I toast my angels

Today is a wonderful day! I woke up this morning with energy, shared my thankfulness with God as I did my devotions and here I am writing to you. There are several reasons why I am in a good spot and each one of them is connected to an angel. Now that might sound 'out there.' Let me share my thinking.

First, yesterday was my third trip back to the Roswell Clinic in Williamsville, all in the hopes that I would be able to have my chemo treatment. Plagued with white platelet deficiencies, each time I went - Tuesday and Wednesday - I was given another special shot to stimulate my bone marrow to make those white platelets and sent home. 

When my initial lab (blood) tests were run, my results were mixed and it looked like treatment may again be postponed. Not to my liking because I didn't want to skip a week in my scheduled chemotherapy. If were going to do this, then I prayed my body would cooperate!  

The nurse - one of the many angels that care for us at Roswell - said they were going to take longer and my oncologist - an angel in his own right - was going to look at my blood on a slide under a microscope. It took a while but as a result, he passed me and approved my treatment. Thank you, Lord, for being my advocate and working through the hands and hearts of these wonderful people.

Second, I have had a goal: to manage these past four months and be able to enjoy my sister and her husband this week. Well, they arrived safely yesterday after a ten hour drive from Indianapolis. Another thank you to God for guiding them here. We enjoyed our evening, opening presents and giggling over shared gifts and funny stories about Christmas. It was everything I wished for and more.

I have to add that my sister is also an angel. Without her steadfast support each week during my treatments, I could be feeling very alone. She has also been instrumental in guiding me into a closer and deeper relationship with God. Her questions challenge me. Her reassurances are based in the belief that God is present always, guiding us through the impossibilities we face, and supporting us through the outcomes that unfold. Her prayers are precious. I am so blessed.

So today is a terrific day. God helped me reach this goal. I raise my water glass in a toast tonight to all the angels in my life - those at the clinic, my sisters everywhere, my phenomenal oncologist - and I ponder setting the next goal so I have something to look forward to and work toward once again. May you all have a wonderful new year! I toast you too!

Signed, The quilting cancer girl

Lessons learned at year's end

Cancer does not shut down for holidays. Darn. There's no free ride or festive break. Christmas was rough. In fact, I can honestly say there's not much I remember from Christmas because I pretty much slept for four or five days, waking only to watch a movie here and there. I do remember parts of 'The Shack' and 'Sweet Home Alabama'. Merry Christmas!

Standing up was nearly impossible. It felt very much like having a bad flu where you about crawl to the bathroom and then back into bed. I at least made myself stay in the recliner, but even that was the pits. Only other time I felt so overwhelmed with 'sick' was years ago when I had a ten day bout with vertigo.

My husband was my gift. He waited on me, guided me, hugged me, and managed to enjoy his Christmas even with me being so out of it. How lucky can a girl be!  I even discovered he makes the best toasted cheese sandwiches and does the dishes with a smile.

Now there was another curve thrown our way. My twelve year old black and white cat - named JIB for Jack in the Box - long story - decided this was the week for him to die. While we were trying to manage my strange physical and emotional state, JIB was deteriorating rapidly. Again my wonderful husband stepped up to the plate and got JIB into the SPCA for a ceremonial ending. We both felt sad and yet were very aware - along with our dog, Claire - that all was not right with the world.

I went for my treatment this week on Tuesday and Wednesday. Both days, I was given a shot for those white platelets and sent home. Now I go back again tomorrow - Thursday -  hopefully for an actual chemo infusion. Apparently, over Christmas my platelets hit rock bottom and needed a holiday boost. 

Let me tell you what else I have learned. WATER IS MORE THAN IMPORTANT. If I am not drinking enough water - and this is true for anyone in chemotherapy - the drugs coat the inside of your internal organs - kidneys, lungs, liver and more - and they can build up. Flushing them is vital to surviving chemotherapy in style. I have learned that I must drink much more than I originally thought necessary so I do not get into a stupor like my long Christmas nap.

And I have to share that in my doctor's appointment today, I was told that the doctor can no longer feel the tumor. He said my examination felt like a normal breast exam. Do you think I am celebrating? You better believe it! Color me dancing!!! Woot! Woot! Still, I was not told that chemotherapy could be curtailed. It seems to be continuing until March unless something dramatically changes. We do not want this cancer coming back to haunt me forever and ever!

So as the New Year approaches us, I am waving goodbye to 2021 and looking ahead with positive thoughts and prayers that in 2022 there may be beautiful sunrises and sunsets, good health news, lots of  my beloved quilts, and eventually, maybe hair! Happy New Year to you all, and remember to drink water, even as your health is good.

Drinking 60 ounces of water minimum each day, The quilting cancer girl

Cheering for strong white platelets

Seems like the past few days have been spent in a car. Weird, but true. Monday we went for my treatment and of course they gave me a shot in my arm and sent me home. I didn't pass the lab test again. My husband is so patient. Apparently, my ongoing side affect from one chemo drug is that it continuously fights against my white platelets and wins. That drug sure is trying awfully hard to eliminate them! Not fair. Just not fair.

Went back to the clinic Tuesday and passed the lab test so I stayed for 9 bags of drugs. Woot! Woot! Then came home like a zombie and spent the afternoon in the recliner sleeping like a zombie and snoring loudly. Thank goodness for the Meal Train.

Then today I was pretty shaky but managed to tap the energy from that shot and the steroids they inject into me. Drove myself - successfully I will add - to a dental appointment in Tonawanda. There I learned that I must have a tooth pulled and go through the implant process. Now I'm thinking, how does one do that with no white platelets and not get an infection. The answer: get the implant specialist talking to the oncologist. Makes sense, me thinks. The specialist and I will discuss that on Friday.

During my lunch break, I had a marvelous conversation with my Chicago sister and then piled back into the car to take my little Claire for a Christmas haircut so she looks pretty to meet her cousin, Indy, from Indianapolis at the end of next week. 

Blissfully let myself veg in the car while I waited for Claire to become Miss Cleopatra. Hated to go to sleep and make the groomer's neighbors think there was a dead person in the front seat. So, I wrote in my journal and texted people with whom I needed to reconnect. 

Now I'm home and happy to be home. No car stuff till Friday.  Amazing how wonderful it is to have those little white platelet guys active inside my body. Gives me life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That shot they give me  miraculously gives me that energy I used to take for granted everyday. 

Interestingly, now, the oncology team have set up my future appointments differently so the first day I go for the shot and the second day I return for the actual treatment. Hey! I could have a worse side affect. And I learned this week, that I'm not unique to this dilemma. It haunts many other cancer patients as well. 

So if you are in treatment and reading this, you are not alone. It doesn't have to get you down like it did me in the beginning. Enjoy the upside when you have a little energy and plan your week accordingly. You'll get a lot done in those first 48 hours! And I guarantee you will thank me for sharing this information. It gives us all a reason to sing 'Hallelujah' and celebrate those little white platelet fellas!

Keeping my chin up and praying lots, The quilting cancer girl

Receiving is hard for me

I have a hard time receiving. There. It's 'out there'. I have always been a giving person, trying to help the other guy or gal. I want to make a difference. I write cards and letters. I make phone calls. I send email. I teach and help people understand a concept so they can pull it off in their own lives. I lift spirits. I sew for others. 

Fact is, when I am in a situation like cancer, and others are doing for me, it's very difficult to know just how to respond. Your caring is priceless as you offer rides to medical appointments. Meals keep us afloat, especially as I lack energy many days to cook anything. Monetary contributions help us with outstanding unplanned medical bills. Your cards are beautiful, I keep them all to read and reread on my down days. They help me know you better.

And then there are these remarkable, very thoughtful gifts that you pass on to me with your cards: a special quartz stone, a worry angel, a quilted hug, a crocheted angora shawl, a painting of a beautiful horse, a bookmark with very unique meaning, gift cards, a bracelet that says 'Anything is Possible', lavender soap, flowers, Aquaphor lip balm, warm socks, even water from Lourdes in France. I am touched beyond words at how you love me. 

What happens, however, is that I almost feel guilty at having cancer and receiving these thoughtful gifts from you. I know you think that's totally weird but something in me wants to say, "No I am healthy. Give these gifts to someone who can use them." 

And then there is this dawning where I realize I really am sick and you are reaching out to me with God's love. You become my most avid cheerleaders. My husband keeps reminding me, "You are so loved by so many."

Believe me, I am eternally grateful. You are not only sharing love, you are teaching me how to receive graciously, and there's a life lesson in that. I am learning to say 'thank you' every way possible because I want you to know that you are making a difference to me - a huge difference - and I am wanting to take you all into a huge hug that just lets us 'be' together. 

No words. No conversation. Just a big 'love hug' that is my simple thanks for being there for me.  I feel you holding my hand so I am not terribly alone inside a cancer wasteland. You help me survive when I am overwhelmed. Bless you all. Bless you.

Grateful you are in my life, The quilting cancer girl

Depressed? Who me?

The past couple of days I decided maybe I was depressed. Like many of my fellow cancer friends, all I wanted to do was sleep. I was down in the dumps, maybe pulling off a kind of pity party on my end. And so I decided I had to do something, anything, to feel like I was moving forward. My goal is to stay upbeat. 'Cmon Eileen. Get your act together! 

I am just not a person that easily gets depressed. Most of the time I focus on the joy of living and the wonderful people who watch out for me, especially these days. I have awesome friends, and equally fabulous family. How could I possibly be so miserable? Why was I not interested in doing much of anything? Of course, I never know if it is the effects of the chemo making me so tired or if I'm just challenged from trying to be so brave and strong.

Well, I took matters into my own hands and hopped on Facebook. In defense of Facebook, sometimes it actually puts humor into my life and keeps me sane. On Wednesday, I found this marvelous little terrier that was very enthusiastic - to say the least- about pulling a branch out of a very tall snowman. The branch was the snowman's hand or arm, and watching that little dog tug and pull on the well-planted branch made me laugh like I haven't laughed in weeks, maybe months. It was glorious! And I shared the humor with a variety of other folks, who also thought it was too funny. 

So thank you, Facebook, for the giggles and the human connection. You helped me snap out of my funk because people I know are readily available. Yesterday I needed to sleep but today was much more productive. In fact, this afternoon, I sewed with one of my favorite sewing sisters who is creating the phenomenal wreath you see here. We chatted as we sewed, and life quite simply felt good. Sigh!

Off to keep my spirits up, The Quilting Cancer Girl

The light is on today

So I slept the day away yesterday. In fact, I'm not sure where the day went. We drove to the clinic at 8 a.m. and I was tested right away to see if I could stay for chemotherapy. I passed, thankfully, and my husband got to go home for a while. 

When they gave me my bag of Benadryl, I was out like a light and later woke myself snoring. That's always so embarassing! But then I listen to others who are sleeping and realize I am just one part of a wide orchestra of snorers from all across Western New York. Some of us are bass, others soprano, a few are whistlers, and some rumble on like the tuba or drums. I swear, the nurses must talk and giggle about their daily entertainment.

Anyway, Tom drove me home about 11:30 (It was a short treatment today.) When we walked in, I apologized for appearing drunk and settled into the recliner for a long afternoon nap. Woke up around 3:00 and went right back to sleep again...a deep, delicious sleep that could only be healing.

On such days I realize that I can be grateful for true rest. It's not tossing and turning uncomfortable sleep. It's the kind of sleep you remember after building a snowman and then having hot chocolate before mom said it was time to catch some zzzz's. And you settled under grandma's quilt on the couch and slept like a kitten under the Christmas tree.

Today I am much more with it: getting into my sewing room and writing a pattern for the Block of the Month on Saturday. Also I am working on a PowerPoint and then a few of those Christmas projects that sat while I slept. 

This is a day when I feel like the light turned on. The past couple of days I was in the dark. So I celebrate my more regular routine - and add that I am now officially bald all the way! Best part is that on this day of light, my baldness is okay with me. Guess I've come a long way. It doesn't make me cry anymore...partly because I finally let my husband see me with no hair.

Signing off, the bald quilting cancer girl

Bombed Again

Part of my new reality is I have no control. My body has its own mentality and does what it wants whenever it decides to do it...or not. I hate it. I hate that I can't do my hair anymore. I can't depend on whether I am going to have bathroom issues in public. I have no control over fatigue, even after I have slept for twelve hours. My digestion is not the same. My nose bleeds at least twice a day. I get sores on my skin and pimples on my face. My one foot has decided to hurt, and my white blood cells just won't behave themselves.

That's right. They sent me home from my infusion again yesterday. My white blood cells bombed and so I got another shot. Why? Why? I am told it is one of the chemo drugs that kills my white blood cells, that it is a side effect of chemotherapy which not everyone has. Just me, at the moment. Just me. Darn.

I had to call Tom again because he in good faith said I was fine and left me off at the clinic. So I sat by the door of the clinic, watched the ground breaking for a new oncology building, and greeted everyone who entered the existing clinic with, "Good morning. Nice to see you." And, "Have a wonderful holiday!" Interesting reactions from the folks who entered and exited. Some muttered something. Others were talkative and helped my time pass. Then there were those that stormed out the door because I was a bother. No problem. I tried.

Back at home, I knuckled down and finished a t-shirt quilt, then got busy on a few Christmas projects. My company was Christmas movies. They were okay, but my real company was tears. I felt so sad all day yesterday. I was frustrated, angry, and disappointed. I talked with God and asked stupid questions like "Why can't this be easier?"  I shared that I was trying so hard to do everything right by cancer. My patience was being tested, and I just cried.

Tom was the awesome, understanding husband. He knew there was nothing he could do except hug me and hold me. That he did, several times, and I cried more.  Sure. I am still grieving for the healthier me. The little kid in me wants to be like all my family and friends who are 'out there' having fun with Christmas. I also don't want these pauses with my infusions because that means I have to struggle with chemotherapy longer in the spring.

I know I trust my God. I believe he is leading me through this. The path I am following is His and it seems I need more time to get a hold on my journey. This is not easy. And, who knows, maybe it was meant to be that I was to greet all those folks coming in and out of the clinic yesterday. If I made a difference to one newly diagnosed cancer patient, then all my tears were worth it. Lord knows, I would have loved someone to greet me at the start of my long trip down that long hall to the oncology suite. Acknowledgement of our very existence is somehow an affirmation that we are not alone in cancer...and that affirmation is golden.

Off to try for my infusion again today. It's Tuesday and I am signing off...The quilting cancer girl

My Little Secret

Looking forward to something wonderful every single day is a must. Sounds like an Eileen rule, doesn't it? This was a mantra I grew up with. My grandparents used to emphasize the importance of living with things to anticipate; my parents were big into making sure that our family had things to look forward to as we moved through a year. In fact, as senior citizens they were always scheduling a date night out at the movies, dinner at a restaurant, or even a trip to see their daughters or Alaska or Las Vegas. My mom said travelling gave them hope.

For me, scheduling something to look forward to takes on a slightly different meaning. It's a favorite class that I am teaching at the end of a week. Maybe it's ice cream at the end of a long day, laying in the summer hammock to read a book, or sleeping in the recliner after a particularly hard morning. I figure ways to reward myself that makes any of my current struggles worthwhile. 

Many of my cancer friends keep their focus on events unique to their family. They want to be present at their granddaughter's graduation or their niece's wedding or the family reunion next fourth of July. They make that 'look forward to time' and literally live to enjoy their family moments together, then take on a whole new family focus.

One girl at the clinic, Christine, learned she had stage four breast cancer when her daughters were 13 months and four years old. She talks about living from one holiday and one birthday to the next, always wondering if she will make it. Still, she looks forward to their growing up, and with family support during all these years of chemotherapy, is doing well. Her daughters are now four and seven.

I have a bigger tendency to establish goals for myself that are grounded in my daily living. Perhaps it is a deadline for a quilt to be finished or a class to be planned. Sometimes it is how many steps I can take in a week as I walk the neighborhood, or a book I want to finish by the end of the weekend. They are goals that give me purpose and joy and they stretch me to learn, use my skills, and exercise. I feel really good from those accomplishments, and yes, they do give me hope.

Today is my Monday infusion. At least, I am praying it happens. My 'self' is feeling pretty good so I am assuming my white blood cells will be in tact enough to be accepted for treatment. What am I looking forward to afterwards? What is my reward? Do I have a goal? Yuppers!

I have a t-shirt quilt to bind so that I can notify a woman that it's ready for pickup. I also have a few Christmas projects to complete. They will keep me focused across the morning and when I return home, hopefully, I will be energized enough to enjoy my sewing room. 

The beauty of such goals is that they are my little secret. While I struggle with the day-to-day of my cancer, they let me go to a positive place that gives me light and keeps me whole. It is so like looking forward to the birth of Jesus. No matter my struggle, I can mentally and emotionally go to a positive place full of peace where a little child lies in a manager, giving light and hope to the people witnessing his existence. I need that hope these days...and so I trudge on, always looking forward to something wonderful.

Hopefully, the quilting cancer girl

God has blessed me

Skipped a day of writing because I was so incredibly busy with teaching on Zoom from 10-4:00 p.m., and I am happy to say I actually had enough energy to stay up with the task. Have I said how much I love to teach? Have I shared how wonderful it is to teach an enthusiastic group of sewing ladies, eager to learn everything they can possibly learn about quilting, sewing blocks together, even embroidery?

There is a very magical camaraderie that happens within a quilting group. Initially, we gather together around fabric. We are a bunch that loves to 'pet' fabric, and as we are finding just the right fabrics for our project, we imagine all the ways that fabric can come together - like an amazing puzzle -  entertaining us along the way, and stimulating us to learn.

The friendships we develop are often lifelong or at the least, life changing. I cannot tell you the number of awesome ladies I know - many of them you - who are like a sister to me. When we have encounters at the quilt shop, we pick up our conversation right where we left off the last time, and that's priceless. We talk about our daily challenges in between patterns we are pondering. We celebrate quilting successes and address quilt questions, giggle about side trips to quilt shops, and the new machine we are getting for Christmas, all the while sharing our common ground, no matter what that might be.

Best part of quilting - in addition to fabric and friendships - is that mine is therapeutic. For the time I spend sewing - say three or four hours - I do not think about anything heavy. My cancer is forgotten. The problems of the world do not exist. I am literally on a sewing vacation, albeit in my own sewing studio, and for those hours, my mind is cancer free.

So, when I can teach or visit with my quilting/sewing sisters, God has blessed me. And when we sew together, even on Zoom, I escape from the surreal cancer world into a heavenly zone of fabric and cutting, thread and creativity, and I love every single minute of block construction or free motion quilting or even binding. 

Today I do not teach. Today I prepare for tomorrow's classes, and that just might mean I'll sneak in a lengthy nap, or maybe a few hours of work on one of my Christmas projects. Fact is, quilting is my therapy and it keeps me going. It gives me something to look forward to, reminds me about my creative self and gives me abundant joy. Thanks for being in my world. We do have fun, don't we?

Off to my sewing room...the quilting cancer girl

White Blood Cells Unite

Everything worked out just fine with my infusion yesterday: Tuesday. That miracle shot they gave me created white blood cells that stood up to the pretest. Hallelujah! The deed was done! For the remainder of the day, however, I fussed around with royal diarrhea - not what you want to hear but it was reality - and I was scared to death it would plague me all night.

Before crawling under my covers, I decorated the bedroom carpet with big green garbage bags - my husband just laughs - in case of an explosive emergency. But you know what? I slept the whole night with no catastrophes and woke up this morning feeling like a real human being. I had energy. I wasn't lightheaded. I could think clearly. I had white blood cells!!!!  Just think at how much better we all feel with those little buggers doing what they're supposed to do.

I've been told that one of the chemo drugs I take kills white blood cells. This is something I have to contend with across time. Darn. So I am guessing I will crash this Friday or Saturday as once again the white blood cells are depleted and I have to start over again. Wish I could eat something yummy that would create a unified white blood cell front. That apparently can't happen.

Consequently, I am treasuring this day or two while I am more normal. It's a celebration folks. It means teaching my 10-4:00 class today was like heaven. I didn't feel like I was going to collapse. We visited and I sewed Crazy Christmas trees that looked as wonky as some days I feel. Still today was a gift. And for that I am so very thankful for the people who shared it with me.

Tonight as I crawl into bed, I will be grateful as I always am, for this day, and for each breath I take because breathing is also a gift, every moment of every day...and beyond. I am so blessed for the many miracles that bless me continuously. Thank you, Lord.

Gratefully, the quilting cancer girl

Paused Infusion

So, yesterday was a surprise! Well, not really, in retrospect. I went to my regular Monday appointment for an infusion of chemotherapy, weighed in, and nestled in my regular recliner. I was okay with seeing that my weight was down because sometimes with chemo your weight can increase ten or eleven pounds in a day. That happened to me last week and it was a tad scary. On my scale, I weighed 161 lbs. on Wednesday when normally I am 150 lbs. Then yesterday, I was 149. That's a 'go figure'!

To continue yesterday's story, I have to confess that I about crawled into the oncology suite. To interpret that...I was so terribly weak that I could barely stand. All week I was plagued with that lack of strength, and it was really bad yesterday morning. My husband dropped me off at the Roswell Clinic in Williamsville, went home, and I walked in - leaning against the wall the whole way. I couldn't stand up straight.

Now that hall is LONG. It goes on forever, and when you're feeling like you would rather crawl on your hands and knees, it is doubly L O N G. Well, I checked in and did the weigh in. Then they took my blood, using the mediport, which is a wonderful addition to my body for things like giving blood and accepting chemo.

The blood test bottomed out, which is a kind way of saying that my white blood cell count was a fraction of what it should be. So they told me I had to go home and regroup. Because of the low blood count, I didn't qualify for an infusion. Darn. Darn. Darn. Gladly, they gave me a shot of a miracle drug to make my bone marrow create beautiful white blood cells. I had to go home and let that drug work its miracles.

My husband was of course surprised when I called for a ride right after he had dropped me off but not really, because he knew I had felt weak since the previous Monday. I truly slept most of the week away - when I wasn't teaching - and didn't care much whether I sewed or not. For that reason, he knew something was amiss!

Well, home I went and sleep I did for the entire day. You know that sleeping thing can get embarrassing after a while. I have a tendency to look like 'ma in her cap' who just doesn't have enough energy to muster Christmas this year!

Today is Tuesday and so I return to the clinic for an 11:00 a.m. infusion appointment and hope it will be successful. I don't want to get behind on these infusions or I will miss spring too! Thankfully, I am stronger today. Yeah! I even feel like eating breakfast for a change. 

I write these musings of mine to help everyone grasp the ups and downs of chemo. And if you are going through chemo, these infusion pauses can happen. I guess it's no big deal because the nurses are making sure we are safe. We don't have to be scared when a pause happens. They just do, and the nurses take really good care of us because they WANT us to be able to handle whatever they dish out - which of course is tweaked in a recipe, especially for our individual needs... and that is just amazing.

Please pray for me this morning. I am doing the same. At least one success I anticipate...I will stand up straight and walk down the long hall to the oncology suite today because I feel stronger...thanks to a miracle drug and a wonderful backup support at the Williamsville Roswell Oncology Clinic.

Numb days are the worst

Some days - like last Saturday - things go pretty well. I woke in the morning and actually got a little work done, preparing for my afternoon class and writing thank you notes. When I have an awesome, fairly energetic morning, I am thrilled, thankful, and excited about the day.

What put a bit of a twist in the day was having to get my COVID booster just before noon. It went well. Stung my arm but that wasn't bad. I survived. Taught my table runner class in the afternoon and continued to feel good. So all in all, the day was positive and memorable.

Then I woke up on Sunday morning - yup - at 2:46 a.m. and fought to go to sleep again afterwards. My system decided to have bathroom issues, and then around 6:00 a.m., I felt like staring at the wall. I was numb to about everything. Didn't want to eat. Didn't want to move. Couldn't go to church. Slept then in the recliner till 1:30 p.m. I'm thinking in retrospect that I was dealing with the after affects of the booster shot. Just wanted to sleep. Just let me exist. I could do nothing.

I am proud of myself - that I got not only the booster shot but also the flu shot. Seems I should be pretty protected as long as my immune system cooperates and helps to keep me healthy. Wearing a mask is of course mandatory for those of us with cancer. Feels like we are in a cocoon with a cap on our head and a mask on our face, and yet that is necessary in today's world of fast moving germs.

As a final thought, one of my Massachusetts sons contacted me last night. He was here for a visit on Friday after Thanksgiving. We had a wonderful visit...and yesterday he shared that he has tested positive for COVID. When I told him I was worried because our visit was just a week ago, his answer was, "Don't get sick, mom!" I'm thinking he was being funny. Okay. I'm also praying he didn't have COVID when he was here because that is the absolutely last thing I need in my life right now.

Praying, the quilting cancer girl

Prayerful Questions

Everyday is unpredictable. That is a given, whether cancer exists or not. Life and its lessons are plain and simple...unpredictable. Hey! we never do know what is going to happen between waking and crawling back into bed at night. I know in my best day, I might have everything planned out, feeling carefree and in control of what needs to be done. But it never quite plays out exactly how I thought it would.

When I wake in the morning, I challenge my good Lord with two prayerful questions. (1) Who are we going to make a difference to today? and (2) What surprises will you arrange for me as I trudge through the routines of living? Hopefully, with Your love and guidance, I can handle them. Those questions quite honestly are anchored in my belief that God and I are walking together through the day, ready to tackle any of the obstacles or joys in the day's path. 

Each time I interact through love with someone, who knows? It could be a phone call or a note or a direct conversation. Maybe - just maybe - my positive thoughts are helping the recipient experience my caring about them. It's a mystery to me. I do know that those interactions always give me a hopeful boost that something positive is happening because we connected in a meaningful way. 

Then there is this question #2 about the surprises that God hands me as I go through my routines, no matter whether they have to do with cancer or not. There's the day I was feeling very down and discouraged. I came into the quilt shop after teaching a morning class and there in front of me were three of my block of the month quilting group ready to enfold me in giggles and hugs. I felt so blessed that day, and was immensely thankful that this surprise happened. I do believe God brought us together, knowing full well that I needed cheerful conversation. 

The very same day I received a phone call from another sewing friend that lasted for over an hour. And after that call, I was laughing and joking with my husband in a way I had missed since my diagnosis. Thank you, my friend. 

My sisters connected with me. My boys sent me flowers and then called to chat.  The day was filled with unexpected surprises and when I crawled into our flannel sheets that evening, I was beyond grateful that God had answered my morning prayer questions. Cancer or not, I realized I could find peace and strength and courage and about burst with the love that surrounds me because our lives intertwine - yours and mine - and you make a positive difference to me. 

Affectionately, the quilting cancer girl

My sisters balance me

There is nothing like a sister. I have many, and I applaud them for understanding me better than sometimes I understand myself. That takes clarification, I know, so here is my read on how understanding sisters make this cancer adventure truly doable. 

First, I have an Indianapolis sister and a Chicago sister. They are biological sisters  (we were a gift to our folks every five years between 1945 and 1955) and we three are very connected, with me being the oldest and my Indianapolis sister, the youngest. 

My Chicago sister is excellent at reminding me that what I need are positive thoughts and everything will work out fine. I hang on to her input tightly and use it to boost me when I am trending on a negative path. (That can happen at some point in every day.) She keeps me from having pity parties. Just stay positive...just stay positive. It has become my mantra.

My Indianapolis sister prays with me. When I have Monday chemo sessions, we text. It is as if she is sitting in the chair next to me. We pray that I find the strength, courage and peace for which I am so desperately searching. She grasps that God is in my process and accepts my struggle when I feel like staying positive is too big. 

Fact is, my two sisters sustain me. They keep me balanced and hold me up. They help me be strong. They have faith I can handle this challenge, and I pray that I may do the same for them someday should they find themselves in my shoes. May that never happen.

Here...it is important to write more on this business of sisterhood because I am a quilting gal and I teach quilt classes. Some have two or three students; others have as many as 14-20 class members. At this point in time, my classes are taught across ZOOM (protection for me during this cancer) and they are marvelous boosters for my morale. 

The ladies in these classes take care of me. They are interested. They share their experiences from their own personal cancer journeys. They encourage me, share tips that are extremely helpful, and they listen when I need to talk. Some have initiated a Meal Train (to make sure my husband doesn't starve lol). You should have seen the Thanksgiving dinner we were served, and on a day when I had no energy to do anything, a meal that we enjoyed for more than a week.

My sewing sisters actually extend beyond classes. Some of us have bonded over the past years, sewing together, biking across the summer, even taking road trips to quilt shops far and away. These wonderful ladies remind me to rest, encourage me to eat, laugh with me over silly things like losing my hair, and in the end, are loud and clear that I am not in this alone.

We come to depend on each other. We help each other out with sewing challenges, yes, and we support each other through surgeries, deaths in a family, the loss of our beloved pets, and the pain felt when our children face the life crises we maybe also confronted in our younger years. Everyone needs a listening ear from time to time. It's not just about me.

So, I offer to anyone out there, whether you are walking a cancer path or facing something different, build relationships with your sisters because those relationships will help keep you whole. God works through every single one of those caring people to say, "I love you. You are not alone." And best of all, these gals know that sometimes we don't need to talk...because there are no words. We just need to 'be' together, quietly, holding hands, or hugging each other. 

Signed, the quilting cancer gal

Middle of the Night

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, only to lie in bed and listen to the quiet. There are subtle sounds: my breathing (every breath is a gift from God), Tom's snoring, Claire's adjustments on the bedcovers, the furnace turning on and off, occasionally a loud semi changing gears over on the main highway. I don't feel sad. I don't feel much of anything. I mostly listen and find myself thankful that I am feeling okay at the moment...just awake.

Last night I was awake at 2:30 a.m. Just like that. I was awake. But I felt very peaceful when I realized I was really okay, and prayed a prayer of gratitude for that. Of course, my awake mind wandered. I started thinking (which can be dangerous at 2:30 a.m.) and found myself feeling overwhelmingly grateful for the book by Lynn Eib, When God and Cancer Meet. That book made a HUGE mark on my understanding the interaction of faith with cancer.

As I suggested in a past post, it is a book everyone must read or gift to someone facing a cancer marathon. God speaks in love through Lynn and remarkably she gives peaceful encouragement that we are never alone.

My mind wandered to another book I find helpful: 50 Days of Hope, also by Lynn Eib. She is a colon cancer survivor. I have just finished reading that little book and love it so much that I am starting all over again with another 50 days. (I can't believe I've been on this journey for over 90 days already!)

I recall reading day #49 - entitled Waste Not, Want Not. Lynn's message was reaffirming because she says, "Don't waste your cancer."  She continues by suggesting that we share our cancer journey to encourage others.

Way back in September I chose to be open. It seemed so natural to share, relieving me of the stress of carrying this load alone. I knew I couldn't keep it a secret. If you read my blog, my intent is to be an inspiration, even through the ups and downs of an infusion and life across the week that follows. Sometimes I have to give in and let my body do whatever it needs to do. When I come out the other side of all that, I can function pretty well, and so can you.

In these night thought wanderings of mine, my brain goes everywhere. Sometimes I ponder quilting projects I am working on, and I figure out a sewing challenge. Whimsically, I recall beautiful rainbows in my memories. I pray for people on my prayer list. I send love to my boys. I feel my bald head. I move over and snuggle next to my husband's warm back, thankful that he is my steady partner.

Tonight I start thinking that God gave me a house to live in. My body is my house, and by entrusting that body to me, He gave me the responsibility of keeping it in good repair. 

It's like I have some black mold that needs to be reckoned with that is a nasty tumor. And so I have activated the repairmen to do their job and rid me of that mold. It's going to take a while. I know that. It's tiring. But I am dedicated to keeping my God given house clean and whole and founded on hope. Like the very breath I breathe, it is a gift that I treasure and it is filled with love and love conquers all...right?...and I know God loves me...and I love God back...and before you know it, I have fallen back into restful sleep. Sigh. See you in the morning...