They Are Yours

After my alarm woke me up, I picked up my phone, a bad habit I use to spend extra moments in bed. That's how I discovered a young mom suddenly died. Her name was Wynter Pitts, a  mom of four girls. One of those girls was the daughter in the movie, War Room.

She was cousin to Priscilla Shirer, one of my favorite bible study teachers. I heard her on podcasts. She loved God and her family and wrote for young girls.

It was utterly unexpected. One moment she is doing normal mom things, and the next she is in the presence of Jesus.

I don't know the details of what happened, but what I understand is she passed away in her sleep. Sudden loss. Profound pain.

I searched her Instagram account for any other information. All over, she has hashtags, #sayyestoGod.

Say yes to God even if we don't understand. Say yes to God even in the biggest hurt and confusion. Say yes to God because we know He is a big God.

Her other hashtag she used often was  #sheisyours. Her ministry was to point young girls to God. She had four beautiful girls and she gave them back to God. Her death was unexpected and swift, but if she had warning, she would have given her fears of leaving her girls behind at God's feet. They are His, first and foremost.

When I was first diagnosed with cancer, my concern for my kids was my deepest fear. I knew where I was going if I died, but who would be their mom?

I never will understand God taking away a mom from her kids. Sometimes, with our hardest questions, we won't know the why, but we can look for the who God says He is in the midst. He is Father. Comforter. Provider. Immanuel God, God with us in the middle of the pain.

Today. We aren't guaranteed tomorrow. I spent today with Ben. We went to Bellevue to watch a couple of friends  perform in a play. We stopped during the long commute home in rush hour for pizza. I love building in this memory.  He'll be a junior next year. That means in a minute he'll be a senior. And then, well you all know how fast these high school days go.

I've already dropped off Becca for her second year in college. Walt had to stay back to help Nathan with orientation at the UW. Even though it was just the two of us, it was so much easier than last year. Three bags from home, a trip to the storage unit, a parking spot right in front of her dorm because hardly anyone else was moving in at the time. She had leadership meetings during the day, so we shopped at night. I got to hang out with my cousin who offered her home for me to stay, visited my dad, and spent time in one of the coolest libraries around, located in Old Town Scottsdale.

The goodbye was easier, too. She is where she is supposed to be. Becca's absence here feels normal. Of course we miss her, but we are excited to see what God has in store for her this year.

Nathan has about a month left before we move him to the UW. Last night I talked him into taking a walk with me. No expectations to clean anything or follow up on something or finish his thank you cards. We just walked and chatted. The sun, because of the smoke from the wildfires in Canada, was a unique shade of red as it lowered itself for the evening, and the cool breezes blew away the heat of the day. It was the perfect ending to a summer day, as I count down our time with him at home.

These are the things that are important. Today with my people. Feeding into my kids when I have a chance. Breathing in deeply, trusting God with my expectations.

#theyareyours

#bigGod

So What if We Need Community

 When I was in high school literature class (aren't you amazed I can remember back that far?) we were discussing the poem, "No Man is an Island" by John Donne. Our teacher was trying to get us to understand what it meant, but his requests for deep thought were left empty by our juvenile disinterest. I remember it today because he tried so hard for us to understand the meaning of the poem, that we all need each other. Humans do not thrive separated from each other.

I follow, along with 52,000 others,  Jess Connolly on Instagram (@jessaconnolly). She's the coauthor of Wild and Free, a book I started reading last summer and misplaced but am confident will show up at the perfect time when I need to hear what it says. Ask me how I know this.  But, here's my point. Last weekend Jess ran her first marathon. At mile 14 she called her husband in tears, and many of her friends changed their plans to run with her, to support her in this fearful, difficult place.

She spoke aloud the lies Satan was whispering, "You are so needy."

"You are so emotionally weak."

"You can't do anything alone and you always need help."

She continues in her reflection on Instagram, "After a few miles and a lot of prayers, the Lord stirred up some truth in me. So what? So what if you were made for community?"

Yes! So what? We all need community. We are not designed to live life on our own.

When I first started this blog and titled it Running my Race after the verse in Hebrews, my friend Wendy shared with me a story about a middle school boy who was struggling to finish his race at a track meet. A group of kids joined him and encouraged him to finish. She said she doesn't remember hearing the cheers for the first place finisher, but everyone cheered for this selfless act of support by his teammates. We shouldn't need to run our races alone.

A single lady in my bible study moved for the second time in a few months. She agonized about asking for help, again. She wanted to do it all by herself, but the reality of her overwhelming task wouldn't allow her. She reached out to our pastor, and he organized a few guys to help, including himself. She felt utterly grateful. Yet, if I asked the guys who helped, they probably felt equally blessed. Yes, it was inconvenient. It was hard work. Still, something about helping someone lighten her load just a little bit lifts a person's spirits, too.

We all need each other.

My community did the heavy lifting when I was in the midst of my cancer treatment. My family would have suffered more than they already were if I was too prideful to ask for help. Sometimes, we need to risk and do the asking. Other times, we hear the need and run alongside someone to encourage them through that dark place. Both parts are essential.

Besides my bible study groups, I'm also a part of a prayer group. These families have become my family as we pray for each others kids, marriages, extended families, work, you name it. We officially meet once a month, have dinner and pray for each other, but that connection continues throughout the month as we send out prayer requests anytime, knowing our friends will stop and pray for that need. These are the type who would drop everything and run with me if I needed help on my 14th mile.

What about you? Do you have a community, someone to run along side when you are weary or fearful or bone-tired? Sometimes finding that group is difficult. It takes risk. I remember talking with one of the ladies who had planned on joining our Sunday morning bible study. She was nervous, never having done anything like this before, afraid she didn't know enough of the bible to fit in. I encouraged her. She risked. The whole group welcomed her, like they do every new person who joins. Now that she has been attending for several months, it is clear she has given us all more than we ever gave her. That's the beauty of being part of a community.

No man is an island. So what if we need help to run our race. We are meant for community. Where can you find yours today?

Introvert Musings

It began with a comment  about how the tortilla chips were gluten free, and ended by talking chemo, hair and ports. A pretty typical trip to the grocery store, right?

 A couple of weeks ago, I was out running errands and stopped into Central Market for a few groceries. After loading up my cart with bulk spices, vegetables and tortilla chips, I randomly chose a line. Soon I listened in on a gregarious cashier interacting with what I could only assume was a dear friend of hers.

Yet, when she switched to me and scanned my tortilla chips, she began telling me how she was now off gluten and on the lookout for more gluten free products.  Then she casually mentioned being on chemo two years ago and gaining so much weight, and having stomach problems and trying to stay off gluten, all while expertly scanning and bagging my groceries. I jumped in and asked her what kind of cancer she had. It was breast cancer.

We chatted about hair loss and how it returned differently from our original hair. She asked me if I had problem with my port site, and I told her it was still tender even after four years. She mentioned how she has had a few scares, minor things that made her worry. I encouraged her that as time passes for me, my level of panic decreases whenever I feel a new ache. I try to remember to notice it briefly, but not dwell on it unless it hangs around.  The farther I am away from my diagnosis, I told her, the less I think about cancer coming back. You'll get there, I encouraged.

She smiled and thanked me. I told her that her hair was beautiful and congratulations for the two years she is past cancer. She wished me a good day and hoped to see me again.

I did stop in the store this week and saw her in action again, same smile, same sweet spirit. I chose a different line this time, mostly because it was shorter, but it might have been that I wanted to be anonymous that day. Have you ever felt that way? Have you ever wanted to get in and out and not interact with anyone? If you said no, then you definitely are not an introvert.

Some days my introvert tendency comes on strong. Last week I was home several days in a row, no appointments, no errands to run, just me and my keyboard and books. (And the million other household duties that I try to put off until I get some writing in.)  I got it into my mind that I would pack up my computer and hang out in the library or a coffee shop. I exchanged my usual yoga pants with some actual street clothes. After the kids left and I finished my bible study, I packed up. I borrowed Ben's laptop, since it's smaller, remembered my thumbdrive and notes, pens and highlighters. Since I had a few books at the library on the hold shelf, I thought I'd start my day out there.

For a weekday morning, I was surprised the library was so crowded. Of course, this is one of my frequent stops, but I usually don't look for a table to occupy. None of the tables were empty. I found one table with only one other person, but that day I wasn't in the mood to share.  I decided to check out the nearby Starbucks.

As I pulled into the parking lot, I noticed so many cars. Driving around to the front of the shop, I peeked into the windows and saw an uninterrupted row of heads. That probably meant the only available place would be at the large table in the middle, and, well, you know how I felt about sharing space that day.

I considered driving to another place, but the idea of the quiet of my house, a desk to myself, my own coffee with organic milk I can create into a sort of latte (not as good as a coffee shop, but good enough for me) kept me driving. I pulled into my garage, unloaded my bookbag and unpacked it in my living room.  This is where I found my sweet spot.

Somedays I wish I were more like my extrovert friends. They have the ability to find people and hear their stories and be able to encourage them. A friend of a friend, a man battling stage 4 colon cancer, often shares on Facebook about his interactions with people in the waiting room or the treatment chair next to him. He is not afraid to ask people if he can pray for them, right then and there, either. How encouraging would that be? Most of the conversations I've had while receiving treatment have been because someone else initiated them. 

I do have my moments. When I know I need to be outgoing, I can turn it on. This Friday I am going to a business dinner with Walt,  and I'll put on a nice dress and fill my mind with ideas for conversation starters. Am I the only one who needs to prepare this way? I've learned that a few open ended questions is all it takes to open up a conversation. Then I'll listen, and I'll probably find someone I was glad to have met. 

I often wonder if I did this more often, would I have more opportunities to encourage others? It's possible, but I also know that it's not my normal bent. Too much time around people usually doesn't instill in me a desire to encourage anyone. It's probably the opposite, as my kids can attest. It's taken years, but I'm okay to follow the way God has created me and not try to compare my weaknesses with others' strengths.  

My conversation at the grocery store was not my typical experience. I'm glad I had the chance to encourage the cashier, but usually my grocery stop consists of smiling, asking how they were doing, and running my card through the machine. When God opens the door, as He did when I asked the question about her cancer, I've experienced wonderful connections with amazing people. I think that's the key with me. If God leads, I need to walk through the open door. Otherwise, it's okay for me to find solace in the quiet.

Expectations

Mom (expecting my youngest sister), my brother, sisters and I (on the pony)

I remember one Christmas many years ago. I was maybe a young teen at the time. We had opened presents, always a huge event with five kids, and I spotted an extra sweatshirt in my brother's pile. I'm not sure how I knew it was extra, but my mom was very careful about making sure we all had the same number of gifts. A twinge of jealousy marred my happiness of a moment ago. I expected everyone to have the same amount of items, so why does my brother have an extra one, I wondered silently.

I found out later that my sister, taking the amount we were given to buy small gifts for our siblings, found an extraordinary deal on the sweatshirt and bought it for my brother instead of the small toy or candy that we usually got for each other. This impacted me so much that even though the details of the rest of the day are blurred, I remember the extra shirt as if it were yesterday. I also cringe at my reaction, the shallowness that I sometimes still struggle with.

How often do our expectations, and often misunderstandings, mess up what could have been a fabulous day?

Unexpected snow when I don't have to be anywhere is my favorite

I wrote earlier about how excited I was about spending the early morning of Black Friday with my daughter, perhaps our last time since it looks likely that she will go out of state to college next year.

While I did spend a few hours with her, it wasn't anything like I expected or hoped for. She asked if it was okay for her to go earlier with a few of her friends who were trying to capture the last of the Thanksgiving Day sales. I refuse to shop on Thanksgiving Day, but Becca thought it would be fun to go with her friends, especially since we were only watching a movie. We would meet up whatever time I decided to go. She asked if it was okay.

I looked at my 18 year old daughter, wanting to appease me but eager to hang out in the middle of the night in a mall with her friends. It would be her last chance to spend Black Friday with these friends, too. As a mom, I know how important family is, but as a teen, she is all about her friends. I get this. I was like that, too.

I told her to go. Make good decisions, be safe, have fun.

That morning, about 3, I made the cold, dark drive by myself, still thankful for the lack of traffic. I parked in the first row near the main entrance. We connected. She was exhausted. Her friend who happens to be a boy hung out with us, too.

It wasn't what I expected, but I knew I had a choice. I would make the most of this moment, this time, and throw away any expectations from past years.

We shopped. I bought them a Cinnabon, I had Starbucks. We usually had Starbucks together. It was different this year because she already had a mocha before I came.

Instead of wandering the mall, we went to specific shops and left after only a couple of hours. I had energy to drive to Old Navy, but Becca was fading fast. They stayed in the car while I ran in to find a sweatshirt for Ben.

We drove home while it was still dark with very little traffic. No extra stops at Fred Meyer. No chasing down a sale at as many stores as possible.

We still made a memory.

Living in the moment means letting go of expectations, what should have been, what I wished was. God has thrown curveballs into my life, like with the sudden breast cancer diagnosis. If I held onto my expectations of what I hoped life was, what I wished I hadn't needed to think about, what I never wanted to endure, I would have missed out on the blessings of the moment, of seeing God in the small things.

Living life in the present is like that.

I think of Mary, just a teenager, engaged to a special man. Her life mapped out.

Then suddenly an angel appears. Your plans will be changed abruptly. You will give birth to a son who will be called Jesus who will become your Savior.

Mary answers, "I am the Lord's servant. May your word to me be fulfilled." (Luke 1:38).

If Mary kept hold of her expectations, she would have missed out on this blessing. Was it not a blessing laced with tremendous difficulties? Yes, we can only imagine all the hardships she faced.

Yet her letting go of expectations, living in the moment, being willing to do as God asked her, opened up the means for Jesus to come to earth, offering Himself as our greatest blessing.

In our days, it's easy to chase after things that don't matter. We have our expectations of what is fair or important.

But what if the interruption, how we react to a change of plans, how we let God lead, is the most important thing for us to see?

Because the Jews were looking for their expected messiah, and they missed the Bethlehem morning, the infant wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger. They missed Jesus.

This Christmas, don't let expectations get in the way of Jesus. Be open to living now, eyes wide open, looking for what God has in store.

God is Faithful

"God is faithful."

I heard this response frequently in response to my cancer updates. God has been extremely kind and good and loving as He has led me through this journey.

Yet, when I that my good news was connected to God being faithful, I couldn't help but cringe. 

If God is faithful to me because I caught my cancer early enough, or the chemo and radiation were effective, what does that say to people who don't hear good news?

Was God not faithful to my friend whose cancer broke through her lymph nodes and has a 50% chance of showing up somewhere else in her body? Or what about my friends who are diagnosed with stage IV breast cancer from the start and will always be in treatment, their life most likely shortened and always filled with some kind of pain?  

For that matter, what about the godly parents whose children are sick or wayward? What about those who have lost homes in a flood or a fire? Or lost their jobs unexpectedly or unfairly? Or are waiting in the desert, not hearing from God, longing for something good, like bringing their teenage son home from Africa who has been bound up in governmental red tape and procrastination? 

Therefore know that the LORD your God, He is God, the faithful God who keeps covenant and mercy for a thousand generations with those who love Him and keep His commandments; (Deut 7:9)

I always connected God's faithfulness with keeping His promises. God promises eternal life (John 3:16), always providing a way out of temptation (1 Cor 10:13), that the elderly, childless Abraham would have descendents as numerous as the stars (Gen 15:5). The many promises in the bible include His provision, refuge, rest, salvation. 

A small snapshot of what the bible says about faithfulness

He never promised a cancer-free, easy life. So my being free of cancer wasn't because He is faithful, but because of His kindness, right?

Yet as I studied and prayed, I'm beginning to see where my picture of faithfulness falls short. 

Psalm 111:7 states "The works of his hands are faithful and just..."  God's works are faithful. His character is faithful. His plan for each of us is faithful. 

In fact, He promises, "In this world you will have trouble. But take heart; I have overcome the world." (John 16:33) 

Yes, we are promised trouble and hardship in this world. But, we are also promised that God has overcome the world. I think this could mean in this moment or in the end.  My view to the eternal, knowing God wins in the end, that whatever I am facing is temporary when lined up with forever, helps keep my struggles in perspective. Yet, leaning on His faithfulness means we can trust His plan today, too. That somehow this struggle, this pain, this difficulty will make sense. That He who began this work, will complete it in Christ Jesus. (Phil 1:6)

I can be confident that today, God's plan leads me to the good news of clear tests during my six-month screenings. I'm so incredibly thankful that I'm cancer-free. 

However, my message of God's faithfulness would have more teeth had I received bad news. Sure, it's easy to be thankful for God's plan that is easy and hopeful.

Here is a better example. A few years ago I listened in tears at a retreat as a young wife and mother told the story of her husband's tragic accident that left him paralyzed from the waist down. She said, that despite everything she walked through and will continue to walk, she wouldn't change anything. From her blog, Healing for Thomas, she writes,  "Although this event was tragic and traumatic and completely changed the course of our lives, it has lead us straight into the arms of Jesus and we have found true intimacy with Him there! We would not change these events in our lives because only now do we see and know God in a way we only drempt (sic) of before…He has given us real and lasting hope."
Sometimes, our faithful God, pushes us to the ledge of all we can manage on our own, wanting us to let go and trust Him to work out His plan, to connect with Him in a way that is more intimate and real than ever before. 
In Daniel 3:16, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego stood before the burning furnace because they chose faith in God over worshipping idols. They knew "the God we serve is able to deliver us from it... but even if He does not, we will not serve your gods." 
They put their lives into the hands of the God they trusted who could choose to save them in the furnace or save them in eternity. As those of you who have read the story know, the three men were tied up and thrown into the blazing furnace, ordered seven times hotter than usual. It was so hot that the flames of the fire killed the soldiers who were near the open door. Then, King Nebuchadnezzar saw four people in the furnace, walking around, unbound. When he ordered them out, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego came out of the fire completely unharmed. Not a hair on their head was singed, their robes completely untouched.
This is an incredible story. In this case, God chose to go with the men into the fire (or at least I assume the fourth figure in the fire was Him). In other situations, His plan may be to prevent someone from going into the fire, or walking them completely through it into eternity. In all situations, God is always faithful to His plan.


Those who lean into God during the fire, will experience Him in ways they couldn't before. As much as I enjoy health and activity, I sometimes miss those days when I lay helpless from the effects of chemo, worshiping God with my tears.  I never felt more loved and cared for than in those quiet, hard moments. 

The kids, Sugar and I taken Christmas Eve, shortly after finishing treatment in 2012

This picture, taken this summer, shows how much the kids and my hair have grown

So is God faithful in my good news? Absolutely. He is faithful no matter what circumstance, whether a scary trial or the sweet relief of good health. He is always faithful to His character, a God of immeasurable love, goodness, and refuge. 

"The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged." (Deut 31:8)

As I am posting this on election day, I can't help to remind myself that no matter the results, God is still faithful. He is still God, in control, unsurprised, almighty King.

Steven Curtis Chapman, the Christian singer and songwriter, posted a video on his facebook page with a song he wrote. He has an amazing way of nailing the truth:

He is faithful and true, 

everything He says He'll do,

And everything we go through, 

He will go with us.

All the kingdoms of man 

are in the palm of His hand

So I will not fear, I'll say it loud and clear, so my own heart can hear it

God is on the throne.

 Steven Curtis Chapman video

Waiting Room

"You can wait here while the doctor looks over the films and I'll come get you with the results," the technician said as she opened the door to the waiting room I left a few minutes before. I walked past women robed in cream-colored gowns, some idly flipping through magazines or scrolling on their phones. I didn't know their stories, but something inside me wanted to know.

• Who is here for their first mammogram?
• Who is here for a routine mammogram?
• Who is here waiting for the results of a diagnostic mammogram, wondering if the doctor will find something, like me?
• Who is scared to death?

I found a magazine and a chair, sipping my coffee. I feel at peace, I thought, God's in control. The magazine didn't hold my interest so I glanced around. No one was talking. Everyone looked calm on the outside, but I wondered what storms swirled inside?

The door opened and a younger lady was called back for a mammogram. Shortly after, she returned and found a seat near me, quickly burying her head in a magazine. She was probably waiting for results and trying to hide her concern.

I returned to my magazine and wondered, maybe I should steel myself for bad news. If the technologist comes back with a concern from the doctor, a suspicious spot, or more calcifications which is how they caught my cancer, I could be swept up into the frantic pace of an ultrasound and even a biopsy.  Maybe I should prepare.

Then I reminded myself that, if that should happen, God's grace would meet me there.  I thought of the verse do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God (Philippians 4:6).  I admit I didn't know it verbatim at the time, but I knew enough of the words to know the verse doesn't stop at, do not be anxious. While the exact wording evaded me and my phone was locked up in my locker at the time, I knew I wasn't supposed to be sitting there actively trying not to worry, but I was to replace that fear with prayer and praise. 

I prayed for my films, that they would be clear. I prayed for the other women in the waiting room. I thanked God for carrying me thus far, for always providing what I needed at the time. For providing me with peace. For His grace.

The technician called me back. I noticed she didn't have a piece of paper. She told me the doctors were behind but she hadn't forgotten me. I smiled, thanked her, and returned to the waiting room.

I refilled my coffee cup with hot water. After the coffee, I wanted to rehydrate and the warmth was calming. I sat back in peace, knowing God already knew. 

A few more women went back for their mammograms and left.  A few new ones joined us. 

I was on my second cup of hot water when the technician called me back, this time with the white paper that held my fate. She led me into a corner space and said, "Everything is fine. We will see you in a year. "  I smiled, tucked the paper securely in my palm, and went back through those doors for the final time, grateful. 

The one thing I noticed was I didn't have the same elation I felt the first couple of times I heard those words. It wasn't because they were any less meaningful, but this time they weren't ushered in with a sudden release of fear. I already was calm. Now I felt gladness. Thankful. Securely loved.

Benign.

One of my favorite words.

One part of my screening is done. I left blood behind at the oncology center to be screened for tumor markers and other indicators of potential problems. My bones were also screened, since the lack of estrogen in my body affects bone density.  I'm hoping the exercises I try to include daily, nutrition and supplements counterattack the lack of estrogen which my body needs to ward off cancer. It's the delicate balancing act. A tightrope that cancer patients tiptoe, side effects versus benefits, statistics versus evidence. Cancer stalks, lies hidden, evades detection so we cannot know for sure if it's been eradicated. Thus, we fight the invisible enemy with all our guns, hoping it's enough.

I'll know on November 1st.

I don't wait in fear but in surety of the God who knows my future. I fill my days with praise and prayer, easily distracted with the pace of daily activities with three teenagers. But every once in awhile, I wonder. Will a tumor marker be elevated, revealing something for which I have no symptoms yet? Then I remember all the previous times of useless worry, remember God's words are not only true, but they are vital to living in the present.

Today, I'm cancer free. It's all I need to know. I'll leave the rest up to God. 

As I finish this post, I want to remind anyone reading this that if it's time for your mammogram, let me encourage you to pick up the phone and schedule it. Remember I didn't have a family history, and 80% of breast cancer diagnoses do not have one. You are at risk because you are a woman and getting older. So, please, schedule your mammogram. It takes time. It's uncomfortable. It's a bit scary. But without it, you will miss out on a vital piece of your health knowledge. You can't fight what you don't know.

Besides, who wouldn't want to wear a rose gown, open in the front, and covered securely by a warm, cream-colored robe?

A Full October

It snuck up on me this time. A few days ago I was checking my calendar for what my next week looked like, and saw this:

The start of my six-month cancer screenings are tomorrow. I guess it's a good thing that it snuck up on me. It means I'm living life and not waiting out cancer. It means I'm living in the present and not worried about tomorrow. It means I'm trusting God and not concerned about these tests. It also means my life is full of living, and since this is my first time going six-months between appointments, I have chosen to live it to it's fullest.

I knew it was coming up soon since I went into my endocrinologist last week and I see him every six months, too. I've actually scheduled my primary care doctor visit next week, deciding to bunch up my appointments.  Then the following week I meet with my oncologist and discuss the results of the blood test, dexa scan (for bone density) and mammogram.  I'll probably know the results of my mammogram because I usually need to wait around for them. Yet, I may not, since this will be my first "screening" mammo since my diagnosis in 2012. Up to this point, I've had a diagnostic mammogram, where the doctor is shown my films while I wait, making sure no suspicious spots have appeared. Six months ago, you may have remembered me posting this:

This was my report after my last mammogram, and instead of being considered "probably benign," I moved into the "benign" category. So, tomorrow I'll find out if that means I get sent home like most women and wait for the results to come in the mail, or if I'm sent back to the waiting room for a cup of tea until a doctor has a chance to read the films and report back to me.

October, since it's also called Breast Cancer Awareness month, is full of mixed emotions to me. I decided to channel those into an article and see if I can get it published. Many of you know that last week it was indeed published on the Everyday Health website. Here is a link to my article if you haven't read it yet:

Why We Need to Rethink Pink

It's been a fast-moving month. Ben has had a great tennis season and seems to be adapting to high school, not without some bumps and bruises, but every day is a bit easier for him. Becca and Nathan are busy in their Senior and Junior years, taking challenging courses, deciding on colleges. I released my responsibilities as a homeschooling mom to more concentrated time writing, exploring possible part time jobs and tackling a few more household projects. I'm also in two bible studies, where I've loved digging into God's word and connecting with more women. I'm trying not to say yes to just anything that comes my way, waiting to see what God is leading me to do.

I was chatting with a friend the other day, mentioning how busy life is, when she said a friend of hers chooses to say, "My life is full with things I choose to fill it with." Doesn't that sound much better than "busy?" Busy has a bit of a negative bent to it, while a "full life" seems more positive.

And why not choose fullness over busyness? After all, Jesus didn't give us a busy life, but in John 10:10, He said, "I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full."

Sometimes you have to go through a mountain of pain, hurt or sorrow to get to the full. Whether you are standing before the mountain, in the middle of the torturous climb, or maybe seeing the top, God's going to see you through.

Four Years Ago

Yesterday Facebook reminded me it was the anniversary of my last chemotherapy for breast cancer. It's been four years. I still remember the metallic taste of the heparan that was injected to clean out my port. That was the first taste in my mouth and remained along with fuzzy cotton for the next couple of weeks. Actually, if I remember correctly (and I can't be trusted on that these days), I think by this time the fuzzy cotton mouth never left.  I do remember wondering what it will be like to not have a three week cycle, to finally allow time for  my body to fully rebound against the attacks of chemo.  All I had to do was endure one more massive beating. My body was weak, my red blood cell count was pitiful, and I was out of breath, achy and tired all the time.

I would continue to go back weekly for infusions of Herceptin, the miracle drug which helped defeated the aggressiveness of my Her2 positive breast cancer. Then starting in October, I would go back once every three weeks instead of weekly until a year was out. Fortunately my main side effects from this drug were a running nose and insomnia, both easily tolerated.

I remember this day in 2012, hopeful that the chemo did its job, but so tired to think of anything but lasting until bedtime. The kids were all still homeschooling and busy with soccer, church and other activities.  Friends graciously transported them to places because all I could do was sleep. The nausea hadn't set in yet, and the steroids only gave me a bump of energy. That weekend I would miss soccer games and church. Besides not being able to eat or barely drink, I would need to swallow a gigantic potassium pill because now those levels were also low. Walt would bring me back to the clinic for fluids on Monday while friends transported my kids to their co-op classes. We did the best we could. We survived, barely.

It felt like that week would never end, perhaps because it was my last time and I was finished. Done. No more. Finito.  And I couldn't wait to start feeling better.

Once the nausea subsided in about a week, I still felt run down. I tried to eat red meat and spinach and kale to try to boost my iron and combat the anemia. My doctor said it would just take time. I couldn't go on walks during this time, out of breath just walking up the stairs to my bedroom. Even after a few days when I ordinarily would start feeling stronger, I was so weak. I wanted to start walking again, but it needed to be on a flat surface. Hills destroyed me. The track at the high school wouldn't work because of the stairs leading down to it. Everything had to be considered. If I went this far, would I be able to make it back?

Eventually, I caught my breath again. The metally taste and nausea subsided. My stomach was still sensitive so I had to continue to cook my vegetables and avoid anything hard to digest. In a few weeks, I would meet with Dr. Hunter, the radiation oncologist, and learn about radiation. I remember how wonderful it felt three weeks after my last chemo to be going in for just Herceptin. I would continue to improve, not crash again.

I remember back then how going to church, after missing so many Sundays, was magical. Every song, every word, every embrace by friends meant so much. Sitting at the boys' soccer games, soaking up every moment. Looking in the mirror, wondering, will my hair grow back?

Becca singing in church one Sunday during this time--so grateful I could be there

Watching Ben's soccer games

And Nathan's... so thankful to be able to participate in life again

Still wearing my hat and scarf

I am also sensitive, then and now, of those cancer patients whose treatment do not have an end. These are metastatic cancer patients, where the cancer has spread from the initial site. Some people were diagnosed that way from the beginning, and others had a second diagnosis after finishing their first rounds of chemo treatment. When the cancer has spread to other places, mostly the bones, liver or brain for breast cancer patients, you are considered stage 4. There are no further stages. Cancer can be conniving, too, jumping stages with no rhyme or reason. Just because you start at stage 1 or 2, doesn't mean you have a couple of stages to go. This also means that unless the cancer miraculously goes into remission and becomes dormant, the stage 4 cancer patient will be on chemo for the rest of his or her life, either until the drugs stop working or they can't be tolerated anymore.

One other thing to know, just because someone has no breasts, it doesn't mean the cancer won't return or spread. Even the most skilled surgeon cannot remove all breast tissue in a mastectomy. Even after surgery and chemo, cancer cells can lay dormant in someone's body, sometimes for years, and suddenly spring to life.

When I considered between lumpectomy and mastectomy, I elected to take a conservative approach. My surgeon stated that the overall survival between the two is the same. Lumpectomy would require radiation and had a slightly higher recurrence rate than mastectomy. The rate of metastasis was the same. So, we prayed through the decision and felt the less aggressive approach was right for us. The recovery time from the surgery was shorter so we could attack any rogue cancer cells sooner with chemotherapy.

Sometimes this decision between mastectomy and lumpectomy is taken away from the woman because the tumor is too large or there are multiple small ones. Sometimes it's not the invasive tumor that is the concern but DCIS, a type of cancer that is still contained in the ducts and considered stage 0. When this area is extensive, the doctor will often recommend removing the breast.

Each woman will look at the facts, consider whether she wants radiation or not, consider the stress of continued screenings and fear and decide to remove the cancerous breast and sometimes even the healthy one. Each woman will decide what is right for her. I don't regret having a lumpectomy, even though radiation did cause problems in my shoulder. My bi-annual screenings have gradually become less scary. It was the right decision for me.

I also know several women who choose a mastectomy and that was the right decision for each of them. The last thing any woman needs is to be questioned about her very difficult, emotional decision made at markedly one of the most stressful, fearful, emotional times of her life.

As I look at my day today, one spent at the computer writing, anticipating a walk later and then watching Ben at his tennis match, I can't help but feel an overwhelmingly emotion of gratefulness. Four years ago, being bald and weak, seems like a lifetime ago. I'm thankful that God had me walk that journey because of the lessons I learned, but I so appreciate today. Right now. This moment of health and peace. Today, I'm rejoicing in the Lord's mercy.

"It is good to give thanks to the Lord, and to sing praises to Your name... to declare Your lovingkindness in the morning, and Your faithfulness every night." —Psalm 92:1-2

Interrupted From My Plans

Last week I stayed at a beautiful, five-star hotel in the heart of Oregon wine country, enjoying a leisurely free couple of days while Walt was in long planning meetings.This is my second time on this annual retreat, every year a new place.

I remember how hard I avoided it the first few years I was invited. I mean, if my avoiding this getaway was an athletic competition, I would have won a medal. My heart was firmly planted at home. I homeschooled. I needed to help the kids. Who's going to drive them to activities? Feed them? Wash their clothes? Get them up in the morning and make sure they finish their homework?

Actually, we have friends who were more than willing to help out with all of this.

I have nothing in common with the other wives.

Ouch. Finally, the truth. When I pushed away all my other reasons for my reluctance, I uncovered the real one. I felt unworthy. Who was I to go to a fancy hotel and interact with people much more sophisticated than I am? Who was I to say I was anything but a stay-at-home homeschooling mom?

Two years ago, after lining up places for my kids to go and rides to all their activities, I was on the verge of actually attending the conference. Then Ben started feeling sick. I can't remember exactly, but perhaps a sore throat. What if it gets worse? I couldn't let him infect my friends' kids who had graciously offered to have him stay with them. I played the mom card and jumped at the chance to cancel my plans.

What I remember most from that time was Ben's cold was pretty minor and talking with Walt during his long days at a conference without my support. I realized I let fear guide me. It wasn't a good feeling.

Last year, Walt urged me to go. It would help him. I should get to know the other wives. I knew I let him down the year before. So, I bit the bullet....and had an absolutely marvelous time.

Mostly, I discovered that I had more in common with the other wives than I thought. Peel away the fancy haircuts and designer clothes (which only a few actually wore--most of the others enjoyed their jeans and yoga pants as much as I did), they were wives, mothers, some with interesting careers and others who were tending their home and families, like me. Like me. I found I used that phrase much more often than I expected.

So this year, I eagerly packed a large tote bag full of books, pens and podcasts, planning on whiling away long, leisurely days by myself before joining everyone for the evening dinners.

God had other plans.

When we arrived at the hotel, our room was not ready. Walt needed to head into a meeting at noon, and I had planned on going for a walk before my massage appointment in a few hours. (Okay, even writing this makes me feel spoiled and indulgent. Last year I opted out of the chance to schedule a massage or even a pedicure because it wasn't me. Too fancy. Too girly. Too....much. This year, I bravely took the plunge and scheduled a massage to see if it would help with my achy joints. More on that later.)

So instead of slipping away to my room to change and explore the grounds by myself, I took my tote bag out to the patio and sipped on water, expecting a phone call any minute that my room would be ready.

One of the other wives, Gretchen, spotted me and I invited her to join me. She had a glass a wine and had ordered a light lunch. Because of my upcoming massage, I politely declined her offer to join her in eating, but nonetheless we shared a delightful conversation about our kids. I met Gretchen for the first time last year and immediately connected with her. She loves being a mom--so do I. Her last one just left for college--that'll be me in about four years. She now has time to travel with her husband and decide how she wants to spend her time. She is someone I easily admire and learn from. It was a nice way to spend my interrupted afternoon.

Soon, I broke away for my appointment, carrying my heavy tote bag, the books still unopened. After filling out paperwork, I was led to a locker which held a robe and slippers, then to a lounge area to wait for my therapist. Even though this was way out of my normal life, I certainly enjoyed it. I think I I imitated someone who knew what she was doing sorta well.

The inspiration to book this massage, to push myself out of my comfort zone so to speak, began last spring. I was sharing an update of my cancer story at our women's retreat and mentioned the aches and pains from taking Aromasin (the medicine which prevents estrogen in my body). One of my friends from church, a fellow breast cancer survivor, suggested I try massage since she found it to be surprisingly helpful for her aching joints. I took that advice in hand, and promptly tucked it away to do something with it some day.

Well, when I discovered we were staying at a spa which offered therapeutic massage options, and my massage would be paid for by the company, I couldn't not act on it. Even though, I was nervous calling to make the appointment. I was nervous walking down the steps to the spa. I was nervous sitting in a luxurious robe, drinking lavender-infused water and trying to act like I was supposed to be there. On the outside, I think I faked it pretty well. As I looked around, I wondered if it was only me or if everyone else belonged there.

The therapist put me at ease immediately. I could feel the muscles in my shoulder and hips loosen and lengthen. She advised I might be stiff the next day as my body releases the toxins. Instead, for the first time in too long I could do pushups without pain. When I moved after sitting for awhile, I felt no aches. My morning walk to the bathroom did not resemble a 90-year-old's shuffle. It was pure bliss. The aches have slowly returned, but the results of the message might be enough for me to find a therapist at home.

If I can find the time. And the money. (Although, I plan to talk with my doctor to see if I can get a prescription for massage...) Anyway, I'll keep you posted.

The next day was my free morning and afternoon of no plans except to read and walk and maybe even nap. After the heavy dinner the night before, I didn't feel like starting the day with a big breakfast, but I did want a cup of the freshly brewed, locally roasted coffee offered in the lobby. At the coffee pot, I smiled hi to one of the wives, one who I have seen around at various events through the years, usually a few drinks ahead of everyone else. Clearly, she was not someone I had much in common with.

As I wandered out to the same patio I sat at the day before with my coffee and book, she followed me. With a smile, she said, "I hope you don't think I'm stalking you."

I smiled back and invited her to join me. With my hair tucked into a baseball cap and wearing my favorite stretchy pants, I wasn't planning on staying long. Besides, she also had a paperback in hand.

We started talking.

And talking.

And talking.

This "party girl" and I had a lot more in common than either of us would have imagined. She loves being a mom. Her mom went through both ovarian and breast cancers. She fears the same future.

We talked about hopes. And dreams. And frustrations. We shared a little about what we believed in God. She described what she loves about being home with the kids and what she hates. I understood both.

We went to refill our coffee cups and discovered the coffee was gone. It was approaching 11 already. Both of us, now starving, sat down to eat lunch.

Three hours had passed. My book remained unopened. My plans of a quiet morning interrupted.

It was a case of an introvert (me) meeting an extrovert (her). It was meaningful and rich.  Just as God planned it.

I said goodbye and headed back to my room. I spent a few quiet minutes reading before I decided to get in a walk first. After some exercise and a bit of exploring, I would feel better about spending the rest of the afternoon reading and maybe napping.

My earphones connected to a podcast, I wandered into the lobby to find a handful of the wives gathered there. "We are heading out for a five-mile walk," Kelly, the president's wife, offered. "Want to join us?"

Of course I would. A five mile walk was more than I knew I would do on my own. Plus, how fun would it be to find out more about these women as we walked, no fancy shoes or jewelry to get in the way of real conversation. In fact, some were not even wearing makeup.

We headed out, lost our way, turned around, headed back. We still weren't sure where we were supposed to be, but it sure was fun. Two of the women dropped out when they spotted the huge hill in front of us, but some of us continued on. We spotted alpacas. From the top of another hill, we enjoyed vistas of orchards and vineyards. We tramped into the grassy ditch as cars passed us on the narrow road. Eventually, several hours later, we managed to find our way back to the inn.

What was supposed to be a five-mile walk probably turned into six or seven. It was hard to tell because I was hearing the stories of interesting women as I breathed in the fresh, fall air.

Our final push was up these stairs leading to a container filled with ice-cold water. Then we said our goodbyes as we headed to our rooms for showers and the remaining quiet minutes before we would gather for dinner that night.

Yes, the day was not as I planned but more than I hoped. Most of my books remained unopened during the days I stayed here, but my soul was filled with rich connections. I realized that by asking questions and listening, I found similarities and common ground to begin a friendship with people I would have never thought possible.

Mostly, I discovered that when God interrupts my plans, it's for a purpose. I might even learn that I was indeed worthy of being there, not because of what I did, but who I was. I was enough. I am enough. And so were the people I met. And so are you.

New Doctor Visit

Time sure flies in the spring. I started this posted weeks ago and have been so busy to finish it until now. It's been two weeks since I went back to see my new oncologist for the results of my blood test and discuss my health. The front desk  of the clinic is the same, the paperwork only slightly different. Because it's been six glorious months since my last visit, I had to fill out some kind of overall health survey sheet. The nurse came to retrieve me before I completed that.

Dr. Kohn's nurse was alway chatty as we walked back to the scale, but this nurse seemed new and unsure of herself. She left me behind after recording my weight as I frantically tried to slip on my shoes. Fortunately she came back because we turned the opposite way down the hall as I had been used to.

After the usual blood pressure, temperature and question, "Have you fallen recently?" she quietly left, leaving behind her silence. In case you were wondering, I didn't check my lab results online before the visit, so I tried to rest confidently in God's shadow. That morning, I was reading in Psalm, "He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty" (91:1).

I turned on my kindle and read from Annie F. Downs's book, " Let's All Be Brave." I thought it was a good idea to read about being brave as I waited to hear if anything scary was going to pop up on my blood tests. Annie writes: "When God tells you to be brave, he will make it work. It won't be perfect. It won't be easy. But it will be your story and your best story."

When my new doctor knocked and entered, she smiled as she swiftly rubbed hand sanitizer on her hands. After it dried sufficiently, she shook my hand and offered, "You are one of Dr. Kohn's patients?"

I was accustomed to reading Dr. Kohn's expressions if there was a problem with my blood counts. Dr. Van Haelst smile, therefore, put me at ease. She then asked questions about my diagnosis, scanning the papers in front of her, what chemo I went through. "Oh, your tumor was quite large," she remarked. "Did you find it yourself?"

I told her it was found on a routine mammogram and she was surprised I hadn't felt it myself. I wonder about that myself, but all I remember is feeling a slight thickening. I should have been more aware, but at the time, I honestly didn't think I was at risk for cancer. I should have realized that being a woman was enough of a risk.

She then asked me if I had my blood drawn recently. What? You haven't read the info and prepared like I was used to from my previous doctor? Now, I realized I my confidence in her smile was mislaid.

She rolled up the chair to the computer and  pulled up my info. Glancing quickly, she said, "Everything looks fine. Even that marker that Aimee said is sometimes high is normal."

Okay, I can breathe again. Thank you, Lord. That is great news. She, too, was perplexed why that marker would range high, since I wasn't a smoker. Then she started sharing with me info that made me instantly feel positive of her as  my new doctor.  She told me that my prognosis is very good. That the drugs I had for chemo have been very effective at treating my type of cancer, especially the Herceptin. She worries more about her estrogen negative patients now, because she has seen the cancer recur with them more often than us triple positive types. She said that perhaps we could have treated my cancer with just the Herceptin and the aromatase inhibitor (the estrogen suppressing drugs), but it was good insurance to throw everything possible at it when we could. As hard as chemo was, looking back now in this land of uncertainty, I agree.

She confirmed that the chances of me not recurring is probably in the mid 90%.  This was the first time, since Dr. Hunter, my radiation oncologist, who confirmed the percentage. As much as I loved having Dr. Kohn as my oncologist, I felt like every time I was in her examining room, she was looking for cancer. With Dr. VH, I felt more that she was confirming that cancer wasn't there. It's a small difference, but when I live frequently with the fear of cancer coming back, it feels big.

I've been hesitant about thinking I'm "cured." Almost like taking the verse in proverbs, "pride goes before the fall," and exchange pride with "confidence of a cure" goes before the fall. I know in my head that's not correct. That it doesn't matter what I think. Maybe an err towards caution is good because it motivates me to keep walking, try to eat better, and be aware that my one glass of occasional wine doesn't turn into too many.

Yet, my trust needs to be in Jesus, who is the "author and perfecter" of my race. He knows if my race will include more cancer or not. Today, it is cancer-free. I'm thankful I can be confident in that.

Because my only risk factor is the late age I had my first baby, Dr. VH also doesn't agree in having yearly MRIs as Dr. Kohn did. If I had extremely dense breasts, she would probably be more inclined, but she feels confident in once a year mammograms at this point. She did extend me a chance to voice my opposition to her opinion, but, honestly, I'm okay with it. I do not like MRIs, and the stress leading up to them is not healthful. I'm kind of glad I don't have to do one.

So, I left the office feeling pumped about another clean bill of health, with instructions to have my mammo and bone density scan in October. I stopped by scheduling on my way out, and the nurse took my paperwork, told me something was wrong with the computer and she would schedule it and let me know when my appointments were.

It's been two weeks and I haven't heard. I may wait another week and make sure it's in the works. Without Dr. Kohn running the show, I can see how things might fall through the cracks.

For now, it feels amazing that I have a whole summer before me and time to hopefully get settled into our crazy fall schedule (three kids in high school!) by the time I grace the door of the clinic again. And, I might need to go Whidbey Island to get my cup of Whidbey Coffee. Who's in?

Spring Screenings

April 20th has come and gone, quietly marking four years since I received the phone call from my doctor which rocked our world. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about, the "I'm sorry, but you have cancer," phone call. I'm sorry that I know I just ruined your day, probably your year, but maybe, just maybe, I might have saved your life phone call. Because even though I received the worst kind of message on that phone call, imagine if I hadn't received it. Imagine if my radiologist missed the spot on my mammogram, missed the cancerous tumor when he biopsied, or the pathologist misread the slides. Imagine if I hadn't gone in for the mammogram when I did. Imagine what my cancer would be doing now, four years later. So, while that might  have been the hardest phone call to receive four years ago, I'm thankful that it came when it did, while I had a chance to fight for a cure before it became incurable.

The word "cure" is a tricky one. Will I ever know if I am cured? My radiogy oncologist used it, optimistic that I was cured, that I should come back to say hi, inferring that hopefully I wouldn't need to come back for any other reason. He carefully phrased his sentences to be encouraging but not give false hope. He was confident in the science, the percentages, that I would be one of the 90% who could say goodbye to cancer. Many people consider five years a milestone, others ten. Truly, the further I am from diagnosis, the less chance I have of cancer recurring.

Yet, cancer doesn't care about numbers. I don't think mine will ever be zero, unless there is a new breakthrough. Those who have had cancer recur 12 or 15 years, even 20 years--not a new cancer, but the original cancer --are warnings of that fact.  No one knows why. How do cancer cells lie asleep for so long, and why do they suddenly wake?

I was speaking with one of my favorites on Sunday, a petite grandmother with a sparkle in her eye, who still works at a local drugstore yet spends her free time rescuing prostitutes and teaching them about God's love, who travels to faraway lands to share about Jesus, who always stops when she sees me to ask how I am doing. I told her about my screenings coming up, how grateful I am for being four years out, but how I'm still nervous about every time I restart my screenings. She mentioned that all the people she has ever heard who had cancer return after years were undergoing high periods of stress at the time. Loss of a loved one. Loss of job. Loss of marriage. It was probably their body's immune system not working because of the stress despite keeping the cancer cells at bay for so many years.

She is right. Stress is one of the enemies we need to fight against every day in our fight against cancer. Stress also cannot be measured by percentages or any other number.

Yet, it all points back to trusting God, doesn't it?

Last Tuesday, after six months of absence, I reentered  the cancer center. My blood was drawn from my right arm, filling four small tubes, each with a different colored top, indicating which test would be run. Those blood cells have probably been analyzed as I type. I won't find out results until next week. They might be posted online by Monday, if I'm courageous enough to look.

On Tuesday, I'll return to the clinic, sit in the same waiting room, and be called back to the examining room of my new oncologist. I will wait for a new tapping on the door, an introduction and then a discussion of the findings.

I'll miss my former doctor and all she guided me through. I am hopeful for a solid patient-doctor relationship with my new oncologist, but maybe not as strong as my last one.  You see, our relationship was forged over trying to find a solution for my chemo-induced nausea, my weightloss, my food aversions. It was tested through stomach problems and a decrease of my heart ejection fraction because of Herceptin. I grew in confidence of her abilities every time a nurse  would comment on how thorough she was, the best of the group. Who knows if they say that about every doctor?

My hope is I find my new onc easy to talk with, that I grow in confidence as we continue to have follow ups in the future, but I won't have a need to test her abilities as I tested my other doctor. I'm hoping for simple, normal follow ups until I'm cut loose, probably when I'm no longer taking aromatase inhibitors (the estrogen-suppressing prescription). That could be as early as January of 2018, but it could change, depending on new research that might indicate longer is better.

In the world of cancer, it's best to stay flexible and loose with deadlines.

When I have an upcoming screening date on the calendar, I find I am hesitant to make appointments in the future. Walt and I are talking about taking a belated 20th anniversary trip, using coupons he received for rescheduling a flight from Florida at Christmas. While we talk about ideas, until I've met with my oncologist and passed whichever additional screening she recommends (I think it's an MRI this year), I will not commit.

In the world of cancer, it's also helpful to not plan too far out into the future. Live today, live in the present, trust God.


At least my thyroid is still acting normally. During my appointment last week, my endocrinologist decided I should have an ultrasound to check for changes in my nodules. A few days later, I went into the outpatient clinic for the first time. (My previous ones were in the hospital.)

As I waited for the technician, I enjoyed a moment of warmth in their well-designed waiting room. I almost looked around for a barista to grab a latte. As soon as I took this picture, I was called back to the ultrasound room. Lying on the table, I started praying that she wouldn't find anything wrong. Then I caught myself  and prayed that if there was something to be caught, that she would find it. I've learned that if something needs to be caught, it's best to catch it as early as possible.

Since then, I've received a letter indicating that my thyroid hormones in my blood were still normal, although the doctor seemed surprised  they were inching closer to hyperthyroidism. He explained that currently my thyroid is inefficient, that it takes more energy to produce what a normal thyroid would produce. I'm guessing that an inefficient thyroid normally doesn't move to hyper but hypothyroidism, which means it isn't able to produce the normal amount of hormone. We'll just have to wait and see. I also received the ultrasound report, indicating slight growth of a couple of the  nodules, but nothing to worry about at this point. With the mysteries of my thyroid still unanswered, I won't need to think about it for another six months, all the way until October.

Hopefully I'll be able to say the same thing about my breast cancer. Early Tuesday morning, I'll know more. I keep reminding myself, it's better to know early. And, God's got my back.   And...