Through the Deep Waters

     Roughly two months ago I had two seperate conversations, one with Clint and one with Honey.  In each I talked with them about my experiences, most especially my experiences with my mother-in-law, and how they so permanently changed me.  Changed me for the better.  I even blogged about writing my bucket list, a direct result of those experiences.  What I didn't include in that blog, but was the basis of these two conversations, was how very much I had come to understand that I am not afraid to die.  What I am afraid of is wasting my time doing things that don't matter while I'm here instead.   I can't help but laugh at the irony of a week after talking about that very thing I discover the tumor in my neck.  Looking back I can see that coming to that understanding before I found it was all part of God's preparation for me for what was to come.
     I write pretty freely in my blogs, what is going through my crazy head, and often what is in my heart. Yet, there is always a part of me that holds back, tentative I guess, maybe a little worried of offending, and always, always, always fearful of being misunderstood.  Being misunderstood could be the theme song of my life.  So I hope you'll forgive the missing filter of this particular blog, but I can't deny the almost need to write of my experiences of late.
     Surgery was, of course, a great success.  And, as I have come to rely so heavily on, I had Clint and Honey here caring for all of us.  Again, there is such beauty in family, and again I am so grateful for the one I have.  I was doing well enough Thursday that Honey felt comfortable to head back to Bama, and Clint was back at work.   I was sore, but I was doing great.  I began running a little fever Saturday night, but felt well enough to insist on Clint taking me to church Sunday morning.  Sunday afternoon I sneezed and thought I would die (I had busted apart the muscle that had been sewn back together during surgery). Sunday evening Clint started me on antibiotics.  Monday, I was determined that I was just fine and I was not going to stay in bed (I am a little famous for being stubborn).  It was Labor Day and I was going to play no matter what, and so naturally Tuesday I tanked and tanked hard.  I had redness and swelling all the way up my throat and three inches down from my collarbone.  I had excruciating pain in my neck.  I was running a nasty fever.  I felt so bad I even cried, that in itself being astonishing.  I've only felt that sick one other time.  I prayed so hard that evening.  Since I had found the lump, as I described in my earlier blog, I had felt myself being carried.  Through the whole process, even through surgery, I never doubted, I never worried because I knew I was going to be just fine.  But that evening, I felt the pricklings of fear for the first and only time.  I knew I was sick, I knew I seriously needed God's help, and I prayed hard.  Exhausted and feverish I fell asleep praying.  Being stubborn, I had refused to let Clint take me to the ER.  Apparently he didn't sleep that night.  He laid awake staring at my neck and watching my breathing ready to force me to go, saying his own prayers.  Wednesday I woke up a tiny bit better.  Clint was off from work for the day, but called in and told them to clear his schedule for Thursday and Friday anticipating at the very least I would be admitted for IV antibiotics. But by Thursday morning the rednesss had receded to just an area about the size of an egg and the swelling was all but gone.  Enough that when I went to the doctor he felt the antibiotics were working well enough I could stay on them at home.   He also let us know that all the cancer was gone.  We both cried tears of relief, but I found that my tears of relief only lasted a milisecond before they turned into some serious tears of gratitude.   I recognized instantly the miracle that had been worked in my body.  Not just the tumor and surgery, but the fight against the infection!  Surgery had been a cakewalk, it was the infection that had become so dangerous.  Suffice it to say, I should have been in the hospital Tuesday evening.  If I had gone they would have taken me back to the O.R. and opened me back up to clean out the infection it was so bad.  Then I would have spent a lovely few days in the hospital on IV antibiotics.  There is no logical explanation for why I didn't continue to get worse.  I am certain that two things saw me through, divine intervention, and Clint not hesitating to put me on antibiotics the minute he saw that I might be getting an infection.  If he had waited until Monday morning to start them it would've been too late.  However, I also recognize that having Clint here to take care of me was one of the ways God took care of me.  And yet, he still wasn't through.  I continuted to run a fever through Monday morning, all the while watching my little girl come home from school and without being asked and without telling us what she was doing, quietly gather the laundry and do it, help her brother do his homework, unload the dishwasher and try to keep the kitchen clean. I watched my husband, who has only missed work once when he had his achilles tendon repaired after he ruptured it, take days off work and completely take care of all of us.  While they were busy being angels, I was laying in bed having a life-altering experience learning some serious things I needed to know but had been too wrapped up in life to see.  It was one of those times in life when God allowed me to go through adversity to teach me things I otherwise may never have understood or taken the time to see until it was too late.  Powerful enough that I feel years older on the inside, in a very, very good way.  Isn't that what adversity and challenges are all about?  Opportunities to learn and grow by leaps and bounds.  We can either lose ourselves in despair when we are bowed down under the weight of heartache or tragedy or (in this case) sickness, or we can listen to the quiet teachings we learn from that moment that inevitably (though sometimes hard to believe at that time) give us more strength than we ever had before.  That in the end help us become by far better than we were.  In essence, grief (in all forms) does one of two things.  It makes us hard, or it makes us tender.  The choice is entirely up to us.
     I may not be able to walk across the house yet without having it sap all the strength I have, but for once in my life I'm okay with that.  The time down has been like a deep, cleansing, settling breath.  A chance to reset the compass to a better heading.  I can't wait for the journey to come!  And I recognize the miracle that God has again worked in my life.  Seriously, a miracle.  I cannot understand why he blesses me so, it unequivocably humbles me, but meager as the words are I am grateful beyond description.  And the words still echo...

'When through the deep waters I call thee to go,
The rivers of sorrow shall not thee o'erflow,
For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless,
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.'

Thank you, in ways that only my heart can feel but can't express, every single one of you that offered prayers for me.  I needed them, I felt them, and I know they were heard.