Processing

"No one—and certainly not God—will be mad at you for taking a moment to breathe."

I'd like to preface this post by saying that I don't intend to sound like a counselor or preacher or—especially of all—your momma in this blog. I'm certainly not qualified to take on any of those roles. But I'm afraid I'll sound like all three in this one. Sorry 'bout it.

Let's start with the good stuff.

About a month ago, I received results from my mid-way scans. Brandon came to the appointment to support me and help ask questions because I absolutely black out as soon as I walk into the cancer center. If I don't have questions written down in my journal, I can't think straight enough to ask any on the spot, and this time, I was extra nervous. I felt my body getting better, and my vitals reflected that, but you don't know if the chemo is working until you examine the scans. This was the moment of truth.

My oncologist is about as dry as it gets. To be fair, he works in a tough business, and giving false hope is a big no-no. After we talked with my nurse for a bit, he came in and got straight to the chase: "The scans look excellent," he said. He and his team reviewed them that morning and were very pleased with the progress. There were no active Lymphoma cells—so no more growth—and almost all of the cancerous mass in my body had disappeared. Before he could run off, Brandon and I stopped him to ask him for some context. We knew it was good news, but we were both eager to understand what God had done here.

I haven't shared this yet, but my diagnosis is stage 4. That means something a little different in the world of blood cancers—it doesn't mean the cancer is incurable or chronic. But it does mean it's severe. My oncology team had buffered me from just how far my cancer had spread, which I'm glad they did. I had never seen my initial scans until this appointment, and I was in shock. My first scan showed I had a huge mass in the middle of my chest, masses all on my collar bone, down my spine, in my bones, around my lungs, in my shoulders... There practically wasn't one part of my body north of my hips that wasn't touched by cancer.

But in the second scan, it was all gone.

You can't tell me that wasn't God. You can't tell me that in just four treatments my cancer-plagued body recovered like that without His healing touch. You just can't.

Now, buckle up for the tough stuff.

You probably think I was jumping up and down, crying, and screaming when I got this news, right? You'd be wrong. Don't get me wrong, I was grateful. The first thing I did was thank God and call my momma. But I didn't feel anything, really. Relief and gratefulness are primarily what I felt. But other than that, I went about my day pretty casually. Well, actually, momma told me to celebrate, so I bought a steak and cooked it out on the grill and read my Bible—but that was the extent of the celebration.

How come? How come I didn't feel joy or feel like celebrating? I just found out I was beating cancer! But instead, I felt numb and overwhelmed. I just wanted to be alone.

The next couple of weeks, I slowly told those who have invested in my healing. It was tough every time and exhausting to walk through everything, but it was so special to see everyone's reactions. It was a true gift. If I couldn't celebrate, the people I love would do it for me.

I felt guilty for my reaction to this good news. I was mad at myself for not being able to express joy or excitement for what God had done for me. But finally, I experienced a breakthrough. One day at church during praise and worship, it hit me how God healed me. Before I started treatment, I couldn't stand and worship for more than one song because I was so weak. But that day, I worshiped the entire time. I could finally put into words what God had done for me: He gave me the strength to stand.

I should have never felt guilty for taking the time to process this news. God spoke to my heart at the perfect moment. I needed time to understand just how far He had brought me. Every time I look at that first scan, I remember how bad I felt. I now can physically see the pain and stress my body was experiencing. It's traumatizing. My mind, body, and soul desperately needed space to understand what has happened to me.

Here's where I put my preacher/counselor/momma britches: Do not rush your feelings when faced with big news—good or bad. Give yourself some grace and space to really understand what is going on. God may have more to show you, and you may not have experienced the full story just yet. Let God and time give you the wisdom to understand your feelings and form your reaction. No one—and certainly not God—will be mad at you for taking a moment to breathe.

One last little nugget before we exit our therapy session here. I am a firm believer God places dynamic, loving people in our lives for more reasons than one, but the further I walk down this road of recovery, the more I lean on my loved ones to carry my emotions with me. If you react unexpectedly to big news, let the ones who love you feel all the feelings for you. As I mentioned, it meant the world to me to see how folks responded to this news. It filled both our buckets.