Living with the Wind Knocked Out of Me: Part 12 – REBUILD

When I was in elementary school, I remember climbing on the playground structure and falling off.

Do you remember the uneven bars “of death” that some alleged architectural genius stuck off to the side of the structure that’s purpose was a climbing entry point? Too low to the ground to hang from but too high to get onto easily without climbing. The best way to use these bars was to climb on top of them – army crawl style- or (if you were really brave) to walk on top of them praying you didn’t slip through the spaces as you walked.

I think you may have the visual picture.

I was part crawling and part walking and, shockingly, fell through the bars and banged my chest on a bar as I slipped through it to the ground. Upon hitting the ground, you guessed it, I couldn’t breathe: the wind had been knocked out of me.

I vividly remember laying on the ground desperately trying to “catch” my breath. It was, to an elementary age child, agonizing. It felt like it took forever for me to be able to breathe normally although, I am sure, it took only a matter of seconds for me to recover.

I obviously did recover from that incident, but it is interesting that that is what I am reflecting on in this current season of today approximately 40 years later.

I am learning to live with the wind knocked out of me.

Nine months ago, I became a statistic. I was (and am) suddenly one of the thousands of women diagnosed with breast cancer daily and it took the wind out of me.

I was maneuvering through the so-called playground of life and fell through the bars, crashing my chest into the bar as I went down. All I had done “wrong” was participate in this playground of life. By “playing” I was vulnerable to the impact living exposes me to.

That means, because I walk this earth as you do, things happen: both good things and bad things.

Things that can elevate you in praise, glory, and wonder. Things that can bring you to your knees as you gasp for breath and plead for meaning or mercy.

As the weight of the diagnosis settled into my bones, I clung to what I knew as truth while I searched for refuge, purpose, clarity, healing, protection, and help. What I knew about myself up to that moment was both challenged and altered.

My physical self was completely changed as part of me was removed. Some may think that is not always a bad thing, especially because reconstruction was going to be in my future. Why not have the body many people desire to obtain, after all? Why not enjoy the “perk” of cancer? Why not augment what I had been given when I was being formed in my mother’s womb?

The physical changes are mere reflections, reminders, scars of what has occurred in places people cannot see: my emotional and spiritual self.

As my body is being sculpted into wholeness by the skilled surgeons assigned to my case, my inner being is being sculpted by the Great Physician, the Potter.

The temptation is very strong to question why, to argue that “I don’t deserve this” as if to say others do, to feel sorry for myself as if I am helpless in my situation. There have been moments when I’ve been justified in my feelings, but that doesn’t make them right.

But “woe to him who quarrels with his Maker by saying “what are You doing?

I have heard many sermons regarding God as the potter, and we are the clay in His hands. The shaping, the molding, the shards of clay forcibly pressed into the mold on the wheel, other pieces aggressively torn off all sound painful. We speak of pruning in biblical allegories as well, which also sounds painful.

The picture is of God, as the gardener, who must cut or tear off what is hindering the plant from producing fruit. The visual is of God, as the potter at his wheel, with sweat pouring off his brow as he firmly molds, aggressively shapes with his hands, squeezing and pressing new clay into the wheel, crushing to form a new or improved piece of clay.

Reconstructing. Rebuilding. Reforming.

Both the gardener and the potter could be viewed as focused. Intentional. Driven to accomplish the vision with purpose. With force if necessary.

We could easily turn these allegories into explanations for transformations. Who are we to argue with the Maker? Who are we to think we can escape the hands of the potter who made us?

Through this season I have developed a different understanding:

15 years ago, I was so angry after the death of my sister-in-law. I was crushed that we never got the fairy tale ending to our story of addiction that I believed I was owed. I could not understand why, if there truly was a God, would a “good” God not intervene and stop her addiction? Why He didn’t stop ALL addictions. Why did He allow His creation to destroy itself?

Who else would succumb to the talons of addiction? Anyone it appeared.

In my anger, I decided to approach the One I was most angry with: God. So, I went to His “house”, His Church. Why not? What did I have to lose? Faith in something I didn’t like, understand, or could control?

Once there, I expected to be rejected. I expected to be exposed for the sinner that I was. I expected to be shamed for my behavior and choices. I expected to be told I was unwelcome and unwanted. Unredeemable. Unforgiven. Unloved.

I was going to the BOSS with disrespect because life was not working out the way I wanted it to. He wasn’t doing what I thought He should do even though I also was not doing what I was created to do myself. I wanted HIS blessings without having to serve Him. I demanded it, in fact.

I busted through the door into the throne room and found grace and mercy waiting for me there.

I was raised to “know better” that what I was doing. To “live better” than I was. Yet, I was met with open arms instead of hands ready to punish. Instead, His hands were ready to start the reshaping of me tenderly.

Reconstructing. Rebuilding.

Yes, I am the clay and He is the Potter. He sits at the wheel with focus and intentionality but also with LOVE as I, as the clay, am held in His nail-pierced hands. Every ounce of me that is being shaped, molded, and formed is being done so I am transformed more into His image. The spotless lamb. The suffering servant. The humble Messiah.

Those are the hands of the Potter that I rest in. That is His character… not to harm me or hurt me as He molds me, but to lovingly and with grace shape me into who He created me to be.

Can you see the vision now?

Picture the Potter…not overly handsome or visibly strong in stature. His face is focused on what is in His hands, His eyes filled with grief over what I am bearing. His flogged-scarred body rocks gently as His foot pushes on the peddle to move the wheel while never losing sight of me, the clay.

I am being nourished with living water as new clay is brought to the wheel and as old clay falls off. The whole time I am nestled in the palm of His hands that willingly took the nails that held Him to the cross.

Can you see the beauty in it?

The tenderness?

The grace?

I have had cancer. I had my reconstruction surgery and have now been rebuilt externally…The Potter is still rebuilding the inside of me.

Shaping me.

Forming me.

Making me whole.

Giving me my breath back after having the wind knocked out of me.

Rebuilding me.

This is the Savior that I serve.

Living with the Wind Knocked Out of Me: Part 6~ Trust

I was getting a latte today when a man approached me. His excitement was radiating off of him:  he had news he needed to share even though it meant sharing with a complete stranger.

He found a good deal on a new truck and even showed me a picture of it as I waited in line to place my order.

As he talked about the truck, he said he was in disbelief over the wonder of it all and the timing of finding it:

he told me that he had been at a Bible study the night before. While there, he  was prayed over regarding his need for a new vehicle.

He found the truck this morning; the very next day.

What really surprised him was the color of the truck: it was a mocha brown, I guess. He told me his last car, a Chevy Malibu, had been the same color when it was “taken” from him, and here is our Lord replacing his vehicle with one of the same color.

I couldn’t help but comment to him on how pretty I thought the truck was, affirmed that a Chevy Silvarado is a great truck, and that our God sure is good.

We serve a King who pays attention to the small details of life.

But now, THIS is what the Lord says- He who created you, He who formed you:

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name and YOU ARE MINE.

WHEN you pass through the waters, I will be with you.

WHEN you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.

WHEN you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.

For I am the Lord your God…”

                           Isaiah 43:1-3

How often do I boldy give praise for what the Lord has done as that man in the coffee shop did?

Psalm 89:1

I will sing of the goodness and lovingkindness of the Lord forever! With my mouth, I will make known Your faithfulness from generation to generation.

The truth is this: probably not often enough.  It’s so easy to see what is wrong or what feels bad or what is scary or hurtful. Those negative emotions all too often shade the beautiful colors still  represented in this life that we continue to live each and every day.

I was told recently that when we find ourselves walking in the valley of the shadow of death, we forget that it is only a shadow.

That means the sun is still shining: we need light to make a shadow.

Are we seeking that  source of light??? Or keeping our focus on the valley? On the shadow?

Through this journey of breast cancer, I have mentioned my concerns regarding my underlying diagnosis of Crohn’s Disease.

It’s time to talk about that. If you thought I was getting personal before…. this factor takes me to a whole other level of intimacy and is not one I find easy to share.

In 2018, the disease I knew and had been treated for since I was the age of 14 changed. Most likely, from all the years of inflammation in my colon, a fistula developed that caused an abscess.

I’ll spare the details but will say it was incredibly painful and I became very ill. A brand new course of treatment was suddenly required: an IV infusion that would suppress my immune system (on purpose) in order to stop my auto-immune system from going into overdrive.

Basically, I can’t heal if my auto-immune system is fighting my immune system all the time. It’s a rather ironic situation: make me immuno-suppressed so I don’t get sick, but being immuno-suppressed can make me susceptible to illness more easily.

Talk about living in tension.

The treatment has been very effective for my Crohn’s management.  The colon inflammation went away, and my GI system is in the best shape I’ve ever known I could experience, but I still have the fistula. 

Apparently, that’s a little bugger to heal.

On New Years Eve 2024, I had an MRI just to see what that fistula has been up to since 2018.

I had no real issues going on, so it was fairly “random” that my trusted GI PA  wanted to look under rocks for me. As he said, “Amy, you are getting by- and that’s OK. But  I want you to thrive.”

May we all be blessed with a medical team that desires us to THRIVE.

Per the MRI, much to his surprise (and mine as well), there was another abscess present. I had zero discomfort or awareness it was there, so the decision was made for me to go on a HUGE antibiotic dose for 3 weeks.

I was terrified because I’ve experienced what antibiotics can do to an immuno-suppressed system: it can completely wipe out all the good, natural flora which could cause my system to be susceptible to a different bacteria. 

It’s not a fun thing to go through.

I trusted my medical team and took a deep breath: we went for it.

My life is in the Lord’s hands, I thought to myself. I believed this was found though His grace and timing. I chose to trust that God would carry me through whatever was going to happen next.

I was finishing those antibiotics (without one single issue of concern to speak of!!) when I was diagnosed with the breast cancer.

That’s why Crohn’s was on the forefront of my mind at the time of the diagnosis. You see,  I call my Crohn’s The Dragon. She often sleeps… but when she wakes up, LOOK OUT! I believed she was resting, but not sound asleep so I don’t want to wake her.

We must tread lightly.

As my previous posts have shared, I’m under some stress. I’m feeling the strain of this diagnosis. I’m feeling the weight of the uncertainties. My emotions are all over the board. My anxiety ambushes me. Depression washes over me.

That Scripture from Isaiah rings LOUD. The rivers are flowing hard  and deep with a fast current. The fire is H-O-T.

Trying to remember what the Lord promised me and not be afraid feels like a losing battle.

I was settling into the idea that my surgical date had been set for April 16…over a month away. I was looking for the positives in the timeline that had been set for me and leaned into them.

My friend told me I had been given a gift of time to optimize my health. He reminded me that I had over 4 weeks to get my body “ready” to have and recover from a big surgery.

Taking his advice, I turned to yoga for stretching and strengthening while increasing my protein intake.

I decided to be productive in the waiting.

On March 6, I noticed that I was more tired than usual after work, but I wasn’t too concerned about it. I wasn’t going to analyze it. So,  I took a nap after work and determined to still do my exercises. 

As I shifted into the sit- stretch positions of yoga, I noticed a discomfort that had not been there the day before. I tried to convince myself, “This is normal,” and that “I’m ok, don’t worry.”

I opted not to speak a word to Dan about it.  I determined it was all in my head. I convinced myself (but not really) that a discomfort when sitting is “totally normal.”

FYI: That is what most auto-immune patients are convinced of. We believe what we feel is all in our heads. It is not real. Somewhere, along the line, we must have been told this, and that is why our diseases run rampant: we don’t speak up for fear of judgment.

The next morning, I did not want to get out of bed. If I did, I would have to determine whether what I suspected was going was real or not. My instinct told me, though, that the previously discovered and somewhat treated abscess had surfaced. 

The longer I lingered, the longer I could stay in denial.

I do not want to deal with my Crohn’s right now. I don’t want to face a return of life with an abscess. Don’t I have enough going on, Lord?? This doesn’t seem fair.

Then the doubts surfaced quickly: What if they don’t believe me when I call my medical team? What if I’m wrong and sound the alarm for no reason? What if I’m what I’m afraid of being: dramatic???

That’s when the phone rang. Answering it, I find that it is my breast surgeon’s office. They have had a cancelation.  Would I want to move my surgery date up to that coming Wednesday?  In 5 days.

Are you kidding me?!

The absolute absurdity that I am being offered the chance to have this flipping cancer that haunts my dreams and stunts my reality cut out of me sooner has been laid on the table before me….and I think I have a Crohn’s fistula abscess.

Are you kidding me.

The woman calling did not ask me if I was healthy or having any medical problems. I had told NO ONE that this was even happening. 

No one knew.

No one asked.

No one had to know?

But I knew.  And I knew this could be bad if I ignored it. I knew the surgery recovery could have complications if I had an active infection but did not disclose it.

Are you kidding me.

I needed time to think. 

I couldn’t breathe all of a sudden because I knew what I had to do, and that was to choose to keep the cancer so I could deal with The Dragon.

How do I say that out loud??

I want this cancer gone!! Every single minute it sits inside me feels like it is taking time off my life. I feel it burning inside of me. It aches.  Is it growing? Is it spreading?  Is it reaching my lymph nodes???

I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what I needed to do: take a deep breath and trust in the Lord.

Dear God,

The waters are rising!! I can’t catch my breath! You said they would not overwhelm me, but I’m scared and can’t breathe. You said the fire wouldn’t scorch me, but it is hot. It is so hot it hurts. Help me, help me, help me do what I know is right.  Help me not respond in fear and make a choice that will harm me. Help me to say no.”

I told the breast surgeon’s office “no” and immediately called my colo-rectal surgeon. He ordered me antibiotics (again) and an appointment was made to see him in 6 days.

Instead of breast surgery in 5 days, I would see a colo- rectal surgeon in 6. Talk about a few degrees south from where I wished we would be addressing.

The discouragement I felt is hard to describe.  Maybe the best way is to envision that valley of the shadow of death.

The shadow was dark and heavy. The tears were hot and many.

A new fear surfaced: Could this impact that?? Is there enough time to get my infection under control before Aril 16?

Back to the land of the unknown.

I made it through the week with the antibiotics doing their good work, but now my anxiety feared the abscess would go dormant while appearing to be absolved because it had slithered back under the surface.

What would my colo- rectal surgeon say if I’m no longer having discomfort?  Would that be a good thing?  Or would it surface again right before April 16 to cause a major delay???

By the time I arrived to his office, I had myself nicely all worked up. The tears started in the car before entering the building. The hyperventilating came when the MA asked her pre-appointment questions.

My poor doctor. I feel bad for him and what he walked into when he came into the room as I was barely holding it together. 

After an up-close-and -personal exam (done professionally and with a chaperone present), he asked what I was doing the next day. I told him I was supposed to work. He said ,”Not anymore. I’ve had a  cancelation.  We’re going to take care of this tomorrow at noon in the operating room.”

Now HE has a cancelation? 

One space opened for me, and  I have to say no to it and now one I have to to say yes to.

This “yes” hurts. I felt like I had stepped back in time to 2018 when all this started… all the trauma that experience caused surfaced.  All the fear from this disease that will not release me from its talons exploded in my chest.

I asked him, “What is happening?  Why?? We treated this with antibiotics for 3 weeks and now it surfaces??? It makes no sense.”

I sat there and cried as he looked at me. He sighed heavily as he sat there.

Then he said,  “It’s this. All this” as he made a motion over me to indicate my emotions.  He said, “This is stress.”

Great. 

Stress. A stress I can not escape from.

Am I NOT coping well? Is there a way to do better?  To be better at this?

If those aren’t the words I’ve asked myself my whole life…

As if to say, “What’s wrong with me? Tell me and I’ll fix it.”

Well, I can’t.

I’ve never had cancer before, so I don’t know how to do this any differently than how I am.

Maybe that’s why I’m writing all this. I don’t know.  I fear some may think it is for attention.  I fear what I’m going through may not matter. But  I’ve got so much whirling around in my head that I don’t know what to do with it, so I write.

My insecurities say, “What you have to say doesn’t matter. Why blog it when a journal is more than adequate? “

I want to praise Him in the storm.

I want to bless His name on this road marked with suffering, though there is pain in the offering.

I want accountability that I am living what I teach and what I preach through how I live.

Psalm 71:17-18

Since my youth, God, you have taught me, and to this day I declare your marvelous deeds. Even when I am old and gray, do not forsake me, my God, till I declare your power to the next generation, Your mighty acts to all who are to come.

Dan and I head to the hospital the next day to have the abscess surgically drained.

As a side note, it is important to understand that I work at this hospital and know a lot of people in the OR. A lot.  This particular procedure is personal and intimate and embarrassing for me, so to have people I know involved is difficult. I manage these encounters as best as I can, but it is with great difficulty.

Strangely enough, I was calm this time. I was not crying. I had submitted to what was happening and my lack of control in it or around it. What would happen from this point on was not up to me.

I chose to trust the Lord with all of it and felt His peace as it came over me. 

The Lord blessed me that day with a gift of anonymity. Other than my surgeon, I did not know any of the others who participated in my care that day. Not one other person. Not one.

I am amazed by His grace that continues to cover me through chance encounters with my medical team, specific awareness of my own body from past experiences, cancelations to make room for me, and now respite from the extra kindness that would have been shown to me because they were my peers.

All I had to be that day was the patient, and it was marvelous.

When my surgeon talked to my husband afterward,  he said he had “run into” my plastic surgeon at the completion of my case. He was given a divine opportunity to hand my concerns of this situation compicating that surgery over to the next surgeon to be involved.

How amazing is that?

That is called GRACE

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound…

How amazing is it to know we serve a King who pays attention to the small details of life?

The aftermath of that surgery did leave me as an emotional wreck- I can’t lie about that.  Knowing the goodness of God doesn’t eliminate how badly I dislike my situation. 

I went into hiding for a few days for my emotions to recover as my body healed.

I met with the PA from the plastic surgeon’s office next for my official pre-op appointment.  While there, she verbalized significant concern over me receiving my next scheduled infusion for my Crohn’s since it was so close to my surgical date.

As I said, my medication keeps my immune system suppressed, so healing is difficult. I kind of need to be able to heal from this double mastectomy and reconstruction surgery.

The surgeons have legit concerns.

So do I.

The mere thought of not taking my medication that keeps The Dragon somewhat tame is horrifying to me. What would happen to my auto-immune system if we allow my immune system to wake up when this abscess has already created a little stir while taking it??

This decision is out of my control.

Here is the thing: do I trust the Lord with all of my health or do I trust the medication?

Do I trust the Lord with all of my life or just the bits I turn over to Him?

I have taken wobbly steps of faith in my trust walk with Him this far….He has not failed me, left me alone, or left me without solutions and options. He has shown me the well in the wilderness.

He has told me that He has redeemed me. He has called me by name. He has said, “you are Mine.

Submit and accept. This is what I am called to do. Do not worry and fret, but submit and accept. Do not complain, but praise.

My dear friend gave me a card with some great advice on it~

So I did.

I accepted that I may go without my Crohn’s treatment for 3 months.  Whatever happened from doing that, we would deal with. I have a good team surrounding me. I am in good hands.

The Lord is my Great Physician. 

The surgeon’s office called with the verdict: they decided it was for the best that I stay on my treatment plan!!

The PRAISE THE LORD escaped my mouth as I stood in a procedure  room full of doctors, nurse, and anesthesia staff while on the phone!

Psalm 27:13

I remain confident of this; I will see the goodness of the Lord while I am here in the land of the living.

The relief was palpable. My response to the relief was physical as tears escaped my eyes unashamedly. 

The course has been set. The Captain is at the helm. The crew have been readied. Prepare the sails because we are steering toward this mastectomy now.