Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,
It's with a reluctant heart I write to you. I have been avoiding you and dancing around this moment for quite some time. It's not that I wish to bask in your presence for much longer... it's just that it hasn't seemed quite right to close out this correspondence with you when there are check-ups ahead, an always possibility of recurrance, and still a mental battle to be fought. I still covet the prayers of my friends and have yet to walk in independence from my doctors. I am still navigating through side-effects from treatment and still pulling the strands of my hair with the frustration that it is not growing as fast as I predicted. There are plenty of moments that delightfully remind me of this blissful condition you have trapped me into, and at times, it can be too much. At times, it can be overwhelming. At times, it can make a future seem pretty bleak.
This season has made me all too familiar with those types of feelings... but here's the deal, sir. It's in the depth of that state, in an even more overwhelming surge, my God pierces through those plaguing thoughts, and with His powerful hand, He sets my feet on solid ground. You see, He is a God of victory. A God of hope. A God of good plans. He gave up His Son so that I could freely live. Why would He abandon me now? Why would He now leave me to my own avail? My life is not marked by defeat. No, it is sealed with victory. It says in Hebrews 7:25 that Jesus is forever living to intercede for me. It says in Psalm 18 that my God rescues me from my strong enemy, because He delights in me. It says in Revelation 12:11 that I will overcome by the blood of the Lamb and the Word of my testimony. Sir, at the sound of His great Name, you have no place in my life. Jesus was and is indeed worthy as He took you to the cross with Him long ago. My Healer is my Defender and He will fight for me until the end. And that's a guarantee.
So...still you ask, how could I put an end to this communication? How do we say goodbye? Simple. Good ol' Paul aforementioned your fate in Philippians 2:10-11: "So that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth." At the end of the age, that will include everything and everyone. But today, concerning you, I don't have to wait. By His good and awesome hand, He forced you into submission, Mr. Hodgkin's. I admit you fought a good fight... but you are downright evil, sir, and my God's Word promises that evil will never prevail. Jesus cleared that up.
Goodbye, Mr. Hodgkin's. It is now time to take my eyes off of you and unto the Lord....
Dear Jesus,
"I will walk about in FREEDOM for I have sought out Your promises" (Psalm 119:45). I cannot wait to taste and see that You are good.
Yours Truly,
Heid
Monday, July 23, 2012
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Oh, the final stretch.
Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,
It's been quite a bit of time that has lapsed since we last corresponded, but you would be foolish to think I'd spend my time away from the Oncology Center dwelling in your company. Rewinding back, as I parted ways with my radiologist that glorious day in May, she called down the hall, "We'll see you in a month, Heidi. Enjoy your summer!" Whaaat? A month?! I haven't even had a free week from you in this year of 2012 (let alone a whole month!), so this comment dove deep into the recesses of my spirit, and it was as if strolling out that door, I finally had the permission to let my guard down. I could finally take a break from fighting. My God has indeed been faithful in keeping me strong as I continually caught His whispers to stay courageous, and as I walked out that door, I began to feel a remarkable benefit that comes when reaching the end of a battle: rest.
Stepping out into the street, I could feel my muscles relax; I lifted my head to the clear blue sky and took in a deep sigh. One month. Free from appointments, free from tests and scans, free from you. I remember grinning as wide as my round face allowed, brainstorming all the ways I could use my time, and already dreaming of what the Lord had in store for me... bring it. You see, the verse my God gave me for my Year 24 begins like this: "Taste and see that the Lord is good..." So I am confident I will see the goodness of the Lord this year... starting with your demise and moving onward to the next blessing. All in all, excuse me for milking this month of freedom away from you for all that it's worth. Sir, I'm in no way embellishing when I say this has been the best month of my life.
So why have I returned then, you ask? Well, before my check-up appointment with my oncologist and radiologist that is scheduled for July 5, I had to subject myself once again to gulping down radioactive liquid, reclining in a dark room as the nurses waited for it to process through my body, and then lying strapped down to patient table as I was shoved through a swirl of devices. Yes, you guessed it: another PET scan. The results of this test would determine if you had come back; if this was the case, it would reveal how aggressive you really are, your permanency, and what other treatment methods I would need to submit to. On the Sunday before, I gave this update to my volunteer team and asked if they would pray for my appointment on June 26. As my Team Lead bowed her head, she said, "Lord, I pray for continued victory as Heidi goes through her test tomorrow..." As she continued praying though, my thoughts froze and my heart dropped... What?? Tomorrow?! I had been so caught up in the freedom of this month that I lost track of the days; I had no idea this monumental moment would take place in that next 24 hours.
Mr. Hodgkin's, I have to be real honest with you, and let you know how completely scared I was. I tasted what "ordinary life" was like in the weeks of June, and I desperately wanted the ease that comes from that normalcy. I was so confident walking out in May that the Lord had healed me, and how He was ready to lead me onto the next strength, the next victory (because for those who hope in Jesus, He takes us from strength to strength says Psalm 84:7). But starting that Sunday and in the days to follow, I was less than convinced... to put it mildly. My mind began to wonder: "Well, what if this is the cross I am to carry? To live this life with cancer destined to suffer?" It was as if I was already signing myself up to be a martyr forgoing every hope in the Lord's goodness. Eh. Man, am I grateful apprehension doesn't thwart my God from acting on my behalf.
But my Blaine team has just started reading Andy Stanley's book called Visioneering, and it was in the pages of chapter 4 that God met my heart where it was at and brought me back to the vision He has for my life. You see, I still have a burden in my heart to write truth, to share more about His goodness to anyone who will listen, and to stay faithful in a faithless generation. But I got stuck with the how... How will God lead me out of this funk of a disease, how will He diffuse this anxiety I may feel before each check-up throughout the next 10 years, how will He give me opportunities to make my life eternally significant... A lot of questions to ask and feel the weight of within a 5-day span. Thankfully, my God asks me not to worry about tomorrow and goes to whatever measure necessary for me to realize that. This time, He used Andy's words to bring me back to where I need to be: at peace under His Lordship.
Something shifted inside and John 15:5 came to the forefront of my mind once again: "I am the vine, you are the branches; he who abides in Me and I in him, he bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing." I remembered my simple call to trust and believe... and He will take care of the path.
My appointment to get the results from this PET scan is scheduled for this Thursday, July 5. But this is how loving my God is and how thoughtful my oncologist is... As my family and I were driving down the winding road to Yosemite National Park, my phone started buzzing and I looked down to see the Minnesota Oncology Center calling. As my dad pulled over to the side of the road so I wouldn't lose service, I answered with a surge of pensiveness yet excitement. After a few cordial remarks, my precious oncologist said, "I saw that our appointment wasn't until the 5th, and wanted you to come in with a positive outlook. Your tests came back normal!" Normal... exactly the language and the results I had been yearning for. I gleefully sat back into the passenger seat and couldn't help but squeal, "You're the best doctor EVER!" It is plain to me, sir, that my God indeed still hears His people's prayers, and answers in not only the sweetest of ways, but in such perfect timing...and this is when my muscles once again began to relax.
So Thursday will come and I still have an appointment marked down in their calendar, but I will arrive just as I left: with my eyes grinning up at the blue sky, my heart free as a bird, and my trust in the healing power of my God intact. I'm ready to hear the next steps...
Yours Truly,
Heid
It's been quite a bit of time that has lapsed since we last corresponded, but you would be foolish to think I'd spend my time away from the Oncology Center dwelling in your company. Rewinding back, as I parted ways with my radiologist that glorious day in May, she called down the hall, "We'll see you in a month, Heidi. Enjoy your summer!" Whaaat? A month?! I haven't even had a free week from you in this year of 2012 (let alone a whole month!), so this comment dove deep into the recesses of my spirit, and it was as if strolling out that door, I finally had the permission to let my guard down. I could finally take a break from fighting. My God has indeed been faithful in keeping me strong as I continually caught His whispers to stay courageous, and as I walked out that door, I began to feel a remarkable benefit that comes when reaching the end of a battle: rest.
Stepping out into the street, I could feel my muscles relax; I lifted my head to the clear blue sky and took in a deep sigh. One month. Free from appointments, free from tests and scans, free from you. I remember grinning as wide as my round face allowed, brainstorming all the ways I could use my time, and already dreaming of what the Lord had in store for me... bring it. You see, the verse my God gave me for my Year 24 begins like this: "Taste and see that the Lord is good..." So I am confident I will see the goodness of the Lord this year... starting with your demise and moving onward to the next blessing. All in all, excuse me for milking this month of freedom away from you for all that it's worth. Sir, I'm in no way embellishing when I say this has been the best month of my life.
So why have I returned then, you ask? Well, before my check-up appointment with my oncologist and radiologist that is scheduled for July 5, I had to subject myself once again to gulping down radioactive liquid, reclining in a dark room as the nurses waited for it to process through my body, and then lying strapped down to patient table as I was shoved through a swirl of devices. Yes, you guessed it: another PET scan. The results of this test would determine if you had come back; if this was the case, it would reveal how aggressive you really are, your permanency, and what other treatment methods I would need to submit to. On the Sunday before, I gave this update to my volunteer team and asked if they would pray for my appointment on June 26. As my Team Lead bowed her head, she said, "Lord, I pray for continued victory as Heidi goes through her test tomorrow..." As she continued praying though, my thoughts froze and my heart dropped... What?? Tomorrow?! I had been so caught up in the freedom of this month that I lost track of the days; I had no idea this monumental moment would take place in that next 24 hours.
Mr. Hodgkin's, I have to be real honest with you, and let you know how completely scared I was. I tasted what "ordinary life" was like in the weeks of June, and I desperately wanted the ease that comes from that normalcy. I was so confident walking out in May that the Lord had healed me, and how He was ready to lead me onto the next strength, the next victory (because for those who hope in Jesus, He takes us from strength to strength says Psalm 84:7). But starting that Sunday and in the days to follow, I was less than convinced... to put it mildly. My mind began to wonder: "Well, what if this is the cross I am to carry? To live this life with cancer destined to suffer?" It was as if I was already signing myself up to be a martyr forgoing every hope in the Lord's goodness. Eh. Man, am I grateful apprehension doesn't thwart my God from acting on my behalf.
But my Blaine team has just started reading Andy Stanley's book called Visioneering, and it was in the pages of chapter 4 that God met my heart where it was at and brought me back to the vision He has for my life. You see, I still have a burden in my heart to write truth, to share more about His goodness to anyone who will listen, and to stay faithful in a faithless generation. But I got stuck with the how... How will God lead me out of this funk of a disease, how will He diffuse this anxiety I may feel before each check-up throughout the next 10 years, how will He give me opportunities to make my life eternally significant... A lot of questions to ask and feel the weight of within a 5-day span. Thankfully, my God asks me not to worry about tomorrow and goes to whatever measure necessary for me to realize that. This time, He used Andy's words to bring me back to where I need to be: at peace under His Lordship.
"How is never a problem for God. What He originates, He orchestrates. Did Moses have to come up with a way to get the Israelites out of Egypt? Was it David's responsibility to figure out how to get Saul out of the way so he could ascend the throne of Israel? Visionary believers are marked by their intense faithfulness to their vision and to their Savior. For them, the question of how is not an obstacle. It is simply an opportunity for God to do what He does so well - the impossible."
Something shifted inside and John 15:5 came to the forefront of my mind once again: "I am the vine, you are the branches; he who abides in Me and I in him, he bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing." I remembered my simple call to trust and believe... and He will take care of the path.
My appointment to get the results from this PET scan is scheduled for this Thursday, July 5. But this is how loving my God is and how thoughtful my oncologist is... As my family and I were driving down the winding road to Yosemite National Park, my phone started buzzing and I looked down to see the Minnesota Oncology Center calling. As my dad pulled over to the side of the road so I wouldn't lose service, I answered with a surge of pensiveness yet excitement. After a few cordial remarks, my precious oncologist said, "I saw that our appointment wasn't until the 5th, and wanted you to come in with a positive outlook. Your tests came back normal!" Normal... exactly the language and the results I had been yearning for. I gleefully sat back into the passenger seat and couldn't help but squeal, "You're the best doctor EVER!" It is plain to me, sir, that my God indeed still hears His people's prayers, and answers in not only the sweetest of ways, but in such perfect timing...and this is when my muscles once again began to relax.
So Thursday will come and I still have an appointment marked down in their calendar, but I will arrive just as I left: with my eyes grinning up at the blue sky, my heart free as a bird, and my trust in the healing power of my God intact. I'm ready to hear the next steps...
Yours Truly,
Heid
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Oh, the peek into my journal.
Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,
Year 24 has been a bit rough so far... haha, to say the least. I can't count the number of times my friends have sat across from me in my living room and echoed one another with a, "Heidi. What the heck... your life is a soap opera. How does all this happen? And often at the same time!" This past week in particular, as I retell the stories, I can't help but laugh out loud (I mean, it's either that or sob uncontrollably. Ha, sir, I'll choose the former). BUT the glass is always half-full, my friend, and Year 24 still has 10 months left in its scope. 10 glorious months chalked full of hope... because a lot can certainly happen in 10 months.
I'm a journaler, Mr. Hodgkin's. Always have been, always will be. David repeatedly exhorts in the Psalms to remember the deeds of the Lord, and I do that with the stack of journals that chronicle each season He has led me through. You've gotten a taste of the content because I have largely used these letters as my journal this spring, but instead of writing to you, I normally compose my letters to my God. You see, my notebooks are simply my prayers recorded in pen on paper. I'd like to share more...
In the beginning of January, my hand scripted these lines: "Here I want to dream with You and watch You open up ideas and possibilities I had never thought of. Here I want to learn from You and be led by You. Here I want to trust You more. Now facing Day 1 of 2012, will You work in powerful ways where it is very plainly seen as Your handiwork? This year, I want to resolve to trust You at all costs. At all times. In every measure. Countering every fear and doubt." Now, reading over these words, knowing they were written right before you entered my life, I breathe in awe and exhale out delight. He has assuredly moved mightily and indeed deepened my earnestness to trust Him on a completely new level.
Can I share more? In the words of Sara Groves (a song in which I cannot sit still when listening to because my soul is just so stirred; as well as the song that exhausted my repeat setting), I scribbled down: "I believe in a peace that flows deeper than pain; the broken find healing in Love. Pain is no measure of His faithfulness; He withholds no good thing from us." The lines in my journal testify to the truth in these lyrics as I continued to write on, in the depths of my pain, how vicious your ways were to tear down my spirit... but how fierce and loyal my Lord's love had countered them all. As I clung to Him with a weakness I have never before experienced, my God proved Himself very strong on my behalf, and as I look up to the sky through tear-filled eyes, I couldn't be more proud of the God I serve and the Man I love with my entire soul. Through Jesus and the cross, He in no way withholds any good thing from me.
And then now, as I flip forward to the pages that are recently smeared by the fresh ink of my red G2 pen, I want to share my jotted prayer as I'm currently trying to figure out how to transition out of this season. Please read on...
Mr. Hodgkin's, this is my small beginning to a life of serious Kingdom impact... that I am set on. But just like in 1 Kings 18, when Elijah bent down with his head in between his knees waiting for the promised rain, so I will get on my knees until I see the fruition of the purpose my God has for my life. The thing is Elijah sent his servant to look for rain 6 times... and 6 times there was nothing. But Elijah remained faithful as He waited. He knew the character of our God. What He plans to pass will definitely be accomplished. And with that resolve, and a 7th look, there was sign of a small cloud. With that small morsel of evidence, Elijah knew the rain was coming... and not long after, the 3-year drought ended with pouring rain. You see, Mr. Hodgkin's, my God has already proven His faithfulness by healing my sick body. Why would He stop now? By His grace, I will remain faithful, with my heart bowed low, and wait for my small cloud to form knowing that soon after, I can expect a pour-down. Hallelujah, sir.
Year 24 has been a bit rough so far... haha, to say the least. I can't count the number of times my friends have sat across from me in my living room and echoed one another with a, "Heidi. What the heck... your life is a soap opera. How does all this happen? And often at the same time!" This past week in particular, as I retell the stories, I can't help but laugh out loud (I mean, it's either that or sob uncontrollably. Ha, sir, I'll choose the former). BUT the glass is always half-full, my friend, and Year 24 still has 10 months left in its scope. 10 glorious months chalked full of hope... because a lot can certainly happen in 10 months.
I'm a journaler, Mr. Hodgkin's. Always have been, always will be. David repeatedly exhorts in the Psalms to remember the deeds of the Lord, and I do that with the stack of journals that chronicle each season He has led me through. You've gotten a taste of the content because I have largely used these letters as my journal this spring, but instead of writing to you, I normally compose my letters to my God. You see, my notebooks are simply my prayers recorded in pen on paper. I'd like to share more...
In the beginning of January, my hand scripted these lines: "Here I want to dream with You and watch You open up ideas and possibilities I had never thought of. Here I want to learn from You and be led by You. Here I want to trust You more. Now facing Day 1 of 2012, will You work in powerful ways where it is very plainly seen as Your handiwork? This year, I want to resolve to trust You at all costs. At all times. In every measure. Countering every fear and doubt." Now, reading over these words, knowing they were written right before you entered my life, I breathe in awe and exhale out delight. He has assuredly moved mightily and indeed deepened my earnestness to trust Him on a completely new level.
Can I share more? In the words of Sara Groves (a song in which I cannot sit still when listening to because my soul is just so stirred; as well as the song that exhausted my repeat setting), I scribbled down: "I believe in a peace that flows deeper than pain; the broken find healing in Love. Pain is no measure of His faithfulness; He withholds no good thing from us." The lines in my journal testify to the truth in these lyrics as I continued to write on, in the depths of my pain, how vicious your ways were to tear down my spirit... but how fierce and loyal my Lord's love had countered them all. As I clung to Him with a weakness I have never before experienced, my God proved Himself very strong on my behalf, and as I look up to the sky through tear-filled eyes, I couldn't be more proud of the God I serve and the Man I love with my entire soul. Through Jesus and the cross, He in no way withholds any good thing from me.
And then now, as I flip forward to the pages that are recently smeared by the fresh ink of my red G2 pen, I want to share my jotted prayer as I'm currently trying to figure out how to transition out of this season. Please read on...
Dear Father,
I pray that You use me only and always for Your purposes. That You bless me with Your wisdom that I can share with the masses. That Your Word would ever be on my lips and a "Praise Jesus" never far from my thoughts. Tough stuff is ahead... indeed that is guaranteed as I navigate through this weary land. But prepare my hands for the battle, Lord, as You promise those that seek You shall never be ashamed. Give me the faith to trust what You say and believe in Your power above all else... that it can undoubtedly move mountains. There is so much freedom and life that comes from You, Jesus, and I don't ever want to look past that or sleep through that. Help me to wait expectantly, trust wholeheartedly, seek relentlessly, and love unconditionally. I give myself fully to Your work and I'm rocking back and forth in my chair excited at the thought of what You have in store for me. You are good, and You are strong. Praise You, Lord. Let my life be a story of Your glory and undefied presence. Let's do big things, God. Let's see the sun stand still in 2012. With my toes curled and my teeth clenched in excitement, I am indeed ready, Father. I want to be a Joshua.
In Jesus' powerful Name I pray, Amen.
There's freedom from my past and there's hope in my future. Claiming that today, sucka.
Yours Truly,
Heid
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Oh, my first few thoughts in remission.
Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,
We were given every last second to employ our final military tactics, but on May 22nd, my radiologist called for a ceasefire. That evening, I walked out of the oncology center with my mask in one hand and release papers in the other. I pranced all the way to my car with what felt like a new-found freedom! As I climbed in and turned the key to start my car, NeedToBreathe's "Wanted Man" blared out from my speakers. And it was there in the parking lot I sat, with the door wide open, the sun beating down on me, for minutes on end listening to this song on repeat.
Let's rewind. You see, when I first heard word of you in January, I would stare up at the empty sky and plead the lines from this song to the Lord: "I am on the run...I know who I am, my dear, I'm a wanted man, but the world I see looks good from here right from where I stand. Together we could disappear....I'm a wanted man." Ha, I'm not calling the Lord "my dear" and I'm certainly not a man, but let me explain further. Back in January, all I wanted was to escape out of your clutches, but you made me feel so trapped; I felt like a walking target with a bold X painted on my back. Even though I knew it was naiive, when I would sing this song over and over, it was as if I was begging the Lord for a chance to run away and start fresh. As if fleeing would dissolve your presence. But logic and reality crept in as soon as I reached up to touch my neck... and could physically feel you. You were in me. Attached to me. Protruding from me. With an extreme threat to spread further. And you weren't going anywhere anytime soon. So with a huge sigh and slumped shoulders, I gave up on my impulse to drop everything and move to Figi (Truman Show, anyone?), and with the notion of test after test, radiation after chemotherapy, and all the pain and trials I was prepped to expect, I gulped and asked Jesus to fight for His scared daughter.
Okay, fast-forward again to this week. There aren't many times in my life I'm at a loss for words, but this week has been showered with those type of moments. Even now, as I sit back and take a deep breath, I'm drumming my fingers along the keyboard and replaying the junctures of each day that will forever be engrained in my mind. You see, Mr. Hodgkin's, in my top 5 favorite blessings the Lord has given me, the people He has sent into my life always come out on top. I don't just have great family, friends, roommates, and co-workers... I have RIDICULOUSLY solid family, friends, roommates, and co-workers who extend Jesus to me on a daily basis. I have seen a sweetness surface from even the unexpected and yet this sensitivity has always been coupled with a fierceness to wage war against you and determination to pray audaciously on my behalf. What loyalty, what love.
And here's the thing, Mr. Hodgkin's. This is not something I uniquely have; rather, this is what the Body of Christ is and this is simply what we do for one another. Romans 12:5 explains: "So in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others." Even more so, Jesus once said, "...all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another" (John 13:35). What a holy and pure calling we have.... to love one another. My heart beats faster even at the thought. There are people in this world who have sworn off church or have ignored the value of living life with fellow believers, and it's one of the few things my empathy strength just cannot understand. Back in January, I wrote in my journal: "Thank You Father for all the support You surrounded me with. You must have known how much I would need them... all of them." The Lord worked so powerfully through the body of Christ these past few months that I can't help but grimace and shake my head as I wonder what it would have been like without them.
My parents were my go-to people available at all hours of the day; sitting with me through hours of chemotherapy, rubbing my back as I was cringing in pain, and being resolute in the faith that the Lord would indeed heal me. The presence of my siblings brought such comfort, but they also knew how to make me laugh and that averted attention was so refreshing. The letters, emails, and texts from my extended family would always redirect me to the Lord's sovereign hand and peace would then naturally flow. Even my 8-year-old cousin played her role in my healing when I heard that she saw a picture of me and said, "I don't think it's fair that Heidi got cancer" and then immediately bowed her head and said, "Let's pray." How could our God not be moved by her heart?!
Then there are my friends. The nights when I wanted to share all of my thoughts, they left their beds, and with open ears, they listened. The days when I just wanted to be normal, they would take me to consignment shops and we would journal together at Caribou. These people would surprise me with flowers, notes under my door, and spontaneous moments of Affirmation Station. They stood by me in deep comraderie as I shaved my head, made shopping for wigs seem like a normal task on the to-do list, and naturally threw a "Goodbye, Mr. Hodgkin's" party to celebrate the Lord's victorious reign. All in all, these people include my closest girlfriends, my roommates, my volunteers from EBC, my peeps from Northwestern College... You would indeed be blown away if I could share the sacrificial and intentional deeds that flowed from each individual. God bless them all.
My co-workers. Man, these people consistently extended support and encouragement 5 days a week (and more). They had the faith I could fight you, the confidence I could continue to work hard, and the mindset to love me through it - which all came purely from our Lord. I remember when the doctor gave me the call to confirm you were indeed residing in my neck; I was at work. I remember numbly walking back towards my desk, but before I could even get that far, I fell to my knees in the cube of the White Bear Lake team; Sue and Emily held my hands as we rushed boldly into the presence of our Lord for comfort, intense protection, and full healing. When I opened my eyes, 10-15 others were surrounding me also petitioning the Lord for my healing. Also, my campus pastor, his wonderful wife, and his precious children would pray for "Miss Heidi" each night and even checked out a book from the library about cancer so their kids could learn more about it.
I could go on and on, like I could with all my peeps, but it's safe to say the Lord indeed showed His comfort and support through His children, His saints, His people. Man, do I love the church with so much of my heart. All in all, this world has seemed very scary and can still instigate a bit of fear with the ambiguity of the future ahead, but I am not traveling alone, Mr. Hodgkin's. No, as a Christ-follower, I am blessed with something beautiful and sure-standing: the body of Christ. Because of them, I can heed to Hebrews 12:1, "Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us."
So that's my plan... I have 5 weeks until I go back to the oncologist for my first PET scan since being officially in remission and will (hopefully) hear confirmation I am still in the clear. If this is the case, I will be able to go into surgery and get my dang port removed; I know I will feel deeper freedom when that's out of my body pushing you further into the deep recesses of my memory. Also, I'm taking the next couple of weeks to dive into my journal and process this entire journey with my God. I will surely keep you in the loop, but once I get the confirmation in the beginning of July that you are gone, I am done with you, sir. You heard me... no more communication then with you; you will be dead to me in the healing Name of Jesus. It will be time to start a new chapter, and with that, a new blog? Haha, the question mark is there because I'm still thinking of what that looks like, but believe it will be central to my Year 24 verse: "taste and see that the Lord is good" (Psalm 34:8). I just think it's about time for bigger and better things, Mr. Hodgkin's; wouldn't you say?
Yours Truly,
Heid
We were given every last second to employ our final military tactics, but on May 22nd, my radiologist called for a ceasefire. That evening, I walked out of the oncology center with my mask in one hand and release papers in the other. I pranced all the way to my car with what felt like a new-found freedom! As I climbed in and turned the key to start my car, NeedToBreathe's "Wanted Man" blared out from my speakers. And it was there in the parking lot I sat, with the door wide open, the sun beating down on me, for minutes on end listening to this song on repeat.
Let's rewind. You see, when I first heard word of you in January, I would stare up at the empty sky and plead the lines from this song to the Lord: "I am on the run...I know who I am, my dear, I'm a wanted man, but the world I see looks good from here right from where I stand. Together we could disappear....I'm a wanted man." Ha, I'm not calling the Lord "my dear" and I'm certainly not a man, but let me explain further. Back in January, all I wanted was to escape out of your clutches, but you made me feel so trapped; I felt like a walking target with a bold X painted on my back. Even though I knew it was naiive, when I would sing this song over and over, it was as if I was begging the Lord for a chance to run away and start fresh. As if fleeing would dissolve your presence. But logic and reality crept in as soon as I reached up to touch my neck... and could physically feel you. You were in me. Attached to me. Protruding from me. With an extreme threat to spread further. And you weren't going anywhere anytime soon. So with a huge sigh and slumped shoulders, I gave up on my impulse to drop everything and move to Figi (Truman Show, anyone?), and with the notion of test after test, radiation after chemotherapy, and all the pain and trials I was prepped to expect, I gulped and asked Jesus to fight for His scared daughter.
Okay, fast-forward again to this week. There aren't many times in my life I'm at a loss for words, but this week has been showered with those type of moments. Even now, as I sit back and take a deep breath, I'm drumming my fingers along the keyboard and replaying the junctures of each day that will forever be engrained in my mind. You see, Mr. Hodgkin's, in my top 5 favorite blessings the Lord has given me, the people He has sent into my life always come out on top. I don't just have great family, friends, roommates, and co-workers... I have RIDICULOUSLY solid family, friends, roommates, and co-workers who extend Jesus to me on a daily basis. I have seen a sweetness surface from even the unexpected and yet this sensitivity has always been coupled with a fierceness to wage war against you and determination to pray audaciously on my behalf. What loyalty, what love.
And here's the thing, Mr. Hodgkin's. This is not something I uniquely have; rather, this is what the Body of Christ is and this is simply what we do for one another. Romans 12:5 explains: "So in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others." Even more so, Jesus once said, "...all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another" (John 13:35). What a holy and pure calling we have.... to love one another. My heart beats faster even at the thought. There are people in this world who have sworn off church or have ignored the value of living life with fellow believers, and it's one of the few things my empathy strength just cannot understand. Back in January, I wrote in my journal: "Thank You Father for all the support You surrounded me with. You must have known how much I would need them... all of them." The Lord worked so powerfully through the body of Christ these past few months that I can't help but grimace and shake my head as I wonder what it would have been like without them.
My parents were my go-to people available at all hours of the day; sitting with me through hours of chemotherapy, rubbing my back as I was cringing in pain, and being resolute in the faith that the Lord would indeed heal me. The presence of my siblings brought such comfort, but they also knew how to make me laugh and that averted attention was so refreshing. The letters, emails, and texts from my extended family would always redirect me to the Lord's sovereign hand and peace would then naturally flow. Even my 8-year-old cousin played her role in my healing when I heard that she saw a picture of me and said, "I don't think it's fair that Heidi got cancer" and then immediately bowed her head and said, "Let's pray." How could our God not be moved by her heart?!
Then there are my friends. The nights when I wanted to share all of my thoughts, they left their beds, and with open ears, they listened. The days when I just wanted to be normal, they would take me to consignment shops and we would journal together at Caribou. These people would surprise me with flowers, notes under my door, and spontaneous moments of Affirmation Station. They stood by me in deep comraderie as I shaved my head, made shopping for wigs seem like a normal task on the to-do list, and naturally threw a "Goodbye, Mr. Hodgkin's" party to celebrate the Lord's victorious reign. All in all, these people include my closest girlfriends, my roommates, my volunteers from EBC, my peeps from Northwestern College... You would indeed be blown away if I could share the sacrificial and intentional deeds that flowed from each individual. God bless them all.
My co-workers. Man, these people consistently extended support and encouragement 5 days a week (and more). They had the faith I could fight you, the confidence I could continue to work hard, and the mindset to love me through it - which all came purely from our Lord. I remember when the doctor gave me the call to confirm you were indeed residing in my neck; I was at work. I remember numbly walking back towards my desk, but before I could even get that far, I fell to my knees in the cube of the White Bear Lake team; Sue and Emily held my hands as we rushed boldly into the presence of our Lord for comfort, intense protection, and full healing. When I opened my eyes, 10-15 others were surrounding me also petitioning the Lord for my healing. Also, my campus pastor, his wonderful wife, and his precious children would pray for "Miss Heidi" each night and even checked out a book from the library about cancer so their kids could learn more about it.
I could go on and on, like I could with all my peeps, but it's safe to say the Lord indeed showed His comfort and support through His children, His saints, His people. Man, do I love the church with so much of my heart. All in all, this world has seemed very scary and can still instigate a bit of fear with the ambiguity of the future ahead, but I am not traveling alone, Mr. Hodgkin's. No, as a Christ-follower, I am blessed with something beautiful and sure-standing: the body of Christ. Because of them, I can heed to Hebrews 12:1, "Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us."
So that's my plan... I have 5 weeks until I go back to the oncologist for my first PET scan since being officially in remission and will (hopefully) hear confirmation I am still in the clear. If this is the case, I will be able to go into surgery and get my dang port removed; I know I will feel deeper freedom when that's out of my body pushing you further into the deep recesses of my memory. Also, I'm taking the next couple of weeks to dive into my journal and process this entire journey with my God. I will surely keep you in the loop, but once I get the confirmation in the beginning of July that you are gone, I am done with you, sir. You heard me... no more communication then with you; you will be dead to me in the healing Name of Jesus. It will be time to start a new chapter, and with that, a new blog? Haha, the question mark is there because I'm still thinking of what that looks like, but believe it will be central to my Year 24 verse: "taste and see that the Lord is good" (Psalm 34:8). I just think it's about time for bigger and better things, Mr. Hodgkin's; wouldn't you say?
Yours Truly,
Heid
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Oh, the cross I'm to carry.
Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,
It seems unreal that I am officially down to one week left of treatment. Appears like a cause to celebrate, wouldn't you say? I'm having a hard time kicking up my heels though... which is extremely unlike me. I often promote celebration in anything and everything -- from mustering up the courage to kill a centipede in the bathroom to graduating college after years of late nights studying. Regardless of the degree of accomplishment, I rejoice... and squeal again 5 minutes later. But here is why it is especially challenging now to make merry:
I recently sat across from my oncologist, and after we looked over a few scans, I said, "So we're going to get rid of this thing?!" He looked at me with pensive eyes and replied, "Well, no... we will never say you're cured or healed. There's always a chance it could come back, so instead we call it 'remission.'" What?... No closure?... So the combination of chemotherapy AND radiation doesn't guarantee a thing? Holy crap, modern medicine, I instigate a call to arms to become a bit more modern.
"What's going to happen is, on your last appointment, you are going to just walk out the door. No tests, no meeting with me... and then we'll see you in 5 weeks to take a PET scan once the treatment has thoroughly set in. If it's clear, it'll be another 3 months until I see you for yet another PET scan, meeting and so forth. We'll meet like this for the first year; then every 6 months up until 5 years; and then once a year until year 10 hits." All I could then think of was the anxiety my friends harbored as they waited for their parent's results to come back. Now, I will be that individual. I'll be the one sitting through an hour and a half test praying the whole time that I'm clear. I'll be the one waiting to hear back from my doctor within 4-7 business days (which, this may be for another time, but let's learn ways to become a bit more efficient in delivering results to patients, medical field. Please remember, these are people's lives and you could make the difference of one less painful night as they lie awake in wonder... analyzing all the directions their lives could possibly take.) And I'll be the one learning how to trust Jesus deeper and deeper all along the way as I literally depend on Him for life. Praise God He never fails.
A nurse weighed in after the appointment and said, "This is where your faith comes in." I in no way compare myself to Mother Teresa, but times like this, her words reign true in every part of me: "I know God won't give me anything I can't handle. I just wish He didn't trust me so much." But on the flip side... how honoring for it has never been more clear that my Lord has a plan for my life. Why else would He spare me from the blow of your attacks? Or from the toxicity of further treatment? Or from the despair of an incurable disease?
Yes, sir, it is certainly clear my God is up to something. He promises all over His Word that He will fulfill His purpose for me, and since I'm still able to inhale oxygen and produce carbon dioxide, that promise indeed applies. What is His purpose for me, you ask? As I read through my God's Word, my heart is called to be a modern-day Joshua who prays audaciously and watches the sun stand still in faith of God's power to do the impossible. My spirit is hand-crafted to dance free before the Lord in pure adoration just like my kindred spirit, David. And I already see the Lord harnassing my gifts at a young age for His church like He did with Timothy. Finally, and ultimately, as I picture my Lord Jesus carrying a cross on His back as He willfully walked towards His death, there's no doubt in my mind I'm called to emulate as high of a degree as I can of this unwavering trust... regardless of the cross I'm to carry. Gulp. Life sure is interesting, Mr. Hodgkin's.
Yours Truly,
Heid
It seems unreal that I am officially down to one week left of treatment. Appears like a cause to celebrate, wouldn't you say? I'm having a hard time kicking up my heels though... which is extremely unlike me. I often promote celebration in anything and everything -- from mustering up the courage to kill a centipede in the bathroom to graduating college after years of late nights studying. Regardless of the degree of accomplishment, I rejoice... and squeal again 5 minutes later. But here is why it is especially challenging now to make merry:
I recently sat across from my oncologist, and after we looked over a few scans, I said, "So we're going to get rid of this thing?!" He looked at me with pensive eyes and replied, "Well, no... we will never say you're cured or healed. There's always a chance it could come back, so instead we call it 'remission.'" What?... No closure?... So the combination of chemotherapy AND radiation doesn't guarantee a thing? Holy crap, modern medicine, I instigate a call to arms to become a bit more modern.
"What's going to happen is, on your last appointment, you are going to just walk out the door. No tests, no meeting with me... and then we'll see you in 5 weeks to take a PET scan once the treatment has thoroughly set in. If it's clear, it'll be another 3 months until I see you for yet another PET scan, meeting and so forth. We'll meet like this for the first year; then every 6 months up until 5 years; and then once a year until year 10 hits." All I could then think of was the anxiety my friends harbored as they waited for their parent's results to come back. Now, I will be that individual. I'll be the one sitting through an hour and a half test praying the whole time that I'm clear. I'll be the one waiting to hear back from my doctor within 4-7 business days (which, this may be for another time, but let's learn ways to become a bit more efficient in delivering results to patients, medical field. Please remember, these are people's lives and you could make the difference of one less painful night as they lie awake in wonder... analyzing all the directions their lives could possibly take.) And I'll be the one learning how to trust Jesus deeper and deeper all along the way as I literally depend on Him for life. Praise God He never fails.
A nurse weighed in after the appointment and said, "This is where your faith comes in." I in no way compare myself to Mother Teresa, but times like this, her words reign true in every part of me: "I know God won't give me anything I can't handle. I just wish He didn't trust me so much." But on the flip side... how honoring for it has never been more clear that my Lord has a plan for my life. Why else would He spare me from the blow of your attacks? Or from the toxicity of further treatment? Or from the despair of an incurable disease?
Yes, sir, it is certainly clear my God is up to something. He promises all over His Word that He will fulfill His purpose for me, and since I'm still able to inhale oxygen and produce carbon dioxide, that promise indeed applies. What is His purpose for me, you ask? As I read through my God's Word, my heart is called to be a modern-day Joshua who prays audaciously and watches the sun stand still in faith of God's power to do the impossible. My spirit is hand-crafted to dance free before the Lord in pure adoration just like my kindred spirit, David. And I already see the Lord harnassing my gifts at a young age for His church like He did with Timothy. Finally, and ultimately, as I picture my Lord Jesus carrying a cross on His back as He willfully walked towards His death, there's no doubt in my mind I'm called to emulate as high of a degree as I can of this unwavering trust... regardless of the cross I'm to carry. Gulp. Life sure is interesting, Mr. Hodgkin's.
Yours Truly,
Heid
Monday, May 7, 2012
Oh, the moods that mark my days.
Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,
There are days when you become too much. On those days, I curl up in the tiniest ball my 5'9" body will allow, pull my volleyball-patterned fleece blanket over my head, and close my eyes tightly as I ask Jesus if, respectfully, just maybe, He has given me too much. These times, as my body begins to shake from the hardest sobs I have ever cried, my mind recites Psalm 57:1 over and over again: "Have mercy on me, my God, have mercy on me, for in You I take refuge. I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings until the disaster has passed." So there, under the protection of my Lord and my blankets, I hide. With unsteady breaths, I wait. And with unrelenting fear, I can't help but wonder.
And then there are days when a righteous anger ignites in me as I am reminded of Ephesians 6:12, "For we are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies, but against evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world, against mighty powers in this dark world, and against evil spirits in the heavenly places." I'm a born and raised conservative, baptist girl, but when these days hit, I'm transformed into this charasmatic, super-warrior who tears down any evil force that dares to approach her vicinity. Who would have thought? Ha, certainly not me. I have to be careful though because on days like this, I feel invincible... and I may or may not carry this valiance behind the wheel.
On the other hand, there are the days where I'm lost in thought. The days when I catch myself staring out the window and chewing over God's plans and His ways. This is when my temperament is mild and my introverted self appeals for a quiet corner in a coffeeshop or a long walk through the neighboring streets where my mind can just race.
Then, my favorite, there are days when this unexplainable joy bubbles in my very being and I can't help but giggle outloud, grin up at the sky, and prance around Target's parking lot before I grab my groceries. These are the days when my heart befriends the Lord's sovereignty and I realize you have nothing on Him or His healing power. These days I dance in the middle of the street in the middle of the night as Bethany Dillon's "All I Need" runs through my headphones (every girl knows what I mean... that song is timeless). What was that? Yes, sir, I have always been "spirited" as you call it. My parents have shared how I was that 3-year-old who was happiest spinning in the corner singing to herself. And I was that girl who was sent to our elementary school's Compass Room (a room where "troubled" kids can receive redirection...please catch the play on words there) because I was laughing too loud. And I was that young lady who was nicknamed the "sparkplug" on my volleyball team because of the contagious energy I'd bring as soon as I walked onto the court. So, yes. You could say this kind of a day marks my natural bent.
Lastly, there are days where I'm oblivious to you in my life. Inconceivable, huh? These days, I continue to live life as any other 24-year-old girl does: working, reading out in the sun in hopes to be any color other than pasty white, grabbing ice cream with friends, and making every attempt to downsize my closet but miserably failing. Crazy to think that in two short weeks, this will be an everyday reality. Woohooooo! Oops, I don't hear you cheering, sir...
All in all, no matter what disposition my mind is facing, my God meets me there and sees me through. Yes, He allowed you to crash into my life, but in the words of Joseph, "You meant evil against me, but God meant it for good" (Genesis 50:20). At the end of the day, His glorious plan will be carried out, and I'm determined to keep the faith along the way... an audacious faith at that.
When I was in college, I realized I was playing it safe when it came to my prayers. A couple unfortunate events happened that were deeply disappointing to me, and I noticed, as a result, I began to pray in this manner: "Um, Lord, this is what I would like... but if it's not in Your will, please help me be okay with that. Eh, deal with me gently please. Amen." Do you see how I was trying to curb each prayer so I wouldn't be discouraged? Do you also see how paralyzing and unfruitful that was, sir? So let me introduce my year marked by 5 Bold Prayers. Enough was enough. I threw open my journal and scribbled down 5 things I really, really, really wanted that seemed impossible... and then simply asked God to take over. Easy enough? Oops, nope. Not exactly... there was this crucial part that James kindly reminded me in chapter 1, verse 6: "But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind." Well, the latter certainly did not sound appealing... so believing it was. And let me tell you, Mr. Hodgkin's, the ways the Lord moved in that year was nothing short of miraculous. He answered a few and changed my heart with the others, and now I can't help but wiggle with excitement when October rolls around. Why? This now marks the time for yet another round of 5 bold prayers to go up.
Things haven't changed. You catch me off guard, yes... but I remember the deeds of my Lord. I remember His saving faithfulness. I remember His incontestable power. And I will still pray fearlessly and live yet another year to see His hand move on my behalf. Boom. You just so little, Mr. Hodgkin's.
Yours Truly,
Heid
There are days when you become too much. On those days, I curl up in the tiniest ball my 5'9" body will allow, pull my volleyball-patterned fleece blanket over my head, and close my eyes tightly as I ask Jesus if, respectfully, just maybe, He has given me too much. These times, as my body begins to shake from the hardest sobs I have ever cried, my mind recites Psalm 57:1 over and over again: "Have mercy on me, my God, have mercy on me, for in You I take refuge. I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings until the disaster has passed." So there, under the protection of my Lord and my blankets, I hide. With unsteady breaths, I wait. And with unrelenting fear, I can't help but wonder.
And then there are days when a righteous anger ignites in me as I am reminded of Ephesians 6:12, "For we are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies, but against evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world, against mighty powers in this dark world, and against evil spirits in the heavenly places." I'm a born and raised conservative, baptist girl, but when these days hit, I'm transformed into this charasmatic, super-warrior who tears down any evil force that dares to approach her vicinity. Who would have thought? Ha, certainly not me. I have to be careful though because on days like this, I feel invincible... and I may or may not carry this valiance behind the wheel.
On the other hand, there are the days where I'm lost in thought. The days when I catch myself staring out the window and chewing over God's plans and His ways. This is when my temperament is mild and my introverted self appeals for a quiet corner in a coffeeshop or a long walk through the neighboring streets where my mind can just race.
Then, my favorite, there are days when this unexplainable joy bubbles in my very being and I can't help but giggle outloud, grin up at the sky, and prance around Target's parking lot before I grab my groceries. These are the days when my heart befriends the Lord's sovereignty and I realize you have nothing on Him or His healing power. These days I dance in the middle of the street in the middle of the night as Bethany Dillon's "All I Need" runs through my headphones (every girl knows what I mean... that song is timeless). What was that? Yes, sir, I have always been "spirited" as you call it. My parents have shared how I was that 3-year-old who was happiest spinning in the corner singing to herself. And I was that girl who was sent to our elementary school's Compass Room (a room where "troubled" kids can receive redirection...please catch the play on words there) because I was laughing too loud. And I was that young lady who was nicknamed the "sparkplug" on my volleyball team because of the contagious energy I'd bring as soon as I walked onto the court. So, yes. You could say this kind of a day marks my natural bent.
Lastly, there are days where I'm oblivious to you in my life. Inconceivable, huh? These days, I continue to live life as any other 24-year-old girl does: working, reading out in the sun in hopes to be any color other than pasty white, grabbing ice cream with friends, and making every attempt to downsize my closet but miserably failing. Crazy to think that in two short weeks, this will be an everyday reality. Woohooooo! Oops, I don't hear you cheering, sir...
All in all, no matter what disposition my mind is facing, my God meets me there and sees me through. Yes, He allowed you to crash into my life, but in the words of Joseph, "You meant evil against me, but God meant it for good" (Genesis 50:20). At the end of the day, His glorious plan will be carried out, and I'm determined to keep the faith along the way... an audacious faith at that.
When I was in college, I realized I was playing it safe when it came to my prayers. A couple unfortunate events happened that were deeply disappointing to me, and I noticed, as a result, I began to pray in this manner: "Um, Lord, this is what I would like... but if it's not in Your will, please help me be okay with that. Eh, deal with me gently please. Amen." Do you see how I was trying to curb each prayer so I wouldn't be discouraged? Do you also see how paralyzing and unfruitful that was, sir? So let me introduce my year marked by 5 Bold Prayers. Enough was enough. I threw open my journal and scribbled down 5 things I really, really, really wanted that seemed impossible... and then simply asked God to take over. Easy enough? Oops, nope. Not exactly... there was this crucial part that James kindly reminded me in chapter 1, verse 6: "But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind." Well, the latter certainly did not sound appealing... so believing it was. And let me tell you, Mr. Hodgkin's, the ways the Lord moved in that year was nothing short of miraculous. He answered a few and changed my heart with the others, and now I can't help but wiggle with excitement when October rolls around. Why? This now marks the time for yet another round of 5 bold prayers to go up.
Things haven't changed. You catch me off guard, yes... but I remember the deeds of my Lord. I remember His saving faithfulness. I remember His incontestable power. And I will still pray fearlessly and live yet another year to see His hand move on my behalf. Boom. You just so little, Mr. Hodgkin's.
Yours Truly,
Heid
Monday, April 30, 2012
Oh, that dang mask.
Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,
How have you been holding up? I'm being serious! It's been a week since radiation started his bouts and I honestly have no idea how you're responding. After all I've been going through though, I can only hope you are nearing your demise. You are very much the annoying thorn in my side, and I'm doing everything in my being not to be thwarted by your bullying. I find it very obnoxious that even though you are purely physical, your influence goes well beyond that as you toy with my heart and mind. Sir, you are a villian; worse than Mystique, Deathstrike, and Callisto (I used to be an avid X-Men fan in high school). You'd like to hear how I'm doing? I don't buy into your concern, but I will share with you nonetheless.
My radiologist called me last Friday to scratch my radiation run-through all together and reschedule my first time for Wednesday, April 25. If you know me, I don't like to prolong the inevitable... especially if it's negative; I always want to just get started, get it over with, and move on. So even putting off my first encounter with radiation for even a couple of days caused me to groan, roll back my eyes, and question the goodness in this world (somedays you just gotta be dramatic, sir). Thankfully, my best friend from the dorms, Laura Stoll, was with me when I got the call and simply responded with a shrug and a, "I guess Jesus just thinks Wednesday is better." Love it; her responses are point blank, true, and cause me to breathe evenly again. Yes, she is certainly right... when my schedule changes, Jesus must be doing something as He "works all things according to the counsel of His will" (Ephesians1:11). Peace He certainly gives, Mr. Hodgkin's.
Wednesday finally came (okay, so maybe I still wasn't as patient as I hoped to be), and as the second-hand on the clock turned to 30 past 6, I strolled into the oncology center with sweaty palms and a crinkled forehead. I tried to mask my apprehension as I signed in even though I was painfully aware of how red my face was (dang redhead problems. Forced transparency, I tell you). After a few minutes, a nurse who I have come to know as Alex came to get me. Pause. I don't know if she knows it, but Alex has this insane gift of making you feel like you've been friends with her since elementary school. When I walked into a room marked off by radioactive warning labels and told her I was scared, Alex reassured me how quickly it would go and how we could stop at anytime if it became too much. When it was time for me to take off my wig and I rubbed the stubble of my strawberry-blonde hair spiking up in all directions, she walked by and said, "I think it's beautiful." When I climbed onto the treatment table and the latches on my mask clicked into place, she touched my shoulder and asked if I was doing okay. When they left the room and the lights dimmed, her voice echoed from the speaker above and she walked me through the process the entire time. In conclusion, I just really like her. Okay, resume.
Since it was my first time, I had no idea what to expect. Well, sir, here is what goes down: Once I'm lined up, the system permits radiation to start his dance to which I am subjected to. The table jiggles a few times before the process begins (don't ask me why) and then x-rays and radiation machines kick into gear as they circle around me and my mold. It makes a bit of noise, so my nurses try to drown it out by turning on the radio. Let me tell you though, it's quite the feat to lay still when 94.5 plays S.O.S. by Rihanna (once a dancer, always a dancer). But first, like I said, your body has to line up correctly... and that takes up the bulk of the time.
So there I was, with a plastic mold pressing down on my face and chest, and machines whirling around my body. With my eyes peering out of the baby holes of my mask, I watched it all happen like an innocent bystander. There are times like this where things seem really out of my control and fear of the unknown can be immobilizing (get it? I couldn't move. Clever, right?). Even though I had the resolve to stay strong, tears still formed and they still fell... except this time I couldn't wipe them away. My hands were stationed by these handles given to me at my sides (which, proven by my white knuckles I later had to stretch out, I surely did clench), but even more so, my mask kept me from touching my skin altogether. So without any other option, my tears flowed freely; all the while I prayed they would dry up before the nurses came back.
With directions coming from Alex throughout the visit, I had to adjust the angle of my cranked neck, press my nose up even harder against the mold, and try to relax my shoulders. Relax? Yeah, that's likely. However, even though that mask was tight against my body, I somehow wasn't lining up as I originally had, and the system refused to begin radiating. The nurses thus changed my position time after time for about an hour, but then they sighed and said, "We will try this one more time..." Like I said before, I hate any delay in something I so badly want to be done, so I prayed, "Lord, PLEASE let this one work." I probably should have prayed this with the first attempt, because then I heard Alex say, "Perfect, Heidi! You lined up exactly, so we will start very soon." Within minutes, the machines again did their masquerade around my body, and before I knew it, Alex came back into the room and said, "You're done!" They seriously weren't joking when they said the actual radiation part only takes moments.
So this is what I'll encounter each day, Monday through Friday, until (fingers-crossed) May 22nd. A little more than 3 weeks away... you have no idea how sweet the end looks. Until then, I am still set on living as normal of a life as I can. I will still drink tons of coffee and explore new consignment shops. I will still teach my EBC Kid-Os more about living for Jesus and love on my volunteers with all of my heart. I will still be the queen of sleepovers and stay up late watching Gilmore Girls. I will still practice my golf swing (my newly-discovered summer love) and my dad and brother will be equally surprised and proud once I give them a run for their money by the end of the summer. And I will still dream of what the future could possibly hold for me and continue to pray daily for that future husband of mine (who is taking FOREVER to get here). You see, you haven't changed me, Mr. Hodgkin's. Maybe you have temporarily changed my sleeping habits and deepened my understanding of sickness in this world... but you can't touch my spirit and you can't snatch me from my God's hand. My God didn't send me into this world to merely survive it, but to live in victory and joy by the power of His Spirit. Hear me now; I've got my eyes set on Him for the rest of my days, and you, although evil, are being used for His glory. You don't think so? Well, let's just wait and see then, my friend.
Yours Truly,
Heid
How have you been holding up? I'm being serious! It's been a week since radiation started his bouts and I honestly have no idea how you're responding. After all I've been going through though, I can only hope you are nearing your demise. You are very much the annoying thorn in my side, and I'm doing everything in my being not to be thwarted by your bullying. I find it very obnoxious that even though you are purely physical, your influence goes well beyond that as you toy with my heart and mind. Sir, you are a villian; worse than Mystique, Deathstrike, and Callisto (I used to be an avid X-Men fan in high school). You'd like to hear how I'm doing? I don't buy into your concern, but I will share with you nonetheless.
My radiologist called me last Friday to scratch my radiation run-through all together and reschedule my first time for Wednesday, April 25. If you know me, I don't like to prolong the inevitable... especially if it's negative; I always want to just get started, get it over with, and move on. So even putting off my first encounter with radiation for even a couple of days caused me to groan, roll back my eyes, and question the goodness in this world (somedays you just gotta be dramatic, sir). Thankfully, my best friend from the dorms, Laura Stoll, was with me when I got the call and simply responded with a shrug and a, "I guess Jesus just thinks Wednesday is better." Love it; her responses are point blank, true, and cause me to breathe evenly again. Yes, she is certainly right... when my schedule changes, Jesus must be doing something as He "works all things according to the counsel of His will" (Ephesians1:11). Peace He certainly gives, Mr. Hodgkin's.
Wednesday finally came (okay, so maybe I still wasn't as patient as I hoped to be), and as the second-hand on the clock turned to 30 past 6, I strolled into the oncology center with sweaty palms and a crinkled forehead. I tried to mask my apprehension as I signed in even though I was painfully aware of how red my face was (dang redhead problems. Forced transparency, I tell you). After a few minutes, a nurse who I have come to know as Alex came to get me. Pause. I don't know if she knows it, but Alex has this insane gift of making you feel like you've been friends with her since elementary school. When I walked into a room marked off by radioactive warning labels and told her I was scared, Alex reassured me how quickly it would go and how we could stop at anytime if it became too much. When it was time for me to take off my wig and I rubbed the stubble of my strawberry-blonde hair spiking up in all directions, she walked by and said, "I think it's beautiful." When I climbed onto the treatment table and the latches on my mask clicked into place, she touched my shoulder and asked if I was doing okay. When they left the room and the lights dimmed, her voice echoed from the speaker above and she walked me through the process the entire time. In conclusion, I just really like her. Okay, resume.
Since it was my first time, I had no idea what to expect. Well, sir, here is what goes down: Once I'm lined up, the system permits radiation to start his dance to which I am subjected to. The table jiggles a few times before the process begins (don't ask me why) and then x-rays and radiation machines kick into gear as they circle around me and my mold. It makes a bit of noise, so my nurses try to drown it out by turning on the radio. Let me tell you though, it's quite the feat to lay still when 94.5 plays S.O.S. by Rihanna (once a dancer, always a dancer). But first, like I said, your body has to line up correctly... and that takes up the bulk of the time.
So there I was, with a plastic mold pressing down on my face and chest, and machines whirling around my body. With my eyes peering out of the baby holes of my mask, I watched it all happen like an innocent bystander. There are times like this where things seem really out of my control and fear of the unknown can be immobilizing (get it? I couldn't move. Clever, right?). Even though I had the resolve to stay strong, tears still formed and they still fell... except this time I couldn't wipe them away. My hands were stationed by these handles given to me at my sides (which, proven by my white knuckles I later had to stretch out, I surely did clench), but even more so, my mask kept me from touching my skin altogether. So without any other option, my tears flowed freely; all the while I prayed they would dry up before the nurses came back.
With directions coming from Alex throughout the visit, I had to adjust the angle of my cranked neck, press my nose up even harder against the mold, and try to relax my shoulders. Relax? Yeah, that's likely. However, even though that mask was tight against my body, I somehow wasn't lining up as I originally had, and the system refused to begin radiating. The nurses thus changed my position time after time for about an hour, but then they sighed and said, "We will try this one more time..." Like I said before, I hate any delay in something I so badly want to be done, so I prayed, "Lord, PLEASE let this one work." I probably should have prayed this with the first attempt, because then I heard Alex say, "Perfect, Heidi! You lined up exactly, so we will start very soon." Within minutes, the machines again did their masquerade around my body, and before I knew it, Alex came back into the room and said, "You're done!" They seriously weren't joking when they said the actual radiation part only takes moments.
So this is what I'll encounter each day, Monday through Friday, until (fingers-crossed) May 22nd. A little more than 3 weeks away... you have no idea how sweet the end looks. Until then, I am still set on living as normal of a life as I can. I will still drink tons of coffee and explore new consignment shops. I will still teach my EBC Kid-Os more about living for Jesus and love on my volunteers with all of my heart. I will still be the queen of sleepovers and stay up late watching Gilmore Girls. I will still practice my golf swing (my newly-discovered summer love) and my dad and brother will be equally surprised and proud once I give them a run for their money by the end of the summer. And I will still dream of what the future could possibly hold for me and continue to pray daily for that future husband of mine (who is taking FOREVER to get here). You see, you haven't changed me, Mr. Hodgkin's. Maybe you have temporarily changed my sleeping habits and deepened my understanding of sickness in this world... but you can't touch my spirit and you can't snatch me from my God's hand. My God didn't send me into this world to merely survive it, but to live in victory and joy by the power of His Spirit. Hear me now; I've got my eyes set on Him for the rest of my days, and you, although evil, are being used for His glory. You don't think so? Well, let's just wait and see then, my friend.
Yours Truly,
Heid
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