tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54328632742844873792024-03-05T04:56:46.173-05:00Trading in the Ta TasIt began as a story of prophylactic mastectomy and became a smattering of every day life. I write so I can remember. I write so I can advocate. But mostly I write to overcome.Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.comBlogger239125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5432863274284487379.post-84803961623327349352019-07-28T10:55:00.001-04:002019-07-29T08:08:32.021-04:00July 28, 2019 - It's just Right. Over. There. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;">I’m sitting
here on a bench in my front yard. It’s a bench I’ve had a while, but it once
sat bare, plain and black, and is now adorned with a sea foam cushion. It also
used to sit on my entry way path and now sits under a tree. It’s very early in
the morning, and I just saw the girl carrying her dog walk by again, though I
haven’t seen her walk by in almost 4 years. Yet she looks the same, as did her
dog. Both a little fuller in spunk, but immediately recognizable. His car is parked
exactly where it was always parked right outside our gate. Situated just so to
be seen from his front window. I also just saw the triplets go by. They live 4
doors down, they’ve always lived 4 doors down. But I haven’t. I moved away from
this very house 3 and a half years ago. But this week I moved back. And
everything has changed, yet absolutely nothing has changed. I wonder if they
see me sitting on my bench and say to themselves, “there’s that woman, a little
thinner than she was, but I haven’t seen her in a while”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;">I’m very
thoughtful as I sit on this bench early this morning. If only you could fully
be in my head instead of only seeing these few words that will spill over onto
this screen. There’s a chaotic swirl of thoughts, almost haphazard in their
formation. All a result of several months of navigation of high pace demands
both at work and at home, but more recently my being served up a gumbo of life
all in a few short days. I’ve learned in life through various circumstances
that there is physical exhaustion, there is mental exhaustion, and then there
is emotional exhaustion. I know you, too, have experienced each. And when all 3
come on you all at once, you find yourself not knowing up from down at times.
But unfortunately, life doesn’t seem to give you a “leave of absence” or even a
courtesy nod, and you find yourself trying to figure out exactly how to go
about getting yourself out from underneath the layered tripod above you. Forget
about getting back on top, you’d settle for a simple, half-way there. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I am digging myself back to half-way there.
And you can almost see it. It’s just Right. Over. There.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;"><o:p></o:p></span><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;">What I find
so frustrating in this process is it happened so quickly and felt so out of my
control. It truly was the perfect storm where I almost felt “set up” by life.
It’s as if Work called up Home and had a conference call and said if you do this,
and I do this, and then my Social Sphere called in via webex and said “I’m game”,
and they all concocted this perfect strategic brainstorming session while I had
stepped away for 3 minutes to the water cooler. When I arrived back nothing looked
like it had when I left and everything was amuck and suddenly due in 3 hours! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;">What’s
ridiculous is I actually consider myself quite successful at self-care and
self-protection. I’ve focused the last 2 years on learning to say no to the
things that aren’t service to others or are harmful for myself. (You have to be
careful with the concept of learning to say no. It isn’t an all or none thing,
I think people take often that “mantra” too far left or too far right.
Sometimes we should <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>in fact put others
before ourselves, sometimes work is supposed to be difficult and stressful,
that is why it is called work and not a hobby, so carefully evaluate when it is
right to say no and when it is not). I have successfully learned to institute
boundaries and hold people accountable for actions and remove manipulators from
my life. I plan my calendar carefully to avoid over tasking at home and I work
hard to avoid “the American way of life” pit falls. Yet with all of these self-care
actions in place, the perfect storm still brewed itself the most bitter of
coffees and plopped itself right down into my “Calm” cup. So therefore I ask
myself……this must have been out of my control and therefore what exactly am I
to glean from this moment? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;">I’m reminded
we are to be still even in the roughest of seas. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;">Psalm 46:10.
Be still and know that I am God. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;">When Life
comes at you fast, God has not abandoned you. Often in the midst of chaos,
(particularly if you are a planner and problem solver like me) you immediately
start looking for your way out. You start planning for the solution and trying
to manipulate the situation to your outcome as you see fit. We can’t stand the
uncomfortable. We can’t fathom 10 days of frustration. We are an inpatient
being of disgrace in that way. Heaven forbid we sit in a moment of discontent for
a second longer that we see suitable. We walk to the mailbox and complain the
entire way back about the heat for example. To. The. Mailbox. But imagine an
hour long meeting that cramped our style and made us stay late after work. One
day after work. One day. Are we catching our drift? But now we are pushing a
week of heavy demands. Ok that is getting more uncomfortable. Let’s ask
ourselves. What should we just learn to better tolerate (the mailbox, the hour
long meeting?) and what should we start asking ourselves do we need better
boundaries…(months of working after hours?). Each of those will be different
for each person, but I do think we all have to ask ourselves 1) are we over
complainers and rather high maintenance in any given situation, 2) are we people
who allow life to happen to us because we don’t set suitable boundaries, 3) or
is this given moment a situation where life is happening outside of our control
and we are supposed to be here in this very moment and we need to look for
something to take from it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;">Have we ever
thought that maybe there is intent in our discomfort? Purpose in our
frustration? How many new problems do we end up creating simply by trying to
solve just one? We don’t have to solve every single issue that lands on our
doorstep. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Have you ever considered that
the uncomfortable person in that staff meeting just may be the person that
changes your life a few months down the road? Have you ever thought there is
maybe a little reforming intended in our heartbreak? Are you out there trying
to solve every single issue that lands on your child’s plate? Maybe God needs
your child to squirm a little to draw her closer to him. Maybe God needs your
child to squirm a little to draw YOU closer to him. Maybe, just maybe God needs
you to just sit still for a moment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "brush script mt";">Be still
and know that he is God.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "brush script mt";"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;">Today as I am
navigating some muck that somehow landed on my doorstep this past month. Some
muck that I think was outside of my control. I am being so very careful to pull
back and see what is Sally’s to solve, and where does Sally need to squirm a
little bit and trust for God to do what God promises to do. His promises are
just as true in the muck as they are in clearest of day. And I’m claiming his
promises as a reminder that God will do just as he said he will do. I’m sitting
in the uncomfortable for a bit. I am even in the most recent of days, sitting
in the trauma for a little bit. Trust me, I am figuring it out as I go, so I do
not by any means have this all figured out, but I do know his promises and know
that those I can trust.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-themecolor: text1;">Mathew 11:28 <span style="background: white;">Then Jesus said, “<em><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-style: normal;">Come to me</span></em>,
all of you who are <em><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-style: normal;">weary</span></em> and
carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-themecolor: text1;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: black;">We don’t have to
wait for God to do what he says he will do. He’s already done it. His promises
are there to be claimed and grabbed hold of and incorporated into our lives. “I
will give you rest”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: black;">I wonder how
often we sit around waiting for something that God has already done. I often
think we as a human race are too busy, too disconnected, too self-focused, that
we don’t even see what God has already done for us. Mainly I think we spend
most of our lives not walking with God, with him not as a center focus, and
therefore how in the world can we see his promises and what is has already laid
down for us? His promise is already laid out for us there in Matthew. If we
would connect ourselves to him as the center of life, he doesn’t say we won’t
have burdens, he actually implies in that verse that burdens will exist, but he
promises rest will come. Even as I type these words out on this screen, my
heart is rolling around in a moment of rest. Let’s read that again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: black;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "brush script mt";">Then Jesus said, “<em><span style="font-family: "brush script mt"; font-style: normal;">Come to me</span></em>, all of you who are <em><span style="font-family: "brush script mt"; font-style: normal;">weary</span></em> and
carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "brush script mt";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: black;">Are you, like me
this week, spending your day so task driven and up to your eyeballs in moving
boxes and work tasks, and dragging your children from here to there, and
grocery shopping, and finding a spot for your socks that used to go in this
drawer, but that drawer doesn’t exist anymore…..and instead not taking 10
minutes to connect with God? In 10 minutes of finding that verse, my heart
started to unclench in its panic and soften in its rest. We are too busy NOT to
claim his promises in our day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: black;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: black;">Or do you have
something deeper? Are you sinking in a diagnosis that seems impossible? Are you
facing something that feels like there is no way out? Have you just lost your
everything and you don’t know if there will ever be an up again? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you have a prodigal son who has lost his
way? Do you have a lost trust? Do you feel abandoned? There is a promise for
that too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: black;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: black;">Life is going to
come at us fast. Often outside of our control. And it’s at those moments that
we need his word hidden in our hearts to pull out at a moment’s notice. Just 2
days ago, a dear friend lost her husband in a tragic suicidal moment. Then another
friend lost her son, daughter, and unborn child in a car accident on the way to
delivery their baby, another lost a brother unexpectedly, after soon another tragically
lost a new husband to cancer. This week has been a week of loss. And this week
has thrown me back into my own loss as I have attempted to loved on those
around me while navigating chaos in exhaustion. It only takes a split second
for your world to be upside down with tasks, or for your world to be upside
down in a way you will never imagine. Surround yourself with people who
encourage you to equip yourself. And surround yourself with God’s word well
before you find yourself needing it in a way you never thought imaginable. I
hope you flood my inbox with verses you know and love. You never know who else
just may need exactly what you write. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: black;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: black;">Maybe you will
find your hope in one of these promises as I came across them this morning out on
my lopsided bench. This bench is restoring me in more ways than one, providing a familiar place
to bring me and my soul back home. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: black;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black;">Isaiah 40:31 - But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew
their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and
not be weary.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black;">Romans 8:28 - <span class="verse-28">And we know that in all
things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called
according to his purpose.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black;"><span class="verse-28"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span class="verse-28"><span style="background: white; color: black;">Psalm 16:8 - </span></span><span style="background: white; color: black;">I have set the LORD always before me;
because he is at my right hand, I shall not be shaken.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black;">Romans 8:25 - </span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-themecolor: text1;">But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for
it patiently.</span><span style="background: white; color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-themecolor: text1;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black;">Psalm 119:50 - This is my comfort in my affliction, that your
promise gives me life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black;">Psalm 130:5 - </span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-themecolor: text1;">I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits, and in his word I put my hope.</span><span style="background: white; color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-themecolor: text1;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black;">Mark 10:27 - Jesus looked at them and said, with man it is
impossible, but not with God. For all things are possible with God.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black;">Psalm 27:14 - </span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-themecolor: text1;">Wait for the LORD; be strong and take heart and wait for
the LORD.</span><span style="background: white; color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-themecolor: text1;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black;">1 Peter 5:7 - Casting all your anxieties on him, because he
cares for you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black;">Romans 15:13 - <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-themecolor: text1;">May the God of hope fill
you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with
hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-themecolor: text1;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-themecolor: text1;">Romans 5:3-4 - Not only so, but we also glory in our
sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance,
character; and character, hope.</span><span style="background: white; color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-themecolor: text1;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-themecolor: text1;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-themecolor: text1;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-themecolor: text1;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: xx-small; text-align: center;">You can access previous posts </span><a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #9999dd; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 15.4px; text-align: center; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #228855;">HERE</span></a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: xx-small; text-align: center;">.</span></span><br />
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<br />Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5432863274284487379.post-90076106154475624912019-03-07T15:30:00.000-05:002019-07-29T08:00:47.263-04:00March 7, 2019 - The whole creation has been groaning<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;">Romans 8:22 “<span class="text">We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of
childbirth right up to the present time.</span>”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0070c0; font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="text">Less than 48 hours ago I was sitting in the
middle of the living room floor. This is how we do dinner. Plates on the coffee
table in front of us, legs crossed on the rug, cat somewhere nearby trying to
get a swipe at something from the plate. We’ve done this our entire marriage
and it is one of the most comfortable places, emotionally, I know of. When we
are traveling, I crave to get back to this place. It’s our familiar routine. It’s
our time of togetherness where we eat, almost in silence, while we watch our 1
hour of television and virtually unpack our work day. Cooking relaxes me and
tonight was no different as I carried our plates to our nook and climbed down
into the floor to begin the “unpacking”. As I sit, and eat, and shoo away the
cat on occasion, I literally can feel the tension slide out of my body as I sit
on the left, Ron on the right and someone else’s life plays out in front of me.
Yet tonight, as we were watching one of our favorite shows, things took a
sudden and drastic turn. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="text"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="text">There on the screen ahead of me, mid-bite
on my end, without any notice whatsoever (as screen writers so very much like
to do), there she suddenly lay, on the pavement beside her car, no longer
talking, lifeless from the bullet…..and immediately, I couldn’t breathe. I
mean, literally, it was as if my rib cage no longer knew what it was supposed to
do anymore and all I could find was a millimeter of movement and the result was
shallow breaths, rapid heart rate, and an emotional ache that was
indescribable. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="text"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="text">In under 5 seconds I morphed from the most comfortable
place in my home to feeling as though a tanker truck was sitting on my chest
with tears flowing down my face and words unable to come out of my mouth…all
because our body is vulnerable. This isn’t the first time this has happened. It’s
like the third. And I feel like a pro now. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="text"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="text">Two years have passed by since Andy’s death
and yet </span><span class="text"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bodoni mt black" , serif;">our suffering remains real</span></i>.
I know this to be true because without any sign of it coming, it smacks me in
the face on a random evening while eating dinner. </span><span class="text"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bodoni mt black" , serif;">Our
pain is tangible</span></i>. I know this to be true because it lingers for
hours on end with physical ramifications after it surfaces and carries a weight
that is measurable and evident to those around me. </span><span class="text"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bodoni mt black" , serif;">Our
ache is just under the surface.</span></i> I know this to be true because it
slips out from under my skin and you can’t hold it back once it starts its ruthless
escape. On any given day I see none of this. But here, given just the right
circumstances and environment, the roots take hold and grief sprouts its head
in bloom. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="text"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="text">I shouldn’t be all that surprised. It’s
been a week surrounded in people experiencing loss. I’m rather flooded in it
actually, and when others feel loss, I find myself feeling their every ache all
the deeper now. But even without that surrounding, I know this 10 second story
line would have produced the same physical response as the similarities were
too exact. And our bodies are what they are. Trauma exposes itself. But what I
know is that </span><span class="text"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bodoni mt black" , serif;">our experiences and responses hold
no shame</span></i>. For Romans 8:22 reminds us that we live in a world of
circumstance, and circumstance that inflicts grief, suffering, ache, and pain…and
that pain will be excruciating. We aren’t people that have to hold it all
together. We don’t have to be stoic. We don’t have to sail through in
perfection. We aren’t perfect and we shouldn’t claim to be. We said excruciating
pain. Therefore we need to understand that it is ok to not be ok. The only thing
we HAVE to be is present. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="text">But in that reminder that there will be
pain, a groan-causing pain, in the very same chapter of Romans we are reminded
of the promises of God’s glory. God always provides the faith outcome when he
brings to light the challenge. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="text"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: blue;"><span class="text"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif;">“<sup>23</sup>Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the
firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption
to sonship, the redemption of our bodies</span><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif;">.</span></span><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif;"></span> </span><span class="text"><span style="color: blue;"><sup><span id="en-NIV-28141">24 </span></sup>For in this hope we were saved. “</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="text"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="text">As I gathered up the dishes and headed back
towards the bedroom to reclaim myself, I reminded myself that </span><span class="text"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bodoni mt black" , serif;">in
our pain we see a God of Hope</span></i>. My groaning ache is a physical
response to a feeling of loss. But oh what Joy is found in the promises of
Hope. All of creation is eagerly awaiting that moment when loss is no more.
When we stand reunited with God the Father and all is restored. Death and loss
has nothing over us when we know what is coming. I still suffer. I still pain,
with loud excruciating groans at times. I still ache as tears stream down my
precious face. But oh, the hope of knowing of his promises and the Joy I find
in the day to day blessings - even in tragic unimaginable loss. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="text"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="text">Christ is still pursuing me even in and
through Andy’s death. He longs for me to see his promises. He longs for me to
cry out to him in my grief, and with no shame. He longs for me to see his
eternal pursuit of me and his love in and through circumstance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="text"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: blue;"><span class="text"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif;">Romans 8 declares this: “<sup>38 </sup>For I am convinced
that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,<sup data-fn="#fen-NIV-28155k" data-link="[<a href="#fen-NIV-28155k" title="See footnote k">k</a>]">[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+8+&version=NIV#fen-NIV-28155k" title="See footnote k">k</a>]</sup> neither
the present nor the future, nor any powers,</span></span><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif;"></span> <span class="text"><sup><span id="en-NIV-28156">39 </span></sup>neither height nor depth,
nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of
God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.</span>”</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-themecolor: text1;">I’m no longer shocked or caught
off guard by the physical reactions. I know how to navigate them. Ron almost
sees them before I do. I’m always going to grieve Andy with heartbreaking
emotion. We will always experience wretched pain on this side of eternity. “The
whole of creation is groaning” with loss, with ache, with pain…with hunger for
restoration. </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "bodoni mt black" , serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-themecolor: text1;">Our only
chance is embracing and clinging to the Hope that Christ promises and delivers.</span></i><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-themecolor: text1;"> There’s no shame in what you are experiencing. There is
no timeline. But find that Hope. God is pursuing you relentlessly. There is no
greater love and there is no greater rescue. And there is no greater place for you to place
your grief. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: x-small;">You can access previous posts </span><a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/" style="font-family: "times new roman";" target="_blank"><span style="color: #228855;">HERE</span></a><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: x-small;">.</span>Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5432863274284487379.post-82236484853950350472018-12-14T17:57:00.000-05:002018-12-14T17:58:24.024-05:00December 13, 2018 - What if...<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It has been a remarkable lesson in listening to God’s
timing. You may call it coincidence. But I simply can’t find anything at all in
that. Random bodies happening on each other at elevators just because. How is any
single thing in life served in that? But think of all the hope and meaning
found and served in purposeful timing. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "brush script mt";">What i</span>f</i> for a single moment we
took time to actually be in the very moment we were actually in. Headphones
out, eyes open, walking forward with head up, listening for a single moment to
what is going on around you for an opportunity to engage in something meaningful.
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "brush script mt";">What
if</span></i> you walked up to a counter with the sole purpose on engaging with
the person on the other side of the 2 foot expanse? <span style="font-family: "brush script mt";">W<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hat if</i></span> we
did this every single day?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I first need to tell you that very recently I did the very
opposite. Very soon after my grocery encounter with Lead Plastic Surgeon (see 2
posts ago) I went out for a full day of errands. My first stop was at a local
home store where I was seeking out a specific gift. I came across a lady in the
store whom I knew from my past, but I definitely couldn’t place. Admittedly,
and maybe because of the recent surgeon encounter but more so because I couldn’t
quite place her and I was skittish in that, I went about my shopping with no
attempt to figure things out further. Mission accomplished, item purchased.
Head to the car, and I drove to the big box store on my list several blocks
away. Park my car, walk inside, grab a cart, and make my way to the household section
where I find exactly what I need in what feels like record time. Mental
high-five and I reached down to put it in my cart then I look up and there coming
towards me pushing a cart full of poinsettias was the exact same Lady in the Christmas
Red Jacket from the previous store. I literally startled in the moment, grabbed
my cart and bolted in the other direction, then parked myself two aisles over
for a moment thinking “Ok God. I know this is crazy that we would both be in
the same store a SECOND time, but you and your timing are evident, however I
simply can’t do the ‘hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?’ right now because I
was still shaken up a little from the previous encounter.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though it felt strange in acknowledging
that openly and still walking away, I headed over to the checkout, loaded up my
items, and off I went to THE grocery store for my final stop of the day. My
entire drive over I was thinking to myself, stupid sally, but still knowing I
just couldn’t do it today and I was also worked up going to the grocery store. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I parked my car and was feeling a little weary as I was
heading back to the very place where my encounter with the surgeon had happened
the week before, but I was on my A (ok, my B) game and I totally had this ready
to head in/head out after grabbing just a few items needed for the week. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>walking up to the front of the store and past the glass windows when all
of a sudden “knock, knock, knock”……I am think you have got to be kidding me!!! If
I look up at that window and see my breast surgeon I am going to crawl back in
my car and will live off of chips and fanta from the gas station the rest of my
life. You have never seen someone so grateful to look up and see their next
door neighbors and their smiling faces staring back. Hugs, catching up, hugs,
and off I go in search of the few items I need, trying to be as quick as
possible to get back home. Finally I am done with the super short list, and I’m
off to grab my last item in the freezer section when I open the freezer door
and am so embarrassed to have bumped the freezer door into the cart that has just
pulled up next to me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh my goodness, I am so sorry….”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The exact same Christmas Red Jacket I had been running from
at the 2 previous stores. “No problem at all” as she grabs the exact same
sausage I just did and off she goes. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now at that very moment I think to myself, “Ok, God, I get
it.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p>And yet, I still grab my cart and turn and walk out the
door. “Delayed obedience is still disobedience”, and in this case, “Disobedience
is flat out Disobedience”. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve been kicking myself ever since. I simply was in a funk
that day and didn’t want the encounter, but I had been coming out of 3 very “in
your face”, “Trust God’s Timing” moments, and I knew that I could put my faith
in whatever and whomever he put in my path. Timing was very much on my radar,
and I now had a 4<sup>th</sup> encounter that I can’t even tell you what the
outcome was to be, other than my disobedience. But as I had not yet put my 3<sup>rd</sup>
encounter to paper (screen), this 4<sup>th</sup> encounter very much plays a
role in just how much God is getting my attention in how timing is not haphazard.
We can choose to see it His way, or we can choose to see it our way. It’s
complete choice. But the ramification of choice are evident in many ways. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p>There’s a boutique I like to go to every now and then and a
few weeks ago I stopped in looking for a gift. It’s the holidays so I have been
out shopping more so than usual. I stop in, find the perfect item, and head up
to the counter, where a lovely lady stands helping the customer in front of me.
They are chatting about this and that as they are ringing up the transaction. I
notice the sales person has a lovely non-southern American accent (maybe Caribbean
or Latin?) that I couldn’t quite place and a very hospitable personality with
her guests. She has a flare for sales, but in a way that made you comfortable in
your skin, and I’m quite positive that no matter what you purchase she’s going
to leave you feeling fabulous. So immediately, you love her. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s confident in her craft and translates
that back over the counter in a way that you find it seep its way back into
you. So when the customer in front of me tidied up and I find myself in front
of her, I find myself standing in front of her with a huge grin on my face. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
Sales clerk: “Hello, welcome to
Sequins (as we will call). Did you find everything you were looking for?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
Myself: “Yes, thank you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
Sales clerk: “This color is going
to look terrific on you with your hair color.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
I find that she is studying my face
a little longer than usual as she is folding up the garment.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
Sales clerk: “I’m sorry for
staring. I think I know you from somewhere. Have we met before?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
Myself: “I don’t think so, but
maybe…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Immediately, I’m in tune because, well…this
is not my first time to this rodeo) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<o:p></o:p>Sales clerk: “Do you happen to go
to such and such?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
Myself: “No, I go to such and such.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
Myself: “No, Haven’t been there. I
work at ___. Do you go there?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<o:p></o:p>Sales clerk: “No, how about?” (And
once she said that I immediately knew.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
Myself: “No, but did you happen to
know, Andy M.? He’s my brother.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her eyes got as wide as saucers, and I could tell the life
was sucked out of her and she didn’t exactly know how to respond. It was as if
she wanted to climb into the bag into which she was now placing the shirt I had
just purchased and never come out again. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
Sales Clerk: “Oh ma’am, I am so
sorry. I didn’t know him very well, but I knew him enough to know that I am so
sorry I brought all of this up and I guess I am recognizing you from all the
pictures on social media from his story.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She was terribly mortified she had brought this up, and I
could tell immediately I had two choices here. I could feel the heartbreak I
was feeling in that one moment of suddenly remembering my brother, or I could
have this moment to have grace and mercy with this women who loosely knew my
brother, was impacted by his story, is now mortified at recognizing me, and so
very worried she has ruined my day. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
Myself: “I could not be more
delighted to meet you. I am Sally. I can’t tell you what it means to me to have
this connection with you now (truth). Thank you for speaking up when you
recognized me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And we finished up with our stuff, discussed a few more
things, and I headed out to finish out my day.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I climbed back in my car I sat for a few minutes staring
at the windshield. This was the first time in 2 years I had come across someone
in public who knew my brother, but didn’t also know me. I knew it would happen
at some point. The awkward moment of “you know the story, I know the story, but
we don’t know each other” I never knew how that would play out, but I knew it
would have an impact on me and it did. And it would also bond us. It did. You know
in a way that knowledge of a deep rooted story, trauma, loss, love, success,
whatever. Those things bond you. But knowledge of those on great levels, can
really bond you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I now very much love walking into this store and seeing
Rebecca. We are casual when we see each other. I don’t even know if she recalls
me being “that story” or whatnot because I haven’t brought it back up (I’ve
only seen her twice since and very briefly). But Rebecca on the other hand is
grounded in my soul and a story in my healing. I don’t know if she listened to
God’s prompting in saying “hey, I think I know you” but I do know it was God’s
timing in placing us just so. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I am acutely aware that there were 3 encounters with a
very specific red jacket that I knowingly (and rather disobediently in my awareness)
passed by last week. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "brush script mt";">What if</span></i> I was to be grounded
in her soul? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "brush script mt";">What if</span></i> she needed healing? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "brush script mt";">What if</span></i> God
simply needed me to obey? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "brush script mt";">What if</span></i>?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Take off the headphones. Look at your surroundings. Be purposeful
in your listening and be present in your environment. We are not haphazard
marbles bumping into each other by happenstance. We are God’s purposeful
encounters waiting to unfold by him placing us exactly so and us choosing to
play out <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">what if</i>. Who needs you to do
your part? Who needs you to choose to be present? Who needs you to make
yourself aware that you have a part in all of this? Simply ask yourself “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "brush script mt";">What
if</span></i>” and just see all the possibilities of where that can go.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">You can access previous posts </span><a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/" style="font-family: "times new roman";" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">.</span></div>
<br />Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5432863274284487379.post-86380483526549257032018-11-29T15:56:00.002-05:002018-11-29T20:03:39.471-05:00November 28, 2018 - And I hope to NEVER see any of you again!<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">I had scanned the 12+ training sessions trying to find one
that was going to fit into my schedule, around meetings, on a day of the week I
could get across campus and back in a time, that would sandwich into the rest
of the day’s expectations. That one wouldn’t work because I had a meeting
immediately after the end time that wouldn’t allow a quick enough return. And
that one wouldn’t work because of the overlap with the other meeting. That one
wouldn’t work because on the start time. GRRR! This was a horrible week to try
to fit something in! Wednesday at noon was just going to have to work so I slapped
it on my calendar and called it done. However, when Wednesday finally rolled
around over a month later, I was slammed unexpectedly with a project deadline
so I quickly went back to the scheduling system to see if I could reschedule.
Yep, multiple classes later in the week still had vacancies, but the disclaimer
at the bottom read “if you need to make modifications, please call 555-5555 for
more information.” Pick up the phone…..”thank you for calling, blah, blah,
blah, blah” Voicemail x 3. Ok, forget it, Sally, go to this class and come back
afterwards and plan on staying late to work on the time sensitive project you
are leaving on your desk. I gathered my
stuff together begrudgingly, swiftly walked across campus because I pushed my time
too much, and headed into the building where I was instructed to get into a
line according to last name. There, I was randomly handed a letter card instructing
me which classroom to head to so that each class room would contain the same
number of students and off I went.</span><br>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As I was late, the room was practically full with only 3
seats left so I picked the one closest to the front, but on the far side of the
room next to the wall as it felt more “out of the way” and incognito. Most of
you don’t know this about me, but there is nothing I hate more than walking
into a room of strangers (or even a room where I know every single person). I’m
fine about 15 minutes after I get there, but the first 15 minutes leave me in
turmoil as I internally feel like the small marshmallow trying to find my spot
in the overcrowded hot cocoa cup. All I could think about was crossing the
front of the room and getting to my chair since I could tell the class was
about to start up. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The room was set up with about 10 rectangle tables, 4-6
people at each, so we were all facing each other at each table. I very quickly leaned
down to place my bag under my chair and grab the book and paper out of it and
then did a quick scan of the room to see if I could find a kindred spirit I
knew, but as I knew I would at an institution this large, I knew no one….until
the voice in the chair directly across the table from me said….<o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hey, I think I know
you from somewhere….”<o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I looked up and across the table expecting to see a former
coworker who I somehow didn’t see in my initial scan but then I realized I
recognize absolutely nothing. She was summer blond with her hair pulled back,
and she sported a grin that covered her entire face. Equally as welcoming was
the southern accent she spilled out of the grin. She was wearing the required
nursing ensemble so I at least knew her occupation, but still, there was no
recognition from what I was seeing at first glance. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Ok, let’s see if we can figure this out” I said. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I asked a few questions: Where did you go to high school? College?
Church? None of which shed any light on how she might have recognized me. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Then she, being smarter than I started with the more obvious
of questions: Which department do you work for? What do you do? How long have
you worked here? All of which I answered and that still shed no light. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Then, with the swiftness of a tsunami wave crashing over land,
she says “Oh my goodness, I think I did your cardiac echo last Spring!!!!” Now
at that moment the 3 other people sitting at the table turn and look at her
like she has lost her mind (I later find our they are her colleagues), and I immediately
get this rush of facial recognition, and holy moly you have got to be kidding
me, and a little I want to fly out of the room and into a hole, all rolled into
one. Without hesitation her colleague looks over and says “Jackie (as we will
call her), you do like 12 echocardiograms a day and this was back in May, how
in the world do you remember her?” Jackie and I just looked at each other and
start laughing.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Now, I’m about to divulge to you one of my most humiliating
moments. I might should have done it before now for the sake of full disclosure
in the things that may take place when you are post radiation and post
mastectomy/reconstruction (you need to be both for this all to unfold). But at
the time, I just wanted it done with and writing has been a bit elusive for me
for a bit since my brother’s death. But in light of Post #1 of the trilogy (See
“Cheese, Anyone?” post from earlier this week) and God most certainly pointing
out to me the role of “his timing” as this trilogy has all happened in about a
3 week time span, I am aware sometimes you put your humility aside when God is
most apparently putting something on your plate. So I am putting my big girl
pants on and putting some of this story out there for you. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Back in April and May, I realized it was time (well about
10 years past time) for me to start initiating some of my cardiology workup.
When you had exposure to as much chest and abdomen radiation as I had, you are
at higher risk for cardiac complications (valvular fibrosis, autonomic dysfunction,
etc.). I had already started the pulmonary workup 2 years prior because of my
pulmonary issues, but had neglected doing my full cardiac workup that was
recommended for this time point post radiation. So I decided it was finally
time to get going with it all. I scheduled an appointment with the oncologic
cardiac guru, who in turn wanted to do a stress Echo and ultrasound. Now before
you sit there and think to yourself “hey, I have had a stress echo”, well I am
sure you have. And before you think to yourself “hey, I have had a stress
cardiac ultrasound”, well I am sure you have. But have you combined the two and
also been a mastectomy reconstruction patient? This is where the humility all
comes to play. Sit back, grab your popcorn and cocoa, and let me help you picture
this. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I arrive to the hospital for my appointment where I was
scheduled for the 30 minute procedure. I go in, get registered and sit in the
waiting room for only a few short minutes before the most delightful cardiac technician
who was a summer blond with her hair pulled back, sporting a grin that covered
her entire face, called out my name using a equally as welcoming southern
accent that spilled out of the grin (Sound familiar to you?). We walk down a
long hallway to a super dark private room that holds a very cold looking exam
table, a high tech tread mill, an ultrasound machine, a blood pressure machine,
and some extra gadgets I don’t recall now, and then “Jackie” very kindly asks
me to disrobe from the waist up (what????) while she runs out to get something.
Well since she asks me so nicely….Then Jackie is back in in no time flat and
starts asking me a few (a whole heck of a lot) of questions about my medical history
all while she attaches electrodes all over my chest. At the end of this, I am clothed
from the waist down, Necked (naked) from the waist up, covered with sticky
patches and cords everywhere which all lead back to an EKG machine next to me. I
was allowed to put on a “gown” to maintain my dignity (but it has to stay open
in the front; so I ask myself what’s the point) because Sally is about to run
on a treadmill. Are you picturing this? Running on a treadmill, necked, covered
in all this stuff, all while wearing a blood pressure cuff to monitor my blood
pressure response to what is happening (oh, I can promise it is up because I am
about to run Necked from the waist up, on a treadmill). In comes another Nurse,
we will call “Heather” to take baseline vitals, which no doubt are all kinds of
out of whack because Sally is about to do what? Run necked on a treadmill
covered in cords. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Sally switches to
third person because that is the only way Sally can get through this story). <o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ok, next comes the “trial ultrasound” before Sally gets on
the treadmill to see what is baseline for the heart function. Well low and below,
because Sally has implants, the ultrasound can’t see Sally’s heart because the
implants are in the way creating a “blackout”. So Jackie calls out to get “Sylvia”
as we will call her to place an IV line, so she can inject an “IV dye” which
will highlight the heart silhouette better so everyone can maybe see Sally’s
heart. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So there is Sally, And Jackie, And Sylvia, (and Heather? Where
is Heather?) all gathered around the ultrasound machine trying to see Sally’s
heart around her implants before Sally gets on the treadmill….necked. No luck.
Still can’t see the heart. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Hey Sally, I really hate to ask you this, but do you think
you could hold up your implant a little bit so I could maybe put the probe
under it?” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; mso-spacerun: yes;"><br></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Well of course, Jackie, I can do that!” - at which put
Sally busts out laughing because what else can Sally do and all of a sudden
there is a tiny view of Sally’s heart on the screen.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Sally, do that again!”<o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Do what again?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Laugh” <o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Laugh????”<o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Yes, Laugh!”<o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So now Sally has to hold up her implant and laugh so that
her implant it out of the way and her heart is pushed up against her chest wall
(this happens during laughter) all after (and while?) running necked on a treadmill.
<o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And THAT is what we do. Sally gets on the treadmill, and
does her required stress test wearing a blood pressure cuff while necked from
the waist up on the treadmill with 3 other people in the room. Flies back to
the exam table at lightning speed. Sylvia injects IV contrast. Sally rolls over
on her left side and lifts up her implant and laughs on command while Jackie
places the probe in various positions, Sally continues to laugh on command, and
Jackie continues to take heart pictures, and Sally is mortified all while
envisioning sugar plums dancing in her head. But everyone makes the best of it,
joking about the hilarity of it all, and become fast a furious friends despite
the calamity. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(Are you starting to see maybe why Jackie remembered Sally
out hundreds of patients 5 months later?)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Now let me say, you could not have asked for a better Jackie
and Sylvia and Heather in all of this. They were professional, wonderful,
incredible, and cut up with me because that is how I roll to get through this
kind of stuff. Sometimes not only do you have to put you big pants on to write
stuff down in a form of advocacy, sometime you have to put your big pants on
just to get through it at all.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Finally, after what I’m remembering to be a 2 hour appointment,
after what should have been 30 minutes, I gather my sanity about me, hug their
necks, and say “I hope to NEVER see any of you again.”<o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And instead, what do I do? I sign up for a class of which
there were like 12 time slots to choose from, and get assigned to a classroom
of which there were like 6 I could have “randomly” been assigned to, and sit in
a chair in which there were 50+ everyone else got to pick from, across from Jackie
who told me to run necked on a treadmill, hold up my implant, and laugh. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I’m quickly learning that “hey, I think I know you from
somewhere….” means God is about to do something only he can do in His timing. There
isn’t a single moment in your day, particularly if another person is in your presence,
where if you are a Christ follower, that God hasn’t purposely placed you there
for that specific moment. There was so much that had to come together for me
and Jackie to end up in those chairs together. I can’t tell you how many people
take those classes over how many days in how many classrooms over how many
times a year. And how many technicians could have been assigned to my Echo case
on that given day? God knew exactly what he was doing. And he knew I needed both
Jackie, and Sylvia (who also had a double mastectomy with reconstruction with the
exact same breast surgeon “LPS” as we discovered in my Echo session – tell me
that was a coincidence), and Heather for the care and humor they would bring in
one of my worst of humiliating moments. I remember lying on that table
thinking, what would this be like had I had anyone else in that room other than
these wonderful gals who made the best of it with me?! I don’t know that meant
I needed to run into them again in a public setting per se, but God knew
exactly what he was doing in that as well for in that came a lesson in trust
for me. Trust God and his timing. I’m having some cardiac stuff going on right
now. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jackie and I meet again soon in her cardiac
room. I didn’t know that when we were in the training course together, but now I
know her name (I had forgotten it) and can ask for her if I need to. The
reasons are numerous as to why God may have purposed our paths to meet. I’m
trusting his timing and he is drilling that in to me right now. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You do that
too, for I am learning in doing that, He has incredible in store for you too. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(This above was the first story of my trilogy, although
they are being told out of order. When this first encounter happened, it didn’t
quite have my attention until after the second Boutique story which you soon
will hear</span></span><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;">.)<o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">To see the first post in this trilogy click here (<a href="https://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/2018/11/november-26-2018-cheese-anyone.html" target="_blank">Cheese, Anyone?</a>)</span></div>
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<br>Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5432863274284487379.post-52468423287200427722018-11-26T15:58:00.002-05:002018-11-26T22:18:43.044-05:00November 25, 2018 - Cheese, anyone?<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">For those of you who started following me in 2012 because of
double mastectomy content, you are wondering what in the world has happened. Well
life happened, as life should. There is life after double mastectomy. Life is
just as full and abundant, though marginally tweaked after prophylactic
mastectomy as it was before. Houses still get sold, jobs still transition, travels
still get taken, and what you thought was your most defining moment may still
be, or it may have been replaced with something other. There is so much content
that could be written about prophylactic mastectomy. I spent 6 years writing.
Mainly because I spent 6 years in the ins and outs of its’ tightly wound snare.
My last procedure was 2 years ago, October, when I had a “lump” removed, a lump
which turned out to be a folded up piece of reconstruction sling, a lump which
I now rather think of as a pebble since I know what it is and because it returned
about 6 months ago. It’s been 2 years since I have seen my plastic surgeon (referred
to as “Lead Plastic Surgeon (LPS)” for anonymity). Well, 2 years ago until today
when he bear hugged me in the GROCERY STORE…..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Now, let’s get something straight. LPS and I have a unique surgical
relationship. We work in the same institution and on occasion I run into LPS in
the hallway or at the elevator, but we have always made it a point to feign
ignorance given we are often with other people and it is not kind to call out “Hey,
Sally, It's me, your boob surgeon” while Sally is in her work setting, or any
setting for that matter. But it has been 2 years since a chance encounter given
LPS relocated to another institution. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. High
five in celebration now that I no longer needed his services and most certainly
not his chance encounters! But aside from that, most women who have undergone
prophylactic mastectomy and reconstruction have met with their surgeon a total
of 3 or 4 times. Once before the surgery for consultation, the day of the
procedure, and maybe 1 or 2 times again at follow-up appointments depending on the
extent of their surgery. But I on the other hand, I would wager I have met with
LPS upwards of 40 times (and that could easily be an underestimation) given we
have had 7 surgeries together in a 6 year time span. He’s seen me through a
good bit and suffered through a good bit as well. When we first met, he was
your typical stereotypical standoffish surgeon. I will never forget our first
encounter where I very quickly realized I was going to have pray and offer some
“behavior modification” for his bedside manner. I quickly got to work as I have
always had the thought process that if someone is going to be cutting on you,
you want them to think of you as their best friend. So off I went to make that
happen. Ron used to laugh at our interactions (or maybe cry in embarrassment on
occasion), but when 1 surgery turns to 7, you find you have plenty of time to
grow on each other. I can only imagine what countless ridiculous things he has
heard me utter under anesthesia. I know there were multiple scary times for me
that he was there seeing me through it. I recall one moment in the operating
room when they were having a difficult time putting me under, and I was getting
a little anxious. LPS reached out and grabbed my hand to calm my nerves. I
could never have seen that happen with that first encounter. But this was now our
surgeon. This is also the same surgeon who in the middle of a lumpectomy
procedure to figure out what a new “lump” was in my breast, LPS, Ron and I kept
bantering back plausible options (tracking device, junior mint, leftover
popcorn from the previous surgery, etc) to pass the time. It’s all to say we’ve
had plenty of time to bond and bond we have. But in the countless times I have
seen LPS in the work setting at the elevator (collateral damage of working at
the same place where you surgery), or in the countless surgical and office
visits, I have never once run into him or anyone else for that matter in my
home space. But there I was picking out the shredded cheese for the taco
dinner and wham! A surprise approach hug from the peripheral side and LPS is staring at me 6
inches from my face with me fumbling cheese into my cart all while Ron is
laughing, as I am sure he is trying to figure out just how wide my eyes can
get. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">After I gathered my wits about me (ok, I never gathered my
wits about me as you will see), I first had to know the following and it was
the first thing I recall coming out of my mouth: “What in the world are you
doing here? Do you live close by?” because if he did, I certainly had to move. Now
delighted as I was to see him, I certainly didn’t want these chance encounters,
me unprepared, to keep occurring. It was vital that I quickly calculated
statistical analysis to see what was in my favor and what was not. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">You need to understand this. There is something strange
about running into people from your traumatic moments in “off” places at “off”
times. I am certainly prepared to possibly see these people at the office water
fountain or in the hallways reading over a patient chart. I prepare myself for
these moments. I know to be on the lookout and to avert my glance when the
target is encountered. These are moments you prep yourself for from the
moment the boob is inserted. But I had gone a full 2 years with coast clear
only to find him, the one person who has seen more of you than you want someone to see
on so many occasions, in the dairy section of MY grocery store! Now as my
family member said “I am sure he was so glad to see you”….he definitely was. He
and Ron had a terrific time catching up (he knows us so well that he knows Ron
as well as he knows me), but I was amazed at just how off guard this encounter
caught me. After the 10 minutes of standing amongst all the dairy catching up,
I realized just how much I was rambling about the most ridiculous of things. At
one point, he reached into his wallet and pulled out his business card, at which
point I gasped and said something like “what in the world do you think you are
doing!” He laughed, as did Ron. But I did NOT want that business card and said
there is no way you are ever seeing me again (did he not know 7 surgeries was 6
too many?).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More rambling about Sally
cutting trees, and holiday plans, and his kids now grown up, and the now
returned “pebble” he once removed and a lot more of Sally rambling about who
knows what then tackle hugs again and a goodbye. And then, I stood there
looking at Ron as if we had just entered outer space. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Ron and I somehow managed to finish out our grocery list with
me rushing him along worried what other surgeon (I had 2 other viable options
who I also on occasion run into at the office; though LPS had the longest track
record with 7 surgeries compared to 1 and 2 for the others) I was going to run
into in the time we had left in the freezer section. Then, I spent the entire
car ride home wondering what in the world just happened. I was supposed to go
to the OTHER grocery store. We had debated what TIME to go to the grocery
store. Ron and I had divided up the grocery list and Ron went for napkins while
I went for CHEESE. LPS doesn’t even LIVE anywhere near this grocery store. What
in the world was I muttering the entire time we were talking?! Two years now
feels like 2 weeks, and when is my next appointment with him?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">WHAT IS GOING ON?!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">In a spit of a moment everything can come flying back at you
while you are picking out the best deal on shredded cheese. And because you
know that everything had to line up for you to be at that grocery store, at
that very moment, standing in that very spot for a person from your very
significant past who has no business being in that very spot at that given time
to be there too….well, you learn to trust God and his timing and his purpose. I
have no idea why we were to run into LPS this week. I have no idea why I slipped
back into a temporary traumatic state (trust me I did and was there for the
rest of the day). I have no idea why things unfolded like they did. I have no
idea why the one surgeon on the planet that everyone told me to avoid, became
the best surgical thing that could happen for me in the end and was someone Ron
and I now bear hug in a grocery store. But I do know this, I trust that God is
purposing all of that, including this random cheese visit where I somehow made
it home with FIVE packs of cheese, for a very specific reason. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Mastectomy is something I very I rarely think about it these
days. But in a single second of a tackle hug over some shredded cheese I was
right back in a moment. I don’t have to understand it, but I do have to trust
it. God very purposely aligned my grocery list to have cheese #12 on the list
and Napkins #11. I was not supposed to be at that grocery store at that time. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It most certainly didn’t happen by
happenstance. I don’t know why we were supposed to meet, but I do know it dug
some stuff up for a day, and I also know it was a great to see him. But maybe
it had nothing to do with me at all. Maybe LPS needed to see us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">But this is what I want you to take away: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">1) Trust God in his timing when the strange happens. There
is purpose in it so let it unfold and see where it goes. You may not
understanding it immediately or ever for that matter. You also need to
understand it may have absolutely nothing to do with you. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">2) Traumatic moments can resurface with no notice at all. Don’t
let it surprise you and just process it as it comes. If you are a woman of
mastectomy, even many years later something may occur that brings it all back.
Just let the thoughts flow as they flow. It can be therapeutic. And eat the
cheese you just bought to help with that. Wink. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">3) If the plastic surgeon tries to hand you their business
card…..simply walk away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: calibri;">While we are talking about God’s strange timing, a few weeks
ago I walked into a training class of 70 strangers and sat down at a table of
6. The young lady directly across the table, who I would be partnered with for
the next 3 hours, looks up at me and says, I know you from somewhere…..probably
one of the most embarrassing moments of my post radiation life just found
herself sitting at the table across from me. Trust me you will want to hear
this story.</span><br>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">And last week, while paying for an item at the boutique,
another young lady says I think I know you from somewhere. She did, but not in
the way she thought, she knew the story of my brother.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">You want to hear these related stories. Trust His timing. He
has you exactly where he wants you when he wants you there. Carry your story
with you and you just may be surprised everywhere it will go. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Cheese, anyone?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: x-small;">You can access previous posts </span><a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/" style="font-family: "times new roman";" target="_blank"><span style="color: #228855;">HERE</span></a><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: x-small;">.</span> </div>
Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5432863274284487379.post-53926462142014876432018-06-25T17:33:00.003-04:002018-12-14T17:58:07.642-05:00June 24, 2018 - The Change<span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: xx-small;"></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: xx-small;"></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: xx-small;"></span><span style="font-size: large;"></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span></span><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’m going
through The Change. I’m hot, I’m flustered, I’m shifting from one emotion to
the next without the advanced noticed as required by version 24 of McCollum Household Policy
and Procedure. There are moments when a cold sweat would ensue, but that has
abated itself, and instead I’m just aware of a “mental hot” when I think of its
presence. I knew it was coming. You can only sit so long with both feet against
the door frame holding it back, though believe me that mentally I’ve been
trying, but somehow it has a way of finding you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And there isn’t a single thing you can do. So
here I sit. Hot, flustered, emotional. Navigating The Change. <o:p></o:p></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span><br />
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">But before
you get all wide eyed, wondering why Sally is sitting here talking about THAT
change, (but remember, I am the one who plastered your screen with lopsided
Boob 1 and Boob 2.2 for the case of advocacy, maybe menopause deserves its own
point of advocacy, so stay tuned a few years down the road) that’s not what I am
referring to. </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">We spend our
whole lives, some of us, trying to keep everything exactly as is, because that
is where we find our comfort, our “teddy bear and blankie” if I may. Though
there are a few of you, who I completely don’t understand, who go around
looking for it (The Change) in some constant rally of adventure and pursuit of
ongoing unexplainable delight, but trust me, I’m not you. I’m me. And I avoid
this ridiculous uprooting of all you know to be familiar, cozy, and warm at all
cost. But somehow, despite a desperate attempt at avoidance, change has been sneaking
up on me with its long decrepit hand inching its way across my peripheral
vision until SPLAT….it has wrapped itself around my thick ankle and taken hold. </span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79;"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Nothing is so painful to the human mind as
a great and sudden change.” - </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/11139.Mary_Wollstonecraft_Shelley"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; text-decoration: none;">Mary
Wollstonecraft Shelley</span></a></span><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">, </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; text-decoration: none;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/4836639">Frankenstein</a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">See, Mary said so, you change
adventure chasers, you! What is wrong with you?! </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I certainly don’t mind a little shift in scenery here
and there. I have been known to walk in my house and move a picture from this
wall to that wall to switch things up a little bit on occasion. I’ve even
switched out my mantel décor just this weekend to spoof things up a bit. But I
am also the same person who in graduate residency had coworkers who velcroed
everything to her desk simply so things would always be found exactly where
they need to be. The joke was on them. I loved it! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not afraid to say I like things just so.
It keeps my mind high functioning and results in high output, mostly to your
favor. So when I find myself in an unanticipated, particularly if not so
delightful, Big Ole Bucket of the Change (BOBOC)….Well, it sets my world in a
tilt-a-world, per se. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It first
started with us uprooting our house (ok it started with Mastectomy, and there
is a whole blog covering that so I won’t bring it here) unexpectedly because
God sometime does “the crazy” from human perspective and changes your plans.
Well, home is home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it’s one place
that for me sets orbit back to orbit when things go haywire. There is a reason
it is called “home” after all. I didn’t understand leaving it, I simply understood
I was supposed to leave it. And not only leave it, but leave it with nowhere
yet to go, and no assurance of a timeline for it to be replaced. Yet when God
calls you from something, He in the process is also calling you to something. And
He knew, while I was hot, flustered, and emotionally stirred, that he was
calling me to Home. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: #a64d79;"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“…you start to love this house not so much
for all the ways it is perfect in that for all the ways it is not. You become
familiar with all its nooks and crannies. How to avoid that the key gets stuck
in the lock if it is cold outside. Which floorboards have some give when you
step on them, and exactly how to open the doors for them not to creak. That's
it, all the little secrets that make it your home."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>- </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/6485178.Fredrik_Backman" title="Fredrik Backman quotes"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; text-decoration: none;">Fredrik Backman</span></a></span><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">, </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; text-decoration: none;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18774964-a-man-called-ove">A Man
Called Ove</a></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Much like
embracing a new home, such is embracing The Change. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Grief does not change you, Hazel. It
reveals you.” – </span><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">John Green, The Fault in Our Stars</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Barely a
year later came Andy’s death. And to say that was change would be the
understatement of the century. I’ve been through few experiences in life previous,
that have influenced me greater, revealed myself deeper, or made me long for
the day before more earnestly than that moment. That singular experience has
catapulted me into a long-term suspension in a lava lamp of change. It’s not
all bad, it’s not all good. It’s simply all meshed together into all something.
We are a conglomeration of all of our previous experiences and they all mold us
into this beautiful blob of being, but I am a constant believer in knowing that
those experiences aren’t meant for our being but for that of knowing and
experiencing God in a richer and deeper way so that others might also. John
Green had it partly right. Grief did change me, but hopefully it revealed not
only me, but Him in me. I know this to be true, there were days where I didn’t
know up from down, and it was only by Christ in me that I was able to orient
myself in the not stop flow of the lava lamp.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Nothing ever really felt “still”
following Andy’s death. The lava bubbles continued to bobble in slow motion,
pinging themselves off the glass wall, traveling up and back down again over
and over in the thick gooey liquid. So when my parents, quickly followed by my
sister, both decided it was time to sale their houses and move, The Change
swooshed right in again full speed with it’s hot flashes and palpitations of
unease. No one seemed to understand that this was the very moment that we
needed the familiarity of familiarity (well, that Sally needed the familiarity
of familiarity) and that change was everything I was trying to avoid. I so
desperately needed life to stay exactly as it was, minus the removal of my
brother as I needed that to revert back to the day before. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79;"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Change is hardest at the beginning,
messiest in the middle and best at the end.” - </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/24678.Robin_S_Sharma"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; text-decoration: none;">Robin S.
Sharma</span></a></span><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">, </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; text-decoration: none;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/7099654">The Leader Who Had No Title: A Modern
Fable on Real Success in Business and in Life</a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">But a few weeks after the decision was
made, and the pieces all started falling into place (as they always do), what
was so hard at the beginning, began to morph into this incredible awareness
that maybe change while it may not be what you think you need, may in fact be
exactly what someone else may need. And because you love them, you start to see
things through the eyes of those around you and it becomes exactly what you
need as well. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">People
always say The Change is a sign of life starting the downhill slope. It’s as if
life has come full circle. Other say The Change is an incredible start of a new
beginning. I’ve learned in this life that with every situation, The Change is
entirely what you want it to be. And it is entirely up to you what you do with
and through it. Often it feels like we are in the washing machine of life with
life happening all around and to us out of our control, with us being tossed
and turned in it’s constant bombardment (I’ve spoken of that before <a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/2017/03/march-23-2017-if-i-end-up-losing-it-all.html" target="_blank">here. March 23,2017</a>), and
I most certainly have felt the rivets of that here of late the past 10 years,
ok maybe 40 years. But then there are those moments in life where we choose The
Change, instead of change happening to us. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79;"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“For what it’s worth: it’s never too late
or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be…I hope you have the
courage to start all over again.” - </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/80495.Eric_Roth"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; text-decoration: none;">Eric Roth</span></a></span><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">,
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; text-decoration: none;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/56454126">The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Screenplay</a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">For the past
almost 20 years I have focused my career in one area, and in a few short days I am walking away from that. To say that is inducing all the signs and symptoms
of The Change, “hot flashes, flustered moments, and unusual shifts in emotions”,
would be an understatement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79;"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"It's not hard to decide what you want
your life to be about. What's hard, she said, is figuring out what you're
willing to give up in order to do the things you really care about."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>-</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/425914.Shauna_Niequist" title="Shauna Niequist quotes"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; text-decoration: none;">Shauna Niequist</span></a></span><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">, </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; text-decoration: none;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/8872336-bittersweet">Bittersweet:
Thoughts on Change, Grace, and Learning the Hard Way</a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">But when you
know something to be the right next steps, and when you know it’s time to
choose balance, positive input, and emotional security, sometimes you do the
crazy and you dive off the deep end. I’m taking what seemingly would be a
career catapult downward from some’s perspective, and a career catapult upward
from others, and yet a career net neutral from others. A career change can
bring about perspectives. The Changes have shown me what my life is to be
about, and sometimes you have to give up things in order to do life better. So
therefore, from my perspective I’m saving it (my career) by giving it up which
in some ways is saving myself and allowing me to do better what matters. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">So I’m
starting over. The details of what I am doing don’t matter. It’s similar, yet
different. Scary, yet exciting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I am
leaving what I dearly love to do more of what I love. And I’m peaceful.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Maybe Andy
leaving us so early got me thinking. Maybe circumstances bred new
circumstances. Maybe seeing that there is life after loss, showed me that I can
do anything. Maybe seeing that change is going to happen no matter how hard we
fight it, showed me I can also proactively orchestrate change. I’m not a
mountain mover. I’m not someone out there trying to change the world. I’m built
for the small scale. But I am someone who desperately wants this life to be
about something bigger than myself. I want to make your life more beautiful
simply because you knew me, and therefore you get a glimpse of Him through me. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79;"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"There is nothing more beautiful than
someone who goes out of their way to make life beautiful for others."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>- </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/5623882.Mandy_Hale" title="Mandy Hale quotes"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; text-decoration: none;">Mandy Hale</span></a></span><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">, </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; text-decoration: none;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/16275057-the-single-woman">The Single
Woman: Life, Love, and a Dash of Sass</a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’m going through The Change. Maybe
you are too. Or maybe you want to or need to. Life is too short and too dear to
keep fighting our way through and in the gooey lava lamp. What do you need to
change to make life more rich in the way He has planned for you? Where do you
need to be open to change so that you can free yourself up more for the people
around you? How do you need to embrace The Change already happening around you
and to you so that You can see the God in a new light? </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It’s not what you do that matters, it’s how, why, and for whom you
do it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>– </span><span style="color: #38761d;"><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Maybe it was me or </span><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Someone, somewhere</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and
courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the <span class="sc">Lord</span> your God is with you wherever you go.”- </span><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">God, Joshua 1:9</span><span style="font-family: "bahnschrift condensed" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">You can access previous posts </span><a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/" style="font-family: "times new roman";" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">.</span>Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5432863274284487379.post-46648561444199895622018-04-20T13:25:00.001-04:002018-06-25T18:44:57.700-04:00April 19, 2018 - I’m so glad she and her story sat down<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were sitting across a narrow table from each other, just
as we had been once a week for the previous 4 weeks. I barely knew her, but we
had committed to gathering, her and a few other people, each week simply in
casual purposefulness. For laughter mainly, but also to stretch our minds a
bit. What captured me the most, the first time we met, was her ease as she came
into the room. She brought with her relaxation and self-comfort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And she brought “you are immediately going to
like me”. I, in contrast, don’t exude relaxation. I, can at times, exude all-wound-up.
Tightly-wound- up in fact. But not her, she sauntered to your picnic table and
even before she sat the calm trickled across the splintered wood. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I literally can count on two hands the things I know about
her, all collected one by one over the 4 nights, barely 8 hours, we have been gathering,
but you don’t have to have knowledge to know you have delight. However, I live
in this state of awareness, ever since the perpetual waiting rooms of
mastectomy, of realizing that people flow into and out of your lives for very
specific purposes. God sends, I call them. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today, hers started to unfold.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sally, I read something this week on your social media page…..”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’d been on social media only once this week so I immediately
recalled the post. She was speaking of my reference to my brother’s death. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 29.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">I don't really know how
exactly to explain this. Maybe if you've lost an older sibling it might make
sense to you, but there is something strange about approaching, and soon to be
passing, your brother in age. Is your older brother suddenly your younger
brother? Of course not, but it's a strange phenomenon. I'm soon going to look
older than my older brother. He will always look 44 in my mind. Me, the younger
sister, well I'm going to surpass him. These are the things I'm thinking about
today as tomorrow brings me another year closer. So grateful God continues to
remind us of his mercy and grace when life and its turns don't always make
sense.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was also intrigued at the timing of that because she and I
had only found each other on FB the day before I made that post. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I, too, lost my older brother back when I was in college.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I won’t speak more of that story because her story is not
mine to tell, but I will say it was a tragic event and as she spoke, it was as
if the 3 feet of table space between us became 2 inches and the moments <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>of the <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>4
longitudinal days of knowing each other magically morphed into 4 years. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her eyes became deeper, her calm more
familiar, her lines…as if I’d known them my whole life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s remarkable, now in I’ve-experienced-it-awareness, how
commonality in one singular impacting experience can create time and remove
distance. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is the 4th time this has happened. People that I have
known for a long period of time (in this case a short period) where following
my brother’s death I have found out that they, too, at some point had tragically
lost a brother. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And there are countless
others that had prematurely lost a brother from natural causes. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Four. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We both
remarked it was the club you didn’t want to be in, but found comfort in finding
other members. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We sat there for the next however many minutes, I completely
lost all sense of time, place, and surroundings, discussing my past year and
how I was still navigating the ins and outs of tragedy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And she…well she sat and listened. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s never been lost on me the purposefulness of God, but after I got home I cocooned myself in the knowledge and grace of His provision.
Provision of how God aligns our life with people in circumstance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He strategically placed 4 people (some before
Andy’s death, some after) in my path with similar circumstance to swaddle me in
the accolades of “you can do this, you are normal, you are not alone” because
we did it before you and paved the path. And He strategically places me in the
path of others who have walked this same path behind me to help breathe life
back into their breathless lungs when they find themselves suddenly unable to
inhale. But who in their moment thinks about that? The day Andy died I
certainly wasn’t thinking “oh great, now I can help someone else through
accidental shootings.” It came to me rather quickly, because of my history with
life coming at you fast, but it took some time. But imagine if it did (come to you quickly). I’m
getting more in tune with that, this finding myself in the moment realizing
that event in the midst of chaos, no matter how tragic and disappointing, that
God promises to do grace in and through you if we simply step on board. The key
is staying on board before the moment even strikes. Aligning myself with his
promises daily so that the promises continue to bleed out of me in the chaos. But
most of all remembering that Life isn’t about me, my story is his, and life is
all about the people he places in my life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s why on occasion I spill my guts out to you on these
very pages, but I can’t tell you how many times I have walked away from this
screen unwritten because I didn’t have the uummmpph to tell “that story”. Back
in 2012, I promised God, that if he was taking me to mastectomy, then I was
going to take that story for his purposes. I tried to carried that through with
Andy. And hopefully will continue with that in the whatever comes next. But
more so than being public on these pages, it’s more important that I get down
into the trenches, one-on-one, in people’s lives with these experiences. Anyone
can write a blog post. But how many people will do life with you, even the
tragic moments when everything gets rough, and actually do it well? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You all have your own story. But what are you
doing with your story <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">(</span>I have to ask
myself this every day)? And are you allowing God to align you in such a way
that you too can say, "It’s remarkable, you won’t believe who I met at the
picnic table…"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Be one of those people. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m so glad she and her story sat down. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">You can access previous posts </span><a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/" style="font-family: "times new roman";" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">.</span></div>
<br />Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5432863274284487379.post-79360361719057431772018-01-09T15:41:00.003-05:002018-01-09T16:38:33.486-05:00January 9, 2018 - I remember<div class="MsoNormal">
I woke up this morning with a jolt. “In two days, Andy is
going to die”. There was immediate absurdity in that statement for knowing I
cannot foreshadow Andy’s death. He’s already dead. But that is where I am,
reliving the week of Andy’s death. It’s interesting to me that as you come up
on a 1 year anniversary, you start re-feeling and re-seeing the events of those
days. I can’t remember what I felt last
week on a Wednesday morning. But I can tell you in minute details exactly what
I thought and felt Wednesday a year ago. It’s as if an anniversary possesses
gravity and orbit which pulls our body right back in to the moments leading up
to, and the moments following, a significant life event. My mind is telling me that
in two days I will once again be standing in my bathroom looking in the mirror
trying to figure out how exactly I am going to get down the hallway, out the
door, and into my car and drive. At that moment in time, I didn’t know if Andy
had been murdered, or what had happened. I simply remembering thinking while looking
at my reflection in that mirror having just hung up the phone, Andy was lying dead
next to his car. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember driving to Andy’s house that morning, knowing I
would be the first family member to arrive as my parents and sister lived out
of town and my husband was away on business. As I turned the corner to his
house I saw the street packed with cars as people had begun arriving to console
the family. I remember how strange that felt, seeing all the cars and knowing
the house would be flooded with people. As an introvert, I didn’t know how to
walk in that door and see all the people, most of whom I didn’t know, on the
other side. Having not yet been able to process the shock of the news delivered
just an hour before, I knew this flood of people would bring out the emotions
that had not yet surfaced. I don’t remember how I felt last Wednesday, but I
can recall with great detail the feelings of that morning as I stared over the
steering wheel at the front door of his house. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p>I remember later that day walking outside and seeing my mom
leaning forward on the side of a car. Hands over her face, shoulders pulled in
to compact her body as tight as she could and sobs rolling out of her crushed
spirit. I recall folding her back against my chest in silence knowing I was
experiencing a moment that could carry no words. I can’t tell you how my mother
stood during last interaction, but I can tell you every detail of this moment
as she grieved her son. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember standing in the cul-de-sac with my father trying
to make sense of all. The lines etched on his face deeper and more meaningful than
I had noticed before. It was as if he and I had aged 20 years in appearance and
wisdom in the 5 hours that had passed. I don’t remember the expression dad had
on his face when I saw him a few weeks ago. But I recall in detailed memory the
look on his face as we verbally grasped for any sense of how and what following
the death of his son.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember standing around the kitchen island after putting food on my plate. I can feel the weight of its balance in one hand and texture of the cup in the other. I can see myself carrying it to the table and then sitting while I pushed the contents around on the plate. Although, I can't recall the taste of the food because not a single morsel made it to my lips. I feel even now the pit in my stomach while wondering if I would ever eat again. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember later that evening when my husband walked in the door. Having driven several hours to get back home after hearing the news, he bee-lined it straight from the door for me. I can vividly describe the details of that scene, the details of his clothing, and the look in his eyes. I don’t remember what he was wearing when he came in from work last night, but I can tell you as he came with arms wide open exactly what he wore. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember two days later seeing Andy’s body for the first time. He was
laying in the casket. Hands folded exactly so. His hair the exact shade of red I knew it to be. My first thought was “Where are
his glasses? How is he going to see anything without his glasses?” I knew it
was finally true that he had died, because he would have never sat there
without his glasses. I don’t remember the feeling I had when I walked into a
work meeting a few days ago, but I vividly pull to mind the details of surrounding
that casket with family over in the far end of that room. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember walking down the aisle in the church and seeing
the room flooded with so many familiar faces, almost a thousand people gathering
in the love of Andy. I don’t know where anyone sat at Christmas dinner less than a month ago, but I
recall the exact position of our entire family and that of many friends in the chairs
of that room. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember walking up to Hank (as I call him here), the man
who found Andy, in the lobby. I wanted to know who had experienced this moment
with Andy and I wanted to pray for the impact this heroic moment would later
have in Hank’s life. I had such concern for what trauma he may be experiencing in
the days leading after. There are
moments when I can only recall the large aspects of my grandfather’s face, but
I recall that of Hank's which I have only seen once. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I remember standing cold in the grass as people gathered around.
I can now recall how amazed I was that people continued to show up. I don’t
know who all was at my wedding, but I still know the faces of that crowd. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I remember the night before Andy’s death I was out to dinner
with 3 of my friends, as my husband was out of town. I see us sitting with me
telling them how run of the mill life had been that week and showing them
pictures of my dining room, having finished painting it only 2 days before
during the snow storm. My life had been so trivial, I recall, as one of the girls
was discussing a significant life event in her workplace. I remember thinking
how blessed I was in my job and having the feeling of “low key” in my life. I
can’t remember sentences said in a conversation I had last week, but I remember
this discussion almost 12 hours before Andy died. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Some people block out the memories around a traumatic event.
I somehow have locked in my mind several, if not most, of the moments in time
from that week. They are rich in texture and ripe with emotion that finds a way
of flooding you in times of great loss. They have woven themselves into my
daily activities, on occasion, but stand in the forefront now in the days
leading up to “a year after”. Total recall. To be determined if it will be a
blessing or a curse. But for now they give me comfort in reminding me of the
love of relationship which surrounded us and which would ultimately softened
the death of Andy. I’ve tidied up the “firsts” that come in the year following
and I’ve somehow navigated the seconds, minutes, hours and days that come in the after, but the “I remember”
of the details following his death forever (thus far) locks a piece of me in those
moments. And it’s where I want a piece of me to always be. The sweetest of
moments when Andy suddenly was more than just simply my brother. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve faced the frailty of my own life having faced my own
prospect of death with Lymphoma. But it wasn’t until experiencing the moments
of losing Andy that I absorbed the “split second” landscape of life. In two days, Andy will be gone. How would I do
these next two days differently if I knew that going in? What would you choose differently
for your next two days, so that in looking back later you will almost nostalgically
find yourself saying “I remember…”. It is probably very different than what you
currently have on your to-do list, and just maybe, now is the perfect time to
rearrange. <o:p></o:p><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri";">To access previous posts, click <a href="https://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><span lang="EN" style="background-color: white; color: black;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /></span></span></div>
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Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5432863274284487379.post-23140270255536278492018-01-04T16:29:00.004-05:002018-01-09T15:49:56.078-05:00January 3, 2018 - Three crystals of flaky white snow <br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’m sitting here watching the first flakes of snow fall,
blanketing the grunge below it in a renewing white. In the first hours of
snowfall I am reminded of how the earthly slate is gradually being wiped clean.
No matter what lies beneath, the snow finds a way to hide the contents
underneath. If only for a minute, the flakes are unstirred and able to recanvas
the world in its opaque snow white. A clean slate. A freshly applied masterpiece.
It’s breathtaking, really, at how quickly it all becomes transformed. The
ugliest of landscapes suddenly rivals the most spectacular all because of the pre-scripted
fall of a collection of ice crystals. Yes, soon it is marred again with the
traffic of to and fro but for a moment, while undisturbed, it’s has the ability
to be anything and everything you can imagine. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I see myself now, a year after my brother’s death, as the
snow drifts down on the stone pavers outside,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>that the past 12 months for me have been exactly like snow. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On January 11, I woke up to the ugliest of
landscapes, seemingly unrepairable, scarred by the evil of life, forever
transformed into “after Andy died” and from that singular moment of his body
being found, unbeknownst to me at the time the very first flake started to
fall. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It started with your praying us through it the moment you
got the news. It started with friends and family gathering in his home the morning
he died. It started the moment we began pulling the pieces together for his
funeral. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It continued to fall as I
traversed back into every day life at lightning speed, too soon now in retrospect.
It started to accumulate on the sidewalks as I reached out to you in my
struggles in the months that would pass. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then as summer came, it built up along the
grassy spots as I flubbered through not understanding my confusion. Finally,
fall arrived and my crying out for restoration brought the most beautiful, peaceful,
landscape-changing blanketing of snow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Looking back, I see it took months before I saw the start of
the snow canvas, enough flakes falling to begin to take its shape, but soon
enough there it was covering the ugly underneath and renewing my landscape. But
it, this restoration, started with a single snow flake. I know I am supposed to
say 2017 was my worst year, I know those around me would expect this given what
we experienced, but in all honesty, sometimes “the worst” finds a way of
morphing itself into something else. The moment itself was the worst, but the
aftermath, the snow fall, well, it softened my world into something
transforming. I’m simply better at being. A miraculous outcome of tragedy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’m able to function again now, albeit many months later, without
the horrific triggers of his death infringing on my day. They no longer creep
into my morning routine, my overheard conversations, or my leisurely moments.
But I am aware I am at risk as I sometimes see it on the periphery of my
existence. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few days before his death,
there was snow falling, this exact same week, and I felt a flinch at seeing the
same forecast lining up to repeat itself this week. And next week, I will hear the
ring of that phone call in my head while I am preparing for my day. But even in
this experience (as I’ve termed it, traumatic grief) I am wiser than I once
was. I have an ability to see a whole other side of the death experience that I
didn’t gain with the death of my grandparents, or close friend from malignancy,
or patients I work with daily. It’s as if a stone was pushed away revealing an
existence I wasn’t aware of before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mastectomy
did this as well, with its own insights provided, letting me know that we never
really know it all. We think because we have watched something unfold around
us, or seen something portrayed in literature that we suddenly “get it” because
it was so comprehensively explained. It simply isn’t so. Until you walk in the
shoes yourself you simply are an informed observer, a far cry from an
experienced survivor. I get that now. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Never again will I assume I know what you are
going through. And never again will I assume I’ve learned it all. </span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“We will thrive in the new scenery not despite the profound
loss, but because of the gain and clarity that can come in the experience, even
when it feels like tragedy.” These were my words on January 27<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th, </span></sup>a
few days after his death when I wasn’t sure what was up and what was down, but
I had enough togetherness to know and trust God’s promises. And I’ve kept those
words on my desk this whole year as a reminder of where I was going. Thrive.
Gain. Clarity. Three crystals of flaky white snow. </span></div>
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Corinthians 13:9 (ESV) - “For we are glad when we are weak and you are strong.
Your restoration is what we pray for.”<span style="color: yellow; font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></strong></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri";">To access previous posts, click <a href="https://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
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Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5432863274284487379.post-82220501605162974692017-08-11T14:34:00.000-04:002017-08-11T16:44:45.983-04:00August 11, 2017 - He always calls us to something<div class="MsoNormal">
Her blue eyes had always penetrated my heart. Anytime she
was in trouble, she simply has to flash those blue eyes at me and I would crumble
under their stare. Seems like just yesterday she was 3 and we were cleaning up
play dough out of the carpet. They say the bond of mother and child is
incomparable and looking into those eyes I knew there was no other I loved the
same. Her hand felt like porcelain in
mine as we walked down the hallway, the weight of our discussion still heavy in
the air. “Mom, do you think I made the right decision?” There it was, the elephant
of the parent/child relationship. She always
needed my approval as her mom. She craved it as much as the yellow daisies out
on my front stoop needed the afternoon sun. And I needed to know I had raised
her in a way that she could make the right the decision. Isn’t that why God
placed her in my womb? The weight of that was the ton of bricks I carried with
me from the day I heard her heartbeat. This blue-eyed miracle had been my
mission field. My chance to breathe Christ into the child God placed in my care.
Who else would be better positioned to model everything God created us to be to
this human being? Every morning I woke praying for her bouncing head of blond
curls to go out into the world signifying everything God created her to be, not
because of who I am to her, but in spite of who I am to her. Because I mess her
up every single day with my humanity.
But I loved her, and I prayed for her, and I mothered her. And I did my
best to be what God designed me to be – an example of living grace to those
around me and his mission field to my daughter. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Except I didn’t. Because I am not a mom. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m acutely aware of that every day. Not because I feel that
I need to be, but because almost all of you are. And more of you with each
passing day. I feel it in what I read. What I watch. Where I go. In the words
forming your sentences. It’s more obvious the further I move from here to there
because as time passes the more I am not a mom. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve been thinking about this more the last couple of months,
not for the reasons you might expect, but because I have been focusing more on
what I am instead of what I am not. Had I been a mother (or father), there
would be this life-long need/desire/responsibility/longing/urgency/insatiable
acute awareness that there was this being under my responsibility in whom I
needed to make a contributing member of society. And as a Christian, a
contributing member to the Christ’s society. Isn’t it what you all want as
parents? For your kids to make good decisions? For them to succeed? For them to
be lovable and to love in return? (Each of these definable by the person doing
the defining.) I was recently talking with a friend of mine who was expecting
and we were discussing the upcoming delivery. I asked her what she was most
nervous about. This is what she said. She was most nervous about her
responsibility in modeling life for a child and for the rest of her life. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It got me thinking (not for the first time; I’d already been
pondering these specifics), about what my role is in this life. Unlike a majority of
the women reading this screen, God didn’t call me to mother-hood. I didn’t hear
a heartbeat on a monitor. I’m not experiencing one of the most incredible bonds
of life. I’m not seeing those blue eyes looking up at me. I’m not caressing
that porcelain hand in mine as we walk down the hallway. I don’t hear her
asking the tough questions of advice. I don’t
send her out into the world wondering if I did enough. I don’t second guess my decisions in how I am
parenting every night when I climb into bed. I’m not doing all of the ups and
downs of raising up another that you do on every single day. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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But actually I do. I
may not be a mother, but God did in fact
call me to something similar (though very different, so mothers don’t throw
anything at me in frustration at that comparison).<o:p></o:p></div>
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The eyes are
Chinese.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The hands
are wrinkled.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The
questions are about her husband.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The decisions
are about advice given across the restaurant table. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Instead of tucking her into bed at night I send her back
into her house hoping she’s ok.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
God calls us to community. To intentional living where we
invest in the people He places in our paths. You see, when you are not a mother, and even when you are a mother, are we not to see our interactions with those God
places around us in somewhat of the same light? Should I not be just as equally
invested in the walks of my friends and coworkers, and even strangers I am
meeting for the first time, as I am in my family? Is not my responsibility to
those around me equally as imperative as it would be to my children (a bit of
an exaggeration, again don’t throw anything at me)? Whether they are 3 year old
blessings given to us through parenthood or 30 and 70 years old friends God
places in our journey, we are called to raise them up in the way they should go
through investing, shepherding, and covering their lives in prayer. My “blue
eyed daughter” right now might be a brown-eyed mother of one who needs someone
to help her navigate depression, or a red-headed un-married women trying to
understand rejection. Absolutely, as a mother you have been given the biggest
blessing and responsibility. Pray, model, and love your child through
life, as you give them back over to God for Him to do His (not your) will. Likewise,
as a non-mom (or a mom) equally pray, model, and love your friends, coworkers and
anyone else God places in your path through life. That’s what God created us
for. Dive in and invest. Make a difference. Live mission-ally and committed to
someone outside yourself. Are you doing that? Do you have people in your life
that you are “raising up”? Do you have “blue eyes” that respect you enough to
ask “do you think I made the right decision”? <o:p></o:p></div>
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God may not always call us in the way that we think he will, but he always calls us to something. And he always calls us inside the life-stage where we are. As I'm in what they call mid-life, I'm becoming more acutely aware of the question of am I doing what God called me to do in this life? He didn't call me to motherhood, so what did he call me to? I believe that He calls us all, mothers or not, to investing more in others than we do ourselves. One vision of that is raising our children. One vision of that is raising the people around us.<br />
<br />
Are you in mid-life wondering if you are missing the mark? Are you in a life stage thinking God left you out? Are you so focused on where you are "not" that you are totally missing out on your "I am"? Are you forgetting to focus on the raising up the lives God placed around you? God strategically placed you, as you are, for this very moment. <br />
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She said she had the fear of the responsibility that comes
with raising her unborn child. If we are doing it right, we have the same human driven fear in the responsibility
with friendship. At the end of my life, I need to know one life saw the grace of God and was made more
meaningful simply because of the existence of me. It’s got me thinking. <o:p></o:p><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">You can access previous posts </span><a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/" style="font-family: "times new roman";" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">.</span></div>
Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5432863274284487379.post-87258918595162929832017-05-12T14:45:00.002-04:002017-06-06T17:23:58.318-04:00May 12, 2017 - Some bearded man with the clip board<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve read that when you are grieving it can take 18 to 24
months (MONTHS) for sleeping and eating patterns to return back to normal. I
find that to be an interesting data point. And is that an estimation? Do you
take all people that are grieving, throw them into a bucket, take a poll of
raising hands and come up with 18 to 24 months? Does it matter what relationship
you are to the person who died? Was this a scientific study? Did someone send
out a survey? Or maybe some bearded man with a clip board followed you around for hours
on end from meal time to snack time, table to table, and again stood at the
foot of your bed counting the fretting and rolling patterns of your not
sleeping. Maybe they weren’t sleeping because of said tall bearded man in glasses
standing in the dark scrawling notes on a note pad? Call me crazy. That
intrigues me, 18 to 24 months of awkward, or at least “off your normal” pattern
of eating and sleeping. I’m sure it’s true, at least for some duration of time.
Well, I know it’s true. <o:p></o:p></div>
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For me, early on, it was the sleep and the eating. I
remember the first few days after my brother’s death (if you are new to this,
my brother passed away unexpectedly a few months ago) I simply could not eat. I
could fill my plate with food and I could sit down at the table, but I could
not eat. I might be able to manage a fork full or two, but then it simply would
stop. There was not hunger. There were no stomach growls. In fact, to even see
someone else eat seemed utterly out of place. Why would anyone need to eat? (The
mind games of the subconscious have been enlightening these last 5 years since
mastectomy). This drastic transition in eating was short lived. I soon returned
to eating, obviously, but the patterns of eating were indeed different and that
lasted for a while. It was subtle, but was there and that lasted for a few
weeks into months. Eating became something you did to survive. Gone was the
enjoyment of the smells and tastes of food. The enjoyment of watching
ingredients come together into a masterpiece was obsolete. Favorite foods didn’t
carry an accolade. The entanglement of
nourishment with social interaction became untangled. Food had transition to its
organic structure intent on becoming part of mine. And there were other things,
not just food and sleep, that teetered out of balance as my world shifted on
its axis in this new state of grieving life without Andy. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
While eating and sleeping habits seems to be back to normal,
though at times sleep can still be a battle on any given week, I’m finding I
still greatly struggle with maintaining motivation. Going to work every day and functioning at
the top of my game seems to be absolutely all I have to give. Anything above that is a motivation sucker. I
get home and it’s time to cook dinner and I can’t find the motivation to get
ingredients into their pot. It’s a Saturday morning and I need to get some
stuff done around the house and it takes every ounce of my power to get that task
started. Once I do get started, I seem to be good to go, but that actual
process of starting the given task is completely touch and go. And this has been going
on for 4 months now. I seem to have nothing to give to you, to the house, to
anything other than my job (and that is out of necessity) without a serious
internal power talk to get me going. This is 100% out of the normal for me. To
give you some perspective, I am a
complete go-getter at baseline. Prior to Andy’s death, I would see my to-do
list and the first thing I would do is see a list of 10 items, with plans of
tackling 2, and end up tackling 8. That is just how I work. No procrastination
in me. Not a bit. Get in there, get it done, do even more than what you have on
your list, get out, enjoy the rest of the day. Now, it is like signing up for a
root canal just to take out the trash. I have nothing left to give. And it
drives me crazy. The bathrooms need to be cleaned. The house needs to be vacuumed.
The bags need to be packed for the trip. The gifts need to be purchased. The list
needs to be made. The groceries need to be shopped. The meal needs to be
prepped. The laundry needs to be laundered. The gathering needs to be attended. Instead, I see those items and can’t find the motivation
to get it done. And when I do, I get one item done (usually that’s dinner) and
then find myself mentally spent and not wanting to do anymore. This is not the
me I know. And it’s not acceptable. Type A Sally needs Type A Sally back and
she needs her back now. I miss her. She was a delightful and productive soul
and she totally made me whole. Listen, I don’t need to over achieve, I’d settle
for simply achieving at this point in the game, because this level of perpetual
underachieving has me out of sorts, not in that it’s not ok for that to be
where we are at times, but because I find this new Sally so completely unreliable
and foreign and exhausting and challenging and frustrating and guilt inducing
and simply not-ok-for-the-long-run and most certainly not where I want to land. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
There, it’s said. This is not where I want to land. I didn’t
lose Andy to land here. We don't always choose where we land. But maybe we do get to say where we want to go after we land. I want to at least be able to balance again. I want to
be the woman who can balance work and home and do them both well instead of
conquering work and then swimming upstream outside of work. And it all comes
down to motivation, and I guess throw in a little being mentally spent at the
end of the day. I lost Andy to be a better version of Sally as I learned to
thrive in this new scenery. I know it is coming. In so many ways I am thriving…but
not yet in task motivation. In fact, I’ve under achieved. It’s complete
de-motivation. I’m sure it’s just my
brain still doing its sorting dance as the pieces continue to fall into place. Maybe I can hire said bearded man with the clip board tallying up grieving statistics to come keep me on task. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
So, why am I throwing all of this out on the table for the
world to read? Well, if you have been reading my writing for any time at all, by
now you know me. We in this one-up-each-other society spend too much time sweeping life
under the rug, instead portraying our life’s perfect moments, our perfect days,
and our perfect families. Meanwhile women (and men) are drowning in everyday
life wondering what in the world is wrong with their “imperfect life”. And that
makes me utterly heartbroken for our world and what we’ve done. If you are
grieving, you need to know that these strange new pieces of your personality
you are seeing, still 4 months later, are completely normal. (And this doesn't just apply to grief, it applies in many scenarios in life that punch you in the gut. I was just speaking of this with a friend whose spouse just got a cancer diagnosis.) Grief is a superpower.
Not in that it makes you better, but in that it has super natural abilities to
impact you. There is no shame in that. There is awareness in that. We need to
lower the expectations for life to be what it used to be, at least initially.
You simply may not be able to juggle it all for a while. Is the world going to
crumble because I have an extra layer of dust on my bedside table this week?
Nope! Is the national debt going to grow because I didn’t get that extra load
of laundry done? Nope! Might I have improved mental stability because I skipped
vacuuming the loft? Quite possibly. I
can’t skip everything forever, but I can allow myself different expectations
and prioritize differently than I did before. And I can ask for some grace
period with family and have open discussions about “this is what you can expect
from me, this is what I can and can’t do successfully right now” and “this is
how you can help me” moving forward. I’m also telling you this because I spent
an entire month wondering what in the world was going on with me. I can only imagine the upcoming anesthesia is
going to worsen this for me. You know how me and anesthesia don’t mix so well.
So there’s that. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eighteen to 24 months of disrupted sleeping and eating
patterns. I’d say motivation is totally reasonable to add to that list, well
and maybe a few other things as well Mr. Bearded Man with a clipboard. Maybe things get under my skin a little
easier too. Here’s the silver lining. I’m
overly motivated in other ways. Like cherishing things in life. God’s gifts in chaos. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;">To access previous blog posts - click </span><a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="color: black;">.</span></div>
Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5432863274284487379.post-29088585126043272562017-05-05T10:04:00.001-04:002017-06-06T17:23:47.846-04:00May 5, 2017 - Thirteen minutes<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #00b050; font-family: "bradley hand itc"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Oh, my soul, you are not alone. There’s a place where fear has
to face the God you know.” - Oh, My Soul ; Casting Crowns</span></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #00b050; font-family: "bradley hand itc"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My friend, Kelli, posted this song quote exactly at the time I
was finishing up writing this piece. I’ve been standing in awe these past two years at how God
has been so perfectly timing and aligning his teachings in my walk (I'm silly, we all know my walk has been simply traversing his teachings). Last year
was my “Be Still” year. It seemed everywhere I turned and in everything I read
or attended, God was reminding me in his teachings and readings that he was
calling me to a year of being still and to rid my life of worry. Being still
was not my nature as I am a full blown type A personality (except I’m
introverted) driven to details and needing to control the outcomes of life. I
was quickly learning that God was wanting to slow me down to see his pace, pray
the worry out of life, and experience his presence in the details of the here
and now. It's totally worked, by the way, as worry is almost non-existent now for me after a year of His indwelling in me its harsh consequences and lack of value in my life. Be Still has now carried over into this
year of my “Waiting” year as I see God very purposely showing me to live in the
present in acute awareness of the people and opportunities around me. I used to
live every moment in anxious anticipation of “what next”, “when is the next
thing coming”, “how come I don’t have all of the desires of my heart”, “when
will I marry”, “when will I have children”, “when will I retire”? There was the
insatiable desire to have the next thing. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In this constant anticipation of having the thing I didn’t
currently have, I was missing out on the blessing of the thing I currently DID
have. When I was in middle school, I couldn't wait until I could drive. When I was
in high school, I couldn’t wait to be in college. When I was single, I so
desperately wanted to be married. So I missed out on so many blessings that came
in being single. The freedom to spend my time choosing to do what I wanted to
do. The freedom to pick up and go wherever I wanted to go. To spend my money
how I wanted to spend it. To sleep when I wanted to sleep. You get the idea.
The idea that Sally got to be who God and Sally wanted me to be in that life
stage. Now that I am married and in an incredible job, I want the next thing…to
be married, retired and traveling. Let’s break it down even more simple that
that. Look at any given day. How many days do we spend the entire morning
thinking how we can’t wait to get home from work to the evening? Or we spend
our entire week in anticipation of the weekend. It’s not that anticipation is
bad. It’s awesome to be hopeful and looking forward to things. But there comes
a point that we are living so much in anticipation of the next thing that we
totally miss out on what God has placed us here for in the first place. A
relationship with him. God walks with us here in the present. And only in the
present. I’ve been living in anticipation of the next life stage missing out on the
blessings of the current here and now of what God has placed me in. He hasn’t
created me for tomorrow. He created me for today. For this very moment, for a
relationship with him, for my story, and for the person sitting right next to
me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s easy to have this perspective when we are talking about
the good things in life. I’m in a good job and an awesome marriage and place in
my life. So it’s easy enough for me to say “Sally, focus on the present. Focus
on this good job. Don’t think about retirement yet which is 20 something years
down the road.” It’s a little more difficult to want to live in the present when
your current situation isn’t so delightful. And that is where my year of “waiting”
becomes a little more evident. What if your “present” is heartbreak? What if
you are 40 years old and you have spent the last 20 years of your marriage, and
3 miscarriages, waiting for children? How are you supposed to enjoy the present
and waiting? Or what if you are 63 years old and still single and your only
desire is to be married? What then? How do you enjoy the present and still
waiting? What if you just lost your 3 year old to cancer and you are currently standing
in their empty bedroom for the first time? What if you are standing at your
mailbox holding divorce papers? What if you are looking at the MRI seeing your
brain tumor grow? What if you are heading into your 13<sup>th</sup> surgery in
a few weeks? What if you just tragically lost your 44 year old brother?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t have the magic answer for you, but I do know that I
can identify with some of the scenarios above and have found a way to find joy
despite circumstance because Christ has a way of bringing perspective when you
spend time praying for it. But particularly in this last year of his teaching me
about times of wait a few things have come across my path that have gotten my
attention. One in particular that really turned things around for me was
hearing this statement recently for a second time: <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #00b050; font-family: "bradley hand itc";">“</span></b><b><span style="color: #00b050; font-family: "bradley hand itc"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We desire relief more than
we desire righteousness.”</span></b><b><span style="color: #00b050; font-family: "bradley hand itc";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #00b050; font-family: "bradley hand itc"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let that sink if for a minute. Do an honest self-evaluation
of your current circumstance. How would you rank yourself on this? If God uses
circumstance to grow us to him, we should almost be more joyous in circumstance
than out of circumstance for we know that it is in that circumstance that we are
growing in relationship with Christ. When I learned to grasp this truth, it
also gave me endurance for the storm. It’s as if this awareness gives me that
extra boost for those last three miles of the marathon. I want so richly to be
in communion with God that I can endure the waiting, the trials, the grief.
While I crave RELIEF, I want RIGHTEOUSNESS more. Now that certainly isn’t
absolute. Because when is the last time I have had to endure true persecution,
or when is the last time my storm has been unbearable. But it does help in the
day to day trials of life and it helps me when I do face those tougher battles
of life. Even when my brother died a few weeks (now months?) back, I can see
that God is growing me, and many of you, closer to him in Andy’s loss. So I am
weathering that Storm better in that knowledge. I want relief from the grief, but
in the grief, I am growing. So I keep walking. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
An additional truth that has carried me through periods of
struggle was when these words were spoken to me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #00b050; font-family: "bradley hand itc"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“How can God use you where you want to be, when you won’t allow
him to use you where you are?” <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #00b050; font-family: "bradley hand itc"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This was absolutely eye opening for me. It’s as if I am
saying to God, you can only use me as your vessel if you give me the desires of
my heart! Never would I be so bold as to say that, but don’t I sometimes act
that way in my bitterness, anger, and entitlement for not having something?
Instead of embracing my current situation and allowing God to use me in my
present situation (this doesn’t mean removing a healthy longing), I spend all
of my time wishing this away in expectation for “what next?” Hasn’t God
purposed my here and now to be my story exactly as it is - every sentence, every
word, every letter, every punctuation- for growing me in relationship with him
and the people around me? “What next” will serve its purpose…but only when the
time comes. Let God use us where we are. Look around you. What does God want
you to do right now that you are missing because you are living for tomorrow? God
wants to use your today, this very hour, these thirteen minutes in between meetings to do something. This is your story. Today.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Loosely related, in a few weeks, I head back into the operating room for
surgery #13. I’ve known about this for a few weeks but have yet to put it
to paper, or really even to words. Earlier this week I was saying how strong
emotions must be inter-related. When I feel mad, I often cry. When I face giants
on any given day, I miss my brother more. Our hearts are connected to our
heads. So when I am passionate, I’m am fully passionate. I’m headed back to the
OR for some respiratory issues – some shaving here, some shaving there, some
stents up over there. It’s an easy surgery I’m told (I don’t know how you
decide that), but after 12 surgeries in this lifetime, particularly after these
6 for mastectomy, they all become inter-related emotionally. That’s why I haven’t
put words to it as of yet. But God is the God of surgeries, and anesthesia
(which I detest and don’t do so well with), and all the things that come with this,
so I put it there for him to heal. This too is my story. Life after cleft lips,
lymphoma, radiation, fibrosis, and mastectomy. The OR is my nemesis. But I’ve
learned that in my fears and emotions too, not just while I wait, I find God.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;">To access previous blog posts - click </span><a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="color: black;">.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5432863274284487379.post-46666654378709467062017-03-24T14:50:00.001-04:002017-03-24T15:21:18.640-04:00March 23, 2017 - If I end up losing it all<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><span style="color: blue;">"If I end up losing it all, but in the process still gain God, it is worth every
minute." - Unknown</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;">I’ve
had this quote on my social media wall for years now. It’s my profile quote and
has sat there speaking whatever it speaks on the side bar as “my statement”. We
all have something, don’t we. A
verse. A quote. A pep talk. Something we keep on our mirror
or tucked away in our bible, on our desk, flashed on our screens to say what we
need to say exactly when we need to say it. Some of our mantras are statements
placed as pep talks to ourselves when we are feeling exactly at our lowest. A
little mental boost to pick ourselves up right when we need it (maybe our
favorite bible verse). Other times our mantras are perfectly placed words
proudly touting exactly what we have conquered (our marathon stickers on our
cars or words we truly live by). Sometimes our words are perfectly positioned
statements not to ourselves, but to the exact person across from us that we
want to read (think of our political posts we carefully posted on our walls).
What do you have? Bring it to mind. This one above for myself, it’s got me
wondering. There’s nothing like a life altering event in your life to test your
life quote. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><span style="color: blue;">"If I end up losing it all, but in the process still gain God, it is worth every
minute."</span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Hummmm... <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;">If
you are a Christ follower and you do what you claim you do, put Christ above
everything else, a life altering event will really come to test that
commitment. We are so careful to claim
that we have our faith in Christ, and we do…right up until the moment our earth
comes shattering down. When is the last time your faith has been tested? I don’t
mean run of the mill I had a rough day testing. Though those days serve their
purpose in teaching us to run the race of life. I mean when is the last time
you had to dig deep and put it all on the line and trust God in your
circumstance? Think back to that moment. How did you do? Were we willing to
give it all up and give our all to God? Few, if any of us, have the Abraham
moments of God calling us to the altar to lay down our sons (<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis+22" target="_blank">Genesis 22</a> – The story
of Abraham and Isaac; Check it out. ).
But let’s think about it. Maybe more of us have that circumstance than we
realize. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Are
we not called to give ourselves, our situations, our spouses, our children, our
everything up to God on a daily basis? Are we not in every circumstance called
to give ourselves to Christ and therefore choose his will for our lives over
our own and that means in every circumstance, be willing to lose everything in
order to gain God? We have to be careful in how we interpret that. We live in a
fallen world. Humanity sinned. Therefore we live with the curse of sin in the
world. The grace is Christ saved us in the end if we choose to believe he died
in our place and choose to put our faith in Him. But as we are still on this
earth we fall prey to choice and the outcomes of choice. There is cancer, there
is horrific circumstance, there is the outcomes of choice, there is divorce,
there is heart break, the list goes on and on, but as we find ourselves in
circumstance, do we not find ourselves in relationship with God and therefore
in the opportunity for the glory of God to be seen in circumstance? But how
many of us truly see life that way? An opportunity despite circumstance to grow
deeper in relationship with Christ. And
not only an opportunity, but at times, a calling. Ask Abraham. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Do
we look at our circumstances as an opportunity (or even a calling?) for our
relationship with God? Or do we get so caught up in the “woe is me” that we can’t
see past that. Easy enough to say “yes” in the simple hardships of life. But
what about the doozies. Can we really say we can walk away from everything for God,
better yet that we would CHOOSE to lose it all for him? Or when not by choice
and we find that we have lost it “all” do we find glory in God despite that? It’s hard to say because so few of us have
been in that circumstance before. But maybe we have been closer than we think.
Maybe if we look at it differently we will see it better. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Reaction
may be a good litmus test. Do we spend our lives seeing life as happening to
us? If I look back at my life and see birth defect happened to me, lymphoma happened
to me, prolonged singleness happened to me, so-and-so-broke-up-with-me happened
to me, she-is-mad-at-me happened to me, mastectomy happened to me, fibrosis
happened to me, Andy’s death happened to me….well, my whole life becomes about life
happening TO me and me absorbing life’s crushing moments. It could almost feel like a non-stop journey
in life’s washing machine. And I’ve had the most beautiful life. What about the
really difficult lives out there that are not so “beautiful” on society’s scale?
Let’s just look at one of those moments.
I remember when I first was choosing mastectomy. There was a moment when I was
driving in my car down the interstate when I really got angry. I was thinking
how in the world after having already done lymphoma and chosen to go the
radiation route instead of other treatment routes, that by now choosing that I
now needed a double mastectomy. There was this bitterness. It was a moment of “God,
you brought me out of lymphoma to THIS?” It was a ridiculous irrational
isolated moment that spurred from anger. It served it’s purposed in my
processing of thoughts, but in that moment driving down the interstate, I
couldn’t see past yet another hardship in life happening to me. Do we find that
we get so caught up in the bitterness of life happening TO us that we can’t see
past what God wants to do IN and THROUGH us? What about this. Fast forward now almost 5
years, if I had known then just how much mastectomy would change my
relationship with God, with my husband, with my family, hey even with you that
are reading this, well, I would have had a totally different thought process on
that interstate. It wouldn’t have been another bitter “life is happening to me”
moment. What if I in foresight, in faith, have a reaction of God drawing me through
life and into him it and it becomes this
molding process of not shattering (life happening to me) in circumstance but creating
(bring me through life) in circumstance? I think this become equally as crucial
in hindsight looking back on circumstances of how I know view mastectomy in my
rear view. Did it happen to me as an event that created another hammer dent in
my timeline chiseling away at Sally? Or did God draw me through it as he grew me
closer to the people around me and in relationship with him as he continues to
create his version of Sally?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Life happening to me is someone holding a
hammer and beating away at a once whole Sally. God bring me through life is a
Sally being built from the bottom up by the master creator. Being built is a shaking process, but at its
center is a strong hold. Sometimes it is
the difference between going forward and standing still. It’s a moment of
hardship instead of a moment of absolute devastation. It most certainly separates
happiness from joy. And it is the provider of hope instead of constant reactive
searching. Looking at some of my tougher
moments in life I bet if I drill down deep, and I’m brutally honest with myself,
I can determine if God truly is the center of it all. Do I view those moments as life happening to
me, or life happening through me with Him giving me life and purpose from the
center out? I really do think there is a difference. And I really do think it’s
a pretty good litmus test of how we view God and his role in our lives when the
going gets tough. <o:p></o:p></span><br>
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Do
you find your world crumbling when you find yourself in the middle of chaos? Or
do you find yourself still centered and only your surroundings shaken? </span><span style="color: #1d2129;">Do you
find you whole world crumbling when you miscarry? Or do you find yourself still
centered and only your surroundings shaken? </span><span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Do you find you whole world
crumbling when you find yourself living pay check to pay check or even without
a pay check? Or do you find yourself still centered and only your surroundings shaken?
Do you find you whole world crumbling in infidelity? Or do you find yourself still
centered and only your surroundings shaken? </span><span style="color: #1d2129;">Do you find you whole world
crumbling when you _____ (fill in your circumstance? Or do you find yourself still
centered and only your surroundings shaken? </span><span style="color: #1d2129;">Do you find you whole world
crumbling when you are called to take it to the altar? Or do you find yourself still
centered and only your surroundings shaken?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Do I
find my whole world crumbling when I lose my brother? Or do I find myself still
centered and only my surroundings shaken? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;">You
see it’s not just about being ok on the other side. When have we ever not been
ok, for the most part? It’s about finding your true center. Do we speak our mantras
and post them on our walls and mirror, or do we truly live them when life comes
to a fast halt? Will it be worth losing it all? Do i truly believe that? On some levels, mine was tested this year. I have some re-centering to do. I’d say, that is exactly what should have happened:
drawing nearing to him in the process. Don’t be afraid to admit you need to
re-center. And also don’t wait for your life altering moment to do it. Those
will come, so you might as well start now and get a head start. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><span style="color: blue;">"If
I end up losing it all, but in the process still gain God, it is worth every
minute." </span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> That was a bold
statement for me to quote several years ago. Learning it takes more than talking the talk. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br></span></div>
<span style="color: #1d2129;">James
4:8 - Draw Near to God and he will draw near to you…</span><br>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br></span>
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br></span><span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br></span>
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br></span>
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">To access previous blog posts - click </span><a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; font-family: calibri, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span></span><br>
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><br></span></span>
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><br></span></span>
<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><br></span></span></div>
Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5432863274284487379.post-54519222900424026362017-03-14T16:06:00.000-04:002017-03-21T16:35:12.543-04:00March 14, 2017 - The only acceptable option hereI’ve sat down to write on numerous occasions, but each of those posts have been left unfinished. It’s been almost a month since I’ve finished something (A safe place to land). Almost a month and half since I’ve written on this topic (Traumatic Grief). Now that I’ve written, I leave a similar disclaimer as I did before. <b>This post is not intended for everyone as it contains some details of my brother’s death. It may help you to continue to read. Or, you simply may not be ready for this information as of yet. If you are unsure, have someone you know and trust read it for you first and let them help you decide. If you are a teenager or younger, maybe have an adult help guide you as to whether you should continue to read. Please trust me in that, I have your best interests at heart.</b> I write not only to help me in my journey, but also to maybe help others in theirs.<br />
<br />
I knew I would need to revisit this topic again because there simply is a lot there, but the trouble with grief, and particularly traumatic grief (if you missed the first post and need the background on this, you can find that <b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/2017/02/january-30-2017-traumatic-grief.html" target="_blank">Here - Traumatic Grief</a>)</span></b> is that you have to relive the moment to go back and discuss it. So even as I type words here on this page I am putting myself back into the places I am not necessarily wanting to be. It’s not ideal, so I had to wait until a safer time to write. It’s been 2 months since Andy left us. But I had 42 years of Andy, so 2 months is simply a tick mark on that scale. To me, he left me yesterday. “Yesterday” changed me for forever. A few weeks ago I had to travel for business and I was smack in the middle of figuring out how to deal with my trauma grief. My brother had died a tragic accidental gun related death a few weeks prior and I had not yet fully figured out how to process that. I found myself steamrolled not only THAT he had in fact died but also HOW he had died, and now I was somehow re-living that detail over and over in my head for hours on end. I could be vacuuming my house and I would find myself in the front seat of the car with Andy as he grabbed his coffee cup and laptop and then his bag and then…., or I could be driving to work then getting out of my own car and then be right there with Andy in his car……, or I could be lying in bed in the middle of the night and I would find myself covered in Andy’s blood unable to revive him. Those are the unprompted examples. Worse, there are prompted examples because those are sudden and tend to go to darker places. Prompted examples are scenes from TV shows, discussions in everyday conversations, news stories, story-lines from books that remind you of whatever trauma you are experiencing. Prompted or non-prompted it is a reality you are bombarded with while navigating traumatic grief and it’s tough because some you can control and some you can’t. And you are about to see just how much it floods your world. A few weeks ago as I was trying to re-incorporate myself back into my life after Andy’s death, I was traveling alone for the first time and in that short 48 hour trip this is how that unfolded:<br />
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<ul>
<li>On my way to the airport, I stopped for lunch, grabbed a table and ordered my meal. As soon as it arrived a group of 3 people sat in the booth behind me. Their occupation: Shooting range employees. For the next 30 minutes they discussed targets, bullets, how bullets exploded on impact, and various aspects of such. For the next 30 minutes, I forced myself to keep the contents of my stomach and my eyes in their respective locations. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li> I arrived at the airport and while in the security line stood next to 2 border patrol (?) agents with guns on hip in line next to me. Seeing those flashes of metal on hip, immediately turned to Ron and said our key word (yes, we now have a key word) so he would know we need to start talking about any topic at all – well, I realized Ron wasn’t with me. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>While at my gate, I met the most delightful lady who wanted to engage in conversation about her husband who had recently died unexpectedly – we spent the next 30 minutes discussing such. But we were talking about a husband who recently died unexpectedly.</li>
</ul>
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<li> Somehow when we boarded the plane, her seat got changed and she ended up next to me and wanted to know all the details of my brother’s death (this ended up being ok, but I end up answering a few more questions that I was comfortable answering at her request; and as soon as she heard it was accidental it really went from there).</li>
</ul>
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<li>I arrive at the airport to get in a cab who had the news on discussing all kinds of violent stories in the newscast. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>The book I took with me on my trip – my “safe to read” book opened with a gun scene as I didn’t realize the main character was a cop. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Arrive back from my trip, get in the car, turn on the radio “women shot when dog jumps on night stand and dislodges boyfriends gun…” turn off radio. </li>
</ul>
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The point of this “bullet point” list is you can’t escape your “triggers” no matter how well intended you are. See, you can say "let's bite the bullet and get it done"... well, that's a trigger to someone whose brother died from a gun shot wound. It's simply every where. And this is my list from only 48 hours. What about yours? Your list, if you have traumatic grief, could be larger than mine in a day’s time frame. This I know: I go to the store to buy my next “safe” book and find out “a Man called Ove” spends the entire book talking about his dead wife and trying to find a way to join her. Nowhere on the book jacket is any of that said. Or I want to invest in my friends and they want to talk about what is going on in their lives which may include an “unsafe” topic for me, or I need to round on my patients at work and that includes dealing with death and dying.<br />
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But really let’s face it: I can’t avoid funerals forever. I can’t not ever ride in a white BMW again. I can’t not park next to a Tesla ever again. I can’t not carry a laptop around with me because he was when he died. I can’t avoid THAT section of town. I can’t avoid THAT restaurant forever. I can’t not go to the mall because his favorite store is there. I can't not watch that show because it was his favorite. I can't not look at those pictures because he's in them too. I can't look not look at that document because it now says Andy's estate. I can’t be mad at you because you are mad at him. I can’t never cook those steaks in my freezer for the rest of my family because he was supposed to eat them with me. You simply can’t stop the world from spinning and you can’t live under a rock forever to keep the conversations under control, and you can’t avoid the street your brother died on, and you can’t never step foot in his house again even though that brings you to your knees…………………. You simply can’t. (<span style="font-size: x-small;">Note: some of this list above shifted away from trauma grief and into routine grief</span>. <span style="font-size: x-small;">Don't confuse the two as they are very different.</span>)<br />
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So if you can’t…you certainly have to figure out how you can. And that is what I have been spending my time doing. The level of trauma has changed from hour 2 to hour 24 in that I have gotten better at forcing myself through it. In hour 2 of “yesterday”, just hearing the word “gun” spoken could send me into the corner of a room in tears. Now in hour 24, I can hear (I know when to close my eyes) a shooting on the television screen and still continue with the show. My heart beat rises in my chest and my adrenaline rushes, but you would never know. In hour 2 of “yesterday”, I couldn’t drive onto the street where he was killed without melting into tears. Now in hour 24, I can drive by the scene and glance at the parking space and continue driving. Bile rises in my throat and water fills the lid of my eyes, but you would never know. In hour 2 of “yesterday”, I had to leave the table when you spoke of your son going to target practice. Now in hour 24, I can sit through the conversation and nod my head. Inside my head I have tuned you out and am thinking about what I have to do after work tomorrow until you have finished speaking, but you would never know.<br />
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Hour 2 was about how I can’t. Hour 24 has become all about how I can. It’s a process. Not a 23 hour process as represented on this “my brother died yesterday figurative continuum” but in that in these almost 9 weeks I’ve moved from crumpling in the floor at the reminder of the trauma of how Andy died to now slowly returning to television, books, conversations, and outings. I visited Andy’s grave a few weeks back, and I actually did go sit in the parking spot in which he died a few days ago. I’m still traumatized on the inside, though less as my heart and mind have found safer ground, but more functional on the outside. I imagine maybe even “tomorrow” I can actually listen in full to your conversation as you tell me about your son’s target practice, because in time, all things heal. There will remain a scar, but we do in fact heal and almost always function again.<br />
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Why am I telling you this? Because no one is talking about it. I had never heard of it or wasn’t exposed to it before “yesterday”. You may find yourself here and I don’t want you to be caught off guard when you suddenly find yourself needing to ask the waitress to change tables and everyone else at the table looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. You haven’t. And don’t second guess yourself for needing to ask your friend to change the topic of conversation. It’s ok for some things to be “off limits” for a while until you heal. You need to be ok and proactive with setting some boundaries. You’ve probably never had to do that before, but now is the time to be bold and step out and say this is ok, and this is not ok until further notice. You are just processing some things you have never had to process before. What has helped me the most? Surrounding myself with people who are praying me through it. Don’t do this alone. I have a small group of women who I update regularly. They check in on me, they give me words of encouragement, and when I am having a tough “trauma” day, they pray me through it. I’ve surrounded myself in a wise counsel of Christ-centered women who have proven to have my best interests at heart, who have supported me when life has thrown me the tough curves, and who have sought God’s ways over their own way. They’re my trauma team. And I know when life comes at me again in the future, they will be there for that too. For now, their only task is praying me through this trauma grief and it has turned this experience completely around for me. I’m relishing in Hour 24 because of their steadfast prayer.<br />
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Andy died “yesterday” and it is a day that has changed me forever. Still, there is so much left to do “tomorrow". What choice do I have left but to rummage through this trauma grief with my team in tow? So I’m pushing out the “I can’t” because “I can” is the only acceptable option here. I want to leave you better prepared should you find yourself here. There is only one way to do this and that is with someone else. Trust me on that one.<br />
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<span style="color: black;">To access previous blog posts - click </span><a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="color: black;">.</span>Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5432863274284487379.post-85588768041684487432017-02-20T16:03:00.001-05:002017-02-21T13:36:54.142-05:00February 20, 2017 - A safe place to land<div class="MsoNormal">
I am a person with a double edged sword. It’s not a new discovery, something I have
been chiseling at over the past 4 ½ years as God carried me to and through
double mastectomy, but rather something more finely caricatured this last year
and particularly this last month as I pick at every character flaw as one would
when navigating the frailty of life following the premature death of a loved
one. My sword will cut you. It <i>has</i> cut you if you have known me for any
length of time. One side of my sword
cradles you in its curvature like a hammock against the human form. It’s warm
and inviting begging you to bask in the safety of my being, for I cherish
relationship and create gravitational pull to my center. The other, less
nourished side when carelessly flipped with the switch of my hand, will bring a
slit to your heart and leave you broken. But you see, they lie in tandem. Both
are attached to the same handle. And with one, you get the other. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We live in a world where we all long to and claim to be
tolerant, caring, willing to help you out of your whatever. “Are you depressed?
Come find me and I will help you out. Are struggling with addiction? Reach out
to me and I will help you find resources. Are you in the middle of infidelity?
Grab my hand and we will walk the road together. Is pornography filling your
screen? My outlet is your answer. Is financial burden weighing you down? I’m
here to help you find the next steps. Are you considering suicide? I’ve been
there too.” We seem to have all the right words to fit all the right/wrong
scenarios when we know they are going on. And we truly believe we are the
person to carry the weight of the situation with our friends when we find out
our friends are in trouble. Words spoken at all the right times is not our
problem. This is where we excel. We have it all figured out how to be the right
friend at exactly the right time. But God is really starting to work in my
heart about where I might be failing in all of this. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve recently been looking at this a different way. I think most
of us can say we all would go above and beyond to help our friends get whatever
help they needed if they simply came an asked us for it. I think the problem doesn’t
lie in whether we would help when asked but rather in whether we have created a safe place
for them to even come and ask at all. This is where I fear I may have greatly failed
people. You see, I am a person with a double edged sword and my sword has cut you.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Here’s the scenario. I’m sitting at dinner with a group of friends
and we say:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: "franklin gothic medium" , sans-serif;">“<i>Tasha lost her job because she showed up drunk. How could anyone do
that?</i></span>” I just subconsciously said to everyone at the table, if you are
struggling with alcohol, I am not a safe place to land. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "franklin gothic medium" , sans-serif;">“I can’t believe she is
taking him back. She is letting him walk all over her.”</span></i> I just
subconsciously said to everyone at the table, if you are struggling in your
marriage, I am not a safe place to land. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "franklin gothic medium" , sans-serif;">“I don’t know how Susan
can deal with it. I would be mortified.” </span></i>I just told everyone at the
table, if your teenage daughter ever gets pregnant, I am not a safe place to
land. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "franklin gothic medium" , sans-serif;">“Why in the world would
anyone not pay their bills?”</span></i> I just subconsciously said to everyone
at the table, if you are struggling with your finances, I am not a safe place
to land. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "franklin gothic medium" , sans-serif;">“I can forgive
anything, but I cannot forgive someone lying to me.”</span></i> I just told
everyone at the table, if you ever make a mistake with me, I am not a safe
place to land. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "franklin gothic medium" , sans-serif;">“How could anyone
consider ever suicide? How selfish!”</span></i> I just subconsciously said, I’m
not a safe place to land.<i><span style="font-family: "franklin gothic medium" , sans-serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "franklin gothic medium" , sans-serif;">“My next door neighbor
just got arrested for drugs. It’s the talk of the neighborhood.” </span></i> I just told everyone at the table, if you ever
make that mistake you will be too, I am not a safe place to land. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "franklin gothic medium" , sans-serif;">“Pornography. There
simply is no forgiving that.”</span></i> You’ve got it. I’m not a safe place to
land. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "franklin gothic medium" , sans-serif;">“I don’t understand how
people simply cannot put the fork down.”</span></i> If obesity and weight loss
is your struggle, I’m not a safe place to land. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And just in case we’ve never said any of the above……<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "franklin gothic medium" , sans-serif;">“Did you hear….”</span></i>
You’ve got it, I can’t keep your heartbreaking miscarriage secret either… I’m not a safe
place to land. <o:p></o:p></div>
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There are hundreds of scenarios (these may seem over
simplified and silly above, but you get the point). If you didn’t find yourself
in one of the bolded sentences, create your own. I promise we are all in
something. And they happen multiple times a day in our conversations. Ask
yourself, just like I had to ask myself almost a year ago and now more recently
as I dig myself apart during grief. Are you a safe place to land? I’m wondering
how many of my friends have struggles they are going through privately that
maybe they could have come to me with had I been better about verbally creating
a safe place for them to land. I think specifically about a coworker who successfully
committed suicide a few years back. I don’t carry guilt about that, for we
aren’t to do that, but we are to carry awareness and change for moving forward.
I think about it in conversations to choose my words wisely when discussing
topics that would otherwise often carry judgement. We never know who is
actively participating in the conversation or even overhearing from across the workroom and what their
internal struggle is. Are they desperately hanging on by a thread and searching for a safe place to land? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Women undergoing mastectomy are in an emotional journey and they need a safe place to land. I
discovered this 4 years ago, so I prayed long and hard and with God's prompting accepted being vulnerable and went public with that journey. Now I’m discovering it in some other areas of my life,
most recently grief and traumatic grief with the tragic loss of my brother
after his accidental death a few weeks ago. Maybe I can be a safe place for you to land in your future if you face something similar. I've said in the past, you never know what your future will bring and therfore what you will become an advocate for. But also, more relate-able to every day life, I’m searching my soul more with
this short post about where are we being judgmental in our open conversations and
stripping people of safe places to reach out for help when they
need it? This post doesn’t carry a lot in it, but it’s a topic that’s been
heavy on my heart for a while now, particularly this past week while I was away. We need to rid ourselves of our judgmental
swords and create safe environments. The former takes a lot of soul searching,
but the latter really just takes a little practice and shift in conversation. We
owe it to the people around us because there is so very much at stake. Most
likely, as in the case of my coworker, she may have needed me more than we realized. <o:p></o:p><br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">To access previous blog posts - click </span><a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/" style="text-align: center;" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="color: black; text-align: center;">.</span><span style="text-align: center;"> </span></div>
Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5432863274284487379.post-7488829655014379162017-02-01T08:22:00.001-05:002018-01-13T08:48:04.395-05:00January 30, 2017 - Traumatic Grief<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;">Notice: This post may not be for
everyone. Immediate family members or younger readers: it may be too soon for
you to read this one. It’s about traumatic grief and contain some basic details of Andy’s
death intended to help </span></b><b><span style="line-height: 115%;">others who may face something similar. Though
you already know the details, you may not want to read them right now while you are healing. It's even ok to make the decision to skip this post. Alternately, it may help you heal as it did one family member. It helped me when writing it. Maybe ask a friend </span></b><b><span style="line-height: 21.46px;">you know and trust to read it first. (O</span></b><b><span style="line-height: 115%;">r for young readers, ask your parent or an adult you trust to read it first. Just trust me that I want the best for you.) </span></b></span></div>
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The last time I saw my brother, he was lying in a grey casket. He
finally has his glasses on. I hadn’t seen Andy without his glasses in over 20
years (minus an occasional dip in the pool and even then I thought that looked strange. It’s interesting how something as simple as a pair of glasses can tie everything
all together). The time before that, I saw Andy in the same casket without his
glasses. It wasn’t Andy. It’s as if not having his glasses on completely removed
everything I knew of Andy. I now know in retrospect I was in shock. He did need his glasses, he truly didn’t look like himself
without them, but at the moment, while in shock, I couldn’t piece
together why my brother was lying in a casket and why was he there without his
glasses on. It was a shock-induced obsession for me where everything else about the scene didn't matter. The time before that, we were standing in my mom’s kitchen eating
cheese dip and taco salads. We kept dipping the chip in and out of the crock pot
watching the cheese strand from the top layer of the pot to the bottom layer of
the chip as we raised the chip higher and higher into the air. We were laughing
about the remarkable properties of processed cheese. Later that same night, we opened Christmas gifts,
where ironically I had bought him a gift from his favorite gourmet cheese shop
while they had bought my sister a wooden cheese tray. We didn’t notice the irony
then. The time before that I didn’t
actually see him but we were on the phone talking about wire transfers and bitcoins
(I had no idea what they were). We weren’t laughing that time, but we were
bonding in a new way for he and I. The time before that, we were sitting at an
Italian restaurant discussing an upcoming beach trip that he won’t be coming on
now, and making plans for opening night of Star Wars: Rogue One. They had scored tickets
and had invited my husband and I along the following week. Turns
out Andy wouldn’t be able to go to that either. The time before that, we were in
Tennessee at my grandmother’s funeral. I remember he and I standing under a tree holding the
rope of a tire swing. It was a swing of our childhood. We snapped a picture of
us standing there thinking it might be the last time we saw the swing (we would be
right), and I remember as the picture was being taken the thought went through
my head of how fast our childhood went by (we were right about that too). I also remember he and I talking about
items in my grandmother’s storage shed. We were frustrated how we
always wait to gather as a family at times of death. (Oh what we really didn’t know). The time
before that, we were in the Caribbean. I remember laughing at dinner as Andy continued to order items on the menu. And laughing again as he dove down to
chase the sea turtle. And again as we all sang at the top of our lungs on the
back of the rental boat. And again as we “took in” the sites of the people’s attire
we saw on the ship. And again when we sat at the Mexican restaurant laughing and again
eating cheese dip, but this time not
processed. I normally wouldn’t be recalling these memories so acutely (I have a
terrible memory) , but I am finding when you are in grief, and maybe particularly
in traumatic grief, they come into full view and they stay, and they eat at you, and eat at you, and eat at you. Gloriously, they eat at you.<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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Traumatic grief is not something I had really considered
before Andy’s death. I’ve lost friends and family members before. Just 6 months
prior, I lost my grandmother. One year prior, sweet Pat. Two years prior, a father in law. Five (?) years
earlier, dear Ann. And in between each of those other people as
well. I see death of children on a routine
basis. I’ve helped friends
prepare for the loss of family members when faced with malignancy or other diagnoses
when the end seemed inevitable. Preparing for death is something I have learned
to do both out of necessity and also out of God’s gifting. Life comes to an
end. Sometimes it comes early, sometimes it comes in what we would call “mid-life”
and sometimes it comes after a life long lived. Despite the timing, because we
are creatures created for relationship, we never find ourselves ready and we
are left longing for what was left behind. We want one more day, one more hour,
one more second to do something more. It’s an innate longing, proof that we are
created to relate. What I was not prepared for was the other emotions/experiences, that I’m not sure I know how to fully describe, that follow a traumatic death
as occurred in the case of Andy. Andy died from an accidental bullet wound to
the head. He carried a concealed weapon. The weapon discharged in his bag while
he was getting out of the car on his way into the office. He was the first to
arrive at his office building. Someone else arrived after him and found him.
That someone, who I have met with and will forever be indebted to as a civilian
choosing to do the right thing in what had to have been a traumatic situation,
tried to revive Andy. Andy didn’t survive. His coffee
cup and his computer survived, but Andy didn’t. I wasn’t at the scene. But I
have the scene memorized. Because my mind stored the events. Just like the
memories of the last few times I spent with Andy. <o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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So while we have the grief of losing Andy as anyone does
when they lose someone close, we also have the traumatic grief of the situation. Andy’s last moments where not a
peaceful death of dying in your sleep like we all want to go, nor were they moments of
time spent with loved ones in your last
hours of life. I recall friends and family members dying of malignancy and
gathering at their bedside for wonderful peaceful last moments and I cherish
each of those. We didn’t have those with Andy (though we cherish our last
memories with him as I listed above. What a blessing to chase sea turtles, my favorite animal, for my very first time with Andy! And I relish in the dancing and singing on the back of that boat!). The circumstances of his death being accidental, sudden,
and too early in life leave us unsettled with more things to process.<br />
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<br />
<br />
I’m
calling that a "traumatic grief". I imagine psychiatrists have some technical term
to label it perfectly, but this is the term I have chosen. It can be applied in any number of scenarios where the situation carries its own scale of trauma for the
people left behind. It doesn't even have to be a death. Any event can carry trauma with it and in the cases of grief, there may be traumatic grief. I am not here trying to assign which is better or worse to
experience. I simply say that there are
numerous levels and scales to grief and grief is not just grief. My last post
spoke more to the depth of grief as I discussed the adjectives and how I couldn’t
find the right words to describe the feelings (you can find that post <a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/2017/01/january-262017-its-what-adjective.html" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: blue;">HERE - Adjectives)</span></b></a>. That is one vantage point of
what we experience. This aspect I am speaking of now related to traumatic grief is another vantage point. I had little
knowledge of it before now because I was inexperienced. Another example of thinking that because we have seen something on TV, we think we are experience. Boy, are we so terribly wrong.<br />
<br />
<br />
Ron and I really enjoy
what I would call dramatic television. “Blue Bloods.” “Homeland” “Madame Secretary.” “ The Black List” "Call the Midwife". I mean it’s our thing. I’m not a romantic
comedy kind of gal. I like drama or feel good drama. I need action to keep my mind guessing. I detest the predictable sappy love where "Beautiful boy doesn't like girl. Beautiful girl doesn't like boy. Boy likes girl. Girl likes boy. Married." It's just not my thing. Give me FBI profilers solving a crime. Give me bleeding heart politicians actually trying to do the right thing. That will win my heart! But when I was
watching “Homeland” this week and the victim is seen slumped over the steering
wheel from a gunshot wound, I rather suddenly and unexpectedly melted into an inconsolable puddle on the living room floor. And
yesterday, while driving in the car listening to our David Baldacci Book on
tape and the FBI agent described a too close to home murder scene, I again melted into a puddle
into the seat of my car. I broke down again on the way to a funeral for a family member. It was too soon to attend another celebration of life. I wasn't ready to walk through those doors again. I'm finding Wednesdays, the day Andy died, are particularly tough for me. Every Wednesday I wake up with a skiddish heart. Very simply put. I’m traumatized. As a result, I’m having to alter my choices to protect my heart. I now realize I will
have to resort to being a romantic comedy girl (woe is me!), which I previously
detested. I have to make better selections until I heal. I have to be more aware of my surroundings and be proactive in preparation. Going to a funeral, take a few extra minutes outside to prep myself. Choose carefully, when picking out a book. Turn on more lights in the house to mimic day light. Simply, be proactive so I can be less reactive.<br />
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I say all of this for a few reasons. First, who knows what
lies ahead of you. You may find yourself in some level of traumatic grief. Life
is going to feel different for you. Wednesdays may always be hard for me. You may have to alter your choices for a
bit to protect your heart. There
is a lot to process in routine grief. There is even more to process in
traumatic grief. I think it is crucial to not process that alone. You may need to find someone to help you process. Be proactive so you can be less reactive. Also, if someone around you is navigating this, realize they are fragile. They need some space. They also need less space. Get in their zone and smother them in prayer. You both need to realize that the timeline of grief may be extended in this
situation. It’s just an awkward thing to navigate. I don’t have the flowery
eloquent words here to say in this entire post as I sometimes do when I write. “Awkward” is the best
word I have. People don’t know what to say. You don’t know what to say. And it’s
just simply an awkward situation to navigate. But what you need to know is YOU
are not awkward. You are just traumatized and grieving. And those two things
together change things. So be patient with yourself. Allow things to feel “off”.
Work may give you 3 days of “bereavement”, but know that simply means you have
3 days to attend events. You are going to need many moons to navigate. Don’t
set a timeline. Just go. And go slow. And above all else, be open about how it
is going. Find someone else who has been there. Find someone who has done
traumatic grief. That is your best resource. And then pray yourself through it
and surround yourself with people who are praying you through it. Then, simply
go.<br />
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<o:p></o:p><br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQO0rCMplFQ2Pbdx9p-yPcvobxW_3Qw-68Hu97Kq8jeTfBsFDhOUn65Qh9K0TXYV0cDQtoQI0ZjFqnNj1gL-QayYordUKzPD9UjJpgOn_D-FDeLjpTHrKIRRNsvAfLwoGGNRfijeS-S3V0/s1600/20170114_093530.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQO0rCMplFQ2Pbdx9p-yPcvobxW_3Qw-68Hu97Kq8jeTfBsFDhOUn65Qh9K0TXYV0cDQtoQI0ZjFqnNj1gL-QayYordUKzPD9UjJpgOn_D-FDeLjpTHrKIRRNsvAfLwoGGNRfijeS-S3V0/s320/20170114_093530.jpg" width="240" /> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB0giYAQG2lMeutQvCSAaPBCDpS_bBuSptUjvpdFkfOCosGFD-lxMg6k6AakunpCHzKTJ0mlR1LO9kVebq2u8fZEu-Oxfamyu6poQO-sd38Kv4pjOz0MIm0XORnmaN776CXQP_i_w5xhM7/s1600/IMG_1269.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB0giYAQG2lMeutQvCSAaPBCDpS_bBuSptUjvpdFkfOCosGFD-lxMg6k6AakunpCHzKTJ0mlR1LO9kVebq2u8fZEu-Oxfamyu6poQO-sd38Kv4pjOz0MIm0XORnmaN776CXQP_i_w5xhM7/s320/IMG_1269.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<br />
Wise words from Tony Evans of God meeting us where we are. He's meeting me here:<br />
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<em>God didn’t keep Daniel from the lion’s den; He met him in it. He didn’t keep Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego from the fiery furnace; He joined them in it. He didn’t keep Joseph from being a slave to Potiphar; He gave him favor in it. And He met him in the prison as well. The proof in knowing you are where God wants you to be in your detour is that God doesn’t deliver you from it but rather joins you in it.</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
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To access previous blog posts - click <a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="color: black;">.</span> </div>
Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5432863274284487379.post-5941264915609642212017-01-27T14:23:00.003-05:002017-02-21T13:36:19.869-05:00January 27, 2017 - It's what the adjectives always knew<div class="MsoNormal">
January is something I have never felt before. I think the
English language failed us in choosing the word. Maybe the Greeks failed us
too. And the French. And the Germans. And the Latins, whoever they are (<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Ancient Rome - see, I paid attention in school, Ms. Waicus</span>). I have no idea. I don’t speak those
languages. I’m your typical American, affluent barely in my own language, but I
know I haven’t yet excavated the words for what I feel. Or maybe there are
words that perfectly encompass all that I feel, but rather it’s the adjectives
that give the words scope and grandeur that continue to let me down. The words
start out perfect, for you think their meaning will suffice, but later as you apply
them to your circumstance you find they do anything but justice to where you
currently lie. It’s like the perfectly shaped frozen yogurt that is placed into
your crispy chocolate waffle cone only to minutes later dribble its way into a sticky
melted puddle onto the once shiny linoleum floor. It started out great but ended up sloppy and
failed.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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"Sally, how are you?" <br />
<br />
“Sad” seems perfectly appropriate on Day 1. Day 15 shows you “sad” is
a ridiculous term to use. “Out of sorts” is reasonable to describe the night
you climbed into bed with your shoes still on. “Out of sorts” in no way
describes the current state of wondering thoughts that find you when you can’t
sleep. “Grief”, as a word, is a catch all that really catches nothing. It’s
simply a starting point that doesn’t even begin to describe ache that as time
morphs leaves you breathless or even vomiting when you think of the events of that day. These
words, generic nouns of feeling, are pale in comparison to
what is actually being felt. Would adjectives, carefully chosen and applied to
the noun as taught in English 101, fix the language folly? “Great sadness.” “Profound
Sadness.” “Heart breaking Sadness.” “Terribly
Out of Sorts.” “Prolonged Grief.” (It’s only been two weeks so I am wrong to
use prolonged as of yet, but I have it here for illustration.) “Unbelievably
Shocking.” Adjectives do in fact help as they
certainly were intended to do. They quantify. They give depth. They color. They paint a scenery that the noun can't even begin to landscape. I have a cat. But is it a long haired cat? A short haired cat? And then it is calico? It is striped? It is evil (as many cats are)? Or loving? Or playful? See "cat" alone tells you it only has claws. Or does it? Is it a declawed cat? Is the cat yellow? Or grey? Or black? Is it a kitten? Or elderly? Maybe it is a hairless cat and I have fooled you all along. So how in the world can "Sad" tell you of my sadness? These simple nouns of emotion do this aftermath of tragedy a terrible injustice. The ice cream starts out perfectly placed and and as time goes on, it ends up on the shiny floor. Adjectives (and my flowery, run-on, hard-to-follow-overwhelming sentences)...well, they
help me, the one who processes life through words, find some sort of purpose in
the up from down of all of this stuff stuck in my heart and head. It’s nothing
unique to me, any one of you have experienced the dictionary’s mistake, this
lack of finding the suitable word to describe the things you are feeling, but
all of us will one day experience it in a new way for the first time after losing someone like Andy and
all of you will be frustrated at the lack of suitable words to describe what
you feel.</div>
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As I was sharing with
a coworker/friend this week, not all of the emotions are “overwhelmingly downtrodden”. I am also “awkwardly amazed”, as it caught me off guard, at how some
of the things I feel are “incredibly uplifting”. It’s as if all my emotions are
now “overly amplified”. I would have predicted, had I been asked in foresight,
that the world instead would have been dampened or softened by the “intense grief”
and “sudden sadness”, but instead it’s as if the world is magnified through a looking glass and I see everything in a finer focus. Laughter is louder, love
is more evident. Grace is more gracious…to name a few. Maybe that is God’s way
of getting me through it. Or maybe that is His gift to balance it all out.
Either way it simply makes it all just a little more doable. I'm relishing in these "amazing emotions" that were unexpected as it makes the "less enjoyable emotions" more easily endured.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Tragedy, as experienced in Andy's death, changes us all. Look at 9/11 where we all became
more tolerant of our neighbors, grasping at each other for some sense of comradery,
desperately searching to find a way to back to normal on the other side. We bonded
together in love, resilience, and forgiveness, and formed a cohesive unit of us
in the world. Maybe the smaller (larger for me individually) scale tragedy of
Andy is doing a smaller (larger) version of that in me. I’m searching for
normal and pulling at things around me to bring them back close. I’m traumatized
by the immediate aftermath, as we all were in those early days of the towers, but just like then it's intermingled with the great things that come too. We
wanted/want to have our loved ones near. We called/call each other a little more often. We
felt/feel emotions more richly. We lived/live out the adjectives. “Heartbreaking Shock.” “Strange
Thoughts.” “Epic Emotions.” “Intense Love.” “Forgiving Hearts.” “Abundant
Grace.” “Profound Sadness”. Everything was/is heightened to a new level. But as time went/goes on, while we all remained/remain changed, we found/find ourselves able to thrive again in the new scenery. So shall it be for those of us moving forward without Andy. We will thrive in the new scenery, not despite the profound loss, but because of the gain and clarity that can come in the experience, even when it feels like tragedy. </div>
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The dictionary still lets us down. We don’t have optimal words to describe the emotions that
have existed for centuries, (sad is still just sad, and grief is still just
grief) but our understanding of each grows as our experiences do. When you ask me how I am doing, I'm still going to say "sad". It's the only word I have to offer you. But now when I say those words I will use, there is something underneath I'm not saying. It’s what the adjectives always knew but I never
did. <o:p></o:p><br />
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<br />
<i><span style="color: #c27ba0;">It began as a story of prophylactic mastectomy and became a smattering of everyday life. I write so I can remember. I write so I can advocate. But mostly, I write to overcome. </span></i><span style="color: #003366; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.98px;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">To access previous blog posts - click </span><a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="color: black;">.</span></div>
Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5432863274284487379.post-86493068524646654992017-01-24T12:52:00.004-05:002017-06-06T17:40:21.695-04:00January 24, 2017 - The Living Room<div class="MsoNormal">
This certainly isn’t the first time you have heard me
discuss my mother (Dad, we are bonded too!). We’ve had a long road. I know, a majority of children are
bonded to their parents. It’s God’s gift to humanity. Nine plus months spent in
a womb was purposely designed. He could have continued to create life in the
snap of a finger. He created an entire world in 7 days. I can’t help but think
there was some providence in his purposeful selection of 40 weeks of baby spent
in mother’s womb. He carefully concocted the role of relationship and even more
carefully orchestrated the complexity of family, but his master design was that
of the maternal bond beginning with the first tingle of baby’s foot moving
under mother’s skin or the sound of that first heart beat. My bond in specific with my mother continued to grow from that
very first tingle, and even more after my traumatic birth, then again with birth
defect, again as a teenager with lymphoma, and again and again when life continued to toss
all three of her children with what life tosses as my mother gathered up her ducklings
under her powerful wing in every attempt to save us from humanity. Mothers do what mothers do. Every single thing she absolutely can. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Four years ago, while I was in the middle of my double mastectomy,
mom moved in for a few weeks. There were many mornings spent in my living room in conversation
about the given circumstance. Bandages. Breast drains. Body images. Navigating
this. Navigating that. One morning in particular after Ron had already left for
work, I woke up and my sheets were covered in blood, mom was there to help me
pull it all back together. Twenty one years ago, I was a teenager with
lymphoma. Amy and Andy were off to school, Dad was at work, and mom and I were
often in her living room navigating malignancy. The conversations were
different, often without words, but the bond was there because we were it doing
to together. In fact, that was the start of our living room bond. These past 2 weeks, after Andy’s death (if you are new to this blog, my brother passed away just a few days ago), mom is
back in my living room and kitchen. We are back to our morning discussions. The bandages
are different, but we are there pulling it all back together. I made the
statement just this week to her: “It’s funny how we keep finding ourselves back
in the living room.” I’m not a mother, so I don’t have the mother bond all
figured out. But I know as she stands in my living room and kitchen with her youngest
daughter as we have always done when I am in crisis mode, she is missing the bond of
middle son she lost a few weeks ago. I work in a world of mothers losing their
children, but those mothers aren’t my mother. Nothing prepares you. </div>
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This week, while in crisis in the living room, I have been swimming in the legacy of my brother, Andy, and therefore the legacy of
my parents, my sister, but also now the legacy of myself. Nothing
has been more therapeutic to me than to hear the amazing stories of my brother.
Being his younger sister, I only got glimpses into his life. Sure, I know the
stories of his life when he shoved me into the closet to play “hide and seek”
and then went next door to play while I continued to hide for what was
seemingly “hours” on end. Or memories of running behind trying to keep up on my
bike pedaling as fast as my little legs would carry me in awe of little sister
chasing big brother. There were the times we camped in sleeping bags in the
living room, or lined up the dining room chairs to play “airplane”, or the
times (more than once, mind you) Amy and Andy shoved me in the floor board of the
car so they would have more room on the bench seat for the road trip
(collateral damage of being the youngest), or memories of jumping off the top
bunk over and over again yelling “Geronimo!”, or Andy telling me stories about
dog doo-doo so I would throw up my Twizzlers ( I use "doo-doo" because those are the childhood words he used, and it worked), or digging the 9 foot
hole in our neighbor’s (!) back yard to build a fort, or sledding down the drive way in the
mountains, or pulling my dad’s pants down to his knees while he carried
groceries in the rain, or laughing until we cried as Andy told me about his
last prank, or finding out Andy had a crush on my best friend and me not being
so happy about that, or being locked out of his room because little sisters
aren’t as cool as big brothers, or banging on the bathroom door because boys
don’t need longer showers than girls but Andy didn’t understand that, or
perpetual frustration at Andy always being late, or rolling my eyes at the
trail of girls following Andy in high-school, or having to suffer through living
in the trailer with Andy in college but sharing that same trailer with his two
smelly pet ferrets, or everyone oohing and aahing over his red hair and
freckles, or trying to beat him over to grandmas after school on our bike so I
could be the one to spend the night. But as young life transitioned into
adulthood the experience became less as our lives morphed more into
independence. I didn’t know Andy bled into the lives of your children by
encouraging them to be bold and confident. I didn’t know he encouraged other Christians
to rely on their reading of a passage not what their pastor told them. I had no
idea he still read books to his teenage kids. I didn’t know he spent hours
telling you about his faith in college. I didn’t know he pranked your dad in
high-school. You have so many stories I had not heard. When Andy entered your
room, he left you feeling good about yourself. He would bring you to your knees
in laughter. He taught you to do the right thing in middle school (Thank you,
David, for telling me that story). He left you wanting more of him. Andy wasn't perfect. I know there are even stories where he let you down. But where he was on target most of the time was when he spent time with other people. He made other people feel valued. He made you want to be a better version of you. <o:p></o:p><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Do I do that? Being a woman (or having been an adolescent hormonal girl at one time), the chances are I have let you
down on numerous occasions. Women are notorious for bringing other women down.
We size each other up and do everything we can to make the others feel “less”. I’ve
written about that before. You can find it <a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/2016/05/may-16-2016-horizontal-stripes.html" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: blue;">Here - Stripes.</span></b></a> But hearing the stories of Andy
these past few weeks from each of you, I want to rethink my role in each of
your lives. Am I doing enough? Do you see God in me? Do you see God INSTEAD of
me? After I die (and even before I die) will you look back and see that I changed
your life? Did I leave the room and leave you wanting more? Did I leave you
feeling better about yourself? Do you find yourself wanting to do life better
because you knew me? If not, I have let you down. And trust me, I know I have
let you down. It didn’t take losing Andy for me to know this. I have been a “typical
women” just as most women have, but I know that I live in God’s grace, and I
know that God is the God of second, and third, and fourth chances. Losing
Andy, and time spent with my mom in my living room, is re-reminding me of a few
things. See, I told you God does glorious things in complicated and heartbreaking situations, even death. My hope is that each interaction you have with me is better than the
one you had the time before as God continues to grow me, and as He continues to
reveal Himself to me, and as He continues to reveal MYSELF to me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
My mom and I continue to do life in my living room. Andy brought
us back together once again. Who knows what will bring us back to the living
room in the future. Now, I’m inviting you to my “living room” where we are left to do our living. Some of you have
already been coming here as you have been reading my posts for 4 years now. We’ve
done mastectomy together. We’ve down downsizing together. We’ve done fibrosis
together. Now we are grieving together. I don’t have any magic to offer you,
but sometimes doing life together is all we need. I’m starting with this question: <b><span style="color: #a64d79;"><span style="color: #674ea7;">What kind of
legacy do you want to leave? One day people will be grieving you. But we need
to start now. This is our chance for a do over to get it right. What kind of impression do we leave when we walk into and out of
a room?</span> </span></b>That is where I am starting. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="color: #c27ba0;">It began as a story of prophylactic mastectomy and became a
smattering of everyday life. I write so I can remember. I write so I can
advocate. But mostly, I write to overcome. </span></i><span style="color: #003366; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;">To access previous blog posts - click </span><a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="color: black;">.</span></div>
Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5432863274284487379.post-71163021263687453622017-01-20T15:34:00.001-05:002017-01-24T14:19:27.946-05:00January 20, 2017 - Even in the death of Andy<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve been living in a bubble. I have no concept of your
birthday. I had to be reminded we were gaining a new president in these
twenty-four hours. While your world has been about going to the grocery store
and driving your child to school for a semester's end exam, I have been living
all things Andy. You are doing exactly what you are supposed to do. The world
is to continue its course, pulsating with each turn on its orbit. You are to go
about your day enjoying the things scattered throughout your hours. I would be doing the same in your shoes because I adore the ins and outs of every day life. I have
purposely tried to re-enter your world. But I’m not there yet, partly by
choice, mostly by necessity. I have scrolled your social media trying to excite
myself in the delight of your café latte. I’ve driven to work and walked its
hallways. I even pushed a cart down aisle ten in the grocery store but shortened its scavenger list
after finding it overwhelming. I’m
succeeding at some tasks and failing at others. I’m still in Andy’s bubble.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
It was January 11<sup>th
</sup>and I was standing in my bathroom at the sink when my
phone rang. It was 10:05 in the morning. Normally at that very hour, I would have been at work seeing patients, but this morning in particular, I was home after having had a migraine the past 36 hours. God knew
why I was at home that day. God knew I needed to be at home in my bathroom when
my mother’s phone number came across the screen. “Sally, I am about to give you
terrible news. Are you at work?" I don't recall how I responded but I recall the start of her next sentence. "Andy is dead…..” The conversation went on for a bit in precise,
purposeful, short sentences as I was changing my clothes, grabbing items, and
working my way to my car. I spent the next 6 hours right there. Precise,
Purposeful, Short. There is a new piece of Sally it took 42 years to suddenly now have all figured out. Sally now knows how Sally reacts to death. Andy was my
first Death. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve lost grandparents. I’ve lost in-laws. I’ve lost close
friends. Nothing prepared me for losing my only brother, Andy. I spent the first six hour in a
state of shock (precise, purposeful, short) being where I needed to be, doing
what I need to do, asking the right questions, giving the right answers. There
was a moment that day about 3 hours after getting the call that I remembering asking
someone if they wanted salad dressing on their plate. Even as I said the word "salad dressing" I remember thinking how stupid it sounded to be uttering those words in the moment.
I really needed to know the answer to the question as I was putting vegetables
down on the plate, but I remember thinking how stupid it felt to be going
through the task of fixing a plate on a day like that day. Turns out I couldn’t
eat more than a single bite, and that would last almost 48 hours as my body knew
what my mind didn’t, but we find a way to do what needs to be done when we are
in the initial moments of tragedy. That night, while lying in bed where no sleep
was to be found, I had 12 hours to feel each and every emotion that couldn’t be
found earlier in the day. I relived my version of Andy’s final minutes. I swam
in a sea of 42 years of sibling dynamics. I wrapped myself in a cocoon of love
that comes with family. I counted with precision each passing hour building on
yet another hour of accumulating loss. I mourned the finality of earthly
memories. I feared the days to come. I found Joy in heavenly reunions. I wept
in the details of accidental tragedy. It simply was a swirling concoction of a weary mind
and a grieving heart. Grief is a powerful untamed entity of which I am just now truly
becoming acquainted. I work in a world of grief. I have lost less immediate relatives and friends. I have seen you lose people you love. But how naïve we all are when we think we know what we speak
of when we have not experienced something ourselves. We live in a world where we become experts because we have watched something happen around us. Boy, are we oh so very wrong. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As I'm learning about the folly of my misdirected assumption, I am relishing in the incredible blessings that are already almost too numerous to count. This
is the glory of Christianity. People say blessings happen to everyone. Yes,
they do, but realize it is in the power and presence of God and in his orchestration in
which they occur. Count your
blessings, name them one by one. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<li>Eight little girls gathered around someone’s
table and created the most precious card (picture below) of bible verses for Andy’s wife. The
power and belief through the eye of children.</li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Over 900 people came to the funeral and over 600
to the visitation service. Through this outpouring of friendship and respect
for Andy, I was able to cocoon myself love and be reminded that people and
relationships is what God purposes us for here on this side of Heaven.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">My mother, sister, and I were able to meet with
the man (I will call him Frank here) who found Andy and performed CPR. The day
I found out about Andy I kept praying for Frank, who I could only imagine was
traumatized by his experience. I prayed for him for 3 solid days for peace and
healing from what he experienced. Later, circumstances led to me finding him
and the joyful reunion we were able to have with him. He brought us flowers. I
will forever be changed by that meeting with him, his wife, and children.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">My family has been able to grow closer to each
other in ways we haven’t imagined as we grieved together and navigated
unchartered territories of loss.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Andy’s household has been covered with friends who
have cleaned, organized, fed, and loved on family. God calls us to community
to do life with each other. What a perfect model of this.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Friends, and even strangers, have shared stories
with us of how Andy has impacted their lives. A very large world suddenly
feels so much smaller.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">We’ve prayed for some very specific needs after
Andy’s death and within hours answers to those prayers have arrived on our doorstep.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">We’ve met so many people in the last week who
have shared similar loss; we are not traveling this road alone. God has now
gifted me in this experience and prepared me to help one of you who, unfortunately, will experience this in your future.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Just when I think I’ve recieved the last card,
another card arrives in the mail encouraging me or filled with memories.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "symbol"; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I’ve watched my niece and nephew rely on tangible
faith that is more than just words in a book, but rather a reality that has
been modeled to them from their father and their mentors.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Every single human contact I have had following
this tragedy has been an awesome one. You guys simply know how to support me.
Be in in silence. Be in in encouraging words. Be in in showing up in a big way.
Therefore my next few words do not apply to you. You did it well!</span></li>
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The list goes on and it will
continue to grow as these weeks morph into months. But for now after only a
week of being in Andy’s bubble, I’m relying on the blessings to help me
traverse from the brother-shaped bubble back to grocery store aisles, and work
hallways, and café lattes of your world you continue to traverse while I am on
this non-linear continuum. I’m suspicious it is going to take longer than
usual, because “usual” is a word that shouldn’t be applied in such scenarios.
There should be no expectations implied. No schedules demanded. No words
uttered as to what normal needs to be. There is no normal anymore, but rather an
“after” that will set a new tone that I haven’t experienced before. So we all need to understand these next few
words: To friends of people grieving loss or experiencing tragedy (or even navigating
mastectomy) there is no way of knowing if I am on track or not because I have
never been here before and there is no right way for us to do this. And you
should have no opinion of whether I am on track or not because everyone does
each experience differently. What a relief. Now, this does NOT mean you should
stick your head in the sand and not be on the lookout for warning signs. You should
not ignore downward spirals. But we as a culture should not enforce our
expectations of the right or wrong way to grieve on those people around us
grieving. Not our timeline. Not our method. Not our depth or degree. What we
should do is make our presence known. Pray them through it. And offer as few
words as possible in to the how and why. Be simple. Don’t be absent. Show up. Do
life together. That is all we are commanded to do. Provide no judgement. And
then, let them get through it in what ever way and on whatever timeline they go.
Offer words of encouragement. That’s it. And if you have been there before,
tell them that too, because they may need your listening ear one day knowing that
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I'm removing all expectations from myself and I'm simply doing it. "It" being life after January 11. I'm getting up. I'm going to work. I'm loving on the people around me. I'm tackling the to-do list. I'm crying when I need to crying. I turned my radio on today for the first time in 7 days. I turned my TV on for the first time last night in 6. It stayed on only for a few minutes. It was too much. But it went on. I'm trying to weave myself back into your appreciation of cafe lattes. I'm trying to write thank you notes (Bear with me! It may take a bit!). I am trying to smile when you tell me about your funny story. Sometimes you may get a blank stare because I still have two feet in that bubble, but I am taking walks around the bubble each day. Keep telling me the story. Keep drawing me back out. There is now a Before and there is
now an After. I have no idea how to do this After. But just like there was “after
mastectomy”, I mastered that, so I will master this too. It’s going to look different
than any of us expect. It’s going to feel different. I’m already thinking different.
Once you stare at the face of your 44 year old brother in a casket you don’t
see anything the same ever again. Even God seems to have changed. He’s wiser.
He’s stronger. He’s more intricate. He bring light to more truth. He makes life more
full. He makes mercy more prevalent. He makes family more rich. Not that He’s more
of those things, God has been and always will be the same, but rather my
understanding of each has more depth. I’ve changed and with that God simply seems
more. This I know, there are blessings that emerge out of complication, even in the death of
Andy, and with that I move from Before to After and wherever God takes me we will go. </div>
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<span style="color: blue;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Joshua 1:9<span style="font-size: x-small;"> <span style="background-color: white;">Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid;</span><span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-5861A" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-5861A" title="See cross-reference A">A</a>)" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span><span style="background-color: white;"> do not be discouraged,</span><span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-5861B" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-5861B" title="See cross-reference B">B</a>)" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span><span style="background-color: white;"> for the </span><span class="small-caps" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-numeric: normal;">Lord</span><span style="background-color: white;"> your God will be with you wherever you go.”</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">To access previous blog posts - click </span><a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="color: black;">.</span></div>
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Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5432863274284487379.post-28114772701391281622017-01-12T13:03:00.004-05:002017-01-17T12:18:56.443-05:00January 11, 2017 - Andy<div class="MsoNormal">
People say losing your child is the worst hurt there is.
Others say losing your spouse. Others, a parent. I say we need to stop
comparing because I am discovering the hurt is unbearable in every situation so
what is the point in comparing. Hurt is hurt, and the hurt is to your core. My
toes hurt. My hair hurts. My nose hurt. Literally, my eye lashes hurt. I hurt
because I loved. I had the unique luxury of getting to love him in a way only
one other person on the planet got to love him, my sister, as we got to love
him as a brother. Two had the special pleasure to love him as son. One had the incredible
bond of loving him as husband. Two more will cherish him forever as Father. Some
of your will forever be blessed in the love that came through friendship. Each
way brings something unique and special to the one who gets to love. I, myself,
loved him not only because he was my only brother, I loved Andy because he was
so very easy to love. <o:p></o:p></div>
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If you knew him, you knew that too. Andy would walk into a
room and the atmosphere would morph at the exact speed of his walk. It was as
if he knew exactly what the room needed and carried a secret stash of it in his
pocket. And with that you immediately became endeared to his demeanor. His
simply knew how to carry the room and you along with it, almost without you
knowing you were along for the glorious ride. He would walk in and the first
thing you would notice was the grin. It was totally endearing and I can’t get
it out of my mind. It engulfed my thoughts last night as I laid in bed. It’s
impossible to miss because while it was subtle, it also somehow matched his
gait. So when he walked into a room, you got the whole package, the grin and
the gait, and you wanted to envelope yourself in his goodness. He was giving.
He wanted to be involved in the lives of others, particularly his children
where he devoted countless hours to their lives, be it in church, in school, or
after school activities. He was Christ-centered and focused his family around
everything God wanted it to be. Family was his core and where he grounded his
life and after that, friendship is where he focused his time. His house was an
open door of people coming and going. It matched his personality, an extrovert
who breathed life into others and found fulfillment from being with you. And
time spent with Andy was time spent doubled over in laughter. He was the
funniest person I knew. Our family is a collection of stories of Andy’s pranks and
funny moments in life and they are stories that deserve to be celebrated. Witty,
charming, calm, brilliant, devoted. He simply knew how to do life well and
therefore you couldn’t help but find yourself wanting to do life with Andy. I
have so many memories of running behind Andy, simply trying to keep up. Not so
much in the pace of life, he was always more laid back than I, but rather the
younger sister that wanted to stay in his reach. I always wanted to have a
finger in his bucket of life. He always had something I wanted to be a part of
for if he was a part of it, he simply drew you in. He was a natural leader, so
as he led, you wanted to follow. He was a natural giver, so as he gave, you
found yourself wanting to give. He collected friends like they were blue light
specials, so I wanted to be his friend. He knew how to take an idea and turn it
into genius. Unfortunately, his brilliance wasn’t infectious. But his zest for
life would pull you in like a tidal wave and you simply wanted to hold on for
dear life with hopes of being carried along for the hundred miles. Doing life
with Andy was worth doing and it was something you craved without even being
aware you were craving it. He simply was infectious. And loving. And endearing.
And….everything good in life.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And now, we are left doing life without Andy. I’m not quite
sure how to do life without Andy. I found myself yesterday having to sit in a
room without Andy walking into it. It was a room that needed to morph and Andy
wasn’t there with his pocket. He leaves a tangible void. It’s a void we all
feel, those of us that knew him for if we knew him we loved him, as brother, as
son, as father, as husband, as friend. It’s
as though we all got to see Andy in a way others didn’t get to see him. We each
hold a piece of his story, a building block that when put together build up his
whole. Andy made each of who we are, but each of us also made Andy who he was. If
you knew Andy, you have a story. He most certainly left you with a story. I’m
hoping that story will find a way to seep into the space that sits in this
room. I keep looking up to see Andy walk in around the corner. But he’s not
walking in. But his story will. Tell me his story. I’m collecting his stories. For
his stories are what will keep him here. My words here are short, because there simply
are no words, but it needed to be said that I loved Andy because he was so very
easy to love. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p>This was the last passage Andy was reading. It’s the perfect testament to the legacy he leaves behind.</o:p></div>
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<b>Romans 12:9-13</b> New
American Standard – <o:p></o:p></div>
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<sup>9 </sup><i>Let</i>
love <i>be</i> without hypocrisy. Abhor what is evil; cling to what is good. <sup>10 </sup><i>Be</i>
devoted to one another in brotherly love; <sup>[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=romans+12%3A9-13&version=NASB#fen-NASB-28256a" title="See footnote a"><span style="color: blue;">a</span></a>]</sup>give
preference to one another in honor; <sup>11 </sup>not lagging behind in
diligence, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord; <sup>12 </sup>rejoicing in
hope, persevering in tribulation, devoted to prayer, <sup>13 </sup>contributing
to the needs of the <sup>[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=romans+12%3A9-13&version=NASB#fen-NASB-28259b" title="See footnote b"><span style="color: blue;">b</span></a>]</sup>saints, <sup>[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=romans+12%3A9-13&version=NASB#fen-NASB-28259c" title="See footnote c"><span style="color: blue;">c</span></a>]</sup>practicing
hospitality.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="color: black;">To access previous blog posts - click </span><a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="color: black;">.</span><br />
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Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5432863274284487379.post-16857094725236464932016-12-30T14:29:00.001-05:002017-01-06T12:08:22.505-05:00December 30, 2016 - Anything you want it to beMom said I deserve good news. She's precious like that. She really is my best cheerleader. She consistently follows, and comments, and checks in. If there is an appointment to be had, she is texting me that morning with reminders to let her know as soon as I get out. If I am awaiting a result, she sits on the edges of her own chair in wait as well. If a post is made here on these pages, she is responding. So when I texted her from the clinic office chair, that was her reply: "You deserve good news!". And good news is what I got.<br />
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I went back to that clinic (lung transplant) earlier this week for those followup test, and low and behold if I didn't out score myself. I dare not say valedictorian, because you would outscore me, but I did outscore myself. I am keeping a chart of my 9 or so "symptoms" and charting along the months of "worsening" or "improving". Ron and I had noticed a few categories of improvements, if not all together resolution (mainly shortness of breath when crossing a room, yes, it had gotten that point a year ago back when we have the fibrosis diagnosis), this past summer so we were intrigued to see what this round of testing would show. Well, as I said, low and behold, I had a 30% improvement in my obstructive lung function almost back to a normal lung. I still have the very bothersome (to me) symptoms of a reactive airway when climbing hills or even one flight of stairs and have absolutely no reserve during a respiratory infection, but no longer have symptoms when crossing a room or even changing clothes. We have some thoughts as to why this might be the case (6 chest surgeries back to back and multiple anesthesia exposures), but the lung test are corresponding with the symptom resolutions. Hallelujah! And you know what else!?! This definitely seals the deal on radiation induced fibrosis instead of idiopathic fibrosis (had it been idiopathic, the tests would be worse a year later). So you can see why I have utter delight here. I haven't spoken directly to Lung Guru as she is out of the office this week, but we discussed these options prior to taking the tests and will discuss again in greater detail with her next week. We will be switching around some medications to help my lungs get greater reserve during infection and to help me out in winter months and in the mornings (mornings are super hard for me), and see how it goes after 3 months. All in all, I am super delight. And I mean super delighted. See, good news. And now I feel like Fibrosis can fade into my back ground a bit with better assurance that idiopathic is truly off the table. I felt sure this was the case, but it is nice having these improved lung tests as tangible data. We all like proof, don't we? Radiation induced fibrosis, we can now be friends.<br />
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This weekend we are flipping into a new year. I've never been one for new year's resolutions. I always found it strange to wait until the end of the year to set new goals. I always found it more reassuring to immediately set the goal as soon as I found the need to have one. That's my "immediate gratification" coming out I guess. I've never been one to procrastinate. Why wait to the new year? But this year in particular (call it being in my forties and better in tune with what life is all about) I do see the value of looking back over the past year and taking "stock" per se. What went well? What didn't go well? Maybe that is what New Years resolutions is really all about and I have simply misunderstood it all these years. Everyone is on this kick about how horrible 2016 has been. There have been some crazy lows for humanity as a whole. I get it, but I really want to dive into the year, and for myself anyway, pick out the highs of the year. I don't want 2016 to go down in the books as a year where humanity rolled over on itself and also tried to wrap me up into a label. And I don't want 2016 to go down as the year where I almost rolled over on myself. (A little drastic, I really loved most about this year. I'm built that way).<br />
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For me, 2016 became my "Be Still" year, thanks to the last couple of months, but it's also a year where I learned a lot about humanity. I learned what value I place on other people and how much of my worth hinges on in their perspective of me. I also discovered that people in return also determine a value of me and you never know what that is based on. It was a year where I had to reach far to put my faith in God above my faith in man. I had to put my talk to the test and my walk to the test as well. I was able to prove to myself that standing firm takes far more guts than I ever thought it would and freedom to live and freedom to choose does in fact come at a cost. Words I've heard uttered my entire life now have meaning to me, not because I read them in a book, but because I tested them by standing firm in my belief and endured the outcome. This year has been propelling. It's pushed my limits. It's tested my gut. And it's created an output. Sally is more resilient. Sally is more steadfast. Sally is more faithful. Sally is more thoughtful. Sally is more introspective. Sally is more aware. Sally is more purposeful in relationships. Sally is more easily delighted. Sally is more comfortable in her own skin. Sally is more easily heartbroken by your pain. Sally is not going to be labeled. Sally is seeking out truth through gospel lenses. Sally is not a better person than the person next to her, Sally is simply better than the Sally she was before. It's not a new year's resolution. It's a past year's summation. We are to leave monuments along the way of what God is doing in our lives. Later we will look back as reminders of where He met of where we were, and when we had nothing left to give, He took us the rest of the way. This monument is rather about finding courage through the Holy Spirit to step out in Faith knowing that He calls us to stand firm even when it feels like you might be standing alone.<br />
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You see, 2016 is anything you want it to be. It's up to you. You get to choose. It (and any other year) can be the worst year ever. Or it can be another year of monuments. It even can be a great year if perspective allows it. That's the difference in being a victim or a life changer. I'm finding the good in 2016 starting with what is happening in me. And 2017, I'm all over you.<br />
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<span style="color: black;">To access previous blog posts - click </span><a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="color: black;">.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><br /></span>Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5432863274284487379.post-38264884183895828022016-12-06T15:48:00.000-05:002016-12-06T19:37:51.067-05:00December 5, 2016 - Who is your Mrs. Willis?<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m so sorry! I just plopped myself down on your bench like
I owned it without any regard for you sitting there!” She remind me so much of
Paula Deen (had Paula straightened her hair and lessened her makeup and faded
her presence bit). I mean really a splitting image in her hair color, her eyes,
and her vocal accent. The southern drawl pulled me in at “I’m so sorry” and
held me for the rest of the conversation. (It wasn’t until the drive home that
I made the connection in the resemblance). She truly had my from the get go.
The moment she sat and spoke those words, my laptop lid was closed because I
knew this was a lady I wanted to chat with. I simply knew her as “Mrs. Willis”
(name changed for privacy; I later heard them call her name) and “Mrs. Willis
from Asheville” because later she told me where she lived as we discussed the wildfires
in the western part of the state. It was super early in the morning so I
wondered how she had driven in from Asheville to which she responded she and
her husband (also having plopped down on the bench a moment before alongside
her) had driven up the night before for today’s appointment. For once, I’m not
in the breast cancer clinic. Instead, almost a year to the day after the first
time I sat in this very clinic, I am back in the lung transplant clinic. A more
dreary place. A place that affects me in a totally different way. And here is
Mrs. Willis, intertwining herself into my story. She wore all black. And it
suited her perfectly. Not because of her demeanor, but because it set her shoulder
length (gorgeous!) silver head of hair into a sparkle like a tinsel loaded Christmas
ribbon a top her head. Then that smile, full of teeth, glared back at you while
her eyes stared into your soul. I’m not exaggerating in the least. She was straight
off a Christmas card, yet at the same time, she had a North Carolina down-to-earth
appearance about her too. She simply was a lady you wanted at your Sunday dinner
table eating corn bread and chicken, and for nothing short of 4 hours. I swear
I heard her husband utter nothing more than 4 words (all said when he almost
fell off the bench when she stood up too quick) and not because she spoke too
much (she was soft spoken and meek), but because he was reading the paper while
they sat. She simply took in the room and spoke to me while she glanced around.
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It was so remarkable to me how she brought up the wildfires
within 3 minutes of sitting down. It was the very thing on my mind as she “plopped”
on the bench. I could have been thinking about a million other things as she
walked up to me. I was working on a work project as she walked over. But my
mind was drifting to those fires. Those fires, near and dear for a number of
reason had been weighing heavy. How did she know that at the very moment she
and her husband plopped, I was thinking of those fires? How did she also know that
a few minutes before she plopped, I had watched her cross the waiting room (the
jam packed waiting room!) admiring her everything. She had this demeanor that
simply spoke to me. And somehow she found herself beside me, out in the
hallway, on a bench, waiting our turn, and her bringing up the very thing that
was on my mind – wild fires. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As she sat talking about wildfires, and later, other topics,
I was becoming aware of how my behavior in the waiting room has drifted over
the last 4 years. My being an introvert naturally pulls me to the “nose in a
book”, eyes down, no contact behavior stance it’s so easy to take in a place
such as this. But I have story after story of women sparking up conversation
with me in a waiting room. Some of those stories had a huge change in my life.
Maybe some of those stories had a huge change in their life. I think of Ms.
Jocelyn (<a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/2015/11/november-19-2015-as-she-exclaimed-who.html" target="_blank">Story Here - November 20, 2015</a>),
in her 80s and her “hard boobs” and the hysterical delight she gave me that
day, and maybe the information I was able to give her in return. I think of the
lady in her 60’s (<a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/2014/07/july-23-2014-pink-sharpie.html" target="_blank">Story Here - July 23, 2014</a>) and the Joy exuded from her in the waiting room and also the the
lady in her 70’s (<a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/2015/08/august-13-2015-one-hand-on-house.html" target="_blank">Story Here - August 13, 201</a>6) fresh out of her procedure and the confusion I observed while
listening to her and her husband. Oh how I wish I had struck up a conversation
with both of those women. And I can only
imagine how many more stories there would have been had I NOT had my nose in
that book, or had I been the one to start the conversation. Then there were the
4 women of the mammogram waiting room (<a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/2016/08/august-25-2016-life-has-way-of-tweaking.html" target="_blank">Story Here - August 25, 2015</a>) . Wow, that was a day. There were
so many miss opportunities because I sat silent. And then there were so many
opportunities granted because some lady didn’t sit silent! I’m working hard to
be the person who gets her head out of the book. The lady who sits and waits. The
lady who makes eye contact. And the lady who welcomes conversation. I’m
wondering what kind of doors that will open by making myself available to other
people. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I didn’t do such a great job of that with Mrs. Willis (I had
my laptop open as I was tidying up some work), but I quickly remembered to shut
the laptop as soon as she sat down to set the stage for whatever God would
bring. I’m mold-able. And I love what God is doing with that. I’m working to be the person that seeks out
opportunities instead of hides myself in the introverted world I adore. There’s
a time and place for that. But I don’t think the time for that, for me, is the
waiting room. And it has taken me 4 years to get there. My story with Mrs.
Willis didn’t turn into a page turner, but it got my attention in my hearing
God remind me in saying “Sally, remember, make yourself available, and I will
use you.” He did this by having Ms. Willis speak the words about the wild fire
that were in my head the moment she spoke them. God brings things into
alignment at his timing, for his purpose, and we can either be on board or we
can thwart the moment by being caught up in ourselves (or our laptops). God,
you have my attention. You keep reminding me time and time again. Waiting room
after waiting room. I am getting on board. Thank you for bringing me Mrs.
Willis as a reminder that you bring us people for a very specific reasons. If
it takes the Lung Clinic to re-remind me, so be it. Who is your Mrs. Willis? Who is your Ms. Jocelyn. Who is God continuing to bring to your path as a reminder that he wants you to do something. To be something. To make yourself available. I am stubborn headed. I should have never needed to go all the way to Mrs. Willis. But I did. (I'm kinda glad I did, cause I truly adored her!) I am there now. I'm all in.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So I’m back to seeing Lung Guru. If you need to catch yourself
up on that story about the pulmonary fibrosis you can start reading <a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/2015/12/december-8-2015-its-not-absence-of.html" target="_blank">Story Here December 2015</a>. I
was scheduled to see her for follow-up back in September, but along came the
breast nodule and things got put on hold. I rescheduled and am now back on
board with the lung appointments. It’s time to re-do all the testing we did
last year to see if there has been any progression so I have that scheduled for
next week. The good news is there has not been any symptom progression (and
maybe in some ways there has been some improvements with day to day symptoms),
but I’ve had monthly respiratory infections since June and that is new. So we
want to work that up. The good news is she is the guru, so I am not worried
about that at all. We are being thoughtful and will figure it all out. No news
for now. Just some more testing. <o:p></o:p><br>
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Writing has been on hold for a bit as October and November
were heavy months. I don’t have specific details other than to say the world
has been heavy and I have felt the heaviness of it. I’ve been aligning myself
with God’s calling me to Be Still, and in that, to also Be Silent. So my words
to page have purposely been less. I never want to write simply because I can,
but only want to write for purpose. He called me to and through this journey,
particularly around mastectomy, but also in everyday life that unfolds after
mastectomy. Being still is part of restoration and sometimes part of being
still is being silent. Thank you for your patience as I waited that out.</div>
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I will update you again soon, I hope. Your ongoing
readership means much, and I hope his work in my steps bring even a sliver of light
also to yours. <o:p></o:p><br>
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<span style="color: black;">To access previous blog posts - click </span><a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="color: black;">.</span></div>
Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5432863274284487379.post-50179348250762392622016-10-27T13:49:00.001-04:002016-10-27T15:11:13.520-04:00October 27, 2016 - Kisses on the boo-boo<br>
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This is a trivial thing compared to anything else in the mastectomy process, but it should be mentioned because you won't suspect it in foresight. And it catches you off guard. Trust me, I am in for seven times now and I still have the exact same emotion. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. So this is what you need to know, no matter how many times you have stitches in your boob, it never feels normal. I don't necessarily mean physically, honestly you can't feel the actual stitches. Remember, early on, you have very little feeling your breast after the initial malignancy. It take some time (if at all) for feeling to start to return. and it doesn't return for everyone. So this isn't an aspect of how the stitches "feel", but rather how you feel about the stitches. It's just not normal to be walking around with stitches in your boob. Sure you have stitches in your knee from the tumble you took off your bike as a kid, no problem. Kisses on the boo boo from your mom and little ice cream and you are good to go. I realize there may be a little obsession with it and the bandaid as kids do, but as an adult, you rarely if ever think about the stitches in your knee. Your boob however, well, a little different story.<br>
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First you constantly "think" you feel the tug of the stitches. no matter how big or small the incision. I would say my very first incision (for the mastectomy itself) was/is between 4 and 5 inches long. Not a trivial incision and totally reasonable that it would be on your mind almost every minute of every day for the time period your stitches are in place (even if you have a glued incision instead of actual stitches). What surprised me though was that 7 procedures later (6 surgeries, 1 biopsy), and despite this new incision now being only about 1 inch (a far cry in size from the original incision), It still sits on my mind a good bit of the time. Particularly in the shower. Particularly when changing clothes, particularly when the bandage comes on and off, but even just as I am going about my day, it is there in my mind. Additionally, while it is in MY mind, I also totally assume YOU can see straight through my shirt, my bra, my bandage and can see every stitch in all it's glory. It's an absurd thought to think YOU can see my stitches, but it goes to show how abnormal your thinking can be while walking around with stitches in your boob. Ron once said to me "I wish I could understand why a stitch can get you all out of sorts". I get it, it's weird that it can always be on your mind. But it is. And I don't have to be able to explain it for it to be fact, but it is something that I think you should be aware of for when/if you find yourself in those mastectomy, reconstruction or biopsy shoes. You aren't strange, you are just getting through it. And there is no shame there. (You will be surprised how much stuff sits on your mind, but you certainly in foresight don't expect stitches to fall in to that category). <br><br>
But guess what!? The stitches come out tonight after a day of work (or came out today depending on when you are reading this) and the thoughts of stitches forever being in the back of my mind will be gone with the stitches. And that, my friends, makes me a happy gal. Because with those stitches go the thoughts of biopsy too. It's truly a "throw it all out in the trash" kind of day. And life gets to go back to "Pre-Boob-Lump" mode, complete with it's on issues, but different issues, and sometimes it's fun to focus on something other than boob. <br>
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Now, I won't lie to you, all 8 hours of my day today at work will be laden with the dread of stitch removal. I want them out, but don't want to actually be part of the experience of their actual removal. I loathe these things and I detest having stitches taken out. I can take you back to my very first memory of stitch removal when I was six (cleft lip repair), and I can still feel that thread being pulled through my lip. It makes me want to yack. No yacking today. Easy cheesy (and a lot of head holding). By the way, I have no trouble at all watching YOU get your stitches, it's getting my own stitches out that cause me to lose the lunch. Stay tuned. <br><br>
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(This post is focused with the mastectomy reader in mind. I realize it is less applicable to the average reader. You are a trooper to still be following me. I would have left me a long time ago. Smile. Also, I rarely share pictures because it's the boob and tastefulnees matters. Tried to be tasteful here so you can have an idea what to expect if you have a biopsy. Note, biopsies differ greatly so this is only one of many possibilities.)<br>
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<span style="color: black;">To access previous blog posts - click </span><a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="color: black;">.</span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiK3qe4HDMLnUeJ77tiAjEpOMrnfeR0VC6X8NYUrzOVDqP5lYPgoxXYI0VZIMy4QNbkZJiUhlpRdk4Q6xX1OpJvW4TtztAS747Osefq6ZCxeMJMD121oSXEodsz0BOc7EiexPIik0Di7dG/s1600/20161014_211647-1-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiK3qe4HDMLnUeJ77tiAjEpOMrnfeR0VC6X8NYUrzOVDqP5lYPgoxXYI0VZIMy4QNbkZJiUhlpRdk4Q6xX1OpJvW4TtztAS747Osefq6ZCxeMJMD121oSXEodsz0BOc7EiexPIik0Di7dG/s640/20161014_211647-1-1.jpg"> </a> </div>Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5432863274284487379.post-35939678563037173512016-10-14T09:51:00.002-04:002019-09-07T00:51:05.777-04:00How I got to Mastectomy (June 2012)<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>June – August 1012:
How I got to Mastectomy (below is a post from a few years back summarizing how mastectomy landed on my radar)<o:p></o:p></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Back in June, on a Thursday, I was sitting in clinic
waiting to see a patient. The Attending Physician I work with had just returned
from a national oncology conference and was giving us the low down on some of
the hot topics of discussion of the past week. Now let me step back, it's
interesting to note I'm only in clinic two days a week. The rest of my week I'm
in another building with another life. So had this physician returned on a
Monday, I would have missed this discussion in its entirety and be none the
wiser for some time to come as the news filtered itself out into the general public. So the timing of these events is not lost on me. Back to the day's events, he was telling us about all the new pediatric oncology research that focused on
exposure to radiation therapy and long term outcomes. We've always known
radiation therapy is a yin and a yang, particularly when used in children. It's
a terrific modality for curing certain tumors, but it carries its own
potentially negative risks while propagating the positive curative ones.
Historically, Hodgkin's lymphoma patients received very large doses of
radiation to the chest region, where primary tumor most likely lived. And we've
always known these large doses, while needed for tumor kill, can lead to
secondary risks later in life. For female teenagers, breast cancer is one of
these risks. We've known this for years. What we didn't know was the magnitude
of that risk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Back
to the meeting highlights, the Attending Physician began quoting off the new
statics on the radiation data. Well, let's just say my ears perked up when I
heard numbers that were much higher than previously published. (I had been
treated for Hodgkin's Lymphoma when I was 16 so this was not only
professionally relevant but personally relevant.) Simultaneously, while he
was speaking to the few of us in the room, I went online to the meeting abstract to pull the data myself. And
there it read - females treated with 20 gy doses of radiation carry at least equivalent risk for breast cancer as women who carry the BRCA gene for breast cancer.
As I continued to read, and mentally calculating my own dose of more than 40 gy (being
double that number reported in the meeting abstract), light bulbs start going off in my head like that on the red
carpet. Percentages ranging from 30% up to >90% as you advance in age.
What?!?!?!?!? We had thought it like 10-30%. That was a risk I had known and
even prepared for. Roll the dice, it may happen, but more likely not. I've done
cancer once, surely not twice. But 90%???? Are you kidding me? That's a whole
other ballgame. That not a statistic, that's a prediction!
That's...terrifying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I
quietly try to gather my wits and think rationally about this data while I am listening to the physician transition over to other topics from the meeting. But my mind keeps racing back to what he has said. I formulated an email to a breast oncologist I work with in my other job. (Reminder, this
life altering conversation happened on a Thursday when I happened to be
present in clinic; I started working with this breast oncologist I am now email only six months ago. God's timing in this story is already starting to declare itself.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">"Breast
Oncologist, have you seen the new breast data that was just released for
Hodgkins patients? What do you think about me doing yearly mammograms in
addition to the yearly breast MRIs I'm already getting? I had lymphoma and was
treated with more than 40 gy doses of radiation to the chest as a
teenager. (details summarized)"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">"Sally,
yes, I saw the data. I didn't realize you were a lymphoma survivor. I think you
need to see a breast surgeon......" And at that very second I mentally
checked out. Stopped reading. Had tears pool at the bottom of my eyelids.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Excuse
me? What in the world did he just say??? A breast surgeon? What do you mean a
breast SURGEON? Didn't you mean to say "yes, please schedule a mammogram
at your earliest convenience."? Why in the world are you mentioning a
breast surgeon? </span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Ok Sally, check back in, compose yourself. Wipe the fluid from your eyeball and retype
the email.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">"Breast
oncologist, did you mean to write the word surgeon in your email? I'm a little
confused. Did you mean to say oncologist?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">"Sally,
I think it would be wise for you to meet with the chief of breast surgery to
discuss mastectomy options. Let me talk to her today about your case and I will
get the appointment set up for you as soon as possible." (Paraphrased email verbiage) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Hyperventilate.
Mind racing. Punch in the stomach. Oh my gosh, please don't let me throw up
right here in my laptop in front of everyone. Hold it together. Pull up your
boot straps. Got-to-get-some-air-now. Walk out of the room to the bathroom and
ball your eyes out. And then it also hits me while standing in that
bathroom....Ron!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Let
me insert here that all of this unfolded in a matter of about 3 minutes from the
time the attending physician walked in all excited about the conference he just attended
to me being set up in an appointmentt with a surgeon. How does that even
happen?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Email
Ron frantically. Email my sister frantically. Wait for response from
oncologist. Pull up data on BRCA gene. What in the world, a prophylactic
mastectomy? Women actually do that????? I really don't think I had any idea
that women were finding out about BRCA gene results and scheduling
mastectomies (since the timing of this blog post Angelina Jolly and countless others have scheduled mastectomies to reduce their breast cancer risk). Why do they do that? And why would I do that? That is radical.
That is crazy. That is taking matters into your own hands. Do I not trust God's
plan for my life? If I'm destined to have breast cancer, we just deal with it
when it comes. I'm not someone to run from trouble. I like to roll the dice and
trust God in the decisions in life. I've got this. Mastectomy, no way. (This,
another free flowing train of thought spanning about 45 seconds).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Keep
reading the article, Sally…unlike brca gene patients "hodgkins survivors,
having already reached the maximum doses of radiation, will have limited
treatment options for secondary breast cancer..." (paraphrased) Let me re-read that.
Again. One more time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Frantically
email Ron a second time. Desperately watch the clock. I've GOT to get home!
This room is closing in on me. I'm of no use to these patients today.
Devastated. Confused. Frightened. Surprised. Blow to the stomach. (Little did I
know that Ron was having the exact same experience sitting at his work desk as
he later told me).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">So
it was no longer IF I was going to get Breast cancer, but more likely WHEN. And
when that were to happen, my treatment options would be limited to no
radiation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Long
story made semi short. Two weeks later, I'm sitting in an exam room with two
surgeons discussing my mastectomy plans. Two weeks! Who gets an appointment
with the chiefs of breast surgery and plastic surgery in two weeks? God does,
with a little of "it's all who you know" thrown in for balance. By
the end of the appointment I had a surgery date scheduled for August 7. The
delay only because one of the surgeons was headed away on vacation for two
weeks. Those four weeks would become very challenging for me with me
subconsciously processing the what was to come. The radical procedure was going
to happen! I chose the crazy option!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I
should insert here, I'm a unique case. I got massive amounts of radiation as a
teenager. Dose is everything. Timing and age of exposure is everything. Not
every radiation patient has these risks. There is a lot of data that has to be
sorted through for any given patient. I am NOT advocating mastectomy for
radiation patients. I'm not even advocating mastectomy for hodgkin's patients.
I'm advocating that you research the data. Determine your risk. I'd bet for
most women, mastectomy is a bit drastic for your statics. For me, it became a
very reasonable option that dropped my risk from up to 90% with limited
treatment options down to about 5%. Less than that of the average reader
reading this post. Then, I'm advocating support for women who choose this crazy
life saving option. This is a radical life changing choice, and women need
support in that. No judgment. No gossip about the "did you hear". No
questions about implants and a boob job. Don't ever ask "how big are you going!"
Support! Encouragement. Belief that this hard choice is able to be done
successfully. Cheers of "you can do this" should be shouted through
your telephone, your open front door, across the restaurant table as she sits
there telling you her incredible dilemma and support that she can be open about
this extremely personal journey. Understand that this is an awful decision to
have to make and that this surgery is not knee surgery. She needs Love. She
needs to know what she feels is justified, even if on some levels it seems
trivial.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">What
she (now me) is feeling is something i never previously understood. Fear of the
what ifs. Guilt for her thoughts of vanity. Shock that this is happening.
Concern over her spouse and what he may think. Disappointment over
reconstruction options. Guilt for feeling that disappointment. Shame that
having no boobs affects her like it does. Shame that this journey impacts her
like it does when she didn't even have breast cancer like some women have to
struggle through both BC and mastectomy. Confusion as to why this affects her
so drastically. Worry that God may have wanted her to choose differently.
Frustration over the physical limitations now present. Anger at her lack of
control. And the list goes on. Trust me, it's best to just sum it up and say
"She feels a lot!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Anyway,
back to the original point of all if this. In order to process the big picture,
I have to understand how those first few weeks played out. How timing is
everything. How God chose a Thursday for this discussion to take place.
(Reminder, this was brand new literature your average person would not know
about for quite some time to come. I work in oncology.) How God, not even six
months before crossed my path with that of a breast oncologist that I work on several
projects with. That God would grant Ron and I wisdom to recognize His role in
placing me at the right place at the right time and his offering this option to
us. That Ron would make his decision that I should go through with mastectomy
before I would and that they would match up. Maybe God had a specific plan not
only to save me from a tremendously difficult journey with breast cancer, but
to change me, challenge me, grow me. Was Sally going to let fear of a drastic
surgical procedure guide her? Was Sally going to trust that God had big plans
for her or even someone else by choosing the hard road? Who was Sally going to
put her faith in?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I'm
changed. I'm challenged. I'm broken. I'm restored. I'm accepting my new breasts…as
strange as that sounds. But most importantly, I'm allowing this journey to be
whatever vessel God chooses in growing His kingdom. I may kick and scream along
the way, but I'm still moving forward. I take steps back. I doubt things, but
I'm committed for the long haul. Come what may.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Now,
pray that these next few weeks are smooth. I have a great bit to accomplish in
a short amount of time. Pray for my transition back into life. Monday, I start
removing some of my restrictions. In two weeks, back to the surgeon to assess
everything. Will the skin survive, is my mobility and strength back, have the
impostors settled in their new home. Is the swelling and pain gone. Can I
handle going back to work? Can I drive? Can I shower in my own without falling
apart emotionally in the process?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">A
lot happened in three short weeks. More than I could ever have imagined. I hope
to be a better person on the other side of this. I hope you found a new
understanding of preventative mastectomies. And maybe you saw a glimpse of
God's provision in the awful (and incredibly amazing.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> ------------------------------------------------------</o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><b style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: magenta;"><br /></span></b></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><b style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: magenta;">Timeline of events that followed are listed below. You can read posts around that time frame if you find yourself in similar situations and need more information about each event. </span></b></o:p><br />
<o:p><b><br /></b></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><b>August 7, 2012 </b>- Surgery #1 Double Mastecomy</o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><b>August 20, 2012</b> - Surgery #2 Breast Reconstruction</o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><b>April 6, 2013 </b>- Complication: Breast Infection (cellulitis); Surgery #3 -implant removal surgery</o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><b>April 29, 2014 </b>- Complication: Breast dimpling and thinning skin; Surgery #4- lipografting surgery</o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><b>October 16, 2014</b> - Complication: Implant Slip; Surgery #5 - Skin tuck to lift implant</o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><b>August 6, 2015 </b>- Complication: Scar tissue constriction Surgery #6 - Scar tissue removal surgery</o:p><br />
<b>October 13, 2016</b> - Complication: Breast Lump - Breast Biospy<br />
<o:p><br /></o:p>
<o:p><br /></o:p>
<o:p><br /></o:p>
<o:p><span style="color: black;">To access previous blog posts - click </span><a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="color: black;">.</span></o:p></div>
<br />Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5432863274284487379.post-698328799687103862016-10-13T18:48:00.000-04:002017-02-03T10:47:16.641-05:00October 13, 2016 - The Controlled Burn<div class="MsoNormal">
Good riddance, Breast Lump! Your job here is done. I am back home
with my feet propped up while Ron is outside staining the deck. (Poor Ron! I
may or may not have a huge grin on my face because I can’t participate). The
shocker of the day is I have laughed and laughed and laughed until my sides
hurt, all while having something cut out of me. You can thank Ron, you can
thank Lead Plastic Surgeon (LPS), you can thank Surgical Nurse, and you can
thank our cumulative warped sense of humor. This is how the day unfolded. We
arrived and we waited. Then we got called back to the procedure room. Then I
got undressed. Then I put on the hideous gown that I loathe….and then… the
laughter began. It started first when Lead Plastic Surgeon walked in the room
and I made him do his typical promises of “best work ever” (you will have to go
back to one of the six surgery day posts to understand the back ground on this).
Mind you, this was the 7<sup>th</sup> procedure ( #1 double mastectomy, #2 double
reconstruction, #3 cellulitis/infection debridement and implant replacement, #4
lipografting, #5 breast tack up for slipped implant, #6 scar tissue removal, and
now lucky #7 biopsy) all of which I made him promise to do his best work ever. So he got a chuckle when I told him I was
refusing to sign consent today until I had his promise once again for his work
to live up to my expectations. He rolled
his eyes, as he always does when I ask this, and made his promise complete with
a high five. (In all seriousness, you will never fully understand the fear I
had of mastectomy scars going in to all of this. The thought of those scars
would puddle me into tears after I made the mistake of researching them on the
internet. Trust me, scars have come a long way in the past decade so no worries
there. But my plea to him originated from an intense fear which later drifted to
an ongoing joke that he has to continually exceed his previous work with each
new surgery I found myself in.) With that squared away we could move on to
marking up the area with the trusty green sharpie and then insert the big old
needle to numb the area. Now while the ole sharpie markup and needle insertion
was going on, in order to distract me and my anxious state seeing a needle come
at my breast we all took guesses as to what we thought the lump was going to
be. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<ul>
<li>Sally: Hubba
Bubba Bubble Gum dropped in by LPS during the previous surgery. </li>
<li>Surgical
Nurse: The infamous Seinfeld Junior Mint.</li>
<li>Ron and Lead Plastic Surgeon: They teamed up and decided it
was a CIA tracking device for which LPS profusely apologized for as he never
thought I would find him out.</li>
</ul>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ron and him agreed his mistake was putting it on the top
side of the implant, where it now could be felt, rather than UNDER the implant.
They bantered this back and forth a bit longer than I expected actually, then
Lead Plastic Surgeon blurts out “Hey, did you ever see the game show “Let’s
Make a Deal?”. Well now we are picturing a boob with all of these random contents
in it being pulled out when Wayne Brady (in present day) asks for a pair of
panty hose, or a toothbrush, or a roll of scotch tape. We all lost it again in
barely controlled laughter. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now before you scold me for this type of banter in a
professional environment, I want to remind you of a few things: 1) The patient,
in this case me, was fully involved and also the instigator. 2) I have had a
ridiculous week, having lost my beloved pet and after having waited 2 months to
know what this thing was in my chest, and I deserved a little laughter. 3) This
is my seventh procedure with this surgeon. Usually he sees his patients once in
the OR never to be seen again. Well, LPS, Ron, and I are on year 4 of our
surgical relationship and we have come a long way. 4) LPS has the same sense of
humor I do and it certainly tones down the fact that you are flashing your
breast to a room full of people. 5) I
needed to cut the tension I was feeling and what does that better than laughter.
Please know he is totally professional
until Ron and I push him not to be. (Side
Note: the surgical nurse who I was meeting for the very first time suddenly
exclaimed “I like her a good bit”, so she was ok with our banter and started
joining in after we egged her on). So it was a day of laughter and I really
needed that. After our laughter subsided a bit and before we started the actual
procedure itself, I pressed him for his
guess of what he really thought this was going to be. He voted on a cyst and I agreed that seemed
pretty reasonable based on how it felt. This is where he left the room because we
had to wait for the area to completely nunb (20 minutes). <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here I am perched up on the table in a gown under a blanket
and big OR lights while Ron decided he better run to the restroom before we get
started, not knowing how long it would take. I told him he better make sure he
takes note of which room I was in because the last thing he would want to do
would be to to walk back into the wrong room catching some poor unsuspecting
lady lying on a table. He responded with a gesture of holding his hand over
his eyes but peeking through and saying “Sorry M’am. But that’s good work!” (flashback
to the Christmas Boobs post from a few years back). Well, I just lost it all
over again. I was laughing so hard, no doubt everyone in the building could
hear me, and just when I would settle down the image would flash right back
into my head again and it would start all over. I was out of control laughing! Of
course that is the time Lead Plastic Surgeon and Surgical Nurse walk back in again
and then they started laughing too and it just went on. I again refer you back to the 5 reasons above
so you don’t pass judgement on our semi-unprofessional demeanor. I also want to
take this moment to apologize to anyone who is ready this blog for the very
first time. This isn’t my usual writing and you are not yet used to my candid
transparency.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ok, so now back to the meat of it all and what you really
came here to find out.. Let me say, this procedure is not delightful. This was
the first time I was fully awake for a procedure. It almost took my breath away
with the pulling and tugging that goes on when you are looking for something
which requires a little digging around because you don’t know exactly what you
are looking for . In fact, I will call it pretty awful. The surgical nurse kept
asking me if I was ok seeing the look of dislike on my face. Bear down and get
through it was my response and my face reflected that! In addition, I kept
hearing the snip-snip of the tissue and the pulling of the skin….I almost lost
my lunch. I also was the perfect example of a 4 year old asking “Are we there
yet? Are we there yet?” over and over again as he continued to poke around.. But
then the glory happened when I heard him say “Sally, I found it. It’s the alloderm
sling.” (Go back to my August posts to better understand this and what that is).
The edges had in fact rolled up on itself and created a peanut shaped fold. He
bantered back and forth with us in the room trying to decide if he should cut
it out and I very firmly said “yes!” so he did. He found 3 additional spots that
had rolled up as well so to play it safe he cut all of those out too. So I will
now shout it from the roof top! There is no tumor! And the other silver lining
there is no need to send anything to pathology and no more waiting two more
weeks for results. We absolutely now know it is the sling! But you aren’t off
the case yet. We now need to shift our prayers that this won’t turn into an
infection. He exposed the area to open air so there is a risk that the breast
could get infected (this happened before for me after my first reconstruction
procedure) and we don’t want a repeat. He wants me to watch the area carefully. The stitches
will stay in place for 14 days and then back to see him again to check the area
and remove the stitched. Praises as this is the best news we could have gotten
today and even he was surprised at what he found. Feel free to clap loudly. This
is worth celebrating!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shifting gears a little, I want to take you back to some
thoughts I have been having over the last 2 weeks (this is not necessarily for
the everyday reader but targeted for
women who find themselves in these situations. That is the whole purpose of my
blog, to equip you with information about mastectomy.) I almost blogged these
thoughts earlier in September in the middle of it all, but it didn’t happen for
whatever reason. I’ve been reflecting
back on this journey of 6 surgeries and now one scary moment of a breast lump
AFTER mastectomy. I’ve done lymphoma and that lymphoma took me to this high
risk of breast cancer, which took me to this double mastectomy, which took me
to the 6 surgeries, which took me to some very scary moments like the first
shower and now 4 years later a lump, which took me through so many roller
coaster emotions that I wasn’t prepared for in this journey, and which took not
only me, but my whole family, to places we never anticipated. Now, as I reflect
back and as I navigated the last 2 months specifically, I’ve started to see each of these moments as a
type of “controlled burn”. I am realizing how God takes us (as believers) or
allows us to go through some potentially scary and uncertain moments in life.
But unlike a deranged arsonist who is out to create burning flames invoking chaos
and evil resulting in mass devastation, instead, God (when we allow him) carries
us on a controlled burn with totally different outcomes. Let’s look at
controlled burns, as used in nature, specifically and literally for a minute.
They are known to:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Promote healthy regrowth<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Reintroduce healthy nutrients back into the soil<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Prevent massive uncontrolled fires with huge
devastation<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Limit the spread of life-inhibiting plant disease
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Reinstill forage for wildlife<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Improve the habitat for endangered species<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->And the list goes on <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is so much richness there in the good of a forest fire,
when controlled and done in specified time frames compared to the harm of an unexpected
and uncontrolled wildfire. My mind has been mulling this around in how this is
applicable in my circumstances these last 4 years (and many more). Aren’t these
crazy moments in life the perfect breeding ground for promoting healthy
regrowth? Do we not come into the event haggard and full of burn out,
emotionally stripped down to the bare bones, and full of worry and fear? And
somehow, in the middle of it all, when we give over control we start to see
these subtle shifts in our maturity, understanding, and character? Do we not
often come out on the other side deepened with more layers and facets? Not
necessarily noticeable in the meat of it all but often when the emotions play out we can
see how the burn of life, when we place our faith in God’s plan, becomes a
controlled burn saturated and rich with benefits to us and those that go
through life with us? Whereas, when left
unchecked, our worry and fear instead fan
the flames and create dangerous shoot-out runners pushing out and away from “controlled”
and unfortunately in to a devastating uncontrolled spread. Any situation can start or become and
uncontrolled burn, particularly when left to our own vices, but we have the
choice to all God to orchestrate and refine us via a controlled burned. He can take what is intended for harm, from
living in a sinful world, and turn it into a controlled burn ripe with life
changing greatness. Don’t get me wrong, the ground is still burning. It’s sweltering
and unbearable at times (if not most of the time) on ground level. But as the fire spreads under His control, and
then recedes, and is finally extinguished you start to see sprouts of life
pushing up through the ash. I’ve said it 1000 times and believe it to my core
that if we push aside the worry and fear and instead cling to his promises
while we wait it out, His plan for our lives is 1 trillion times better than what
we map out for ourselves. God will bring blessing. And triumph. And PEACE! And
none of that relies on the circumstance itself, but rather our choice to let
him transition our moment to a controlled burn. I’m not saying this because I
got good news to day. It has been a whopping 4 years of less than ideal news.
But in these uncertain and scary moments God has created a Sally that I never
could have conjured up on my own. He has softened my edges and blunted my
sting. The burn of life has brought about regrowth. I’m a little less judgmental.
A little more understanding. Less afraid of chaos. More embracing of change. An
eager seeker of outcomes. More confident and accepting in my imperfections.
More resilient in my marriage. And the list goes on and on and on. I am
magnitudes better as a friend and a co-inhibitor of your biosphere that I ever
would have been before mastectomy….and reconstruction…and complications…and
infections….and lumps. (Side note: I am still fully flawed so this is not a personal
bragging fest of look how far I’ve come, but rather a testament of the growth that can when we
allow God to do his thing His way. I’m simply moving forward on a continuum and
if it can happen for me, it can happen for anyone.) <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We don’t always have choice in what our circumstances will
be. Life is going to happen either out of our control or as a result of our
choices. But they key point is that it is either going to happen TO you, or it
is going to happen THROUGH you. We can be devastating, unpredictable, ravaging “uncontrolled
burns” foraging the forest on a path of mass destruction, OR we can embrace that
life doesn’t revolve around our greedy desires within us and instead trust God’s
plan for our life (come what may) so that he in turn can transition “uncontrolled”
into the most glorious opportunity for restoration, regrowth, weeding out, and
thriving that only He can bring. It’s a glorious thing. And mastectomy got me
here (coupled with many other things that have happened in life). I’m a better
version of me in a day by day trajectory to reflect less of my sinful nature
and more of what God created me to be. Hopefully, in the process I am also a kinder,
gentler, more understanding person in my relationship with you. I’m currently under construction and emerging
from a controlled burn. It’s been quite
the ride. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Words cannot describe how grateful I am you walked with me. Some
of you have been there since Day 1 – August 7, 2012. Others I have picked up
along the way as God joined our paths either over a blog page or in person in
everyday life. I am fully aware there were several times that some of you
individually and all of you as a whole carried me from one day to the next. This most
recent chapter is now closed. Praise God
that he not only he gave me this incredible outcome in having no tumor, but
praise Him for the cumulative journey this has been for me personally. I have
no idea if I am done. I thought I was done after surgery # 2. But I’m confident
in the plan. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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(If you are still allowing me to ask you for prayer
coverage, pray that I remain infection-free. That was a really scary moment for
Ron and I and we don’t want a repeat. I’m also having a good bit of pain. And I
wasn’t expecting that). <o:p></o:p><br />
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<span style="color: black;">To access previous blog posts - click </span><a href="http://tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="color: black;">.</span></div>
Sally McCollumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12128714329805826484noreply@blogger.com0