An Ordinary Life Touched by an Extraordinary God – Part 26

As Paul Harvey always said, “Here’s the rest of the story." Well, here's the rest of the story of my 50+ years with ovarian cancer.

My oldest brother, Walt, died of lung cancer in 2009. He and I had long phone conversations before he died because of my experience with cancer. We exchanged ideas; we learned about alternative remedies that might help each other. However, nothing helped him and he’s now joined those who’ve gone before us in heaven.

He did, however, get me interested in an herbal tea developed by an Englishman named Jason Winters who set out to find a cure for cancer when he was diagnosed as terminally ill.  So I decided to give it a try — again couldn’t hurt and might help. Sir Jason Winters survived his bout with cancer and lived a long and full life before passing away from natural causes in old age.

I’ve been drinking the tea now for four years on a daily basis. Since I’ve been religiously taking the PH Balance pills for even longer, I felt no ill effects from the cancer but a PET scan in 2009 revealed that cancer remained in my body. A PET scan is purported to give a definitive answer about whether cancer is in one’s body or not. It uses a radioactive solution that is injected into the veins and thus travels to every part of the body following which x-ray pictures are taken and these tell the tale.

In January 2011, my doctor, who I avoid seeing unless I absolutely have to, insisted I pay her a visit. Now, I like Dr. Chang. She’s nice, courteous and understanding. I just don’t like doctor visits. On this particular visit she grilled me about my cancer history and how I was doing. I, of course, told her I was fine and since any and every doctor I’d ever seen about the cancer had no answer except surgery, chemo or radiation of which I’d tried all three with no results at all, I’d given up on any help from doctors.  She took this news with grace but said to me, “It's been two years since your last PET scan, so let's do another one and see where we’re at.”

Easy for her to say. It’s me that gets the injection and then put in an enclosed chamber for 20 minutes. I’m not usually claustrophobic but that tends to get to me. I agreed, though, as she insisted on it.

So on January 26, 2011, she called me and said, “the PET scan showed that you are free of cancer.”

I was so stunned and overwhelmed I didn’t even think to ask her to what she attributed this (at least to me) miracle. So I don’t know if it’s my clean living, my drinking the herbal tea or what. I give all the glory to God. Any healing, whether from a natural substance or the touch of His hand, comes from God. God is so good.

Thus ends my long journey and struggle with ovarian cancer. I can see from this vantage point God’s hand guiding and keeping me all the way. I said when I was first diagnosed back in 1961 that I wanted to live to raise my two precious children. I’ve lived long enough to raise them and send them out into the world; I’ve seen my three wonderful grandsons raised and helped some in the raising, and now I’ve seen two great-grandsons born and have a small part in their lives. It’s truly amazing!

An Ordinary Life Touched by an Extraordinary God – Part Twenty-five

One thing about me when I’m in ill health, it helps my prayer life. And I did a lot of talking to God about the pain I had. The only thing the doctor had to offer me for the pain was opiod pills like Vicodin or even Oxycontin. But I refused to take them; they make me sleepy, my mind fuzzy and I knew there had to be a better way.

One night as I slept peacefully, the pain awoke me. It felt like my side was on fire. I got out of bed unable to sleep any longer and turned on the TV. I knew Daystar, during the wee hours of the morning, ran beautiful nature scenes with Scripture superimposed on them and lovely hymns playing softly in the background. It couldn’t soothe the pain but it soothed my mind. And I prayed. This was my prayer: “Oh Lord, please help me find a way to deal with this pain or take me home. I just can’t live this way any more. I know there’s got to be an answer. Please, please help me find a way to be rid of this pain for once and for all.”

Did you know God hears our every prayer and feels our pain and sorrows? He does.

As I sat there rocking and watching the beautiful scenes, they soon came to an end. Too impatient to wait to see what would come on next I flipped through the channels. A scene on one station caught my attention. Two men sat, one interviewing the other. I quickly figured out it was an infomercial but I tuned into their interesting conversation. One of the men said, “It’s important to keep your pH balance at the optimum level. Being too acidic causes disease and the same goes for being too alkaline. Finding the balance is important for good health.”

Well, I knew I had an acidic stomach as it constantly caused me problems. I knew this, too, because my father had had the same problem.  I thought perhaps I should check this out, my philosophy being—can’t hurt and might help. The next day I found a website that offered PH balance pills—actually I found several websites but in looking them over decided on one that appeared more professional and hopefully reliable. I sent away immediately for the strips they suggested you start with to find out where your PH level stood.

As soon as the test strips arrived I checked my PH level and found, as I had suspected, I fell on the lowest end of acidic. I sent away then for a bottle of the pills they advertised would balance my PH level. When the pills arrived I began taking eight pills a day; two in the morning, two at noon, two at dinnertime and two before bed. In about two weeks my pain went away! And as long as I took the pills regularly I was pain free. I’ve reached the conclusion that the men from whom I got this information were wrong about keeping one’s PH level balanced avoided disease. But it is important for good health.

I also felt astonished, humbled, and grateful to the Lord my God. I knew He’d answered my prayer beginning the very night I cried out to Him.

Next time I write, I’ll tell you the rest of the story.

An Ordinary Life Touched by an Extraordinary God – Part Twenty-four

Still cancer on my liver, still pain with no relief and, having had surgery and chemo, the doctor had no further solutions. Of course, I prayed about it and it happened that my husband and I had lunch with our pastor and wife shortly after. In the course of our conversation the pastor asked if we had any concerns he could pray about for us. The cancer and pain always on my mind I brought up that. “Have you looked into radiation?” he asked.

“My oncologist believes it wouldn’t give me any relief so, no, I haven’t considered it.”

“There’s a doctor in our church who does radiation. You might consult him and see what he thinks,” he said.

Thinking about our conversation awhile later, I decided it couldn’t hurt to check into it. I made an appointment and off I went for a consultation. The upshot of it was the good doctor believed radiation might help. There were no guarantees of course, but hope appeared on the horizon. The doctor prescribed a six-week course, five days a week for the treatment. My first Monday there, on a sunny day in March, I felt some trepidation but also felt ready to give it a try and go for it.

The nurse ushered me into a changing room where I removed my upper clothing and put on a hospital gown then off to the radiation room we went. They had me lay on a bed, a fairly comfortable apparatus but looming overhead looking down at me was a huge machine like a big eye. They measured and poked and prodded and measured some more than marked, with a permanent marker, an “X” on the site of the cancer on my liver where the radiation would be trained.

Next, everyone left the room except me, of course, and as they left they admonished me to “lie still.” I was agreeable to that but the telling thing that settled in my brain was no one else was in the room. I suppose radiation treatment is a miracle of science and there are probably some good things about it, but too much. . .   Well, over my lifetime I’ve had more than my share of it so when the lights go out, just plug me in and I’ll light up the room (just kidding.)

The huge machine aimed at my “X”, zapped me for fifteen to twenty minutes then they sent me back to get dressed and sent me on my way. As I left, I mused that I had no pain, no after effects. I felt just as I did when I walked in the door.

Just in case you’re wondering—about the middle of the third week I realized there were effects and I was feeling them. I drug myself home and immediately had to lie down and rest. The next week I was dragging and I noticed my mind didn’t work as well as it usually did. I worked at Front Range Community College during this time and one day asked my boss, “Does it seem to you that I’m slower and my mind isn’t working like it did?” He said, “Well, I didn’t want to mention it but since you’ve brought it up, yes, I’ve noticed that.  But,” he continued, “when you’re through with the radiation treatments, I’m sure you’ll bounce back.”

That encouraged me and I needed that. I hoped he was right. The last week of treatment I took most of it as sick leave and the last couple of days a friend drove me back and forth to the medical facility as I was incapable of driving. I could barely change my clothes and dress myself afterwards.

The good news was I had the weekend to rest up and regain my strength. Still dragging some I went to work on the following Monday. The bad news was the radiation gave me only about eight to nine months relief from the pain then I was right back where I started.

Did you know constant pain is wearing on a body and tiresome? But I struggled on, still looking for relief.

An Ordinary Life Touched by an Extraordinary God – Part Twenty-three

In November of 2000 I was given the opportunity to go to Africa on a mission trip with others from my church. We call these Work & Witness trips and we pay our own expenses although on this particular trip, as I was the president of the Mission Council, someone anonymously paid all my expenses for the trip. The exception, of course, was any personal costs like passport, extra clothing (we needed to wear only long, modest dresses) and any souvenirs.

As I mentioned in a previous blog, in January of 2000 I spent two weeks in the hospital following a chemotherapy treatment that left me weak as well as bald. My doctor assured me I’d have my hair back by March or April at the latest but although I’d regained my strength by then, my hair wasn’t cooperating. By November I finally had enough hair to allow me to leave my wigs at home. But it was so very short and since I have such fine hair my hair stylist suggested dyeing it as it would give it some body. I’m still dyeing it—for the body, of course—not to cover any gray.

I joined seven others as we flew out of DIA to Atlanta, Georgia. From there we flew to France where we changed planes in a drizzling rain. We deplaned on the tarmac and bussed to our next plane that then made a stop in Riyhadh, Saudi Arabia. I’ve never seen a place so lit up—it even outdid the Las Vegas strip. From there we landed in Djibouti City, Djibouti in the Horn of Africa, our destination. Four of the group stayed there while another group of four, including me, took a plane the next day to Hargeisa, Somaliland, a Muslim country and our assignment was to go to an orphanage to make it more habitable for the children. The country was in the process of recovering after a civil war. We found bullet holes in the roofs and walls of the orphanage.

Three missionaries stationed in the Horn of Africa accompanied our group. Our task consisted of making repairs to the buildings while showing the people what Christians are really like. We found out that Muslims there believe all Christians are like the people they see in our movies. I don’t know about you but I don’t feel these type people portray Christians at all.

There are so many stories I could tell you about this trip but I think I’ll keep most of them till later. We spent our time at the orphanage fixing it up, making repairs, putting together a playground including a huge tire embedded in the sand for climbing over, under and through, and teaching life skills to some of the older children. My main job took place in the nursery rooms where I painted bright figures on the walls.

We also presented them with a new computer, sewing machines and the fellows in our group made beds for the older children who still slept on the hard floor. The playground equipment and the bed frames were all fashioned from materials the orphanage had lying around. The guys were quite ingenious in all they did.

After our week and a half there we flew—in a Russian airplane, with a Russian pilot, yet—back to Djibouti to join the other group. Scheduled to leave on a Monday the missionary leader stationed in Africa held a service on Sunday evening in the apartment where we all stayed and included a healing service. I asked for prayer for healing of the cancer as during the trip my pain reared its ugly head—again. It wasn’t unendurable, yet, but I just wanted it gone forever.

For those who don’t know, God answers prayer but not always when we ask or as soon as we’d like Him to. I know, I know, sometimes we feel we needed the answer yesterday. My response to that—get over it. God’s love resides in everything that comes our way.

Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits—

            Psalm 103:2

The Lord is compassionate and gracious,

            slow to anger, abounding in love.

                        Psalm 103:8

An Ordinary Life Touched by an Extraordinary God – Part Twenty-two

My last day in the hospital finally arrived two weeks after my admittance. But the oxygen was an issue. I really didn’t want the hassle of using oxygen at home and it all hinged on getting the bright red ball on their measuring gadget up, up, up. I struggled and struggled through a few times but—yes—I succeeded at last. My oxygen level reached the level needed. I was free from it at last.

Another problem then arose. The doctor informed me I needed at least another week of antibiotics by IV. No problem, I thought, but when I asked the insurance company for a home nurse to administer it they told me I had to do it myself. Me?! I went home still weak and shaky. I needed a cane to get around and they wanted me to do what? Even at the grocery store where it looked huge and I knew there was no way I could walk around it, I had to resort to the drivable carts. At least my husband accompanied me to show me how to work it and help me get things off the shelves. Otherwise you’re sunk. So the day I got home I had to get on the phone and fight with the insurance company, and fight I did, call after call. Finally, they agreed and scheduled a nurse to come out twice a day to set up the drip bag and insert the needle. Whew!

I returned to work the next week. They’d been very understanding and it felt good to be back and feeling relatively healthy. My hair was no more but I had two wigs so put them to good use exchanging them according to my mood. One was short, curly and my natural color, the other longer and a sassy dark red. The beauty of it was I could take my hair off at night, place it on the wig stand and put every hair in place for the next day—and no bed head in the morning! There was one minor problem. I had no hair so there was nothing to attach the wig to and it would have looked strange to tie it on so I found myself at the mercy of the elements—and other things.

The first hapless incident happened as I drove home from work one evening. A guy in a pickup rear- ended four of us. It delivered quite a jolt even though I was at the front of the pack. All the drivers got out to survey the damage—except for the woman in the small car looking like an accordion. She left in an ambulance but the EMTs said she wasn’t injured too badly.

I stood in the median talking to the guy who drove the car behind me. We chatted for a while about careless drivers until I caught a reflection of myself in my car window. I was bald! My wig! Where was my wig?! I dove into my car feeling so embarrassed and so puzzled. I looked all over the car and outside it, too. I got up on my knees in the driver’s seat and looked in the back seat and there it sat. The jolt had thrown it onto the floor in the back right behind my seat. I grabbed it, dusted it off and jammed it on my head. Even using the car mirror I felt unsure that it was on straight but it would do. I still had to talk to the police officer.

Another time we visited friends in Casper, Wyoming, which is notorious for blowing wind. The minute you cross from Colorado into Wyoming the wind blows fiercely. After church on Sunday we stopped at a restaurant for lunch with our friends. The minute I got out of the car my wig went flying across the parking lot with my husband, bless his heart, in fast pursuit. My husband did recover the wig after it pin wheeled across the lot. I didn’t stand around to watch. I dove into the car and covered my head with a scarf. When I got the wig back I dusted it off, jammed it on my head and hoped it was straight. 

Did I tell you I am vain? I know, some women are much braver and maybe put on a cap or a scarf or even nothing at all and manage quite nicely. I, on the other hand, feel exposed, ugly and desperate for a covering. I wished for some way to attach the wig to my head but glue was out of the question so I tried to be careful and conscious at all times of the precarious wig on my head since that’s where I wanted to keep it.

Thus ends my Wig Tales. I’m sure there were other times besides these two but they’ve, thankfully, slipped out of my memory bank into oblivion.

Next, I take a trip to Africa—with my own hair! But did the chemo get rid of my problem?

An Ordinary Life Touched by an Extraordinary God – Part Twenty-one

I remained in Isolation for about a week. While there I could eat anything I wanted but the last thing I wanted, strangely enough, was to eat. Believe me, that’s unusual for me. The head dietitian, a little bird-like lady with an iron will, visited me regularly.

“I’ll fix you anything you want,” she said. I, wanting to send her away happy, wracked my feeble brain for something edible that appealed to me. Nothing, not even chocolate! The things I loved to eat made my stomach turn when I thought about them.  She brought me a bunch of grapes one day and those I found I could eat. So, bless her heart, she kept me constantly supplied with grapes.

Toward the end of the week in Isolation the doctor moved me to Rehab. My weakness had been so profound that I couldn’t walk unaided. Rehab, the nurse explained, meant I would be retrained to help me regain the abilities I’d lost. The oxygen nasal cannulars stayed in my nose and the antibiotic IV in my arm but every day a few times a day I went for a walk with one of the nurses. Short walks at first, of course. I found it impossible to climb stairs so that became part of my retraining as well.

One of the requirements for a person in Rehab, I found, was to walk to the dining room and eat with the other inmates also in Rehab. That turned out to be a trial for me because eating with those other folks for reasons only my stomach knows, made me lose my appetite even more. The little dietitian even promised me she’d go out and buy something and fix it herself if I would eat it. But my stomach rebelled. I ate grapes.

The good news was I lost 25 pounds. The bad news was I needed more nutrients. However, even if I wanted to eat I couldn’t. It happened to be the best diet I ever went on but the doctor and dietitian were not happy with me. Well, you can’t make everyone happy.

Other than my problem with eating while in Rehab, I found one fine morning, my hair coming out in chunks. I had hoped that with just the one chemo treatment my hair would be spared. Wrong! In just a day or so I lost all my hair. From the time I was 4 and had a Dutch bob (picture the little guy on the Dutch Boy paint can) my hair gave me fits. At the ripe old age of 6 I begged and pleaded for curly hair and my mother finally gave in and gave me my first perm. I loved my curls. My regular hair, though, was stick straight and thin—and now it was gone. I decided thin and straight was better than bald but before I left the hospital my hair left first. Good thing I’d bought 2 wigs before the chemo because, I admit it, I am vain and never felt baldness helped my self-image at all.

A good friend, Barbara Higgins-Wilson, bought me 3 (can you believe it, 3!) hats. These I wore in the hospital, as my wig didn’t work well there. And I still wear them occasionally on a bad hair day.

Two weeks after my admission into the hospital the doctor scheduled me to go home. Finally, going home, but I still needed the antibiotic by IV and could I get off the oxygen in time? Plus the insurance company wanted me to administer my own IV? They had to be kidding!

An Ordinary Life Touched by an Extraordinary God – Part Twenty

It was a long night. Oh, how I wished my body could sink into the bed and become one with it. Every part of me felt tired and impossible to move. My limbs were too heavy to move. The hands on the clock on the dingy green wall crawled up one side and struggled down the other.

So tired but I couldn’t summon sleep. I tried but sleep eluded me. And for some reason I can’t explain the first digit on my right hand found the little button on the gadget that controlled the up and down movement of the bed. All night long my finger moved the button and the bed responded by undulating beneath me. Slowly up and down the bed moved as I watched the slowly moving hands of the clock. This somehow comforted me and helped me make it through the night.

At about three in the morning a little nurse completely swathed in the blue isolation garb including mask and cap entered the dimly lit room where I lay alone. Others had previously entered at different times for various reasons, too. I paid her scant attention until she approached my bedside and said, “I don’t know if you’re aware of this but you may not make it through the night.”

“Believe me I know I could die at any time, I’m so tired and weak.” I said.

“I’m here because I’m concerned about your relationship with God. I don’t want you to die without knowing God.”

As tired as I felt, amazement at her words struck me because I knew the hospital discouraged such conversation—perhaps even meted out hard consequences for such boldness.

I replied, “I’m okay with God. We have a close and active relationship but I appreciate your concern.” Finished with her mission she slipped out as quietly as she entered.

All through this exchange my finger kept the bed moving beneath me. Along towards morning activity increased in and out of my room someone took my vital signs, took my blood and whatever else that needed doing. I think they offered me breakfast, not to sure, but I wasn’t hungry. Around eight-thirty a.m., I realized I’d survived through the night and knew then I would make it. I finally fell asleep.

I awoke at eleven-thirty that morning and found a note on my bedside table from a close friend. It said, “I didn’t want to wake you so sat here while you slept, held your and hand prayed for you. Love you. Carol” I don’t think she’ll ever really know how special and dear that note was and is to me. I still have it.

The next day, my doctor, Dr. Lee, stopped by to see me. He wanted to tell me why I was so weak and ill. I remember so well, he looked at me and his eyes, which are normal oriental eyes, were big and round as he said, “Your immune system was wiped out and you have double pneumonia and pseudomonas.” He added, “Pseudomonas is a blood infection that kills in six hours. I almost killed you.” I’m pretty sure he felt relieved I’d survived but at the same time wondering why I hadn’t died. I can’t tell you when the blood infection raised its ugly self in my system but I have a feeling it was for far more than six hours.

I thanked the good doctor for his care of me and have never had any ill-will toward him for the illness I suffered. I believe he did what he thought best for me.

I still slept most of the time when the nurses weren’t bustling in and out of my room. I still felt extremely weak and unable to eat or even sit up on my own. The doctor kept me on oxygen and antibiotics by IV but I knew I was well on my way to recovery. I didn’t know then what a long recovery it would be.