Snow is softly falling in the dim light of this winter dawn, transforming the world outside my window into an exquisite masterpiece. A soft and cuddly brute of a pup warms my feet while a steaming cup warms my hand. The world may be in a tumult at the moment, yet here there is peace.
There is merit in suffering and trial if handled with humility and abandonment to God's will. I am incredibly humbled that God has spared me a heavy cross recently. And I'm not telling this story to yell from the rooftops that God is so good for sparing me (HE IS), but that He would still be the same good God even if He had asked a major sacrifice of me. And He will at some point down the road.
I hesitate to even tell it because so many have had similar scares, and my heart goes out to those who have realized the worst of their fears. There's no greater lesson in empathy than being faced with the possibility of the same.
In early November I had a physical and brought up a strange spot in one of my breasts. A mammogram was ordered for the next week, which turned into a series of mammograms and ultrasounds that highlighted two other "areas of concern." After consulting with the radiologist it was determined that I should have an MRI, because while one spot almost certainly was a benign cyst, the other was still concerning. The language used was, "I'm not saying you have cancer, but I'm not saying you don't. It could go either way." I went to get gas after that appointment and stood at the pump bawling.
Because of the nature of these things, the MRI was scheduled a month later. And then we got Covid the week I was supposed to go in. This pushed everything back another month. Waiting, a struggle for me naturally, was a lesson in living one day at a time. When I felt anxiety creeping in it was time to get busy, and "My Jesus, I trust in You," was often on my lips.
And when the MRI results came back and were still concerning, the habits of trust and abandonment to God were there, better because they had been used often. The biopsy was scheduled a week later, and then there were three days waiting for results. When the nurse called to tell me, "There is no cancer and no precancerous tissue was found. The tumor [that was completely removed] was a fibroadenoma and never would have developed cancer," I cried with relief.
The joy and thankfulness from this experience has stayed with me. I have not been plagued by any of the usual post-holiday depression. Deo gratias!
I want in particular to mention how kind and caring the nurses were in the imaging department. They treated me with dignity (and anyone who has had a breast MRI knows how very undignified and uncomfortable they are) and did everything they could to make me comfortable. They made me feel as though everything was going to be okay, no matter what, and I thought of all the women they must have helped through for whom everything has not been okay. It takes a special kind of person to fill those shoes.
I devoured books as part of my survival routine in December, but it slowed drastically in January with much less anxiety on my plate. I'm going to have to step it up a notch if I'm going to hit my reading goal of 35 books this year. I just finished reading Called to be Creative by Mary Potter Kenyon. I also started a new novel in January by Kate Morton, The Forgotten Garden, which I'm enjoying immensely. Her writing style is very poetical and mysterious, blending mystery and history as puzzle pieces fall into place over several generations. I also loved her book, The Clockmaker's Daughter. My spiritual reading is still Divine Intimacy by Fr. Gabriel of St. Mary Magdalen, which has daily readings that span the entire liturgical year.
This month has slipped by so incredibly fast that one day blends into another and we find we have not done much together outside of the daily grind. We did take a road trip up to Minnesota one Saturday to pick up an antique poplar wardrobe I found on the Marketplace. It replaced the cheap pressed board wardrobe that was left here by the previous owner which housed school supplies, my fabric stash, and craft supplies. The new wardrobe is taller but a bit narrower, which has necessitated some purging of the stuff I have (literally stuff stuffed) in the old wardrobe. It has also left me with a couple piles of books that no longer fit in the wardrobe, that I'm going to have to get creative to find a place for.
The drive home from picking the wardrobe up was pleasant, with snow beginning to fall and swirl around us and over the fields. We picked up some food and pretended it was a "date" (at least I did...) It was just nice to be out of the house for a few hours and not in a clinic or hospital.
Creative projects this month include sketches for a series of watercolors that I've been excited to try, called "The Hidden Life" of Christ. I want to capture the imagination, especially that of children, in relating to the childhood that Jesus must have enjoyed. I also recently bought myself a beginner's wood carving tool kit, because it was cheaper than the little wood figures I've been eyeing, and why not add one more thing to the list of things I don't have time for?! The possibilities are endless and exciting.
As for the political mess that keeps unfolding and the nasty attitudes of many who hold opposing views, which has me deeply concerned for the future world our children will be left with, my plan is to stay home as much as possible, live simply, and love my babies. Best words to embrace this motto are taken from Psalm 145:
Put not your trust in princes ...
Blessed is he whose hope is in the Lord his God.
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