Although pain is my new reality, I don’t say this to seek sympathy. I say this only to be totally transparent about the effects of cancer and to show that even though pain carries limitations it also teaches one a lesson about the heart of compassion.
Now that I’ve delivered Noah I am on a weekly chemotherapy schedule for at least 12 more rounds, not counting this week. Unfortunately, this means I’m not feeling as well as I’d like to physically. Now my pains and aches are mostly related to the side effects of chemotherapy, which have become more prevalent now. I have bone pain and muscle aches in my head, neck, arms, back, hips, and legs. The nerves in my legs constantly feel electrified whether I’m walking, sitting, or laying down and my hip sockets feel like rusty ball joints which make it harder for me to walk.
Sometimes when I stand up or descend the stairs, my legs buckle and I have to grab on to something quick because I lose my balance. When I attempt the stairs or I have to get up and Noah’s in my arms, I call on Jesus to help me (and I rebuke the enemy) and it never fails—and it never will, in Jesus’s name!
On Friday, I had minor surgery. Minor by medical standards but major for me! I had a mediport catheter put in to help draw my blood and administer my chemo medicine. Two incisions were made to put the port in my upper left chest area and to attach it to my jugular vein. It’s supposed to be less painful than injecting the drugs intravenously because the chemo has already damaged my veins and made them harder to access. For example, it took 3 nurses and 40 minutes to get an IV in my vein before surgery. I had to pray and yell Nurse Sue through the process because I simply couldn’t take the anticipation anymore.
Nurse Sue had a heating pack on the back of my hand to plump up a faint vein before going after it with a fierceness. While she shoved the needle in as deep as she could, I yelled at her: “Keep going! Keep going! Lord Jesus, help us! Father God, make me bleed, please! Keeeeep goooing!” And, finally, it was done! Hubby was also praying us through this traumatizing moment before leaving to join my dad in the waiting room—thank God he was there with me!
Honestly, it was no way to go into surgery. Although my IV was in, I was completely stressed out and my hand throbbed so much I held it out by my side like an injured wing. Minutes later, when I lay on the operating table, my head and back were also pounding with pain. Nurse Mallory put something under my knees but it didn’t help and the prep for surgery took way too long. I was trying not to let tears escape my eyes from all the discomfort and to hold them at bay until the end.
When surgery finally started the mild sedation (Valium) flushed into the IV burst into my vein like fire and I yelled, “OW!” My weak veins just can’t handle anything anymore. It was done a few more times but I was never relaxed, nor did I fall asleep, especially since I felt ever Lidocaine shot—about 8!
When I was wheeled out, I erupted in tears as soon as I saw my hubby. I told him that I felt like someone had put D batteries in my neck and that it was much more painful than they had let on! The port felt heavy and my neck too stiff to turn and the pain only worsened hour by hour.
When I got home it was hard to move without feeling the pressure on the left side of my body. I could not lift my left arm or hold Noah. I couldn’t even lay in bed comfortably. I could only sit propped up on pillows. And that is how I was until Sunday night. My mother-in-law stayed Friday to Sunday morning to take care of Noah and then my mom took Noah all day on Sunday, so I could rest and Joey could work and do odds and ends. But no part of my weekend was restful. I cried over not being able to hold my son; I cried over the pain and I cried over the lie that I was only going to be sore. Sore and pain are not the same. It seems like every time I’m told something will barely hurt, it kills! Trust me, I’m not being a baby.
However, I’ve learned that our own suffering allows us a lens into other people’s suffering. Of one thing I am sure, Jesus is moved by our suffering. Suffering also allows us to understand pain in a totally different way. We often say we cannot feel what others feel and that is normally true, but I now know intimately the aches, pains, and physical intrusions of the body made by cancer. I can empathize and feel compassion for anyone dealing with cancer or the pain of similar such illnesses in a way I simply could not before. I not only empathize with those who suffer but also with their caregivers, as well as those who have been healed in the body but perhaps have not yet been healed in the spirit or mind.
2 Corinthians 1:3-4
3 Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, 4 who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.
I’m also brought closer to the one who is moved most by my suffering: God, our Father, Jesus Christ, his son, and the Holy Spirit. In fact, the entire Bible is about the character of God and his son’s compassion toward the suffering of mankind.
Pain and suffering point me to Jesus.
Through the good days and the bad days, I see God in all my days—sometimes in ways so small, I might miss them if I am not looking carefully. And some days, in my second by second cries out for strength through prayers.
But the Lord promises me,
“I am with you and will keep you wherever you go” (Genesis 28:15 ESV).
And He does. He gives me a husband to pray over me when I’m too weak to do anything but cry. He sends me not one but two moms to care for Noah. He sends me a meal from a sister at church so we don’t have to cook. He puts a song in my heart “out of the blue” when I wake up to encourage me. He changes my situation, my thoughts, my pain, etc. even when I think things will always be the same. He gives me the strength to care for my son when I think I can’t.
Friday, I could not hold Noah when I came home from the hospital. Saturday night he seemed a bit fussy with my mother-in-law. Around 9:30 pm Hubby says, “Honey, I think Noah needs you.” I asked him to bring him to me and prop him on many pillows. Noah instantly quieted down and fell asleep. It was too painful to hold him, so hubby took him back to grandma. Sunday, Noah was with my mother. She called around 7 to say Noah was fussy again, just like the night before. This is not normal. Generally, he is a very happy and easy going baby. Mom suggested he might be having some issues with gas. Hubby went to pick him up around 9:30. When he came home he said, “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with him, honey. I think he just misses you!” And I missed him too.
Once again, Noah was propped on some pillows and I held him as close to my chest as I could without touching the bandages. Noah was wide awake and very calm. He just stared at me with those beautiful big eyes. I fed him and he slept leaning against me for an hour before hubby put him in his bed and there he slept for 5 hours!!! That has happened only a couple of times before. This morning, I could move my neck and was still in pain but I felt a bit stronger. Hubby gave me Noah at 6:30 am and there he stayed till almost noon! I passed him once to hubby so I could go to the bathroom and he started to cry and fuss again. I came back, positioned him again on my lap, and he was quiet again. Hubby said, “See, honey. He missed you. He wants his mama.”
And in my suffering, I felt the Lord’s love and compassion toward me. My baby needed me and his need for me brought me unexplainable joy in the midst of my physical pain. I held him even with some discomfort and we both finally stopped feeling fussy today!
The first three photos are from today and yesterday. The last one was taken Friday before I left for the hospital for surgery. It was Noah’s one month birthday! He was happy as can be.
In Love and Christ,
Liz and Noah
P.S. Thank you to all who continue to offer assistance with Noah but due to my low immunity and Noah’s delayed vaccinations, we are unable to accept your kind gestures. If we allowed others to help, there would be too many different hands holding Noah and too many visitors in our home which would jeopardize both of our health but we are extremely grateful for your displays of love towards us.
