Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Apostle Paul, in 1 Corinthians 11:15, talks about a women’s long hair being her “crowning glory”, her “pride and joy” in the NLT translation, and her hair given to her by God as a covering.  Proverbs 16:31 calls gray hair a crown of splendor, attained in the way of righteousness; Luke 12:7, says that the very hairs on our head are numbered by God.  Lastly, King Solomon, in Song of Solomon 4:1, complimented his Beloved that her hair was “like a flock of goats descending from the hills of Gilead”.  I suppose, in that time, that was high praise indeed for a good head of hair!  Not sure shampoo commercials in this day and age would agree…

Since the day I found out I would need chemotherapy to battle uterine cancer, I have known that my hair would fall out.  Chemo drugs are powerful medications that attack rapidly growing cancer cells. Unfortunately, these drugs also attack other rapidly growing cells in your body — including those in your hair roots. For most women, this can be the most traumatic side effect caused by chemotherapy because hair makes up such an important part of a woman’s outward identity, closely linked with her self-esteem.  According to one recent survey, women will spend close to $55,000 in a lifetime on hair products and treatments.  I don’t know if I will spend that much money on my little “flock of goats” but I do know that I do spend an inordinate amount of time brushing, shearing, and pampering them!  I guess it’s because I do spend such time fussing over my hair that I felt the loss profoundly when my hair fell out in 2001 after my first chemo treatment, and how I wept when I saw my hair fall out this time around too.

I thought I was more prepared this time.  My daughters came with me wig shopping last week, and they selected a “sassy” look for me that is so different from my usual style and colour that I was instantly smitten by it.  Still, we hoped that by some miracle, I would not need to wear it.

Over the weekend, and a very busy weekend it was too, my hair was still mostly intact but hanging on for dear life!  I was blessed to be surrounded by my entire family on Saturday for a family dinner, and then on Sunday, I watched with delight as my youngest grandbaby, Atticus was dedicated to the Lord!  Once again, the whole family gathered to support my son and daughter-in-love as they vowed to “train up Atti in the way he should go”.  It was a glorious morning, followed by a wonderful BBQ with Atti’s maternal grandparents, great-grandparents and family.  When I got home, I got out of my Sunday attire, and changed into my jeans and a t-shirt and noticed immediately that my hair had finally lost its grip on my scalp.  I thought I was prepared for this eventuality, but it still came as a shock to see with every brush stroke, lengths of my hair pulled out with ease, thinning my mane considerably.

It was a tough day yesterday.

Today, however, I woke up and was determined to praise God in all circumstances even while my hair stylist, Bev, shaved my head bald.  My oldest daughter had come with me for moral support and she tried to hold back tears but was unsuccessful.  In a matter of minutes, my “crown of glory” was lying on the ground at our feet, and I was looking at a new reflection of myself in the mirror.  Then we smiled.

I join the ranks of men and women who proudly wear the bald badge of courage as we fight the cancer battle.  One day, God will bestow on me a new “crown of splendor”, a brand new head of hair, but more importantly I hope to attain a “crown of life” – referred to in James 1:12 & Revelation 2:10; bestowed upon “those who persevere under trials.” 

Until then, my wig will have to do.

 

 

 

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Laughter is the BEST Medicine

You don’t have to be around me long to know I love to laugh.  I have been told that I have a very distinct, and hearty laugh.  My husband has spent over forty years in the pursuit of trying to make me laugh every single day.  I don’t know who’s more thrilled when he succeeds, me or him, but when I laugh, it just tickles his fancy too and before we know it, we’re reduced to tears and both of us are chortling uncontrollably.  It’s a happy marriage.

My three children have learned to accept our frequent fits of laughter and though they don’t always understand what their parents find so funny at times, they explain it away as one of our many parenting quirks and find it endearing, although sometimes embarrassing, especially when we laugh hysterically in front of their friends.  They don’t realize that most of the time, we find THEM funny!  Sorry kids!

In writing, there are times an unexpected pun or a misspelling of a word, that changes the whole meaning of a sentence, will catch me off guard.  I’m a grammar hound when it comes to media.  I can’t help cringe and chuckle at the grotesque misspellings I discover in commercials, ads and social media.  Occasionally spellcheck will have me giggling for a day at the nonsensical word it comes up with to use in a certain context.  Even when reading or writing the most serious of articles, I can be reduced to fits of laughter because of a spellcheck or misspelled faux pas.

I will admit there have been very few times in my life, when I didn’t find something to make me laugh at least once during the day.  Whether in my writing or interacting with my family, friends, or seeing something in media or on television; life definitely makes for some very funny moments IF we choose to see them.  Case in point:

I was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2001, and now I’m battling uterine cancer.  That in itself is definitely NOT funny.  In fact, after my breast cancer diagnosis, I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to laugh again.  I was in a battle for my life and the usual twinkle of merriment in my husband’s eyes was noticeably dimmed as we struggled as a couple to come to terms with our new reality.  My children ranged in age from five to fifteen then, and I begged God to help me see the plan and purpose in this for me and my family.

Days before my mastectomy surgery, I sat down at my computer and began to write a long letter to a friend asking her to pray for me.  I was terrified about the upcoming surgery and I honestly wasn’t sure I would survive.  I was deeply depressed and I was facing a crisis of belief.  After the initial diagnosis I had “camped out” in Scripture, trying to find comfort in the Word, finally coming to Jesus’ prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane before His Passion.  I wrote to my friend, “I feel like Jesus did when he prayed to His Father: “Going a little farther, he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.” Matthew 26:39.  After I had written that, my daughter who was fifteen at the time, leaned over my shoulder and began reading the letter.  She stopped when she read the scripture passage and gasped.  Then she started to giggle.  She couldn’t stop and soon tears were streaming down her eyes and she pointed at the screen.

I had thought my letter poignant and filled with pathos.  To see my child dissolved in laughter, was the least I had ever expected the letter to illicit and to tell the truth, I was more than a little upset by her insensitivity towards my dire health circumstances.  She was certainly old enough to understand the seriousness of the situation, and we had been very open with her about what I was about to face.  Then she pointed again and said, “Think about it, Mom…your surgery…a cup being taken from you…CUP?…bra cup…?”  It dawned on me the literal meaning she had picked up by reading the verse that I had connected to my particular circumstance and I started to laugh.  Before we knew it, we were hugging, laughing and crying uncontrollably.  After our laughter quieted, my oldest child, who had been bottling up her pent up emotions until then shared openly her real fear of losing me.  After reading my letter, she knew that if we could laugh, if God could allow laughter into our lives about something so very serious and at that VERY moment, she knew everything was going to be okay!

It was after that conversation, I revised my letter to my friend and changed it’s original sombre tone to one of upbeat positivity and I shared what had just transpired between my daughter and me.  I asked my friend to pray of course for my upcoming surgery, but to also send me jokes, funny videos and humorous anecdotes throughout my recovery process.  Then I enlisted all my other friends and family to do the same, and from that day forward my email correspondence included every manner of frivolity that made me laugh and lifted my spirit through my surgeries and the chemotherapy treatments that followed.  My request went viral, and soon strangers from all over the world, were sending me encouraging scripture verses as well as fun, family-friendly jokes, riddles, puns and videos.  My husband, once again continued his quest of trying to make me laugh every day, so even on the day I asked him to shave my head bald after the first chemo treatment, I was laughing while he cried!

I don’t make light of the awful experience of cancer or the devastating consequences and treatments that accompany the disease.  I would NEVER wish the diagnosis on anyone, but I believe God used humour to encourage me through that most difficult time in my life then and He continues to use it through this diagnosis now.  Someone asked me how I can stay so upbeat and I responded, “I can laugh or I can cry, I choose to laugh.”

For me, laughter was, and still is, the best medicine.

(Modified from a post originally published on InScribe Writers Online)

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Side Effects

The last couple of days I’ve been in the throes of battling a particularly nasty chemo side effect. I had expected nausea and vomiting but I hadn’t expected pain. I have a pretty high threshold for pain but this caught me completely off guard! Within an hour I went from being able to walk on my treadmill to incapable of walking at all without excruciating nerve and joint pain in both legs. My knees and ankles felt like they were exploding under the skin! After calling the triage nurse at the cancer centre, it was determined I was suffering from chemo-induced neuropathy, a particularly nasty side effect that can be quite intense in its severity. While I writhed in pain by the phone, the nurse consulted my oncologist and pharmacist, as to how they could help me battle through this. I know that any additional medication taken while I’m on chemotherapy must be approved by my oncologist to ensure that there are no other adverse or allergic reactions, but all I could focus on in the moment was doing whatever it took to make the pain go away! Time seemed to slog by while I waited for a call back from the cancer clinic. I reached out to our church’s prayer group to pray specifically for my current situation and need. My husband and children prayed and I prayed. When the phone call finally came back from my nurse and I was given clearance to take a strong over-the-counter pain pill, I didn’t hesitate to take it immediately. A few hours later, I was able to drift off to sleep and the next morning the pain was gone!

There is no greater relief after an episode like that to make me appreciate the difference between experiencing pain to being pain free. My Dad used to say it’s like banging your head against a wall just so you can enjoy what it feels like when you stop!

It brought to mind a memory of my father when I was a child. My Dad was busily working out in our garden one afternoon. Weeding was definitely not one of his favourite things to do but our mini orchard with about two dozen fruit trees was starting to be overrun with undergrowth. After a full day of clearing grass, mowing, trimming and picking up apples that were strewn haphazardly under the trees, my Dad was ready for a break. I was outside sitting in the hammock that he had strung between two cedar trees in the back yard. Too young to help him with the yard work, I was content just watching him and playing with my dolls. I heard the commotion before I saw what had set my father to do a hopping dance around me.

Growing like a sentinel in the middle of a stone patio overlooking our rows of apple trees was a small quince tree. The tiny, pear-shaped fruit it produced was extremely bitter to taste so we left the tree alone for the most part and at the end of the season when it dropped its fruit, we picked them up and pegged them like rocks into the forest. Today, however, Dad had noticed some wasps swarming around a rotting piece of fruit on the ground and rather than risk being stung, he decided to kick the fruit off the stone patio. It would have been a great soccer kick if he had managed to connect with the fruit rather than the tree root that he hit instead. As my Dad hopped around the yard on one leg, while holding his injured foot, cursing to the Viking gods of his ancestry, and weeping in pain, my mother came running. She shooed me into the house, trying to shield my young, sensitive ears from learning anymore Danish curse words spewing from my father’s lips.

It took several minutes, for my mother to calm him down, but finally my Dad limped into the house and took his shoe and sock off revealing the damage to his big toe. It was already swelling and turning blue and the nail was gone. He sat in his chair, whimpering bravely while I watched with great interest my mother clean and bandage his broken toe. When she was done, she brought over a footstool and told him to elevate his foot and not put any weight on it for the day. Practical advice my Dad had no problem adhering to.

My mother waited on my father throughout the rest of the day and brought him snacks and anything else that might distract him from his pain. My brother and I were sternly warned to give Dad some space and adequate time to regain his composure before we disturbed him.

He spent that day mostly confined to his chair but the next day he was moving gingerly about testing whether or not he could put more and more weight on the foot. It looked torturous whenever he tried to move but he persistently and purposefully flexed and stretched his foot despite the pain. I finally asked, “Dad, why do you even try to move your foot when it hurts so much?” He grimaced, “Because it hurts so bad when I move it but it feels so good when I stop moving it!” I suppose that was logical reasoning for my Dad, like his saying about banging his head against a wall, to experience pain to learn to how to appreciate life without pain.

I’m not a philosopher, like I thought my father was then, but there is Biblical precedence that states that pain and suffering are necessary components to fully appreciating a time when there will be no more pain or suffering. Christians fix their eyes on “future Glory” knowing that this present life is nothing compared to an eternal life we will spend with Jesus.

Romans 8:18; 26-28. “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us...In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God. And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

Romans 5:1-4Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we boast in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.

Revelation 21:1-5Then I saw “a new heaven and a new earth,” for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea.  I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband.  And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”

My husband calls chemo “short term pain for long term gain”. That’s true, but isn’t that also true of our lives this side of heaven? I will remember Hebrews 12:1. I will continue to run the race set out for me fixing my eyes upon Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith.

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