The Unexpected Journey of a Blogging Mommy

I've been so very thankful for the love and compassion

 shown by my readers during the past year. 

Your prayers and your comments have upheld me

during a very hard time in my life.

When I first started blogging,
I intended to be a "mommy blogger"  and share
whatever the Lord brought into my mommy moments.
I envisioned sharing spiritual lessons,
recipes, housekeeping tips, crafts, and funny stories about my kids.

Instead, I became a "cancer blogger" as I

typed  my way through my second and third round of thyroid cancer.


Then, I became a

"I'm trying to keep an Innocent Man from going to jail blogger."


When five friends were called home to Jesus in less than a year,
I became a "grieving blogger."

When my  pain was so great and my anguish raw,

I wondered if I would turn people away from my words seared with suffering.

I wondered if I should quit writing.

Instead, the Lord opened up doors to hearts.

At times, the Lord lifts my burden.
Just when I need it most,

someone comments or sends an email

voicing their appreciation for my words of pain
and words of encouragement.

Other times, He allows me to help carry burdens of others.

I've learned  many, many, many people are suffering

and they've cried with me and shared their stories with me.

They grieve for my pain and for theirs,

but through the journey,

we've upheld one another.
We have been blessed in the fellowship of suffering.

When I first started blogging,
I intended to be a "mommy blogger" and share
whatever the Lord brought into my mommy moments.

Since these are the things the Lord  brought into my moments,
so this is what I write, because


Moment by moment I’m kept in His love;
Moment by moment I’ve life from above;
Looking to Jesus till glory doth shine;
Moment by moment, O Lord, I am Thine.

Six Month Cancer Check-Up

For new readers or readers who have forgotten the details

of my thyroid cancer journey,

(that's OK, it's been over 7 years,

my own family has a hard time keeping track of the details)

I'll give a brief history.

(according to Wikipedia, this is what papillary thyroid cancer looks like)

Living with cancer isn't quiet as pretty.

June 2005 thyroid and lymph nodes removed

August 2005 Radio-active iodine treatment

April 2009 surgery to remove two more tumors

May 2009 three tumors grew back,

RAI and surgery no longer an option,

increased thyroid medication to fight cancer.

I've been HYPERthyroid for awhile.

Doctors often use the line,

"Thyroid cancer is the BEST cancer to have."

Some days I don't believe it.

However, after losing three friends to cancer in the past year,

I started to believe it.

The faith is seasoned with Survivor's Guilt,

but I now believe it.

I've been told I will never be cured,

that I won't die from my cancer,

I will die with it.

Which means, apart from a miracle,

my sure cure will be death.

It makes me so thankful I believe in the Lord Jesus Christ!

For those of you who also suffer in your earthly tent

you may be longing, like me, for that new body.

You may be longing to claim that

 promise of no more sorrow and no more pain

and to have those final tears wiped away with nail-scarred Hands.

But, today, my tears are of thankfulness and joy.

My six month lab work shows,

for the second time in a row,

no thyroid antibodies in my blood.

When cancer is active,

your body naturally produces antibodies to fight it.

My three tumors haven't grown, according to the previous sonogram,

so things are being held at bay.

Through seven years of cancer, He's never failed me.

I have failed to believe Him,

but He hasn't failed me.

He is faithful.

Pampered by the Chefs

Jon was my personal baking chef during the 25 days of low iodine diet required before the thyroid uptake scan.

He began by making a few delicious loaves of banana bread from the Low Iodine Cookbook compiled by the Thyroid Cancer Survivor's Association.  His heart to serve me and make my time more pleasant was such an encouragement to me.

Next, he made three loaves of whole wheat bread,

so I had my own bread for morning toast and sandwiches. 

It was amazing!

He tried to ask me a few questions,

but I said, "Hey, Jon, remember,
I haven't made bread in years!"
I could show him how to knead it,
but for the rest of his questions,
he turned to the Internet.

I actually quit making homemade bread when he was born-

baby #5 did me in.
I was a little tired.

How appropriate that he is now the breadmaker in the family!

He also made several batches of monster cookies,

adapted for my dietary needs.

That meant no chocolate, but they were still delicious.

To help ease the frustration of  the low-iodine diet,
my family does the majority of the cooking during this time.
Scott, Bethany and Grace cooked the meals,
brought me snacks if they suspected I wasn't full
from the 2.5 ounces of meat I could eat twice a day,
and did everything they could to make the burden lighter.

Because of their cooking,
and Jon's baking,
I felt pampered.

Pampered by the Chefs.

Cancer's Journey of Faith

Like a toddler learning to walk, our journey of faith can be one of forward motion, even though our steps are wobbly and unsure. When that journey of faith includes suffering, each step can also need surrender. As Christians, we rarely "give" ourselves to the Lord completely. Little by little, we surrender a meager grasp. We sing the songs, we pray the hip phrases, we gush that we want to be conformed, but we can resist the Refiner's fire.

Since this spring, I have been on a journey of surrender-stepping that is propelling me onto the path of perfection. Being made perfect through suffering.

The first wobbling step was taken to accept that my cancer was back. I toddled onto surgery.

After a months of recovery, I walked the path of acceptance, realizing there were going to be residual problems. I may have pain the rest of my life. Not intense pain, not "I can't bear it" but just "it will never go away" kinda' pain. The scar tissue in my ear and neck area constantly aches and pulls each time I turn my head. It is a constant reminder that I have cancer.

It was a "take heed lest you stumble" time. After saying that I didn't cry very much over my original cancer diagnosis, I have had some times of weeping. I have had to come to grips that unless the Lord works a miracle, I will never be cured and I will never be in remission. Like a stumbling toddler banging her head on the coffee table, I have had to turn back to my Father's arms, then stand again and keep walking, by faith and with joy.

This summer in Helena, I visited the oncologist for St. Peter's Hospital, Dr. W. I actually met him years ago while attending a check-up with a dear friend, Kari, who was dying from a brain tumor. I just needed some advice on my doctor situation. I am having a hard time trusting my doctors. He was empathetic and understanding and gave me great advice, including his recommendations for treatment. He was surprised that my surgeon didn't remove the original lumps that we had been following for four years. He was concerned enough to say, "If you were MY wife, I would have those lumps removed." He repeated it a second time. He also encouraged me to not wait with my radioactive iodine treatment.

I am now going to search for a new endocrinologist. My third one, but who's counting? If this cancer is going to be with me for a lifetime, I want a doc who is worth sharing my life with.


Criteria:

1. Nice
2. Nice nurse (My current endo's nurse SCARES me. I had several phone calls this summer that turned into confrontations. I HATE calling because she is either angry or rude to me. I am NOT her enemy, I am a patient.)
3. Not so busy (Surgery in April, couldn't get into follow-up until August)
4. Female. Male doctors generally don't care or understand hormonal things, so why am I going to a male doctor for a hormonal cancer during a very hormonal stage of my life?
5. Able to remember me. I would love to be remembered. By name, not only by chart.

I actually don't even care if my doc graduated at the bottom of her class if she meets the above criteria. I don't think I am asking too much.

So, I am starting over again.

Just when I was struggling a little with my attitude, I read a blog "Coffee and Chemo" from a woman in Jerusalem.

Her perspective on cancer gave me a new perspective on mine.

Diagnosis: Cancer is a "chronic illness."

You can live with it.

Translation: I hope to be on chemotherapy for a LONG time!

She is thankful for chemo - it means she is alive.

I choose to be thankful for my pain and for upcoming treatment - I am alive and healing day by day.

I am also thankful that the cancer keeps me focused on eternity.

Romans 8:18 "For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which will be revealed in us."

Someday, I will be healed. I will have a glorified body in Heaven.

Until then, I am praying for a new doc. A nice, female doctor who has a nice nurse and can remember my name. She doesn't even has to spell it right.

On the Lighter Side of the Scar

A few weeks ago my son Jon was a little more excited about the upcoming surgery than I actually was.

He enthusiastically commented, "Yea, cool, mom, so are you nervous? Like they are going to go in there and slash you open and look for the cancer."

I bit my tongue, for about five seconds, then calmly informed Jon that I was his mom and I loved him and I didn't take offense, but warned him against speaking that way to any other cancer/surgery patients. Not sure if he got it.

My husband, Scott, was a little more dramatic when I first removed the cool white foam neck brace thing and dared look at the scar.

"Wow, you look like you got ripped open with a chain-saw!"

He did have a clever come-back later, when we discussed the probability of future surgeries. "Hey, they should have just put in a zipper, so instead of another surgery, we could just zip it open, take out the cancer and zip it back shut." Why didn't my doctor think of that?

This morning during coffee break my always-laughing friend Betty admired my scar and said,

"They really sliced you open this time!"

It really was fair game. When she came to church with a band-aid on her nose covering the spot where they removed skin cancer I glibly asked her if she cut herself shaving.

I guess we're even.

I loved the saying on this framed text in an antique store.

Not enough to buy it, just enough to photograph it.

By the way, I saw this two weeks before I found out my cancer had returned.

Hospital Souvenirs

Since I only was in the hospital for about 30 hours, and they didn't want the door to hit me on the way out, I wasn't able to garner as many cool souvenirs as I had hoped. SIGH. But, I am thrilled to report I did get that lovely bottle of lotion I was eagerly anticipating, the cool name bracelet, earplugs, my own toothpaste (did you know they make it in clear gel?) and TWO, not ONE, pairs of those hospital socks.

My most prized gift was the bottle of Carra Free unscented Odor Eliminator that Neutralizes Biological and All Airborne Odors. In other words, they were trying to cover up the smell of my projectile you know what. What timing, to puke just as the family was standing at the door. Beka was liberally spraying the room while pinching her delicate nose shut. I could see the flaring nostrils of everyone else in the room, while they smiled through clenched teeth.

Dear John, my evening shift nurse, graciously cleaned up mounds of bedding, clothing, and rubber pillows, the bed frame, the floor and I think even the walls. Not sure. I was too embarrassed to look. He was so gracious and kind and didn't plug his nose, even. He did make me promise to not tell his wife that he knows how to make a bed. I promised to not tell her, I didn't promise to not tell blog readers.

Flowers are always a big benefit of being sick.

My sister-in-law Nita and niece Lydia sent me this adorable Momma Monkey and Baby Monkey and a homemade bar of soap named "Monkey Farts."

Guess what it smells like?

No, not that, coconuts and bananas, what else?

The right side of my incision goes a little farther and has a little hole at the end where the drainage tube was. EEWWWW. I don't like icky stuff. I had to wait five days to take the picture after it healed somewhat 'cuz it grossed me out.

The left side looks like a Charlie Brown zig-zag smile. They say when they make a scar, they make it a little crooked so it eventually blends in with the neck wrinkles.

How wrinkled do they think I plan on getting?

Aw, look at me, with my built-in choker.

After Beka got used to the scar, she had news for me.

"You know what it looks like Mom? Let me show you!"

She dug around in the scissors drawer until she came back with this pair of scissors and held them up triumphantly. Later on, she asked me if the doctor used scissors to open up my neck.

I know what SHE is thinking!

I am getting used to the scar. I am getting used to turning my whole body to turn my head. I am getting used to the fact that I am, once again, slower and weaker. What has been hard to deal with is the trauma to the nerves. I don't remember having this with my first surgery, maybe I didn't have it at all, maybe I recovered more quickly. I also stayed in the hospital longer, was on stronger meds longer, so maybe I just didn't feel it. But, my right ear, the right side of my face, my right shoulder and radiating down has a burning, numb feeling. My ear feels like it was burned to a crisp during a too-long-of a day at the beach. It hurts to the touch. I am praying for healing, and I ask for your prayers. The pain ranges only from a 2-3 on a scale of 1-10, but it is a constant sensation.

It reminds me of a conversation I had in the middle of the night with my angel nurse, Janae. The Lord provided one of His sweetest saints to minister to me hour by hour the night I was in the hospital. I wonder if she really was a nurse, or if she was a real angel. As we were joking about my long, ugly scar, and she encouraged me to wear it proudly because I was alive.

I told her that I didn't have the same kind of trials that the Apostle Paul had, mine aren't as great, but I have adopted his attitude. "I bear on my body the marks of Jesus Christ." (Galatians 6:17). I told her I considered my scar to be one for the Lord Jesus Christ, because He allowed the cancer and I wanted to bring Him glory through the cancer.

She smiled and reminded me of something else of Paul's life, that he asked three times for the Lord to remove the thorn and the Lord said no. (2 Corinthians 12:7) As we continued to talk about the Lord we both loved, I knew the Lord was speaking to me through this angel nurse. I was so thankful for this blessed fellowship in the middle of the night, in the middle of a dark hospital room, where I was surrounded with sounds of sickness and unhappiness and had mistakenly thought, for a few moments, that I was all alone.

Through each stage of this cancer journey I have had to lift up my expectations to the Lord and let Him work as He sees fit. I thought after suffering so nicely for Him the first time, I would be done. I thought that I suffered so nicely the second time that He would heal me. I guess I forgot to ask for no pain. I guess I thought I could suffer only under my terms. I have to repeatedly offer each part of my heart, body and mind to the Lord and let Him truly work as He sees fit.

If He asked me if I was willing to trade the cancer for a little pain, wouldn't I have said YES? But, He doesn't ask, because I had already told Him I want to walk by faith, I want to be His, I want to bring Him glory, I want to win souls, I want to be like Him. Why did I offer these valiant prayers with formulas attached?

Yes, pray for my healing. The pain isn't horrible, but the constancy of it can be draining. I find it hard to not think about how I feel all the time. Instead of now trying to rejoice even though I have the emotional trial of carrying around cancer in my body, now I have the physical trial of the pain it cost to remove the cancer.

But, there is always somebody worse off than ourselves, isn't there? I haven't had chemo, I haven't had radiation,; to some dear cancer sufferers I am barely in the throes of suffering. You may think what you are going through is nothing because you don't have cancer. We must never measure our trials against someone else's, only against the purpose the Lord has to refine us.

I Peter 1:6, "We greatly rejoice, though now for a season, if need be, you are in heaviness through many trials." For every trial there is a need a "need be" tailored to fit you.

I remember in the middle of one sleepless night, where I was communing with the Lord, and asking Him why He allowed the cancer to continue  indefinitely. I went through almost three years of testing with lumps and stuff in my blood, but they were never able to give me a conclusive diagnosis that I did or did not have cancer. The still small voice that broke through the darkness to answer my wondering heart, "That patience may have its perfect work."

So, dear friend, whatever you are going through, let the voice of the Lord speak to you, that "Patience may have its perfect work."

Day Four and Day Five

Today was supposed to be the day off.

I had a few squares of chocolate, but I didn't exercise, unless you count ironing a dozen dress shirts as exercise.

The only thing on the agenda for today was to call my endocrinologist and ask how I was going to find out about my test results. The lab technician previously told me that most patients have a consult with their doctor the same day as the scan because the results are available right away, and was surprised I didn't have an appointment with my endocrinologist. I realized we hadn't even discussed getting results with the endo.

Knowing I would never get the doc on the line, I left a message for his medical assistant.

When she called back, the conversation went something like this:

"Hi, this is Mindy, I was in yesterday for a PET scan and I was wondering how I am going to find out the results of that scan."

"We will send you a letter in the mail."

"A letter? You mean to tell me if I have cancer I am going to find out in a LETTER?" (I'm also remembering that just to receive the results of bloodwork, it took three weeks.)

"If you prefer, we can make you an appointment."

"OK, that's great. Can I get in next Friday? Dr. E. should have the lab results for the blood work by then, too."

"I can't get you in on Friday. Dr. E. is booked out until the middle of April."

"April? I can't get in to find out the results of my scan until April? So, you mean I have to find out if I have cancer in a LETTER?"

"Yes, unless you prefer to make an appointment."

I thanked her and hung up. I am in shock and awe. I can't believe that a doc. who charges $500 a visit wouldn't want to see me again, even if it is just for the money!

Just to amuse myself and fight away anger, I tried to imagine what the letter would possibly be like.

Variation 1:
"Dear _______________,

We are so thankful for your business at our hospital. We enjoy the amount of money your insurance pays out on a monthly basis for all your visits and labwork. In this time of economic crisis, your money is a great economic stimulus for our office, so we can't say we feel too much regret with the recent diagnose showing your cancer has returned . Rest assured, your money is keeping us in business.


Variation 2:
Dear ____________________,

We have good news and bad news. The good news is we are now validating your $10 parking tickets for our newly built parking garage. The bad news is, that due to your recent diagnosis of cancer, you will have a lot of tickets that will need to be validated.


Variation 3:
Dear ___________________,

We are greatly embarrassed that our office is run so poorly that traumatic news, such as your recent diagnosis of cancer, has to be delivered via snail mail. If you prefer receiving such horrible news through email, please contact us through the email address provided at the bottom of the page and we will gladly update your contact information. Or, if you are totally connected, check out our Facebook, where we daily post diagnosiseseses and prognosiseseseses. Or, if you prefer, we'll Twitter you.


Variation 4:
Dear ____________________,

We are thankful to announce that your recent scan indicates that you don't have cancer. Congrats! However, the scan did reveal the location of one certain missing surgical clamp that you must have taken during your prior cancer surgery. We will have to charge you for rental for that item and personal trauma to the doctor who misplaced the item, so we expect your exorbitant bill will arrive soon.

Variation 5;
Dear ____________________,
We are pleased to announce that the result results of your PET-CT scan do not indicate the presence of cancer. However, due to your good health and coincidal drop in our county's economy, we are going to have to drop you as a patient to our clinic. You are not bringing in enough funding, so we need to concentrate more on lucrative patients, like those in Medicare and Medicaid programs, where we are allowed to charge $75 per Tylenol.

Seriously, where would they begin to find the letters they need to send out to patients? Are they from a class in med school? Instead of writing Business Letters, do they learn to write Bad News Letters and Good News Letters? Are they taught the subtle nuances a font might have in creating a better aura for receiving bad news? Are they taught that double spacing draws out the agony of the news, so keep it single-spaced?

Maybe along with a diploma and the Hypocrites Oath, they are provided with a book of letters doctors may need, so all they have to do is rubber stamp their name on the bottom.



********************************************************************************
Day Five

I really was hesitant to publish my post last night. I was so beyond the capability of deciding if my emotional reaction to the "we'll send a letter" comment was in the confines of reasonable or not, so I had to sleep on it for a day. I slept on it. I am still bothered. So, we are still praying about it.

Today I did my final step in the week-long adventure, I had to give blood one more time. It was a good feeling, in a way, to be done with the physical stuff.

But, it truly leaves me with the hardest part.

The waiting...
and waiting.....
and waiting.......
and waiting........
and waiting.........
and waiting..........


Psalm 27:14 "Wait on the LORD: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the LORD."

A verse shared with me today by friend, Lydia,
"He will have no fear of bad news, his heart is steadfast, trusting in the Lord."
Psalm 122:7.

.....so.........I am
w
a
i
t
i
n
g
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Day One - P.S.

This was our beautiful view while driving home from the hospital yesterday.

The rainbow ended right on the interstate. We always tell our friends from the midwest that the rainbow ends in Washington, now we have proof.

The colors were so vivid, we were amazed. We all have seen dozens of rainbows, but each time, don't we always shout, "Look, there's a rainbow!"

It's as if each rainbow is the first one we've ever seen.

This rainbow was always before us. We never caught up to it, it was always just ahead of us, reflecting the glory of the One who made the rainbow as a promise to the world.

It's leading presence gave us the sense of what is promised in Deuteronomy 1:30 "The LORD your God goes before you..."

Our enthusiasm deepened as we viewed the entire rainbow - the beginning and the end.

We had been driving and contemplating my health situation,

sometimes talking,

sometimes silent.

The Lord doesn't speak to us with an audible voice,

but He does speak to us.

We heard that inaudible voice of comfort and nearness.

Genesis 28:15 "And, behold, I am with you, and will keep you, in all places, where ever you go."

From the beginning, to the end.

Day One

"How is your day going?

This was the polite question the barista asked me this morning as she took my order for an almond latte and a toasted whole grain bagel with cream cheese.

I stared at her dumbly. It was a simple question, but I had no answer. What could I say in the traditional 5 seconds or less allotted by social norm for polite banter?

So, I used the standard line. "Fine." It's the word we all use whether we mean it or not.

But somehow, fine just doesn't begin to touch the jumble of emotions that were swirling through my head this morning. I wasn't angry, I wasn't depressed, I wasn't doubting. I was merely in that hard place of waiting on the Lord, wanting to be able to accept His plan for my life with faith.

Can you tell by the look on my face I am not crazy about needles?

I had just returned from my first thyrogren shot, the first day in a week long quest to discover if my papillary thyroid cancer has returned when her question caught me off guard. I just couldn't answer. I had too much to tell.

Fine? Fine. Fine!

I am all of these. Am I fine? No, I can't say that, I might be physically ill. My cancer may have returned. In fact, walking through the doors to Swedish Cancer Institute this morning I had that realization that my life could be changing dramatically, again. I have no idea where these initial steps are going.

Am I fine. Yes, I am fine. I am functioning on a normal level. You would never know, looking or me or hanging around me what the I am going through. I am not trying to hide it, nor am I trying to broadcast it. I am trying to live my life normally as I can.

I am also fine! Underneath my faltering, feeble steps, I am walking on solid ground, the solid Rock of Christ. I have chosen to rejoice in all things, to give thanks in all things and to trust the Lord in all things. That doesn't mean I don't experience the common human emotions like-

"I don't want to be sick again!"

"I don't want my family to have to go through this again."

"I don't have time to be sick!"

-but I surrender these things to the Lord, being honest with Him and I seek to make His thoughts my thoughts and His ways my ways.

The technician warned me that the shot may bring a headache, fatigue and/or nausea. She kept telling me this was normal, and I wanted to say, "Yea, duh, this is normal every day for a woman my age," but I just smiled and nodded like a nice patient would.

She also told me not to exercise for several days. No exercise? No problem, haven't felt like exercising for years. Exercise? Now, I finally have a good excuse not to.

I have to be on a 24 hour diet with no carbs and no sugars. I can eat plain meat, eggs, cheese, butter, mayo and unsweetened peanut butter, broccoli, asparagus, spinach, green beans and cauliflower. Compared to the three week long low iodine diet needed for the radio-active iodine tests I have had previous years, this is a piece of cake... even though I obviously can't eat cake.

I have another thyrogen shot Tuesday, a shot Wednesday of radioactive glucose prior to the PET/CT scan and blood work on Friday. I get Thursday off.

What should I do? Maybe I'll eat a candy bar and exercise. Then, again, maybe I won't.

DAY 17 and Counting

I've counted it over and over. It has been 17 days since my doctor visit. That makes three business weeks. It seems like years. I have checked the answering machine a few times, to make sure I didn't miss a message. I have checked the history of the phone calls, I have asked the kids every time I leave the house if the doctor has called.

I have called his office twice, so now am at the risk of annoying him and fear I will lessen my chance of a happy patient/doctor relationship. I am also trying not to be annoyed with him because I am finding his working definition of SOON doesn't match up with dictionary.com's definition.

-within a short period after this or that time, event, etc.
-before long; in the near future; at an early date
-promptly or quickly:

My life feels as if it is on hold. The decisions he makes could affect my entire next year in a vast way; but I am just another patient, another life, another phone call to make.

In the continued wait, I decided to pray more fervently for his decisions. Dr. E. does have four years of charts to weed through, equal years of labwork to peruse and, although I wish I were, I am NOT his only patient. I remind myself that all his other patients could have serious issues, too.

I am asking the Lord that He will give Dr. E. wisdom and understanding and I ask you to join me in praying for him.

As I was thinking about prayer this morning, the first verse that came to mind was in I Thessalonians 5:
16 ¶ Rejoice evermore.
17 Pray without ceasing.18 In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.

I am wondering to myself if this wait is more important than the answer, the Lord is giving me a chance to truly learn verse 16, to pray without ceasing. And, notice the two admonitions that it is neatly sandwiched between, to "rejoice evermore" and to "give thanks."

And, as I reread this blog, I am guilty of what my husband has preached about "Vitamin I Disease." Too much "I", not enough Him. If I thought only about my situation, I would be depressed, as we all would be with whatever the Lord is allowing in our lives.

If we think about Him, His righteous and loving character and His Holy Word and allow Him to answer our furtive prayers, in HIS time and in HIS way, our hearts truly can
-rejoice
-pray
-be thankful

May we all be praying without ceasing for whatever is troubling our hearts and minds today and praise Him for answering!


Jeremiah 33:3 Call unto me, and I will answer, and show you great and mighty things, which you know not.

Pins and Needles - Prayers and Peace

This title came into my heart as I was waiting for an important phone call. I was a little anxious, I have to admit, and thought of that cliche, "on pins and needles." That's the human side of me. But, in my heart, I quickly added "peace", because whenever I feel that anxiety begin to fill my heart or flutter in my tummy, I have learned to pray until I have peace. The Lord always offers it graciously, unsparingly, lovingly, I just don't always take Him up on His offer.

Why such anxiety over a phone call? It's from a my new endocrinologist who is making serious decisions concerning my health and testing for the return of my papillary thyroid cancer...the dreaded "C' word. It puts terror in many of our hearts and minds. We ALL have experienced it personally or with someone we love.

That's why Philippians 4:7 is such an amazing verse. Paul writes, "And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

It goes beyond human understanding that we could face difficult experiences with peace, but this is only possible through the Lord Jesus. I had my thyroid and many lymph nodes removed in June of 2005 and went through Radioactive iodine treatment in August of 2005. It was followed by six months of a very high dose of artificial thyroid hormone, a stage the doctors call Hyper Hell. Within six months, small lumps began growing again on the right side of my neck where the cancer had originally spread. About a year ago, lumps appeared on the left side of my neck, along with thyroid antibodies in my blood. The doctor had no answers for me, always told me to come back in six months. I've had over three years of pins and needles, prayers and peace.

Last week, after the initial visit and blood work with a new endocrinologist, I woke up early one morning and my first thoughts were what is possibly ahead. The cost is greater now for me to count - I have experienced the surgery and the rai - I KNOW what I might have to go through. I began to cry. Not a cry of huge remorse or anger at the Lord, just a little cry of resignation, knowing it could be a hard road ahead. I cried out to the Lord and my prayers felt like arms reaching up to my Father.

I felt His presence, I felt His peace. I knew I could handle the path ahead, because He was with me.

As I recently visited with a new friend, who lost her husband to cancer only five agonizing months ago, we talked about this. I wept and told her, "How can I ever regret cancer, when I have felt His Presence so closely in ways I never had before?" She agreed, speaking of the same Presence she and her husband had shared in his final 3 1/2 years of life.

So, I am waiting. The doctor said he would call "soon." I think we have a different definition of soon, it is now 15 days since my appointment. While I am waiting, I am turning those pins and needles into prayers and peace, because the Lord promised me "peace that passes understanding." I choose to believe Him.