encountering the holy: part II

It has been about a month since my surgery.  I have refrained from writing this portion because I wanted to make sure I wasn't under the influence of painkillers that might alter my perception of what I experienced when I woke up. I fully acknowledge that the drugs played a part in this, but sometimes we experience the supernatural, or things out of the ordinary, when we are in our most nebulous states.

Waking up from surgery was horrid. It was excruciating and a feeling I never want to experience again. I mean worse than my natural childbirth - for real.

It was 3:30 pm when I looked at the clock in the recovery room. Even through the haze, I remember the doctor clearly saying that the hysterectomy would take about 4 hours if it had to be done. Yes, a hysterectomy would mean cancer - is what he said. Turning my gaze from the clock and crying out in sorrow and pain the nurse at my side injected the opioid, fentanyl. I could have stayed in that state forever, not giving a damn about what the diagnosis would be. But after four subsequent injections, the nurse refused more, and the bliss wore off.

In the post-op room, I met my husband and spent some more time in the haziness.

Then came that moment - the moment when I knew that I didn't have cancer. My eyes shifted to the right in the darkness of closed eyes, and I saw far off an opening of a tunnel. The infamous tunnel people who have had near death experiences see. I did not walk to it, I was terrified and not ready. I certainly wanted to know what was on the other side of the light, but I was physically paralyzed, unable to move. And then as if out of nowhere, a tiny shadow of a figure began to push a stone across the opening. As the last shard of light peeked through, the stones began to fall and the tunnel collapsed.

My death, of course, will happen sometime, but not soon. Of that much I'm sure.

My prayer to grow old with my family (or at least until our daughter leaves home) has been answered. I have been given a reset and I chose to live more intentionally with a greater focus on the adventure of life.

encountering the holy: part I

This is probably the hardest post to write since most of the time I was fearful or waking up from surgery.

Let me start with the hour leading up to the operating room:

Pastor Robyn came to pray with us in the waiting room. When I was called back, I walked alone through the swinging doors not knowing what to expect. As a pastor, I have been in the staging area to pray with and anoint members of my congregation. I now know what it is like to be the one to have to walk through those doors and get a bed prior to surgery.

While the room was bright from the fluorescents, or probably LEDs now, it felt like a cave. The nurses, while upbeat, couldn't push back the sterile, stagnant, and suffocating aura of the room. They did their best to calm me, but my heart raced none-the-less. I only remember one of their names, Leslie. She has been a nurse for 46 years, 45 of them at Research. She was seasoned, cold, but steady as a rock. Her presence radiated assurance. It's nice to have a jovial nurse, but she was calming. I appreciated her more than any of them.

The anesthesiologist came in and explained to me all the different things he was going to pump into my body. He was nice and efficient in his explanations. I sensed his confidence and trusted him immediately.

While they were prepping me and moving me around, I asked one of the nurses to hand me my phone. In my head, like a broken record, a passage was on repeat. All things new, all things new. I've come to respond to these nudgings because for me they are clear messages from God.

I pulled up Revelation 21: 3-5 and shared it with those working on me in the room:

I heard a loud voice from the throne say, “Look! God’s dwelling is here with humankind. He will dwell with them, and they will be his peoples. God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more. There will be no mourning, crying, or pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” Then the one seated on the throne said, “Look! I’m making all things new.” He also said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”

I knew without a doubt, God was with me at that moment. As a Protestant, and particularly as a Methodist, I know that through Jesus, the kingdom of God is being realized every moment. I sensed the veil between heaven and earth become thin, and I knew that God was with me. I knew all things would be okay, no matter what happened in that operating room. 

It's not often we experience the beauty of our Almighty God and it causes me to gasp when I think of the moments when I sensed the presence of my Savior. 

...the most JOYFUL news...

I wrote this after my post-op news:

December 4, 2018

338/365: as a rule, I don't typically post until after 8pm. I feel I generally need to eat dinner before I reflect about my day.

Today I stood in front of a Christmas Tree at the Sarah Cannon Cancer Center at Centerpoint Medical Center and prayed for all the names of current and previous cancer patients written on ornaments. Each one of those names represents someone who is or was loved deeply. Each one was someone who cried hearing the dreaded news: cancer.

I looked at the patients in the waiting room and said to my mom, "God's got a lot of work to do to redeem our broken world." We are a blessed people because God chooses us to partner with to do the work of redemption.

I know not every prayer brings good news. Not everyone gets to be cancer free.

But I am one of the fortunate ones who can say, "God heard my prayers, God heard all your prayers!"

Your collective voices, whispers, energy was woven into the universe - you all helped bring this good news. You helped bring peace to my heart, mind, and soul. You prayed for cruddy appendixes (which wasn't the culprit), you prayed for a healthy me, and that's what you get! Even if the news would not have been ideal, I know your prayers would sustain me throughout.

I'm incredibly thankful and I want to ask you all to keep praying. If cancer is something we want to eradicate, I believe the energy that connects us can make it happen. We aren't all called to be doctors or scientists, but we have a role we can play.

Pray, my friends, pray for a redeemed world - that all of creation would be made whole. Pray for that day when there will be no more tears. Together and through the power of an Almighty God, who chose to walk alongside us and experience the human condition, we are capable of bringing about miracles.

I chose 11 years ago to follow Jesus because there was something about him. It wasn't because he walked on water, but because he believed in our goodness. He believed that we're all worthwhile and loved. I believe fully that God is doing something new through me. I hope and pray I can follow faithfully and help others know that I also believe we're all worth loving - that we are all good, even though we mostly see the broken. God is at work, all the time, creating all things new. Praise be to God.

the joy that suffocates and sets your heart on fire

I wrote this after my surgery

November 23, 2018

327/365: wow, I could write a book about my experience today, but wow is what I mostly have. 

I have never felt so connected to the Holy than today. That does not mean that I almost died. Quite 

the contrary, it means I feel like God is doing something new through me. 

I mean, I am technically a new woman as of about 4:30 today.

So here's the gore if you so wish to read it.
I was going to have one ovary removed if the doctor could see if the tumor wasn't cancerous. If it was, I was getting a hysterectomy. He said he'd be able to tell

Well folks he couldn't.  And this is one of those super premier doctors you hear about (at least according to his reviews he is!), so it must have been bad up in there!🤢

According to Toph my appendix was discolored and quite possibly could have caused the cyst. (Found out later he didn't quite know what the doctor was talking about, it was never the appendix) So he removed it too. We won't know anything until next week. So pray for a cruddy appendix! For real, do it. That's what I'm praying. And to top it off, he did a full hysterectomy to be safe. I told him he could - thus I'm a whole new woman!🤣

Remember when I said I'm a 7 on the enneagram? 

In true Joyful form, I am SO FULL of JOY right now. And I'm eager to grow old with Toph and Ripley (or at least until she's ready to leave us anyway-ew, shudder). And have a party!

Oh, but the pain... the excruciating pain... has me staying overnight at the hospital. The drugs just weren't working, but the doctor found the right one eventually. Whew! (Either that or  I stopped being a baby!)

I love you all so much for your positive prayers. I know God hears them and continues to hear them. Keep them coming... I needs it.

fear in the joy

I wrote this day before my surgery, but am posting now:

November 22, 2018 

326/365: I took the Enneagram test last year and found out I'm a 7; which is a joyful personality. It's hard to be thankful or joyful today but I am even amid the flowing tears.

Tomorrow I'm going in for my first surgery ever. And it's a big one. I'm having a large cyst removed. Agh! 

Scared is the word I'm feeling. More like terrified because I'm not sure what the diagnosis will be. I'm super hopeful that it will be good news. We joyful personalities are always optimistic and look for the good.

While I'm optimistic, I'm also realistic. So my mind is racing.

I need every single prayer lifted to use positive words. Positivity attracts positivity!

Paulo Coelho said it best in The Alchemist, "when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it."

Before I ever read or believed anything about God, these words helped me understand that cosmic forces are a part of who we are. I know those forces are the fiber of who God is. I know that every prayer lifted, even from those who doubt or deny, will be woven into the fabric of our great healing Almighty God. And know this, I know that my Lord and Savior is with me every step of the way.

My prayer: I want more than anything to be healthy, to come home to my sweetest loves Toph & Ripley to live a long healthy life with them.

I'm being selfish to ask for specific prayers, but that's what I want. That particular prayer.

Help a girl out tonight and at 10:30 am tomorrow. I would appreciate it.

P.S. Because I don't like being kept in the dark and people are curious, I had to put this all out there.

a christmas miracle

We put up our tree - well, we put up a tree.

Last year I outdid myself and had all the Christmas preparations done before the first weekend in December.
Lights, presents, cards - all done.

My goal this year was to beat my 2017 record   -   I.was.prepared!

November 23rd was going to be the day we put up the tree, but my right ovary decided it had other plans. So the day after Thanksgiving was a surgery day.

It blows when plans don't work out, but we got a Christmas tree up.  Kind of.
This year Santa will place gifts under the yarn tree my grandma bought almost thirty years ago when she and my grandpa came to visit us in Ecuador.
To see her tree in my living room invokes her love and her warm, inviting hugs that you would never want to end. I hope to share that same love with my family.

I'm grateful more than ever this year to be alive. Besides, who ever heard of a well-planned Christmas anyway?

Oh, and nobody's getting gifts.

Confessions of a Pretty Face

Today is the three hundred fifty-second day of 2018: evening

If there really are seven deadly sins, I possess the sin of vanity and pride. In fact, I'm probably the biggest sinner when it comes to these two things.

Sad, but true confession: my biggest fear regarding the hysterectomy is the loss of my youthful looking face. 

I've always taken good care of my skin; I've even boasted about it to a crowd of people! God has blessed me I've said!  And then, my pride swells any time someone thinks I'm in my twenties.

Nothing in life lasts forever, we are but a breath. My goal is to live my life fully and abundantly, and I don't need my super pliant skin to do that! I will continue to care for my skin and body, but because I know it is a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God.

During this time of recovery, I've recognized that God is at work in me, renewing my spirit and my mind. I may be more quiet, more pensive, kind of moody, and stand-offish... but I'm in a time of discernment, prayer, and confession.

you remember that we are nothing but dust

As tenderly as parents treat their children,
that's how tenderly you treat your worshipers, Adonai!
For you know what we are made of -
you remember that we are nothing but dust.
Psalm 103:13-14

Sometimes I stumble across passages and wonder about the transition from line to line in Scripture and am baffled. God treats us tenderly, but guess what, God also remembers that you are mortal and you can exist one day - and then not the next. So, just remember that kids!

But I wonder:
Does the Psalmist record this to tell us God is a punisher?
Does the Psalmist record this to say that God remembers everything we do and holds us accountable? or
Does the Psalmist record this to remind us that our lives on earth are short and we need to pay attention to what exactly we're doing while we are here?

I think the answer is simple -
1. No
2. Yes
3. Mostly DEFINITELY YES! (channeling the upcoming Christmas season)

It's the third point that matters to me today (don't worry, I do think the whole Psalm matters).

Had I not thought deeply about the end of my earthly body a couple of weeks ago, it might be a different story. I might still be on the path of distraction - which is my biggest weakness. We, humans, are masters of distraction. I think God is trying to say to us - "hey, wake up! You say, you want to do all these things for me, but you haven't really tried hearing me. You haven't listened - you think you're infused by the Spirit, but really you're distracting yourself, making yourself out to be someone who says they care (even if deep down you know you do), but really you haven't listened for my voice."

Geez God - be a jerk about it! But you're right, I needed that slap in the face. Ask yourself, even if you don't believe in God, why are you doing what you're doing? Is it for yourself, or is it because you've listened deeply to the consciousness of the Universe? Don't know how to answer that? Ask it this way - do you feel whole? Or do you fill in the empty spaces with those things you think will make you whole? Are you passing through life?

Remember, you're dust - while I believe the soul has no beginning or end, this time on earth does.
Stop and listen from time to time - the Universe speaks eternally.

Bless the Lord, O my soul!

joyful options? maybe...

Dr. LyBarger knew for sure that he would definitely have to remove my ovary. That was a given. He told me that if he saw that the tumor was cancerous he could have to do a full hysterectomy or stage my right ovary if I wanted to have another child. Regardless, I'd have to have the procedure eventually.

My immediate thought to the hysterectomy and removal of my ovaries was that I would wake up in menopause. I know that menopause and the lack of estrogen in one's body advances the aging process. I was most afraid for my skin. Ever since I worked at Worlds of Fun throughout college, I have taken good care of my skin. I started using anti-wrinkle cream when I was twenty. I knew that my sun exposure could damage my skin. I started working there the year my aunt Julie was diagnosed with breast cancer. Knowing that breast cancer runs in my family, I wanted to minimize my chances of getting any kind of cancer as much as I could.

Dr. LyBarger told me that not everyone has the same process after I told him how badly a friend of mine aged after her hysterectomy. She's 44 and looks 55. He told me that I would probably react differently because I'm not overweight and I have never smoked. He did tell me that the bigger concern is osteoporosis. Estrogen helps women's bones stay strong. I am not taking calcium supplements in addition to eating more calcium-rich foods. Probably should have started that earlier in life, oh well. I'm doing it now, that's what matters.

So he asked me, do you wanna do the surgery on Friday?

What an overwhelming question! I told him that I couldn't make that decision without my husband there because it definitely affects more than me. He understood, took my phone number, and said he'd call me on Thanksgiving.

I called my husband with the news and his immediate response was, do it now. I knew I didn't want more children, so we decided on full hysterectomy if he needed to do it.

So, Dr. LyBarger kept his word and called me Thursday afternoon and scheduled surgery - and from what I could tell, he did this while driving

Seriously, this doctor is something else.

a joyful calling

Have you ever met somebody and within a minute of your first interaction you know that person was living their calling? Or their personal legend?

That's Dr. LyBarger - I know without a doubt he is doing exactly what he is supposed to be doing while he journeys through this life.

I remember a conversation with my friend Ginger two years ago. She stopped suddenly and said to me, "Angie, I love that you are living into your call." I had heard, "Angie, you've been called to be a pastor," before, but that was the first time I knew for sure that I was a pastor. I now live my calling each and every day, even when it sucks.

After Dr. Ash had delivered the terrible news that Wednesday, she came back after a couple of hours with an update. Dr. LyBarger had reviewed the images further and was not 100% sure the cyst was cancer, and that he would be in to see me later that day. By then it was starting to get dark and I was doubtful. I was pretty sure they would end up sending me home and have me schedule an appointment with him the next week.

To my surprise around 5:30 pm he casually showed up in my room and went over his findings.

There was a lot said, something about being a pretty special person, and shitty images.

He then asked me, "did you move during the MRI?" Busted. I couldn't lie and keep it quite. "Yes," I told him, "I couldn't help it. My abs were spasming, don't blame the technicians!" Fortunately, he let it go.

The cyst was about the size of a large grapefruit, and it became clear to me that this thing was not a cyst - it was a full-on tumor. He was the first one to say "tumor" and that it needed to come out. The only way he would be able to see if it was cancer was by taking it out.

Agh, surgery! NO! 40 years old and I have never so much as broken a bone!

I asked him when he thought he could do it. He said "I could do it Friday," to which I assumed the following Friday because the 23rd was the day after Thanksgiving.  I asked him if the office was open on Friday to schedule it.

He corrected me and said, "no this Friday." WHAT? He then said, he'd do it the next day if it wasn't Thanksgiving and he had to give the day off to the medical team!

It's then when I knew - this guy is living his call.

Disrupting Joy

Tuesday, November 20th, was mostly uneventful, except for the awful MRI.

Wednesday morning Dr. Ash stopped by and told me that I had to do another MRI with dye to be able to get a clearer picture of the cyst. My heart began to race and I told her I didn't think I could do it. She then offered me Xanax. Most like would probably jump at that offer, but I cannot stand the feeling it gives me. Instead, they gave me something lighter. Apparently not light enough, I passed out and jerked myself awake. Not good for an MRI, but I kept it quiet.

She then told me I was going to have a paracentesis. In a nutshell: some kind of doctor came in and jammed a huge needle in my stomach region and pulled out weird brown juice. Sorry, that's gross - but sometimes shit is gross.

Finally, in the early afternoon, Dr. Ash arrived and delivered some news that could have been terrifying for people who know about ovarian cancer. She said, Dr. LyBarger looked at the images and it's more than likely cancer.

I sat there. On the bed. No expression. 

She asked, "are you going to be okay?" I could tell by her demeanor that it hurt to tell me the news. 

I answered, "Yeah, I don't know what to think." To which she responded, "I'm sorry."

Sorry. There was nothing to be sorry for, but I appreciated her calmness in the moment. I felt compassion for all the times she's probably had to deliver heart-wrenching news. 

I sat alone in my hospital room, on the bed, no thoughts. 

Then I proceeded to do the one thing technology affords us: I googled it. 

The first post I read, "ovarian cancer is typically called the silent killer." Great.

Joyful Comfort

Have you ever known instinctively that things would be okay the minute someone you recognize walks in the door? This is what I felt when Dr. Moreno walked into my hospital room. I pointed to her and she pointed at me. I immediately said through my haze, you go to my church. At about the exact moment she said, "you were telling us about small groups just last Thursday."

While I was incredibly nervous about seeing an oncologist I knew I trusted Kiersten immediately. I asked her up front, "why do I have to see an oncologist? The nurse said I had to see an oncologist." She allayed my fears saying that I had a mass in my abdomen, but they have an oncologist examen the pictures to rule out cancer. She was pretty sure it wasn't cancer, but that an oncologist had to be involved. Okay, whew.

Finally, Dr. Ash, the physician who saved my life after childbirth, took over my care. I cried when she walked in and she told me that she sent my CT scans to a gynecological oncologist over at Research who wanted me to get an MRI to get a clearer view. She reassured me that the other doctor wanted to rule it out as cancer. He didn't think it was but just wanted to be sure. I'm always okay with wanting to be sure. So, Dr. Ash asked me if I was claustrophobic to which I answered no. Never answer "no" if a doctor wanting an MRI asks you that. Always say yes because you will very much be claustrophobic after you experience it.

ER - Not so joyful

Apparently there was a full moon on November 19 because the ER at Centerpoint was full. I had been to the ER on October 20 for the same issue (only not as severe) and saw a Nurse Practitioner right away. I told Toph that we needed to go somewhere else. In his voice of reason, he said by the time we got to another hospital, we would have been admitted there. Plus, Dr. Ash's practice is connected to the hospital.

My Mom showed up and took Bippy home to sleep. During what seemed like hours, more like forty minutes, I could not sit upright in the waiting room chairs. The pain came in waves and I remembered my labor breathing to get me through it. As soon as I was taken to the admitting room, I was immediately taken back to get blood and other specimens. By then the pain, dehydration from my wine, and exhaustion led me to vomiting. In the middle of it all, I heard a nurse ask, "would you call the pain a 10 now?" I couldn't help but laugh with her because I am tough. I yelled back, "oh you know it!"

I can't remember much of the whirlwind after the pain medication started. I know I had a sonogram and CT scan and sharing fart jokes with the CT technician. Back in the ER room at some point around 3am, I met Dr. Clark who inquired about my sexual health at length. I was confused, this was about my gallbladder, how did my sexual health relate to a gastrointestinal issue? Next thing I knew he was performing a pelvic exam and asked if I felt pain - which I did. He then told me that I had a cyst possibly on my fallopian tube. I didn't think twice about it - cysts are common. I was told then that I was to be admitted to the hospital.

My primary attending nurse on the women's health floor told me after I was situated that I would be seen by Dr. Moreno in the morning and an oncologist.

Oncologist? What? A cancer doctor? Why? What?

Fortunately, the pain medicine and exhaustion knocked me out until the doctor showed up.

A Wine Called Joy

November 19, 2018, was not an ordinary day. My daughter had been sick over the weekend so I decided to stay home with her that Monday. Most who know me know I do not like to miss work, but I wanted to make sure her fever had been gone for 24 hours. She had one of those mystery fevers that didn't make any sense... perhaps it was a premonition for the following 72 hours.

Monday was a good day - a day I spent loving my daughter.
We had a lazy morning of reading and crafts. We went to FYE to pick up some Christmas DVDs. Even Bubl-cat was excited for the holiday swag we scored.

We went to the Raytown campus to check on the progress, went home for naps, followed by grocery shopping for dinner and a trip to the octopus (the car wash). Ah, and most importantly we stopped by FedEx to pick up my monthly wine shipment! As I made dinner that night I sipped on a glass of Joy. For real, it's called Joy! The bottle came in a festive wrapper and I thought, "heck, why not start celebrating the holidays a couple of days early?!" Cheers to me! I had two glasses that night and after playing a mad game of memory, a whiny game of chutes and ladders, and putting Bippy to bed, I decided to go to bed earlier than normal.

As I laid down, I began to feel pressure in my abdomen. It felt like a normal case of my bloating - and this time it was pressing on my bladder. I went to the restroom and took two GasX, thinking it was just another gas attack! About an hour into trying to sleep, the bloating got worse and the cramping on the right side of my abdomen started to flare up. Sleep was not on the agenda that night as the pain worsened.

Toph was in the basement working in his studio, so I actually called him on his phone to help me. The pain at this point was terrible - not labor and delivery terrible, but terrible.  As I lay writhing and sobbing from the pain, Toph looked down at me and said that I needed to go to the doctor tomorrow. I could have laughed, but instead pleaded with him through tears, "no I need to go now."

So around 11:30 pm we woke Bippy from her sleep and headed to Centerpoint Medical Center for a long three days.