That's right, every year we, as a church family get together and figure out our finances for the upcoming year. In the process we talk about what has transpired during the past year. I guess every church does this and the Congregational Meeting as we have come to call it ranges from a Pastor's report to highlights from most of our committees. Some people would rather have their teeth pulled than come to this meeting. I understand, sort of. It's not exciting or usually uplifting or maybe even inspiring, except it really kind of is--and I'll tell you why.
The Church, not the Lutheran Church mind you, but the church as drawn and realized by the followers of Jesus, is over 2000 years old. It exists not to figure out the finances of its parishioners, although we do that. It exists because we follow the Christ. We are all part of something bigger than ourselves individually, bigger than our egos (which can be pretty big sometimes), bigger than numbers on a page--whether those numbers represent money, people or property. The church exists to be The Lord in the world, his hands and feet. We do this together whether we like the guy next to us or not, whether the weather is nice or not, whether we "feel" like it or not. Because we are all individuals who come together for this corner property, we are sharing a vision of the one began all those years ago. It can be exciting because we are working together to build something bigger than ourselves.
So stick around for the meeting if you can tomorrow. It may not be earth shaking or pew thumping, but I promise you, it will change the world if only by agreeing to meet at one service and be the hands and feet of God.
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Monday, December 31, 2012
Reflections in a Christmas Ball
Standing in front of the Christmas tree on this New Year's Eve day, I am pondering what the new year will bring and what I've received from the previous year. Not the material things, the "other" things. Now lest you think I will get all sappy here, please keep in mind that I received a diagnosis of basal cell cancer that I wasn't too thrilled about!
Each year I am filled with a profound sense of the Lord's work, but I only seem to see it at the end of the year more clearly (I guess Paul, that great letter writer would be nodding his head, all that stuff about the mirror dimly). God's presence was there in the big things (our daughter's wedding) and the small--seeing a butterfly close up without it flying away. I felt Him when I visited our nephew's grave and longed for it when, on a rainy afternoon I thought no one cared.
The Christmas tree with its shiny ornaments and twinkling lights is a passing thing. Soon it will be time to take down the decorations, empty out the cookies tins, tuck away the outdoor lights and life will continue on as it has for years. But what do we take away from this past year? What can we say about the gifts The Lord has bestowed on us, not just for Christmas but all the year? What can we do to bring about the light in the dark places? This is I think what the New Year is about. Reflecting on what has taken place, sure. But thinking about the possibilities of the year coming up as well. Where will we be and what will we be doing?
Let's celebrate the New Year by being the light bringers! Let us share the hope that Jesus brings to all we meet, so that next New Year's Eve the light reflected on the Christmas balls on the tree will be the same light He shares with us each day.
Have a wonderful and safe New Year.
Each year I am filled with a profound sense of the Lord's work, but I only seem to see it at the end of the year more clearly (I guess Paul, that great letter writer would be nodding his head, all that stuff about the mirror dimly). God's presence was there in the big things (our daughter's wedding) and the small--seeing a butterfly close up without it flying away. I felt Him when I visited our nephew's grave and longed for it when, on a rainy afternoon I thought no one cared.
The Christmas tree with its shiny ornaments and twinkling lights is a passing thing. Soon it will be time to take down the decorations, empty out the cookies tins, tuck away the outdoor lights and life will continue on as it has for years. But what do we take away from this past year? What can we say about the gifts The Lord has bestowed on us, not just for Christmas but all the year? What can we do to bring about the light in the dark places? This is I think what the New Year is about. Reflecting on what has taken place, sure. But thinking about the possibilities of the year coming up as well. Where will we be and what will we be doing?
Let's celebrate the New Year by being the light bringers! Let us share the hope that Jesus brings to all we meet, so that next New Year's Eve the light reflected on the Christmas balls on the tree will be the same light He shares with us each day.
Have a wonderful and safe New Year.
Monday, December 24, 2012
Chritmas Eve
This is the night that I used to suspend all logical thoughts and believe in the magical. When I was a kid, this was the night that Santa came to our house, appeared in our living room (we didn't have a fireplace, so there was no way he was coming down the chimney) and left a piles of presents for my siblings and I. We helped our dad decorate the tree, the smells coming from the kitchen of baked pies for the next day's dessert, and giggled and wiggled until far into the night waiting for the next day.
But also in the room was my mother's elaborate Nativity scene. It was not lavish, nor imported from some foreign land. It was put on top of a card table or placed on top of the stereo speakers completely obliterating it. It was a large wooden platform that had some grainy green stuff for the base which I think was that fake grass from train sets. It had a sandy path which led up to a wooden barn-like thing. It had sheep grazing around and occasionally sipping from the mirror placed amid the sand and grit to look like a pond. One of the sheep had a busted leg, so we had to prop him up on a piece of stick placed to look like a log near the pond. Each day my mother would read from the purple "Advent book" and we would either place a new figure in the scene or read about something related to the scene. By the time Christmas Eve rolled around the scene was set and after church on this night, we would come home and place Mary and Joseph in the old barn, looking at an empty manger. See it wasn't Christmas yet. Jesus made his first appearance on Christmas morning, so we couldn't add him in until the correct time.
The Nativity scene I have in my own home fits on the mantlepiece around the chimney (yes, I have a fireplace now). It's not as homespun as my mothers and not as big. But the pieces are lovingly placed each year throughout Advent, waiting until Christmas morning for Jesus.
The magic of the season is with me still. Maybe not the Santa part. But the small baby part, coming to redeem us from ourselves. God coming down once again in the mystic communion of the night to see his creations and let us know that as unworthy as we are of his love, He loves us still.So there is still magic in the night tonight. The magic of love and wonder and awe. God comes down every Christmas, indeed every day of every year. What could be more magical than that?
Merry Christmas all!
But also in the room was my mother's elaborate Nativity scene. It was not lavish, nor imported from some foreign land. It was put on top of a card table or placed on top of the stereo speakers completely obliterating it. It was a large wooden platform that had some grainy green stuff for the base which I think was that fake grass from train sets. It had a sandy path which led up to a wooden barn-like thing. It had sheep grazing around and occasionally sipping from the mirror placed amid the sand and grit to look like a pond. One of the sheep had a busted leg, so we had to prop him up on a piece of stick placed to look like a log near the pond. Each day my mother would read from the purple "Advent book" and we would either place a new figure in the scene or read about something related to the scene. By the time Christmas Eve rolled around the scene was set and after church on this night, we would come home and place Mary and Joseph in the old barn, looking at an empty manger. See it wasn't Christmas yet. Jesus made his first appearance on Christmas morning, so we couldn't add him in until the correct time.
The Nativity scene I have in my own home fits on the mantlepiece around the chimney (yes, I have a fireplace now). It's not as homespun as my mothers and not as big. But the pieces are lovingly placed each year throughout Advent, waiting until Christmas morning for Jesus.
The magic of the season is with me still. Maybe not the Santa part. But the small baby part, coming to redeem us from ourselves. God coming down once again in the mystic communion of the night to see his creations and let us know that as unworthy as we are of his love, He loves us still.So there is still magic in the night tonight. The magic of love and wonder and awe. God comes down every Christmas, indeed every day of every year. What could be more magical than that?
Merry Christmas all!
Friday, December 7, 2012
Do You Need Proof?
I get a couple of devotions delivered to my in box every day. They vary as to whether they actually touch me or even resonate at all. But once in a while a line or two will reach out of my computer and grab me by the arm...well, maybe just grab my mind and it is such a startling experience that I have to write it down somewhere to remember at a later time. This happened the other day. This devotional is using a book by Dietrich Boenhoffer to make it's point and most of the time, I think he's either too deep or to cerebral for me. But just the other day I read this and thought, well, yeah, this is great:
Only when I forgo visible proof, do I believe in God.
It reminded me of reading C.S. Lewis' book, Mere Christianity. He reminded me that if I go looking around for proof positive that God exists and is there (or here or anywhere for that matter), I'm not going to find him. Because to have faith means to believe when there really isn't anything concrete to put my hand on. And I feel like that is what Advent and even Christmas is all about, too. Does it really have to be proven that Mary was a virgin? Do we have to get all astronomy minded about the "star of Bethlehem"? Do you need to know that the angel chorus was a hundred, a thousand or just a couple? The most basic thing to remember is that God came down. God so loved our poor pitiful souls that he was willing to sacrifice his own son to show us that love. I don't think it matters whether the stable was wooden or really a cave. And I'm pretty sure the evidence of three kings dropping by is non-existent. But God's love is pretty tangible. And if I can get sappy for a minute or two, it seems really real, tangible and certain at this time of the year, more than almost any other. I've seen more charitable acts, witnessed more kindnesses, and heard more "good will to men" than at any other time of the year. And I really don't care if it's just at this time of the year either. At least it's at this time of the year! At least we can feast our eyes on the marvelous works of a starry cold winter night, of family and friends who join together in song and praise, or rest quietly from a long days labor while reading once again that story of the first Christmas. It's a good story. A loving story, and it feels true because it is just so, well, unbelievable.
So I will forgo the visible proof that God exists and continue on my merry faith-filled way in the sure and certain hope that Jesus loves me, this I know. With or without the multitude of heavenly hosts filling me in on it.
Only when I forgo visible proof, do I believe in God.
It reminded me of reading C.S. Lewis' book, Mere Christianity. He reminded me that if I go looking around for proof positive that God exists and is there (or here or anywhere for that matter), I'm not going to find him. Because to have faith means to believe when there really isn't anything concrete to put my hand on. And I feel like that is what Advent and even Christmas is all about, too. Does it really have to be proven that Mary was a virgin? Do we have to get all astronomy minded about the "star of Bethlehem"? Do you need to know that the angel chorus was a hundred, a thousand or just a couple? The most basic thing to remember is that God came down. God so loved our poor pitiful souls that he was willing to sacrifice his own son to show us that love. I don't think it matters whether the stable was wooden or really a cave. And I'm pretty sure the evidence of three kings dropping by is non-existent. But God's love is pretty tangible. And if I can get sappy for a minute or two, it seems really real, tangible and certain at this time of the year, more than almost any other. I've seen more charitable acts, witnessed more kindnesses, and heard more "good will to men" than at any other time of the year. And I really don't care if it's just at this time of the year either. At least it's at this time of the year! At least we can feast our eyes on the marvelous works of a starry cold winter night, of family and friends who join together in song and praise, or rest quietly from a long days labor while reading once again that story of the first Christmas. It's a good story. A loving story, and it feels true because it is just so, well, unbelievable.
So I will forgo the visible proof that God exists and continue on my merry faith-filled way in the sure and certain hope that Jesus loves me, this I know. With or without the multitude of heavenly hosts filling me in on it.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
When I'm Calling YOU
The above title refers (to those of the younger set) to a song sung by Jeanette McDonald and Nelson something or other. They were a singing duo and this particular song was sung while he was wearing a mounties uniform--as in Canadian Mounties. Look it up, I kid you not. But I digress.
This Sunday in our Adult Sunday School Class we discussed what it meant to be "called". Pastor suggested that the term "called" had religious connotations to it and therefore was off putting to some people. I guess we could have asked each other what we feel compelled to do even though it may not be what we usually do. This is one explanation of being called. We also kicked around the idea that being called to do something doesn't have to have religious leanings. You could be feeling compelled to call people on the phone to see how they are. You could be really good at cooking for large gatherings of people and therefore be available when the Thanksgiving Dinner rolls around to help out in the kitchen. You could be good at listening to people who need someone to listen to them in whatever station of life they are in. We kind of agreed, I think, that being called to the do the work of the Lord involves a kind of service to others. I might feel like I'm called to stand in front of people and spout a bunch of stuff, but really, if it's just so I can show off, I don't think its the same thing as being there to help someone in a soup kitchen.
The qualifying thing then seems to be that you feel like you need to do something for someone else, not just for your enjoyment or edification. The service aspect of our relationships to each other is what sets the "called" aspect from the "look at me" aspect. A friend of mine says she doesn't know what she is called to do, but she knows what it feels like when God seems to be tapping her on the shoulder. And you don't really want to ignore the tap, as I have a feeling it will continue until you do something about it.
I feel called to write this blog. Sometimes I pretend I don't. Sometimes I ignore the tap and continue for a few weeks before being reminded that this is something I do, not just for myself, but I hope for others who may wander in and rest a bit. So I hope you can reflect a little on what you might be called to do and how that calling is shared with others. And if you get a chance, look up that singing duo I mentioned in the first sentence and remind me, just what the heck was that guys name??
This Sunday in our Adult Sunday School Class we discussed what it meant to be "called". Pastor suggested that the term "called" had religious connotations to it and therefore was off putting to some people. I guess we could have asked each other what we feel compelled to do even though it may not be what we usually do. This is one explanation of being called. We also kicked around the idea that being called to do something doesn't have to have religious leanings. You could be feeling compelled to call people on the phone to see how they are. You could be really good at cooking for large gatherings of people and therefore be available when the Thanksgiving Dinner rolls around to help out in the kitchen. You could be good at listening to people who need someone to listen to them in whatever station of life they are in. We kind of agreed, I think, that being called to the do the work of the Lord involves a kind of service to others. I might feel like I'm called to stand in front of people and spout a bunch of stuff, but really, if it's just so I can show off, I don't think its the same thing as being there to help someone in a soup kitchen.
The qualifying thing then seems to be that you feel like you need to do something for someone else, not just for your enjoyment or edification. The service aspect of our relationships to each other is what sets the "called" aspect from the "look at me" aspect. A friend of mine says she doesn't know what she is called to do, but she knows what it feels like when God seems to be tapping her on the shoulder. And you don't really want to ignore the tap, as I have a feeling it will continue until you do something about it.
I feel called to write this blog. Sometimes I pretend I don't. Sometimes I ignore the tap and continue for a few weeks before being reminded that this is something I do, not just for myself, but I hope for others who may wander in and rest a bit. So I hope you can reflect a little on what you might be called to do and how that calling is shared with others. And if you get a chance, look up that singing duo I mentioned in the first sentence and remind me, just what the heck was that guys name??
Along for the ride
In the last month I've experienced so many ups and downs its a wonder I don't have whiplash! The cancer diagnosis was a downer, but our daughter got married and a more happy occasion I can't imagine. We had to put our 18 year old cat to sleep and I began to teach Sunday School (Adult) class again. See what I mean? Ups and downs.
I got to thinking about those highs and lows and how they affect they way we view things. When things are going well, we have a tendency to pat ourselves on the back for a "job well done" even though we may not have had anything to do with the positives. On the other side of that, when things aren't going so well, we get grouchy and blame someone else for our woes. We tend to see God that way, too. We might not remember to thank the Lord for all the marvelous blessings bestowed upon us and instead look to the Almighty to fix those things that are stumbling blocks to our smooth paths. We might even blame God for the things which seem to be afflicting us. I've heard more times than I can count, "why me, God?" A friend of mine frequently adds after that, "why not you?" It makes you pause for a minute when you hear him say that. He contends that no one is exempt from troubles or hard times. Even the best of Christians experience sadness and sorrow. How you cope with it, is what makes the difference.
I am reminded that God walks with us each day of the year. In sunshine and shadows, in rainbows and rain, whether we acknowledge his presence or not. He stands right next to you when you suddenly find a dollar in your pocket and when you hit your thumb with a hammer. And no, I don't believe he caused you to hit your thumb. I think God is with us in our life, not pulling the strings, but putting a hand out when we need to be steadied. I find comfort in the fact that the Lord's presence isn't dependent on my awareness of it. I think I would be in a much more lonely and desolate place without knowing that God is with me.
You know, Advent is coming up next week. When we begin to anticipate "God With Us"--Immanuel, coming as he always has. Let us take some time to appreciate the sunset, the crunch of leaves on the sidewalk, the good and bad things which happen to all of us. Yes, appreciate the bad as well as the good. For God is indeed with us all the time and who would you rather have along for the ride?
I got to thinking about those highs and lows and how they affect they way we view things. When things are going well, we have a tendency to pat ourselves on the back for a "job well done" even though we may not have had anything to do with the positives. On the other side of that, when things aren't going so well, we get grouchy and blame someone else for our woes. We tend to see God that way, too. We might not remember to thank the Lord for all the marvelous blessings bestowed upon us and instead look to the Almighty to fix those things that are stumbling blocks to our smooth paths. We might even blame God for the things which seem to be afflicting us. I've heard more times than I can count, "why me, God?" A friend of mine frequently adds after that, "why not you?" It makes you pause for a minute when you hear him say that. He contends that no one is exempt from troubles or hard times. Even the best of Christians experience sadness and sorrow. How you cope with it, is what makes the difference.
I am reminded that God walks with us each day of the year. In sunshine and shadows, in rainbows and rain, whether we acknowledge his presence or not. He stands right next to you when you suddenly find a dollar in your pocket and when you hit your thumb with a hammer. And no, I don't believe he caused you to hit your thumb. I think God is with us in our life, not pulling the strings, but putting a hand out when we need to be steadied. I find comfort in the fact that the Lord's presence isn't dependent on my awareness of it. I think I would be in a much more lonely and desolate place without knowing that God is with me.
You know, Advent is coming up next week. When we begin to anticipate "God With Us"--Immanuel, coming as he always has. Let us take some time to appreciate the sunset, the crunch of leaves on the sidewalk, the good and bad things which happen to all of us. Yes, appreciate the bad as well as the good. For God is indeed with us all the time and who would you rather have along for the ride?
Sunday, October 21, 2012
The "C" Word
About 6 months ago, I realized I had a lump in my eyebrow. It wasn't
big or anything. And it didn't hurt. But I knew it was there. And I
would finger it occasionally just to see if it felt any different. It
didn't feel any different, but it wasn't getting any smaller either. Of
course, after I really got to thinking about it, it felt like it was
getting bigger. I was sort of freaked out about it. So I went to see a
dermatologist. After examining it, she indicated that it was just some
sort of growth under the skin and nothing to be upset about and did I
want it removed? Well, yeah, I thought. Get it out of there! She numbed
me up and proceeded to remove this lumpy thing. It was benign and it
would heal before the big wedding coming up and no one would ever know
it was there...because now it wasn't! They gave me an appointment for a
follow up in three months, which ended up being September. So far so
good.
I went to the appointment in September without any trepidation at all. After all the lump was gone and there didn't seem to be anything else to think about. As I sat on the upright recliner waiting for the dermatologist, the assistant came in and told me to remove my clothing and put on this paper drape thing with armholes. Why? I thought? They're just gonna look at the ol' eyebrow, tell themselves what a great job they did and that was the end of that, right? I know you looking at me askance right now and saying, "well, obviously she was wrong." The doctor came in and said she was going to do a "body check". I immediately thought of the wrestling move and then dismissed it from my mind. She was going to look over the body for any abnormalities--luckily she wasn't checking my mind. She ran her fingers through my hair, a sort of weird feeling for me and then looked me full in the face, pointed to my lip and said, "well, that has to go." What? What has to go? The look on my face? What? So I asked, "what has to go?" She placed her finger on my upper lip and said, "this."
I've looked at my face for 58 years and I still wasn't quite sure what she was pointing at. She got a mirror and showed me the bump that's been there for a long time. I was of two minds at this point. Why this bump? How come you didn't see it when I came in for the other bump? And really what's another bump on my face to worry about anyway? She looked at the rest of me and decided that the bump was the only thing wrong. And then she began to tell me how she was going to "numb it up" and take care of it. I just assumed it would be another lump removal like the one on my eyebrow. But you know, I really didn't want a scar on my face for the wedding pictures, so I just sort of casually asked, will this leave a scar? She stopped prepping and asked what I was worried about. I told her the wedding of our only daughter was two months away and I didn't want to look like Scarface in the wedding pictures. It'll just be a little red, she said. You can cover it up with cosmetics. Fair enough, I said and she numbed it up and came at my face with a sort of sharp little wiry thing. She scraped and scraped, but she wasn't digging it out like the other bump. But of course my lip was numb and really you can't have a conversation with someone when your lip is being worked on, so I waited. When she finally stopped scraping, she said, okay, we're gonna biopsy this, but I'm almost positive what we're gonna find. She put the scraped stuff in a jar, gave me a bandage and handed me a piece of blue paper with instructions on how to take care of the "biopsy" site. She did not say it looked benign like the other lump. She did say, "don't call us, we'll call you" regarding what the results of the biopsy would be. Really? Don't call us? For two weeks, just sit around and worry and worry, but really, we'll get back to you. Very unnerving.
So like a good little patient, I went about my business and tried (really I did) not to think about the word biopsy, what it means, why it triggers certain things in my mind and oh, by the way, don't call us we'll call you. By the second week I was antsy, so I called. They said the person who needed to talk to me would call me back. Which she did, while I was at work. She left a number. I called. She was with patients and couldn't talk right then. She'd call me back. Which she did when I was in the bathroom. So I called back. She was back with another patient. By this time, I had no patience, so I said, "I'll wait." They tried to discourage that adamant stand, but to no avail. Nope, she was talking to me this time if I had to stay on the phone and listen to their way-too-chipper ads about getting rid of wrinkles, fat and age spots for the next few days. Eventually the assistant doctor got on the phone, though and said, well, the biopsy says you have basal cell cancer. And there it was. The "C" word.
I've dreaded that word for most of my adult life. My father had bladder cancer which seemed to metastasize everywhere eventually. It is not something I want to remember much. But the "C" word brings out every single memory I've ever had of this disease. And they are not pleasant ones. I think I stopped breathing for a few moments and then the tears began to roll down my cheeks. I'm relatively sure I wasn't making any gasping sounds, but the doctor said, "are you alright?" knowing full well I wasn't. She explained that basal cell skin cancer doesn't metastasize anywhere except to maybe other places near where it is already. It doesn't "infect" other body parts. It's a relatively easy fix/cure/whatever you want to call it. She didn't seem particularly concerned. My smart ass self thought, "well of course, she's not concerned, she doesn't have it." But that wasn't fair really. She told me I would need a consultation to discuss what we would do next as a course of action. She said we should schedule that consult relatively quickly. But I have to say, I wasn't ready to do anything quickly. I was still processing. I am still processing. The consultation happened the day after my birthday--Happy Birthday to you! As I follow up with this post, I'll keep you informed.
I know it's just a word. A powerful word, but just a word nonetheless. If it had been some other more "evil" kind, I would probably still be sobbing on the phone instead of going about the business of working, getting ready for a wedding and cleaning up after the cat. I am doing those things, but that word is still in the back of my mind, lurking, it's shadowy specter haunting my waking and even sometimes sleeping moments. I wish I could dismiss it as easily as some others. But so far, I haven't been able to. But I'm working on it. Every day.
I went to the appointment in September without any trepidation at all. After all the lump was gone and there didn't seem to be anything else to think about. As I sat on the upright recliner waiting for the dermatologist, the assistant came in and told me to remove my clothing and put on this paper drape thing with armholes. Why? I thought? They're just gonna look at the ol' eyebrow, tell themselves what a great job they did and that was the end of that, right? I know you looking at me askance right now and saying, "well, obviously she was wrong." The doctor came in and said she was going to do a "body check". I immediately thought of the wrestling move and then dismissed it from my mind. She was going to look over the body for any abnormalities--luckily she wasn't checking my mind. She ran her fingers through my hair, a sort of weird feeling for me and then looked me full in the face, pointed to my lip and said, "well, that has to go." What? What has to go? The look on my face? What? So I asked, "what has to go?" She placed her finger on my upper lip and said, "this."
I've looked at my face for 58 years and I still wasn't quite sure what she was pointing at. She got a mirror and showed me the bump that's been there for a long time. I was of two minds at this point. Why this bump? How come you didn't see it when I came in for the other bump? And really what's another bump on my face to worry about anyway? She looked at the rest of me and decided that the bump was the only thing wrong. And then she began to tell me how she was going to "numb it up" and take care of it. I just assumed it would be another lump removal like the one on my eyebrow. But you know, I really didn't want a scar on my face for the wedding pictures, so I just sort of casually asked, will this leave a scar? She stopped prepping and asked what I was worried about. I told her the wedding of our only daughter was two months away and I didn't want to look like Scarface in the wedding pictures. It'll just be a little red, she said. You can cover it up with cosmetics. Fair enough, I said and she numbed it up and came at my face with a sort of sharp little wiry thing. She scraped and scraped, but she wasn't digging it out like the other bump. But of course my lip was numb and really you can't have a conversation with someone when your lip is being worked on, so I waited. When she finally stopped scraping, she said, okay, we're gonna biopsy this, but I'm almost positive what we're gonna find. She put the scraped stuff in a jar, gave me a bandage and handed me a piece of blue paper with instructions on how to take care of the "biopsy" site. She did not say it looked benign like the other lump. She did say, "don't call us, we'll call you" regarding what the results of the biopsy would be. Really? Don't call us? For two weeks, just sit around and worry and worry, but really, we'll get back to you. Very unnerving.
So like a good little patient, I went about my business and tried (really I did) not to think about the word biopsy, what it means, why it triggers certain things in my mind and oh, by the way, don't call us we'll call you. By the second week I was antsy, so I called. They said the person who needed to talk to me would call me back. Which she did, while I was at work. She left a number. I called. She was with patients and couldn't talk right then. She'd call me back. Which she did when I was in the bathroom. So I called back. She was back with another patient. By this time, I had no patience, so I said, "I'll wait." They tried to discourage that adamant stand, but to no avail. Nope, she was talking to me this time if I had to stay on the phone and listen to their way-too-chipper ads about getting rid of wrinkles, fat and age spots for the next few days. Eventually the assistant doctor got on the phone, though and said, well, the biopsy says you have basal cell cancer. And there it was. The "C" word.
I've dreaded that word for most of my adult life. My father had bladder cancer which seemed to metastasize everywhere eventually. It is not something I want to remember much. But the "C" word brings out every single memory I've ever had of this disease. And they are not pleasant ones. I think I stopped breathing for a few moments and then the tears began to roll down my cheeks. I'm relatively sure I wasn't making any gasping sounds, but the doctor said, "are you alright?" knowing full well I wasn't. She explained that basal cell skin cancer doesn't metastasize anywhere except to maybe other places near where it is already. It doesn't "infect" other body parts. It's a relatively easy fix/cure/whatever you want to call it. She didn't seem particularly concerned. My smart ass self thought, "well of course, she's not concerned, she doesn't have it." But that wasn't fair really. She told me I would need a consultation to discuss what we would do next as a course of action. She said we should schedule that consult relatively quickly. But I have to say, I wasn't ready to do anything quickly. I was still processing. I am still processing. The consultation happened the day after my birthday--Happy Birthday to you! As I follow up with this post, I'll keep you informed.
I know it's just a word. A powerful word, but just a word nonetheless. If it had been some other more "evil" kind, I would probably still be sobbing on the phone instead of going about the business of working, getting ready for a wedding and cleaning up after the cat. I am doing those things, but that word is still in the back of my mind, lurking, it's shadowy specter haunting my waking and even sometimes sleeping moments. I wish I could dismiss it as easily as some others. But so far, I haven't been able to. But I'm working on it. Every day.
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