of my beliefs. “But you were into all of this faith and wellness stuff before, and look, it just came right back.” What if she’s right? What if this is pure folly? Are those back aches really the cancer growing? What will people say of me and my God if the scans aren’t good? Seeds of doubt and fear eroding my landscape of peace….we move toward what we think about.
Grace, like rain, arrived the next day in the form or an email forwarded by my friend Mike. It was written by Rick Warren, author of The Purpose Driven Life. It reminded me that faith expands, not in ease and comfort, but when we get to test it – challenged by waiting, by roadblocks, by thwarted expectations. Then choice factors in: resilience or resignation; determination or doubt; trust or temptation. “According to your faith, it will be done for you,” Jesus said. (Matthew 9:29). If my beliefs determine my future then I want a big faith with a growing garden of expectations that only God can fill. That will probably require more testing before triumph, but “everything is possible for him who believes.” (Mark 9:23)

Comments (4)

By doreen, June 24, 2009 1:10 pm

There’s nothing like persistent discomfort to tear down even the most steadfast spirit. It’s certainly easier to have a sure faith and positive outlook when you are feeling just fine. But the last several weeks have shown me how physical weariness can gnaw away at you, trying to rob you of your joy, peace and certainty.
I’ve been eating all the right foods and taking plenty of supplements, but my immune system doesn’t seem to be doing the job of warding off illness. In the past 5 weeks, I’ve had 3 bouts of bacterial and flu symptoms.
It’s no small coincidence that this present one – now in day #11 – nabbed me just 3 days after attending a healing service. The Tuesday evening service is a ministry out of a church across town where the pastor spent 6 months hospitalized for a rare blood cancer. In his book, “Hope Beyond Reason,” Dave Hess recounts his miraculous healing and God’s calling on him to provide a healing ministry to the community. Many documented healings have occurred there, and friends encouraged me to check it out.
This wasn’t some suped-up charismatic road show. The atmosphere was quiet and reflective; the worship music, melodic and free-form. Brent, along with my prayer buddies Cathy and Teresa, came to support me, and we each had this over-whelming sense of the presence of God the minute we entered the sanctuary. I hadn’t felt anything like that in quite some time. The love and tenderness of God was so evident that I was overcome with tears, not over self pity, but in sensing God’s lavish love over me.
I left with a heart-felt belief that God was healing the cancer metastases on my spine.
By Friday, I received a cryptic text message from my business partner, Steve. He warned me about not giving into false symptoms designed to cause fear and doubt in my mind. He differentiated instantaneous miracles from healing – an abiding by faith in the knowledge that I have received God’s promises found in Scripture. I wasn’t quite sure why he was sending this to me. It was a gorgeous Friday afternoon and I was at the pool with Nicholas, feeling perfectly whole. I texted him back and thanked him for the message. Little did I know how prophetic his words would be.
The next day I woke, feeling achy and finding it uncomfortable to swallow. As Nic’s swim meet wore on, I wore down. By evening, Brent and I were sitting at a wedding reception where I felt so horrible that I couldn’t eat. We left early. The body aches lasted several days and my throat was sore, too. I couldn’t get off the couch – missing the first 3 nights of Nicholas’ Vacation Bible School. On Friday, pink eye plagued me, getting deeper and darker as the weekend wore on. I sported sunglasses everywhere I went, knowing that just the sight of me would cause others to go into contagious frenzy. By last night, with body aches and sore glands starting all over again, I thought about how weary it must be for people who live with chronic pain.
Through this whole cancer saga, I have been asymptomatic. Because of that, 3 oncologists, my surgeon and the radiologist oncologist all advise to wait before doing any additional treatment. Currently I am on hormone therapy, taking a tiny pill once a day. Though they are drawing blood on a monthly basis to check my cancer markers, I won’t even be scanned again until mid-August to see if this form of therapy is working. It’s been easy to stay encouraged when I don’t feel badly. No heroism in that. But I see that it takes greater conviction of mind and spirit to keep your joy when the physical wants to convince you that you’re weak and losing the fight. Circumstances can test faith or build perseverance – it all depends on what picture is more dominant in the mind: the picture of healing or my fleeting circumstances. I stand firm on healing, and let circumstances be what they may.

Comments (6)

By doreen, June 1, 2009 7:18 am

“You Can Not Change the Wind, But You Can Redirect Your Sails.”
Rehoboth Beach was a godsend for me. No one knew me. I didn’t have to talk about cancer. My tube was gone. And except for the tenderness and numbing around and under my right arm, I was essentially on my way to wholeness.
This was the second time that my parents bid on and won this weekend condo from one of their fundraising events. What makes it especially fun for me is that the last weekend before the official season begins is Sidewalk Sale Weekend. Racks and tables of merchandise line the streets luring hungry bargain-hunters inside for more. Other than the obligatory tourist sweatshirt (purchased in Olympic time), Brent, my dad, and Nicholas would have none of it. They tore off to the beach for kite flying and Frisbee.
One of my favorite shops was a shabby chic boutique selling everything from small pieces of furniture to hand-made soaps. Sections were thoughtfully themed, making meandering both an adventure and a challenge to absorb it all. In one cozy corner, a nautical collection caught my eye. Dominating the space was a gilded-framed blackboard, free-standing and leaning against the wall. The chalked inscription read, “You can not change the wind, but you can redirect your sails.” I exhaled a knowing “Amen” and mused over the new waters I was traveling this time around.
My last fight in 2006 was just that…a fight. I armed myself with healing scriptures, a firm mindset, a more holistic lifestyle and a heaping dose of self-reliance – “if it’s to be, it’s up to me.” I didn’t allow for much intervention on the part of friends and family. I would be just fine – we didn’t need meals or carpooling arrangements. Nicholas was starting kindergarten 4 days from my surgery, and I was determined to get over it and take him to his first day of school. I worked hard to “believe” the right things, (which really isn’t belief at all if you have to work so hard at it), say the right things and show myself and others that I was a survivor. My militant attitude was so strong that it wasn’t more than a week after finishing 33 days of radiation that I signed up to run a half marathon in NYC. I couldn’t even run to the end of the block at that point, not to mention the fact that I had never run more than 4 miles before– and that was 10 years earlier. In typical fashion, I set my sails directly into the wind, poised for a fight.
This time has been different, yet so much harder for me. Instead of battling the wind, I’ve let myself be carried along by the fullness that fills my sails. At the wise and loving insistence of my sweet friend Cathy, I promised to sit back, relax and receive. No fighting, no rugged individualism, no superwoman tactics…just “yes,” and “thank you,” and allowing myself to be loved. Following surgery, Cathy coordinated 8 days of meals to arrive at our home. My neighborhood and Fellowship Group girlfriends took turns delivering delicious, healthy meals. Brent and I marveled at just how fabulous vegetables, fish and chicken could taste. I have to believe they were pulling out all the stops; otherwise, I’d be absolutely demoralized as a cook and abandon my kitchen forever. Cards, prayers, emails, flowers, books and CD’s came, filling me with such gratitude for the amazing people who have been woven into my life. Last week I was emotionally hijacked when a gift certificate arrived for many weeks of gourmet catering given by families in Nicholas’ 2nd grade. It was the first time I sat and sobbed un-controllably, feeling humbled and undeserving. It’s been hard and highly uncomfortable being the center of attention in this way (because “really, I’m just not that helpless”), but I truly have seen the hands and heart of God through the people in my life. So let the winds stir. My sails are full and charting still waters.

Comments (10)

By doreen, May 15, 2009 8:16 am

I don’t do well with limitations. In fact, one sure-fire way to get me going is to tell me that there’s no way to accomplish that which I’ve set out to do. As far as I can remember, I’ve always been this way. Nature vs. nurture – who knows – but I don’t like anything or anyone that tries to keep me down (and I wonder where Nicholas gets his contrarian personality???). And so this past week has been a bit of a challenge for me.
Because they removed 14 lymph nodes under my right arm, a Jackson Pratt drainage device was stitched into me to aid the healing process. Gauze and tape – not to be removed or dampened – disguise the origin of the plastic tube. But I can only imagine that the source is stitched into my incision. Twice daily, Brent drains, measures and notes the fluid levels that collect at the bottom in a suction cup the size of a baseball. Why the tube needs to extend the length of my torso down to my kneecaps escapes me. And though I have a large pin to gather and attach it to the waistband of my clothes, the bulbous contraption and transparent coil of tubing create a fashion challenge for keeping my fluids discreetly out of public view. Needless to say, I haven’t gone out much.
I was hoping to have this nuisance removed this past Monday. Dr. Schultz said that I could expect about 10 days. Well 10 days have come and gone, and my levels are not diminishing. They started to, but then I got somewhat active again – trying to wash & style my own hair, iron Nic’s school clothes, and not ask for help every time I needed something moved, put away or opened. Hand in hand with my aversion to limitations is my apparent inability to ask for and receive help. Resolved that self-reliance and pride lost out this week, and I would be wearing my alien attachment to Rehoboth for a family weekend away, I was stunned to get that coveted call. The tube comes out today. I get to throw self-consciousness to the wind and pack my typical beach garb. Hope wins!
Not so much so last Thursday with my trip to Johns Hopkins. This was my second consultation with yet another esteemed oncologist at yet another prestigious cancer center. This time Brent and my mom joined me for a quick day trip outside of Baltimore.
It started out well. The doctor seemed interested, informed and caring. Then I noted the pause of his pen and the arch of his brow as I responded to his question about how I feel. Perhaps he’s just accustomed to the fear and hopelessness that surrounds patients with cancer metastases. Perhaps he didn’t care for my brand of faith and positive mental attitude. But when I told him I felt blessed, he looked at me as if I just had a frontal lobotomy. His expression prompted elaboration on my part as I tried to explain the overwhelming love, support and tenderness I have experienced from God, family and friends. Quite frankly, I’m not sure he bought it. He countered with his own dose of reality by offering statistics that were far from what we imagined or hoped for. When Brent tried to share an antidote given by my surgeon about his mother’s cancer and the 18-year tenure she lived given the level of pervasiveness, the doctor dismissed our expectations by telling us that it was “a nice story.” He prided himself & his practice on conservatism and told us that they don’t like to raise hopes and disappoint people. I was screaming inside, “What the heck’s the difference!” What’s wrong with hope? Why not picture the possibilities; expect miracles; die to live rather than live to die? It was all I could do not to hurl my business card into his lap and recount studies on the impact of faith, belief and healing. It took the rest of the evening and following day to shake off his dismal view. It was my choice – accept his picture and live in despair or believe God and choose abundant life. He’ll see….I’m anything but a statistic.

Comments (11)

By doreen, May 8, 2009 11:10 am

It was a whirlwind last week – so much so that I couldn’t tell whether I was riding home on the Amtrak from NY or being run over by it. I was so exhausted that I physically hurt.

I don’t know why I was so shot. My mom and I love NYC, and we had a really nice time together. I was so looking forward to spending a couple of days alone with her. And she desperately needed to feel informed and part of the process.

We left early on Monday morning and met my aunt and cousin for lunch at a yummy Thai restaurant in the east village. We did some much-needed retail therapy at Bloomingdales – mostly because it was around the corner from our European-populated, “boutique” accommodations. We indulged on a delicious Mediterranean dinner and got an early bedtime in order to be ready for our 7:30 am appointment at Sloan-Kettering. Drs. Traina and Dang were beautiful, sensitive, intelligent women who were quite generous with their time. We left armed with information, options and a glimmer of hope. The doctors felt that without a bone biopsy on my spine, they could not conclusively say that this was incurable cancer. I immediately called my surgeon and pleaded with his office to find me a slot during Friday’s surgery schedule to have a biopsy performed. I figured that if I was going feel like bunk, why not go for the gusto and do it all at once.

I tried to be level-headed and even-handed, but I must confess that I saw this as a wonderful opportunity for God to shine and manifest in my body what I already know in my head and heart to be true – that “by his stripes [I AM already] healed” (emphasis, mine). Wouldn’t THAT be a marvelous miracle? And as for my friends and family who live more by what can be seen rather than by faith – the substance of things hoped for – they could chalk it up to a case of misdiagnosis. All the same, I would be looking at 4-6 months of chemo and a daily pill – I could certainly live with that.

While recuperating on the couch this weekend, I rented Slumdog Millionaire. It’s a heart-wrenching but marvelously done film. And it starkly reinforced for me the wonder and blessing it is that I happened to be born and raised in the abundance of the United States. Having first-hand experience of 3^rd world medicine through my previous work with Project C.U.R.E., I couldn’t help but thank God for world-class hospitals and state-of-the-art equipment and insurance and anesthesia, and that wonderful drug they give you to make you forget the entire day’s events!

By Tuesday morning, I was wondering why I hadn’t heard from the surgeon about the biopsy results. I typed out my email to him (he’s one of those 24/7 Blackberry guys who is always available and quick to respond), and with that combined emotion of eagerness and hesitancy that you feel before dropping your very last coin in a slot machine, I pressed the SEND button and waited. I focused on preparing for the 7 executive coaching calls that I had to complete for a new client project. Within 15 minutes, Dr. Schultz replied. Good news – they removed and tested 14 lymph nodes that drain the breast, and only 1 – the original one – tested positive for cancer. Bad news – the biopsy confirmed metastases. I think my stomach must have secreted a gallon of acid, because I just felt sick. Then sad. Then angry. I had my little “boo-hoo” fest in between trying to fold laundry, and then thanked God that there were 7 conference calls waiting to compete for my energy and focus. Oh….for those tender mercies and little blessings that come to us in disguise. They allowed me to blink away the blur of these past 9 days, refocus and let the real picture of who I am and what I’m called to do come into view. It was a gift – a productive and purpose-filled day. And that’s the picture I hold on to.

Comments (2)

By doreen, April 29, 2009 11:06 pm

Well, I definitely didn’t expect to find myself here, starting a weekly blog. At least, not about myself. Being the psychosocialtheological magnet that I am, you would more nearly find me writing about building peak performance, or transforming individual and collective behavior, or creating purpose-filled, sustainable change.

I suppose in a very real and vulnerable way, I’ll still be doing all of that. It’s just that now the principles and processes will be clothed in the real-life drama of my journey.

I must first start by emphasizing that it is not my intent to try and paint a broad brushstroke around disease, healing and wholeness when the nuances of each person’s experience are so vast and personal. More nearly, this is my personal story – physical, emotional and spiritual – and the journey of a tremendous opportunity to experience and share how I’m living through and by everything I profess to believe. It kinda makes me wonder if, perhaps, I wasn’t made exactly for this time and challenge. But that’s a whole different blog for a whole other day.

As many of you already know, I’ve spent the past two months undergoing a battery of tests that report a recurrence of breast cancer that has advanced to stage 4 and metastasized to the spine. It’s been a bit of a shocker for me, actually. I’m healthy. I feel great. I exercise daily; no stress in my life; I’m eating pure, whole foods (no sugar; no flour!). On top of that, my surgeon in 2006 declared that first diagnosis to be a contained, “garden-variety,” stage one breast cancer. The sentinel nodes were clean; therefore, a simple lumpectomy, 33 days of radiation, and a daily pill were sufficient. It was a blip on my radar screen – removed and gone – and life moved on.

It wasn’t as non-eventful as all that. There were some very important and significant life lessons learned there. Pitfalls that I stumbled right over. Ones that I should have known better given my profession, training and background. Ones that conflicted with everything I know about how the mind works and how what we think and what we say have a direct impact on the results in our lives.

Determined to “do it better the next time,” I’m using Picture Perfect as a personal diary to keep the current reality dialogue to a minimum (please know how very much I cherish your love and prayers and support, but the repetition of updates can get so very weary), as well as a teaching tool to reinforce for myself and share with others truths that empower us to co-create our own wellness in the midst of disease.

So, I leave next week with my mother for a consultation at Memorial Sloan Kettering in NYC. The love, support and advocacy of friends like Micki and Tania got me a highly coveted slot on Dr. Traina’s calendar before she starts her daily medical routine. I’m anxious to hear what’s available or cutting-edge or even on the clinical trial list for me. Then at the end of next week, I’m scheduled for surgery at St. Joe’s Breast Center in Towson, MD to have cancerous lymph nodes removed from under my arm. In the meantime while I’ve still got my digging arm, I’ve got a date this weekend with 120 sun loving bulbs and a wanting garden. I picture only beautiful things growing this summer.