Walking out the Chaos in an Ordinary, Everyday Life

This month past has been hi-jacked by Chaos.

Pure and Simple.

Complete disorder.  Run amok.  Disheartening lows.  Crazy highs.

We moved into our long-dreamed-for Log Cabin  {Finally!}  With boxes piled high and scattered belongings in complete disarray, we can at last say, We are Home!

It's a happy chaos, this putting our life into order one messy box at a time... How we've longed for this day!

And within moments of crossing the threshold of that dream, the call came from nurses that dad was being rushed to the Emergency Room.

Breath coming in gasps, his COPD had flared and became life-threatening within hours.  Hours became days, stranded in the hospital, speaking in hushed whispers, living out of overnight bags and hanging onto each new report... Life in Chaos... striving for calm, but losing the battle as we struggled with the truth of this insidious disease.

I've decided that the clean, quiet, sterile halls of a hospital hide a frightening, scary, dark side.  Ordinary people are facing overwhelming news and difficult prognoses behind most every door we passed.   Throwing lives into turmoil...a miserable kind of chaos to be sure.

The roller-coaster ride of this COPD journey found us heading home with dad after a week of breathing treatments, heavy-duty antibiotics and LOTS of steroids.

The chaos of that week faded back into a grateful "normal" as dad found his smile (and his appetite... thank you prednisone!)  With thankful hearts, we hugged him hard and headed for a brief respite to recoup .. fall camping with friends in the hills of central Texas...

But the very next week found us back in the Emergency room with dad's breathing even worse than before.  Doctor consults, tests and IV's, the concerned murmurs... Chaos returned with a vengance.

COPD is an agonizingly slow descent into sheer panic.  The air hunger, the labored breathing, the subtle, sly loss of everyday activities we take for granted, the terrifying feeling of suffocating in the dark midnight hours... this is a chaos of the hardest kind.  Fighting an implacable disease that does not relent.

No winning. No cure. No Hope.

As dad's breathing worsened, his doctor gently approached us with the difficult news... there was nothing more that could be done to ease the ache in his lungs.

Air left the room.

We have long prepared ourselves for this moment, but there is no preparing...

Dad is transitioning into hospice care and our hearts tremble between an anguished grief for the road ahead and an intense relief that there is a comfort available for which dad is so desperate.

The hours and days to come?  A Hard Chaos that we are determined to walk out well.

We have been in this place before.

Mom walked it out almost 8 years ago, and Dad remembers well the compassion and grace offered by the hands of her hospice team.

Now, he faces the work of this last mile.

And we will be there each step of the way, he does not walk alone.  It is the prayer of our heart, the sacrifice of family from far and wide, that ensures he will be loved much in the days ahead.

That love can turn the chaos into peace... of that I am sure.

Resting in the God who makes order out of chaos and chooses to love us better than we could ever imagine.

That is Peace for tonight.

The Collateral Damage of a Pancreatic Cancer Diagnosis

It's been a hard season... heavy and long... this pancreatic cancer journey...

I've always found that writing in this space was easy, almost cathartic.  Sharing about Mom and her diagnosis began as a way to update our friends and family, there were so many holding the line for us, with prayer and love and a multitude of little graces... the words just poured out.

After her loss, the grief was monumental.

And still the writing helped ease the pain.  For me.

It has been over 6 years since we've said goodbye.  So much has changed, but for Dad, her loss and the pancreatic cancer nightmare seem to be as fresh as if they just happened.  The wounds are deep.  Married 51 years... the emptiness has been immense.

His health has declined, the COPD has worsened, the heart has weakened.  We have rallied around him, time and time again.

My brothers and I have worried, we have prayed, oh, how we have prayed, we have struggled, we have cried...

More and more the work of helping dad has fallen on me.  His doctor visits, his weekly infusions, his errands... settling him in to the Assisted Living Center... listening to his frustrations...over and over again...

And the truth is... Dad is getting weaker, and more critical and more difficult to deal with week to week.  He rails at the changes that fate (and pancreatic cancer) have brought to his life.  Losing mom is a hurt that we can't heal...

We have learned that Pancreatic Cancer doesn't just affect the patient... the collateral damage we've all experienced has been brutal.

So many times we have whispered into the darkness, if only mom were still here.

If only she had been spared, she would be here loving him, caring for him... and he would be so content... the broken heart a grief he would never experience.

But we are now the caretakers and he is far from content.

Collateral Damage.  We are walking through the minefield of a pancreatic cancer diagnosis and the aftermath of its vicious assault.

I love him utterly and my soul weeps over the changes we are all facing... the words fail me.

This weekend past we traveled north to visit family and while channel surfing the radio as the miles sped by, a song crackled to life that ministered truth... and amazingly it was a country music station... go figure!

Thank you Dierks Bentley... you may never have imagined your romantic ballad could speak to our hurting hearts and encourage this daughter to stay the course...

It's a long trip alone...

No one should ever have to travel this journey alone.  Lyrics that turn the bitter to sweet...

So maybe you could walk with me awhile,

Maybe I could rest beneath your smile.

Everybody stumbles sometimes and needs a hand to hold,

'Cause it's a long trip alone."

Pancreatic cancer can leave scars, can tear the heart,  but it can never sever the love.

I hear the echo of scripture for this journey...

"For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow;

but woe to him that is alone when he falleth,

and who hath not another to lift him up!"

                             ~ Eclesiastes 4:10

Maybe we could walk together for awhile and lift each other up...

Resting beneath your smile

and reaching out a hand to hold as we travel this road.

That is Grace for the Journey...

When the Winds of Life Blow...

Life has a way of throwing curves.

Just as we were unwinding from our trip, the phone rang with news that had us packing our bags again and heading north...

Leroy's mom had been admitted to the hospital in serious respiratory distress.  Her bout with lung cancer several years ago and the mega-doses of radiation had severely compromised her lungs and while the cancer is now in remission, the lungs have been left scarred and weak.

And so, the winds of life blow...

While we were walking the beaches in St. Lucia, we came across this beach at Anse Cannelles... a wild, craggy coastline facing the Atlantic Ocean.

The waves crashed and beat against the cliffs, {it was definitely not a swimming beach!}... still, it had a majestic charm that reeled us in...

We hiked down to the slim sandy shore and poked around amongst the driftwood and coconuts...

And on that far off cliff we noticed the tree line...

...beaten down by the relentless wind, but holding on despite all odds.

And it reminded me of the Biosphere 2 project.  You might remember it?

The Biosphere 2 project was created to be a miniature version of our planet.  It is owned by the University of Arizona and was constructed in order for scientists to study how the planet's ecosystems work together.

In this artificial environment, they created 7 unique ecosystem models, like a small ocean, a rain forest, a desert and a savanna grassland.  Then they produced all kinds of weather patterns and studied plant growth.

And in this tightly controlled experimental model they made a surprising discovery.

They learned of the major importance of wind in a plant's growth and maturing.

In the Biosphere, trees grew much faster than they would grow in the wild.  They also began to collapse before they completely matured.  As it turns out, the lack of wind played a huge role.

Scientists discovered that the pressure of the wind is what strengthens the tree trunk and allows them to hold up their own weight.

When plants and trees grow in the wild, constantly exposed to the wind and wind movement, the plant compensates by growing "reaction wood" or stress wood.  This stress is what makes a tree strong enough to sustain the wear and tear it will face later in life.

And this is where I say Ahhhh.... I see it now.  God opens shuttered eyes... Weathering the storms of life builds our strength.

It's true.  The winds of life will blow.  And if we allow, they will strengthen both our faith and our character.

But it hurts.

And that's the truth.  Our hearts ache as we tuck sheets up and hold the frail hand...

Dr. and Nurses hover.  Family rallies around.  Decisions are made.  There is nothing else to do for failing lungs.  The paramount goal is now keeping her comfortable.  Hospice is called.

Tears refuse to fall as she closes her eyes in relieved sleep.  Fighting is hard work.  This warrior is ready to relax and rest as others manage her care.

Determined to give God Thanks for the gifts we are receiving

even in the midst of this howling storm.

Right now our lives are as bent as the trees on that oceanside cliff

but we are choosing to trust His Hand,

for He alone knows what lies ahead on this wind-swept road.

Resting in Grace tonight,

Knowing the Lover of Our Souls holds the Night-Watch,

My Love, Always,

                     Jane

An Unconventional Solution...

An elderly parent...

A chronic illness...

Widowed and alone...

What's a family to do?

Ya'll have followed our journey...you know how Mom's pancreatic cancer diagnosis hit from out of the blue and tore our hearts into shreds.  It was never supposed to be like this!  Mom was younger than dad, healthier than dad and certain to live longer than dad... assumptions that we realized much too late left us anchorless and clueless as how to live life well without her.

And these last few years have seen us stumble through the journey in rather regular bursts and sputters.

The grieving, the growing, the learning...we've all come to accept (but not always like) the new normal of our lives.

That new normal revolves around Dad.  For all of us...

But mostly, that new normal has happened for me and my brothers...

Through these past few years, it has increasingly fallen on us to make sure he was cared for emotionally and physically. 

We carefully navigated the obstacle course of respecting his independence while at the same time ensuring his safety and quality of life at home.

And then the emergencies and hospital stays began.  For the past 8 months we have experienced multiple health crises and emotional decisions...

Rehab centers and a army of specialists... 

Tests and prescriptions and nebulizers and therapists...

Dr appts and naps...

Breakfasts and lunches and dinners...

And thru it all dad has wanted, desperately, to stay in his home.  Would we be any different??

Watching his favorite tree blossom in the spring...

Enjoying fellowship and shortcake with a visiting brother-in-law...

Sitting out on his own patio, just because he can...

(wind was nippy that day, blanket cocoon!)

Dinner party with family...in his own dining room...

And breakfast in his favorite recliner...

And so... in a God-thing, perfect timing, never underestimate your strength or His plan kind of way, the Farmer and I found ourselves between homes, and very available to step in and be the help he needed.

The between-homes part has been a journey in and of itself and perhaps one of these days I will find the words to share the back story of our grand adventure {and the way some dreams take on a perfectly splendid life of their own}

But the between-homes part is where we are now and we've come to realize with greater clarity than ever before how God placed us in this space and time for a ministry so much larger than we could ever have imagined.

We have become the Care-Givers for Dad.  In a rather unconventional way.  Rather than move him to our home, we've taken over his guest room and become, simply, the hands and feet he needs for this portion of his life's journey.

These past 8 months have been filled with a completely full and overwhelming amount of emotional baggage, and I'd be lying if I said that it's been all roses and rainbows.  I have shared much about the real (and ugly) part of caregiving... it's true, we're not saints, just real,(so real) love-you-no-matter-what, don't-have-a-clue-how-to-do-this kind of people.  We've been there.  We are there... 

It's been the little things as well as the big ones. The mundane and the monotonous mixed in with the frantic and dramatic.  Fixing the meals, minding the meds, watching his favorite sports with him, paying the bills, midnight ER runs, picking up milk, trimming the rose-bushes, changing the sheets, wringing our hands waiting on test results, wrangling with insurance, chauffeuring to dr appts, giving hugs, listening to stories, cleaning toilets and doing laundry... and always, always watching the time dwindle.

And we know that day is coming...

So, for today, we will fix a meal, dole out meds, watch some pre-season football

and give a big hug.

Just because we are Blessed to be able to.

It is Grace enough for this moment...

Love, Always,

            Jane

Happy Sunday!

From here...

to

here!

Today has been a good day...

So grateful to be home.

Graced to watch him shuffle around his house

with that happy smile.

Gratitude rising from bended knee this day.

My Love, Always,

                      Jane

And here we are...

Back in the ER...

Dad has struggled with days of fatigue, a worsening cough, and lungs that refuse to behave.  This has led us to back to familiar ground. 

But this time no pneumonia.  Cheers!

Just a complicated, frustrating, overwhelmingly intense COPD flare-up.  The kind where panic is written with each labored breath.

Grateful beyond measure that I just happened to be spending the night, but still reeling from the jarring, disorienting wake-up as dad called for me, past midnight, hoarse and frantic.  By the time I reached him, his lungs were closing, and his eyes spoke fear, suffocating and real.

As we rushed thru the darkened night to the closest ER, minutes, precious minutes, passed as dad struggled to hold on, the hissing of the oxygen tanks competing with the distressed wheezing of each ragged breath.

I found myself breathing with him... desperately willing oxygen into his starved lungs.

No prayers would come... Just Jesus, please.  Jesus.

Jesus.

Jesus

And He was there.

I realized much later that His name was prayer in and of itself.  These times when our heartache, our cries, our desperation are the call He longs to answer... our groanings are the prayers spoken long and deep without words... just our broken, sobbing, mess of need...

And He hears.

"God's Spirit is right alongside helping us along.  If we don't know how or what to pray, it doesn't matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans.  He knows us far better than we know ourselves... and keeps us present before God."

                                       ~ Romans 8:26-27, The Message

Jesus.  His name is all we need.  No, there wasn't a miraculous healing in that moment.  Dad's damaged lungs remained scarred and stiff.  But a Calm descended and from somewhere it steadied my voice and stressed commands gave way to soothing encouragement.  His breathing slowed and his eyes closed as he concentrated on the next breath...and the next...

There was a Presence that held us together.  And I know now it was His arms holding us close. 

Dad isn't out of the woods, but he is resting and breathing more comfortably in Room 201.   

Jesus.  Breathing His name in prayer.  And continuing to lift up Dad as the doctors tend his fragile lungs and give comfort in the days ahead...

Graced to call on the name of Jesus this day, for He promises always to meet us in our deepest need.

Always,

           Jane

Heading Home!

He's headed home...

... the smile says it all!