I fully intended to write sooner……but “in her heart a woman plans her course, but the LORD determines her steps”. I had mapped out my course so that by about now I would be sitting by the still waters. But I have found my steps have left me out in the middle of the ocean once again. And I feel as if I have been shipwrecked….. as if I am laying lifeless, unconscious, and parched on this little wooden raft that is only being held together by the corded rope of the prayers of you saints. I don’t use that word “only” as if to trivialize the strength of that cord…..but rather to accentuate it. Oswald Chambers gave the timeless devotional for today yet again when he wrote: “Prayer does not equip us for greater works— prayer is the greater work.” It is strong and powerful. And I am certain that it is the very thing holding my little wooden raft together…………

Thursday was my last day of work. And in excited anticipation I awoke to Friday gearing myself up for my final treatment. Just one little weekend to get through- maybe a week or two of the usual side effects……and then REST. I can do it. So off we went to the cancer center. I spent the treatment alone this time because Al had to be home for the delivery of the new motorcycle we bought. But things didn’t seem so bad. No more having to get up at the crack of dawn to drag myself through a long work day- at least for a few months. A much worked for and anticipated new motorcycle- motivation to get my body back in order. Time off to sit by the still waters and commune with God- water for a very thirsty soul. And just this hurdle to jump and then no more treatment on the schedule. So I did my bout of Cytoxan and got hooked to the Adriamycin pump. Al came to get me just in time, and off we went (no, not on the motorcycle) to share an ice cream at Rite Aid. We were standing in line when the chemotherapy pump started beeping. Because it emits a beep when buttons are punched on the keypad, Al commented that I must have accidentally brushed against it- a harmless event. But I always check just to make sure. So I pulled out the hand-sized pump and the message on the display stated “empty”. Well I know it wasn’t empty because I just got it full. And this was a problem that they didn’t teach me how to fix- so back to the cancer center we headed. On the way, I pulled out the Adriamycin bag and noticed that rather than being the transparent kool-aid red it should have been, it was rather orange and cloudy, with a white residue sitting in the empty spaces in the bag. It looked more like kool-aid as you are mixing it, rather than the end product. So we got back to the cancer center and Julie agrees to change the pump, convinced it is just a bad one. I pulled out the bag of Adri and showed her, and she didn’t look too thrilled. She took it back to the ‘pharmacy’ (more like the witch’s brewing den) and they made the decision to throw out the whole batch and send the bag and it’s contents to the lab. GREAT! I doubt I will ever know the truth about that one. So Julie tells me that the pump failure was “meant to be”- and it was a good thing I came back. .2ml of who-knows-what was infused into my body. But I got fixed right back up with a whole new pump and a whole new bag of crystal clear cherry kool aid. And off we went again………

So I get through the night, tossing and turning as usual. Having a pump attached to your body becomes most problematic at night and when you have to use the bathroom. But the optimism of nearing the finish line keeps me moving forward. We awake Saturday morning and try to carry on a usual weekend routine. I did get one short ride with Al on the motorcycle, and was grateful for that because I knew it would be a while before I could ride again. After a bunch of scans, 3 surgeries, dozens of doctors appointments, and 7 chemotherapy treatments, I have learned about the windows and compartments of time in which to fit my “real” life. But the rest of the day didn’t go well at all. The gritty details aren’t important- but I can say that the landscapes of human relationships can be both like fields of daisies and fields of mines, and sometimes even simultaneously. So I was glad to greet the bed on Saturday night, but dreading the effects of toxicity that would soon seize me. How quick 4am can come sometimes! There I was in pain, having trouble breathing, and having to prop myself up with pillows to even have a chance at dozing. I wasn’t particularly alarmed. The symptoms were not the most usual prominent ones, but they weren’t particularly unfamiliar either. That Adriamycin has a way of “sitting” in my chest.

I eventually became so disgusted with the way my bed was treating my body that I just got out of it. I sat around for an hour or so, had my bowl of cheerios, and then sat around a few more minutes. The symptoms worsened. My heart was beating so fast. I was dizzy. Pains shot through the left side of my chest and under my shoulder blade. And I noticed that my left arm was turning bright purple. I really thought I was having a heart attack. So no shower, no make-up, no hair, and I was out the door with Al and Jared in less than 5 minutes. We made necessary phone calls from the cell phone, and after driving up and down the freeway like mice looking for the cheese, we finally received the final directive of which emergency room to go to. For me, when my body gets put under stress like that, and endorphins kick in, I get nauseous anyway. And if you know me- you know that I will avoid vomiting at pretty much all costs. That’s one thing I will never be diagnosed with- an eating disorder. But the combination of things was just too much for me to control, and Al had to pull over short of the emergency room to let me violently empty out my morning breakfast with as much grace as I could gather- which wasn’t much!

The vomiting (and other unmentionable consequences of that) lasted well into Monday too. If I laid still I fared better. And most of the episodes came when I got up to use the restroom. So with that kind of situation, it doesn’t take some Pavlovian experiment to prove that my motivation to drink any water was pretty minute. So there I am in the ER with this Adriamycin slowly, but steadily going into my body. I’m losing fluids in ways I’d prefer not, and can’t really replenish them in any significant way. I have this mounting fever that no one can explain. And here comes the doc. Oh yep- he’s seen this before. His mother-in-law had breast cancer and the same thing happened to her. I had a blood clot. So he orders an ultrasound. Five or six hours later I finally get that, and the diagnosis is confirmed- two blood clots in the supraclavical (neck/collar). And he orders another test- a VQ scan of my lungs to rule out clots there. Apparently my symptoms (tightness in chest and shortness of breath) are indications of this. All this time and my purple arm has now swelled to about twice it’s size. My hand and fingers are so fat that I cannot even bend them. My elbow cannot even force itself through the collection of fluids that is gathering, basically rendering my entire arm useless and in extreme pain. My neck is so swollen Al tells me I look like a linebacker.

And so there Al sits and I lay, while Jared begins to grow increasingly agitated, repeatedly stating “I’m bored. I’m bored.” That gameboy is a good diversion for 8 year old boys, but for only about an hour. And our total stay in the ER was almost 11 hours. Al’s parents drove down and picked up Jared and stayed with Justin and Amanda at the house. In that 11 hours, I went through so much I could write for days about it. So to sum it up, I can say I was poked by a needle in the same arm more than 8 times, I underwent 2 diagnostic exams, vomited about half a dozen times, developed a fever, had an allergic skin reaction to medical tape, became completely dehydrated, and was told that I have a life threatening condition that could not be remedied by any direct intervention- all while still receiving that lovely kool-aid red poison.

They could not discern any blood clots in my lungs, but the oncologist told me that to detect clots there they would have to be so large they would practically be fatal. I don’t know if that is true, but he was convinced that I have at least one small clot in my lung. They admitted me to the hospital Sunday evening. And drugged me up with pain killers and anti-nauseas medications. And when I awoke I watched the minute hand of that clock, desperate for that Adriamycin to finish infusing. It took 3 days before I could keep any significant food or water in my stomach. And I had to ask for IV fluids. The experience of those first few days are truly difficult to describe – I felt like I was dancing with death and he was forcefully pulling me close to the edge, but in my severely disabled state, I could not even discern the edge clearly enough to try to fight against it. How close I truly came I will not know this side of the Jordan.

During that 5 days in the hospital I had a lot of time to be introspective. One issue that seemed to continually come up was large cats. That’s probably because I have a large tattoo of a tiger that sits on my chest- from my collar to my breast. And it proudly makes it’s presentation on the same side where my clots still lay. So numerous doctors and nurses had a peek, and comments to go along. I met one outstanding nurse during my 5 day stay at the Hilton. Her name is Adrienne, and she works the 12 hour night shifts with usually less than a 30 minute break her whole shift. Yet she smiles all the way through it, and goes home to a 5 month old baby. I told her, “you’re one tough lady”. And she replied, “no, you’re one tough lady.” She sees that tiger too. My surgeon asks me if that is “Roy’s tiger” on my chest, and my Mom and I have a conversation about how Roy should have been dead, but is “fighting” for his life. Yes that will, that fight, makes a difference in times such as these. That “tiger spirit” has many facets, but survival is it’s most innate. This tattoo that I have is almost 15 years old now. I got it when I was 16- a time when women with large tattoos were still either considered Hell’s Angel’s or circus side-shows. And of my many tattoos, it is the one that is the most personal for me. When I use the words “tiger spirit”, I don’t mean it in a Native American/New Age sort-of-way. I mean it in the sense that we all have methods of expressing our God-given personalities- in our favorite colors, and even in certain animals. Jesus is identified as both the Lamb of God and the Lion of Judah. Al identifies himself with the ocean- with dolphins. They are very peaceful and healing animals. I am a large cat person. And while that may be aiding me in these moments, believe me when I share that it seems to have hindered my walk with God at times. But He did create me- He gave me this “tiger spirit”, and I am confident that “He who began a good work in me will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” And so a small thing I have learned this week, which because it is a work of God is probably much more profound than I can realize, is that it is ok to identify myself as that little wounded lamb, tenderly wrapped around the Shepherd’s neck.

So, I was informed that I had 3 major risk factors for developing these blood clots: active cancer in my body, chemotherapy to irritate vessels, and a foreign object in my body- my PortaCathe. There is no direct treatment to remove the clots. We must wait for my body to dissolve them naturally- a process that can take anywhere from a few days to weeks. And we just hope the large ones do not dislodge and travel to places that would prove fatal. I get 2 shots a day of Lovenox and 5mg of Coumadin for now- both blood thinners that will only prevent new clots from forming. And I had my PortaCathe removed yesterday. Yes- another surgical procedure. Because I was in the hospital Monday I was unable to receive the last portion of my treatment- the Taxol. The oncologists wanted to keep the Port in place. After all, “they need that”. But the surgeon said that is what caused the clots and now that the vascular area has been damaged, the Port should be removed. No uncertainty on my part- take it out! But then I was told a PIC line would be inserted in my right arm and would travel to my heart. Another foreign body? No thanks! So I refused that. I got through 2/3 of my last treatment. Admittedly, if I had to miss any particular treatment, the Taxol shouldn’t be the one. But I don’t feel like I have failed or quit. My body has told me it has had enough. And I am listening.

I was told I would probably come home tomorrow, but I didn’t want to stay any longer, so they “let me out” yesterday. Me and my prayer blanket camped on the couch all night- and it was a long, dark, and scary night. I still have a lot of scary symptoms, and the clots are not gone. My arm is still swollen, and I have this visible purple snake-like line that runs all the way around it in the upper part. It seems like maybe a deep vein that was damaged? I have to take the blood thinner for 6 months, because my veins have been damaged, and the repair process will take that long. Stopping the thinner too soon will lead to more problems- like lifelong phlebitis. But getting out of that hospital bed did help because I was able to elevate my arm better, and the swelling went down enough to at least make my arm and hand resemble a human body part. I still don’t have knuckles. And I’m dizzy a lot. It took me all day to work on this letter, but I felt so compelled to do it, that I had to resist the better judgment to lay in bed. My surgery is scheduled for Nov. 12 for now. But that is not set in stone, as it will depend on my recovery from all this.

So yes, I still need prayer. I may be laying lifeless on a tattered wooden raft, but my faith is firmly in my heart. I think the most significant thing I need prayer for, beyond my obvious physical condition, is that God make His presence more known through others. I don’t doubt He is there. I just feel so utterly alone on this raft. I know lots of people are praying for me, and I take great comfort in that, but much fewer are praying with me. Signs adorned my hospital room: “Caution toxic chemotherapy/ please flush toilet twice”. I feel like a leper must have felt as she walked down the street and people yelled out “unclean”. So in this isolation I lay unconscious- and my spiritual dehydration is painfully obvious to me. Amanda helped me at midnight last night by plugging in the radio and putting on my celtic worship cd. That certainly wet my parched lips, but I have a long way to go until I reach full recovery………

 

In Jesus~

Aimee

 

~The Anchor Holds~

I have journeyed

Through the long dark night

Out on the open sea

By faith alone

Sight unknown

And yet His eyes were watching me

 

The anchor holds

Though the ship is battered

The anchor holds

Though the sails are torn

I have fallen on my knees

As I faced the raging seas

The anchor holds

In spite of the storm

 

I’ve had visions

I’ve had dreams

I’ve even held them in my hand

But I never knew

They would slip right through

Like they were only grains of sand

 

The anchor holds

Though the ship is battered

The anchor holds

Though the sails are torn

I have fallen on my knees

As I faced the raging seas

The anchor holds

In spite of the storm

 

I have been young

But I am older now

And there has been beauty these eyes have seen

But it was in the night

Through the storms of my life

Oh, that’s where God proved

His love to me

 

The anchor holds

Though the ship is battered

The anchor holds

Though the sails are torn

I have fallen on my knees

As I faced the raging seas

The anchor holds

In spite of the storm