The Weight of Waiting

Y’all probably think I’m a vain creature. Or you will in a moment. I recently wrote about the loss of my hair and how vain I felt in mourning it. Cancer and chemo are cruel things in so many ways, y’all, but the worst elements of this adventure are the ones which others can see most clearly, like the hair loss.

Another lovely side effect of my journey is weight gain. Yes, you read that right. Before my initial diagnosis I thought that everyone in treatment lost weight. Isn’t that the one perk of cancer?! Turns out there are a tremendous number of blessings in cancer, but weight loss certainly isn’t one. Modern oncology does everything it can to keep you from throwing up. “DO NOT LOSE WEIGHT!!” It’s stressed nine ways to Sunday. Copious amounts of steroids are used to make sure you don’t Ralph.

Well what the heck? What fun is a deadly disease if I can’t benefit from it in some way? I’ve spent my entire adult life in a body by Ben and Jerry’s. This was going to be my big break! As amusing as that sounds, to be honest, I’d spent the two years prior to this diagnosis losing 70 pounds. The weight from the last treatment plus some, plus a whole heck of a lot. I was feeling great, hauling fifty pound feed sacks, five gallon buckets of water, wrestling ornery goats. I looked and felt fantastic. Joy was easy. EASY.

Now? I’m in the valley of the shadow of death. That sounds so dire, even to my ears, but it’s the truth. Where is joy in the valley? This weight gain isn’t just cosmetic. My knees hurt. I don’t sleep well. It affects me physically, emotionally, mentally. How is that joyful?!

I wish there was an easy answer to this question. Sometimes joy isn’t simple or easy. It’s an undercurrent. It’s ongoing, not momentary. Joy happens in the darkest periods in life if we turn our focus from our misery to Jesus. That sounds trite. It’s surprisingly true. One of my favorite quotes from CS Lewis, in A Grief Observed, is this:

“God has not been trying an experiment on my faith or love in order to find out their quality. He knew it already. It was I who didn't. In this trial He makes us occupy the dock, the witness box, and the bench all at once. He always knew that my temple was a house of cards. His only way of making me realize the fact was to knock it down.”

So I’ve had my house of cards knocked down. The hair. The weight. My skin (don’t get me started). So many physical things. I’ve been stripped to the basic elements of who I am and what I believe and why. Stripped to the bare bones of my relationship with others and with God. It’s truly a source of joy. I know, now more than ever, who I am and why. And in my sorrow I feel secure. I feel loved. I’m cared for. And I’m grateful beyond belief.

How about you? Are you in a valley right now? Are you searching for joy? Talk to me. I’m there with you.

Until I write again …

Flea