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 Update
#2, Sunday, January 4, 2004Dear Family and Friends, Grab a Kleenex, take a deep breath before you read chapter two of my cancer saga. (This still feels like a nightmare, but I am fully awake and this is my reality.) Last Friday afternoon, Jim and I arrived early at the oncologist’s office (Jim arrives early to everything), filled out a stack of forms, and waited until 2:00 before my name was called. We sat in the examination room until 2:15 when Dr. Penley entered. (To all who prayed at precisely at 1:15, the time of my scheduled appointment, thank you.) Dr. Penley was straightforward and immediately confirmed that I do, indeed, have multiple myeloma, cancer of the bone marrow. It is evident not only behind my right eye but also in the my left humerus (arm), two places in my left thigh, one place on my right femur, one shoulder (I think left) and some of my ribs. However, Dr. Penley feels we caught it in plenty of time to work toward remission and explained the dizzying, nearly incomprehensible, complex details of how the disease progresses. As best as I can understand, and I don’t understand all that well, the growth behind my eye isn’t exactly a tumor. Myeloma causes blood platelets to secrete too much protein; the protein oozes out as a soft tissue. That protein tissue pushing on my eye is clearly obvious on the X-ray. (Kind of gross looking at pictures of your skull from every direction, especially with one bulging eyeball. I was grateful to see my brain cavity wasn’t empty. Sorry; sick humor.) It was 3:00 p.m. by the time we finished talking and reviewing films. Dr. Penley called several other doctors’ offices to schedule needed appointments, but all were closed for the holidays. He said he would try to get me into the hospital first thing Monday morning. So we left with confirmation of cancer and a tentative plan for treatment. Saturday was a long, long day with our thoughts and feelings wafting through the hollowness of uncertainty, our wanting to push time forward, to hurry the process. I wanted to get going into whatever lies ahead, no matter what that is. Then I realized I have very little control over this, which is a hard admission since I’m a person who tends to be a bit, well, controlling. (Some of you can stop laughing now.) Still I sought control through cleaning the house, taking down the Christmas tree, putting away decorations, washing successive loads of laundry, and indulging in berry cobbler and pecan pie. (Side note: don’t recommend cancer as a weight loss plan, but I have lost almost 15 pounds. The doctor told me to eat to keep my weight stable, but I find that after a few bits, I’ve had more than enough.) Elliott’s “special” friend from college arrived in Nashville today. He picked her up at the airport, drove her to our house, where I opened the front door and resisted saying, “Welcome to Cancer, dear, and I don’t mean our astrological sign.” Poor dear. Imagine the trauma of meeting The Parents; imagine our trauma of meeting The Girlfriend in these circumstances. Taylor’s girlfriend was here for most of the holidays, too. So with me and Jim, our children, Jim’s parents and his sister, plus girlfriends, we had a full house – and managed to live very well together – for a short period of time! Sunday morning, I dreaded attending church, knowing I would, for the first time, face people who love and care for me. For a split second, I though I was home free in my pew until a pair of arms reached around me from the back and tightly held me. I could tell it was Carole by her perfume and her embrace. Not many words were needed; our tears said it all. She left and immediately another dear friend hugged on me. Then another. Then I lost control of my emotions and wept. So much for maintaining good eye-makeup or composure. In our denominational tradition, at the end of the service, we process up the aisle for communion. Kneeling at the rail for bread and wine, looking up at the cross, I didn’t ask “Why me?” In a minimal way, I felt as the mother of Jesus must have felt (and I paraphrase), “I don’t know why I was chosen for this, but help me rise to the occasion.” In all of this, I feel that I am obligated and responsible to represent Christ to my husband, to my friends, but mostly to my sons. I pray for mature grace under this pressure; to enter the refiner’s fire and exit as a woman seared free of so many of my failures, faults, and futilities. After communion, dear friend Diane corralled me to the prayer station. I honestly didn’t want to stop there and once again expose my illness and my fear, but she made me. As Jim and I knelt, Diane behind us, two dear, older, grandmotherly prayer warriors asked, “What is your name and what do you want prayed for?” Jim answered, “This is Janice and she was diagnosed with cancer this week.” The saint in front of me took my hand, leaned in, and asked, “How bad is it?” Hmmmm, how to respond? I thought. I couldn’t decide if I should laugh or slap her. Like the word “cancer” isn’t enough for her? She needs details, like Stage 5 or something? Instead of my usual acerbic comeback, I kept my eyes closed and turned my head away. She thought I hadn’t heard her, so she repeated the question – LOUDER - to Jim, “How bad is she?” Jim fairly shouted back, “She has multiple myeloma, but it’s treatable.” I wanted to raise my hand and say, “SHE is right here. . . SHE can hear you.” But the prayer warriors began to pray and I was awash in tears and comfort, especially with the reminders that God is Healer and Protector and that we are healed by Jesus’ stripes. After the “Amen,” Mizz Questioner leaned in close to may face and whispered, “I had cancer ten years ago, and again two years ago; so I know that no matter had bad it is, God can do the impossible.” Yes, I know that. Now I pray that I can trust that truth. Jim and I, his parents, our sons and their girlfriends, plus Steve and Deb Taylor met at a Vietnamese restaurant for lunch. Just before the end, one son leaned over to me and said, “Oh, some doctor called early this morning, after you left for church. He said he’d call back.” I smiled at my precious child for just now sharing that information and asked, “Do you know his name?” He said, “No, just say all your doctor’s names and I’ll remember.” So I started the list and when I got to “Dr. Penley,” he said, “That’s the one.” We came home, found Dr. Penley’s number on Caller ID and interrupted him from watching a football game. He basically said it was just too soon after the holidays to get things moving, and the best he can do is wait until Monday and try to schedule my admittance on Tuesday morning. So, as it stands now, I will go into surgery for a port-a-catheter insertion just under my collarbone. Once it is in place, I will be taken to the oncology floor where chemotherapy will be injected through the catheter. The first round of chemo will last for four full days. Only God knows how I will react: some people get sick right off the bat, others are bored for the first three days. I’m assuming I’ll be brave and strong (I am allowed to dream since this is a living nightmare), and I’d like to buy a laptop computer tomorrow, take it with me to the hospital and get some writing done! So, dear friends, that is the report. But this is the good news. I am totally amazed, overwhelmed, and truly humbled by your response – countless e-mail replies have been sent to me. There are no words to express how touched I am by your love and affection. The outpouring causes me to wonder if you really remember me as I truly am! Through eyes filled with compassion, you have looked past the worst parts of me and have showered your love on the Jesus part of me. You are truly fulfilling the scripture, “When you take care of the least of these, you are caring for me.” Thank you for your generosity of spirit. I wish I could embrace every single one of you, but I’d probably have a heart attack and then you’d feel really badly. (Kidding.) All of you have offered to pray (yes, please do, especially for my sons); some have offered to come visit (please, hold off a while); and some have offered to cook, clean, do medical and dietary research, and exercise with me (I’ll probably take you up on those in the future). In this dense fog of uncertainty, I do know that I love you dearly. Even though this isn’t the way I would have chosen, I’m glad we have reconnected and expressed our love for one another. Perhaps there are family members or friends you need to call today to say, “I love you,” before a tragedy or crisis strikes. We truly are a family in the Lord and I am privileged to call you my brothers and sisters. Janice
"All material, unless otherwise noted, are owned and copyrighted by Janice Chaffee and James Chaffee, © 2004, 2005, 2006. Permission is granted to forward e-mails, or print for personal use only. No portion of these updates may be quoted in part or whole in any published material or on any internet site without authorization from authors.” |
