My Story…His Story, Part 3

PART 3.  The Molting Process…

The progression of doctor appointments began.  First the biopsy, then the staging, then the plan.  

A plethora of phone calls, establishing doctors, and fighting with insurance.  

Then the timeline.  Surgery, then reevaluate.  

Then the decisions.  Keep or remove?  How much?  How little?  So much to think about.

I remember the feeling of knowing that cancer was indeed invading my body and grieving the loss of some of my womanhood.  I remember feeling the shock.  Is this really happening?

Surgery came.  Healing began.  The biopsies came back.  

The nurse called. “I think you are in the clear.  Probably no need for anything more.”  RELIEF.

Until the follow-up with the oncologist. 

 “We want to make sure it is gone.  There could be residual. I recommend you have CHEMO.”

“Lord, you brought me through the surgery.  I survived.  My body tolerated the anesthesia, the painkillers, the recovery, the incision, the stitches, the drain, but why this?  It is meant to kill.  It is created to destroy.  I am not going to make it.”

3 weeks later the time came.

My husband dropped me off.  I had chosen to do this alone.  The kids needed a distraction – and the zoo was the perfect place. 

I was sitting in a brown leather recliner with my feet propped up, watching comfort shows on a TV in front me, and a tube filled with a rancid poison hanging from my arm. 

I was warned about the 12-day mark.  Clumps of thick, dark hair fell chunk by chunk, clogging the shower drain.  I was under the impression that it would come out slowly… it did NOT!  I called my husband up to the bathroom, gave him a hug and just cried.  I asked him nicely if he could vacuum the bathroom. My hair had littered the floor, as if I was some kind of shedding dog.   But that meant it was time, and I told my husband that tonight was the night. 

We tried to keep things “light” for the kiddos.  My son was pulling at my hair all day.  He thought it was funny that it would just come out.  

Later that night, the sound of the electric razor filled our home.  My husband boldly and neatly shaved one layer at a time.  We tried to smile and laugh.     

“Mom, Dad should give you a mohawk!”  My son squealed. But as my husband obliged my son ran upstairs saying he couldn’t watch anymore.  My daughter cried most of the night.  It was done.

I was often tempted to sift through old pictures, dangerously reminiscing about what my body used to look like.   My body, once strong and healthy, was now weak and broken.  From a world’s vantage point, I definitely had lost some curb appeal!  I would describe it to you, but it would probably be too graphic for this venue.  These thoughts led to seeds of ungratefulness filling my heart, causing me to miss all the wonderful gifts God was pouring into my life.  I knew I had to be careful, or I would miss the present.  I could miss the point.  HIS POINT.  

One morning, an eternal lesson was waiting for me in my sacred space.  Remember the aviary?  Each morning I would take comfort in God’s creation and soak in the views from that window.  On that particular day, it was a simple yet profound illustration in the form of two beautiful cardinals.  This experience was not only powerful and life changing, but also prophetic.   There was one cardinal we affectionately called “Grandpa” because he had no “hair” on his head.  He was so comical looking.  A black, bald head. 

Hmmm…he sort of looked like me.  

Then, there was another cardinal, who was sitting on the ledge, looking depressed and downright miserable.  His feathers were falling off in clumps.  He was twitching, as if uncomfortable and in pain.  

After some research, I found that this cardinal was molting. Once a year, during the late summer, cardinals shed their feathers, becoming bald before growing out their lovely red attire all over again.  I started comparing this cardinal’s plight with mine.   

It is difficult to put into words the feeling I experienced at that moment, but I felt the Holy Spirit’s still small voice whisper.  

“Shelley, everything is going to be ok.  I am taking you through a molting season, but I got this!”

I Peter 1:6-7

In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith – more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire – may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ

To Be Continued…
Part 4 in the next post OR search “my story”

Edited by JaeAnn Hines