The Next Onion Layer (Part 1)

This is the part of the story where I wrestled...and where God met me where I was. Like He did for Jacob...and David...and Peter...and Paul. None of these guys were perfect.  All of them messed up. But God allowed each of them to experience His presence in life-changing, future-altering ways. Through my first breast cancer diagnosis, God had taught me some amazing truths. Hard lessons for sure, but so much growth. From that experience, I know that He oftentimes uses the trials to bring about deeper understanding, inner healing, and sharpening, so I suspected He was at work on that next layer of the onion in my soul. 

After the initial rollercoaster ascent, plummet, and loopty-loop, it plummeted again. This time it was my own dang fault. I absolutely should have known better. It's the same stupid mistake I've made too many times. The result and consequences were no different than every other time. 

First, let me back up several years. The course of treatment for my first breast cancer experience was bilateral (double) mastectomy, radiation (25 rounds), and tamoxifen for five years (estrogen-inhibiting medication). The obvious question most people who know all of the above have when I tell them it came back is, "Wait, what? How?" That was my question too, but I asked the question because I did all three parts of the protocol. When others ask me, they mostly mean, "How can you get breast cancer if you don't have breasts?" Totally valid question, but one I always knew the answer to from the get-go. It was explained to me, and I understood well, that while a mastectomy removes most of the breast tissue, they can't get every last cell. And all it takes is one cell. It's certainly not common (in fact, my oncologist said I'm only the second patient she's had in this situation), but it does happen. 

The standard follow-up protocol post-mastectomy is physical exams and blood work, but no routine imaging. No mammograms, no MRIs, no ultrasounds. The only time they do these things is if they have reason to - a lump, an abnormal area, suspicious bloodwork, etc. I once asked, "Since there is no routine imaging, how do patients who've had a double mastectomy know if the cancer has come back?" The unfortunate and daunting answer was, "Usually they find out when there are symptoms because it has spread to another organ." Translation: when it is "too late."

So, you can probably see where my mind eventually went. The other piece of the biopsy that I glossed over initially is that there was "skin involvement." A couple days in, as I was in that weird not-fully-awake but not-fully-asleep middle land, a thought came vaguely to me (in fact, I think it was the enemy whispering to me while I was in a vulnerable state): the skin is the largest organ...the cancer is invading your skin...that must mean it's metastatic, aka stage 4, aka no cure, you should probably Google that to see if you are right...

And so unfortunately, I did just that. It didn't take but about 2.5 seconds before I found myself in the throes of a panic attack - cold sweats, shaking, dizzy, ears ringing, about to pass out. 

I had looked at the waves. Days before I had stepped out of the boat like Peter. My knees were shaking, but I had leaned into faith and trusted that God would see me through again. And now here I was, surrounded by the storm, sinking. 

Here's one of many reasons why it's stupid to Google: I'm not God, and I'm not a doctor; I'm not a nurse; in fact, I hated all things science growing up. I never really did understand chemistry or biology. When I finally had my first appointment a couple days later, my surgeon explained that in my case, skin involvement is not synonymous with metastatic spread. Because of the mastectomy, skin involvement is kind of a given because it didn't have anywhere else to go. Remember though, I'm in a minority among breast cancer patients because of the whole recurrence after mastectomy thing. So all those Google articles out there - not really talking about my specific situation. 

After my little (gigantic) slip-up, I felt horrible in every way. Here's the thing: the first time around I had already been convicted by the fact that oftentimes when I Google, I'm using it kind of as a magic 8 ball. I'm seeking answers that only God can give. I'm seeking comfort, peace, reassurance in answers and information that will make me feel better. So in that sense, it has become an idol to me. The Lord was, of course, gracious to forgive me and to lift me back up out of the waters and bring me back safely to the boat. The difference between Judas and Peter is repentance. Both guys messed up and turned their backs on Jesus. Both guys regretted it. But as far as we know, only one of them repented (said sorry, asked for forgiveness, and got back on track). God always meets true repentance with forgiveness. 

I've learned to question my emotions to get at root unhealth, and so I started to question.

What are these strong emotions trying to tell me? Am I still struggling with a fear of death like last time? 

While pondering, I realized I'm really not afraid of death. God put that fear to rest years ago. So, what is it then? I wrestled and wrestled and realized that its moreso a fear of suffering. Fear is maybe not exactly the right word, but I don't know what is. It's more of a dread or foreboding at the thought of having to potentially suffer in the future. Not physical suffering so much as mental/emotional suffering. It's the thought that I won't be able to bear a certain level of emotional suffering should it come. 

I sat with this realization for a few days and went about my normal habits and disciplines. As I did my nightly Bible reading, one word kept jumping off the page over and over again: comfort. 

• I, I am He who comforts you...(Isaiah 51:12a)
• Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. (Matthew 5:4)
• Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. (2 Corinthians 1:3-4)
• Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. (Psalm 23:4)

I didn't just read the word though, I experienced it. As if a second breast cancer diagnosis wasn't enough, back in December I was hospitalized for the flu and pneumonia. It was actually my second round with the flu in about two months (didn't know that was possible), and because my fever had gotten so high, my heart rate was high, I currently had cancer, plus the pneumonia, when I went to the ER they decided to admit me. Meanwhile, back at home, both girls were also sick with round two of the flu. 

My whole life I hated being alone, especially at night. In college, if my roommate Kacie ever went home, I would either go home too or spend the night with a friend. Even in the first few years of marriage, anytime Jake had to travel, I would either go home to visit my parents, or they would come visit me. 

In the hospital for those couple of days, I experienced God's comfort in two ways - in the seen and the unseen. 

First, the seen. Jake and I were in the ER literally that whole night - from 9:00 p.m. to somewhere around 9:00 a.m. when a room finally opened up and they moved me upstairs. I got a text around midnight from my dear friend Lauren, who said she was in the waiting area praying; she ended up being able to come back with us. While together, we laughed, we cried, we prayed. God was with Jake and I, but His presence became even more tangible when Lauren, filled with the Holy Spirit, also arrived, and we were comforted.

The comfort continued when another dear friend, Blair, brought me a bag of necessities after Jake left to go be with the girls. My parents had stayed the night with them, but then each took turns coming to the hospital to be with me throughout the day...the comfort kept coming.

Then something happened that I did not expect, and I'm not sure I've ever experienced before.

Everyone was exhausted, so that second night I told everyone to go/stay home and get a good night's rest. I would be fine in my hospital room alone with all the medical staff checking on me periodically. I haven't yet found a way to accurately describe my experience, but I'll try. 

I didn't have the TV on, I wasn't scrolling on my phone, I did read a little bit of an inspirational book. There was no noise, but it wasn't a creepy silence. I was by myself, but I didn't feel alone. I was so aware of God's presence that I could almost feel it. Like the air was thicker. Like He was sitting beside me as Jake, my parents, and my friends had. Though there was cancer still looming and pneumonia making my breaths painful, I felt an overwhelming peace. A lack of the anxiety that seems to always be crouching at the door ready to pounce. There was this warmth, security, restfulness that I can only describe as comfort.

Sometime in the days that followed, still wrestling with the idea of suffering, God brought to my attention that the anecdote to that fear is His comfort.