- Peace for Shawn and I, for Kyle and Miranda and Braden and Connor, for our parents and siblings and nieces and nephews and inner circle friends watching and hurting as we go through this
- that God would keep soft our children's hearts toward Him through all the emotions of this hard journey
- strength and stamina; physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually
- that the cancer shrinks to gone, gone, gone!
- gentle side effects to this second round of chemo
- family unity, harmony, love, strength, joy, happiness
- anything else you feel God puts on your heart

Thursday, May 9, 2013


[Wrote this two days ago, laptop battery died, was too tired to get the cord plugged in, here it is today.]

Hooray for feeling stronger today. 

Not "strong", not by a long shot.  But able to get from couch to toilet and back without tears from the sheer effort of the 12 steps walk, or fear that I'm going to sit on the toilet and not be able to stand up on my own strength. 

Chemo exhaustion is the strangest thing I've ever, never, imagined.  It's not like the flu.  Concerned friends, wanting to understand and to pray and to help, want to know.  Not like the flu.  More like "disconnect".  I feel hungry, but can't eat.  I feel like getting up and grabbing myself a drink, but my body just can't do it.  Not like the flu when you lie there and the room spins but you know that no flu lasts longer than a few horrible days at most.  Chemo sick has the element of "I hope it passes... I really, really hope it passes... and I hope this works".  The shadow of "I hope this works" is strong, adds a mental element that is it's own undercurrent, like those beaches with the current that can suck you out to the ocean.  Some people stupidly ignore the sign and run the risk of going in the water... with chemo, you don't get a choice, you are in the current and you are hoping and hoping that it pushes you back to the safety of shore.  You are at its mercy.  Nothing you can eat or drink or do to make it pass.  I guess that part is like the flu... you gotta ride that out.  But the flu won't kill you.  Chemo or germs or cancer might.  It's just so different.  My brain is foggy, even on a day like today when I am physically on the upswing after the last cycle, even though I can form sentences and can sit up to type, it's just... disjointed.  I feel like me, Kristin, is disjointed from me.  Rambling.  A big part of this, for me, has been not trying to feel or process or figure out my feelings. 

Feelings are too big, too much, too put-you-over-the-edge.  Really, in the grand scheme of all the information and the fears and the working-against-fears and just getting through and stamina needed for each day... plus trying hard to maintain some sort of "things are going to be okay" for the kids and because that's how we are choosing to proceed through this... letting myself get too mired in emotion, even to process them, is just a waste of energy.  Isn't that a strange thing to hear from me?  I'm all about the processing... but really, cementing myself firmly in the faith that God has a plan and we are in it, is all I need to do.  Anything else leaves room for panic and who has time for that?  None of us.  Just believe that God has a plan, trust in His love, have faith in His omnipotence and leave the rest.  

Probably that's where my energy goes:  working against my natural inclination to figure things out and just rest in God's plan.  [smile]

What a ramble.  I've missed you this last week when I just couldn't even lift my arms to barely text.
I am stronger today than yesterday.  What that looks like is this:  I can't make it up the stairs without my heart pounding in my chest, without falling the last few feet onto my bed and not being able to shift my position for at least a full minute or two, walking to the kitchen requires stumbling to the chair and dropping my head to the table to recover.  "Stronger" is me being extremely positive and brave and digging deep into hope... if I don't, the tears come.  We are weary.  Not all points in all days, but it's there. If I sit on my couch, and I've just eaten or napped... I see it in my children, my extended family, my husband is incredible and when I am weak he is shoring me up out of some mystery reserves God provides.  One more cycle of chemo and then we get a break.  We are all looking so very forward to the break.  No idea what that will look like, not wasting energy by looking too far ahead, just grateful for the break that will come.  Trusting really, really hard that a break will come.  Hoping, really, really hoping for the break to come.  Really, we have no idea and there's nothing you can do about that but speak against Satan's efforts to depress or tire or freak us out.  God is bigger.  God is bigger.  God is bigger. 

I am so glad that my God is bigger. [smile]


  1. Thank you for sharing this glimpse of chemo. Your description of the undercurrent is so accurate from outside looking in.
    Trusting, praying and believing for more than a break!

  2. I'm definitely praying for more than just a break too. Believing for a miracle!

  3. Again, your honesty is appreciated. "Processing" is over-rated sometimes. I like your intentional just trusting God & knowing He has you covered, and has a plan. I'm so thankful to God for the 'mysterious reserves' He has for you & for Shawn.
    Thinking of you & praying daily for peace and more and more 'stronger' days ahead.
    xoxo Devana ps. thanks for passing along those jeans for K.


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