About eight weeks after my surgery I knew I needed to make a new friend. My family and close girlfriends were there for me to talk with.  My husband was my confidante and biggest supporter. But something was missing.  I didn’t feel comfortable in my own skin anymore.  My thoughts were anxious, my emotions were messy, and my words sometimes resembled short, clipped staccato notes.

It was important to me to find a Christian counselor.  I went to the website of a Christian counseling practice that our church often recommends to people.  I scrolled through the pictures and bios of possible counselors.

Counselors for mood disorders, borderline personality issues, addiction, abuse, marriage problems, depression, life coaching.  Hmmmm… I couldn’t seem to find me anywhere.  None of the bios read:  A specialization in bilateral mastectomy recovery and reconciliation with God.  Go figure!  🙂   Then, I found her- my new friend.  She specialized in women’s issues (I definitely had an issue) and before pursuing her counseling degree, she worked in the medical field.  Perfect… she would be empathetic with her counseling nature and completely objective with her medical background.

And just because I try to never leave anything to chance, I left a voicemail and an e-mail message for good measure.  My new friend returned my call just a few days later.  We set up our first time to “hang out together.”

As I sat in the waiting room that first time, I felt calm.  “I probably don’t even need to be doing this ,” I thought to myself.  I was a few minutes early yet I stewed about the waiting.  I did write down the correct date, right?  I mean- I missed the lump in my breast- maybe I wrote down the appointment date incorrectly too.

Then… my new friend breezed into the waiting room and smiled at me.  We went to her office which was decorated beautifully.  Focus Pam, focus.  She looked at me and asked the most innocuous four words known to man:  “How are you today?”  My lips parted to give the obligatory “Fine,” but my eyes began leaking water everywhere. I looked into her eyes and just cried, and cried, and cried some more.

It struck me later that she never offered me the Kleenex box on the table next to her.  It was odd too that I never reached for it.  Looking back, I think we both knew that to offer me a tissue would have been a plea for me to stop crying.  And I needed to simply immerse myself in my own tears.

As we talked more that morning, I shared with her some of the thoughts and dreams I had been having.  I told her how I had researched every article and treatment for invasive lobular carcinoma on the internet known to mankind.

She looked me over and said something I’ll never forget.

“Instead of trying to stop thinking those fearful thoughts, why don’t you try looking at them as a parade?  A thought parade….  You think the fearful “what if” about breast cancer….  You look at the thought completely, examining it carefully, and then you let it march right on by.  A thought parade.”

At first, this seemed like an impossible task.  After all, I wanted to stop having these fearful thoughts.  I wanted the anxiety to end- period.  But the more I told myself to “stop thinking these things,” the more devious those thoughts became.

So…  because I like to try new ideas that experts recommend, I let the next thought come- parade style.   And I have been hosting a thought parade in my head ever since.  🙂   Sometimes the band plays a little louder than others, but now I’m almost always in step.

An excerpt from my journal…

Chase

Chase my darkness Lord,

Shine your Light on my doubt.

Pursue my every thought,

Help me to be obedient unto You.

Chase my darkness O Lord,

Shine your Light on my sin.

Pursue my every Hope,

Hold it within Your Hand.

Chase my darkness Jesus,

Shine your light on my heart.

Pursue my every action,

Make it pleasing to You.

Chase my darkness Abba,

Hold me close in Your Light.