Control.

Looking back, I think I’ve always struggled with it. Control. Goodness, my insides twitched at that one. Fun.

I teeter back and forth…knowing God is in control, but somehow, I still am driving the car that is my life. I struggle daily, possibly hourly, with which side of that line I’m on; riding or driving? I could get into some big theological debate on free will versus God’s sovereignty, but I’m not mentally prepared for that. One of the “big rules” I feel like for Christian’s is to give up control. The Bible is full of reference to having ourselves decrease (John 3:30), losing ourselves (Matthew 10:39), denying ourselves (Luke 9:23), and to trust Him (Proverbs 3:5) because our own hearts and minds are corrupt (Jeremiah 17:9). Losing ourselves is losing control. That’s exactly what I struggle with, losing control.

How is this prevalent to my journey with cancer? Lots of reasons.

When we first found out, I didn’t want to tell anyone. I told three sets of people and asked them to keep it quiet.

1)      A married couple from our church who happens to have vast medical knowledge. We had questions and concerns and I knew they would say the right things. I also knew they would pray faithfully, and I trusted them.

2)      One of my pastors and his wife. Besides knowing they would faithfully pray, my parents needed people in their lives, and this was a trustworthy option. This wasn’t someone who would encourage them with medical terminology, but with Biblical truths. Both were important in these first few weeks.

3)      My best friend. This was my person who listened and called and absorbed. Everyone needs a best friend who can take the information and chew on it and understand your mind-numbing emotion and feel their feels later. I have her and I trusted her. She got to know.

The commonality amongst these people is the trust. I knew with these people I had control over what they knew and when they knew it. I also knew that they wouldn’t go tell anyone I didn’t want to know. There was a mutual respect topped with a whole lot of love from every party and I appreciated every second of it.

When the time came to tell everyone else, I kind of freaked. The first time I told someone out loud – with actual words, I lost it. Barely got it out. Cried the whole time. I knew for a fact I hated that whole thing with my whole heart, so I backed out from my emotions double-time. I told people after that and managed to have it semi-together. It got to the point my mom had to pull me aside and tell me not to hide my emotions – that’s a whole other story. When it got announced in church, I about blew. Half of the information wasn’t accurate, and I didn’t get asked if it was okay to announce it or not. (No worries, I told my parents that morning if they were asked if I was okay or not, I said to say yes. Something about not being asked personally lit me up like a Christmas tree.)

After this whole escapade of knowledge, people did what people do: they talked. And by golly, I knew it was going to happen and information was going to get jumbled, but guess what? I didn’t like it. There was something about not being able to tell people what I wanted them to know, instead of the speculation and the questions they asked amongst themselves that really rubbed me the wrong way. I’m not sure what the big deal is about picking the phone up and calling me is. The other thing that bothered me in this equation was when people did call and ask questions, they called mom. Which makes sense, if you are talking to someone in this family, you are probably talking to mom. Mom is the shark and dad and I are the minnows. However, Mom is the most overwhelmed person in this circle of people. Give her a break.

And what’s the commonality between all of these? My struggle with wanting control over a situation. I have little to no control over this whole situation, and every single one of these things shows it.

Controlling who knew and what they knew…

Controlling (or lack thereof) of my emotions…

Controlling what other people said…

Whatever I thought I had control over, I didn’t. Not once. Jesus, please forgive me.

When the time came for me to tell one of my best friends, I had to apologize for keeping the information from her for the length of time I had. For the inevitable lies I told her. I told her who I told and when was the one aspect of this situation I did have control over, and it was selfish. It was absolutely selfish. 

There are other aspects of this situation that I didn’t have control over and I knew it from day one…the doctors we saw, the tests we ran, when we had to get those done, who went with me where, the poking, pricking, prodding, and scanning. And those were the parts I completely gave to God. I knew I didn’t have control and I got super okay with that super fast. And you know what? Those specific things have been the least stressful parts of this whole experience. Everything on that front has been a relatively good experience. If you’ve read the posts up until this point you know I’ve never once felt these things have been “big”. It’s just felt like life.

While there’s a lot of reasons to assume why those things, the things I didn’t have control over, just felt like a blip in the radar or even a good experience, I’m gearing up to tell you there’s one reason: I gave up control over them. Yes, I never actually did have control over them, but I did have the opportunity to trust God with them. So, I did. I didn’t have to worry or stress or even think twice about it because it wasn’t mine to worry or stress or think twice about. And you know what? It’s a lot easier to see God in a situation that you’ve already handed over to him. It’s easier to have surgery to find out what kind of cancer you have and call it a vacation experience after you’ve cast all the anxiety onto Him who cares for you. So, I’m going to try to keep doing that. Except this time with everything; doctors, tests, treatments, my emotions, and people.

 

"Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you." 

                        - 1 Peter 5:7 

This week I’m starting chemo and the next day I’m going for a bone marrow biopsy. The nurse has said my main symptom of chemo should be fatigue and possibly nausea. There’s nothing we can do about fatigue except prepare for it, and the anti-nausea medicine is all ready to go should it be needed. The bone marrow biopsy should be a twenty-minute ordeal, but I’ve seen this on Grey’s Anatomy andddddd, I’m going to be honest with you, I am not ready to show off my booty to a group of strangers. Well, I’m not ready to show off my booty to anyone, but specifically strangers. We are rejoicing that I won’t have to ever see them again. Sometime before Wednesday we have to do a chemotherapy education class. Eighteen appointments so far, three more this week. Let’s gooooooo.