This morning, after weeks of emotional and physical pain, as well as almost constant fear and worry, I wake up in joy. It’s the most wonderful feeling in the world; I’m almost giddy with it. The first thing I do after recognizing my state of mind is to offer thanks to God in profound gratitude.

Absolutely nothing in my situation has changed – except for a renewed willingness to trust in God for whatever is next, rejuvenated by a weekend spent in deep reflection of gratitude for the help and support graciously and miraculously supplied through the loving hands of family, friends, acquaintances and strangers during these last five weeks.

These beautiful people, on whose grace and generosity I have solely relied during and after my bilateral mastectomy, may never know that they are glorious instruments of LOVE, but I do; and I can’t comprehend how I would have coped these past five weeks without each one of them.

Friends from across the U. S. made calls and sent cards, messages, prayers and their love. Friends provided hand-delivered meals, and family, friends, acquaintances and even strangers kindly and generously sent gift cards, restaurant cards, and other funds, along with their prayers and well-wishes for healing.  My SLP assistants worked quickly and tirelessly to make sure I was able to, in good conscience, leave my job for three weeks without leaving the caseloads in a bind. Every one of these people demonstrated magnificent thoughtfulness, generosity and love which helped to make these extremely difficult past five weeks a little bit easier.

My sweet Momma, once again, left her home and her comfortable bedroom to sleep in my son’s rock-hard bed on the first floor, and to painfully trek (secondary to her arthritis) up and down the three stories of my home that first week, so she could be a constant presence of love and concern, while providing the care-giving that only a mom can give.  

Saint Patrick has been and continues to be, well, Saint Patrick.

In addition to helping to provide restaurant delivered meals, my sweet sister has constantly checked up on me and brightened my day with her texts. My dear friend in Colorado sent gifts, made calls and sent texts to let me know that I was constantly in her thoughts and prayers. Friends from all over messaged and texted to let me know they cared and were praying for me.

My dear friend opened her casita to me during those first 48 hours post-hospital, generously furnishing around-the-clock nursing and care-giving. This loving woman even set an alarm to wake herself up at 2:00 am to give me my medicine, and to empty and measure my gross drains at the prescribed time, all before rising once again at 5:30 am to get her four children ready, fed and delivered to their schools. She did these things for me while simultaneously preparing for an already planned, out-of-town trip, which commenced immediately after she carefully delivered me home. Her sweet family has lovingly shared her time with me since the day of my diagnosis.

Another cherished friend has spent hours of her time providing continued daily care-giving these past five weeks. Patrick had to go back to work and my mother had to go home, which left me potentially completely alone after week one. My friend thoughtfully purchased and installed a movable shower-head and a shower seat so I could wash without opening my stitches. She ran errands, brought in food, medicine and other necessities without my having to even ask. She kindly set up a meal-train. To contribute to my physical healing, she brought in her brilliant Ph.D. cancer-researcher friend who liberally provided recommendations and brought me supplements as well. Then, that Ph. D. friend, in turn, generously brought in an experienced MD Anderson dietitian to meet with me, too, giving me access to MD Anderson’s best nutritional advice for my specific type and stage of cancer. And, incredibly, on the Saturday night following surgery, my precious friend actually drove across Houston at a moment’s notice to perform a drain-removal mini-surgery, per the instructions provided by my Baylor surgeon over the phone. This incredibly kind woman’s family has generously and lovingly sacrificed their own time with her, so she could be free to take care of me.

These two women are my ever-present “wolf-pack.” They accompany me to each medical visit, they research every pathology and scan report, and they always ask the medical staff the hard questions while continually advocating for me to have the best cancer treatment plan, with the best possible outcomes. My surgeon and my oncologist know them well. The very few times neither could go to an appointment with me, my son and my Momma stepped up and made personal time and travel sacrifices to go. In all this time, and throughout all my countless appointments and procedures I have only attended one appointment on my own.

There are not enough words in the English language to describe my profound thankfulness for all of these beautiful souls; so, I just inadequately will say that I am filled with gratitude for every single individual who makes all the difference in my world.

My bilateral mastectomy surgery went well according to the surgeon. There are few complications except for the large, hard and uncomfortable remaining hematomas, and this annoying stupid drain that still bleeds red after five weeks.  My post-surgery pathology report revealed three, small tumors containing a small percent of cancer cells that didn’t light up in my January 2019 PET. One was found in a sentinel lymph node, which meant that 19 more lymph nodes were also removed, and two others containing cancer cells were found in my breast. My surgeon, probably in an attempt to comfort me, tells me on my first follow-up appointment that these tumors with the small amount of cancer cells didn’t light up in my last PET, because “the small amount of cancer cells in them are currently inactive.” They are similar to “hibernating bears.” Of course, I fixate on this analogy.

I had a second PET last week. The report shows “no evidence of active disease.” My oncologist tells me that this second PET demonstrates that the AI is doing its job, but goes on to say that just because nothing lit up doesn’t mean that there are actually no cancer cells in my body.” The PET results are supposed to be fantastic news; but, in the back of my mind I am obsessing over those “hibernating bears;” and I wonder if there are other tumors which didn’t light up with invisible-to-the-PET-scan cancer cells, lurking somewhere in my body? I wonder if the metastasized tumor found in my liver last summer really is resolved, or if it, too, is a sleeping bear – a ticking time-bomb, waiting to go off? I have had hints during comments made from my oncologist and his PA that these inactive cancer cells will eventually wake up. These are the fears which interrupt sleep and thieve relief, despite receiving two positive PET results in a row.

This coming week I will be apprised as to whether or not the Tumor Board at Baylor will prescribe radiation therapy. The radiation outcomes from the research in metastasized breast cancer is mixed, so it’s not a done-deal. I will also have my first PT appointment to try and ward off the dreaded lymphedema that sometimes accompanies lymph node removal (if this annoying drain comes out this week, that is).

As I think about next week, I really am trying, but sadly failing to not stew over the $75 co-pay for each of the 5-times-weekly radiation sessions I may have over a span of six weeks, along with the possible side-effects from the radiation itself. If I don’t have radiation, I will have reconstruction DIEP Flap this summer. If I do have radiation, then any reconstruction will be next summer. My thoughts are consumed with co-pays, with choosing the right surgeon, and with concerns about the serious  invasiveness of this next surgery, along with the dependency I will have on other people during the recovery. And then I start to stress over the possibility that the ACA may be dismantled before next summer, leaving me with no insurance to have any of these cancer treatments at all. Ugh! I have allowed fear and apprehension to creep in and override trust and faith, once again! All of my early morning’s joy is rapidly dissipating.

As these thoughts attempt to invade my day, I push them down with a prayer for the “peace that passes all understanding.” I think, “Will I ever trust in God, enough so, that worry is not an option?” At this rate, it’s fairly doubtful.

In these last two and a half years, my confidence that God will provide for me – no matter what – has grown a bit; but in all earnestness, I realize it’s because I experienced first-hand that He’s provided for me thus far. I am certainly lacking in the” mature follower of Christ” category – basically I fail daily. I wonder if God sometimes thinks, ”Hello? Julie? Can’t you acknowledge that I have always provided for you, even during the times when it seemed impossible? Girl, can’t you muster some faith that I will continue to do so?”

Upon reflection, I consider that much of my doubt may be related to not having had a protective, generous, dependable and loving earthly father. Neither has my grandmother, my mother, my siblings or my son; so, the idea of an all-loving, all-merciful Abba Father, surely better than any earthly father, is, at times, a difficult concept to swallow. Also, as I constantly watch and read about the terrible suffering all over the earth; with my small mind I wonder “Why doesn’t God take care of famine sufferers, or war victims, or refugees, or the poor, the sick and disabled, the hungry, the elderly and the children, the outcasts, the women who are abused and raped, and the women who die every day in my metastasized breast cancer group? – Because surely some of these people are praying…”  

Feeling disappointed in myself for judging God’s actions or lack of actions towards the suffering of people, and for questioning His mercy, love and grace, with shame I think that God must feel pretty disappointed in me, too.

As I sit with my coffee, I am watching a TV homily featuring my favorite priest, who tells the story of the prodigal son, and how this parable demonstrates God’s merciful forgiveness, grace, provision and ever-present love for all of us. He says the story demonstrates how God connects with us through our suffering, especially when we hit rock-bottom. He goes on to say that the father in the story represents God’s reckless love for us, especially when we are at our lowest. Just as the father in the prodigal story showers his son with reckless love and mercy, and though undeserved, generously provides for him, we are called to show reckless love to people. As Father Cedric talks, I contemplate Mother Theresa’s beautiful example of loving her neighbors through acting as God’s hands on earth.

Joy returns as I meditate on all of this: Amazing! I can actually know that God loves me and will carry me through my suffering! Throughout my cancer treatment, looking back, I can now see clearly that I have been sustained and consoled since the beginning; all of this time I have been receiving God’s love, grace, mercy and compassion through people perfectly loving me, and providing for me . Before my cancer diagnosis, I would never have been able to understand this, precisely because, my pride wouldn’t have permitted people to help – But when you are helpless and humbled, you have no choice but to accept help. Illumination is certainly a gift. 

Thank you for showing me your perfect love through all of these people, Abba – Father. I am grateful. 

“God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains.” ― C.S. Lewis