Lavender Hair E-Book

Victoria Jackson

• Herausgeber: BroadStreet Publishing Group, LLC
• Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Seitenzahl: 279

Beschreibung

A happy heart is good medicine On October 8, 2015, Victoria Jackson was getting ready for a 45-minute stand-up routine. But instead of enjoying the pre-show excitement, she was laying on the couch in the green room coughing nonstop. Victoria had many scary moments growing up: doing a back handspring on the four-inch balance beam; performing stand-up comedy; auditioning for Saturday Night Live; and getting held at gunpoint in downtown Los Angeles. But being told she had cancer was her scariest moment. Join Victoria for twenty-one days as she: - wonders "why me?" and if her lollipop addiction caused the cancer - writes a ukulele song in the MRI waiting room - undergoes a double mastectomy with secret messages written in permanent marker to her doctor - goes through chemotherapy, radiation, baldness, wigs, wigs, and more wigs - discovers that Jesus is enough - performs at Zanie's to a standing ovation nearly one year after her diagnosisIf you are one of the one-in-eight women who have been diagnosed with breast cancer, or if you know someone who has been, this 21-day devotional is full of humor, insight, and comfort as you walk with God through this dark valley.

Leseprobe

BroadStreet Publishing® Group, LLC

Racine, Wisconsin, USA

BroadStreetPublishing.com

Lavender Hair: 21 Devotions for Women with Breast Cancer

Copyright © 2017 Victoria Jackson

ISBN-13: 978-1-4245-5562-8 (softcover)

ISBN-13: 978-1-4245-5563-5 (e-book)

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher.

The information in this book is designed to provide encouraging and entertaining information on the subjects discussed. This book is not meant to be used, nor should it be used, to diagnose or treat any medical condition. The publisher and author are not responsible for actions taken by any person reading or following the information in this book. Please consult a professional for any medical condition you may have. References are provided for informational purposes only and do not constitute endorsement by the author or publisher. The names of some people mentioned in this book have been changed to protect their privacy.

Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV® Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide. Scriptures marked ISV are taken from the International Standard Version (ISV), copyright© 1996-2008 by the ISV Foundation. All rights reserved internationally. Scripture quotations marked NKJV are taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked NLT are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2007 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188, USA. All rights reserved Scripture quotations marked ESV are taken from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version. Copyright © 2000; 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a division of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked NASB are taken from the New American Standard Bible, © Copyright 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. Scripture marked KJV is taken from the King James Version of the Bible. Scripture quotations marked CEB are taken from the Common English Bible, Copyright © 2011 by Common English Bible.

Stock or custom editions of BroadStreet Publishing titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, ministry, fundraising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].

Cover design by Chris Garborg at garborgdesign.com

Cover photo by Brandon Wood at indiebling.com

Typesetting by Katherine Lloyd at theDESKonline.com

Printed in the United States of America

17 18 19 20 21 5 4 3 2 1

CONTENTS

WHO, ME?

1

COUGHIRG AT ZANIES

2

RED FLAG: UH OH

3

WAITING ROOM: I’M JUST A STATISTIC

4

DIAGNOSIS WITH A SOUTHERN DRAWL

5

MAUREEN AND JULIA

6

WHAT DID I DO WRONG? WHY IS GOD PUNISHING ME?

7

DOUBLE MASTECTOMY: FLAT CHESTED AGAIN! YIPPEE!

8

SURGERY AND THE GOOEY RECOVERY

9

START CHEMO: POISON, DO YOUR THING

10

JESUS IS ENOUGH: IN MY BEDROOM ALONE A LOT

11

DAD DIED

12

FIVE MONTHS OF POISON AND BALDNESS

13

HANDMADE PURPLE SCARF

14

I HATE BEING BALD

15

HOT PINK WIGS

16

A SERIOUS ROLE

17

MOVIE IN INDIANA

18

LAVENDER HAIR

19

RADIANON: BARBIE AND KEN AND A BIG MACHINE

20

ATHEISTS

21

ZANIES: ALMOST ONE YEAR LATER

FINISH WELL

AUTHOR’S NOTE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

NOTES

WHO, ME?

“For with God nothing shall be impossible.”

LUKE 1:37

Who me? I can’t write a “devotional.” I’m too bitter and jaded and sarcastic … and skeptical.

But, every time a bitter, jaded, sarcastic, or skeptical thought comes into my head, a Bible verse flies in and kicks it out. Shoo!

Is that what a “devotional” is? A personal story where the Word of God saves the day?

Yes?

Well, I can do that!

God’s Word has been the light of my path my whole life. Sometimes, at the fork in the road, I’ve taken the wrong path, but His hand has guided me back to Him and to the narrow way.

Sometimes when I’ve taken a stand for Christ, I’ve lost career opportunities and friends. And my thoughts become, Maybe they’re right. I am nuts! I believe in a fairy tale! God is invisible! But then, I stumble upon the blue robin’s eggs in a nest in the evergreen tree in my backyard and I realize I am in awe of this Great Designer. I watch my grandchildren laugh and play and I think about their mother’s little heartbeat that started in my stomach. I watch the archaeologists in the Middle East uncovering Sodom and Gomorrah. I hear scientists trying to explain DNA. I study the Bible and am amazed at the new things I’m discovering after all these years. “I know whom I have believed” (2 Timothy 1:12), and I know He will finish the good work He started in me (Philippians 1:6).

Then, I doubt again the next day.

I mean, the wooden sign that sits under my TV in my bedroom, the sign I look at every night says, “I believe. Help my unbelief.” Mark 9:24.

Boom! A Bible verse kicked the doubt right out of my head, again.

So, I guess I can write a devotional. I have felt the presence of God.

Ever since I was six years old and realized that the preacher at Carol City Baptist Church wasn’t just talking to the congregation— God was talking to me personally, and “God so loved the world” (John 3:16) meant “God loved Vicki”—I have gone to the Word of God for the answers to all my questions. “As for God, his way is perfect: The Lord’s Word is flawless; He shields all who take refuge in Him” (Psalm 18:30).

When I got cancer last year, my Bible training came in very handy. I needed it. And, I had to live the Word, not just read it, memorize it, or talk about it.

This is my testimony. I pray that “the God of hope [will] fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit” (Romans 15:13).

Double mastectomy day, Nov. 17, 2015.

1

COUGHING AT ZANIES

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

PHILIPPIANS 4:13 ESV

I can’t stop coughing. I’m lying on the couch in the green room at Zanie’s Comedy Club in Nashville. It’s October 8, 2015. In just a few moments, I have to perform a forty-five-minute comedy routine in front of a live audience. But I can barely say one sentence without coughing! I’m drinking tea with lemon and honey, sucking on cough drops, and praying, then repeating the cycle. I’m trying out some new jokes:

For some reason, a lot of people think I’m political! What happened is, I went to the town hall to renew my tags, and I got in the wrong line. They wanted twenty-five signatures. I said, “To drive?” Then, they asked me which political party I was in. I don’t know why they call it a party. Everyone is fighting all the time. I picked Tea Party, because it sounded the most fun. They said, “Who are you voting for?” I said, “Earl Grey.” I thought it was about the tea!

Stand-up comedy is the scariest thing I’ve ever done. No, auditioning for Saturday Night Live (SNL) was. No, doing a back handspring on the four-inch-wide balance beam when I was twelve years old. No, getting held up by a robber with a gun in a parking lot in downtown Los Angeles in 1980. No, being told I had cancer. No … uh, marriage is the hardest!

You know, when you get cancer, it doesn’t make all of your other ongoing problems go away. It just shuffles around your “trials and tribulations” list, and cancer jumps up on top.

And cancer can make your current list of challenges harder or easier. Some problems fade under the magnitude of the word fatal. Other problems are exacerbated. My oncologist said weak marriages don’t survive breast cancer. Of my four married cancer friends, two of the four marriages did not survive. My marriage is a daily spiritual battle. We pray through each day. So far, we are still married. Twenty-five years. One day at a time.

Just keepin’ it real.

I’m staring at a picture of Bob Dylan on the green room wall. The “green room” is where entertainers wait before they go onstage. Green is considered the calming color. This green room is beige. Someone pops their head in and says, “Five minutes.”

Cough, cough. “Thank you,” I say. Cough, cough.

I wonder if Bob Dylan ever went onstage with a cough.

The enemy has tried everything to take me down, so cancer doesn’t surprise me. He tried temptation, ambition, addiction, discouragement, betrayal, divorce, peer pressure, loneliness, and even success—anything to take my eyes off of Jesus. Ephesians 6:12 says, “For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places” (ESV).

My dad was a PE teacher and a gymnastics coach and he taught me to be brave at a very young age. Our backyard was full of little girls doing flips on our trampoline, bars, and beam—the gym in our backyard. I cracked my vertebrae once, knocked my breath out falling off the high bar, broke a finger, and had knee pain caused by Osgood-Schlatter disease.

I never questioned doing dangerous “tricks.” It was the family business. My dad would spot me. I trusted him. I competed in meets. My palms were sweaty. My stomach full of butterflies. Dad always said, “It doesn’t matter if you win or lose, it’s whether you do your best. If you do your best, you’re a winner.”

So, Dad taught me to be brave mentally and physically. But, also spiritually. I was taught to witness to people, to tell the lost about Jesus. At Dade Christian School I was graded on my perfect memorization of Bible verses, the King James version, with all the beautiful thees and thous; so for the rest of my life, these Bible verses pop into my head, and always at the perfect moment. Especially, when I’m scared.

In my childhood red leather Bible are scribbled notes and dates of the worries I was giving to God. The worries changed as I grew older. It’s fun to go back and look at them and see how God answered my prayers. He gave me victory every time. And, He always will.

Going onstage is stressful. With a cough, it’s even more stressful. People paid money, they got babysitters, and they’re all sitting there waiting. The show must go on. There’s a rhythm to a “set.” I’ll try not to cough on the punch lines.

I hear my name announced, and I walk into the spotlight. Cough, cough.

The enemy, who comes to steal, to kill, and to destroy (John 10:10), keeps trying to take me out one way or another, because he knows I love Jesus.

But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. (1 Corinthians 15:57)

TIP: Play the song “Victor’s Crown” by Darlene Zschech on a loop and sing loudly while wearing a knight-in-armor costume and looking in the mirror. Prepare for battle.

2

RED FLAG: UH OH

“Be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed forthe Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.”

JOSHUA 1:9 KJV

Coughing in my car on the way home from Zanies, I thought about Jim McCawley, the talent scout for The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson who “discovered” me at the Variety Arts Center in 1983 where I was doing stand-up. He gave me my big break. He preinter-viewed me twenty times before my twenty appearances on the show. In 1992, while having me guest star on the short-lived Vicki! show with Vicki Lawrence, he showed me a big scar down his chest and, with a quizzical smile and wide eyes, told me he had just had a grapefruit-sized tumor removed from his lungs. Cancer. He wasn’t a smoker but had spent years of long nights in smoky comedy clubs discovering talent for Johnny Carson. Jim McCawley died of lung cancer at age fifty-four.

I had spent many nights in those same comedy clubs working on my set and breathing second-hand smoke.

Uh oh.

Physical and emotional pain are knit together. The constant coughing and my thoughts of Jim were giving way to fear. “Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee” (Isaiah 26:3 KJV) was the verse that popped into my mind and kicked out those thoughts of fear that boiled and bubbled there.

During my set at Zanies, Husband (that’s what I’ll call him) had refused to play the piano for me. He doesn’t support my show biz passions. It’s a constant frustration to me. I love the stage. He hates it.

Whenever my marriage gets too difficult, I make up jokes about it. Husband helps me write the jokes. One of the best remedies for our disagreements, since we are opposites in every way, is laughter.

At Zanies that night I had tried out a few new ones:

Husband isn’t good onstage. He only has one facial expression. Cop face. He’s a cop. Good for arresting people. And, he’s Chickasaw. Totem Pole. The house is on fire! Deadpan. We won the lottery! Same face. Good for a cop, not for show business. I told Husband that. He said, “I don’t want to be in show business!” We’ve been working on Husband’s expressions. He has five now: (1) his default face (scary, deadpan), (2) toothy smile, (3) tiny smile, (4) surprise, and (5) Blue Steel from the Ben Stiller movie Zoolander.

We’ve had seven marriage therapists. They all committed suicide. Actually, one exploded, so it’s only six suicides. I’m starting to feel like a serial killer.

Husband can’t leave his police personality at work. Sometimes in bed he puts his arm around me and says, “Do you have any idea why I pulled you over?” Once, I overslept, and he drew a chalk outline around me.

When I’m having husband problems and feeling alone, I remember Isaiah 54:5–6 (NASB):

For your husband is your Maker,

Whose name is the LORD of hosts;

And your Redeemer is the Holy One of Israel,

Who is called the God of all the earth.

For the Lord has called you,

Like a wife forsaken and grieved in spirit,

Even like a wife of one’s youth when she is rejected.

See, God knows what I’m feeling. And, He loves me.

God is my God, not Husband. God will be my support when all others have failed me. I am to respect and honor Husband, but worship God. I am learning to care about God’s opinion of me more than Husband’s opinion. Usually, if I’m pleasing God, I am simultaneously pleasing Husband, but not always. In “This Journey Is My Own” Sara Groves sings about living and breathing as if God alone were in the audience. During marital gridlock, I’ve learned to first get my priorities straight with God, and then I can carry on with the daily wifely requirements of selflessness and forgiveness toward Husband.

I somehow made it through the Zanies hour of talking.

The next day at the gym, I was still coughing and the other people on the elliptical machines kept moving away from me. Sigh. Better do something. I never went to the doctor for checkups. I don’t have a primary doctor. I don’t trust them—they make too many mistakes. They are “practicing” medicine. But, three days earlier, I had felt a little numb spot near my left underarm area. That was weird. I even mentioned it to Husband.

I guess the strange numb spot added to the cough compelled me to the nearest walk-in clinic. I was sweaty from the gym, which I know is rude, but I thought I would chicken out if I didn’t go see a doctor right then. It was midday in a work week. I figured everyone would be at work, so hardly anyone to notice my sweaty self.

I knew if I went home to shower first I might get distracted with:

•YouTube surfing. I want to learn more about everything, so I spend hours researching such topics as the Illuminati, singers, atheists, art, Édith Piaf, eschatology, Paris, castles, the Dead Sea Scrolls, celebrity gossip, CERN, and the mysterious Bob Dylan.

•Garage shifting. I shift my junk from one side of the garage to the other side and think I’ve organized it.

•Housekeeping. I start to clean out a drawer, get distracted by FOX News, get my curiosity sparked, and start to research why world leaders have recently visited the Antarctica, which leads me to realize I’ve forgotten my password again. This starts the …

•Password reset phase. Hours can be consumed in this phase. I write my new passwords down, lose the paper, punch them into my cell phone, drop my cell into the toilet, and repeat the cycle.

Five years before, around menopause, my breasts had suddenly started growing, and the left one had developed a weird dent in it. I figured it was just misshapen fat or a slipped implant. I got busy and forgot about it. It couldn’t be cancer. I wasn’t sick. I didn’t need a doctor to tell me that cancer didn’t run in our family and there was no lump, just a dent.

But now was different. I think there was a small inner voice telling me something serious was wrong inside my body. I didn’t know what. I just knew now was the time to do something. And I knew God would be with me no matter the outcome.

Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all comprehension, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 4:6–7 NASB)

TIP: Get regular doctor checkups. Bonus points for taking a shower before you go. And, don’t go to the gym if you’re coughing on everybody. My bad. My bad. My bad.

3

WAITING ROOM: I’M JUST A STATISTIC

Why are you cast down, O my soul?And why are you disquieted within me?Hope in God;For I shall yet praise Him,The help of my countenance and my God.

PSALM 43:5 KJV

I am whisked into the inner sanctum of the walk-in clinic, and I apologize about my gym clothes. I tell the male nurse about my cough. He starts scribbling something, and then I casually mention, “I have this numb spot near my underarm. I don’t know if it’s related. Maybe it’s my twenty-five-year-old silicone breast implant leaking or a lymph gland fighting this cough? Might as well ask since I’m here.”

The male nurse touches the spot and says, “You have to go to the breast clinic immediately.”

“You feel a lump? I don’t feel a lump.”

He looks serious, hands me a paper, and says, “This is where my wife goes.”

Goes?

I’m sitting in the lobby at the Vanderbilt Breast Clinic waiting to be examined for a second time. Didn’t look good the first time. I glance around. There are two old men waiting for their wives and many husband-less middle-aged women who look just like me. Lumpy. A bit worn out. Serious-faced. This isn’t an Auburn University theatre major party. Hmph. I have tried very hard to be healthy (gymnastics and salad), to be special, have a fun life, or a bedazzled one. But, I’m just a statistic. I’m a big old fat cliché.

I try to be nonchalant. But death is looming. I can feel it.

God will know how to shake off this icky feeling. I ask God to speak to me as I shuffle through my Bible. This verse pops out: “Hope in God” (Psalm 43:5). It spins into a ukulele ditty. And, my heart feels happy.

My name is called, and I bounce into the private inner lobby. I’m told to undress and put on a beige robe that is identical to the other fifteen middle-aged women who are flipping through magazines, awaiting their MRI, pretending not to be there. They are not looking at their magazines or to the left or the right. They are in their own internal, personal cells. The intense focus of staving off fear permeates the room. No one makes eye contact, speaks, or acknowledges each other.

I do not like this moment. It is so icky that it’s almost funny. It looks like the set of an SNL comedy sketch. I expect something funny to happen, because the setup is so serious. I feel fear too, but strangely, I also feel happy inside. Hope in God. I am on an adventure with God. I don’t know what this journey will look like, but I know the end is swell. I’ll be with Him. And, He owns the universe. I’m writing a song about Him in my head. I love when that happens.

“For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21 ESV) pops into my mind. I have heard, read, written, memorized, spoken, and sung that verse all my life. Now, I am living it.

I think of the apostle Paul in prison awaiting his martyrdom and other Christians who face death for the cause of Christ. I am not doing that. I am just facing death because of bad luck, bad lifestyle choices, or genetics. Nothing to brag about. But the same kind of impending doom.

Every time fear creeps into my mind, that verse, Philippians 1:21, flies in and kicks it out! Shoo!

My name is called, and I’m told to lie down and open my robe.

The MRI nurse looks very serious when I look at the black spiderlike blob on the screen and say, “Is that what cancer looks like?”

She cautiously replies, “It can.”

I do not want this. This is not good. Unpleasant. Gloomy. Bad. Darkness is pressing down on me.

I try to think of hope. Only thing I can come up with is—Jesus. Will I trust Him even if I have cancer? Even if He doesn’t heal me?

My friend Lisa once said to me, “Trusting God, really trusting God, believing that He means the best for you and that He has your back, when you’re holding the hand of your twenty-year-old sister who is dying of breast cancer, that’s trusting God.”

Putting my clothes back on, I think about how funny it is that the Vanderbilt Breast Clinic is located inside a mall and next to a movie theater, like it’s just another fun stop in the day of a blessed American—pedicure, movie, new dress, ice cream cone, cancer treatment, Manolo Blahnik shoes …

On the way to my car, I see a wonderful leopard bath robe in the window of TJ Maxx. I am a patient now. I have to have it!

I am still hopeful that it’s just a small thing that can easily be cut out and forgotten. But a dark cloud is forming over me.

I will soon find out I have stage 3C breast cancer that has been growing inside me for five to ten years and that got aggressive when it moved to my lymph nodes. All twenty-six nodes were removed from my left side when they found nine of them had cancer. This leaves me with a 40 percent chance of getting lymphedema (painful swelling) for life in the left arm.

Sara Groves sings about death in her song “What Do I Know.” She says she doesn’t know much about heaven, but she knows that to absent from the body is to be present with the Lord (2 Corinthians 5:8). And from what she knows of Him, it must be very good!

TIP: Early detection is the best cure. One out of eight women get breast cancer. I had seven friends who didn’t have breast cancer. Uh oh. And, most breast cancer patients have no genetic link.

4

DIAGNOSIS WITH A SOUTHERN DRAWL

And we know that all things work togetherfor good to them that love God, to them whoare the called according to his purpose.

ROMANS 8:28 KJV

In the movies, people find out they have cancer at a big desk, sitting near a loved one, across from a doctor who looks very serious. Then they start to cry. The way I found out I had cancer was a swirly, gradual, round-about kind of way, in stages.

Like how hors d’oeuvres whet your appetite and slowly start up your tummy, getting it ready for a nice big serious meal. Cancer was partially announced to me on the phone by a slow-drawling Southern belle named Tracey, who used big words and made it sound so sweet and delicious that when I hung up, I was as happy as if I’d just won a free pecan pie at the county fair.

“Your biopsy results show a slow-growing, most common ductal [something, something] malignant …”

That’s the bad thing, right?

“No proof that it’s traveled, so it probably won’t need chemo, but might …”

Sounded okay. I’m an optimist.

Everyone over forty has that deep fear in the back of their head—cancer. Every time you sip a Diet Coke with all those chemicals in it, the chemicals you can use to clean ship decks—cancer. Every time you eat a GMO (genetically modified organism), or chicken from a fast food drive-through, knowing the chicken was kept in a dark little jail and fed hormones to fatten him up—cancer. Every time you read articles that say alcohol or luncheon meats or sugar causes cancer, you wince and cross your fingers behind your back as you sneak a puff from someone’s Marlboro Ultra Light or lick that Orange Cream See’s Lollypop—cancer. Then you find out your one healthy habit, unsalted sunflower seeds, contain phytoestrogen and estrogen feeds breast cancer.

So you throw your hands up and just quit trying to not “catch” cancer.

Before age forty, you’re indestructible.

“We won’t really know if the cancer has spread to your lymph nodes until we open you up,” says Tracy the Southern Belle.

Open me up? They are going to cut me open. I had been wanting to lose those implants for years but not exactly like this.

The surgery to remove the spiderlike clump was scheduled for as soon as possible. Of course, we had to go through health insurance red tape. I found myself on the phone with a stranger, telling her that cancer was eating me alive, and if she would please just push the paperwork through a little faster, I would really appreciate it and might not literally die. This year.

“There are a lot of people ahead of you in line with the same problems, honey.” Gum smack. Gum smack.

I was hoping my life was more meaningful than that. Standing in a line.

I knew God must have an important reason for me getting this dire diagnosis. My first thought was: God must want me to witness to someone in this medical maze. So, I ordered some leather devotionals, Daily Light by Anne Graham Lotz, and gave them to some of the staff at the Vanderbilt Breast Clinic. I had their names engraved on the cover. I know God will use my situation for His glory and for my benefit.

At church, when Balcony Mike (the balcony usher) found out I had cancer, he forced me to meet the worship leader, Debi Selby, because she had just gone through breast cancer. Mike literally pushed me into her, because I was too shy.

I had watched her singing onstage every Sunday, going bald, wearing head scarves, being prayed over, and being healed. I had prayed for her healing, not knowing I was next. Debi hugged me tight and instantly became my cheerleader. She ended up walking through it with me, sending me encouraging texts with Scripture, and giving me her scarves. She even bought me a leopard one. Don’t you know all women over fifty love animal prints!

“Chemo? Pfft!” she said. “Watch old movies, eat ice cream in bed, spoil yourself.” She even brought me homemade split pea soup.

Other friends sent flowers, cards, Bible verses, a patchwork quilt, knitted shawls, and hats. Every gesture of love touched me deeply and stays with me now. Never one to accept help or pity, it was uncomfortable, but I took all the gifts, prayers, and love and was grateful.

At Vanderbilt, a beautiful name for a hospital—sounds like a castle—I am knocked out, so they can put a port in my chest. A box with a pin cushion to receive needles and a tube. This is to keep the veins in my arms from collapsing from overpokage. It is a nuisance, because that is the spot where my granddaughter Dewy lays her head.

A tube comes out of the port and is sewn into an artery in my neck. You can’t make this stuff up. I see the little tube under my skin. I’m afraid it will come undone, and blood will squirt everywhere inside me, and I’ll drop dead in public somewhere. But, this doesn’t happen. It just sits there for a few months, before they surgically remove it.

I feel like a science experiment. I marvel at the advances medicine has made and at the efficiency of the medical staff. They are also kind and professional. They act like they have done this before. I guess I’m not the only person going through this.

I’ve been trying to have a good attitude about my sudden cancer diagnosis, but, it can be a drag. Friends are finding out and are shocked but not as shocked as me. I feel great physically. I don’t have pain or symptoms. Sometimes I wonder if the doctors just made up the whole thing, like a big trick. A conspiracy! How can I have a disease if I feel great? Right?

I think of Tom Hanks’ wife, Rita, who was just diagnosed with breast cancer, had surgery, and returned to Broadway, and Olivia Newton John, a twenty-five-year breast cancer survivor. Joan Lunden and Shannon Dougherty were on the cover of People, bald. Hey! Why aren’t I on the cover of People? I’m bald!

It tests your faith in God.

Husband and I discuss the near future. They are going to cut my breasts off. To be honest, they weren’t that great. I don’t think either one of us will miss them! Well, yeah, we will.

Do we plan a funeral now? Do we fly to Paris? Check items off my bucket list? We’ve never had this experience before. It’s a strange new land. Am I ugly? Is Husband leaving me?

We cannot carry this load. It’s too heavy. We pray. We are apprehensive but also have an overwhelming supernatural peace that can only be from Christ.

I look at Husband. Eye to eye. Soul to soul.

Husband says, “One day at a time.”

Jesus says, “Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” (Matthew 6:34)

TIP: Bring your Bible everywhere. Better yet, put it into your head. Memorize it. It has a happy ending.

5

MAUREEN AND JULIA

“Blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD,and whose hope is the LORD. For he shall be like a treeplanted by the waters, which spreads out its roots by the river,and will not fear when heat comes; but its leaf will be green,and will not be anxious in the year of drought,nor will cease from yielding fruit.”

JEREMIAH 17:7–8 NKJV

It’s interesting to watch people’s reaction to my diagnosis. One lady responded, “Does it run in your family?”

“No!”

“Oh no!” she said. “I could get it too!”

Twenty years ago, when I found out that Maureen was dying of cancer, my first thought was, Oh no! I love her! My second thought was, Oh no! I could get it! Is God warning me? Is this a foreshadowing of my demise? Maureen was a fellow gymnast who died at age thirty-six from breast cancer.

I don’t know if she drank or smoked. My parents always told me not to drink or smoke. Drinking and smoking—they go together—always made me feel guilty because (1) I am a Christian, and they are considered worldly habits that carnal, immoral people do, and (2) they can cause cancer and our bodies are the temple of God and should be treated that way.

The Crazy, Sexy Cancer