An Ordinary Life Touched by an Extraordinary God – Part 14

A few years later we moved to the Denver area to be close to family. One Saturday in early spring all of the family, including the kids, decided to go for a bike ride. The weather was typical Colorado—gorgeous and sunny with a slight warm breeze lifting the leaves. A perfect day.

As we prepared to start out a wave of pain engulfed me. I gripped my middle and knew I couldn’t pedal a bike anywhere. Concerned, my daughter tried to make me comfortable on their bed then they left for their ride as I urged them to go on. Soon I sat up feeling better and wishing I’d gone with them. I puttered around the house for a bit then, like a wave, the pain attacked me again. It came in waves and this felt worse than the first bout. I literally rolled on the floor clutching my middle. It eased up—for a period of time—then hit me, again. It probably wasn’t as bad as the pain of childbirth but a close second.

After the family arrived back at the house, my husband and I went home and on Monday I made an appointment to see a doctor. Strangely the rest of the weekend I’d been spared the rolling waves of pain. When I described what I’d been through she determined it was my gall bladder and recommended removing it since if we left things as they were, I would have more attacks. “Best to take care of it now,” she said.

I agreed, not wanting to endure another round of such excruciating pain. She referred me to a surgeon, Dr. Sally, and before I knew what hit me I was in the hospital, under the knife, as they say.

The operation went well and the doctor pronounced it successful predicting I’d not have to go through that particular pain again. But one fine day while I was recuperating in the hospital, Dr. Sally entered my room followed by my entire family including my brother but minus the grandchildren.

They all eyed me a little strangely I thought and I wondered what was up. Quite solemnly the doctor said to me, “I wanted your family here when I told you what we found. After we removed the diseased gall bladder we discovered small growths on your liver. We had them biopsied and I’m sorry but they are cancer. I have an oncologist I want you to see after you’re home and recovered from the surgery.”

I looked around at the solemn faces on my dear family and thought, so? I said to the gathered assemblage, “I was diagnosed with cancer when you were born,” indicating my daughter. “No one thought then that I would live to raise my two babies but here I am. I raised my kids, which was all I asked of God back then. But now I’ve even seen my grandsons. God has been good to me all this time. It’s okay. The rest is in His hands.”

I don’t know what anyone thought of my short speech but I’d rehearsed it in my head many times in case this day ever arrived and I meant every word. If the cancer had returned I was ready for whatever lay ahead.

When I saw the oncologist, he confirmed to me that the biopsy revealed the cancer was the primary cancer, ovarian. I was surprised after all the years that had passed but thankful that God had spared me through all those thirty years.

What would come next, I had no clue.

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.