The more worry and fear that I allow to invade my heart, the less space there is for the peace I know and remember. I was up late last night. Very, very late. I was contemplating that dinosaur that took turns suffocating and eating my heart yesterday. Here's what I realized: Somehow in the folds of my cranium, there is the idea that I can somehow deflect or ward off hardships simply by worrying about it. I remembered the positive naivety and the there-is-no-way-this-is-cancer attitude I took at the beginning of this journey, and the devastating shock of grief that came when I learned I was wrong. I think I was scared of being too positive yesterday. I think I wanted to tell myself to breathe, to not think the worst, all of that, but I was SCARED to do that because that was too eerily similar to where my mind and heart was before this all began. It was the cancer diagnosis baggage weighing me down. I was letting the cancer define my thoughts, worries, and heartache. But, no matter the outcome, I never want to hand that kind of power over to such a despicable and evil disease. Never.
So, I have had my tears. I let myself get it out. I had a very animated and angry talk with God. Thankfully, God is Love and He is still holding me close. Now, I will look forward and realize that the doctors have no idea what caused these number changes in Gideon's blood. I focused on the one possibility of a relapse, and the dinosaur took over. I could just as easily realize that there are any number of possibilities, and I feel it is more likely to be the chemo than cancer. Then... I kept thinking about all of Gideon's “hot belly” complaints and the way Prevacid does not work to squelch the pain, and I worried all over again. I have not felt right about all of that pain for awhile now. AGAIN...this could be from the drugs. It could be from so many factors. Shame on me for googling and seeing words flash on the screen, and then melt into a foggy blur of tears and sobs, thus inviting the dinosaur a seat on my soul with open arms. No more googling for me from here on out, I promise.
Waiting is not something I am a fan of doing. I want to fix it. I want the new normal of chemo drugs and progression that is steady and textbook towards a complete and total cure.
For now, let's rule out one variable at a time until we pinpoint what is causing the commotion in such a little body. I feel like I can breathe now. It's not that I am waiting to worry. It's that I am waiting on God. No matter what, Gideon is alive and sweet and so himself. I will savor and take it all a test at a time. I am not even going to think of what it could be anymore. This isn't denial. This isn't head in the sand stuff. I realize the severe and the minuscule situations that these results can put us in, but where are we now? Alive. Loving one another. Whatever it is, we will deal with the outcome alongside those who love us while looking up to the One who knows it all.
Lastly, I want to thank fellow cancer momma Rachelle for sending me this: “Praying 2 Timothy 1:7 over you. 'God did not give us a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind.' That sound mind is probably the hardest. You are loved and held in prayer.”
My crazy mind is soothed by all of your prayers. That peace is directly influencing my boys, and I can't thank you enough for all of the positivity and love that you have all been pouring on top of my fog-induced brain. I have been baptized by it all, renewed by it all, and ready to battle for my baby.
Please keep praying.
The Wii timer is about to go off, and we have a clay pot making marathon to commence. Sweet-sweet normalcy. Please stay.
Gideon and "Little Dog"... He was there since the beginning.