After a doctor appointment marathon this week, I have seen everyone for my one-month-out round of appointments, and things are looking good!
And I, frankly, am BEAT.
Beat, but good. Everyone is very happy with my progress. The plastic surgeon said on Monday that everything is healing just right, and newbie boobie continues to be "perfect." The medical oncologist this morning said I don't need to see her again until next year (more on that later). The surgeon gave me some more info on the Tumor Board's discussion, and we talked about next steps more concretely. The occupational therapist said my mobility is great, ahead of schedule even, and I don't need physical therapy and don't need to see her again. Great! My energy level this week is better than last week, but I'm still trying to lie low and not push it, trying to remember that it is not only bodily healing I seek, but whole healing, and my heart has been through a helluva lot in the past two months. It is okay to take time to take care of myself.
Still, I have started working again, when I'm up to it. I'm answering emails, setting up meetings, reading some work-related books. A member at one church died this past weekend (at 102, I'd say she earned it!), so I'm working on the funeral, which will be my first full week back. There's also a baptism at that church on my first Sunday back. So, there are things to keep me busy, and I'm trying to sneak carefully out of hiding without overdoing it. The messages I keep receiving from concerned parishioners say things like, "We miss you! But please take care of yourself!" hence granting me permission not to push it, and assuaging my guilt about still being home when I feel like I should be working. (Johanna, you are working. Get over it!)
Okay, so our talk with the medical oncologist. She said she agreed that the mastectomy is a better preventative measure than the Tamoxifen, and especially since we want to try to get pregnant in the next few years, she said it was fine to leave my treatment at that. She also encouraged me to get genetic testing - whether or not I have the infamous BRCA gene mutation, there may be another one that would be of interest. After a fairly short talk, we left the office, but then she came chasing us down. "I just thought of something. Can we still talk?" She brought us to a consultation room. She said when we were talking, she still had DCIS on the brain, not invasive cancer, and was thinking I would have the mastectomy this summer. But she said if we want to wait on the mastectomy until October, it wouldn't be a bad idea to take the Tamoxifen starting now, taking a week break from it during the surgery, and then going back on until we're ready for kids. Basically the logic was, "It can't hurt." She expected the side effects would be fairly mild for me, probably just some hot flashes, a la menopause, and if they are bad, I can just stop taking it. It won't be as effective as it would be for five years, but even six months might provide just a little more peace of mind until mastectomy time. She suggested I talk to Dr. Skinner about it, and if I decide I want it, I can call her and she'll call it in.
So, on to Dr. Skinner, who was wonderful as always. (Seriously, who says that about their cancer doctor, whom they only see when they're talking about cancer? How much better it is to love your doctors!) That visit always starts with a short interaction with the aide who takes my vitals, and she is a hoot. She loves us, and we always joke around with her. We had her in stitches today, just quipping about our lives. She said, "You guys are delightful. I love it when you come in." Smiles all around! Dr. Skinner came in shortly and told us very carefully about the recommendation for the mastectomy and we just looked at her sort of blankly until we realized she was waiting for us to react. Simultaneously, Michael and I realized this, and said, "Oh, we're so there. We know that. No problem."
The mood lightened a bit and we just had a frank conversation about everything. I asked my three most pressing questions:
1) More information about the invasive cancer? For those who are interested in such things, it is IDC (invasive ductal carcinoma), stage 1, low grade (not aggressive). It's estrogen and progesterone positive, HER2 negative. (Those are all hormones, and being HER2 negative is good because HER2 positive cancers, about 10-20% of breast cancers, are much more aggressive.) It was 3mm in size, and likely started as DCIS. In retrospect, she said, they probably did see the beginnings of it on the MRI - something had been going on there, but because it seemed fairly stable, they didn't look further into it. But it had probably been developing for several months. In general, my left breast has been funky and weird, and three times the funkiness turned into cancer, so let's stop playing games.
2) What made the difference in the recommendation about my right breast? A few things. One is that invasive cancer is a game changer. Even with just that little bit, you don't mess around with it. Another is that a deeper conversation with the radiation oncologist indicated that my right breast wasn't as low risk as it might have seemed. There is also some research that shows that less radiation, as I had, causes more cancer than higher doses, because it is enough to damage the cells but not kill them, so they stick around and make cancer. Seriously? Hardly fair. So much for a protocol that was supposed to lessen long term side effects. (My Hodgkin's treatment plan had only been used for about 10 years, so they didn't know long term side effects yet, but the hope was with lower doses of both chemo and radiation, rather than higher doses of just radiation, I'd have lower risk of long term side effects like heart problems and future cancers.) Another game changer was three independent developments of breast cancer in the same breast in six months is something you don't mess around with. One, okay. Two, maybe. But three? No.
3) Last, we asked about Tamoxifen. Dr. Skinner said basically what the medical oncologist had said, that I could take it for a few months and not hurt anything, and maybe help, at least with peace of mind... or I could not take it and probably also be fine. The most important preventative is the mastectomy. So do we go all the way and take Tamoxifen too? I dunno. I'll sleep on it.
After chatting a bit more with Dr. Skinner, just chatting (love her), I went to the occupation therapist. She is also a lovely lady with curly hair and bright, clear eyes. She was very pleased with my progress, and amazed that I could raise my arms all the way over my head! She tested the strength in my hands and in my pectoralis muscle, and found that really, my strength is pretty much back. It is sore to use those muscles, which is appropriate given what they've been through, but she gave me some exercises to do to help that. I told her the pain is mostly in my skin, which looks fine - there is nothing wrong with it - but feels like it is really irritated, like a sunburn. I described it as "nervey," because I assumed this was because the nerve endings are all wacky, and she said that's exactly right. But I went ahead and changed that in my head to "nervous" - I have a nervous armpit. Doesn't that make you smile? And just like when I am nervous, a little massage should help it calm down over time. Good deal! The occupational therapist also offered some suggestions for sleep positions next time around, and suggested some ways that driving could be made less uncomfortable for me. The next mastectomy should be easier to recover from, despite it being my dominant side, because they won't have to take any lymph nodes. Overall, it was a very encouraging visit, and she said I didn't have to see her again unless any concerns arise, because I am already ahead of schedule in my healing.
Not a bad report, all in all, but I'll tell ya, all that information and processing really took it out of me. I've been pretty stationary all afternoon, lacking any energy to do anything! I will sleep well tonight.
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Monday, June 10, 2013
We're not here to PUMP you up.
Today was my next appointment with the plastic surgeon. I had sort of freaked myself out about it, and went with some trepidation. I even asked a friend to come with me to comfort me. Why so scared? Because today was the day I was going to get expanded the rest of the way, to 100% of my previous breast size (I'm still at 80%). I have heard this process can be excruciatingly painful. I had thought it was from the skin stretching, but in hindsight, this makes no sense - my skin doesn't have any feeling in it. But after doing some reading, I learned it is actually because the muscle under which the adjustable implant is placed is getting stretched. It's already still a bit tight, so yes, I can see why this might hurt.
But really, the reason I was scared was because this would be something to which I had nothing to compare. "Well, the last time I had my boob inflated..." No. Nothing in my experience could relate and prepare me for this.
So I psyched myself up. I pictured the appointment going something like this:
(You don't need to watch that whole thing... the first half is plenty.)
So after all that, I was sort of disappointed when the resident said they didn't need to inflate me today. What? He tried to explain, but I was having trouble understanding. He went to get Dr. Langstein. In short, here is the deal:
As we know, I have to have another mastectomy (well, I don't HAVE to, Dr. Langstein said, but that doesn't really seem like a very good option at this point). Also, there will be another surgery if/when I swap out what I currently have - a saline-filled long-term adjustable implant - with silicone, which will look and feel nicer. I asked what will require the least number of surgeries, and that would be to do the right mastectomy, and when that side is expanded fully, swap both sides out at once for silicone. (This is a short, outpatient procedure, maybe an hour, but I do believe I will be asleep for it.)
So with that in mind, both Dr. Langstein and Dr. Myers, the resident, felt it made more sense to wait on expansion until after the next mastectomy. This first one, we were lucky enough to inflate me 80% at the time of the surgery. There are no guarantees that we will be so lucky with the other one (though there is no reason to believe we won't be). So say we go ahead and expand the left side to 100% right now, and then they can only expand the right 60% - then I'm looking pretty lopsided. If I leave the right at 80%, then it's more likely to look similar right off the bat, and we can expand both at the same rate, and when both are the size I want, I can swap them both out for silicone at the same time.
Dr. Langstein said, "The most important thing is fitting you in that wedding dress! So, how do you want to look on your wedding day?" I said, "Gorgeous? Radiant? Glowing?" He smiled and said he was sure I would, but he could only manage the breasts, and get them to the right size. "I can't bring an expansion kit to the wedding and make last minute adjustments," he said, a twinkle in his eye. I said it was in California, so I wouldn't expect that, to which the resident replied, "In that case, I'd be willing to fly out there and do that!" Dr. Langstein said he could call in a favor, then he pretended to be talking into a walkie-talkie: "I have an expansion emergency I need you to tend to at a wedding. I need back up. Over." I love them. :)
So, after all this, I did not get pumped up. No Hans or Franz. No pain, and no gain. But no one can tell, to look at me (except I can tell). I will try on the dress and make sure it fits, and if I need expanding I will go back and do that, but I very smartly did not purchase a dress that requires a certain boob size to hold it up, so I'm sure it will be fine, with an insert or nothing. As long as I can zip it up, we good! (Although it would seem that despite next to no exercise and abundant church meals every day, I have lost about 5 pounds in this ordeal... so I'm hoping it really does fit!)
But really, the reason I was scared was because this would be something to which I had nothing to compare. "Well, the last time I had my boob inflated..." No. Nothing in my experience could relate and prepare me for this.
So I psyched myself up. I pictured the appointment going something like this:
(You don't need to watch that whole thing... the first half is plenty.)
So after all that, I was sort of disappointed when the resident said they didn't need to inflate me today. What? He tried to explain, but I was having trouble understanding. He went to get Dr. Langstein. In short, here is the deal:
As we know, I have to have another mastectomy (well, I don't HAVE to, Dr. Langstein said, but that doesn't really seem like a very good option at this point). Also, there will be another surgery if/when I swap out what I currently have - a saline-filled long-term adjustable implant - with silicone, which will look and feel nicer. I asked what will require the least number of surgeries, and that would be to do the right mastectomy, and when that side is expanded fully, swap both sides out at once for silicone. (This is a short, outpatient procedure, maybe an hour, but I do believe I will be asleep for it.)
So with that in mind, both Dr. Langstein and Dr. Myers, the resident, felt it made more sense to wait on expansion until after the next mastectomy. This first one, we were lucky enough to inflate me 80% at the time of the surgery. There are no guarantees that we will be so lucky with the other one (though there is no reason to believe we won't be). So say we go ahead and expand the left side to 100% right now, and then they can only expand the right 60% - then I'm looking pretty lopsided. If I leave the right at 80%, then it's more likely to look similar right off the bat, and we can expand both at the same rate, and when both are the size I want, I can swap them both out for silicone at the same time.
Dr. Langstein said, "The most important thing is fitting you in that wedding dress! So, how do you want to look on your wedding day?" I said, "Gorgeous? Radiant? Glowing?" He smiled and said he was sure I would, but he could only manage the breasts, and get them to the right size. "I can't bring an expansion kit to the wedding and make last minute adjustments," he said, a twinkle in his eye. I said it was in California, so I wouldn't expect that, to which the resident replied, "In that case, I'd be willing to fly out there and do that!" Dr. Langstein said he could call in a favor, then he pretended to be talking into a walkie-talkie: "I have an expansion emergency I need you to tend to at a wedding. I need back up. Over." I love them. :)
So, after all this, I did not get pumped up. No Hans or Franz. No pain, and no gain. But no one can tell, to look at me (except I can tell). I will try on the dress and make sure it fits, and if I need expanding I will go back and do that, but I very smartly did not purchase a dress that requires a certain boob size to hold it up, so I'm sure it will be fine, with an insert or nothing. As long as I can zip it up, we good! (Although it would seem that despite next to no exercise and abundant church meals every day, I have lost about 5 pounds in this ordeal... so I'm hoping it really does fit!)
Sunday, June 9, 2013
Church Spy: Part II (First Unitarian)
Today Michael and I attended First Unitarian. This is one of the largest churches in the area, and one of the most generous, and though Unitarian ≠ Christian (though many Christians attend there), they do have Christian roots, and it shows. One of the two senior pastors at this church (the Mr. of a clergy couple) has just taken a new job working at the Unitarian Universalist Association in Boston, and this was his last Sunday. Scott, this pastor, was very helpful to Michael during a difficult time of Michael's life, so Michael was glad to be able to be there to bid farewell to his friend and hear him preach one more time.
For me, it was also good to be there. First Unitarian does a lot of things really well. They are large and incredibly active in the community. They host a lot of community events (from fundraisers to art shows - my uncle had a photography show there!), tutor in local schools, give money to a lot of organizations. I was amazed to learn that three Sundays a month, everything that people put in the offering goes to support organizations outside of First Unitarian. One Sunday supports First Unitarian's ministries and programs. Wow! (I was told that the Sundays they give away are consistently around $1000. To be able to give away $3000 a month!!) One of this church's claims to fame is that Susan B. Anthony was a member there, and the spirit of the work she did is still alive and well in the current community. I have taken an improv class at this church (The Spirituality of Improv, I think it was called), which is, first of all, super cool by itself, but also allowed me a chance to see some of their facility, which is clever and artistic and interesting and engaging. I was very impressed. Their sanctuary is also very cool and flexible. It may seem at first like a big cement box of a room, but the architectural choices are quite deliberate. The ceiling is shaped like a cross, so for a Christian like me, I was comforted to be "Beneath the Cross of Jesus" throughout the service. The skylights are placed intentionally for the sunlight to shine through in a particular way. The walls are covered with long, woven hangings in different colors - enough color to be interesting, but plain and clean enough to avoid distraction. A screen is placed up high and to the side, quite visible without blocking or distracting from anything. The front of the sanctuary displays some sort of art that is in keeping with the theme of the month. Today was a 9x12 canvas, created from an oil painting of a serene scene in Durand Eastman Park, painted by a local artist. I love it.
For those unfamiliar with a Unitarian service, this is what it is like, at least at this particular church. (The nature of Unitarianism, though, is that it is open and welcoming to all walks and traditions, so I imagine churches and their practices are as varied as the body of people that make up the tradition!) Someone with a Christian upbringing would find it quite familiar in many ways. Today's service started with a "Call to Worship," played by the band, which was a very talented group playing in a sort of jazzy, bossa nova style. All their songs were intentionally chosen to support the theme. Then a welcome from a person on the ministry staff, and some announcements. Then a chalice lighting - the chalice is the primary symbol of the Unitarian faith. Together, as it was lit, we said, "We gather this hour as people of faith, with joys and sorrows, gifts and needs. We light this beacon of hope, a sign of our quest for truth and meaning, in celebration of the life we share together." Not Christian, but also not un-christian. This was followed with another song by the band.
The next piece was called "Opening Words," and it was just for me. Pastor Kaaren, the other senior pastor, led this. I know Kaaren because she was also in the aforementioned improv class. She recently had some major medical issues and had to cut way back on her work hours. She said that her doctor had written her a surprising prescription: "For two days of rest." She needed to simply rest for two days, and this was her doctor's note to do that. He said she could give that to her boss. (Funny thing - I think the congregation might be my boss, which is what she said, but really, God is my Boss, and that Boss actually already "prescribed" one day a week of rest. Interesting...) She talked about how important rest is to delight, which is their theme for June. I couldn't help but think of my efforts these days to find joy. I will write a separate blog about more of these reflections. At the end of her opening words, she said she had given everyone the same prescription - sure enough, they were tapped under our chairs! Very cute. I loved it.
I'm gonna go ahead and say it's fine for any of you to use this prescription, too. :)
So as I said, the theme for June is "Delight." This was somewhat trumped, however, by the fact that this was Pastor Scott's last Sunday - it was more about saying goodbye than it was about delight. There was another song after opening words (this was sung congregationally - "The Word" by Lennon/McCartney), then the offering (offertory song was "Pennies from Heaven," haha), and then a shift in the theme from delight to goodbye. Kaaren read a poem she had written several years ago about goodbyes - very moving. Silence, and then another song. One more poem, and then it was time for the sermon. Scott offered a lovely reflection on his discernment, being very vulnerable about the struggle involved in such a difficult decision to leave a place he loves. He reflected on what this congregation has taught him, and how they have helped shaped him into the Scott he is today, and prepared him for this next step in his life. It was really quite nice, and very well delivered - no Jesus, of course, but he did at least draw from a passage from the book of Hebrews! (10:24-25: "And let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another." Funny that he would choose to quote what is one of the most Christological books in the Bible!)
After the sermon, some music for reflection, followed by a congregational song which was chosen as a farewell for Scott. And finally, a sort of communal sending, said while holding hands: "Whatever we can do or dream we can do, let us begin it. Boldness has genius and power and magic in it; may we ever be bold in our living and our loving." I gathered that these are always their closing words, since many had it memorized. (I couldn't say it because my hands were busy being held and I couldn't hold the bulletin to read it.) Again, nothing I disagree with, per se, but given that I'm used to the charge to live boldly and lovingly coming from the words, "Go in peace, serve the Lord. Thanks be to God," it felt a bit empty to me. No, maybe not empty; just lacking in power. I mean yes, I can dream, but I don't believe I empower myself to fulfill those dreams. God empowers me to do that - my job is to listen to that call. The boldness with which I live and love comes also from the assurance I find in Christ, and has less to do with magic or genius. But of course, this language wouldn't fly with a good sized chunk of the Unitarian crowd, so it would seem the words we (well, they) spoke were just right for the majority of the people gathered there this morning.
General observations:
* There is a lot of love in that place. You feel it in the energy, you see it in the smiles, and in the way people greet one another. You hear it in the exceptional welcome of people from all walks of life. Oh, that the church could offer such a welcome in all places to all people!
* I'm a little jealous of their flexibility. The space is flexible, for sure. They can go to town on a theme, even rearrange the orientation of the sanctuary if they like, and they have the staff to do it, with many talented people whose jobs are as specific as "worship decor." Their themes come from whatever strikes them as interesting or important, and they have any text in the world to draw on to enhance it. On the other hand, part of what makes my ministry so interesting is that I do have one text in particular that I view as sacred: the Bible. And I believe that God speaks an important word through this text. And when I am tied to something, there is less risk of making worship about me and whatever I happen to be going through. It can stay focused where it should be: on God, and God's Word to us. I have always worked better with structure, and the liturgy and tradition of the church, and the biblical text, certainly do provide that! Still... utter freedom in worship planning is fun sometimes. (To a point of course - I've never wanted to toss out the Bible completely! I do want to stay focused on God and God's Word!)
* For my Christian self in a Unitarian church, there is enough familiar to make me feel comfortable, and as long as I don't expect to hear the Christian language to which I am accustomed, it's fine. It's not worship, really, but it is a spiritual experience. I can see why the Unitarian church is growing, especially among the infamous "none" segment of society ("nones" being people who don't identify with a particular religious tradition). I can also see why this particular church would draw people - the musicians were talented, the music was very impressive, and the speakers were excellent and relevant. Though Scott reflected particularly on his discernment and saying goodbye, it brought up for both Michael and me different things in our own lives, and helped us to reflect on them. (Notice - a "relevant sermon" is not equal to "made pop culture references" or similar, but rather that it caused people to reflect on things that are important to their lives right now.)
* Still, as a Christian I found the experience lacking. There was nothing outside of myself to hold onto. I mean, I do all right by myself, but I fail a whole lot of the time, and to rely completely on myself, my boldness, my love, my ability to listen, my empowerment to serve... I just know it's not going to cut it. I find such strength in knowing that someone much more powerful than I has me covered, that my sins and shortcomings are going to be (already are!) forgiven, that none of this depends on me but rather on something - and someone - so much greater and more powerful than I am. The freedom that this belief offers allows me then to serve with joy, not with the pressure that all this depends on my own goodness, or even the goodness of those around me.
* Related to that, there wasn't anything liturgical to tie me in with the other people there. That is, there was nothing sacramental. We lit the chalice and said words together, but I couldn't actually see the chalice because of where we were sitting. Plus I was reading and looking down and so I wouldn't have seen anyway. We kind of sang some songs together, but it wasn't with the gusto with which a bunch of Lutherans sing. We held hands at the end. There was a general feeling of community and fellowship, but again, nothing outside of ourselves to tie us together. No common baptism. No communion. I suppose our common humanity brought us together, and perhaps that is sacred enough for those gathered. But for me, I felt that piece was missing.
Overall, the experience was engaging and a worthwhile way to spend an hour. I'm not sure at this point what I might take back for my own ministry, but I will let that simmer for a while.
For me, it was also good to be there. First Unitarian does a lot of things really well. They are large and incredibly active in the community. They host a lot of community events (from fundraisers to art shows - my uncle had a photography show there!), tutor in local schools, give money to a lot of organizations. I was amazed to learn that three Sundays a month, everything that people put in the offering goes to support organizations outside of First Unitarian. One Sunday supports First Unitarian's ministries and programs. Wow! (I was told that the Sundays they give away are consistently around $1000. To be able to give away $3000 a month!!) One of this church's claims to fame is that Susan B. Anthony was a member there, and the spirit of the work she did is still alive and well in the current community. I have taken an improv class at this church (The Spirituality of Improv, I think it was called), which is, first of all, super cool by itself, but also allowed me a chance to see some of their facility, which is clever and artistic and interesting and engaging. I was very impressed. Their sanctuary is also very cool and flexible. It may seem at first like a big cement box of a room, but the architectural choices are quite deliberate. The ceiling is shaped like a cross, so for a Christian like me, I was comforted to be "Beneath the Cross of Jesus" throughout the service. The skylights are placed intentionally for the sunlight to shine through in a particular way. The walls are covered with long, woven hangings in different colors - enough color to be interesting, but plain and clean enough to avoid distraction. A screen is placed up high and to the side, quite visible without blocking or distracting from anything. The front of the sanctuary displays some sort of art that is in keeping with the theme of the month. Today was a 9x12 canvas, created from an oil painting of a serene scene in Durand Eastman Park, painted by a local artist. I love it.
For those unfamiliar with a Unitarian service, this is what it is like, at least at this particular church. (The nature of Unitarianism, though, is that it is open and welcoming to all walks and traditions, so I imagine churches and their practices are as varied as the body of people that make up the tradition!) Someone with a Christian upbringing would find it quite familiar in many ways. Today's service started with a "Call to Worship," played by the band, which was a very talented group playing in a sort of jazzy, bossa nova style. All their songs were intentionally chosen to support the theme. Then a welcome from a person on the ministry staff, and some announcements. Then a chalice lighting - the chalice is the primary symbol of the Unitarian faith. Together, as it was lit, we said, "We gather this hour as people of faith, with joys and sorrows, gifts and needs. We light this beacon of hope, a sign of our quest for truth and meaning, in celebration of the life we share together." Not Christian, but also not un-christian. This was followed with another song by the band.
The next piece was called "Opening Words," and it was just for me. Pastor Kaaren, the other senior pastor, led this. I know Kaaren because she was also in the aforementioned improv class. She recently had some major medical issues and had to cut way back on her work hours. She said that her doctor had written her a surprising prescription: "For two days of rest." She needed to simply rest for two days, and this was her doctor's note to do that. He said she could give that to her boss. (Funny thing - I think the congregation might be my boss, which is what she said, but really, God is my Boss, and that Boss actually already "prescribed" one day a week of rest. Interesting...) She talked about how important rest is to delight, which is their theme for June. I couldn't help but think of my efforts these days to find joy. I will write a separate blog about more of these reflections. At the end of her opening words, she said she had given everyone the same prescription - sure enough, they were tapped under our chairs! Very cute. I loved it.
I'm gonna go ahead and say it's fine for any of you to use this prescription, too. :)
So as I said, the theme for June is "Delight." This was somewhat trumped, however, by the fact that this was Pastor Scott's last Sunday - it was more about saying goodbye than it was about delight. There was another song after opening words (this was sung congregationally - "The Word" by Lennon/McCartney), then the offering (offertory song was "Pennies from Heaven," haha), and then a shift in the theme from delight to goodbye. Kaaren read a poem she had written several years ago about goodbyes - very moving. Silence, and then another song. One more poem, and then it was time for the sermon. Scott offered a lovely reflection on his discernment, being very vulnerable about the struggle involved in such a difficult decision to leave a place he loves. He reflected on what this congregation has taught him, and how they have helped shaped him into the Scott he is today, and prepared him for this next step in his life. It was really quite nice, and very well delivered - no Jesus, of course, but he did at least draw from a passage from the book of Hebrews! (10:24-25: "And let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another." Funny that he would choose to quote what is one of the most Christological books in the Bible!)
After the sermon, some music for reflection, followed by a congregational song which was chosen as a farewell for Scott. And finally, a sort of communal sending, said while holding hands: "Whatever we can do or dream we can do, let us begin it. Boldness has genius and power and magic in it; may we ever be bold in our living and our loving." I gathered that these are always their closing words, since many had it memorized. (I couldn't say it because my hands were busy being held and I couldn't hold the bulletin to read it.) Again, nothing I disagree with, per se, but given that I'm used to the charge to live boldly and lovingly coming from the words, "Go in peace, serve the Lord. Thanks be to God," it felt a bit empty to me. No, maybe not empty; just lacking in power. I mean yes, I can dream, but I don't believe I empower myself to fulfill those dreams. God empowers me to do that - my job is to listen to that call. The boldness with which I live and love comes also from the assurance I find in Christ, and has less to do with magic or genius. But of course, this language wouldn't fly with a good sized chunk of the Unitarian crowd, so it would seem the words we (well, they) spoke were just right for the majority of the people gathered there this morning.
General observations:
* There is a lot of love in that place. You feel it in the energy, you see it in the smiles, and in the way people greet one another. You hear it in the exceptional welcome of people from all walks of life. Oh, that the church could offer such a welcome in all places to all people!
* I'm a little jealous of their flexibility. The space is flexible, for sure. They can go to town on a theme, even rearrange the orientation of the sanctuary if they like, and they have the staff to do it, with many talented people whose jobs are as specific as "worship decor." Their themes come from whatever strikes them as interesting or important, and they have any text in the world to draw on to enhance it. On the other hand, part of what makes my ministry so interesting is that I do have one text in particular that I view as sacred: the Bible. And I believe that God speaks an important word through this text. And when I am tied to something, there is less risk of making worship about me and whatever I happen to be going through. It can stay focused where it should be: on God, and God's Word to us. I have always worked better with structure, and the liturgy and tradition of the church, and the biblical text, certainly do provide that! Still... utter freedom in worship planning is fun sometimes. (To a point of course - I've never wanted to toss out the Bible completely! I do want to stay focused on God and God's Word!)
* For my Christian self in a Unitarian church, there is enough familiar to make me feel comfortable, and as long as I don't expect to hear the Christian language to which I am accustomed, it's fine. It's not worship, really, but it is a spiritual experience. I can see why the Unitarian church is growing, especially among the infamous "none" segment of society ("nones" being people who don't identify with a particular religious tradition). I can also see why this particular church would draw people - the musicians were talented, the music was very impressive, and the speakers were excellent and relevant. Though Scott reflected particularly on his discernment and saying goodbye, it brought up for both Michael and me different things in our own lives, and helped us to reflect on them. (Notice - a "relevant sermon" is not equal to "made pop culture references" or similar, but rather that it caused people to reflect on things that are important to their lives right now.)
* Still, as a Christian I found the experience lacking. There was nothing outside of myself to hold onto. I mean, I do all right by myself, but I fail a whole lot of the time, and to rely completely on myself, my boldness, my love, my ability to listen, my empowerment to serve... I just know it's not going to cut it. I find such strength in knowing that someone much more powerful than I has me covered, that my sins and shortcomings are going to be (already are!) forgiven, that none of this depends on me but rather on something - and someone - so much greater and more powerful than I am. The freedom that this belief offers allows me then to serve with joy, not with the pressure that all this depends on my own goodness, or even the goodness of those around me.
* Related to that, there wasn't anything liturgical to tie me in with the other people there. That is, there was nothing sacramental. We lit the chalice and said words together, but I couldn't actually see the chalice because of where we were sitting. Plus I was reading and looking down and so I wouldn't have seen anyway. We kind of sang some songs together, but it wasn't with the gusto with which a bunch of Lutherans sing. We held hands at the end. There was a general feeling of community and fellowship, but again, nothing outside of ourselves to tie us together. No common baptism. No communion. I suppose our common humanity brought us together, and perhaps that is sacred enough for those gathered. But for me, I felt that piece was missing.
Overall, the experience was engaging and a worthwhile way to spend an hour. I'm not sure at this point what I might take back for my own ministry, but I will let that simmer for a while.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
What the tumor board said
The tumor board met on Monday and talked about my case. If you are unfamiliar with a tumor board, it is a meeting of oncological medical professionals (surgeons, medical oncs, radiation oncs, nurses, etc.) who discuss especially more complicated cases to determine with a multi-disciplinary approach the right course of action. So I get input on my care not just from my primary doctor, but from all kinds of doctors with different specialties. Pretty cool, I think!
So yesterday I called to find out what they'd come up with. I spoke with Dr. Skinner's nurse, which was great because now I can mull over their thoughts and be prepared to talk with Dr. Skinner about them next week when I see her.
We were actually somewhat surprised by the report. The tumor board is strongly recommending I have the other breast removed before I get pregnant (like, after wedding, but within the next year or so), and they are softly recommending Tamoxifen. Here's the rationale:
We know that my breast tissue has responded to radiation three times now by making hormone receptive breast cancer (two times in situ, one time invasive). They asked the radiation oncologist if my right breast is at significantly lower risk of this. She said it is at lower risk, but not lower enough risk to make her feel comfortable with me keeping the breast through a pregnancy. Again, the invasive cancer has made this more of a concern. Flooding my body with pregnancy and post-pregnancy hormones will only exacerbate that concern. The best defense is to make sure I have as little breast tissue as possible before I try to get pregnant. The Tamoxifen would be a stronger recommendation, I suspect, if I were post-childbearing. But taking it for five years adds a new set of risks by putting me in the high-risk pregnancy age bracket. It also adds a slew of undesirable side effects that I would love to avoid if possible.
I feel strangely okay with this recommendation. I am definitely bidding farewell to the possibility of breast feeding, but I'm okay with that. I have mourned that several times before, so that work is done; this is just how the dice landed, after all that shaking around. (As a side note, just as Jim and Pam in The Office upset me by getting pregnant right before I went on birth control, they made me feel better in a later episode when Pam gave birth and could not get the baby to latch. Watching how frustrating this was for them made me feel a little better - I guess I won't have to deal with that, I thought!) I am certainly sad to see my other breast go, and do have fears about another mastectomy even though I've done it once successfully and know what to expect. But what really makes me feel better is that at least with the option of just having a mastectomy and no Tamoxifen, I feel like we have been given back some choice in the matter of family planning. I mean, of course God has the final say in that, but I'd much rather leave it to God than have cancer or a drug protocol dictate it. But with a mastectomy, it moves back to, "When I'm healed, and when we feel ready, we can start trying." And that feels like such a gift to me.
Sometimes I go further down the road. What if we try and fail? What if this turns into another disaster? I have some answers to those questions (adoption is a very real option that we have considered seriously). But today at my appointment with my spiritual director, I got a small ceramic heart that has the word "joy" etched into it. There were several to choose from, with different words. Last month, I would have taken the one that said, "Peace." But I found some peace, and now I am searching for joy. I've felt a lot of sadness in this thing, and a lot of grief, and a lot of anger, but despite my apparent positive attitude and good humor, I have not felt much joy about my situation, especially in the last week. So I have been thinking today about how I will find joy. And one way is to look only at the thing right in front of me, and give thanks for that. So today, I will find joy in the possibility that Michael and I might have some say in when we want to start a family. I'll take it!
So yesterday I called to find out what they'd come up with. I spoke with Dr. Skinner's nurse, which was great because now I can mull over their thoughts and be prepared to talk with Dr. Skinner about them next week when I see her.
We were actually somewhat surprised by the report. The tumor board is strongly recommending I have the other breast removed before I get pregnant (like, after wedding, but within the next year or so), and they are softly recommending Tamoxifen. Here's the rationale:
We know that my breast tissue has responded to radiation three times now by making hormone receptive breast cancer (two times in situ, one time invasive). They asked the radiation oncologist if my right breast is at significantly lower risk of this. She said it is at lower risk, but not lower enough risk to make her feel comfortable with me keeping the breast through a pregnancy. Again, the invasive cancer has made this more of a concern. Flooding my body with pregnancy and post-pregnancy hormones will only exacerbate that concern. The best defense is to make sure I have as little breast tissue as possible before I try to get pregnant. The Tamoxifen would be a stronger recommendation, I suspect, if I were post-childbearing. But taking it for five years adds a new set of risks by putting me in the high-risk pregnancy age bracket. It also adds a slew of undesirable side effects that I would love to avoid if possible.
I feel strangely okay with this recommendation. I am definitely bidding farewell to the possibility of breast feeding, but I'm okay with that. I have mourned that several times before, so that work is done; this is just how the dice landed, after all that shaking around. (As a side note, just as Jim and Pam in The Office upset me by getting pregnant right before I went on birth control, they made me feel better in a later episode when Pam gave birth and could not get the baby to latch. Watching how frustrating this was for them made me feel a little better - I guess I won't have to deal with that, I thought!) I am certainly sad to see my other breast go, and do have fears about another mastectomy even though I've done it once successfully and know what to expect. But what really makes me feel better is that at least with the option of just having a mastectomy and no Tamoxifen, I feel like we have been given back some choice in the matter of family planning. I mean, of course God has the final say in that, but I'd much rather leave it to God than have cancer or a drug protocol dictate it. But with a mastectomy, it moves back to, "When I'm healed, and when we feel ready, we can start trying." And that feels like such a gift to me.
Sometimes I go further down the road. What if we try and fail? What if this turns into another disaster? I have some answers to those questions (adoption is a very real option that we have considered seriously). But today at my appointment with my spiritual director, I got a small ceramic heart that has the word "joy" etched into it. There were several to choose from, with different words. Last month, I would have taken the one that said, "Peace." But I found some peace, and now I am searching for joy. I've felt a lot of sadness in this thing, and a lot of grief, and a lot of anger, but despite my apparent positive attitude and good humor, I have not felt much joy about my situation, especially in the last week. So I have been thinking today about how I will find joy. And one way is to look only at the thing right in front of me, and give thanks for that. So today, I will find joy in the possibility that Michael and I might have some say in when we want to start a family. I'll take it!
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
The "calm" after the storm
If you have ever lost someone close to you, especially a family member, you know that those first days are full of arrangements and busy-ness, not leaving much space for actually processing the pain of the event. Several days later, after everything has been taken care of, you find yourself feeling suddenly alone, with no more tasks and just the weight of your emotions to deal with.
I feel a little bit like that right now (on a much different scale, of course!). The days leading up to my mastectomy, the time in the hospital, and the first weeks after the surgery were full of appointments and plans and arrangements. The day I got my second drain out was joyous, and it was the last appointment I had for a while. My parents left. I had no appointments to occupy myself. All I had was my reflection in the mirror, and the reality of my new normal.
In many ways, that was much harder.
I'm well enough to take care of myself, but not well enough to go to work. I'm still in a bit of pain, but nothing quite as painful as the image of my new body and the recognition that my old body is not coming back. I have kept myself pretty distracted, but now I'm stuck having to actually process all the emotions I haven't had a chance to touch yet.
Part of what has brought these to the forefront is the knowledge of my next steps. Dr. Skinner had told me that whether or not I go on Tamoxifen for some amount of time, it was a good idea to wait to get pregnant. So I called my GYN to discuss this with her. She recommended an IUD, a reliable non-hormonal birth control method that would not interfere with the Tamoxifen and put any extra hormones into a body that has produced three hormone receptive breast cancers in six months. She also suggested I get tested for the now-famous BRCA gene mutation (that's the one Angelina Jolie has). I probably don't have it, but with my recent history it's not a bad idea to check, and if I have it, it has an effect on ovarian cancer risk, and of course the possibility of passing it on to any possible offspring. I made an appointment for the IUD, and got the info for the test.
I know it's only temporary. I know none of this is as bad as it could be - I probably don't have the BRCA gene, and even though an IUD is designed to stay in for 10 years, I don't actually have to wait that long. There is still a possibility that I could have a child by the time I am 33 or 34. But remember how I said that after all the immediate stuff has passed, I was faced with the emotions I hadn't dealt with? So the big one that came up was about child-bearing. I'm kind of over losing my breast - wish I didn't have to, but so it goes. I'm even over losing my other breast in the near future. I'm even over breast-feeding - again, would have loved to, but it isn't the end of the world. But throughout all of this has been the nagging fear that I won't be able to bear children at all. I saw a fertility doctor, and a blood test said I was probably fine. Even if I'm not, we can always adopt. But there are other factors that are more personal than I won't get into here. Sufficed to say: I am more worried about this than I would like to be.
Last time I saw the gynecologist, I joyfully checked the box that said, "I'm planning a pregnancy in the next year." She had told me there are some prenatal vitamins I should start taking two months before we start trying (aka the wedding night!). June 3rd is two months before. But instead of getting prenatal vitamins on June 3rd, I went on a birth control that is intended to be long-term. I wasn't looking forward to it, so I watched some episodes of The Office to cheer me up. And which episode should come up? The one where Jim and Pam get pregnant. Seriously?? I cried all the way to the doctor. I sat in the car for a few minutes trying to pull myself together. But I got into the room and was lying on the table texting Michael and lost it again. The doctor walked in on me quietly weeping. "Are you ready?" she asked. "No!" I squeaked out. She said, "Oh honey, what's up? Talk to me." (She knew from an earlier appointment how emotional I was about this.) She listened to me wail on about all these things on my heart, things I'd only really told Michael, big things and stupid things like Jim and Pam. I told her some of the things I had heard about IUDs, and she calmed my fears.
When I had composed myself a bit, she asked again if I was ready, and I said okay. The procedure was much more painful than I expected, but her demeanor was gentle, which helped. I pulled myself together and got in the car and cried all the way home. I was still in a fair amount of pain, and the only position that usually helps this pain was not one that my recent surgery allowed. Life is so unfair.
When Michael came over, he soothed me and made me tea and listened to me cry and went to the pharmacy to get me things to make me feel better - a hot pack, a sunflower-in-a-bucket, a green lei, and even a toy for Klaus, all in a cute green tote. It helped, but I still pretty much cried all night, and even cried myself to sleep (again).
But you know what? I felt better in the morning. Sometimes you just need two solid days of crying and a cup of peppermint tea and a nice hand to hold to make you feel better.
I feel a little bit like that right now (on a much different scale, of course!). The days leading up to my mastectomy, the time in the hospital, and the first weeks after the surgery were full of appointments and plans and arrangements. The day I got my second drain out was joyous, and it was the last appointment I had for a while. My parents left. I had no appointments to occupy myself. All I had was my reflection in the mirror, and the reality of my new normal.
In many ways, that was much harder.
I'm well enough to take care of myself, but not well enough to go to work. I'm still in a bit of pain, but nothing quite as painful as the image of my new body and the recognition that my old body is not coming back. I have kept myself pretty distracted, but now I'm stuck having to actually process all the emotions I haven't had a chance to touch yet.
Part of what has brought these to the forefront is the knowledge of my next steps. Dr. Skinner had told me that whether or not I go on Tamoxifen for some amount of time, it was a good idea to wait to get pregnant. So I called my GYN to discuss this with her. She recommended an IUD, a reliable non-hormonal birth control method that would not interfere with the Tamoxifen and put any extra hormones into a body that has produced three hormone receptive breast cancers in six months. She also suggested I get tested for the now-famous BRCA gene mutation (that's the one Angelina Jolie has). I probably don't have it, but with my recent history it's not a bad idea to check, and if I have it, it has an effect on ovarian cancer risk, and of course the possibility of passing it on to any possible offspring. I made an appointment for the IUD, and got the info for the test.
I know it's only temporary. I know none of this is as bad as it could be - I probably don't have the BRCA gene, and even though an IUD is designed to stay in for 10 years, I don't actually have to wait that long. There is still a possibility that I could have a child by the time I am 33 or 34. But remember how I said that after all the immediate stuff has passed, I was faced with the emotions I hadn't dealt with? So the big one that came up was about child-bearing. I'm kind of over losing my breast - wish I didn't have to, but so it goes. I'm even over losing my other breast in the near future. I'm even over breast-feeding - again, would have loved to, but it isn't the end of the world. But throughout all of this has been the nagging fear that I won't be able to bear children at all. I saw a fertility doctor, and a blood test said I was probably fine. Even if I'm not, we can always adopt. But there are other factors that are more personal than I won't get into here. Sufficed to say: I am more worried about this than I would like to be.
Last time I saw the gynecologist, I joyfully checked the box that said, "I'm planning a pregnancy in the next year." She had told me there are some prenatal vitamins I should start taking two months before we start trying (aka the wedding night!). June 3rd is two months before. But instead of getting prenatal vitamins on June 3rd, I went on a birth control that is intended to be long-term. I wasn't looking forward to it, so I watched some episodes of The Office to cheer me up. And which episode should come up? The one where Jim and Pam get pregnant. Seriously?? I cried all the way to the doctor. I sat in the car for a few minutes trying to pull myself together. But I got into the room and was lying on the table texting Michael and lost it again. The doctor walked in on me quietly weeping. "Are you ready?" she asked. "No!" I squeaked out. She said, "Oh honey, what's up? Talk to me." (She knew from an earlier appointment how emotional I was about this.) She listened to me wail on about all these things on my heart, things I'd only really told Michael, big things and stupid things like Jim and Pam. I told her some of the things I had heard about IUDs, and she calmed my fears.
When I had composed myself a bit, she asked again if I was ready, and I said okay. The procedure was much more painful than I expected, but her demeanor was gentle, which helped. I pulled myself together and got in the car and cried all the way home. I was still in a fair amount of pain, and the only position that usually helps this pain was not one that my recent surgery allowed. Life is so unfair.
When Michael came over, he soothed me and made me tea and listened to me cry and went to the pharmacy to get me things to make me feel better - a hot pack, a sunflower-in-a-bucket, a green lei, and even a toy for Klaus, all in a cute green tote. It helped, but I still pretty much cried all night, and even cried myself to sleep (again).
But you know what? I felt better in the morning. Sometimes you just need two solid days of crying and a cup of peppermint tea and a nice hand to hold to make you feel better.
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Church Spy: Part I (Artisan Church)
While I'm on medical leave, I thought it would be fun and educational to take the opportunity to see what some other churches in Rochester are like. What is the church scene around here? What are other churches doing? What is the special niche of my churches, and what do we offer compared to what other churches off? Also, what are these other churches doing that is working or not working, and how can I use this knowledge to help my churches be the best they can be?
(Does doing this count as work? If so, don't tell my dean...)
This began today. Michael and I attended a church I had heard about shortly after moving here, a fairly new church in the South Wedge called Artisan Church. It's a merger of two mission starts, and I believe they came together in 2005 or so. A couple people had told me about it, and looking at their website, it seemed something worth looking into. I decided to go "under cover" - I wanted to be treated as just some young couple coming in off the street, so I could get the full effect of how they would treat a visitor. (Michael let the cat out of the bag though - "They want us to come back, and I don't want them to think they did something wrong!" He's so nice.)
First impression: the building did not look like a church - more like a doctor's office. No cross in sight, at least on the outside. Just inside the door was a very friendly and welcoming man who introduced himself and helped us make name tags, so people would know who we are. (This guy even checked in with us again later, saying, "I didn't have a chance to talk to you before. Do you live in the area?") They had coffee and goodies already out (coffee hour, it seems, happened more before worship than after), so we got some and stood around. I checked out their bulletin boards (one of my favorite things to do in different churches... dork), which I thought were very nice, neat, and said very clearly who they are. There was some artistic flair, though I don't think they embraced their name, "artisan," quite as fully as I expected. I'd be interested to learn how that name came about. We looked around at the people gathered - the vast majority were in their 20s and 30s. In fact, it was the opposite ratio of most mainline churches, where there are a few token young couples or families, and mostly middle aged or older folks. Here, I don't think there was anyone over 60, and almost everyone had a kid or two sitting with or near them. The result was a buzzing energy, and a relaxed atmosphere. After a while, a middle aged couple came up to us an enthusiastically started a conversation with us, and we chatted until it was time to go into worship. (The kids remained in worship for the opening songs, and then went off during the sermon and readings to Sunday School.)
You can tell a lot about a church and their values by their worship space. Unfortunately, they are in the midst of some construction, so we didn't get the full effect, but enough. First thing I noticed was that there was a worship band on a stage that was across the front and center of the worship space, with a screen above them. The room was small, or snug, or cozy - in a good way. I felt like I was a part of a congregation. Next thing I noticed: no prominent cross, or any symbol of Christ - even the pastor was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and nothing that set him apart visually as the community's designated symbol of Christ, and he was a part of the worship band. The set up in front of the stage was aesthetically pleasing to me - a small table serving as an altar with bread and wine, several pillar candles, flowers, and a small cross, and two other tables to either side, covered in burlap and some rustic candle holders. Aside from the band being front and center and the lack of any explicit Christian symbols, the feel of the sanctuary was very comfortable for me. I liked it.
The music was led by talented people and was very well done... if it were a performance and I were only listening. Harmonies were great, voices and instrument tones were lovely, balance was good, music was eclectic in style (folk, rock, blues) and emotionally moving, texts were theologically sound. But even as a musician, I had a hard time joining in the singing. I only knew one of the songs, and with the exception of one other song, I never felt comfortable singing any of the others. The harmonies were so solid that I had a hard time finding the melody. I looked around and there were several others not singing (though many were), and I couldn't really hear anyone but those who were miked. It felt more like a performance than congregational singing.
The liturgy was at once familiar and disjointed. It followed the basic ordo I'm familiar with - gathering, word, meal, sending - but it was randomly out of my familiar order. Like, a couple songs, then the creed. Another song, and the passing of the peace. Another song and the prayers. Michael and I kept looking at each other like, "Wait, now?" but we went with it. (We noticed a lot of people during the passing of the peace just introduced themselves instead of passing peace, so there were a couple people who said, "Hi, I'm ____" and we accidentally responded, "And also with you.") When it came time for the sermon, the pastor began by telling the context of the day's biblical story, then reading the text (manna in the desert). Then some more context, then the Gospel text (feeding the 5000 from John). Then he showed their relationship, their place in a sweeping, continuing biblical narrative, then he talked about how they speak to us today. It was very conversational and heartfelt/thoughtful, though not particularly dynamic - its delivery fit the casual mood of the rest of the service. He finished the sermon by making a move from the feeding of the 5000 to the Passover meal Jesus shared with his disciples later (but remember, we were in John, and the Last Supper in John is actually a foot-washing - oops!), during which time he included the Words of Institution. Just the bread part.
Then he invited us forward to communion - open table, come if you want, don't if you don't want sort of deal. That bit in the sermon was the consecration. I was surprised to see no one get up to serve communion, and in fact the pastor went back to play in the band. We watched for a minute to see what was happening, and saw people were just going up when they wanted, taking some bread, dipping it in the wine, and returning to their seats. Michael said, "Let's try." I had a hard time. I kept waiting for something more to happen, but when it was clear that this was how communion works in this community, we went ahead and went up. Broke off a piece of bread for myself, dipped it in the wine for myself, crossed myself, and returned to my seat. For me, it was totally unsatisfying. I felt no sense of communion, no connection with the pastor or anyone, no sense that Jesus was giving this gift to me. There was no "given for you." It was taken for me. I was taking that morsel of grace for myself, didn't need anyone to do it for me. I tried to look normal back at my seat, but Michael noticed the contortions my face was making involuntarily. It wasn't like I'd done something wrong; it was more like I'd done nothing at all. Grabbed a piece of wine-soaked cracker and was on my way. Didn't feel especially holy, and didn't at all feel like communion. (I told Michael later that I almost made him give it to me, so at least I wouldn't feel so self-sufficient, but decided against it, trying to avoid standing out too much, though I'm sure it would have been fine.) I will say that the prayer team was available during this time, so there was the possibility of that sort of communion.
After communion, we sang a song. Then someone got up and said it was time for offering. There was a note on the screen saying that visitors need not feel obligated to participate in this portion of the service, but we at Artisan understand giving as an act of worship. I know this was meant to be gracious for visitors, but I actually felt the opposite. I said under my breath to no one in particular, "Well, I'm here to worship, aren't I?" and I grabbed my purse and quickly scratched out a check. I think the collector was surprised by that. While the offering was happening, they made some announcements, and then said, "Okay, good bye! Go in peace!" Michael and I looked at each other again - the end? Sure enough, people were getting up to go. Felt abrupt!
Overall, it wasn't a bad experience. The people were friendly, the atmosphere pleasant, the leadership talented. The sermon kept my attention, even though neither of us really got much out of it. I really liked the prayers - the pastor led them right before the readings/sermon, asking people to voice their own needs or joys, and the people responded. The prayer team wrote down the requests (there was also a box in the back) and these requests will be prayed about all week. I liked the context that the pastor gave for the readings, and this is something I would like to find a way to do as well. It was much more effective than just reading four readings from four different books of the Bible all in a row, and helped people to understand more of the biblical story. I liked the energy and the people we met. If I weren't a pastor elsewhere, I might return and/or participate in some of their non-Sunday programs just to get to know some more of the people, since they were all in my age bracket. Overall, despite my complaining, it seems that they are doing some good work over at Artisan Church, and that God is working among them in some good ways.
(Does doing this count as work? If so, don't tell my dean...)
This began today. Michael and I attended a church I had heard about shortly after moving here, a fairly new church in the South Wedge called Artisan Church. It's a merger of two mission starts, and I believe they came together in 2005 or so. A couple people had told me about it, and looking at their website, it seemed something worth looking into. I decided to go "under cover" - I wanted to be treated as just some young couple coming in off the street, so I could get the full effect of how they would treat a visitor. (Michael let the cat out of the bag though - "They want us to come back, and I don't want them to think they did something wrong!" He's so nice.)
First impression: the building did not look like a church - more like a doctor's office. No cross in sight, at least on the outside. Just inside the door was a very friendly and welcoming man who introduced himself and helped us make name tags, so people would know who we are. (This guy even checked in with us again later, saying, "I didn't have a chance to talk to you before. Do you live in the area?") They had coffee and goodies already out (coffee hour, it seems, happened more before worship than after), so we got some and stood around. I checked out their bulletin boards (one of my favorite things to do in different churches... dork), which I thought were very nice, neat, and said very clearly who they are. There was some artistic flair, though I don't think they embraced their name, "artisan," quite as fully as I expected. I'd be interested to learn how that name came about. We looked around at the people gathered - the vast majority were in their 20s and 30s. In fact, it was the opposite ratio of most mainline churches, where there are a few token young couples or families, and mostly middle aged or older folks. Here, I don't think there was anyone over 60, and almost everyone had a kid or two sitting with or near them. The result was a buzzing energy, and a relaxed atmosphere. After a while, a middle aged couple came up to us an enthusiastically started a conversation with us, and we chatted until it was time to go into worship. (The kids remained in worship for the opening songs, and then went off during the sermon and readings to Sunday School.)
You can tell a lot about a church and their values by their worship space. Unfortunately, they are in the midst of some construction, so we didn't get the full effect, but enough. First thing I noticed was that there was a worship band on a stage that was across the front and center of the worship space, with a screen above them. The room was small, or snug, or cozy - in a good way. I felt like I was a part of a congregation. Next thing I noticed: no prominent cross, or any symbol of Christ - even the pastor was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and nothing that set him apart visually as the community's designated symbol of Christ, and he was a part of the worship band. The set up in front of the stage was aesthetically pleasing to me - a small table serving as an altar with bread and wine, several pillar candles, flowers, and a small cross, and two other tables to either side, covered in burlap and some rustic candle holders. Aside from the band being front and center and the lack of any explicit Christian symbols, the feel of the sanctuary was very comfortable for me. I liked it.
The music was led by talented people and was very well done... if it were a performance and I were only listening. Harmonies were great, voices and instrument tones were lovely, balance was good, music was eclectic in style (folk, rock, blues) and emotionally moving, texts were theologically sound. But even as a musician, I had a hard time joining in the singing. I only knew one of the songs, and with the exception of one other song, I never felt comfortable singing any of the others. The harmonies were so solid that I had a hard time finding the melody. I looked around and there were several others not singing (though many were), and I couldn't really hear anyone but those who were miked. It felt more like a performance than congregational singing.
The liturgy was at once familiar and disjointed. It followed the basic ordo I'm familiar with - gathering, word, meal, sending - but it was randomly out of my familiar order. Like, a couple songs, then the creed. Another song, and the passing of the peace. Another song and the prayers. Michael and I kept looking at each other like, "Wait, now?" but we went with it. (We noticed a lot of people during the passing of the peace just introduced themselves instead of passing peace, so there were a couple people who said, "Hi, I'm ____" and we accidentally responded, "And also with you.") When it came time for the sermon, the pastor began by telling the context of the day's biblical story, then reading the text (manna in the desert). Then some more context, then the Gospel text (feeding the 5000 from John). Then he showed their relationship, their place in a sweeping, continuing biblical narrative, then he talked about how they speak to us today. It was very conversational and heartfelt/thoughtful, though not particularly dynamic - its delivery fit the casual mood of the rest of the service. He finished the sermon by making a move from the feeding of the 5000 to the Passover meal Jesus shared with his disciples later (but remember, we were in John, and the Last Supper in John is actually a foot-washing - oops!), during which time he included the Words of Institution. Just the bread part.
Then he invited us forward to communion - open table, come if you want, don't if you don't want sort of deal. That bit in the sermon was the consecration. I was surprised to see no one get up to serve communion, and in fact the pastor went back to play in the band. We watched for a minute to see what was happening, and saw people were just going up when they wanted, taking some bread, dipping it in the wine, and returning to their seats. Michael said, "Let's try." I had a hard time. I kept waiting for something more to happen, but when it was clear that this was how communion works in this community, we went ahead and went up. Broke off a piece of bread for myself, dipped it in the wine for myself, crossed myself, and returned to my seat. For me, it was totally unsatisfying. I felt no sense of communion, no connection with the pastor or anyone, no sense that Jesus was giving this gift to me. There was no "given for you." It was taken for me. I was taking that morsel of grace for myself, didn't need anyone to do it for me. I tried to look normal back at my seat, but Michael noticed the contortions my face was making involuntarily. It wasn't like I'd done something wrong; it was more like I'd done nothing at all. Grabbed a piece of wine-soaked cracker and was on my way. Didn't feel especially holy, and didn't at all feel like communion. (I told Michael later that I almost made him give it to me, so at least I wouldn't feel so self-sufficient, but decided against it, trying to avoid standing out too much, though I'm sure it would have been fine.) I will say that the prayer team was available during this time, so there was the possibility of that sort of communion.
After communion, we sang a song. Then someone got up and said it was time for offering. There was a note on the screen saying that visitors need not feel obligated to participate in this portion of the service, but we at Artisan understand giving as an act of worship. I know this was meant to be gracious for visitors, but I actually felt the opposite. I said under my breath to no one in particular, "Well, I'm here to worship, aren't I?" and I grabbed my purse and quickly scratched out a check. I think the collector was surprised by that. While the offering was happening, they made some announcements, and then said, "Okay, good bye! Go in peace!" Michael and I looked at each other again - the end? Sure enough, people were getting up to go. Felt abrupt!
Overall, it wasn't a bad experience. The people were friendly, the atmosphere pleasant, the leadership talented. The sermon kept my attention, even though neither of us really got much out of it. I really liked the prayers - the pastor led them right before the readings/sermon, asking people to voice their own needs or joys, and the people responded. The prayer team wrote down the requests (there was also a box in the back) and these requests will be prayed about all week. I liked the context that the pastor gave for the readings, and this is something I would like to find a way to do as well. It was much more effective than just reading four readings from four different books of the Bible all in a row, and helped people to understand more of the biblical story. I liked the energy and the people we met. If I weren't a pastor elsewhere, I might return and/or participate in some of their non-Sunday programs just to get to know some more of the people, since they were all in my age bracket. Overall, despite my complaining, it seems that they are doing some good work over at Artisan Church, and that God is working among them in some good ways.
Saturday, June 1, 2013
Stagnant heart
I put my parents on an airplane to California this morning, after three weeks of them tending to my every need. I feel exceedingly blessed that I have parents who are willing to do what they need to be here for me. They took care of me physically and emotionally, from preparing meals, to writing thank you notes for said meals, to cleaning my apartment, to schlepping me to doctor's appointments, vet appointments, and car appointments, to watching TV with me, to letting me process on them... Them being here allowed Michael to care for me when he could, but also allowed him to do what he needed to do for himself in this time of massive transition and emotion.
Even though I felt ready, after three weeks, to send them home and back to their regular lives, it was actually harder than I expected. It's not for physical reasons - I feel strong enough to take care of the basic needs of my day, and I'm perfectly willing to ask for help for the things I can't do. But the plastic surgeon said I no longer have a weight lifting limit or any other physical limitations except, "If you can do it, then do it." I haven't tried driving yet, but I will do this tomorrow, with Michael there just in case I get scared, and Monday I plan to go to a doctor's appointment all by myself. I have not taken any pain meds today at all, and while I do feel some pain, it's not too much. I feel like I'm in pretty darn good shape, physically speaking.
The difficulty was more an emotional one, I suppose. When you have spent three weeks depending almost entirely on others, then you suddenly find yourself all by your lonesome, those daily tasks that are easy with others present suddenly seem much more daunting. For all of my talk about how I can do this or that, please let me try to do it myself, etc., now I feel a certain amount of fear. I'm sure that will pass, just as soon as I see that I am still a competent adult. And Michael can help to wean me back into that belief - sweet Michael, who will drop anything to make sure I am okay. Sweet Michael, who stopped everything he was doing this afternoon to just sit with me on his porch while I was grumpy about who-knows-what, just so I'd have someone to be with me in case I cried.
I do miss my parents already, but I also suspect there is much more going on in this heart of mine than that. There are several layers - let's see if I can pull them apart for you:
First of all, for a go-getting like me, it is really hard to sit idle for two and a half weeks. For me, a "day off" means I clean the house, run errands, pay bills, take care of business. If I sit still all day long, I feel gross by the end of the day. Unaccomplished. Blech. Several days in a row of this gets to be a lot to handle. I have found other ways to feel accomplished - catching up on my reading, finishing a full season of a TV show, all those little triumphs that go with recovery (today's triumph: I wore a real bra all day long!). But these only go so far.
Second, and much more significantly: as I come out of this ordeal, I am grateful, but with this part of the journey moving into the "behind me" position, I find it is harder to ignore my medical future. I have found it easy to put thoughts of the future on the back burner because I have been focused on healing, but keeping it out of mind is getting harder as I feel better. I don't want to get ahead of myself before the tumor board talks about my case, but I also want to start processing the possibilities. Regardless of what the tumor board says, Michael and I (and I think my parents agree, too) both think the right breast needs to go. We have gambled enough, and waiting until after a few years of Tamoxifen and then however long it may take to either conceive children or decide adoption is our best option before taking the other breast off... it's too long. We talked about this, along with my parents, over brunch today before we went to the airport. If I had a right mastectomy the third week in October, my mom and dad would both be able to come out again for a week to help with the immediate stuff. Third week in October. That's like, a real time, almost a real date. A real date when I would have to go through this all over again.
I'm not ready to go through this all over again. I can't wait to be better, and the thought of starting again at square one (but on my dominant side, leaving me only my gimpy left hand to do all the work) is hard to conceive. Do I wish I had just done both sides this time so I could be done with it? Well, the thought of not having to do this again is attractive... but no. I made the right decision for the information I had at the time and the way I felt at the time. I have not regretted the decisions we have made, as they were made with much thought, conversation, research, and prayer. Still, I wish the dice had fallen a different way.
I feel like I've gotten to the end of this post and actually gotten nowhere. Which makes sense, because that's sort of how my heart feels right now. Stagnant. Michael kept asking me today, "Tell me what's wrong," and I could only answer, "I would if I could." So frustrating not to even know how I'm feeling! But that, too, is a part of this journey. Hopefully tomorrow will be better.
Even though I felt ready, after three weeks, to send them home and back to their regular lives, it was actually harder than I expected. It's not for physical reasons - I feel strong enough to take care of the basic needs of my day, and I'm perfectly willing to ask for help for the things I can't do. But the plastic surgeon said I no longer have a weight lifting limit or any other physical limitations except, "If you can do it, then do it." I haven't tried driving yet, but I will do this tomorrow, with Michael there just in case I get scared, and Monday I plan to go to a doctor's appointment all by myself. I have not taken any pain meds today at all, and while I do feel some pain, it's not too much. I feel like I'm in pretty darn good shape, physically speaking.
The difficulty was more an emotional one, I suppose. When you have spent three weeks depending almost entirely on others, then you suddenly find yourself all by your lonesome, those daily tasks that are easy with others present suddenly seem much more daunting. For all of my talk about how I can do this or that, please let me try to do it myself, etc., now I feel a certain amount of fear. I'm sure that will pass, just as soon as I see that I am still a competent adult. And Michael can help to wean me back into that belief - sweet Michael, who will drop anything to make sure I am okay. Sweet Michael, who stopped everything he was doing this afternoon to just sit with me on his porch while I was grumpy about who-knows-what, just so I'd have someone to be with me in case I cried.
I do miss my parents already, but I also suspect there is much more going on in this heart of mine than that. There are several layers - let's see if I can pull them apart for you:
First of all, for a go-getting like me, it is really hard to sit idle for two and a half weeks. For me, a "day off" means I clean the house, run errands, pay bills, take care of business. If I sit still all day long, I feel gross by the end of the day. Unaccomplished. Blech. Several days in a row of this gets to be a lot to handle. I have found other ways to feel accomplished - catching up on my reading, finishing a full season of a TV show, all those little triumphs that go with recovery (today's triumph: I wore a real bra all day long!). But these only go so far.
Second, and much more significantly: as I come out of this ordeal, I am grateful, but with this part of the journey moving into the "behind me" position, I find it is harder to ignore my medical future. I have found it easy to put thoughts of the future on the back burner because I have been focused on healing, but keeping it out of mind is getting harder as I feel better. I don't want to get ahead of myself before the tumor board talks about my case, but I also want to start processing the possibilities. Regardless of what the tumor board says, Michael and I (and I think my parents agree, too) both think the right breast needs to go. We have gambled enough, and waiting until after a few years of Tamoxifen and then however long it may take to either conceive children or decide adoption is our best option before taking the other breast off... it's too long. We talked about this, along with my parents, over brunch today before we went to the airport. If I had a right mastectomy the third week in October, my mom and dad would both be able to come out again for a week to help with the immediate stuff. Third week in October. That's like, a real time, almost a real date. A real date when I would have to go through this all over again.
I'm not ready to go through this all over again. I can't wait to be better, and the thought of starting again at square one (but on my dominant side, leaving me only my gimpy left hand to do all the work) is hard to conceive. Do I wish I had just done both sides this time so I could be done with it? Well, the thought of not having to do this again is attractive... but no. I made the right decision for the information I had at the time and the way I felt at the time. I have not regretted the decisions we have made, as they were made with much thought, conversation, research, and prayer. Still, I wish the dice had fallen a different way.
I feel like I've gotten to the end of this post and actually gotten nowhere. Which makes sense, because that's sort of how my heart feels right now. Stagnant. Michael kept asking me today, "Tell me what's wrong," and I could only answer, "I would if I could." So frustrating not to even know how I'm feeling! But that, too, is a part of this journey. Hopefully tomorrow will be better.
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