“Where are you with everything, Judy?,” the Sunday school leader, P., asked as part of the prayer requests. We start with prayer requests every Sunday, then pray, and then start the lesson.
I gave them my summary, for I hadn’t been there last week and a lot has happened.
In sum? second biopsy, breast cancer, aggressive, CT & bone scan to see if it’s spread (no results from those yet). Orlando with Nate 1/11-1/14 and first chemo. 1/15.
I said it all pretty well, as matter-of-factly as I could under the circumstances, with as much strength as I could. Everything was going just fine.
Then other prayer requests were said. P. started the prayer as people typically do, with thanks for the blessings that we’re experiencing in all of us being together like we are on that Sunday and other thanks to God.
Then he started in with prayers for me. “Aggressive prayers for an aggressive cancer” and more. Much more — kind things, wonderful things, beautifully stated. Of course, it doesn’t really matter what or how prayer is said; God knows our hearts and there really is no “right” way to pray. That’s a lesson that I’m actually still learning. Still, P. is skilled at this, and it touched me deeply. Hearing me prayed for and my name said and what is being asked of God for me just really hit me, just really drove things home for me. The tears started leaking out of my eyes, and when the prayer was finished, I tried to stop. I got my kleenex out of my purse and dabbed my eyes. Again. And again. P. gave me some looks of concern. S., who is such a kind man, gave me some looks of concern. And K., who actually lives right behind us and is becoming a friend, looked at me and gave me a “I’m with ya” smile. I was sitting next to K.
The compassion, the kindness of people is sometimes what gets me the most. The tears threatened to erupt into sobs, so I grabbed my pocket tissues and made my way out of the church library where our class is held. Of course I had to be sitting where it was hardest to leave, where I had to maneuver around the large table and all the chairs and make my way to the door and get out of there. I felt K. walking right behind me the whole time.
The bathroom isn’t far from the library, so I turned to the left, K. following me the whole way, and went into the bathroom. It’s a small bathroom with only three stalls. Someone else was in there, but I couldn’t be concerned with that at the time. The tears were going to overflow. I just leaned into the middle stall, against the door, and broke down sobbing. K. was there to hug me, to tell me that I’m going through so much that I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t break down at times, that it has to be overwhelming for me right now.
I was glad K. was there. She was a beacon of calmness and sympathy. “Oh, honey,” she would say. “It’s OK. You’re going through so much right now. And it’s hard to hear your name in prayers like that. It makes it all real. It has to be so hard for you.”
There was more said. She asked about Nate. She asked about Orlando and Disney World, trying to talk about happier things, I think. She asked how Frank is doing with all of this.
She stayed with me for most of the class. She got me water. We talked. She told me to call her anytime.
Later, when I was getting my things from the classroom, S. gave me a hug and his email and told me to call him to talk or email if I wanted to make contact but didn’t feel like talking. And when we left church, he said he wanted to hear from me this week, that he would be looking for an email from me.
The pastor got an update from me too. He said to remember that the Lord will be with me through this journey. He also said something very interesting — that there will be good in this journey as well and to try to appreciate the good that I find in the journey. “That’s true,” I said. “I already have found good things.”
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Admittedly, after feeling so strong and full of chutzpah on Friday, I’m having a tough weekend. But I am also having a blessed weekend with people who care, people who pray, people who tell me that I’m not alone, that they’ll think positively for me when I can’t think positively for myself.
I won’t lie. I’m scared. Very scared right now. Of so many things involved in this — not just what this means for me but what it could mean for my family. It’s so very hard not to go there.
I know I’ll get back to my fighting attitude but for now, I’m struggling. A lot.
I need some answers. I need to put a call into my oncologist’s office tomorrow to see if maybe she has any more answers yet.
Without those, my thoughts, the dark thoughts are running wild.
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I’m having a hard time finding the good things.
I need help finding the good things.
Dear God, I need help.
