Touched by the Hand of God (Migrated from PostHope)

 This little bird got lost on our porch a while back and couldn't find it's way out. It was the first but not the last.  Jason and I have both learned to gently corner and grasp the birds to take them to a place of freedom.

I was struck recently while reading of the symbol of covenant in the Old Testament - the placing of the hand on the inner thigh - and how that applies to Jacob.  In Genesis 32:28 we are told that God "...touched the hollow of his thigh..." Later, in verse 31 "...as he passed Penuel the sun rose upon him, and he was limping because of his thigh."  I can sort of relate.  Nerve pain is a funny thing - it is both numb and it hurts simultaneously.  If you can imagine a larger-than-life human hand wrapped around my left side - the thumb extending across my back, the forefinger across my ribs, and the three remaining fingers wrapped around my inner thigh - you will have a picture of a sensation I have felt - generally the area of my nerve pain/numbness - bothersome at times.  This is also generally where the cancerous tumor had invaded my body - where God has indeed held me - guiding the surgeon's hand - to remove and heal what threatened my life.  I imagine that Jacob's hip/thigh never really felt the same after his encounter with God...and it is possible that this nerve pain/numbness may last a lifetime but I have come to appreciate it as a reminder of God's healing.  

I am moved to share this reminder with you all - that just as the birds are held, so are we.  

Survivorship...and a Wedding Feast (Migrated from PostHope)

Well, the first CT scan - four months since surgery is CLEAR!  So that is great news. We were waiting with bated breath, not really sure what news today's video-visit with Dr. Janai Carr-Ascher, sarcoma specialist at UC Davis, would hold. The continued swelling in my abdomen was a little confusing and disconcerting, but the scan confirms that the swelling is likely just a seroma - an accumulation of fluid in the space that was previously occupied by a few organs and a tumor - very common after major surgery and it does not pose a threat. I can now rest assured that the daily increase in energy I have been feeling will be the norm moving forward. I also learned some things today that are really important - and lighten the gravity of the 20% "DFS" (disease free survival) rate that I have been holding in my heart with much faith in the God who will carry me through no matter what.  

There were 2 types of cancer in the tumor that was removed. The "de-differentiated", more aggressive cancer was encapsulated by a slower growing "well-differentiated" kind.  The doctor seemed confident that the aggressive cancer is completely gone - though there could be (and likely are) residual "well-differentiated" cancerous cells remaining in the margins of the tissues that surrounded the tumor.  The 80% chance that those cells will grow within the next 5-7 years seems less ominous now with further clarification that they would likely grow slowly - sometimes grow only 3-4cm and then stop - and mostly just need to be watched. 

So, this is all REALLY GOOD NEWS!  There has been a numbness in me as we approached this scan and visit - experiencing this dynamic of "survivorship" - the mere mention of the word makes my eyes well up with tears.  I thought I would have more words to express what goes on inside me in this new identity of "cancer-survivor" but at this point, I think I'm still soaking in and processing the good news...even in a world where there is much sorrow and grieving around us - not just in the news, but with people I know and love.  One day all this sorrow will cease, and we will be able to celebrate together in the great Wedding Feast of the Lamb.

So, I'm looking forward to 4 months of not thinking about cancer (my next scan will be in September)!  In the meantime, come celebrate with us.  You can sign up at bit.ly/WaypointWeddingFeast

What are the chances? (Migrated from PostHope)

Well....statistically speaking, 20% "DFS" - ("disease free survival") which means there is an 80% chance that I will experience a recurrence of the cancer that so "rudely" (as at least 2 of my loved ones put it) invaded my abdomen, taking up residency and growing beyond anything that I could have EVER imagined. I was fully expecting to be confronted with some very hard decisions after my video visit with the very personable Dr. Brian Schulte (sarcoma medical oncologist at UCSF). Even with all visible traces of the cancer removed in what has been described by Dr. Schulte as a "heroic, incredible" surgery - that 20/80 probability ratio still applies. As the standard chemo that had been previously described to me sounded super toxic and grueling, I had been making mental calculations around the question:  How would my chances improve with treatment?  Turns out, I didn't even have to ask that question because there isn't data to suggest that chemotherapy would provide any significant improvement in my "chances" with this particular type of cancer and Dr. Schulte is recommending only surveillance at this time, NO CHEMO (YAY!) 🤗.

There is, of course, a sobering side to this news, but mostly it is a RELIEF to leave it all in the hands of God - no decisions required on my part!  I'm eager to be RELEASED to focus on healing/recovery and planning without the looming threat of debilitating treatment.  I'll need to get CT scans every 3 months for now, and Dr. Schulte has referred me to the Comprehensive Cancer Center at UC Davis in Sacramento for follow-up, which I am also very grateful for. UC Davis is only an hour and a half (rather than 3 hour) drive from home. He also has ordered a consult with radiation oncology in case they have any further recommendations.  

So that's about the sum of it.  Trusting God for complete and continued healing, an answer to our "one and done" prayer.  So what's next?  Not sure if I'll write much more here unless there is news.  I definitely have some deep reflections brewing but not all of those have quite made their way to the surface just yet.  They leak out in tears - mostly of the Joy of Jesus that is my strength - and at the tiniest little provocation.  Like yesterday....as I looked up at the pine trees towering above our walk in the woods - there's a section of the trail we call the "wardrobe" because the smaller cedars crowd the trail on each side just as I have always imagined the entrance to Narnia. Looking up beyond the tops of the cedars to the much higher pine peaks - I simply could not fathom or even accept that we are the "owners" of those trees.  How can anyone OWN something that majestic?  And yet, they are a gift that I have been granted for this time to enjoy and call home.  It is more like THEY are the owners of this place . . . we are just passing through and they will likely remain beyond my stay here. 

RELIEF VS. RELEASE

It is hard to know how to ask for prayer moving forward. Do we simply trust that God has healed? Do we continue to lay our plea before the throne each day that the cancer not return? Do we rest in the grace and goodness of each new day?  Yes to all this and more.  I will leave this task of discernment and prayer to you, between you and the Creator, the Lover of your soul.  This morning I read in 2 Timothy how Paul prayed for his young disciple: "without ceasing....I remember you night and day in my prayers". (chapter 1 verse 4). Is the power of prayer measured in the length or the strength or the frequency of the words or the hours spent or the thickness of the callouses on our knees? I would propose that the power comes in surrender to the outcome and blessings that God has in store - regardless of our our expressed desires - God promises to give us the desires of our heart, which sometimes we cannot articulate or even understand until the answer comes. This is the true miracle, the magnitude of which is far greater than any 40 pound tumor or the weight of our fears. 

Gratitude One Day at a Time (Migrated from PostHope)

I know I have said the healing is hard work - which it is.  Though the healing process is not yet finished, I have made much progress.  This past Friday we celebrated one month since I was discharged from the hospital with a drive (myself at the wheel) to see a friend. Jason drove us home afterward.  Saturday morning we continued our celebration with some waffles topped with strawberries and whipped cream.   All "restrictions" are now lifted so I am only limited now by what my energy will allow which tends to wane in the afternoon. Mostly the pain I experience is in the evening leading up to bedtime. Something, perhaps, of the weight of the day and gravity pulling on the still-healing muscle and tissues inside may be what causes this. All my reservations regarding the evils of "Big Pharma" aside, I am grateful for the nerve-pain helper I take each night so I can sleep and feel rested for the next day. Other than that, regular acetaminophen and the occasional dose of naproxen keep me functioning at incrementally higher levels each day. I can occasionally throw a fetch-toy or a stick for Samwise to chase on our walks. I'm sitting at my desk to write this instead of in the recliner with my laptop. I have NOT lost any more weight - which I suppose is a good sign.  The surgeon had told me to expect further weight loss as the swelling subsided - so I am happy to interpret this as a sign that my strength is returning, slowly but surely.  

Though my appointment with the sarcoma specialist is still one week away - I will slowly be getting back to some remote work as my energy allows.  I continue to be grateful for the flexibility of Good Samaritan Family Resource Center in welcoming the services that I am slowly able to provide as I navigate my health.  I'm excited and encouraged to be connecting with my colleagues in this way as well. I feel both ready and hesitant to make plans for the future - both immediate and longer term - at the moment.  I can give a tentative "yes" to workshop programming for April/May.  I will likely go ahead and book a flight to be in attendance and celebrate with my son, Mateo, as he graduates for college in May.  I'm eager to set a date for our next advisory board meeting and to continue with preparations for launching our Waypoint ministry (do let me know via email if you'd like further updates on that and are not yet on our mailing list:  dawnoelle@gmail.com). Thinking about the wedding feast celebration in August still feels a tad overwhelming at the moment. 

So, today...I have watered my plants, made some banana bread, and gathered some pine cones. Tomorrow I'll probably drive to the post office. I am grateful in a new way for the strength to engage in each of these simple tasks.  

I'll end with a little joy here, something that I just stumbled across. Since the songs in my last post seemed to be a blessing to more than just me, I'll offer this one as well. It continues to bless my heart - all the way from Nigeria. 

Elshadai Music - Covenant Keeping God | Victoria Orenze

In the bold confidence of God's care. 

-Dawn Noelle

ALL MY SENSES (Migrated from PostHope)

Quick detail for those of you who aren't really keen on reading all my reflections.  My video visit with the doctor at UCSF who specializes in liposarcoma (or at least sarcoma - I'm fuzzy on how these specialties work) has been scheduled for March 7.  At first glance it feels like a long time to wait but I'm actually grateful for some room to breathe, heal, and reflect in the meantime. "Spaciousness" was a timely word sent to me as I settled into this sentiment.  

It's been a month since surgery and I'm slowly gaining focus (a little like the image coming into focus on the puzzle), returning to life giving rhythms of reading and writing.  I finally opened up a book I have been wanting to read again.  Hannah Coulter by Wendell Berry held special meaning for me in processing my mother's journey with thyroid cancer.  At the end of the first chapter, the voice of the title's namesake states:

"This is the story of my life, that while I lived it weighed upon me and pressed against me and filled all my senses to overflowing and now is like a dream dreamed . . .This is my story, my giving of thanks."

This statement at the end of chapter one, coupled with an episode of "The Chosen" (in which Jesus,Y'shua, is exhausted at the end of a day dedicated to healing the masses who sought him out in the desert) gave inspiration to the following poem - the reflection that I so relish in these days of preparation. 

As muscles tighten and sustenance flows

Discomfort, pain, joy, exhilaration, contemplation and digestion

I have never been so aware of the movement of my bowels

Breathe deep, but not too fast, lest the diphragmatic jolt radiate like lightening into my shoulders

Breathe deep, nonetheless, slowly, surely, take it all in

The sun on my face, the glint in my eyes, the light on the page, allowing me sight to write

The crackle of the fire and the whine of the cello, each delivered to a different ear

The cold of the window and the warmth of the pillow

The smell of my morning coffee lingering with the aroma of yesterday's burger

The mundane and the divine swirl around me and press into my body and my spirit.

The ache in my core both a sign of healing and foreboding of what is to come

This time of preparation belongs only to You - the God who sees, hears, smells, tastes, and feels

Exhausted and ready for rest at the end of a full day of healing.

The tangible notes of love (stickers on an envelope transferred to my journal as well as the multiple text messages, emails, songs, and scriptures sent) fill my senses with the hope of each new day.  Here's a couple of songs for those still reading. May they lift your spirits as they have mine. 

Majo y Dan - Me Sostendrá

The More I Seek You - Kari Jobe

In the bold confidence of God's care, 

Dawn Noelle

Uncertainty is the domain of faith...(Migrated from PostHope)

 I took a walk yesterday. It was the longest walk I've taken since surgery. Slowly but surely following along after Jason and Samwise as sticks and pinecones were thrown, chased, and retrieved, I noticed some things:

• Not a patch of snow in sight.
• There are SO many pinecones on the ground.  I began to gather pinecones in the fall and gifted many of them to some of you - carefully washed, dried, and lightly scented with cinnamon and vanilla essential oils.  The broken ones make EXCELLENT fire starters (the whole ones too, but I'm thinking I could start a lucrative cottage industry selling those that are in-tact.  People pay good money, apparently, for a bag of scented pine-cones around the holiday season - I even saw some scented with pumpkin-spice this past fall 🤭).
• The temperature has dropped again. After a few 80°F days last week, it was only 50° by 11am this morning. Still no precipitation in sight, which is concerning as we seem to be slipping into drought conditions once again, and fire-season seems to be upon us already. 
• The walk was pleasant none-the-less as I needed some extra space to clear my head after hearing not exactly what I had hoped for from the doctor yesterday. I only started feeling just a little winded about 1/2 way back.

Some of you are on the edge of your seats waiting for the news from the tumor board, so I'll just get right to it. They believe that I am at high risk of recurrence due to the size of my tumor. Did I mention that  this "atypical lipomatous tumor" (a.k.a. "well differentiated liposarcoma") measured 40.3cm at it's longest point? It must have been doubled over somehow for that to be true, but it is right there in the report - along with the 30-40lb weight estimate.  They are concerned that a recurrence my not be "resectable" (removeable) and have recommended a specialist in liposarcoma at UCSF.  I should hear back within the next couple of days about scheduling an appointment to discuss my options.

This doesn't feel like the "one-and-done" miracle that we had hoped and prayed for, and yet I am confident that God is still healing me.  After latching on so tightly to the hesitant optimism of the surgeon and then the oncologist - both qualifying their outlook with the need for the tumor board to make a final recommendation- I do feel some disappointment/discouragement - and yet I was met with multiple encouraging messages this morning before I had even shared this latest news.

So here we are, still in the waiting period.  The initial description of standard treatment for liposarcoma sounded fairly brutal. Keeping in mind that liposarcoma is fairly rare, I am grateful for the opportunity to speak with a specialist about what options might be available in my particular case.  I am also caught in this limbo of trusting the magnitude of the miracle and the difficult decisions that may lay ahead about treating a cancer that is no longer there.  I don't completely understand this part...do I have cancer . . . or is it fair to say that I had a cancerous tumor that is now gone? When is one allowed to say that they are "cancer-free"?  Obviously, I have more questions than answers at this point and yet I am convinced that uncertainty is where faith abounds.  Trusting a miracle is a dangerous place to play - but trusting my creator, the lover of my soul - that is a safe place to land indeed.

"Let all that I am wait quietly before God, for my hope is in him." - Psalm 62:5

This verse became my daily meditation about 15 years ago - for at least a year, and I return to it from time to time, like today. This is not the first time I am held and will not be the last.  I am deeply grateful for the community of support that has been granted to me. In trimming the flowers brought by a new friend and fellow library volunteer this week, one bud fell off, and I am particularly fond of it as it sits in a repurposed spice jar on the windowsill above the kitchen sink.  As I walked alongside the house this morning - a pinecone fell from the sky, bounced and landed perfectly in this posed position.  It is, and always has been, the small gifts that warm my heart the most and allow me to feel known.  

Well, thanks for reading, for following, for praying, for encouraging me along in this journey - which apparently is not quite over. At this point, in addition to prayers for continued healing, I would ask for discernment as options for the next steps are presented. 

Continuing in the bold confidence of God's care, 

Dawn Noelle

Piece by piece...(Migrated from PostHope - minus the photos)

 As we enter the weekend, I thought I'd share some photos since I actually haven't heard from the doctors on the final recommendation from the tumor board. We remain hopeful that no further treatment will be needed. I've never been a puzzle fanatic, but this gift from a good friend - also dealing with her own medical issues with a prolonged recovery time - has been a helpful practice and metaphor for the slow progress, piece by piece, of healing in my body.  Getting the framework of the puzzle put together felt like such a milestone.  There are days when I look at all the possible pieces and just can't find the one I am looking for to complete a section - and then the next day I find it.  It was always there, but rushing a puzzle just doesn't seem to work.  There are similarities in healing - my outsides look fairly normal but inside there is still much healing taking place. These photos, which I had trouble sharing in my last post, represent the many gifts of friendship, acts of kindness, love, encouragement, and hope I have received from so many. 💕

Love to all of you,

Dawn Noelle

The Magnitude of a Miracle (Migrated from PostHope)

 I get this question a lot.  Up until recently my answers have centered on the physical sensations and energy levels I "feel" in my body. I was not expecting my emotions to be so incredibly muted during this first stage of my healing process. My new answer to this question is...

"I am feeling hopeful."

I met with the surgeon this past Thursday for suture removal and follow-up.  Only 5 minutes before our appointment he had received the pathology report on my tumor and was eager to share some highlights.  He said the tumor was a grade 2 (slow growing) and "well-differentiated" (behaves like normal cells).  Basically this is good news and means that this tumor had likely been growing for "many" years. More on understanding the terminology here. He also said, with cautious optimism, that he thinks I may not need further treatment at this time.  The tumor board meets next Thursday and will make a determination at that time, but this feels very much like an answer to my prayers (and yours) that this would be a "one-and-done" process. 

Keeping in mind that Dr. Alseidi's initial report before surgery indicated that it was unlikely he would be able to remove ALL of the tumor, I am still processing the magnitude of this miracle. 

Measurement, calculation, numbers . . . are not the substance of my language most of the time, but in terms of understanding magnitude, I find the following helpful...

By the numbers:

7: roughly the number of hours I was under general anesthesia / in surgery

39: the number of staples (27) + sutures (12) that held my abdomen together after surgery - now removed (yay!) and replaced by steri-strips, to remain in place until they fall off.  

12: the length of my scar from the surgery incision in inches...stem to stern so to speak (more literally, it starts at the bottom of my sternum and extends down to well below my belly-button)

35-40:  "35-40 what?" I asked when he answered the question "Does the report list how much the tumor weighed?"  He said he couldn't find it in the report at first glance, but having carried it away on a tray, he estimated that it weighed 35-40 pounds. . . . "WHAT?!?!". Yes, that is what he said - and it feels impossible.  I have dropped about 20 lbs. since before the surgery - and according to Dr. Alseidi, patients often gain about 15 lbs. after surgery due fluids during the healing process . . . so I guess this makes sense - and I should prepare for further weight loss as I heal, which is why he encouraged me to push myself a bit on eating a little more.  I've only lost one pound this past week, so I suppose my efforts are paying off.  

2-3: number of months before I will start feeling normal again (though it could take as long as 9). Basically, I'm in for a long healing process. 

30: number of minutes that I can stand or walk before needing to rest. It's nice to be up and doing stuff . . . and don't worry, I am NOT overdoing it. Jason keeps a close eye on me and I have promised to ask for help if I need it.  My only official restrictions are no driving and no heavy lifting. 

The Road Ahead

I had begun to prepare myself, and even entered in to some degree, a grieving process in terms of my loss of function, accentuated by the uncertainty of what I might learn at my upcoming oncology appointment.  Forming a "NOT-to-do" list was affirmed by a post the very same day by Candace McCallister.  I highly recommend her reflections on Caregiving and Grief. With this hopeful news from Dr. Alseidi, however, I have felt a shift and a readiness to focus on healing and gratitude and accomplishing reasonable tasks in the coming days, weeks, and months. I am hopeful that I will, slowly but surely, regain my functioning.  My remaining kidney is strong.  Life without a spleen mostly means that I need to follow a schedule of meningococcal vaccinations and boosters.  My gastrointestinal tract was cut in three places, so eating does cause some discomfort but as I heal, eating should become more enjoyable. And I have learned that diaphragmatic pain does radiate into the shoulders.  The pressure on my diaphragm from the tumor was likely the cause of some significant pain I was experiencing in my right shoulder and bicep before surgery which is now gone.  Now that the diaphragm is healing from some cutting to remove the tumor, it is in my left shoulder where I will feel some sudden sharp pains at times.  The tightening of tissue in my abdomen causes new pains on occasion - but all of it is manageable and feels like signs of healing. 

I feel incredibly grateful for all the support I have received, from home visits to prepared meals to cards and text messages and phone calls and daily scriptures to keep me encouraged.  My father returned home yesterday and Mateo has been here for the weekend.  Tomorrow will be our first day on our own, just me and Jason.  I'm confident we will be just fine and he is caring for me and all that we have been given here at Waypoint well.  I have never felt as strongly as I do now that I can rest in the bold confidence of God's care.  Whatever you are facing, be encouraged.  God is up to something and will be faithful to complete the work that has begun in you. 

I will likely follow-up after I have more specific news from oncology next weekend. 

-Dawn Noelle

Healing is Hard Work (Migrated from PostHope)

 ....harder than I had imagined.  I've been home for close to a week now, to be honest I've sorta lost track of the days.  There is much brewing inside of me in terms of reflection, but there is so much to heal on the inside of my body and I am learning to live with a certain level of pain.  The energy for written reflection stirs emotions that I am keeping at a distance for now.  Any "heaving" in my chest provokes pain in the muscles and tissues that have been cut to remove the tumor and affected organs.  

So I am busy at the hard work of healing . . . figuring out which tasks are on my NOT to do list is of utmost importance, but sitting with my laptop keyboard here in the recliner I inherited from Nana (my grandmother) has comfortably moved to my "to-do" list today.  I have follow-up appointments with the surgeon and my primary care doctor (one of which will be in-person in San Francisco, hopefully to have my remaining 12 stitches removed) this week. 

So my days are filled with a lot of sitting/resting/reclining (a.k.a. letting my body heal).  I watch the clock for my next round of meds - nothing too spectacular, mostly just tylenol and ibuprofen to keep my pain level hovering around 4-5 and other stuff to keep my newly sculpted digestive system running smoothly.  

In between the sitting/resting/reclining I get up and walk around the house and perform light weight tasks that keep my body and mind from too much atrophy.  I am eager to ask about some physical therapy to see what I can do to strengthen these muscles as they heal.  Oh, and there is this fun little breathing apparatus that I'm supposed to use to keep my lungs healthy and pneumonia free.  It's sorta like a game and for the first time I have imagined having grandchildren someday who might like to play this game with me.  

Thank you for all your prayers and cards and texts and phone calls and words of encouragement and practical helps that have been offered.  I'll wrap this up here. I haven't had a nap yet this morning, so perhaps it is time for that.  I just wanted to say "hi" and let you all know that I am well, doing the hard work of healing, sustained by your prayers and God's love. 

In the bold confidence of God's care, 

Dawn Noelle

Heading Home...(Migrated from PostHope)

After a few false starts and even some tears, we seem to have a pain management plan that I can carry home with me. Jason and my father will be driving into the city tomorrow morning to pick me up and take me home to continue my recovery there.  I am grateful for a little extra time here just to feel comfortable with the new meds plan while I have doctors and nurses within reach to answer my questions and keep an eye on me.

Since I was originally told to plan for a 10-day hospital stay, heading home on day 8 feels miraculous.   I am also feeling a little more focused and able to reflect in this moment.  ....at least I was, but then....  after just that first paragraph and a little breakfast, I completely "passed out" - not literally, but I fell asleep pretty hard before finishing breakfast.

I'm being encouraged to eat more.  That might be easier once I am out of the hospital and have some more appetizing choices within reach.  I never knew there was such a thing as bad ice-cream....that is an impressive accomplishment, to find an ice-cream I have no desire to eat. 🙄

Writing is a life-giving practice for me and I am eager to share my reflections.  There may be more of those in the days to come but I am comforted by the words from my sister that she picked up living in Bali:  "Slowly. Slowly."

Today I will dedicate my remaining energy to resting, healing, preparing to go home, and writing some notes of gratitude to the amazing team of care-givers who have accompanied me in this part of my journey.   

If I don't find the energy to write some of my more reflective thoughts here in the next couple of weeks, you can expect an update after my oncology appointment February 9.  

Learning what it means to rest in the bold confidence of God's care, 

Dawn Noelle

Fan for a day (Migrated from PostHope)

 I (yes, me, Dawn!) am so excited to be writing my own entry today. All the feels and gratitude and reflection that have welled up inside of me are, once again, more than the energy in my body is able to connect from heart to mind to keyboard in a coherent way to share.  I am entering day 6 since the surgery.  After a rough day yesterday of weening off the fentanyl epidural, pain seems manageable once again.  I have reflected much on the simultaneous frailty/resilience of the human body during my stay here, though articulation of my thoughts and reflections - is more than the grogginess of my mind will allow at the moment.

I get excited about the small things - like watching the Niners play the Packers last night (ok, so I actually slept through most of it) and then viewing some celebratory fireworks from my hospital room. I'm told that I have just about the best view in the whole hospital. I don't usually watch much TV and even less sports, but it was nice to redeem my "football" association and join in the community feel of a positive shared experience here in the city now that I'm not carrying around a sport-sized mass inside of me anymore.  Also, there are potatoes on my breakfast plate this morning!

We might have a more logistical update this afternoon once I've spoken with the doctors about how my pain management is coming along and looking at what the steps/milestones remain before being cleared for discharge.  Please keep this process and the logistics involved in your prayers.

I'm also up for brief phone calls. This introvert is feeling quite chatty, but the exertion on my diaphragm depletes my energy reserves quickly. 

I'm including the view from my room from a few sunsets ago.  

Love, 

Dawn Noelle

To Everything There is a Season (Migrated from PostHope)

Dawn's recovery process is moving along nicely. I've been able to have several phone conversations with her since her surgery. I have returned to Waypoint (what we're calling our home) and am in the process of building her a bed. Since the mattress is on the floor, I felt that it would be prudent to build a bed so that Dawn doesn't have to do any more "work" than necessary during her recovery process once she returns home. The bed is coming along nicely.

Initially, the doctors told Dawn to expect a ten day stay in the hospital but some of the paper work she has says five to seven days. So we're hoping that no matter how many days that she'll be released at the proper moment and not a moment before. Doctors have told her that she is to try to walk around the halls at least three times a day and I know that she did at least one lap today. She spends her time either sleeping or trying to figure out something interesting to watch on TV. They have her on fentanyl and oxycodone for the pain and they plan on removing the epidural tomorrow.

A couple of weeks ago I had this reflection that I shared with Dawn and I feel like sharing it with you all. I look at the season that we are in and I know that others are in a worse season than we are and some are in better seasons. This isn't about comparison but rather looking at the tests and trials that we are in and becoming or being trustworthy and faithful in that specific season. This is what I shared with Dawn. I hope that you are encouraged by it as well.

 

Ecclesiastes 3:1-2       {Hebrew words are in parenthesis followed by definitions}

To everything there is a season, (Zeman - Appointed time, Set time)
A time (Eth - Time (of an event), Experiences) for every purpose (Chephets - Delights, pleasure, longing) under heaven:
2 A time to be born, (Yalad - Bear, bring forth, Travail, To declare one's birth, act as a midwife, declare pedigree)
And a time to die; (Muth - To kill, To have one executed, To put to death, To perish)
A time to plant, (Nata - To fasten, to fix, to establish, to strike in)
And a time to pluck what is planted; (aqar - To root up, to pluck up (By the roots), to cut (as in Hamstring), To exterminate)

 

I know that people use this scripture for funerals, but as I read it...with the  word definitions, I see that....this is where we're at. 

Season (Appointed time): We were brought to Rail Road Flat for a reason and a purpose. But is this the right season for us to sprout....or is it time to lay down roots?

Time (Time of an event)/Purpose (Delights): Our purpose is to bring Jesus to this area. Are we going to be ready when we are faced with our tasks?

Born (Bear, bring forth, act as a midwife): I'm mindful that we can't and mustn't rush God's timing. But the birthing process is painful and messy...and because I'm aware of this...my discouragement in the lack of friendship is only temporary. My internal fretting about money and supplies is only temporary. Though it's in my nature to be intense and driven, I know that in this moment...slow is smooth and smooth is fast.  The process of birth, there are moments of contractions (pain) and moments of resting. There is loss of fluids, intentional breathing, screaming and travailing. Sometimes there is an extended time of waiting before the pain begins. The birthing process is painful and messy and it's the fruit of that birth that makes the birthing process worth the pain. The pain of birth is temporary and it gives way to immense joy. 

Die (To Kill, to execute): Looking at where we live (the spiritual area), I'm asking myself and asking God to show me what fleshly thing I must kill so that when we are fully released into what we desire to do, my flesh will not hinder us.

Plant (To fasten, Fix, Establish, to strike in): What are we to fix? What are we to fasten? What are we to establish? I find it interesting that this one word has four different definitions, each that are accomplished by different actions. I'm sensing that we must be extremely strategic as we move forward and we must assess HOW we are to plant.

Pluck (to root up, to cut/hamstring, to exterminate): Looking at RRF with spiritual eyes, what are the targets that we need to pluck? How do we go about doing that and with whom? 

 

In conclusion, though the above reflection is specific to us, I hope that you can look at this reflection and personalize it to yourself and make the most of whatever season of life that you are currently in. Seasons are just that...seasons. They don't last forever. New seasons may currently seem to be barren and empty, but those can be the best seasons because it should be promoting rest and recuperation and you know that the next season brings new life and sunshine. As Dawn and I head into a season of physical recuperation, this time will also allow us to pause and draw closer together and to draw closer to our Creator. We hope that whatever season you're in that you can do the same. 

The Second Down...(Migrated from PostHope)

 Jason Here giving an update on how Dawn is doing after her surgery.

The Walk

Dawn got up this morning around 4:30 to get herself ready for surgery. We left the house we are staying at just a little bit before 5:30 and we walked the approximate 15 blocks to the hospital. Walking there and knowing that I'd have to leave her was bittersweet. Bitter in the fact that I would not be by her side when she woke up and entered the recovery process, and it was sweet knowing that she would be rid of this parasite that was sucking away her energy and appetite. The walk was quiet between us and at times it seemed like my feet were slogging in mud. Fighting to keep my mind focused and my emotions at bay, I had to be intentional in my words and thoughts. I reached for her hand to hold and as we walked down the street I wondered who was being comforted more, me or her? Walking up the steps to the hospital doors was emotionally taxing because the last time I left someone at this hospital, they didn't make it out of surgery. I had to fight hard to keep those type of thoughts out of my mind. So once we arrived at the doors, I kissed her and embraced her. Then we prayed. I committed her into the hands of God and asked Him to take care of her and that regardless of what the outcome was that He receive the glory. I stood there and watched as she walked into the building and I stayed there until I couldn't see her anymore then I walked back to the house. As I walked back, Brian Doerksen's song You Shine came to mind:

Why should I fear man?
When You made the heavens
Why should I be afraid?
When You put the stars in place

Why should I lose heart?
When I know how great you are
Why should I give up?
When Your plans are full of love

The Wait

After arriving back at the house, this quote from Helen Roseveare came to mind:

"Can you thank Me (God) for trusting you with this experience even though I may never tell you why"?

"Yes, Lord. You can trust me. I may not know what's in front of me at the moment, but as long as I'm in Your shadow then I know I'm safe".

So many times we talk about trusting God, but we rarely ask the question, "Can God trust us"? Knowing that my world could potentially go into a tale spin, I choose to be trustworthy with whatever the outcome is.

I then put on my headphones and spent some time in worship. I then did some scripture reading and talked a good friend on the phone while I ate a hamburger from my favorite hamburger joint, Whizburger.

The News

At last the phone rang with the update:

The Doctor said that he's pleased with the outcome and that Dawn is doing well. He stated that they did remove the left kidney, the spleen, a small part of the colon and part of her diaphragm but that they were able to remove all the cancer. He stated that she didn't have nor need a colostomy bag and that the bleeding was minimal so she shouldn't need to much blood to replace what was lost. That was the extent of the entire conversation.

I rejoice in knowing that all the cancer was able to be removed. It's going to be an interesting road to recovery but I'm confident that Dawn will walk that road faithfully and with determination. information from earlier conversations with her doctor state that she will be spending around 10 days in the hospital before she'll be released to return home.

Getting to the next down

We're moving down the field towards recovery (Endzone). I now have to return to our home and prepare for her arrival. I appreciate those who have reached out to me. You kind words will be remembered. Thank you.

I will update again when I have pertinent information. Until that time....

Answered prayer...the countdown begins. (Migrated from PostHope)

 I feel like I can breathe a sigh of relief now that I have a negative COVID test and am cleared for surgery tomorrow.  This result came just in time for me to start my pre-op meds.  The relief has given way to nausea as those first 4 pills hit my empty (clear-liquids only) stomach....so I am realizing my energy to write has waned and the words of gratitude I feel for each and every prayer and word of encouragement and act of kindness and care I have received just aren't going to make it from my heart to the keyboard before surgery. I'll be checking in at 6am tomorrow morning. The hospital is pretty locked-down, not even allowing visitors into waiting rooms.  Jason will be the one posting until I am able to do so once again.  I am overwhelmed with the goodness and love that sustains us in this moment.  

In the bold confidence of God's care, 

Dawn Noelle

Some Disappointment...mostly JOY...(Migrated from PostHope)

 So this will be mostly a logistical post as we are preparing to travel to San Francisco this morning.  Who is the "we" you may ask?  Chrissy and Casey Dow will be dropping me and Jason in San Francisco today so I can go in for my COVID test tomorrow (Monday).  As long as I test negative Monday, I will check-in to the hospital at 6am on Tuesday.  The surgery will likely last 6-7 hours and I am looking at a 10 day hospital stay.  The disappointing (but not surprising) news is that there will be no visitors allowed at this time due to high COVID infection rates in the Bay Area.  Once I am safely out of surgery, Jason will likely return to our home in Calaveras County on Wednesday.  My father, Shelby Lawson Smith, will be staying back at the house to take care of our dog, Samwise. 

Here is the joyful news that fills my heart with contentment.  We are still planning to celebrate a wedding feast in August, but we signed our marriage covenant in the presence of God and my father here at the house last night.  Jason will be the one posting updates here (from my account) once I am admitted to the hospital until I am at a point in my recovery where I can look at a screen and type on a keyboard again.  

So, I share with you here, the joy of my heart, a picture of the union of Jason William Ross and Dawn Noelle Smith Beutler. 

New every morning...(Migrated from PostHope)

 Quick updates for those who are here for the details. You can find the more reflective stuff below the "bullet points":

• God has answered prayer and gifted us with a place to stay while in San Francisco!  Special thanks to Monica Ponce who put the ask out to Grace Fellowship and to Michelle Chinn who answered.  It's hard to know how to humbly accept such an enormous gift - but we are deeply grateful. 
• Please pray for protection from COVID infection for family members and myself.  I am taking all necessary precautions and am scheduled for my pre-op COVID test on Monday, January 17 (which also happens to be my father's 75th birthday)!  A positive COVID test would delay my surgery and a negative test at this point with the high infection rates in the region would truly be a miracle from God - I am a firm believer in miracles. 

Now for the reflection...

As my name suggests, I have pretty much always been a morning person.  Watching the sun rise has always been my preference, though they are usually not as colorful as the typical sunset.  There have been many preparations in the works this week before my trip to San Francisco and admittance to the hospital but I still take time in the mornings to enjoy the quite awakening of each new day and hear the still, small voice of God calming my heart.  On October 31, 2021 I opened my mother's last journal - only a few pages used - and decided to make it my own. This journal was gifted to her by Church of the Sojourners, with notes of love attached, including one from me, as we both entered into a covenant membership/commitment with the family I called home for about 15 years.  So, both this journal and this unusually colorful sunrise (the camera on my phone doesn't really do it justice) are a gift to me in these moments, along with the daily scriptures that have been my companion for the entirety of my faith journey.

So here we go... (Migrated from PostHope account)

 It seems the time has come to connect folks to this space as a way of staying updated.  On December 15 an ultrasound and follow-up CT scan discovered a football sized tumor in my abdomen, pressing against many of my organs and partially encasing my left kidney.  A few months ago I had noticed and became concerned with the volume of my upper abdomen growing in unusual ways - and a hardness on my left side, a little fullness and general discomfort - but in general no pain. It wasn't until November, at my first in-person doctor visit since the pandemic, that I mentioned this and I was referred for some imaging. 

Now I am preparing for surgery on January 18. I'm gonna stick with the "football - not a fan" title of this website, though the surgeon said "more like a basketball" - it's definitely not round. They will do their best to remove the tumor and it is possible that I will lose a kidney, my spleen, and part of my colon.  The surgery will likely take 6-7 hours at Zuckerberg San Francisco General Hospital and I will likely have a 10 day hospital stay.  I won't be able to drive for another 6 weeks after that.  Though I now live in Calaveras County (three hours from SF) I was in the midst of transferring my care closer to home when this tumor was discovered, right before the holidays - so it seemed best to continue with what was set in motion with a surgical team there since this is a time-sensitive matter.  I am scheduled for a visit with an oncologist in SF on February 9 and at that point hope to discuss the possibility of transitioning to care closer to home.  

So, in the meantime, pieces are falling into place for a care plan for me.  My father will be flying in from Texas so that he and Jason can take turns "holding down the fort" so to speak here at the house, caring for our dog, the house, and property and readying things for my return and recovery - and having someone close by in SF during my hospital stay. My son, Mateo will also be coming from Southern California to help with those rotations during part of that time. 

ONE BIG NEED:  A "home base" with minimal human contact close to the hospital in San Francisco - preferably ground floor, starting on Sunday, January 16, most likely through the end of the month until I can be set up here at home.  The COVID case counts in SF are really high at the moment (vaccinated and unvaccinated alike), and it is essential that I not test positive for COVID before my surgery, and after surgery, if they do remove my spleen, I will be severely immunocompromised - thus the request for minimal human contact.  We will be looking into an AirBnB option - but this will likely be expensive, so I figured it wouldn't hurt to see what might be available and affordable through my networks/community/family (all ya'll Bay Area folks reading this).  

So this is feeling a little long, and I wanted to offer up a poem that I wrote the last week of December when we had 13 inches of snow on the ground.  

This weighted blanket of snow holds me still

until my restless heart settles into a deep steady rhythm

in sync with my breath. . . . 

Can the beat of my heart match the Father's in this warm embrace?

I wonder if this is what heaven is like

up to our knees in deep powdery snow

minus the bite of the cold

but filled with the joy of exploration

snowball throwing

snowman building

snow angel making

I can't really feel this tumor inside me and I wonder if I am already there. 

This place feels almost perfect . . .

and if I never leave it, I will only sorrow for the souls I will never meet again.

The angels are watching, rooting for us, I suppose, 

to find that entrance into goodness - a place where anxiety may cease.