A Cord of Three Strands

My family didn't hike today.  There was some undecided sort of precipitation happening out in the outside this morning that made us all shrink back into the inside and shudder.  Fat, freezing rain-blobs splashed violently onto our front yard, slapping at the earth so hard that small chunks of dirt flew up.  Pools of slush puddled.  Dark clouds collected overhead and the wind wildly whipped about the trees, their branches reaching out like shadowy skeletal hands.

"EGAD!" I blurt-screamed at the sight and attempted to shield my kids from the open door, "Don't go out there!  It looks awful!"

Four sets of eyes peered curiously around my maternal form to stare at the storm raging outside.  The wind's howls crescendoed angrily and the heavy raindrops hammered out a tumultuous tone.  Cold seeped in and surrounded us but we emphatically slammed shut the door.  And bolted it.  Locked out the storm.

I'm not sure where you were today.  Were you able to navigate your way?  Safely?  Were you able to lock out your storm?  I hope so.  Better than that, I pray it was so.

But let's get back to the hike....
("ARGITTY-ARGH!" Paul often groans, "It's always about the hike!  Haven't you had enough with the hikes?"
"No, no my sweet Monkey-Cheeks," I will answer patting his bearded cheek for tender-loving emphasis, "It's NEVER enough when it comes to hike-talk...")

Uh...so back to the hike again...hikes are amazing.  Hiking alone is wonderfully therapeutic, cathartic and invigorating.  Hiking with a dog is great exercise and involves poop pick-up (whee!).  Hiking with children is delightful and almost always involves an exciting mysterious adventure involving mommy rescuing Donovan from the top of a tree or taking Lochlan for a poo in a ditch or untangling burrs from Gwen's long hair or guiding Liam down a steep cliff-side.   Hiking with husbands is romantic and involves a lot of hand-holding....and gently yelling at the kids to slow down and stop climbing everything.  In conclusion and in summary, hiking is awesome.

Have you ever hiked?  If so, it's a great plan to have someone go before you.  Like a guide.  They can test the trail before you.
"Whoa, dude," they could holler back at you, "watch out for the ice here.  It's slippery!" or "Careful here...it's muddy.  Take this side trail around and you will avoid all that mess!" or "Let me hold back these branches so you can walk on by."
But more than testing that trail, a guide can prepare you for what lies ahead.

I mention this because my life feels like one big, crazy hike.  And even though I love hiking alone, my life-hike is not one that I am doing alone.  Not even close!  I am surrounded by hoards of people.....Paul, my kids, my parents and mother-in-law, my siblings and siblings-in-law, my friends, my church community, my homeschool buddies......  And I feel like there is a guide going before me, testing the trail and preparing me for what lies ahead.   It reminds me of one of my favourite Bible verses:
"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."  Deuteronomy 31: 8
If I am on the hike of my life, God has gone before me.  He knows what path I am taking.  He prepares the way for me and is with me.

Check this out:
A few Sundays ago, I was yakkity-yakking after church while my oldest son begged, "MOOOM, can we please goooo?  You don't have to talk to everyone!" and my other children raced around and wrestled like crazed, cute lunatics.

Suddenly, a hand lightly touched my arm and a voice spoke.

"Brigette, let me know if you ever need physio or someone to teach you how to give yourself a lymphatic massage." it was Mindy Broersma, a friend from church.

"Oh, great!" I gushed.  I had been trying to locate someone who gave lymphatic massages.  Apparently after lymph nodes are removed from under the arm, the arm can swell badly.  This can lead to lymphedema, which is not a pleasant condition.  Massages help reduce swelling.
"Thanks, Mindy!" I continued.  Mindy smiled sweetly and went on her way.

"Hmm," I thought to myself, "that was super nice.  I would love to learn more about the massages but I sure don't need any physio.  Pshaw!  I'm rocking my arm motions!"

Two days later, my surgeon announced in a bland, blunt monotone, "You need physio.  Your arm mobility is too limited for radiation to occur." and then she began scratching out a prescription for physiotherapy on a nearby prescription pad.

"Oh, wait," I blundered cinching closed my gaping gown and getting to my feet, "I know someone I can call.  She's from my church..."  Mindy....

An offer of help before I even knew I needed it!  Tell me that is not perfect orchestration from a master Conductor!

When I got home from seeing my surgeon, I called Mindy.

Mindy works as a physiotherapist at MacMaster, in the outpatient cancer clinic with kids getting chemotherapy and radiation.   Ugh...kids getting chemotherapy and radiation?  That is tough stuff; but she helps them get through it.
"Sometimes I get so many snuggles from kids," Mindy told me once, "I love it!"

When I called her to ask about setting up some physio for my swollen stiff arm, Mindy told me that she had a friend who was the "guru" of post-mastectomy physio and that she would call her for me.

"Super sweet!" I said.  Wow...this was easy!  I wouldn't have known who to call or where to go otherwise.

Everything was all organized and on Tuesday afternoon, two cars pulled up to my house and two trained physiotherapists knocked at my door.  I answered.  Because when physiotherapists knock at your door, you should.  It's only polite.

In came Mindy, blonde hair pulled back in a sensible pony-tail, clutching the biggest take-away cup of tea I have ever seen, and her friend, Jodi Steele.  Jodi entered my home with a wide smile and a wider energy field.  The three of us side-stepped lego blocks, books, crayons and doggie toys and sat together at the kitchen table.  Mindy knows my story but Jodi asked me to tell it to her.  I gave her the short version or she would still be here.  Then they asked me to show them my range of arm motion.
I slipped off my zippered aqua-coloured sweater, forgetting to be self-conscious about my uni-boobed state.  These were two professionals, after all, accustomed to seeing the ravaging scars left behind from cancer.  I stood before them in a lopsided tank top.
I lifted my arm in front of me, almost at shoulder height.  I raised my arm to the side.
Wincing a little I explained, "I think the biggest problem is that I can't straighten my arm completely."
"Mmmmhmm," Jodi murmured to Mindy, "Of course not!  Look at those cords."

"Cords?  What?" I queried intelligently.

"Cording can be a side effect of a mastectomy, especially one involving lymph node removal.  We don't really know why it occurs but the cords are thick rope-like strands that begin at the scar site and often connect to the inner elbow or even the palm.  You can see them under your skin.  They are tight and massively reduce movement." Jodi explained.

"Yeah!  I have seen them!" I said and demonstrated by exposing my inner arm and trying to pull my arm straight.  Four or five ropey lines pulled visibly taut.  Gross!

"Wow!  That might be a record!" Jodi said excitedly.  "Your husband can play guitar on all those cords.  Twang twang!  But don't worry.  We can take care of that!"

Jodi and Mindy showed me a variety of exercises I could do to increase mobility.  I even get to use a hockey stick to perform them!  Then I laid on my bed while they massaged my arm to reduce swelling.  

"We are also going to massage the cord tissue.  Hopefully we can get it to snap or break," said Jodi, demonstrating to Mindy how she did this, "I just love doing this!  And we try to unhook the cords from your armpit."  Jodi began massaging deep into my armpit at this point and I could feel my toes curl with discomfort.  No one has touched that spot since before my surgery.  Since surgery, it has been swollen and sore and numb.  But the cord is thick at that site and when I try to straighten my arm, it pulls tight.  I can see it clearly now that I know what it is.  After Jodi massaged, Mindy gave it a try and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead.  This was not a relaxing spa-massage that was to be followed by a sea-weed facial mask and toe polish.  But it was a helpful massage because when I stood up a few moments later, I had gained some movement.  Sweet appendage victory!
After the massage, Mindy bandaged up my arm; another method to reduce lymphatic swelling.

"Thanks," I said waving about my mummified arm.

Soon, Jodi had to leave.  "The kids have swimming lessons!" she announced and left in a cheery, energetic whirlwind.
Mindy and I settled at the kitchen table once again and she went over my exercises and her plan to visit me again in a few days.
"Thank you thank you thank you so much," I gushed.  Taking time out of her busy schedule, to drive to my house to help me.  So amazing.  I am humbled and so thankful.

"And thanks for getting Jodi to help too," I continued, "Why would she help anyways?  She doesn't even know me....  What's in it for her?" I asked.

"Jodi's mom died of cancer when she was young," Mindy responded.  Jodi's mom had non-Hodgkins lymphoma and after she died, young Jodi said she would change the world.
Jodi certainly has changed my world.  I thought I wasn't doing my exercises well enough; I thought maybe I would have to live with reduced movement.  Now I know something can be done about this discomfort.  Something is being done.
Jodi has changed more people's worlds.  Mindy told me she had started a clinic downtown that rehabilitated people recovering from surgeries related to cancer, she has written a workbook all about lymphedema and now she teaches at a college.  Changing the world after the world changed her.  Isn't it amazing how soul-crushing pain can channel us down a certain path?  So many cross-roads happen on the aftermath of suffering.

When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer, our pastor visited Paul and I to pray and encourage us.
At one point he leaned forward and looked intently at me, "This is not just about you, you know," he said.  (Uh....I was unaware of a collective breast cancer diagnosis, I thought with an eyebrow quirk)
"More people are hurting because of your diagnosis," He finished his thought.

A friend gave me a notebook when I was first diagnosed.  Inside, she had written quotes from two pastors.  One said, "Don't waste your sorrows"; another quote said, "Don't squander your suffering".  I have heard these sort of sayings before.  A dearly beloved friend of mine had cancer and someone gave her a book titled, "Don't Waste Your Cancer".  I remember thinking, WHAT? but I think I am getting it now.
Have you seen something good grow out of pain?
A little girl, fiercely shaking her fist at the world.  Tears streaming down her face and a vow growing in her heart.  "I LOVE you, mom!  I will change the world for you!"
She grows and does just that.  From the ashes of sorrow, she is given strength and rises up.

It's hard to see our way sometimes in this life of ours.  Especially when we are in the thick of sorrows.  Sometimes I remember the sight of a winter funeral and the mittened hand of a mourner patting the lowering coffin cradling her beloved and the grief is gut-wrenching.

"What good can come of this!" I rage. But I don't know.  You don't know. We don't know.  Because we are still way back in the right now of this storm of a life.  Good thing we have that guide, after all.  Preparing the way.  Introducing us to people we have never met before.  Setting up meetings that we didn't think we had a need for.  Going before us.  And being with us.

Thanks, Mindy, for being moved to make your offer.  For going out of your way to help.  For introducing me to Jodi and connecting all our lives together.  Like a cord of many strands.  Because we all know a cord of many strands is not easily broken.