Journal of a Living Lady #65

Nancy White Kelly

 

The Taxol is out of my system now and my hair is growing back ever so slowly. Taxol is a popular chemotherapy, but is toxic and can cause serious side-effects. In my case I could hardly walk for several weeks due to lingering neuropathy. Though Taxol seems to have helped control the cancer, my oncologist agreed it should now be discontinued. In the meanwhile I will continue to take Aredia and Arimidex while she ponders the next step.

 

The good news is that multiple spots in my lungs have reduced in size and the cancer in my bones isn’t showing on the scans as prominently. Most of the time the pain is under control. My oxygen dependency has lessened. Except for a large unchanged malignant lymph node in the center of my chest, I have improved. While I wish I were in remission, at least I am stable. For somebody with cancer, stable is a good word, especially in light of the fact I am considered terminal.

 

I hate that word, “terminal.” It seems that I have spent the majority of my life dying. Even in 1964, after a bout with histoplasmosis that cost me my spleen, the doctors gave dire warning to my parents to “hope for the best, but expect the worst.” Phooey on nay-sayers. Ironically, that surgeon and both of my parents are dead now. But, me, I’m still beating the odds.

 

When you think about it, we all are terminal. Some of us are more terminal than others, but only God knows our expiration dates. He has a purpose and plan for each of us that nobody else can fulfill. We set the sail and God provides the wind.

 

In a late night chat this week with our son, Charlie, I asked how he truly felt about my illness. His honest reply was that he had mixed feelings. He said that he was, of course, very sad, but not so sad he couldn’t see the good that has come of it.

 

His answer satisfied me and also reminded me of a narration written by Anonymous. If somebody ever figures out who “Anonymous” is, please let me know. I’d like to give proper credit for the following story shared by a friend.

 

When I was a little boy, my mother used to embroider a great deal. I would sit at her knee and look up from the floor and ask what she was doing. She told me she was embroidering. I told her that it looked like a mess from where I was.

 

 She would smile at me and gently say, "My son, you go about your playing for a while, and when I am finished with my embroidering, I will put you on my knee and let you see it from my side."

 

Several minutes would pass and then I would hear her voice say, "Son, come and sit on my knee." I was surprised and thrilled to see a beautiful flower or a sunset. I could not believe it, because from underneath, it looked so messy.

 

Then mother would say to me, "My son, from underneath, it did look messy and jumbled, but you did not realize that there was a pre-drawn plan on the top. It was a design. I was only following it."

 

 Many times through the years I have looked up to my Heavenly Father and said, "Father, what are You doing?"

 

He has answered, "I am embroidering your life."

 

 I’d say, "But it looks like a mess to me. It seems so jumbled. The threads seem so dark. Why can't they all be bright?"

 

The Father’s response was, "My child, you go about your business of doing my business and one day I will bring you to heaven. Then you will see the plan from my side and understand.”

 

nancyk@alltel.net         www.angelfire.com/bc/nancykelly