An Ordinary Life Touched by an Extraordinary God – Part 13

As I said in my previous post, I’d gone to Dr. Pitt annually for about two years. He, of course, knew my medical history and like most doctors found it intriguing.

On my third visit he said to me, “It’s been almost twenty years since you were first diagnosed with ovarian cancer. I’d really like to go in to check you out. See if we can find out where we’re at now.”

Surgery isn’t one of my favorite things to participate in especially if I’m the one on the operating table. But he convinced me it would be in my best interest to have this exploratory operation. I agreed to go ahead with it, albeit reluctantly. What difference would another scar on my abdomen make, anyway?

We scheduled a date and I went under the knife, again. The difference this time proved to be nothing was removed—or put in for that matter. I’d had so much removed before I wondered sometimes why I wasn’t hollow. (Unfortunately it fills up with fat, wouldn’t you know.)

A day or two after the surgery, still in the hospital but finally coherent, Dr. Pitt came in to talk with me. His demeanor was somber as he said, “I went in hoping to see nothing out of the ordinary but it appears to me there are ‘seeds of cancer’ on your liver.”

“What do you mean, “seeds of cancer?”

“It means there’s the start of something there, I think, but that we shouldn’t do anything right now. Sometimes disturbing it makes it worse. But it needs watching. It doesn’t appear that it’s causing you any problems at this time.”

“No,” I said. “I feel fine, except for the surgery of course. And I’m not going to worry about it Worry doesn’t help or change anything.”

“That’s the spirit, but it does bear watching.”

Over the years I put the matter out of my mind—even the watching part. I’d escaped the “Big C” one more time. What could a few little seeds of cancer do to me anyway? My God is bigger than those.

However, cancer has a way sometimes of coming back and smacking you in the face when you least expect it.

An Ordinary Life Touched by an Extraordinary God – Part 12

In 1971 we moved to a small town in eastern Oregon, Enterprise by name—a peaceful little town nestled at the base of the Wallowa Mountains. The mountains were often referred to as the Alps of America. No cardiologist resided in this sleepy little town. A drive of fifty miles west to LaGrande turned out to be the closest place one could be found.

Since we, at this time, had no medical insurance and the job promised to Larry before we moved vanished when we arrived, we were, as they say, broke. Therefore, after we’d been there several months and my medication for the tachycardia ran out I made a decision. The trek to LaGrande was too costly, a visit with a doctor even more, so after talking it over with the Lord I put my life in His hands and trusted Him to take care of my medical needs.

The heart problem gradually decreased till it was no more. I found out, though, that I couldn’t take anything for pain like Excedrin or drink anything with much caffeine. This I could live with.

Then in 1976 we moved on to Missoula, Montana looking for steadier work than could be found in such a small place. One of the first things I did when we arrived in new city was find a doctor, an OB-GYN. This I’d been admonished by the Air Force doctor in Arizona to do and schedule a yearly checkup and make sure it included a Pap smear.

This I did every where we went. I found Dr. Pitts in Missoula and he proved to be good fit for me. He took great interest in my medical history and set out to watch over me. There’s a funny story about my first visit to his office. If you’re a woman you’ve no doubt seen a gynecologist. There you sit in the examining room on the table--with the stirrups—in your rustling paper “gown” and very little else feeling so vulnerable. And there I sat waiting for someone I didn’t know.

The nurse left me there with, “the doctor will be in shortly.” Okay. I sat and stared off into space after I’d checked out the room. Nothing out of the ordinary there, merely the pictures you’d normally find of various female parts and a baby in utero. A knock on the door and the doctor opened it, then stood there clipboard in hand. He looked at the clipboard, looked at me, looked down at the clipboard, looked at me again. He closed the door without entering leaving me wondering what was up.

A few minutes passed then he knocked and re-entered. I’m sure he noticed the questioning look on my face as he said, ”You’re Beverly Luke?”

“Yes.”

“Your patient record says you’re thirty-seven and when I looked in a minute ago I thought you were an eighteen year old girl.”

Astonished I could only chuckle and say, “Really I am thirty-seven.”

After a couple of years on my third visit to him he approached me with an idea he had since my cancer history intrigued him. I’ll write next time about what he proposed to do and the outcome.

An Ordinary Life Touched by an Extraordinary God – Part Eleven

Life went on as it always does, after I came home from the hospital. I took my time and moved a lot slower during this trying time, I’d learned by now that getting stressed, hurried, or even getting excited brought on what I called episodes. I tried each time my heart raced to count the rate but how accurate I was, who knows. I think they were usually over 300 beats per minute. About this time because of my forced inactivity, to my distress, I gained weight. I went up at least two sizes. It took me several years to lose the unwanted pounds and I never went down to my youthful weight but at least found a satisfactory and more healthful weight.

Not too long after my hospital stay—in the Psych Ward of all places—I scheduled a visit with my doctor. Not a psychiatrist (I know what you’re thinking) nor even a cardiologist. Just my regular general MD. He had me lie back on the examining table and when listening to my heart, wonder of wonders, my heart started racing. This was a first. He took my pulse and said, “You really do have a problem.” That was the first time he believed me. Yes, I should have sought out another doctor when this whole thing started. Not sure why I didn’t but he came highly recommended and he was on our insurance plan. I never did like him very much, though.

Finally, I got a diagnosis. He said that I had “idiopathic electro tachycardia” which when translated into plain layman’s language means that the part of my heart that controlled the electric impulse that regulates the heartbeat chose to go crazy periodically resulting in a rapid heart beat. The idiopathic part means, as he explained it to me, that they didn’t have a clue about why it happened. But it could be fatal. “No kidding.” This was back in the early Seventies and not as much was known about this condition. Today it’s called Atrial Fibrillation as well as other similar terms.

My life could finally really return to normal. The doctor prescribed a medication, Inderal, and this kept the problem in check. I found I still needed to keep my caffeine intake down to almost non-existent levels plus there were several over-the-counter pain meds I couldn’t take. None of this bothered me. The relief to have my regular life back made up for any inconvenience. The weight gain did bother me and since that time I’ve had an ongoing struggle with my weight. Anyone who’s ever needed to lose weight knows what a struggle it is. If you could just give up eating completely…sigh. Guess not.

I attribute my still being here, alive and kicking, to my heavenly Father’s intervention. I’ve reached the conclusion that when we’ve finished what he sent us here to do, even if we’re not always sure what that is, then He will take us home—and not a moment before. Our lives truly are in God’s hands. I’m glad about that, aren’t you?

An Ordinary Life Touched by an Extraordinary God – Part Ten

The next day after the experience mentioned in my previous blog, I feared another similar episode would result in my death. So I sat down and wrote a letter to Laurie and a letter to Stephen to be read after I died. I wanted to assure them that I was in heaven and urge them to live for Jesus so they would one day join me there. I also wanted to assure them that what had happened to me was okay, I was okay and they would be okay.

I put them in a separate envelope for each child and addressed to each, sealed them and put them where they wouldn’t be found until the right time. Where exactly that was I don’t recall now but at the time I felt they were in the right place and I’d done what I could do. I so didn’t want them to get angry with or blame God for not having a mother. I didn’t want to say anything to them because I didn’t know what would happen and didn’t want to worry the kids.

A couple of evening later, Larry was at work as he worked the swing shift.  The kids and I had settled down for the night. As I relaxed in bed my heart took off again, beating a mile a minute. Convinced I wouldn’t survive this episode I called Larry at work—this seems so weird to write this now but I guess you would have to have been there—and told him I was dying. I don’t recall his response but the next thing I knew here came several EMTs pushing a gurney.  They loaded me onto it, loaded me into an ambulance and off we went, sirens blaring.

I’ve thought about it a lot but for the life of me I don’t know how they got into the house; the kids, I guess. The only thing I remember about the ride was just as they reached the Emergency entrance and unloaded me everything went black and someone pounded on my chest and I revived.

I recall very little about my hospital stay other than I slept almost night and day and had no episodes while there. The only visitor I remember except Larry was my pastor. He and Larry happened to be there together and I got up the courage to tell them of my visitation by Jesus, what happened that night and explained that was why I thought I was dying. I think the kids must have come up a few times, don’t know how many. I still have the cards they made for me and brought to me in the hospital. Stephen’s had a flower or two drawn on it and read, “I miss you Mommy. Come home soon.” Laurie’s had a drawing of me on the gurney as they took me out of the house with “Get well” written under it and signed, Love, Laurie. I can only imagine what a traumatic experience that was for them.

One memory that remains vividly to this day still boggles my mind. The kids had come up and I actually got out of bed and walked out to an area to visit with them. This area must have been a nurses’ station although there were no nurses in the vicinity at that moment. There, I happened to see a placard that read, “Psychiatric Ward.”

Psychiatric Ward? They think I’m crazy? After the kids left I crashed on my bed and pondered this, but, you can believe this or not, my mind was still too tired to wrap it around this strange discovery. Later when I got back to my normal life and my mind worked better, I figured that since they were told I thought I was dying, they thought I was suicidal. Strangely, though, I don’t have any recollection of a psychiatrist coming to talk to me or of being put into a support group. My recollection is sleeping almost around the clock for a week. I must have eaten but don’t remember that either. Why they released me, I still don’t know.

But I did get back home, but still no diagnosis of my malady. So as I picked my life back up I still had the possibility of more episodes occurring.

Do you think they were correct in thinking I was suicidal? Do you think perhaps they placed me in the psychiatric ward to be on the safe side?

An Ordinary Life Touched by an Extraordinary God – Part 9

Something weird happened in my early thirties that probably had nothing to do with the cancer but everything to do with my health. I say weird because it came out of the blue—the doctor even had no explanation for it. I mention it here because I am a survivor of more than cancer but also to point out and emphasize that God’s hand has kept me all these years.

One evening several of us from the church went as a group to a revival service at a neighboring church. I left the kids home with their dad.  While standing during a song I felt weak and had to sit then realized I needed to lie down. My pastor had someone put a makeshift bed on the floor in the nursery and helped me there so I could be comfortable. I was grateful that the message was piped into the nursery. It was about heaven and I felt like I might be going there that very evening. My heart raced and I could only lie there and wonder what was happening to me.

Then an equally amazing thing occurred. My pulse slowed to a normal beat and I was able to get up and walk out to the car on my own. I felt tired but okay.

Thus began a pattern that happened many times over the following weeks. I saw my doctor, a general practitioner, and since he didn’t observe an episode he declared it was all in my imagination. I got the distinct feeling he thought me a hypochondriac at that point.

So I went about my life as usual, praying an episode wouldn’t occur while I was driving or teaching school. Now what I’m going to describe next may seem unusual—and it is—but I’m merely telling you what happened to me. And this isn’t easy, believe me.

We were in bed asleep when I awoke, my heart racing. I lay on my back waiting for it to cycle through and subside as usual but this night was different. I felt my spirit moving up my body starting with my toes. I sensed it was preparing to leave my body. Weird, huh? It seemed like the way someone would roll up a blanket. The word “irrevocable” played over and over in my mind AND I sensed Jesus standing at the head of the bed, arms outstretched. I couldn’t see Him except with my spiritual eyes and that image remains with me to this day. As clear as I saw it then.

But—when I sensed my spirit reaching my face, the thought assailed me: I can’t leave now. My husband is unsaved; my kids are too young. I need to be here. Instinctively I turned toward my husband, who slept soundly through it all, I might add. When I made that choice my spirit returned (for lack of a better word) to my body and my pulse went back to normal.  And Jesus left, although I knew His presence remains with me always.

If all this isn’t strange enough, though, my life took an even stranger turn a day or so later.

 Have you ever experienced something like this? I'd like to hear from you.

An Ordinary Life Touched by an Extraordinary God – Part 8

Once I turned back to Christ changes occurred in me, however, they were small at first. I prayed more, mostly about living long enough to raise my kids. For some reason I never asked for healing, only the time to give my two a good start in life—preferably until they left home!

We didn’t go to church right away even though I wanted to. Larry wasn’t too keen on it. Once we moved to the Seattle area, Renton at the base of Lake Washington, to be exact, I felt a strong need to find a church and determined to go and take the kids whether their dad went or not. Raised in the Church of the Nazarene denomination, I gravitated towards them. On a street corner in Renton sat a Nazarene church. This soon became our church home to our great delight.

Stephen and Laurie found friends there that were their ages and it seemed we’d come home. They loved going to church because of their wonderful friends. Larry seldom went with us but we didn’t let that ruin our enjoyment of our new-found church family.

Because of Stephen’s developmental problems I decided he’d benefit from going to preschool. We found a great one that was actually a course for parents in Early Childhood Development sponsored by a local community college. A consultant from the college attended each session and parents were required to take their turn as an aide in a preschool session plus attending a monthly evening meeting geared to teach them the skills to work with their children. I found it a great program and spent a lot of time there to watch over Stephen and assist the teacher. This eventually led to my learning the ropes of preschool teaching. The teacher retired and they asked me to take her place.

I loved teaching preschoolers. They’re like little sponges soaking up information and wanting to know more. One little guy informed me one day that his toothbrush was beige. Beige? What three-year old knows the color beige? Among many other things, I learned how to sit and hold a rambunctious or unhappy child until he’d quieted down and ready to rejoin the group. I learned how to teach a parent what to do when their preschooler disrupted their phone conversations because they wanted the parent’s attention. It turned out to be a great learning time for me as well as the other parents.

During this time I felt great like any healthy person in her twenties would feel. I had no symptoms, no pain, no evidence at all of the cancer. I sincerely believed I was not just in remission but had been healed completely by God Himself. And told that to anybody who asked.

Cancer, however, can fool you. At the most inopportune moment it can rear its ugly head. More about that later.

An Ordinary life Touched by an Extraordinary God - Part 7

The first month of 1962, we reunited our little family and settled in Portland, Oregon. At about age two, Stephen’s vocabulary, normal for his age, dropped down to two words, ‘hot” and “hi.” Puzzled I sought help and found it at the University of Oregon, Early Childhood Development Department. They suggested we choose one word for him to say in response to anything. In other words, if he wanted a cup of milk he first had to say “Mama” then he’d get what he requested. Turns out a cookie brought the best results and soon he caught on that saying the word of the day—or week—brought him what he wanted and his vocabulary picked up dramatically from there.

In the meantime, I found work as a temp and worked in various companies all around Portland. Larry tried but didn’t fare so well. It worked out well the time we spent in Portland to have Larry’s mom watch the kids for us. They enjoyed their time with Grandma and Grandpa.

We heard there were job possibilities in Seattle, so drove up there. He got on at Boeing and soon, pulling our turtle shell behind us we moved to the Seattle area.

At each place I religiously found a doctor to keep tabs on me every six months. My health continued to improve and no further problems developed. I considered myself healed by God after about two years and took care of my responsibilities like any normal young mother.

My parents came up in 1964 for the World’s Fair in Seattle. The Space Needle was then and still is a great experience. But by now, Laurie was two and Stephen four and I wanted another child. Adoption presented an answer so we looked into it. They informed us that a cancer patient wasn’t considered in remission for five years following treatments. They also informed us that adoption was not an option until I was cancer free for five years.

My heart ached, my mind reeled and I felt upset, angry and forlorn all at once. I had this deep-seated need to hold another baby so decided to try taking in foster babies. Larry and I applied and were accepted but they admonished us, “These children will be in your home until they are adopted but you cannot adopt them.”  Period.  End of sentence. With no alternative at hand we accepted their terms and soon I had a baby girl in my arms.

Little Louise didn’t stay long, about six weeks, then Dougie came. We had him three months because he was of mixed race: Caucasian, Chinese and African-American. His laid back temperament made him a happy baby from the start. He was chubby, beautiful and adorable. I wanted to adopt him more than I can express but it was prohibited. He stayed longer than the others and I enjoyed every moment. Letting him go made my heart ache but I experienced joy that he went to a family that wanted him. Who wouldn’t once they knew this delightful child?

Then we received Timmy but the kids and I contracted strep throat not too long after his arrival and had to let him go to someone else. That hurt but it hurt even more when the agency said they didn’t want to place any more babies with us. Pressed for a reason they said, “We believe that Mr. Luke’s heart isn’t into this and we feel he’s being uncooperative.”

But God had given me two dear, sweet children and that was enough. In the years ahead God’s wisdom prove to be better than my wishes.

AN ORDINARY LIFE TOUCHED BY AN EXTRAORDINARY GOD – Part Six

My parents with Grandma, my sister and two younger brothers in tow visited us that summer when Laurie was six months old. We spent a few days camping and at night trying to avoid skunks on the way to the outhouse. I felt great and we had a wonderful time. I felt so well I figured I wouldn’t die anytime soon; though, it’s something we never talked about.

Day to day life resumed after they left and I continued to see the doctor on a monthly basis. Larry’s four year tour in the Air Force ended in November of that year and we’d decided to retire to civilian life.

On my doctor visit in October the doctor gravely informed me that he deemed it about a 95% chance that a new mass had formed in my abdominal cavity. Because of our soon release from the Air Force he wanted to do surgery almost immediately, that way I would have time to recover some before we travelled northward.

First I needed to make arrangements for child care. My mother again was invited to enjoy her grandchildren for awhile and gladly came. My mother-in-law also came as she planned to help Larry as he drove back to Portland, Oregon. We’d decided to settle in Portland and would live in the trailer while we looked for work and a place to live. She would drive our car and he would drive the pickup and pull the trailer home we’d purchased just for this purpose.

My mother, then, would accompany me and the children on the bus to Boise. No, we weren’t breaking up but because of the surgery and my need for help as I recovered further, this seemed the best plan of action. Larry would find a place for us and then when I felt able to take on my responsibilities, he’d come take me home.

Thus it worked out that I had two grandmas, two kids and one husband in one small trailer home and me in a hospital bed—again. My mother, when she got the word that I needed surgery again got on the phone and called her church prayer line, all our relatives and all her friends. Anyone who could and would pray she called, so I knew I was surrounded by prayer as I went under the knife—again.

Boy, was I mad! Someone just slapped me in the face and if I could have I would have slapped them back. My eyes flutter opened and looked directly into my kind doctor’s eyes, the same one who’d done my first operation. He said, “We thought you’d never wake up.” I blinked and saw my mother on one side of the bed and my mother-in-law on the other side both anxiously watching me.

It seems they had a hard time waking me up from the anesthesia. I slept peacefully long after I should have roused thus the doctor felt it necessary to slap me in the face—and that did it. I was mad when I woke up but calmed down when I knew the whole story. But the rest of the story is even better. The doctor said, “We didn’t find any mass. I was certain there was one there or I wouldn’t have put you through the operation.” I looked at my mom and we both knew God had arrived on the scene.

My husband sat in the lobby watching over the two kids and anxiously awaiting word of my condition. They swapped places and we rejoiced that the mass somehow either wasn’t there or disappeared. I took this opportunity to point out to Larry how faithful God is and that He took care of me. But Larry didn’t believe in the God I believed in. He’d been raised in the Catholic church by his mother, a devout Catholic, and somewhere along the way lost any belief he might have had in a loving, caring Heavenly Father.  This caused problems in our marriage for many years after. We had become a house divided. 

Has following God caused a problem in your marriage? 

An Ordinary Life Touched by an Extraordinary God - Part 5

My folks had five children, all of us crammed into a small house. We lived twenty miles from mom’s parents, so she systematically shipped us over to them two at a time almost every weekend and for a week at a time in the summer.  The eldest went by himself. I’m sure mom welcomed a quieter house while knowing we were in good hands.

My grandparents’ house sat half a block from our denominational college, Northwest Nazarene College, (now University). Behind their house sat College Church. For reasons known only to them they attended Nampa First Church of the Nazarene across town and not the church on whose doorstep they virtually sat. I mean, all they had to do was walk out their back door, down the alley half a block and they were at the door of the church. I haven’t figured out this phenomenon to this day but the beauty of it for me meant that in the summer when we spent a week with them, my sister and I got to attend three Vacation Bible Schools. The one at our home church in Boise and two in Nampa.

I loved VBS as it gave us something fun and exciting to do instead of chores at home. The summer I turned six, College Church erected a tent in Kurtz Park which spread out its green skirt a block or two away from gramma’s house. On the last day of VBS at the last gathering before we were dismissed, the speaker told us about how we could accept Jesus into our hearts and He would help us be good and help us when we needed help.

Now I wasn’t a bad little girl but I knew I wasn’t good, either. I didn’t lie—unless it might be to my advantage; I didn’t steal; I didn’t swear; I didn’t beat up on my little brothers or older sister—unless provoked and needed to retaliate. But I thought people might love me more if Jesus made me good so I went forward, knelt and asked Jesus into my heart. I don’t know what happened but I know I was a changed person when I walked back to gramma’s house.

I can’t tell you I lived perfectly from then on but I always wanted to please Jesus. I learned Bible verses—it helped that Grampa gave me a nickel for every verse I learned—but those verses have stayed with me, helped me and comforted me over the years.

Then I became a teenager. I didn’t set out to yield to peer pressure but I did. I never did anything bad or wild—well, not too wild, anyway. I just drifted away from following Jesus. I married, had two kids and now sat in our little house facing the “Big C” and almost certain death.

With my upbringing and my background I knew the best way—really the only way—to deal with this new, ugly situation meant turning back to the God I’d left behind. One day, the two little ones were napping a the same time, a miracle in itself, and I decided it was a good time to mop my kitchen floor. I got on my hands and knees with a bucket and a rag and began scrubbing. Then Jesus showed up. I don’t remember what He said, I just remember knowing that now was the time. There with the bucket as an altar, I made the choice to walk with Him again and that this time there would be no turning back, no matter what.

I didn’t know at that moment how this simple act would impact my life or the difficulties that lay ahead. I knew for sure, though, that I belonged to God, come what may.

Question: Have you reached that place and chosen to walk with God?  I'd love to hear about it.

An Ordinary Life Touched by an Extraordinary God – Part 4

On the next visit to my oncologist I related how disconcerting, uncomfortable, and mood changing the hot flashes were. If you’ve experienced menopause you understand the feeling, right? I’d been placed in the care of the head of the OB-GYN Department on the Air Force base since they considered my case rare, unusual and to them quite interesting. He looked at me then down at the cancer report then he scribbled out a prescription. Tearing it off, he handed it to me and said, “Your body’s not producing enough estrogen now. Take these and you’ll start feeling better.”

I didn’t know then but after much research later on, I found that estrogen is seldom recommended for anyone with ovarian cancer. The doctor mentioned to me at one point that the cancer was very aggressive because during pregnancy my body was flooded with estrogen. Thus the Death Watch began. Nobody ever said anything, not even the doctor, it was what they did.

The doctor prescribed hormone replacement to keep me comfortable even though it might not be the best thing for me. My parents called me more often though my dad hated paying for long distance calls. My in-laws did the same. Unusual, I thought. My parents and brothers came down to visit us when Laurie was six months old—bringing my grandmother! It sounds normal when I type these words but back then I knew they thought they were visiting me for the last time.

I didn’t know then the statistics about the death rate of ovarian cancer—no internet—but I instinctively knew what they were thinking. I, too, believed I might die.  I was only twenty-two years old. Much too young to die and besides I had two babies to raise.  I couldn’t die. Through all this, a decision that I needed to make, constantly came to mind—a momentous decision—and one particular day I realized I couldn’t put it off any longer.

An Ordinary Life Touched by an Extraordinary God – Part 3

I spent a week in the hospital following my C-section. My wonderful mother rode the bus down from Idaho, Boise to be exact, to stay with Larry and Stephen and cook, clean, etc. She stayed through my recuperation at home and when it came time for her to leave the doctor decided I needed chemo and she sweetly agreed to postpone going home.

Call me naïve, call me stupid, call me whatever you like but when I asked the doctor, “Why chemo?” he assured me it was a preventive measure. Nothing to worry about.

This hospital stay I spent in a ward and when I wasn’t getting the chemo drip I usually went around the ward and helped any who need it as nurses were in short supply. I sailed through the treatment without side effects and went home after a week’s stay. Even kept my hair.

My mother left for home then as my dad got tired of his own cooking, and there I sat with a husband and child to cook and clean for and a colicky baby. We named her Laurie and I called her Rosebud for her rosy cheeks but she made life miserable for a while. I slept many nights trying to keep her bassinet moving so she would sleep—so I could sleep. But alas, when I fell asleep I stopped moving the bassinet and up she woke. But, we survived the colicky months and she became a delightful baby. It thrilled us to have both a boy and a girl.

I had to go for monthly checkups for a few months. On one of these visits about four months after the chemo I cranked up my courage and asked the doctor, “Do I have cancer?” I’d suspected it but really didn’t want to know. Yet, I'd put if off as long as I could. I needed to know.

He said, ‘Yes, We wanted to wait until we got the lab results back. We sent them to Travis AFB and back east to Bethesda. You have ovarian and cervical cancer. When we removed the baby we found a tumor on each ovary the size of an orange and one at the cervix the size of a grapefruit.” (I assumed he used citrus fruit for comparative purposes because we were in Arizona where it abounded.)

To say the least I felt shell-shocked at his admission. Hearing cancer out loud is far more devastating than thinking you might have it. But at that moment I had a more pressing problem. Hot flashes wrapped me in a warm woolen blanket regularly and in Phoenix in June, it became unbearable. I needed relief!

Do you know what it's like to suspect there's bad news coming but really don't want to hear it? Burying one's head in the sand seems more bearable, doesn't it?