Lists…. We all make them- grocery lists, honey-do lists, Christmas lists, the pros and cons list, and the inevitable Bucket List. When I turned the calendar page to the big 5-0, my mind went into Bucket List overdrive. Traveling overseas, eating lobster, taking a hot air balloon ride, raising a litter of puppies- the possibilities seemed endless.  Then out of left field my Bucket List was derailed by four simple words: “You have breast cancer.” I quietly put the Bucket List away, hunkered down, and moved into survival mode. And now, thanks to breast cancer, it is time for a new and improved Bucket List. Here goes…

1.  Thrive for many, many years cancer-free and leave this earth as a very old- but active- woman. (preferably in my sleep cradled in my husband’s strong arms)
2. Know the joy of becoming a grandmother- Nana, Mimi, Abuela, Bibbi.   I’m not sure of my title just yet.
3. Rent a deluxe RV and travel west- seeing all the sights along the way and taking in The Grand Canyon.
4. Publish a book and have people actually read it.
5. Share Jesus boldly and take as many people to Heaven with me as I can.
6. Cook one absolutely incredible gourmet meal followed by a decadent dessert.
7. Watch all four of my children come to know Jesus Christ as their Savior.
8. Have my own vegetable garden.
9. Move to the country and savor the shade of tall trees and the peace of a front porch.
10. Start a Book Club.
11. Renew my wedding vows.
12. Just Be.

There’s no delicate way to put this. I have to pee. Constantly. Yesterday, I peed every 30 to 40 minutes at work. And 2-3 times in the middle of the night.  No, I have not increased my fluid intake to some freakish amount.

This week I experienced pressure and a sense of fullness and I thought I’d better check it out. So I made my way to my gynecologist’s office and thought about how I couldn’t wait to give her a urine sample. The drive over had inspired my bladder yet again. The nurse in the exam room took my blood pressure and handed me my prize- the cup in which I would deposit my dignity.

I walked to the restroom, closed the door behind me, and set my cup carefully on the counter. This may be ‘TMI,’ but I proceeded to pee in the toilet, not even attempting to position the cup under where…. well, you know, where it needed to be.

I finished peeing, at first feeling relieved and then appalled. The speech bubble in my head read, “Oh my gosh- I forgot to pee IN the cup!”  Next, there is incessant knocking on the bathroom door. There is only one restroom in my doctor’s office- REALLY?!- and another lady needed to go. I answered “just a minute.”   I considered yelling it but I wanted to at least pretend to be nice.

My speech bubble now reads, “Maybe if I just sit here for a few minutes, I’ll be able to get a few drops out.” So I sit there and wait and wait and wait. Meanwhile, said lady keeps knocking. Abandoning all niceties, I tersely responded: “Just a MINUTE!!!”

I managed to get a few drops into my cup, get myself together, and opened the door. There stands a pretty ‘young thing’ with a baby in a carrier. And my very menopausal self thinks, “There’s no way she had to pee that bad. Look at her- she’s half my age.”

My doc arrived on the scene and she shared with me that she’s going to do some “odd things” during the exam. Oh my… this day just keeps getting better. After the exam, I’m relieved to hear that she didn’t feel any mass on my ovaries. I was due to have  an ultrasound of my ovaries next month,  so we’ll move it up for ‘peace of mind.’

She then reassured me that most likely I do not have bladder cancer, ovarian cancer, or even a UTI. No, it seems that Tamoxifen- thank you breast cancer- is really working overtime blocking my estrogen.  Since my estrogen is in desperate need of CPR, my bladder is telling my brain “Hey, time to pee.”  Geesh- couldn’t my bladder have also told my brain where to put the cup a few minutes ago?!

My doc shared with me that I have “minimal uterine prolapse.” She must have seen the look on my face.  “Don’t worry,” she said- your uterus is not going to fall out of your vagina.” I began laughing hysterically and answered, “Now that would make for a very bad weekend!”  Then guess what- the doctor looked at me, began laughing, and said now she had to pee too.  The silver lining here- she is 10 years younger than me. 😉

Estrogen is my nemesis.

I love black and white. Black and white handbags, black and white dresses, black and white jewelry, and especially black and white photography. The lines in the photo seem cleaner, more defined, orderly.

People, Events, and Life are all simpler when they are drawn in black and white. When the right/wrong column can be easily checked off and one can move forward swiftly, without bumping up against the unthinkable- that shade known as Gray. You see, sometimes the checkmark in the right/wrong column cannot be unequivocally placed. Sometimes that checkmark sits askew- mocking those who think they know exactly where to place it.

Gray invites chaos in and shows order where to wait. Gray means that sometimes you can love someone, and know deep in your spirit that Grace and Truth need to co-mingle. Gray dictates that your stomach is not up to the task of sorting through the debris of shattered dreams and broken trust. Gray lingers and casts a hazy film over all that is beautiful and pure.

So what should we do when the color is Gray? We must get very quiet and invite stillness to join us. We sit silently with our God and allow Him to bandage that which is injured. You see, when the color is Gray no amount of human effort will alter the hue. Only God can take the camera and focus each silhouette until the picture becomes lovely again. The Gray fades, Black and White disappear, and our Creator leaves us with a lovely burst of color.

The word, “champion,” evokes so many emotions. If you search for a definition you will find some recurring themes: A person who has defeated or surpassed all rivals in a competition, a person who fights or argues for a cause or on behalf of someone else, an advocate, proponent, supporter, defender, upholder, and backer.” One of my favorite descriptions of a champion, however, takes on a historical context: “A knight who fought in single combat on behalf of the monarch.” That in a nutshell is my Robert- my knight who fought in single combat on my behalf. He was, is, and will continue to be my “Champion.”

Our journey together with breast cancer really began before I ever met him. His mother, Muriel, was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1978 when Robert was a senior in high school.     . She underwent a radical mastectomy and went on to volunteer for The American Cancer Society’s Reach to Recovery program and is a 37-year survivor. I think this experience with his Mom was the seed that prepared Robert’s heart for what was to come in our life together.

In my thirties, we began to see foreshadows of breast cancer that darted in and out of our lives. I had cysts drained, a fibroadenoma biopsied, and was followed closely with mammograms and ultrasounds. Robert went with me to the appointments with my breast specialist and was forever my optimist.

From our thirties through our fifties, we opened our own small business, raised three incredible children together, and looked forward to the days ahead. The fall of 2012 was a year of transitions for us. Our two sons were finishing up graduate school and our daughter was preparing to graduate from The Ohio State University with a degree in social work. In December that year the young man she had been dating asked to meet Robert and I for lunch. (This should be a “heads up” to all you mothers out there.) Paul, the said young man, was in love with our daughter. He was going to propose. He was also in the Naval ROTC program at OSU which would mean he would no longer live in Ohio after he and Elizabeth graduated in the spring. That lunch took our breath away- we loved Paul. We marveled that he invited us to lunch, but it was difficult thinking of our daughter possibly moving far from home.

The calendar refused to stand still and Paul proposed on Elizabeth’s birthday that February. They wanted to be married immediately after graduation. No problem, right?! So May of 2013 looked something like this: Son #1 graduated from grad school Friday, May 3; Elizabeth and Paul graduated from OSU on Sunday, May 5; Elizabeth and Paul were married on Friday, May 10; Son #2 graduated from grad school May 17, and we moved Elizabeth and Paul to Norfolk, Virginia the weekend of May 24^th. WHEW!! Through every transition, Robert prayed with me, laughed with me, cried with me, and encouraged me.

We came home from Virginia and I felt it. It seemed to be positioned oh so near my fibroadenoma. Maybe it was the fibroadenoma? Robert felt it too. I decided I should call my breast specialist. But I waited a day or two. I still remember standing in our front yard, planting flowers, and feeling in my spirit- Call now. Call today. So, before I knew it I had an appointment for the very next day.

I went by myself because after 20-plus years of cysts, ultrasounds, and exams I thought it was most likely nothing. My breast surgeon was not back from the hospital yet but her incredibly wonderful nurse practitioner, Suzanne, performed a needle-guided biopsy. She asked me if I would like to wait for Dr. Brenda to arrive before going home to which I answered a resounding, “Yes.” Something shifted in my spirit. I was no longer certain this was nothing. Suddenly I knew in my soul that something was wrong- terribly wrong.

Approximately 48 hours later my cell phone rang at work and Robert and I were initiated into a club we had hoped never to join- the Breast Cancer Club. From that moment forward, Robert took my battle on as his own and was my knight- fighting on my behalf. He rearranged meetings with clients to go to every appointment with my breast specialist and my plastic surgeon. He asked questions, listened to a recording of our appointment with the breast surgeon countless times, read articles, and took notes at the plastic surgeon’s office. His engineer-trained mind even discussed with my surgeon about a way to possibly save my nipples. This still makes me smile. No- they could not be saved- but he had a surgical plan all worked out in his mind.

We went shopping for a recliner which would become my close friend for weeks following my surgery. We tried out each chair- pretending we were just making an ordinary furniture purchase. We went to dinner and ate Mexican food. We longed for normalcy. Robert made himself a part of all the pre-surgical planning. He agreed we should invite my parents to stay with us following my surgery so he could go to the office and try to keep his head above water. I shared with him that I had arranged a meeting with our Pastor and he had only one question- what time is the meeting and where do I show up?

The afternoon before my surgery we met with our Pastor and the Elders of our church. They prayed over me and anointed me with oil. This was something Robert and I had never experienced – yet he never questioned anything I arranged for us to do. He prayed with me that night and again that next morning in the parking garage of the hospital. Before going back to the operating room, Dr. Brenda, Robert, and I all joined hands and prayed together. We had many family members at the hospital. I made him promise that he would ask Dr. Brenda to just talk with him alone- that he would talk with my family. I wanted the first person to hear the outcome of my surgery to be my husband.

Robert stayed with me in the hospital. I had a bilateral mastectomy with sentinel node dissection and immediate reconstruction. No expanders- immediate placing of my implants. That evening my knight fed me ice chips, washed my face after my body gave way to the effects of anesthesia, and monitored the output of my drains. We went home 24 hours after my surgery- not because I’m Wonder Woman- but because my surgeon did not want to risk the possibility of infection and my losing my implants. We pulled in the driveway and while my parents were inside waiting to take care of me- Robert was my constant caregiver that weekend. He had my prescriptions methodically lined up on the kitchen table with a detailed schedule. Robert checked, emptied, and monitored my drains before going to work each day and again in the evening. He helped me shower, dress, and brush my teeth. He held me when I cried, listened as I vented, and laughed when I was silly.

My plastic surgeon wanted me to have nightly injections to avoid developing a blood clot and Robert soon became an expert giver of shots- right in the stomach. He always said, “I’m sorry,” right before he inserted the needle. I had difficulty healing and we soon became fast friends with the staff of our plastic surgeon’s office. Her office was about 45 minutes from our house and Robert dropped everything at work when we needed to see her. He missed out on some business from potential clients and the mound of paperwork he brought home was intimidating.

My parents eventually went home and I was finally in healing mode. Healing on the outside- but my healing on the inside was tenuous. We waited anxiously for the results of my ONCO-DX test and we both cheered when we found out I would not need chemo. He coaxed me into swallowing my first dose of Tamoxifen as I cited all my research about possible side effects. When we discovered that immediate reconstruction is not a “one-stop shopping experience” – he told me it didn’t matter if one implant had settled into a lower zipcode than the other. He supported me when I said I wanted a “revision”- a nice way of saying a second surgery would be necessary.

Robert smiled when I read him research about diet and exercise. He did not grimace or protest when I proclaimed our kingdom would now be bereft of red meat. When our grocery bills doubled due to our pursuing an organic diet, he quietly balanced our checkbook. When I asked if I could see a Christian counselor to sort through the changes in my body and spirit, he thought that was a fine idea. As I grew stronger and wanted to explore Pilates, he encouraged me to try whatever I thought would make me feel better.

Robert attended a cooking and nutrition class where he was the only man in the room. He handled it like a champ! When I told him I would like to start a blog and write about breast cancer and life, he became my first regular reader. When it was time for a second and final revision, he went with me to see the plastic surgeon. He stayed in the room for the procedure and assured me that I was going to heal beautifully. And I did heal- this time on the inside as well.

Throughout this journey Robert has been my confidante, my source of strength, my comforter, my nurse, my psychologist, and my friend. He has been selfless, patient, loving, and positive. He has made me feel beautiful again and loved unconditionally. As my best friend said, “He treats you like a queen.” So I guess it is rather fitting that he is my knight- single-handedly taking on breast cancer- and leaving me with the treasured spoils of this battle: JOY. My Robert is indeed my Champion.

Staring out the window, I marvel at the sunshine- it appears that Spring is announcing her arrival. The heavens are blue, accented by soft white clouds, and the birds are singing a crisp, clear chorus. It’s the kind of day for a nice long walk. The kind of day where you meet a friend for lunch and take your time chewing, talking, laughing.

I turn back to my thoughts and wonder ‘Where does one find a new best friend?’ You know- the kind of friend who will tell you when you have broccoli in your teeth, who will listen to you as you share your burdens, and then offer some really profound advice. The kind of friend who makes you laugh and also calls you to task when you’re just being plain ridiculous. The kind of friend who remembers how much you love dessert, who reminds you of your many blessings, and holds your hand to pray with you.

I’ve searched the library shelves, my favorite passages of Scripture, and yes, I’ve even asked my dogs. But none of these places or canines has been able to answer my question. Where do you find a new best friend? When you’re 53, your children no longer dot the soccer field or attend Confirmation classes. You no longer compare notes about prospective teachers or inquire about the latest rash or mysterious symptom.

You’re looking for that friend you can call at 4 a.m. when the bottom just fell out of your world. That friend who can fix a zipper or bake a cookie that makes you hope there are chocolate chips in Heaven. That friend who loves you- warts and all.

I sigh and my gaze returns to my window. My little brown dog cocks her head as if to say, ‘I’m not sure you’ll find that again. She was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of friend.’ And she certainly was.

Maybe I can market myself as that kind of friend. The friend you call when you just need to be real, the friend you call when you just want to have a three-hour lunch. The friend you call when you just need someone to sit next to you and remain comfortably silent.

You know- a four a.m. kind of friend.

Parts of speech are a lot like Life. Some of them are used more frequently than others, just as some seasons of Life stretch out before us- seemingly and deceptively infinite in nature. Yet Life has a way of placing definitive parentheses around certain seasons and exclamation points after others. Every season and each part of speech has a purpose, a function.

Prepositions- there are nearly 150 in the English language. These small, unassuming words are used more frequently than any other part of speech. “Of, to, in” are among the 10 most frequently used words. Prepositions indicate location or some other relationship between a noun and a pronoun and the other parts of a sentence.

Life is marked by prepositions: after children, before grandchildren, through breast cancer, beside a life partner, and  amid transitions.  A preposition isn’t a preposition unless it goes with a related noun or pronoun affectionately named the object of the preposition. And life- the seasons that bring us Joy and inevitably deliver Sorrow- aren’t really worth the journey without a purpose, a relationship.

We search for that all-encompassing purpose, that elusive function through each season. First we peer through the looking-glass of child-rearing. We can build an entire identity in essay style as we linger here. This season masquerades as if it will last forever, when in reality it lives  briefly and leaves us breathless and wistful- the After.

Before grandchildren and beside your life partner are beautiful moments that leave you smiling as you get to know the man you chose all over again. You take deep, cleansing breaths and enjoy the illusion that this season will last forever.

Through breast cancer is a season that truly doesn’t end- even when you swim your way to survival’s shore. There is always the next blood draw, the annual chest x-ray, the six-month check-up, the waiting and wondering.

Amid all the transitions you gather strength, laughter, and ultimately JOY. You discover that moving on to the next stage, the new season, the big event is really not what Life is about. Life is about a preposition that we often neglect: with…

With is the connection- the bringer of the object of our preposition. With great love, With deep sorrow, With contagious laughter, With abundant JOY. With Jesus.

When you look in the rearview mirror you can see His footprints. After the children are grown, Before the grandchildren arrive, Beside your life partner, Through the breast cancer, Amid each of Life’s transitions.

So in this Christmas season and in the midst of whatever transition you are experiencing, look for the With. And there you will find Him..

“All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet. The virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son, and they will call Him Immanuel- which means, “God with us.”  -Matthew 1:22-23

A buffet is always a balancing act. The dinner plate you receive is usually 9 inches in diameter yet the selection of meats, salads, cheeses, soups, fruits, and decadent desserts rivals that of an Elizabethan feast. What to do?

You wait in line and add a succulent serving here, a warm and juicy entree’ there- and then it happens. You add one last culinary treasure and the slide begins. Your chicken is headed south toward your beans and the delectable dessert is hovering oh so precariously on the edge of your plate.

I think journeying through a breast cancer diagnosis is a little like a buffet.  You gratefully accept your plate marking the end of official treatment and then you begin to add on your selections. A regimen of Tamoxifen or another hormone therapy is your entrée. You add a serving of blood work every 3 to 6 months.  Next, add just a pinch of waiting for the results of said blood work. Sidled up next to the waiting is an appointment every 6 months with the oncologist who I will forever refer to as the “Queen Bee.” On the other side of your plate is the annual chest x-ray.  The plate looks rather full but you must save room for a generous heaping of Hope.

Then, the inevitable happens.  That nagging ache or that unusual sense of tiredness creeps in. You try to make room for it on your plate. You wait about a week to see if these new additions are still demanding a spot on your plate.  If so, you manage to squeeze a telephone call in to the “Queen Bee” for an appointment to check out the serving of  nagging ache or unusual sense of tiredness. Oops- you look closer and that generous heaping of Hope is starting to slip. And then it begins to slide off of your plate.  You quickly grab a fork, arrive at said doctor’s appointment, and wait for the “Queen Bee” to proclaim all is well. Her proclamation is delivered and you gingerly push the heaping of Hope back on to your plate.

I wonder if we should change the way we serve the Hope. Maybe instead of adding it to the side we should pour it generously on top of our selections- a gravy for our spirit.

“Now Faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.” -Hebrews 11:1

There’s a gritty, spunky flavor to a state fair. You park your car on a gravel lot and hear the crunch as you maneuver your vehicle amidst the strollers, small children, and couples walking hand- in- hand. Gritty because its dust leaves a distinct taste in your mouth. Spunky with its neon signs, audacious food choices “on a stick,” and people in all shapes, colors, and apparel choices.

If you’re looking for organic food choices…. do fried veggies sandwiched between two glazed doughnuts count?! We bypassed that bold choice and settled for an Amish food stand instead.  My man traded me the turkey sandwich and noodles that was absolutely dripping with meat for his chicken, carrots,and peas concoction.  We couldn’t find a table but the ground sufficed. And. It. Was. Delicious.

After eating, we ambled over to the animal barns. First up- the sheep.  They were MUCH larger than I anticipated.  After watching their handlers steer them to the ring to be judged, it struck me again why humans are so often compared to sheep in the Bible.  They are stubborn, vocal, and let’s just say not that intelligent. The handlers appeared to be firmly grabbing the sheeps’ rear as they corralled them. I couldn’t help but chuckle thinking that must be how God feels sometimes.  That one- right there- namely ME- needs a good, swift kick in the rear. 🙂

Next up, the dairy barn.  There were several  cows outside.  One sweet girl for children to try their hand at milking.  Man- what must that gentle cow be thinking to herself right about now?!  Further down the line, a very tired Mama Cow who had just given birth about 30 minutes earlier. Her baby had been whisked away somewhere to be cleaned up presumably.  But this poor mother was lying in the straw- her placenta and exhausted spirit displayed for all the world to see.  A nice breeze manufactured by an electric fan was pointed in her direction. I couldn’t help but wonder if she might prefer a little privacy right about now.

My man and I made our way back to the concert venue. What an experience- singing and worshiping with a thousand other Christ Followers to the music of Chris Tomlin!! What an emotional high. I envisioned my friend Kathy in Heaven- smiling and looking the way she did before cancer took up residence in her body. I wondered how God must feel hearing all of our voices raised in unison- PRAISING HIM.

My man and I filed out of the building and concluded that nothing could be more perfect than ice cream to cap our evening. We discovered several ice cream stands as we walked the midway, but my man wanted to retrace our steps back to The Dairy Barn.  He seemed very intent that The Dairy Barn must be our ice cream destination. We entered and stood in a long line of other adventurers. A lady about 5 years our junior approached and stood next to us.  She announced that she was looking for the shortest line. She liked my purse and mint chocolate ice cream a lot. It was going to taste real good. My man leaned over and whispered in my ear:

“I think that’s Janey. She lived a street over from me when I was in college. She greeted me every day with a happy-go-lucky “Hi Bob!”

Keep in mind my man and I were in college 30+ years ago. As the three of us drew closer to the cash register, I whispered “You could buy her an ice cream cone.”  And that’s exactly what my man did.

Our new friend was taken aback, insisted that she had money, and would pay us back.  The server handed her the coveted mint chocolate chip cone.  She looked at us and said, “My name’s Janey. What’s your name?” We introduced ourselves and my man quickly added that he knew her.  Janey looked startled and wandered away quickly into the crowd.

I suppose we may have frightened her a bit. First, we buy her an ice cream cone and then add that we knew her. The three of us broke every “Never talk to strangers” rule ever conceived.  I kept thinking about Janey as we drove home and later again the next day. I wondered why my man felt so compelled that only an ice cream treat from The Dairy Barn would do. I questioned why out of the three lines formed for those delectable flavors, Janey had selected our line. And why did she choose my man and I to engage with?

Maybe, just maybe, God was teaching us. Showing us that He engages with us daily- moment by moment.  If we see Him, if our hearts and minds are open to His Presence.  And perhaps he sent Janey to jog our memories and warm our hearts.

Isaiah 43:1-2
But now, thus says the LORD, who created you, O Jacob, And he who formed you, O Israel: “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name; You are mine.”