Sorrow Like Sea Billows, Peace Like a River

The Hubs and I went for a little adventure in Southport the other day. We made a whole day of exploring after a lovely ferry ride across the choppy Cape Fear River. Well, we made half a day out of it anyway.

By: JANA GREENE

Nobody talks about what it’s like the first week after a cancer diagnosis. You’ve been leveled, and you know you have a “long road ahead, “but that road is a raging river so far as you can tell. The same day I received my CLL diagnosis, I was also diagnosed with a basal skin cancer on my leg. What are the odds? Two cancers in one day? I never half-ass anything!

Instinctually, you want to lay in bed and lament your fate, with weeping and probably gnashing of teeth, but you have things you want to do. And none of us have the time we think we do, so I’m trying to do the things. Like get out of bed. Like brush my hair. Like meditate until my mind quiets. Sorrow rolls like sea billows, a Nor’easterI didn’t know was coming. But I also have times of peace like a river, attending my way. There is no manual for this. I don’t really know how to feel most of the time.

I was having a good day and we were down for an adventure, so the Hubs and I spent some time in Southport. We even took the ferry across the Cape Fear River. Ferry rides are always fun.

One of the places we visited is the Maritime Museum. It has all the usual small-town museum kitch – displays about pirate life, a few real buttons from the Queen Anne’s Revenge (Blackbeard’s sunken ship.) Displays about hurricanes that have come ashore here. An “interactive” fishing exhibit. That kind of thing.

But what stopped me in my tracks was a display featuring little porcelain figurines of sailors trying to row themselves out of Hurricane- whipped seas. Every crest of the ocean higher than the last, roiling waters with no safe harbor in sight. And this little sculpture spoke to me. It reminded me right away of my favorite old hymn – “It is Well With my Soul,” by Horatio Spafford.

You see, Spafford wrote the hymn after several traumatic events leveled him. He had been a successful attorney and real estate investor who lost a fortune in the great Chicago fire of 1871. Around the same time, his beloved four-year-old son died of scarlet fever.1n 1873, hit by the economic downturn, he planned to travel to England with his family. He sent his wife Anna and four daughters ahead on the SS Ville du Havre, a French ocean liner, while he finished up business. He planned to follow in a few days’ time. While crossing the Atlantic Ocean, the ship was involved in a terrible collision and sunk. More than 200 people lost their lives, including all four of Horatio Spafford’s precious daughters. His wife, Anna, survived the tragedy. Upon arriving in England, she sent a telegram to her husband that began: “Saved alone. What shall I do?”

My grandfather had loved the sea, though he was never a sailor. And he had his own struggles, as we all do. He met up every day with depression, but he also had this bright light – like the bulb in a lighthouse. He showed me the way many times. I remember watching him paint a great Cutty Sark ship. His oil paintings of oceans were always depicted with rough waters, and he spared none of the turquoise, deep blues, and crests of white foam to get the point across – chaos is the nature of this world. Rough seas ahead!

Some might think his paintings were of angry seas. But to me as a child, surrounded by the smell of turpentine and admiration for my Papa, it looked happy enough to me – like riding riding the tilt-a-whirl at the state fair. A busy, alive sea…. WHEEEE!

My creative Papa was also a choir director, and when I’d tag along to his practices, he would often choose the old hymn. It is actually a horrible story to tell a little kid. I’m not sure I would have told that story to a four-year old, but it was a different time. I definitely never forgot the song and its meaning.

It means, “Shit happens, kid. Things will occur in your life that an earlier version of you would have sworn would kill you. Hoist the sails. If you don’t have sails, trust the wind. If you can’t trust the wind, trust God. Because tragedy is inevitable, and saved alone, what shall we do?”

Ah, but we are not rowing alone, and we are not saved alone. We are saved by a God who knows we will get roughed up a little and saved by each other – crewmates. Keep rowing over the roiling seas, and I will too. I’m grateful a little plastic sea featuring sailors in danger reminded me to trust God in a small-town museum in the middle of a crisis.

Horatio Spafford had to go through hell in order to create something that has brought untold millions hope and strength.

I have complained to the manager (God) about this protocol, that in order to bring hope, you have to walk through despair. Doesn’t seem like a good business plan but what do I know? He is the Captain, and I am not. Whatever my lot, he has taught me to say, it is well. It is well with my soul. (Today anyway, which is the only day all of us know we have.)

“And Lord, haste the day with the faith shall be sight; it is well, it is well with my soul.” I pray it is well with yours, no matter the seas.

Blessed be, friends.

June 21, 2024 2

Morning Staff Meeting (for my Medical Conditions)

Photo by Anna Nekrashevich on Pexels.com

By: JANA GREENE

Dear Various Body Parts, Systems, and Self,

Good morning. Let’s start right away, shall we?

I see a nasty headache has decided to show up, which means (a) this will be a very short meeting, and (b) I’m in a crappy mood. So, LISTEN UP!

Migraines, did you NOT get the memo that debilitating headaches aren’t the THING at this time- that getting confirmation that Leukemia is joining our team overrides your meddling right now? That’s a write-up, mister.

*Nods to Leukemia, who is perplexed and unwelcome, and would like a word with the head-hunter than assigned it to someone whose health is already chaotic – the Grand Central Station of Medical Dysfunction, if you will – when it’s painfully (haha) clear that some of this should have been outsourced.

And Ehlers Danlos, you pipe down too, with your pain first thing in the morning. Did I participate in the circus as a contortionist in the middle of the night, and that’s why my joints are on fire? (Speaking of joints on fire, I can see we will be starting this day with a little of the Lord’s Lettuce.) Did I dream I was a middle-aged, chubby Rockette and pull my hip out in a pair sequined pantyhose whilst sleeping? Did a little cereal elf come replace my kneecap with cornflakes when I was sleeping, so that I woke up with a knee that functions like its made of cornflakes, sounds like it’s made of cornflakes, and has the stability of cornflakes a ‘plenty but not a damn kneecap?

POTs, I really don’t want to fall today. And yes, I know you hate the heat and it’s June in the South. And frankly, you don’t give me the physical energy to move me somewhere cooler, so you see my conundrum. Also, I’d really appreciate NOT getting dehydrated now, as it makes everything 100x worse. Lord God, why am I always dehydrated, make it stop.

Sweet, hard-working Immune System, remember: Germs are not our friends. Stop fraternizing with the enemy. I know aren’t armed with much equipment, but try to fight, ok? I know Leukemia moved in. Stand your post. I believe in you.

Migraine, EDS, POTs…Ya’ll act like you’re toddlers at a petting zoo – cutting line in front of each other to get to get to something that’s loud, demanding, only mildly interesting, and shitty. Calm down. There’s plenty to go around.

Whoever is taking the meeting minutes, please note that the next person who sweetly tells me that the Lord never gives us more than we can handle is getting a throat-punch, and I am a very non-violent person. Ditto “God’s ways are not our ways,” and “Just pray harder.” Maybe two throat punches for praying harder.

I ain’t mad at God about this anyway. When he pours our souls into these Earth Suits, he never said they weren’t prone to disease and disaster. The warranty on the vessel leaves much to be desired, but we instead can rest knowing our Spirits are locked up tighter than a bull’s butthole in fly season. (Sorry for the joke, but laughter is going to be ESSENTIAL in getting through this!)

Seriously, guys. Ya’ll are going to have to take turns. Your presentation is sloppy and there is entirely too much overlap.

Thanks for attending this (mandatory) meeting. I know you’re all working so effing hard, just to keep going. To which I say, thank you. A harder working bunch there never was.

The Management

June 18, 2024 0

Scary News and Big Hope – a New Journey Begins

By: JANA GREENE

Hello, friends. I have decided to share my current situation, in the hopes it will help me to process what’s going on, and maybe give someone else hope who is struggling similarly.

I kind of hate that about myself – I want to be mysterious and private, I am just really bad at handling things alone, and there’s nothing worse than feeling like you’re in a sinkhole by yourself, (and nobody will even admit there IS a sinkhole, much less throw you a rope.)

So, I’m sharing this in the hope that you guys will lob some prayers and hope and good vibes my way. I could use it. I also hope by sharing this, maybe someone else facing a difficult diagnosis will feel less alone. I have decided to blog about my journey. Feel free to follow here at wordsbyjanagreene.com if you want to keep up.

Thursday, I saw an oncology hematologist at the Zimmer Center, because I’ve had whacky labs and a ridiculous WBC count for a while now. I have been feeling extra run-down. I already have a host of other major medical issues. Why was I being sent to an oncology specialist? Huh. I figured it was just a mix up. It was not. I was told to expect bad news, which was actually helpful to my mental health, even though was the longest weekend of my life.

Today I got the call that confirmed that I have Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia. “CLL” is sometimes described as “the kind of leukemia you want, if you MUST have leukemia.” It is the only cancer that never goes away – there is no getting rid of it, it’s in my marrow. Many people live 10-20 years with it, sometimes without needing continual treatment. It is also extremely slow-growing and highly treatable. And I’m hanging my hat on that. But it’s still cancer. The next step is a bone marrow biopsy, and a PET scan to make sure it hasn’t spread. The doctor suspects it has not, and I hope he’s right.

On the one hand, I have answers. Mystery pop-up fevers all the time? Oh. Excessive bruising? Well, that makes sense. Mind-melting fatigue? Whelp. On the other hand, I have a long road ahead and I’m organically TIRED. Not just physically, but in every way.

I am pretty sure I have done all five grief stages in the past few days. Denial – poring over my labs determined to find some easy, benign explanation for all of it. And hitting a wall with obvious markers all weekend. Anger – WHAT THE ACTUAL F&%$? Bargaining – well, maybe not so much. At the end of the day, God is in control, and I am not, and I trust that he knows better than me. I feel his presence so intensely that I know the Spirit is buoying me up. I seem to be teetering between Depression (it’s a bummer any way you slice it,) and Acceptance currently. And the notes of acceptance are starting to be the dominant flavor.

I plan on letting my feelings have their say in all of this, even though it feels like my brain is being operated by untrained carnie workers right now.

The very hardest thing about this has been breaking the news to my three precious daughters yesterday. Literally the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I am so fortunate – they are all such incredible people and so supportive. And my husband is my ROCK. And I have such beautiful friends surrounding me.

Some people might think I’m the unluckiest woman in the world, what with so many health issues. But I see it differently – how lucky am I to be surrounded with so much love? So lucky. This is not going to steal my faith. Or my sense of humor. Or hope. It can’t. I won’t let it.

Blessed be, friends. I love you all.

June 17, 2024 8