Scripture to Go! - Part 2

The following morning my pain subsided and day of whirlwind tests and procedures began. [From previous post, Part 1]

Late evening after the tests and procedures were completed, the urologist gave me the shocking news: renal cell carcinoma (RCC) which had ruptured through Gerota's fascia, also called a capsule, into the abdominal cavity.

RCC is resistant to chemotherapy and radiation, so surgical removal of the tumor, and in this case, also the kidney, is the only successful treatment, with a 5-year survival guesstimate.

The urologist left me alone to my thoughts; no one was present when he gave me the distressful, seemingly fatal diagnosis. In a minute my mind, which was locked on the words, "kidney stones" was rerouted to a far more serious word, "cancer," which I initially perceived, a death sentence.

Of course, I called my husband and family: their reaction was stunned silence, not helpful to this very verbal person who loves to thrash any subject into submission, ad nauseum, ad infinitum.

Throughout the night and next day of additional tests to determine my ability to withstand an estimated 6 hour surgery [heart-good, lungs-not so good], I kept asking myself, THE QUESTION, all of us seem to have when we, or those close to us, receive disturbing, disastrous, often fatalistic news: 'Why do bad things happen to good people?' It was the second medical crisis in which I mulled this question in my mind. May be I am not "good," whatever that is.

My mother was a humble, private, devout woman who suffered greatly 11 months with astrocytoma, a deadly brain tumor. My Mother-in-Law battled Lupus erythmatosus and breast cancer for over seven years. Both women were "good" in my judgment, much more devoted to their belief systems than I perceive myself.

Between the multiplicity of tests I turned to the source of my belief system in a Great Creator, an Omnipotent Deity. I retrieved the Gideon Bible from my bedside table, and numbly began shuffling pages. Searching for reassurance and comfort, Psalm 23 nor Philippians 4:13 , both great faith and comfort passages, did not seem to be scriptures befitting my current need.

So opening the Book in the vicinity of the Psalms, I allowed the pages to open where they may, which happened to be the dogeared page of Psalm 57:1 (NIV) where someone with trembling, unsteady hand had underlined the passage with a pencil. It read:

Have mercy on me, O God, have mercy on me,

for in You my soul takes refuge.

I will take refuge in the shadow of Your wings

until the disaster has passed.

In this same room some unknown person had sought comfort in this passage; perhaps he/she marked it for some future person's shared consolation. It immediately seem to be the passage for which I was seeking. Yes, I would "take refuge in the shadow of Your wings" and petition for mercy. I wrote the passage on a napkin and clutched it in my hand as my gurney rolled down the antiseptic corridors and blinding overhead lights into surgery the next day.

From the point of reading and accepting the message of this Scripture, everything changed. Surgery was much shorter, ICU and the step down unit were also short, and I only stayed a few days in a regular room. The tumor was much smaller than originally thought and in a necrotic state. There was no evidence of metastases.

The immediate disaster had passed.

August 26, 2009 will be 13 years without recurrence. I still have 6-month checkup by an oncologist. Having a medical background in pharmacy, I am of the opinion, once a person has cancer, the cells are always present, just 'looking for a home.'

To this day a copy of Psalm 57:1 resides in my purse and in my memory; therefore, Scripture to Go. I still consider myself hiding the the shadow of His wings.

Another Scripture accompanies me to City Council and other public service events in which I participate: Proverbs 29:18 "Without vision, the people perish..."

I realize David, hiding in a cave, is thought to have written Psalm 57 petitioning his God to save him from King Saul, who, consumed with insane jealousy, sought to kill him. Cancer was seeking to kill me.

Proverbs 29, goes on the say people who obey the law of the Lord, a spiritual law, are happy. This has been appropriated to the laws of men.

Similarly, John 8:32, "You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free" is engraved in various places such as the University of Texas Tower and quoted in many speeches, including one by Martin Luther King.The original passage appears to mean Spiritual truth of the Master Teacher.

Do you have a portable Source-to-Go for comfort in difficult circumstances: Scripture, poetry, writings of the Eastern or Greek philosophers, Islam, Judaism, Existentialism, or an idiom? I know many of you have diverse sources for bolstering your stamina to endure life's turbulent waters.

[Cancer Awareness Ribbons (some colors have multiple designations) Orange = kidney; grey = brain; pink = breast]

Monday Musings - My First Friend

ETHNICITY

DEFINITION OF ETHNICITY: eth⋅nic⋅i⋅ty [eth-nis-i-tee] –noun, plural -ties.
1. ethnic traits, background, allegiance, or association.
2. an ethnic group: Representatives of several ethnicities were present.
Origin: 1765–75, for earlier sense;ethnic + -ity
Dictionary.com UnabridgedBased on the Random House Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2009.

This is a true story about wrongly perceived ETHNICITY, as I remember it.

A recent post by Arkansas Patti on her entrance into the public education system, i.e., the first grade to most of us, triggered a number of life lessons I learned, including one in the first grade. By the way, cruise over to the The New Sixty blog of Arkansas Patti, to read her 2-part post about her first grade experience. [FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL, PART TWO--FIRST DAY]

The post triggered my memory of a playground lesson I learned early in my first grade experience, about ethnicity and careless adult conversation influencing children's language and behavior.

To set the stage, I was adopted by a lower middle class conservative Christian family in a small Central Texas town, amid multiple ethnicities, although the majority of citizens were white. The town was segregated, but it escaped the turmoil of other southern and a few southwestern states, probably because there was more than one segregated group. The best adjectives were "equal and separate," but that's not an accurate description, either.

This is a story about ethnicity, not race, as the two main characters are white.

It was 1943 and we were in the middle of the World War II, the war to end all wars....seems history also labeled WW I, the same way--guess WW II was to finish WW I. I remember sitting in front of a beautiful wood console radio/phonograph (78s only), listening to FDR's famous speech after Pearl Harbor.

With this background setting of the times in 1940, I set out to my first year of public school. I had private kindergarten plus some informal home schooling, so I was ahead of many students in my classroom.

However, social interaction was another matter. I was shy and introverted. I was not skilled in playground etiquette. I was the last chosen for Red Rover Come Over, jacks competition, and anything athletic. Give me a sand pile, my dog Snooky, and mud pies. I often played alone, even though I had siblings.

I finally made friends with a little girl whose last name was Rohr, Judith, who also seemed isolated, shy and introverted. The day we bonded in friendship, I skipped home to tell the news to Mother, who was concerned I seemed slow in social interaction. For several weeks, she listened to me regale my conversations with my new friend.
I had a hard time spelling her last name; origins of names was not high on my first grade learning curve. She was to my innocent eyes and mind, like me. We chatted as little girls do, we ate lunch together and hung out on the playground together. I was enchanted to know someone outside my extended family.

My elation and joy ended in tears one day when a playground spat turned ugly. I don't remember the initial reason it turned ugly, but a few participants turned on my friend, calling her a Nazi and Jew hater/killer, reducing her to tears.

My heart broke with hers and I did not understand what the names meant nor remember those words being used at home. I might have heard them on the Philco radio, but not from the lips of my parents.

Crying, I left the playground, not finishing the school day. I ran home, thinking Mother could cure whatever, was wrong. Little did I realize then, she could not solve the world's great social, political and religious problems with a wave of her hand.

She patiently explained to me as best she could to a first grader, the ramifications of war and its effect on the participants and their families. I heard there were other unkind characterizations, like Japs. She also included a few Biblical verses from her vast knowledge of Scripture. She tried to explain there were good and bad people in all kinds of situations.

A whole lot of the conversation I did not understand. She explained I had not made a bad selection of a friend, which was certainly music in my ears. In my distraught, heartbroken mind I thought there was something wrong with my friend and I would have to sever our new-found friendship--at that point my only perceived friend.

She also said the children, using ugly epithets, did not know what they were saying,[ more Scripture], but probably heard adult discussions and repeated what they heard. I was a bit miffed she seemingly took up for them, as I quickly formed the opinion they were "the enemy" for dinigerating my friend.

But one thing she did, stays with me to this day. She immediately called my friend's Mother the same afternoon, saying I still wanted to be friends, and we did not hold such prejudices. She invited the girl into our home. I was thrilled.

Our friendship blossomed as long as my friend attended my school. Later, her home was moved into another district, so she transferred to a different school. Her family moved out of town shortly after the redistricting.

Moving into second grade, I had my friend's unmarried aunt for a teacher. I seemed to have had a special place in the aunt's heart. I believe she knew of the first grade incident.

Thereafter, it seemed relationships, no matter the circumstance, were defined by differences, not similarities.

However, my life as an university student was eye opening and exciting. I attended the University of Texas, a mecca of ethnicities. I had supper prepared for me by a Lebanese man and his girl friend. It was so natural to mix with Europeans, Asians, Africans, etc. I received a degree in Pharmacy and invaluable life degree in intersocial, multi-national relationships.

And I have to confess, I quickly learned I wasn't the smartest cookie on the block. I was routinely outshined by many of the previously mentioned ethnicities!!!