On My Knees for the Right Reasons

Not so many days ago I fell to my knees beside my husband's hospital bed, crying uncontrollably and begging God to take me if he needed a sacrifice, but to spare my husband who did not deserve to suffer from Stage IV cancer and sudden heart failure brought on by his first round of chemotherapy.

Tonight? I'm ready to punch my sweetie in the nose. He recovered - thanks to zillions of prayers and the grace of God - but he is annoying me beyond belief this evening as I try to steal an hour of peace and quiet. 

That is the beauty of being married for almost 23 years. My love for him quickly shoos away away those few moments of irritation. Indeed, my perturbed state reflects the joy I feel after my dear husband was spared by a merciful God from a life-threatening cardiac event. And God's plan did not include whisking me away yet, either. 

When I began this blog, I assumed I'd prattle on about retirement, parenting a college freshman, pursuing freelance writing after a 32 year career held captive by a lot of soul-sucking fools. But recent posts have leaned toward my husband's illness and its effect on our family. Sorry. That's my current voice. I simply can't find the other voices that made up the rhythms and routines of my life before the cancer monster impaled my spouse and brought us to our knees.

So this evening finds me reflecting on my recent pleas to God and concluding that bargaining with Him is never a good idea. It's presumptuous, at the very least. God's plans serve a higher purpose than we can possibly understand, and to think that we can negotiate our way out of those plans is absurd.

The night I offered my life in exchange for my husband's, I did so in the belief that he is the better person, more deserving of a long life and the gift of additional years to steward our son, our grandchildren, our legacy. But that's up to God, not me. My job is to stay humble, patient, and on my knees thanking the Lord for comfort and strength.

You see, God already assured us that He will provide comfort when needed and give us the strength we need to deal with whatever comes our way. So asking Him for these things isn't as important as acknowledging His workings in our lives and thanking Him repeatedly for those much needed gifts. Or at least that's how I see it.

My beloved husband is stretched out on the couch with our mutant dog and cunning cat. Our college freshman son just dropped off about fourteen loads of laundry from his dorm room, and that is just fine. My gal pals Lynne and Jean took me out earlier this evening for a most scrumptious Italian dinner.

Yes, there are blessings large and small for which to be thankful. I am learning to live life day at a time, with humility. Indeed, life feels peaceful as I ready for bed tonight. God will surely hear my gratitude as I drop to my knees in prayer before lying down next to my husband, placing my hand near his still-beating heart, and whispering my love for him before we both drift into a tranquil sleep and dream of life, love, and legacy. 

A Wicked Woman Finds Comfort

My husband's heart seems to be holding its own after last week's life-threatening reaction to his first round of chemotherapy. So we're pretty much back to our routine of puttering around the house and enjoying each other's company.

But there is no rest for this wicked woman. All hell has broken loose in every other area of our family's life. Our college freshman son finally confessed his sorry grades from last semester. He is back in school as of last week, majoring in Social Life. And after paying a zillion dollars in end-of year expenses last month (property taxes, car tags, homeowner's association fees, car repairs, eyeglasses for husband and son, and more), I just got hit with several more unexpected bills (additional car repairs, new tires, hospital co-pays, and more). The dishwasher is broken and our refrigerator gasps more fervently each day. 

My husband-who-happens-to-have-cancer-and-now-also-heart-problems is on a low sodium diet. Thus, neither one of us has tasted salt for several days. Understand that we are both salt addicts. It's like heroin to us, so imagine our irritability as we withdraw. Not to mention my frustration over the fact that my skinny husband needs to gain weight, but he can no longer eat his favorite comfort foods. And, because all hell done broke loose on the Locklin family, he now has chemotherapy-induced mouth sores that make it difficult to chew. So my rail-thin husband gets to sip applesauce and yogurt through a straw for sustenance. 

My mother-in-law recently sent us a cheery greeting card and a hand-written message that took my breath away. This from a woman whose son has Stage IV incurable cancer and whose daughter was recently diagnosed with a tumor on her pancreas that, though benign, warrants chemotherapy for safe measure. And my in-law's beloved Jack Russell, Daisy, died while they were visiting their son in the hospital last week. 

My in-laws, married for about 60 years, are the most resilient people I know. They are the rocks against which I brace myself when the waves crash and pummel my family. 

And right now the waves refuse to cease. Before we can catch our breath, the next one arrives and pounds us, relentlessly and unmercifully. Most days I can fight them, but today felt like the day the surf would finally swallow me whole. Like plankton gathered by a whale making its way through the vast ocean. Sucked in completely and without forethought. 

Then I stumbled upon my mother-in-law's greeting card. Her hand-written message spoke of using her son's situation to bring honor and glory to God. She assured us that, whatever comes, we can have a song in our hearts because God did not promise to keep us from trouble, but He did promise to be with us every step of the way. 

I understand and believe God's promise to be with us throughout this journey and to give us the strength we need during difficult times. What struck me was the notion that we must work hard to share with others our first-hand knowledge that God has provided, and will continue to provide, comfort and strength even as the waves pound. That message must become the song in our hearts - a song that brings Him honor and glory. 

  

My Christian friends will quickly understand this perspective. But I hope that my non-Christian friends recognize in my mother-in-law's message a call to always remember that the world is bigger than our individual struggles. And that singing to the world our songs of love and acceptance is our most precious gift to others.   

I was in the hospital room when my husband's blood pressure plummeted to a level that could not be detected by two doctors and two nurses simultaneously working on him. I felt and saw his skin - as cold as an iced tea glass and as pale as newsprint. I saw the baffled look in the doctors' faces as my beloved was rushed to the Intensive Care Unit. In the end, the medical personnel were great, but it was the power of prayer that saved my Lewis. Maybe it would help you to hear it this way: Prayer guided some very perplexed physicians toward a series of decisions that resolved Lewis' complex and deteriorating cardiac problems.

The waves crash, but I'm belting out a song from my heart. It is a song of hope and love. I sing it not only for my family, but for yours, as a gift of reminder. Remember to hold your loved ones tight, let them know what they mean to you, and tell them that they are not alone in this world. 

All Hell Done Broke Loose Again, But I Do Have Palmetto Berries

I've been away for a few days. But upon returning to my blog site, I'm thankful to find that my Russian readers did not abandon me. Indeed, their hits represent about 99% of my traffic this week. Perhaps I should move to Moscow or St. Petersburg or some place where I have a true fan base (at least 15) and can escape my current reality.

Because my current reality is really difficult. But it is my family's reality, so I will not abandon it, despite my fantasy to wake up oblivious in Siberia.

Yes, our reality is one that causes most people to shrink in fear, grasp for words, and thank their wooden countertops that it is not their life (don't worry; we know this and we do not blame you).

Current reality is that my husband has Stage IV incurable colon cancer. We were led to believe there was hope for remission, given aggressive chemotherapy. So we began chemo last week, and 24 hours later, my husband lay in a hospital bed fighting for his life as a result of heart damage caused by the poisonous drugs.

Please do not misunderstand me. I am not - in any way - blaming the oncologist or regretting the decision to proceed with chemotherapy. Given the advance stage of his cancer, chemotherapy was - and is - the right path. Chemotherapy has risks, and we were well aware of them.

Alternative treatments? As much as I love green tea and wild mushrooms from the far corners of the earth, there is simply not enough evidence to convince me that alternative approaches, alone, will cure my life partner. And in the absence of convincing data, I will continue to pursue with a vengeance the evidence-based chemotherapies while simultaneously shoving raw vegetables, vinegar, grapefruit juice, Siberian chaga mushrooms, and other alternatives down his throat.

But for now, the issue of what kind of ginseng root and palmetto berries I procure for Lewis seems something of a moot point. Our immediate task is to keep is blood pressure far above the undetectable level to which it recently dropped. And to help his heart pump more efficiently than its current level of 25 (an ejection fraction, with 60 being the goal). Diet is certainly critical, and I have scoured the Internet and grocery stores for recipes and ingredients necessary for low sodium meals for a thin man who does not need to lose weight. A challenge, but we're getting there.

Ginseng root and palmetto berries may very well be a part of the answer, not just for fighting the cancer but also for strengthening my sweetie's heart. This journey is teaching us a lot, and I'm doing my best to keep an open mind.

This ain't the most entertaining blog, but it let's you know where I've been. To my Russian pals - your visits to my blog are a godsend. Я благодарю вас.  

Who's Afraid of Margaret Atwood?

I'm hyperactive tonight. Nervous about my husband's first round of chemo in the morning, I suppose. Oh, the books I could write about our journey with Stage IV colon cancer. And we haven't even started treatment.

Anyway, I turned tonight to Facebook and Twitter for distraction. Facebook is great for light interaction with family and friends, but Twitter demands a different attention. And I have yet to understand how it all works. I follow a few people, but not many. My life is cluttered enough and tangential noise from unknown others is something I invite only in increments.

But I do follow those with writing interests, and writers, including Margaret Atwood - an author who has influenced my life in many ways. I love her works, of course. And I love that she seems to have successfully negotiated the academic community. My 23-year journey through that wretched abyss ended in early retirement due to post-traumatic stress. But that is another series of blog posts.

Margaret Atwood is an active Twitter user, and actually interacts with followers. Unfortunately, she and other literate twitterers Tweet in phrases and symbols that are as indecipherable to me as Egyptian hieroglyphics.

Maybe I'm slow, but it has become apparent that I not only have to write compelling stuff, but that I also must develop razor-edge social networking skills. Not just the language, but the culture, attitude, and tech aptitude of a 21-year old MIT grad student.

Believe me, I'm up to the task. Margaret did it, and so can I.

Perhaps she said it best in The Handmaid's Tale: "Don't let the bastards grind you down."

At Least the Russians Like Me

I'm pouting. Just can't help it.

I spent all day writing, including work on a blog piece that I thought was quite catchy. Like a fool, I asked my 18-year old to read the piece and he concluded that I sounded like a very sick woman. And he didn't mean physically.

Just what I wanted to hear.

Most moms would have ignored the critique, rationalizing that a teenager is in no position to judge the quality or potential popularity of a blog post. But all it took was one snub to make me feel like a complete failure. So I deleted it. Click. Gone.

In truth, my son's was not the first snub. The editor of a local magazine, for which I'm a monthly columnist,  rejected an earlier version last month. I was convinced she simply didn't get my particular form of humor. But it is her magazine, so I shrugged my shoulders and moved on to other projects. No hard feelings here. It happens.

Nevertheless, my mind kept returning to this particular piece. I was convinced it had merit. Thus, I retrieved it, revised it, and reviewed it with my son.

Two strikes and I declared myself out. No need to invite the pain of strike three.

As a writer, I have more than one voice. Maybe it would be better to hone just one of them, but my muse doesn't lead me in that direction. Often my pieces are inspired by what is happening in my life at any particular time. And that means I write about a range of topics. The tone of my pieces vary from sentimental to lightly humorous to sarcastic.

My husband is battling Stage IV cancer. My son is behaving like a careless college freshman. I deal daily with a roller coaster of an auto-immune disease that makes me feel twenty years past my real age. We face huge financial challenges despite meteoric careers and having done all the right planning for the past quarter of a century.

Yes, my writing might be a tad caustic right now.

I started a blog because I wanted a place to say or shout out whatever was on my mind. No editors, no obligations to advertisers, no accountability to anyone. After a 32 year career, the pressures and politics of which nearly killed me, AND the onslaught of health issues and associated chaos -- the blog was my forum for unfettered expression.

But this rebel soon learned that expression doesn't mean much if there is no one to hear the shout. Without readers, I'm talking to myself. And if I don't build a truly interactive online community, then my blog is merely a one way conversation. Who wants that?

Perhaps I finally understand the blogging phenomenon. It's not about blasting messages. It's about inspiring community dialogue.

Unfortunately, I have yet to master the techniques for reaching others interested in dialogue about my writing topics. And I may eventually learn that there are only a handful out there for whom my words inspire a response. After all, there are a whole lot of us out there blogging around the clock, hoping to be heard. Sort of like ham radio operators (are they still around?).

I'm just tickled that 17 people in RUSSIA have visited my blog site. RUSSIA!! That is very cool. I know about my Russian pals because my blog host site gives me statistics about views. I don't know who visits me, but I know what country they're from.

(Seasoned bloggers are rolling their eyeballs about now, because geography is a moot point in the virtual world. But they need to understand - I'm truly fascinated that my 17 Russian readers even found my humble blog. So quit snarking.)

Perhaps the Russians heard that I enjoy an occasional vodka. After all, a mellow cocktail knows no geopolitical boundaries. And my new pals may also face health challenges, or deal with really annoying teenagers. Just like me.

Evolutionary Roots of Teenage Behavior

Do you have an annoying teenager? Then here is a must-read. Finally, an explanation to their behaviors!

http://woodstock.patch.com/articles/learn-the-evolutionary-roots-of-teenage-behavior

Hey, if you like the piece, be sure to click "Recommend" at the top of the ARTICLE. My Patch editor will smile a lot and keep publishing my rantings. Thanks!!  Dee