A
month does not mean a month in the medical world. I learned this anomaly during
radiation. When it is in your favor to have a full month, like during the break
after chemo, a month can mean only two or three weeks. When it is not in your favor to
have a full month, like when undergoing radiation treatments, then it means five or six
weeks! Here is what happened.
It
was my last day of radiation. I had already had a week of internal radiation,
and was completing the month of external radiation. Final day! I was wearing my
lucky Flash Gordon t-shirt with the lightning bolt, appropriate to wear during
radiation. I had on my special Wonder Woman underwear and socks. I brought in
chocolates for the radiation technicians and another box for the secretaries
and nurse. My brother had on his Flash Gordon t-shirt too. We were ready to GO.
It was a Friday. I was lying down on the radiation table, very still, doing
everything I was supposed to do to get the show on the road. The radiation
techs left the room. They hit the button, machines whirred, the red light came
on, and it was over. I did it! My final radiation treatment was over! Woo-hoo,
woo-hoo, woo-hoo!
The
radiation technicians came back into the room. They were smiling. After seeing
them every weekday for five weeks they had become my friends. “Ok, we’ll see
you next week!” they said. “What? No, I am done. This was my last day.” “What?”
they questioned. “You still have three more treatments.” “What?” I blurted out.
“No I don’t. It has been a month.” A long month I thought to myself. Five
weeks. Not four weeks like some people (me) might think is the length of a
typical month. “We’ll check,” they said and left the room, then came back.
Three
more treatments. The techs looked at each other. They looked sad. “Is that why
you were wearing your lucky Flash Gordon t-shirt?” I nodded. “And your Wonder
Woman underwear and socks?” I nodded again. “And is that why you brought us
chocolates?” Yes. I felt like I might cry. They looked like they might cry with
me. Then we all shuffled out of the radiation room.
My
brother, Chris, knew that something was wrong right away. I told him the news
as we walked to the car. We were both disappointed. I moped around all that
weekend and felt like I didn’t care anymore. Three more treatments really
weren’t that many, but after already going through five weeks with side-effects
that seemed to hit me hard, it felt like another month. Again, God let me mope.
He let me complain to him like a little kid that had her favorite toy taken
away. Then kindly, gently, He nudged me out of it. Time to get back up, dust
myself off, and get going again.
The
disappointments come. We can count on them. They are a part of life, cancer or
no cancer. They come and God does let us mope for a while. He lets us be the
little child running into a father’s arms. Then He says it is time to become an
adult again. It is time to let God mature us, to continue His work in us, for
us to trust in His knowledge.
“But when perfection comes, the
imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like
a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways
behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see
face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully
known.” I Corinthians 13:10-12.
God
continues His work through our disappointments, and what we will become because
of them, what we will be, we don’t know yet. But it is going to be glorious.
Today's post is an excerpt from The Bald Headed, Tattooed, Motorcycle Mama's Devotional Guide: For Women Battling Cancer & Those Who Love Them Copyright 2013 by Sara Nelson O'Brien.
All photos are courtesy of Pixabay.
I truly needed to read this today! Thankyou Sara for uplifting words
ReplyDeleteThank you, Gessika. I'm glad it spoke to your heart.
DeleteI loved this essay!! Thank you, Sara for posting this. And, it spoke to my heart, too!
ReplyDeleteDee
I'm honored that it did. Thank you, Dee!
DeleteIt is true. God has picked me up by my bootstraps, dusted me off and gently squared my shoulders in the direction I should go. I tend to wallow in hurt. But, then there comes the end of that. Thank you, Sara! God bless!
ReplyDelete