tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9299256168759311612024-02-19T09:56:08.834-05:00My JourneyGlynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.comBlogger215125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-929925616875931161.post-58103348066533799722014-05-08T22:32:00.000-04:002014-05-10T23:43:08.510-04:00Irony or Intention? by Glynis M. Belec<span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: x-large;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span>
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: x-large;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span>
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: x-large;"><b><u>PART 1</u></b></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnvRXFjCWH8tCPoScgQW-KazLdGMfd3aK8OdDl04ENYlndSgDCZmUYg4t65h2uWsDTUKmrniamwqFI2M61G_Emf9s3lzm5m-KmmS3lX_z1AYThnh2v_f_2hSqHnr78dT_rcfpx6twKcf4/s1600/ovarian+cancer+day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnvRXFjCWH8tCPoScgQW-KazLdGMfd3aK8OdDl04ENYlndSgDCZmUYg4t65h2uWsDTUKmrniamwqFI2M61G_Emf9s3lzm5m-KmmS3lX_z1AYThnh2v_f_2hSqHnr78dT_rcfpx6twKcf4/s1600/ovarian+cancer+day.jpg" /></a></div>
Today is World Ovarian Cancer Day. Today I am on my way to London; to the cancer clinic, ready to face the music.<br />
<br />
The cancer song drags on; the lyrics unchanged. The beat, rhythmic, still dictates my day. Almost five and a half years since that wretched, bitter-sweet chemo last pulsated through my veins. Life does go on but every time I revisit 'the place' everything comes rushing back and it seems just like last week.<br />
<br />
Today I am expecting to hear a different tune. I am hoping and praying that God, in His great mercy, will release me from the clutches of cancer and I will hear with certainty - <i>free from cancer. We don't need to see you again! </i>World Ovarian Cancer day; a fitting day for me to hear such words.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-QifBKvMr-x9tOiNoTdwDcPmKcwckRpsqkw_ryoRNU4BPSeKF5SQd0tiXRDtDegx0vEAzOkMLU6ULkjHU6Pl3e1o0VrH0Xp4p9dPfQkU6DU9J6oyAjysnnnCh5BBdtG0YlCpMhR_voa8/s1600/DSCF2926.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-QifBKvMr-x9tOiNoTdwDcPmKcwckRpsqkw_ryoRNU4BPSeKF5SQd0tiXRDtDegx0vEAzOkMLU6ULkjHU6Pl3e1o0VrH0Xp4p9dPfQkU6DU9J6oyAjysnnnCh5BBdtG0YlCpMhR_voa8/s1600/DSCF2926.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><b><u><span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: x-large;"> PART 2</span></u></b><br />
<br />
I have been called in to the examination room. quickly. Usually I have to wait for almost an hour.<br />
<br />
"We are actually on schedule," Nurse Nancy tells me. I look at my watch and plan a little what I will do with the extra time.<br />
<br />
I wait in the tiny examination room, hospital gown draped, wondering about the verdict. I feel good. The niggle in my abdomen is still there, but the CT scan showed zero reason to be concerned, the medical receptionist had told me.<br />
<br />
Now I long to hear those freedom words, but there is a silly twinge in my soul that scares me about being set free. I've spoken to a few other cancer survivors about this phenomena. They know how I feel. There is something reassuring about being under the watchful eye of experienced medical staff and an oncologist every six months, who know how to spot the early signs.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAec6Bp0kcX97JxhEepFTyDkOh5u9vEWrNi_r1nuJLEkQBqqwJwcg2sgPqWjJfjQhPhMr_IVcoAW1PHJSe6J8NeCH6Zlsbm4eZknSccl32Dl65cCVv5c6IpUItMSkahZ6k1aGdjtNxcY8/s1600/ovarian-cancer-ribbon2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAec6Bp0kcX97JxhEepFTyDkOh5u9vEWrNi_r1nuJLEkQBqqwJwcg2sgPqWjJfjQhPhMr_IVcoAW1PHJSe6J8NeCH6Zlsbm4eZknSccl32Dl65cCVv5c6IpUItMSkahZ6k1aGdjtNxcY8/s1600/ovarian-cancer-ribbon2.jpg" /></a> I look through my journal and read my heart. Maybe I will always carry cancer in my pocket. I smile and think about all the people who have come into my life as a result of cancer. I will never say that I am grateful that I had cancer and I have trouble counting it all pure joy, my brethren, but I do marvel at how God taught me so much and blessed me equally as much as I travelled down that road.<br />
<br />
I think back to last evening (Wednesday) when I had the privilege of speaking and sharing my story and doing my best to help raise awareness about ovarian cancer with over fifty lovely women from four different churches. I remember well, my words of hope to each of them. I determine, today, to practise what I preach!<br />
<br />
<u><b><span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: x-large;">PART 3</span></b></u><br />
<br />
Dr. S walks in grinning his little boy grin. His hair is longer than it was six months ago. <i>Shouldn't he have a haircut,</i> the mother in me wonders? Something about doctors these days. Dr. S looks more like my son than my wise oncologist. But he knows his stuff. My chart looks thick. He leafs through the papers and finds the latest CT scan report.<br />
<br />
<i> </i>"All clear," he reminds me and smiles. <br />
<br />
He examines me. We chat a little. I realize I am a number. I understand. So many cancer patients. Then we talk about the niggle in my abdomen. Dr. S assures me it is likely a side effect of the chemo that is here to stay for the duration of my days. It's okay. It's far from unbearable. At least the pins and needles in my feet have settled most days.<br />
<br />
"How about I see you in one year?" Dr. S suggests. I remember my separation anxiety.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimgpHurRUySOT4vtTgkZA9iKV37IagjRODZj1hT8S0EX2rlJ0XpYYDjz7DxFaqX-MlhUh1QjGFJ6_pEq4GKvtu9bVeSJ0KiMe626JD3wIsbKgWW3Mwkmxm-HbE6ygHEswjuvmFjNL5B1s/s1600/DSCF2932.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimgpHurRUySOT4vtTgkZA9iKV37IagjRODZj1hT8S0EX2rlJ0XpYYDjz7DxFaqX-MlhUh1QjGFJ6_pEq4GKvtu9bVeSJ0KiMe626JD3wIsbKgWW3Mwkmxm-HbE6ygHEswjuvmFjNL5B1s/s1600/DSCF2932.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><br />
"Yes, suits me," I reply.<br />
<br />
He leaves and I dress, thinking about how time actually flies. This very same room was where I learned of my fate and the craziness began. I thank God that the appointment was quick today, and the news was good. I touch my World Ovarian Cancer button pinned to my top and I smile and then I think of my sisters who did not have the privilege of a day like this. I vow to remember my promise to do what I can to help raise awareness. I toss my gown onto the examination table and head out, determined to make a difference in my little corner of the world, at least.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i> </i>Glynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-929925616875931161.post-88746728364708764802014-03-30T22:44:00.004-04:002014-03-30T22:44:47.984-04:00Heart Song<span style="font-size: large;">An excerpt from my Journal - Wednesday, July 23/2008</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> We sit, looking at each other</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitMPztwcJljixiWd0gyCHOnGg4OEPecQEc0M6bfNUwgxiNZ0GoavONBlpd65H8wExhQQdLzGh0VFdkeTBAjvAjdOhzlXznE7Pavi3bjpM-w5Lklh_YA4IBx1MM6vt1UjL-rcz91Tg5scw/s1600/ovarian-cancer-symbolmy-sister-sqcnltfv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitMPztwcJljixiWd0gyCHOnGg4OEPecQEc0M6bfNUwgxiNZ0GoavONBlpd65H8wExhQQdLzGh0VFdkeTBAjvAjdOhzlXznE7Pavi3bjpM-w5Lklh_YA4IBx1MM6vt1UjL-rcz91Tg5scw/s1600/ovarian-cancer-symbolmy-sister-sqcnltfv.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Married 30 years so we hold</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Each other's hearts</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Instead of Hands.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"We'll get through this."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">"I know."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Cling tight. Trust God</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And taste the Glory. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>Glynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-929925616875931161.post-10908993626931828532014-03-12T00:13:00.000-04:002014-03-12T00:13:45.013-04:00Holy Hush<u><b>JOURNAL ENTRY: Monday, July 21, 2008</b></u><br />
<br />
<i>Sometimes we would argue. We were confused; scared; waiting. After one foolish argument. I played it over in my head, adding thoughts and words so that it would intensify my pain. The chemotherapy played havoc with my brain. </i><br />
<br />
*****************************************<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Fiery darts fly across the path<br />
Of the unsuspecting couple<br />
Accusations rampant as they spar:<br />
"You said. . ."<br />
"No, you said. . ."<br />
Becomes the battle cry.<br />
"You make me feel small."<br />
"You don't really care if this cancer kills me or not."<br />
"I don't like what you said."<br />
"I don't like your attitude."<br />
"I'm leaving."<br />
"Go and take your ugly cancer-ridden body with you."<br />
"But what will I do?"<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzxs6-IFy5-89oPpFLoWodPgNEsscM6Hh_fwjrnMPyNWnX_BAK_FQ-6q2hVOsV_WJTKe54l9eyWMFHr12mK64i_qx3KpNtTR3813Zm5Tge3D7uvl9l_SnqnjbILLJsbWN0e9cOkZrVNhE/s1600/cross7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzxs6-IFy5-89oPpFLoWodPgNEsscM6Hh_fwjrnMPyNWnX_BAK_FQ-6q2hVOsV_WJTKe54l9eyWMFHr12mK64i_qx3KpNtTR3813Zm5Tge3D7uvl9l_SnqnjbILLJsbWN0e9cOkZrVNhE/s1600/cross7.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
"Maybe we should think this through."<br />
Satan guffaws.<br />
"He wants you dead."<br />
"She wants to control you."<br />
<br />
Lies. . .lies. . .lies.<br />
<br />
Hush. Wait for the Holy Hush.<br />
<br />
[<i>The silence deafens the couple</i>]<br />
<br />
Love enters - a crimson cross reflects a sacrifice.<br />
"Forgive them Father."<br />
They embrace, pressing their hearts together.<br />
The fiery darts fall to the ground -<br />
Spent.<br />
***********************************************Glynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-929925616875931161.post-77844306012869835452014-03-11T14:29:00.000-04:002014-03-11T14:29:52.855-04:00Enid Latham 1926-2007<u>JOURNAL ENTRY FROM July 20, 2008. </u><br />
<u><br /></u>
<i>I was thinking about death. I thought about my Mom who had died exactly one year ago on this date. I wrestled with God and remembered. </i><br />
<br />
*****************<br />
<br />
My maternal, matriarchal influence. . .<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwbEm9PK-sf6MMOITvL8LKV-7MCGzidotoJKIHvPQA2L6ZyNcqhcc3u79cRw0m4xecE49mUTKj_KKX85VyRdwfw-N7e_wKpjTjbrAJp9_-tX-qr9n_l61PLQZf-sebL9WqIg4jWOtfYOM/s1600/Mom+ATS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwbEm9PK-sf6MMOITvL8LKV-7MCGzidotoJKIHvPQA2L6ZyNcqhcc3u79cRw0m4xecE49mUTKj_KKX85VyRdwfw-N7e_wKpjTjbrAJp9_-tX-qr9n_l61PLQZf-sebL9WqIg4jWOtfYOM/s1600/Mom+ATS.jpg" height="320" width="121" /></a></div>
I miss you as the flowers might miss the rain.<br />
A year has frittered away<br />
And what do I have to show for it?<br />
Cancer. . .and that's naught to behold.<br />
Thankful that you did not see me like this<br />
Selfishly wishing you did (so you could fix it like you used to fix everything)<br />
Will I soon be with you?<br />
Some days I ache for your hugs;<br />
Your smiles;<br />
Your poorly timed telephone calls<br />
Your motherly words of wisdom;<br />
I want to be with you<br />
Yet I am torn.<br />
I don't want to die yet. . .<br />
God make me die to self for now.<br />
When I think of you, Mom, I am reduced to a little girl again.<br />
"You will always be my little girl," you would laugh.<br />
Other days I cry, softly thanking God<br />
That you are safe in the arms of Jesus.<br />
Heaven is but a gateway.<br />
I love you SO much Mom.<br />
(And I miss you)<br />
<br />
*******************************<br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Psalm 23</b>: Yea though I walk through the valley. . . (Your favourite!) </span></i><br />
<br />Glynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-929925616875931161.post-66917399720995613162014-03-10T07:52:00.000-04:002014-03-10T07:53:31.378-04:00Write What You Know? No!<span style="font-size: large;">Journal Entry poem - Thursday July 17th 2008</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<i>Obviously I was having a heated debate with God as this poem implies. The last part of this entry, right before I wrote the poem says: My head feels a little 'tight,' but hasn't quite made it to a headache yet! I had oft complained about not having time to write. God was certainly prodding me in an interesting direction with my words. And there I was kicking and screaming all the way.</i><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM1MS1ecqw_poHkx1PWVcr7N_1J1o7N4ZpYRuFp3D5MLv9-RlaZ_B0OIV-erxcMRMiyWEtX1cN86k6iivCqm_tztlDqvvVFwxv9x5vIdTkCsMLgZqr2J055IuEApB2RjKWZkS7IPZ_uRQ/s1600/worship1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM1MS1ecqw_poHkx1PWVcr7N_1J1o7N4ZpYRuFp3D5MLv9-RlaZ_B0OIV-erxcMRMiyWEtX1cN86k6iivCqm_tztlDqvvVFwxv9x5vIdTkCsMLgZqr2J055IuEApB2RjKWZkS7IPZ_uRQ/s1600/worship1.jpg" height="149" width="200" /></a>God<br />
Have You released me to write?<br />
Why don't I listen to my heart?<br />
To You? To Gilles? To Fran?<br />
Rejoice in the time you have, You say?<br />
I know I prayed for more time to write;<br />
But do You really want me to write about<br />
Cancer?<br />
"Write what you know," they say.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAHitFARB2S_u5WqlGM00GlpBdSluWQRRbhQOwUW9LSqTD_yBm6A7KCA6zzMsIaCuHvPXlXRirafFUegOfB6MiIXaCSFt_YMXt0h4Swnbwv38f7VtVWTSrJh-c4gQWItfaJhPvuckKGd0/s1600/Write-What-You-Know.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAHitFARB2S_u5WqlGM00GlpBdSluWQRRbhQOwUW9LSqTD_yBm6A7KCA6zzMsIaCuHvPXlXRirafFUegOfB6MiIXaCSFt_YMXt0h4Swnbwv38f7VtVWTSrJh-c4gQWItfaJhPvuckKGd0/s1600/Write-What-You-Know.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a>But I don't know anything<br />
About the 'C' word;<br />
Button my lip, You softly smile<br />
You will learn soon.<br />
Write. . .write. . .write<br />
Right. . .right. . .right<br />
Bounce along the papyrusGlynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-929925616875931161.post-18657369571367328792014-03-09T00:30:00.000-05:002014-03-09T09:22:51.820-04:00FAÇADE <u><span style="font-size: large;">Journal Entry poem. Wednesday, July 16th, 2008.</span></u><br />
<br />
I was frustrated with the nefarious cancer that had silently pervaded my organs and had crept into my life, consuming cells and forcing my existence into a whirlwind of questions and decisions. I think the chemo was wreaking havoc on my brain. As I read through the journal entry that accompanied this poem, I sensed that God was helping me peel away the façade and making me seek within. Then rise and conquer. . .<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2wLBkil4j7ByUiXUehFyp9TbxqSFNsVnD3MvtT5eOHYnTuoJTmqaDsYfJqIQse8_Vomp-JcsnY3AjRU0aJmJWMcAou7d-Fpx_30s7RgFxD7iI9mWovfoX4vbODX_IOiEmYoocFBN6iGM/s1600/small_heart.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2wLBkil4j7ByUiXUehFyp9TbxqSFNsVnD3MvtT5eOHYnTuoJTmqaDsYfJqIQse8_Vomp-JcsnY3AjRU0aJmJWMcAou7d-Fpx_30s7RgFxD7iI9mWovfoX4vbODX_IOiEmYoocFBN6iGM/s1600/small_heart.gif" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Peel away the plastic;<br />
Revealing layers<br />
Protective strata of<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7MpE9aIbHT6K14uPgujIgeW88Bc5DLCLxau2weqLA535Hx8J3rRI1pAx_CRWuVmA5s7wlw1Vn7fRsA6-wLsztk3EzFhFToVx6JOfp6bsDY7x8GVhlNeUpeQvd8gWnusX9hIpjjPYUkCw/s1600/Peeling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7MpE9aIbHT6K14uPgujIgeW88Bc5DLCLxau2weqLA535Hx8J3rRI1pAx_CRWuVmA5s7wlw1Vn7fRsA6-wLsztk3EzFhFToVx6JOfp6bsDY7x8GVhlNeUpeQvd8gWnusX9hIpjjPYUkCw/s1600/Peeling.jpg" /></a></div>
Insecurity, apologies, fear, busyness<br />
Misdirected anger; hopelessness.<br />
An inspirational attitude<br />
Undergirds failings .<br />
OUT DARN SPOT!<br />
Make your resting<br />
Nesting place elsewhere<br />
Unwelcome banners waft<br />
In the windless frenzy<br />
Search within. . .<br />
Stinking, sulphuric plastic<br />
Let it burn.<br />
Raw emotion beckons familiarity;<span style="text-align: center;"> </span><br />
I can see clearly now the pain is gone.<br />
God revealed.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><i>So
do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will
strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. </i> </span><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Isaiah 41:10</span></b></div>
Glynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-929925616875931161.post-84004219587706149372014-03-08T01:12:00.000-05:002014-03-08T08:26:32.982-05:00Elusive Slumber<i><span style="font-size: large;">Journal Entry: Tuesday July 15/2008 I was having trouble sleeping. Kate, my nurse, advised me to take the sleeping pills. I had hesitated. But my whole being begged for slumber. So I partook of the drug and drifted blissfully away. . .</span></i><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivPEkda9x-5Qw4FeRZQJ1pNmL39JooxLw_k4jru4FBrSLhC9c8gSmL8PRDLgfjZXBnLn2MMPjzgl4vJCxQVSHoc7e4YsJ4uLBi2KIiP8CRlatnXpzaMBHux8paO5SgdXzH5xTyjt9paM0/s1600/vectorstock_1002060.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivPEkda9x-5Qw4FeRZQJ1pNmL39JooxLw_k4jru4FBrSLhC9c8gSmL8PRDLgfjZXBnLn2MMPjzgl4vJCxQVSHoc7e4YsJ4uLBi2KIiP8CRlatnXpzaMBHux8paO5SgdXzH5xTyjt9paM0/s1600/vectorstock_1002060.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
The moon casts a milky glow<br />
The firmament is charcoal<br />
With an intermittent halo of light<br />
The stillness of the land<br />
Boasts no echo nor untoward motion<br />
What should be still is still<br />
What should be silent is silent<br />
All is calm<br />
All is peaceful<br />
Come slumber, peaceful slumber<br />
Watch over me Jesus<br />
Rock me in Your arms of peace<br />
I beg for rest<br />
Goodnight. . .<br />
<br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>If you lie down, you will not be afraid; when you lie down,
your sleep will be sweet.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> Proverbs 3:24</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Glynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-929925616875931161.post-2633737535894073502014-03-07T00:30:00.000-05:002014-03-07T11:53:12.857-05:00VANITY<u>Journal entry: July 14th, 2008 (Feeling sorry for myself but trying to smile through it!)</u><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIsuyAbLGM8_v6hXavTF5JSC9kNCIP9eJv7-FB1VlrMJ8hZOTbm2eKPqZBkHJmmBBbrRD6K1g9-vhlqcnTavsfW5jIN6jS7fN2Vl0o4aSkcXqeFmbxyHD8LexM4i2-iX0KqpnBWWBMOuc/s1600/Glynis+-+hairless!.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIsuyAbLGM8_v6hXavTF5JSC9kNCIP9eJv7-FB1VlrMJ8hZOTbm2eKPqZBkHJmmBBbrRD6K1g9-vhlqcnTavsfW5jIN6jS7fN2Vl0o4aSkcXqeFmbxyHD8LexM4i2-iX0KqpnBWWBMOuc/s1600/Glynis+-+hairless!.jpg" /></a><br />
I look in the mirror<br />
Who looks back at me?<br />
I'm unrecognizable<br />
Who do I see?<br />
I used to complain<br />
About having no style<br />
I wanted to have<br />
A nice, whiter smile.<br />
My hair would be wild<br />
And all over the place<br />
I was unsatisfied<br />
With marks on my face<br />
Now I'd be happy<br />
If I had some hair<br />
Being bald is no fun<br />
There is way too much air. . .on top!<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman who
fears the Lord is to be praised</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: x-small;"> Proverbs 31:30</span></b></div>
Glynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-929925616875931161.post-33292675914826980472014-03-06T00:30:00.000-05:002014-03-06T10:45:26.202-05:00 A Piece of My Heart<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Z7SgGyqSQWL8KYqA5fOMEGprKx3FzoM7eQ_Cp2cEaoTYObN6nlE5rlJVyva_V9sdolHIi7IscrHlM4Tz5V69Rf7cj2Pi6YQFf5Brl7prpaR2v_7gWv3DEO6Gx8ONcQe1ti656Zr4LbI/s1600/be+still2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Z7SgGyqSQWL8KYqA5fOMEGprKx3FzoM7eQ_Cp2cEaoTYObN6nlE5rlJVyva_V9sdolHIi7IscrHlM4Tz5V69Rf7cj2Pi6YQFf5Brl7prpaR2v_7gWv3DEO6Gx8ONcQe1ti656Zr4LbI/s1600/be+still2.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
I was sorting out some shelves in my bedroom last weekend and came across the journals that I'd penned as I was going through my chemotherapy. After a few deep breaths, I dove in. I was curious trying to recall my emotions at the time. I wrote much and I cannot believe how I poured my heart onto the pages of this little book during that time.<br />
<br />
Each night, before I nod off into never-never land I have a little read. I've discovered, as I relived many bittersweet moments of that traumatic time, that much of the emotion that perhaps I couldn't put into declarative strings of words, turned out better as I attempted poetry.<br />
<br />
For the next little while, I'm going to post some of the poems I wrote. . .<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg698iiy2QllqjTHXVaN7viqLLpM981HXjnXOGecC2zRYDze13K_1Lx0aYJ3SNrMbEHIORrRUqgb3Fa0-DxcT33oUQGrGCdFOurmu3OPBorHTc4Na7GuUGSgL2OJMenLFznpS8u94lxjY/s1600/quill-pen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg698iiy2QllqjTHXVaN7viqLLpM981HXjnXOGecC2zRYDze13K_1Lx0aYJ3SNrMbEHIORrRUqgb3Fa0-DxcT33oUQGrGCdFOurmu3OPBorHTc4Na7GuUGSgL2OJMenLFznpS8u94lxjY/s1600/quill-pen.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
<u>Sunday, July 13th, I have trouble falling asleep and I relive the chemo treatment three days prior -</u><br />
<br />
In enemy territory I tremble<br />
Too near, I feel the foe approaching.<br />
Poison courses through my veins<br />
And the pain journey commences.<br />
At first it is slow, almost teasing<br />
Then the burning begins<br />
Then desolation.<br />
I sit, motionless willing it to cease.<br />
But the battle rages on.<br />
Insidious in motion<br />
Obvious in effect<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW5Kt7sXep7tPqi5n2125ZGNcibiI8_gQxwVKOuw7hAvrihuL5dbbyhebTY5MIR2sPm1ijD7QSVnHn1MnaLavkLjO1kze0AR-kdIKlYsb7tgRfv4DwVGt4jELzc6YBQjCdwn9MXXBcbfg/s1600/ovarian-cancer-ribbon2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW5Kt7sXep7tPqi5n2125ZGNcibiI8_gQxwVKOuw7hAvrihuL5dbbyhebTY5MIR2sPm1ijD7QSVnHn1MnaLavkLjO1kze0AR-kdIKlYsb7tgRfv4DwVGt4jELzc6YBQjCdwn9MXXBcbfg/s1600/ovarian-cancer-ribbon2.jpg" height="200" width="154" /></a>Then I hear a trumpet;<br />
Not a brassy pitch; moreso a gentle reminder<br />
Sweet sounds<br />
Jesus is near<br />
Jesus can hear<br />
Jesus is ready for battle<br />
The soul - my soul<br />
Is no longer in jeopardy.<br />
I sleep.Glynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-929925616875931161.post-48937121165973879772014-03-04T22:56:00.000-05:002014-03-05T11:19:09.331-05:00Survivor by Janis Cox (Intro by Yours Truly!) <div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"> Sometimes it's good to talk to others and hear how they dealt with their demons. A writer gem friend of mine contacted me last week and told me about a very special lady. Mary Ann lives in Arizona and she valiantly fought a cancer battle and so far, it seems God wants her around a little longer. After facing the rigours of chemotherapy treatments for uterine cancer, her attitude showed that she was far from being a sister to doom and gloom. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"> Jan, my fellow scribe, told me how she had interviewed this soul sister and how affected she was by her story. Jan wanted to get Mary Ann's story out there so that others might be encouraged. I told Jan I would be happy to let her post her interview on my blog. Anything to help a sista'! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Before the interview, just a little bit about my friend, Jan: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 24.0pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih80bmJLRaP6L6CJ5ufGzquT_dJhaugBYUjAjfhrbHSD1hOlSE9l88e_iiYBINUxbNa7FEipnbmbn0a-Z7bJp9hEg-kW9zfs_G2prMP4IHTJUOGT3VTPW2Z_TusxLZbgm1do1yCiSM3Pc/s1600/JanisCox-photo2web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih80bmJLRaP6L6CJ5ufGzquT_dJhaugBYUjAjfhrbHSD1hOlSE9l88e_iiYBINUxbNa7FEipnbmbn0a-Z7bJp9hEg-kW9zfs_G2prMP4IHTJUOGT3VTPW2Z_TusxLZbgm1do1yCiSM3Pc/s1600/JanisCox-photo2web.jpg" height="320" width="247" /></a><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Janis Cox is follower of Jesus – first and foremost. Then she is
a wife, mother, grandmother, a sister and friend. She has been married for 42 years
to a wonderful, caring and patient husband – they have three grown children who
are married; they have six grandchildren.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 24.0pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt;">She is a writer, watercolour artist and person always involved
in doing something. She has her fingers in many pies – but all of them are delicious.
A friend once told her that she saw a vision of her – with a whole bunch of coloured
balloons and she tried to capture each one of them.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 24.0pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt;">As a retired public school teacher Jan loved to write poems for
her kids. With this background and her artwork she has now published her first
illustrated children’s book, </span><i style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt;">Tadeo Turtle</i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt;">.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 24.0pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt;"> Jan runs a group blog </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt;"><a href="http://underthecoverofprayer.wordpress.com/"><span style="color: #743399;">Under
the Cover of Prayer</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt;">. And another blog with Kimberley
Payne called </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt;"><a href="http://familyandfaithmatters.wordpress.com/">Family and Faith Matters.</a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt;">
She is a member of</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt;"> </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt;"><a href="http://www.thewordguild.com/"><span style="color: #743399;">The Word
Guild</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt;"> </span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt;">and</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt;"> </span><u style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #743399;">Inscribe</span></u><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt;">
and now His Imprint. You can find her at her website </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt;"><a href="http://www.janiscox.com/">www.janiscox.com</a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt;">.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: x-large;">An Interview with Mary Ann – a Cancer Survivor.
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">By Janis Cox<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><a href="mailto:authorjaniscox@gmail.com">authorjaniscox@gmail.com </a><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><a href="mailto:authorjaniscox@gmail.com"><br /></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">February 25, 2014<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<b><span lang="EN-US"></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNemuTWAop0bUXeX0HiJx6q4L8-9gVZ1xvr2EaO6IwCfvraOPmnPtdQYUCDFvjWfPUC3nOUbwkIP3sYPyyRM37CgLBULkiKRKcLgzzVcsAKcl_T6gN_3SN_KOHrdkkzAiBgZf0bvleKMc/s1600/Mary+Ann.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNemuTWAop0bUXeX0HiJx6q4L8-9gVZ1xvr2EaO6IwCfvraOPmnPtdQYUCDFvjWfPUC3nOUbwkIP3sYPyyRM37CgLBULkiKRKcLgzzVcsAKcl_T6gN_3SN_KOHrdkkzAiBgZf0bvleKMc/s1600/Mary+Ann.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></b></div>
<b><span lang="EN-US">What were the
circumstances leading you to discover you had uterine cancer?<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I had been spotting, but the doctor did not
think this unusual. After seeing a different doctor a year later, I was told that
any bleeding after menopause should be looked into. I don’t blame the first doctor
as I may not have been clear in describing my symptoms. But this is a warning –
any woman who has even a tiny drop of blood after menopause – see a doctor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">When the spotting got more frequent, I went
back to my doctor. She sent me to a gynecologist, who examined me; then immediately
got me in to see an oncologist at the Ironwood Cancer Center, Mesa, AZ, who
sent me to St. Joseph's Hospital to meet with a gynecologic oncologist surgeon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Of course this was a Friday so everything
slowed down over the weekend. It was first thought I had cervical cancer stage
2. Then after exploratory surgery they found it was uterine cancer stage 2. I
finally had a complete hysterectomy and the cancer had spread to one lymph node
which changed to uterine cancer stage 3c. Later a PET scan found there was
activity around my stomach. That finding changed the diagnosis to uterine
cancer stage 4. Our son wondered how that cancer got from cervical cancer stage
2 to uterine cancer stage 4.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">God gave me a peace through this whole
process. Everything happened so fast. I didn't have to make any decisions. God
was in control.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span lang="EN-US">2<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b><span lang="EN-US">Can you tell me what your
initial reaction was? Your husband’s? Your family’s?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Besides God's Word, God put books about a
glimpse of heaven in my path long before my diagnoses. I read His Word of
course. Two other books I read were <i>Heaven
is for Real </i>by Todd Burpo<i>, </i>a
story about a little boy’s trip to heaven and back, and <i>To Heaven and Back</i> by Mary C. Neal, a doctor’s extraordinary
account of her death and life again. The week before going to my doctor I found
the third book, <i>90 Minutes in Heaven,</i>
at an estate sale. I read it after surgery and thought if the author could go
through what he went through, this will be a piece of cake. His words taught me
so much about being on the receiving end of people who care. So with what the Bible
tells us about heaven and the accounts of several who have experienced it, I
know it is for real for those who believe. And God has given me peace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I had peace with the thought that I might
be going home to see the loved ones who have gone before me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I am 73 years old and have been married for
49 years. My father was 73 years old and had been married for 49 years when he
died of cancer. My mom never got to celebrate their 50th anniversary. I prayed
that my husband and I could celebrate our 50th together before He took me home.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I called my husband from the gynecologist’s
to come and get me when I went to the first appointment. I’m sure he panicked
not knowing what was wrong until he got there. He said he couldn't put his
shoes on fast enough. Once he heard the diagnosis, he took over. He said that
at first he felt fear overwhelm him, but the calmness God gave me put him at
ease.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Our son wanted to make sure I was in good
hands. He wanted to know all the details and suggested I come back to his state
for treatment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Our daughter had questions – lots of
questions that she wanted me to ask the doctor. The doctor said she would be
glad to talk to her. I called my daughter and let her ask the questions. I
think the call helped. My daughter’s relationship with God helped her walk with
me through prayers and lots of phone calls.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Our senior pastor came and prayed with us.
Even a nurse in the hospital prayed with me. I knew Jesus was with me the
entire time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span lang="EN-US">3<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b><span lang="EN-US">What Scriptures did you
lean on throughout the procedures you needed to go through?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">A little book, <i>Jesus Calling,</i> by Sarah Young, gave me peace through all of this. The
words were like God talking to me personally each day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6KWqsznEsJNG68kecKG0oF9V0PWHvr_yE6QQNyclG1GxEHraWCuJU0d_wwylgKdvTpXDODwY8bMmCh4jMtDzIH_sOQm2KlD5gechfedOcUgW3lIs7YTOt81g2JZ7xfZplZL2okib0yzI/s1600/Cross+Mary+Ann.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6KWqsznEsJNG68kecKG0oF9V0PWHvr_yE6QQNyclG1GxEHraWCuJU0d_wwylgKdvTpXDODwY8bMmCh4jMtDzIH_sOQm2KlD5gechfedOcUgW3lIs7YTOt81g2JZ7xfZplZL2okib0yzI/s1600/Cross+Mary+Ann.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-US">The main message I received when reading
this book was to focus on Christ. These words went through my head: Trust in
Me; focus on Me; communicate with Me both listening and speaking; I will keep
my promise and will always be with you; I will give you peace; focus, focus on
Me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Jesus has been with me every step of this
journey. In Bible study I had attended it was said when we have a mountain
before us, God can take it away, give us an easy way around it, or be with us
all the way over it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span lang="EN-US">4<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b><span lang="EN-US">What else helped you to
keep peaceful through all this?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I guess watching God at work kept me at peace
from the beginning of my diagnosis and through the treatment. When the doctors
did a PET scan they found activity on my stomach. After four sessions of chemo
I had another scan and the PET scan was clear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">My friend Louise started a Caring Bridge
site for me. The Caring Bridge (<a href="http://www.caringbridge.org/">www.caringbridge.org</a>)
allows protected websites for connecting people to share your prayer needs and
other concerns. I can't thank her enough. It was a way to let friends and
family know with one message what I needed prayer for and how I was doing. The
words of encouragement meant so much to me. I could never have imagined there
were so many people who cared and prayed for me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">My cousin Kathy came while I was in the
hospital and was company and support for [my husband, Jake, as he drove back
and forth and was a great support when I got home. My brother and his friend visited while I was
in the hospital and came back after I got home. My sister came for a week to
help. My cousin Joan came for a month for encouragement. My sister and cousin
Kathy came back at the end of treatment with a lot of great tips on eating to
prevent cancer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Friends, family and acquaintances told me
stories of hope and encouragement with lots of stories of recoveries. People
sent cards of encouragement, flowers, books on how to eat healthy, and a
beautiful blanket which had words embroidered, "The Lord did not promise that
life would be easy, but He did promise to go with you every step." <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEird8dLs3hCsBj6FRXHr6NOLkygHe9lYaKBbOxi6LMNjFFlI0tlJV_gqkBw_fZ-owzMF4z4mr8SRdd4tduNHmcWSPTdvRqlqfj02VYPs9VpOp7MjYutePbuCXlWCp5hDl4DoxHoyUDfaYU/s1600/Mary+Ann+with+Hat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEird8dLs3hCsBj6FRXHr6NOLkygHe9lYaKBbOxi6LMNjFFlI0tlJV_gqkBw_fZ-owzMF4z4mr8SRdd4tduNHmcWSPTdvRqlqfj02VYPs9VpOp7MjYutePbuCXlWCp5hDl4DoxHoyUDfaYU/s1600/Mary+Ann+with+Hat.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-US">I also received a prayer shawI. I took that
shawl to every chemo treatment. I knew that the woman who had made it had
prayed over every stitch, taken it to the altar at her church and prayed for me
there, too. What a blessing. I felt those prayers. I also was given a pocket
cross with the story of how Jesus died for me. It also went to every chemo
session.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The cancer center blessed me with hats and a
wig. I have quite a collection of hats from my loving caring friends. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But....most of all God gave me a
supportive, loving husband whom I could count on to be there for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span lang="EN-US">5<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b><span lang="EN-US">Can you tell me if there
was any growth in your Spirit during this time? And if so, explain how you have
changed<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I learned to trust God and that He holds my
future no matter what any doctor says. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I learned that as I backed out of
commitments there were others to step in to take over. Letting go of those
commitments showed me there is time for the Lord and people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<b><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal;"></span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b><span lang="EN-US"> There must have been highs
and lows – can you explain any of them – how you felt and how you were able to
adjust to the circumstances?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTHzxbJ_hBlf6FucWXCUU7dfgjgLXOWxjJSrRIUalaZ5DoRkanEaoOdndtXNt4Qwlami7-hCV6QekyzulltP-U91VAPBqK98q0ezai69shQyFuQ_YBOdSaFZpfkbyeeHAcHvL9995xUc0/s1600/Hats.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTHzxbJ_hBlf6FucWXCUU7dfgjgLXOWxjJSrRIUalaZ5DoRkanEaoOdndtXNt4Qwlami7-hCV6QekyzulltP-U91VAPBqK98q0ezai69shQyFuQ_YBOdSaFZpfkbyeeHAcHvL9995xUc0/s1600/Hats.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><b><span lang="EN-US"> </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I had unexplainable peace through most of
this journey. My low point was two weeks after my first chemo. It was Halloween.
I looked in the mirror. My face was covered with a rash <u>but</u> I still
had my hair. I got in the shower and was washing my hair... my hair was in my
hands and my hands were not on my head. I felt emotions bubbling up. As I
sat on a chair later with tears rolling down my cheeks, I took out my book, <i>Jesus Calling</i>. I was a day behind in my
reading. Tuesday October 30th, said, "I am with you, I am with you, I am
with you." <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I went to my computer to write something
funny on Caring Bridge, like Happy Halloween. Instead I stopped to check my
email first. There was an email from Pastor Donavan suggesting I listen to
"All Sons & Daughters". I had a good cry with Jesus to some
beautiful Christian music. The words from one of the songs were, "God
made me beautiful." It was just what I needed. I finished my meltdown with
a good friend, Louise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">During
my first chemo session I had a bad reaction to Taxol, the chemo drug the
doctors used. I was warned ahead of time of the possible reactions and
what doctors could do to reverse them. I had a heavy pressure on my chest and
neck that went down my back. It kept getting, worse and I guess my face was the
reddest red. It took 20 minutes to reverse these effects. The doctor came out
and asked if I wanted to try again and warned me that I might end up in the
hospital. I said okay and they started me again on the Taxol. I had the same
reaction. That meant, no more Taxol for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Then
they gave me Carboplatin and I had a different reaction. I got cold and
couldn't stop shaking. The medical staff had not seen that reaction to
Carboplatin before. The nurse gave me Benadryl and a warm pack on my
stomach that helped me to stop shaking. They continued the chemo and this
time I was able to tolerate it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I told
my nurse that God had prepared me for this, that morning in <i>Jesus Calling</i>. "When the road
before you looks rocky, you can trust Me to get you through that rough patch. My
Presence enables you to face each day with confidence." And in the
previous paragraph, "Before you know it, the ‘obstacle’ will be behind you
and you will hardly know how you passed through it." That is exactly
how I felt after my treatment was behind me. My nurse said why didn't you tell
me you had a talk with God? Then I would have been prepared too. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Several hours after my 5th treatment I had an
experience similar to what I had had with the Taxol but not as strong. The
doctor said that after each treatment my system did not fully recover so by the
5th treatment there was more chance of a reaction. I had a PET scan after my
5th treatment and the result was clear and I did not want to have the 6th
treatment even though the doctors advised it. My fear grew. Several friends
prayed God would take the fear away and He did. I was given some extra Benadryl
before that treatment and I didn't have the reaction I had had with the 5th
treatment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNOE7IXIWS5_Oao6DNutQljFWn_WFUoQLk0ISB_oHTkCRWEOWN3QnwmQvbsX4cA2zPP-Vr0b6si12Lpx-GNfz9JpNJ8wahzh7FnBicwEyShDNZJJcIvay-uuoURQB6hQWGMRi4aFnxEr4/s1600/Tapestry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNOE7IXIWS5_Oao6DNutQljFWn_WFUoQLk0ISB_oHTkCRWEOWN3QnwmQvbsX4cA2zPP-Vr0b6si12Lpx-GNfz9JpNJ8wahzh7FnBicwEyShDNZJJcIvay-uuoURQB6hQWGMRi4aFnxEr4/s1600/Tapestry.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-US"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I adjusted to it all by focusing each day
on Jesus and knowing that He had given me that day. I let Him take care of the
mountains. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">A blanket that my friend gave me says it well:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-US">“God
doesn’t say life would be easy but He says He will be with you every step of
the way.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Thank you to Jan for sharing Mary Ann's story and to Mary Ann for sharing her heart. </span></span></i></div>
Glynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-929925616875931161.post-29262012954958140222014-01-03T18:22:00.000-05:002014-01-03T18:22:26.261-05:00My Mother and the Gym Saved My Life<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg8EqixBFDedM8X4qq8E69emWLoihmf9_Nkg049QkqsZ-b8zFGM1ssqOI-4DcXUHZcmlm_JG_haqywOdyZeTsl2_4-CKbWRu3V6uM8U8CiiAq6wnAFFzBUV2ov-8nAzUfrtMmW8vN5IaI/s1600/cross3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg8EqixBFDedM8X4qq8E69emWLoihmf9_Nkg049QkqsZ-b8zFGM1ssqOI-4DcXUHZcmlm_JG_haqywOdyZeTsl2_4-CKbWRu3V6uM8U8CiiAq6wnAFFzBUV2ov-8nAzUfrtMmW8vN5IaI/s200/cross3.jpg" width="122" /></a><i><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Or
do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you,
whom you have from God, and that you are not your own? For you have been bought
with a price: therefore glorify God in your body. </span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">1
Corinthians 6:19-20</span></i><br />
<br />
<br />
The last time I went to the gym was sometime in 2008. That's the year that I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. That's the year that my life was taken and shaken upside down.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJazD6ql8ddVyZFXnoO93Ug63CUwuX8RoSYzTqDDRvDpxqti0LTdwMh1btZ9q3fnNB6bKJvKeXO3DQQ5nScNyfkbIDHIWlszGRRyO4uSxPQaxlGUW5CEWBOr9YjnFMWjqhOyRHrcPX8zg/s1600/vectorstock_417367.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJazD6ql8ddVyZFXnoO93Ug63CUwuX8RoSYzTqDDRvDpxqti0LTdwMh1btZ9q3fnNB6bKJvKeXO3DQQ5nScNyfkbIDHIWlszGRRyO4uSxPQaxlGUW5CEWBOr9YjnFMWjqhOyRHrcPX8zg/s200/vectorstock_417367.jpg" width="157" /></a>It's now 2014 and today - yes this very day, I have returned from the gym after signing up again. It's been a long time since I pressed a few or spent any length of time on a tread mill. But I am once again bound and determined to get back into some kind of reasonable shape for my years. And the great thing is, I am not doing this alone. My happy hubby is daring to take the plunge, too, so with a measure of perseverance we might at best lose a couple of pounds, build up a little muscle or at least have a few laughs.<br />
<br />
Seriously, though, I have missed going to the gym and the more I think about it, the more I need to stop making excuses. I mean going to the gym 5 years ago probably saved my life. I had lost 23 lbs all told and it was shortly after that that I felt something peculiar in my abdomen. At first I didn't think much of it but I was later to learn that that peculiar grapefruit-sized growth was a tumour and there was another one equally large in the other side in my abdomen. So putting it mildly, going to the gym probably had a lot to do with me being diagnosed in an earlier stage of ovarian cancer. Late stage ovarian cancer is over 72% fatal. But if found in an earlier stage there is a 90% chance that it can be eradicated.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVXX3brxFcZqQ6PovlSFDXURZ-gXhQfngeDzkg6GjM3ZZEBPhOGoqPijHpyppsMwXqMTyZNFGPXJHsgAfXTnEqwXVSeKp0KkgcYkIpXItM5VxSp7hH9sglHSjf-AQTo_jpvkgvqGQIiB8/s1600/Thanks+Mom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVXX3brxFcZqQ6PovlSFDXURZ-gXhQfngeDzkg6GjM3ZZEBPhOGoqPijHpyppsMwXqMTyZNFGPXJHsgAfXTnEqwXVSeKp0KkgcYkIpXItM5VxSp7hH9sglHSjf-AQTo_jpvkgvqGQIiB8/s320/Thanks+Mom.jpg" width="320" /></a>So thank goodness I lost weight and at least that one tumour was palpable. My drop in pounds also had a lot to do with me running around like that proverbial headless chicken as I cared for my momduring her stroke and her multitude of other illnesses and health challenges before she went to be with Jesus. Opting to run up and down the stairs at the hospital instead of taking the elevator helped me to lose weight over a period of many months.<br />
<br />
"You are going to make yourself sick," Mom would say.<br />
<br />
She would concern herself that I was doing too much. Little did she know that by letting me care for her and as I ran around doing this, that and the other for her, she actually had a hand in saving my life. She would like that. I truly believe that if I hadn't lost those 23 pounds then I would not have felt that growth in my abdomen 9 months later that took me to the doctor's five and a half years ago.<br />
<br />
I am actually looking forward to donning my [non-tight shorts and non-midriff-showing tank top] - having some together time with my dearly beloved, and seeing what transpires as I perspire.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCHIxWxgr2fqGBLwUpi2A01eTQLNbY63hNiUkXhDYmXKwlyGHofVv0bOq9lcHHdmwZiPpMKHpODz_xAzIgllEBqUD3gyRVA_VTJauVB1i6CAE79MAFKFbbCkWBMp2AynP2Ch7d0sRyK_Q/s1600/ovarian-cancer-ribbon2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCHIxWxgr2fqGBLwUpi2A01eTQLNbY63hNiUkXhDYmXKwlyGHofVv0bOq9lcHHdmwZiPpMKHpODz_xAzIgllEBqUD3gyRVA_VTJauVB1i6CAE79MAFKFbbCkWBMp2AynP2Ch7d0sRyK_Q/s200/ovarian-cancer-ribbon2.jpg" width="154" /></a></div>
As I do, though, I will think of Mom and remember how being dedicated and faithful about going to the gym years ago benefited me in so many ways. I can't use the steroids and chemo excuse any more. I packed the pounds on because of that, initially, after my cancer treatments, but they stayed on because I kept putting off the inevitable.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSspVZWu6HLow_g0nxGJG9h1yi3zHD-dFNwWLyjALQmrhhqIxxIFn8M9Ip0nHqWM7r4S8QdZbuLtYU5spM9_tT44FlB7M518qheOP0RzfzTMeJBHJD9KAXeGIvArolQ2Xrhw1fM0E0EJs/s1600/vectorstock_1050978.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSspVZWu6HLow_g0nxGJG9h1yi3zHD-dFNwWLyjALQmrhhqIxxIFn8M9Ip0nHqWM7r4S8QdZbuLtYU5spM9_tT44FlB7M518qheOP0RzfzTMeJBHJD9KAXeGIvArolQ2Xrhw1fM0E0EJs/s200/vectorstock_1050978.jpg" width="200" /></a>So we did it. We took the plunge. My grinning groom and I have our keys and our motivation. Can't wait for tomorrow morning. They say the first step is the hardest - or is that the first cut is the deepest or the first mile is the longest? Hmm...whatever it is, better start taking care of this 'temple' a little bit better.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><i> </i></b><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"><b><i>“We can do anything we want to do if we stick to it long enough.” </i></b>~ Helen Keller</span><br />
<br />
Glynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-929925616875931161.post-91446299763350622212013-11-02T10:49:00.001-04:002013-11-02T10:51:46.668-04:00More Thoughts from the Cancer Clinic - Deb <u>Journal Entry: October 31st, 2013</u><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhol1gCITS7IfpRiLj5EtRpzIU0NxW1wz2Jsr2iTTTsB-TAQYLpz6HXAKxf3GF_z6H64wCSNS30_loFTEm3Tlf2C92qs8Sx_ubb-bV2903uRxoqpcNr7xjSGWWWUykOC5-XK-9Y_zUm26M/s1600/Nov+1+13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhol1gCITS7IfpRiLj5EtRpzIU0NxW1wz2Jsr2iTTTsB-TAQYLpz6HXAKxf3GF_z6H64wCSNS30_loFTEm3Tlf2C92qs8Sx_ubb-bV2903uRxoqpcNr7xjSGWWWUykOC5-XK-9Y_zUm26M/s1600/Nov+1+13.jpg" /></a><u><br /></u>
On my way, again, to the cancer clinic. Second time in 2 weeks. As usual, the waiting has been the worst. God blessed me with a wonderful peace for the past week, though. But, as the reality of how the scales are destined to tip one way or the other, a little knot forms. My stomach churns unduly. All the way to London I have been rehashing my life; the what ifs; those who give meaning to my life. I decide to make a phone call. No answer. I cry a little. I needed to hear that voice but I understand the busyness of life.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijUgsGN2nyYS0fZYih5ASDedjHqK_YCVG2fi7ND9hp_E5-javnQhda3m9McYGxbyBpci0Q3f-tFJqyYVHF51HIjdxA064UgOlCqkmpJTZwbg_Y1WdlJg6zO_4RRTfIE63tOiHDvDj6YLk/s1600/thankful.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijUgsGN2nyYS0fZYih5ASDedjHqK_YCVG2fi7ND9hp_E5-javnQhda3m9McYGxbyBpci0Q3f-tFJqyYVHF51HIjdxA064UgOlCqkmpJTZwbg_Y1WdlJg6zO_4RRTfIE63tOiHDvDj6YLk/s1600/thankful.jpg" /></a> Then I turn the volume up on the CD Dianne lent me a while ago<br />
- Whom Have I But You by David Ruis plays.<br />
<br />
<i>...When the deep is calling,</i><br />
<i>And the waterfall's my home.</i><br />
<i>When I'm all but drowning</i><br />
<i>And I'm treading on my own. </i><br />
<i>I cry a silent prayer that comes out of me. </i><br />
<i>It's a mystery...come wash over me [Lord], wash over me...</i><br />
<br />
At the clinic Halloween is obvious. A devil, a witch, a princess, a 9-5 Queen (she calls herself), Bat woman and others - the staff; characters parading supposedly cheering up the cancer patients and their supporters, perhaps? I wonder why the pretty nurse has to have red horns and a tail. To me, a more apt costume for her is one consisting of a halo.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE52dmp6B0SMCOxIhbP029ws4G9h6ZrDpr99QeWxIdcuyd2RdE0UmXfBTy3nHOw93FrXh9OyWiQX2J8t5DrD1gHAwSWDos5PVa5DurbW3SH8EWRXZpQyakLRsYotr4AA2gdP-iqMMijX0/s1600/nine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE52dmp6B0SMCOxIhbP029ws4G9h6ZrDpr99QeWxIdcuyd2RdE0UmXfBTy3nHOw93FrXh9OyWiQX2J8t5DrD1gHAwSWDos5PVa5DurbW3SH8EWRXZpQyakLRsYotr4AA2gdP-iqMMijX0/s1600/nine.jpg" /></a><br />
My pager is number 9. That's a good sign. I grasp at straws. Birthdate - April 9th. Sounds like a good reason to be hopeful. I stand at clinic 2 waiting my turn. A thin lady in front of me fumbles for her papers. She catches my eye. We exchange smiles and then she apologizes. I offer to hold her coffee then she tells me she is in a great deal of pain. I see she is probably about my age. My minuscule pain is naught compared to what she seems to be dealing with today. I miss my turn three times at the next wicket as I continue chatting. Eventually, though, it's my turn. I register and the 9-5 Queen tells me to proceed to the computer terminal and fill out the progress report. My foolish brain focusses on the word -<i>terminal</i> and I decide the cancer clinic should opt for a new noun.<br />
<br />
The lady from the line up sits next to me. She says her name is Deb. Deb begins to bare her soul. She tells me about her newly diagnosed bowel cancer; how her doctor ignored her 'hunch' suggesting she was just being paranoid because she was already a four year lung cancer survivor. Now the cancer has metastasised to her liver. Deb tells me she weighs 86 pounds. She stops talking. I try to find something comforting to say. I talk to her about hope and then I suggest God only calls us when it is our time and that He is in control. She said she knows she is dying. We both sit quietly for a moment, reflecting.<br />
<br />
"Yes. God knows what He is doing," Deb finally utters.<br />
<br />
I leave it at that wishing I had some profound, perfect, prophetic words. I come up dry. Just a hand on hers. I wanted to give her hope and encouragement. Instead my bumbling words fall out as orders. I tell her she should tell her elderly mother and her children about her cancer.<br />
<br />
How dare I? I reprimand myself for meddling but she doesn't seem offended with my words. She agrees she will soon, but she wants to sell her home first. I panicked in my soul wondering what it might be like for her to die alone. I give her my business card.<br />
<br />
Then Deb's pager - number 60 - goes off and just like that she flies away to learn her fate...<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRXUT9uD9fSLrtM-h-F-wcamS2HBSy0OskWc5nZ1Kwy3pmVEgCPknZdlYiEbtBDPNop3qL4njNKVP-23DJtY78kZHjJpJyHzXoKp4Y3GCDfSgbIkI0QX_dGy4K_uSXKdO7Hk8FrP852xM/s1600/doves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRXUT9uD9fSLrtM-h-F-wcamS2HBSy0OskWc5nZ1Kwy3pmVEgCPknZdlYiEbtBDPNop3qL4njNKVP-23DJtY78kZHjJpJyHzXoKp4Y3GCDfSgbIkI0QX_dGy4K_uSXKdO7Hk8FrP852xM/s200/doves.jpg" width="200" /></a> I settle back into my solitude and look around. It's a stupid game I play. Guess who the cancer patient is. The ladies with head wraps and the men with bald heads are easy to pick out. My answer comes when a pager buzzes. The nurses always speak to the patient first.<br />
<br />
The gentle spirited Mennonite lady and I make eye contact. We chat for a few moments. I discover her appointment is 10:30. I stop grumbling. Mine is 11am. It is 12:05.<br />
<br />
Her pager beckons. We graciously nod at each other. I wish her the best. She reciprocates.<br />
<br />
I sit. A lady nearby jumps up as her pager buzzes. I play another game - elimination. The pagers have been buzzing around me, so by my calculation, I should be next. Wishful thinking. I am wrong.<br />
<br />
Gilles arrives. We chat for a while.<br />
<br />
1pm. Number 9 pager finally buzzes...<br />
<br />
Dr. S enters with a student. He apologizes for the long wait today. He wears a smile; a sincere smile. My stomach settles.<br />
<br />
The CT scan report reads: No abnormal abdominal or pelvic masses are evident. No abnormal fluid collections are present. There is a parenchymal cyst in the left lower lobe [lung] unchanged from previous; kidneys appear normal except for small renal [kidney] cortical cysts.<br />
<br />
Gilles and I both have tears. I suppress the urge to fall on my knees and thank Jesus but I do it in my heart anyway, as Dr. S chatters on about the results.<br />
<br />
Six months - my next appointment. I am a little saddened because I thought this would be my five year <i>Adiós</i> month, but I understand and am grateful they are keeping an eye.<br />
<br />
We depart the clinic with a spring in our step. Then I remember Deb...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgesOhZqtnsveaEItAGnjBJ10kaLxD_1SdfWGXC_4OGRshFsOuWKdDXdioybhb2wzg1-euIqkTlMTzewYq7NDm6bIvVBhRKZaMqtP_SN_TAxsKd25rwASf7dfVKtxV-GDBHq6jzQLaXnA/s1600/Lord+is+my+shepherd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgesOhZqtnsveaEItAGnjBJ10kaLxD_1SdfWGXC_4OGRshFsOuWKdDXdioybhb2wzg1-euIqkTlMTzewYq7NDm6bIvVBhRKZaMqtP_SN_TAxsKd25rwASf7dfVKtxV-GDBHq6jzQLaXnA/s320/Lord+is+my+shepherd.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Glynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-929925616875931161.post-12422479432330250062013-10-23T23:06:00.000-04:002013-10-24T23:10:14.492-04:00Thoughts From the Waiting Room(Yesterday's Journal Entry- Tuesday, October 22nd, 2013) <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgViNVuNG9_GTvs_WS8oN5JGjlCirpWJwiwvr-b9IwP2iBe4lJk0vPA5jphknjUuifHTk7W_BWfjpoyLZ-VLpIB3SpqVcE8SzrV9y78MpN-vx4usTD-gS6HWk94o28OSESuXHQsdf27TtA/s1600/vectorstock_845164.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgViNVuNG9_GTvs_WS8oN5JGjlCirpWJwiwvr-b9IwP2iBe4lJk0vPA5jphknjUuifHTk7W_BWfjpoyLZ-VLpIB3SpqVcE8SzrV9y78MpN-vx4usTD-gS6HWk94o28OSESuXHQsdf27TtA/s200/vectorstock_845164.jpg" width="200" /></a> <br />
POW! BIFF! WHAM! That's the sound of me kicking and screaming as I head out this morning on that all too familiar journey.<br />
<br />
Destination: Walkerton Hospital.<br />
Purpose: CAT scan.<br />
<br />
Thursday's visit to the cancer clinic in London ended with a visit to the lab for blood work and plans for a CAT scan appointment. An area in my right abdomen is a bit of a concern so my oncologist is investigating.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioOmmIzWaOwwpchuJTaDgYr759B3NiydVd-uE7z3fTAg0LoULMM-P29DIqzkRSV-it8hYJL1PVX6LXOA3VZdTIYfzqM45KM22dIuGcX8FwSu_w0_CS6erdKv-rvIlU9vY9RlIiW49DLWk/s1600/hope.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioOmmIzWaOwwpchuJTaDgYr759B3NiydVd-uE7z3fTAg0LoULMM-P29DIqzkRSV-it8hYJL1PVX6LXOA3VZdTIYfzqM45KM22dIuGcX8FwSu_w0_CS6erdKv-rvIlU9vY9RlIiW49DLWk/s200/hope.jpg" width="200" /></a>Last time I visited the Walkerton Hospital was 2008. 'Twas then the diagnosis of ovarian cancer was confirmed. Not letting my head go there again. I suppose the irony behind all this is that October 2013 marks my five year jumping off point in the cancer world.<br />
<br />
Recently I spoke to a group of very welcoming women at a local church on the topic of hope. I prayed that God would bless me with words that day that would encourage anyone experiencing that spiralling out of control feeling. God never said in His word that when we signed on as believers there would be smooth sailing. What He did promise was that He would be with us always and that by fully trusting in Him we would find strength. In Christ there is hope...<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpIHazB7r0opYlwL1MX3oB2InWOT1PAR4xWYI1mNd0DHVhVcGv095stvDKuJIG2Lp6K_tPK1BmMuAf6v-z1U38N4Ll9PC5FSb9InZdKRwgVy97PeeuyF0NKRRwcPQP3TtMmuTVab5Ksgg/s1600/cups.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpIHazB7r0opYlwL1MX3oB2InWOT1PAR4xWYI1mNd0DHVhVcGv095stvDKuJIG2Lp6K_tPK1BmMuAf6v-z1U38N4Ll9PC5FSb9InZdKRwgVy97PeeuyF0NKRRwcPQP3TtMmuTVab5Ksgg/s200/cups.jpg" width="200" /></a> So, it's time to practise what I preach. I've just tossed back two huge Styrofoam vases filled with the 'special' pre CAT scan liquid and await being engulfed by the great technological monster, complete with smiley faces which light up showing me when to hold my breath and when to breathe. I don't want my joy to be stolen so I remember what I said about hope. I smile and feel strengthened.<br />
<br />
As I look around the waiting room I see a soul in agony. The IV port peeks under her jacket and her grimace indicates that pain is monopolizing her peace. A woman about my age looking so much more worse off than I feel. I am grateful that she gets called in before me. I look fine. She doesn't. She needs to be tended to first.<br />
<br />
A handsome young man in a black and white Roots jacket looks preoccupied - head resting against the bleak, beige wall. Concerned about a loved one, perhaps? A wife? A mother? A child?<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkWqwIjMXXVF5Xm7HaIr3GuebQrs9U7CkV-i3sBEsXMUZKTBzwCZnYEXNC9YE_zoxuGkOOvafvf7A_xGwOiQBeGX8bxAgUu_TojYb44osC9_Rq3T19JdSr5Sj9Y4N4NpnwFbdyJiJjPPo/s1600/story.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkWqwIjMXXVF5Xm7HaIr3GuebQrs9U7CkV-i3sBEsXMUZKTBzwCZnYEXNC9YE_zoxuGkOOvafvf7A_xGwOiQBeGX8bxAgUu_TojYb44osC9_Rq3T19JdSr5Sj9Y4N4NpnwFbdyJiJjPPo/s200/story.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> Everyone has a story. Sometimes we feel alone as our tale unfolds. But today - although I am alone in the waiting room, I am far from feeling alone on my journey. God has covered me with the balm of Holy Spirit; the love of Christ and His reassurance. </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvT8wKHDRfxzcRUCtx-k7sWMmEamJL5-tUQ19oWdmPS5CJ5HTqobhxkLj-pBzGgIt9xew55cN2HHSPcBz4nWeCdTbstSY2ZlTwxoN3lfrdoABThL2iG0ZlGcHIwK6ZCIZEKXNb-P_o-5I/s1600/God+loves+child.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvT8wKHDRfxzcRUCtx-k7sWMmEamJL5-tUQ19oWdmPS5CJ5HTqobhxkLj-pBzGgIt9xew55cN2HHSPcBz4nWeCdTbstSY2ZlTwxoN3lfrdoABThL2iG0ZlGcHIwK6ZCIZEKXNb-P_o-5I/s200/God+loves+child.jpg" width="151" /></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"> <i>"Be strong and of good courage,"</i> He whispers. <i>"Do not fear nor be afraid...for the LORD your God, He is the One who goes with you."</i> I cherish His promises.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"> The technician comes to collect her next customer.</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> </span><br />
<br />Glynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-929925616875931161.post-33771930397571404782013-10-06T17:50:00.000-04:002013-10-07T11:01:41.127-04:00Sick of Me<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVcWn8N66HFQz1O4ysYbkLCLM8DPOoG35jg8Z4Cd1ca0p3WOKjTkd58GDeOmLQ-4Z24IFanROidodrlkKXpOlZVUSiSuhIHY1qejN1KFIierxgI8DvexS-gpStjnwUwpHZBAiWA8zRkNY/s1600/9780992007409.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVcWn8N66HFQz1O4ysYbkLCLM8DPOoG35jg8Z4Cd1ca0p3WOKjTkd58GDeOmLQ-4Z24IFanROidodrlkKXpOlZVUSiSuhIHY1qejN1KFIierxgI8DvexS-gpStjnwUwpHZBAiWA8zRkNY/s320/9780992007409.jpg" width="208" /></a> <i><span style="color: #134f5c;"><b>Mrs. B Has Cancer</b></span></i> - my children's fiction chapter book - is out. Woohoo! I'm rocking pleased about that and am so thrilled with the response. I got the books from my printer a little while back and sold 50 of them in a matter of two, maybe three days. Facebook can be a beautiful thing! I have some of the nicest friends. I've also been invited to speak about my book, my life as a cancer survivor and a writer. People are actually interested in what I have to say - who knew?<br />
<br />
Pretty soon the official release for my book will take place and then hopefully the sales graph will continue to head in the right direction. I am happy for that and I am thrilled that there are children and others who are buying and actually reading my book. That rates high on my 'like meter.'<br />
<div>
<br />
But one thing I cannot 100% get my head around yet is the<br />
emotional part of marketing. I actually don't mind the process of marketing really and finding ways to get the word out about my new book. I have lots of great ideas - some maybe a little far-fetched. But for some strange reason every time I go into an establishment to promote my book, send a note to a newspaper for a press release, or drop in at local schools, I always do so with a measure of guilt. Perhaps guilt isn't the best way to describe it, but I will say I really don't like <i>not </i>being humble about what I do - marketing is so <i>not</i> about being humble.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihmmY-x8Blyjf031RjuNNm1MnsR-Jz6Ov4a4lqqbsBrg7pMdDHbRXAvpuxK9ggoMn50q8377eBbG5Q6mr-mthKxE6RdISm747SsjAocNDw1tCbAPsMGqmXbwJ5zagtYgmTn-DbHG2-YVw/s1600/vectorstock_128587.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihmmY-x8Blyjf031RjuNNm1MnsR-Jz6Ov4a4lqqbsBrg7pMdDHbRXAvpuxK9ggoMn50q8377eBbG5Q6mr-mthKxE6RdISm747SsjAocNDw1tCbAPsMGqmXbwJ5zagtYgmTn-DbHG2-YVw/s200/vectorstock_128587.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Even now when I start talking about me being humble I feel like I am not being very humble when I do that. I guess I wonder if people get sick of me and hearing about my accomplishments, my writing, my books. But every conference I attend, every book I read on promotion, every experienced writer I speak to will say the same - 'you've got to get yourself out there' if you want to sell your books and get branded.<br />
<br />
I keep wondering what God wants me to do. I keep reminding myself to be patient because all good things come to those who wait. I keep thinking that if God wanted me to sell books or get speaking/writing gigs then He would make the divine appointments and arrangements...wouldn't He?<br />
<br />
I guess marketing for me is a bit of a love/hate relationship. I've been plugging my latest book for a while now and so far I am yet to be rejected. No one yet has looked me square in the eye and said, "No' I am not in the least bit interested in reading your story!" Maybe I fear rejection the most.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivIYf9Kp9TM0EjGi6f1-ggzWe4kwr7rkncSAA31_ksWJBCmAJBmLei5KpKGi_609cEOIzTzW9iKJuJ-KpmVivKf9Uv7kOvYqHAJXIYLJ-SCreqLi-oIA7bHDm9m5clkNCKYTBhUpLEAQY/s1600/humility.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivIYf9Kp9TM0EjGi6f1-ggzWe4kwr7rkncSAA31_ksWJBCmAJBmLei5KpKGi_609cEOIzTzW9iKJuJ-KpmVivKf9Uv7kOvYqHAJXIYLJ-SCreqLi-oIA7bHDm9m5clkNCKYTBhUpLEAQY/s1600/humility.jpg" /></a></div>
<div>
Being a writer can be a bit of a lonely profession but luckily I am cut out for that and really do enjoy long hours slogging it out with words and heart stuff that causes me to bleed onto paper. Over this next while I hope to take my writing career to a new level [talk less and do more] but the scary part of that is that it involves more than writing.<br />
<br />
Maybe if my book sales are through the roof then I can hire myself a full time publicity/marketing manager and then I can get back to doing what I do/like best. One can dream.<br />
<br />
P.S. Here are the details of the up and coming book release: (disclaimer: if you really are getting sick of me and my shameless promotions - press DELETE!) <br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b> <span style="font-family: 'Century Schoolbook', serif; line-height: 115%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Join
Author -</span></span></b></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiB54elChHcohSCw-deeYDg_5VFS8-Y-EmEvddrRk_xVpOrJ9qd6xzRxAJS0T2KxPde9vDeg_jsHGedgUIQqfdMpt4e4TbRx3UL5xhUR1ZYzwH_HcDGlFWAIkSreyQhkiH-bNK7bzqOv8/s1600/TJS_MrsB+003.jpg+Headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiB54elChHcohSCw-deeYDg_5VFS8-Y-EmEvddrRk_xVpOrJ9qd6xzRxAJS0T2KxPde9vDeg_jsHGedgUIQqfdMpt4e4TbRx3UL5xhUR1ZYzwH_HcDGlFWAIkSreyQhkiH-bNK7bzqOv8/s320/TJS_MrsB+003.jpg+Headshot.jpg" width="212" /></a></b></div>
<b style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Glynis M. Belec</span></b><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0NQflxqcm9E-V8IUIrRIJrCSfKRCvn0Hk1g-_67pVaRS8DiMbZSujgNSqPRGHEcIVP2UfXHFaT7UVJ-K-YbERK_0F4nF1NLETLAHq6TtMykTcB4se2QwVM2JIKWgBp3ss9_Am4D6bGSI/s1600/balloons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0NQflxqcm9E-V8IUIrRIJrCSfKRCvn0Hk1g-_67pVaRS8DiMbZSujgNSqPRGHEcIVP2UfXHFaT7UVJ-K-YbERK_0F4nF1NLETLAHq6TtMykTcB4se2QwVM2JIKWgBp3ss9_Am4D6bGSI/s200/balloons.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Century Schoolbook', serif; font-size: 23.636363983154297px; line-height: 26.363636016845703px;">at the</span><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook","serif"; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /><b><span style="mso-effects-reflection-align: bottomleft; mso-effects-reflection-angdirection: 5400000; mso-effects-reflection-angfadedirection: 5400000; mso-effects-reflection-anglekx: 0; mso-effects-reflection-angleky: 0; mso-effects-reflection-dpidistance: .079pt; mso-effects-reflection-dpiradius: 1.0pt; mso-effects-reflection-pctalphaend: 0%; mso-effects-reflection-pctalphastart: 28.0%; mso-effects-reflection-pctendpos: 45.0%; mso-effects-reflection-pctstartpos: 0%; mso-effects-reflection-pctsx: 100.0%; mso-effects-reflection-pctsy: -100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-gradientfill-shade-linearshade-angle: 5400000; mso-style-textfill-fill-gradientfill-shade-linearshade-fscaled: no; mso-style-textfill-fill-gradientfill-shadetype: linear; mso-style-textfill-fill-gradientfill-stoplist: "0 \#381563 7 100000 shade=20000 satm=245000\,43000 \#7B34D2 7 100000 satm=255000\,48000 \#7230C3 7 100000 shade=85000 satm=255000\,100000 \#381563 7 100000 shade=20000 satm=245000"; mso-style-textfill-type: gradient; mso-style-textoutline-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textoutline-fill-color: #5C437A; mso-style-textoutline-fill-colortransforms: "shade=50000 satm=120000"; mso-style-textoutline-fill-themecolor: accent4; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-align: center; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-compound: simple; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-dash: solid; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-dpiwidth: .354pt; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-join: round; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-linecap: flat; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-pctmiterlimit: 0%; mso-style-textoutline-type: solid; text-transform: uppercase;">Studio FactoR</span></b></span><b><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook","serif"; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-effects-reflection-align: bottomleft; mso-effects-reflection-angdirection: 5400000; mso-effects-reflection-angfadedirection: 5400000; mso-effects-reflection-anglekx: 0; mso-effects-reflection-angleky: 0; mso-effects-reflection-dpidistance: .079pt; mso-effects-reflection-dpiradius: 1.0pt; mso-effects-reflection-pctalphaend: 0%; mso-effects-reflection-pctalphastart: 28.0%; mso-effects-reflection-pctendpos: 45.0%; mso-effects-reflection-pctstartpos: 0%; mso-effects-reflection-pctsx: 100.0%; mso-effects-reflection-pctsy: -100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-gradientfill-shade-linearshade-angle: 5400000; mso-style-textfill-fill-gradientfill-shade-linearshade-fscaled: no; mso-style-textfill-fill-gradientfill-shadetype: linear; mso-style-textfill-fill-gradientfill-stoplist: "0 \#381563 7 100000 shade=20000 satm=245000\,43000 \#7B34D2 7 100000 satm=255000\,48000 \#7230C3 7 100000 shade=85000 satm=255000\,100000 \#381563 7 100000 shade=20000 satm=245000"; mso-style-textfill-type: gradient; mso-style-textoutline-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textoutline-fill-color: #5C437A; mso-style-textoutline-fill-colortransforms: "shade=50000 satm=120000"; mso-style-textoutline-fill-themecolor: accent4; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-align: center; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-compound: simple; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-dash: solid; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-dpiwidth: .354pt; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-join: round; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-linecap: flat; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-pctmiterlimit: 0%; mso-style-textoutline-type: solid; text-transform: uppercase;"> </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Century Schoolbook', serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">for
a<b><span style="color: #ff0066;"> </span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Century Schoolbook', serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><span style="color: #ff0066;">PARTY</span></b>!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b>24 Wood</b></span><b><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> Street, Drayton</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook","serif"; font-size: 26.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook","serif"; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="font-family: 'Century Schoolbook', serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;"><i>Pick
up your signed copy of </i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook","serif"; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><b><span style="color: #45818e;"><br /></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Century Schoolbook', serif; line-height: 115%;"><b><span style="color: #45818e; font-size: x-large;">Mrs. B Has Cancer </span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook","serif"; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-effects-shadow-align: none; mso-effects-shadow-alpha: 65.0%; mso-effects-shadow-angledirection: 5400000; mso-effects-shadow-anglekx: 0; mso-effects-shadow-angleky: 0; mso-effects-shadow-color: black; mso-effects-shadow-dpidistance: 3.4pt; mso-effects-shadow-dpiradius: 5.5pt; mso-effects-shadow-pctsx: 0%; mso-effects-shadow-pctsy: 0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-gradientfill-shade-linearshade-angle: 5400000; mso-style-textfill-fill-gradientfill-shade-linearshade-fscaled: no; mso-style-textfill-fill-gradientfill-shadetype: linear; mso-style-textfill-fill-gradientfill-stoplist: "0 \#A54200 9 100000 shade=20000 satm=200000\,78000 \#FF8C19 9 100000 tint=90000 shade=89000 satm=220000\,100000 \#FFF1E9 9 100000 tint=12000 satm=255000"; mso-style-textfill-type: gradient; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-align: center; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-compound: simple; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-dash: solid; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-dpiwidth: .075pt; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-join: round; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-linecap: flat; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-pctmiterlimit: 0%; mso-style-textoutline-type: none;">FREE GAMES AND
ACTIVITIES:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<!--[endif]--><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_5"
o:spid="_x0000_s1027" type="#_x0000_t75" style='position:absolute;left:0;
text-align:left;margin-left:-51.85pt;margin-top:155.2pt;width:15pt;height:23.25pt;
z-index:251659264;visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square;
mso-width-percent:0;mso-height-percent:0;mso-wrap-distance-left:9pt;
mso-wrap-distance-top:0;mso-wrap-distance-right:9pt;
mso-wrap-distance-bottom:0;mso-position-horizontal:absolute;
mso-position-horizontal-relative:text;mso-position-vertical:absolute;
mso-position-vertical-relative:text;mso-width-percent:0;mso-height-percent:0;
mso-width-relative:page;mso-height-relative:page'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\Glynis\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\02\clip_image005.jpg"
o:title=""/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><span style="height: 31px; left: 0px; margin-left: -69px; margin-top: 207px; mso-ignore: vglayout; position: absolute; width: 20px; z-index: 251659264;"><img height="31" src="file:///C:/Users/Glynis/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/02/clip_image006.jpg" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_5" width="20" /></span><!--[endif]--><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_6"
o:spid="_x0000_s1026" type="#_x0000_t75" style='position:absolute;left:0;
text-align:left;margin-left:464.15pt;margin-top:131.95pt;width:15pt;height:23.25pt;
z-index:251661312;visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square;
mso-width-percent:0;mso-height-percent:0;mso-wrap-distance-left:9pt;
mso-wrap-distance-top:0;mso-wrap-distance-right:9pt;
mso-wrap-distance-bottom:0;mso-position-horizontal:absolute;
mso-position-horizontal-relative:text;mso-position-vertical:absolute;
mso-position-vertical-relative:text;mso-width-percent:0;mso-height-percent:0;
mso-width-relative:page;mso-height-relative:page'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\Glynis\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\02\clip_image007.jpg"
o:title=""/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><span style="height: 31px; left: 0px; margin-left: 619px; margin-top: 176px; mso-ignore: vglayout; position: absolute; width: 20px; z-index: 251661312;"><img height="31" src="file:///C:/Users/Glynis/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/02/clip_image008.jpg" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_6" width="20" /></span><!--[endif]--><b><i><span style="color: red; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Fish pond</span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">, <span style="color: #76923c; mso-themecolor: accent3; mso-themeshade: 191;">Guessing Games</span><span style="color: #7030a0;">, Dart Game, </span><span style="color: #4a442a; mso-themecolor: background2; mso-themeshade: 64;">Photo Booth </span><span style="color: #f79646; mso-themecolor: accent6;">and more</span>. <span style="color: #943634; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 191;">Prizes</span>, <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPAD_nkex-qBMQhRPZPPDxF2rF4lm1ztTPdAg98hc0sWepGKpoeIfHaJrC3b6EVtr0kf7RF4Hft0606HGB25JGYWhFiLWHTsfhu8bkPLoYtojFLSiskDLfuwHl94YuXuv5IiBbHjw-po0/s1600/rubber+duck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPAD_nkex-qBMQhRPZPPDxF2rF4lm1ztTPdAg98hc0sWepGKpoeIfHaJrC3b6EVtr0kf7RF4Hft0606HGB25JGYWhFiLWHTsfhu8bkPLoYtojFLSiskDLfuwHl94YuXuv5IiBbHjw-po0/s200/rubber+duck.jpg" width="200" /></a><b><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Draw Prize, <span style="color: #00b050;">Refreshments…Mmmm </span><span style="color: #0070c0;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: #31849b; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent5; mso-themeshade: 191;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: #31849b; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent5; mso-themeshade: 191;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: #31849b; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent5; mso-themeshade: 191;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: #31849b; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent5; mso-themeshade: 191;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: #31849b; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent5; mso-themeshade: 191;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: #31849b; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent5; mso-themeshade: 191;">*$1.00 from the sale of each book goes to Ovarian Cancer
Canada</span></i><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />Glynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-929925616875931161.post-69092774531081722602013-08-23T22:44:00.000-04:002013-08-23T23:38:01.245-04:00Remembering...<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj069ANxkivGo-D4z26KMtJp4yd98GPnx16PN9vS4K_f9FIrZY9z262dQKmhtJvDKgP8XosbQJGVXF5ekdT8Dv_xtZtUAQsVR-oNCre_vSgPbOJWfx3GxyNhTU_BpyiBptGWxKSpwfhyA/s1600/WOH010+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj069ANxkivGo-D4z26KMtJp4yd98GPnx16PN9vS4K_f9FIrZY9z262dQKmhtJvDKgP8XosbQJGVXF5ekdT8Dv_xtZtUAQsVR-oNCre_vSgPbOJWfx3GxyNhTU_BpyiBptGWxKSpwfhyA/s320/WOH010+-+Copy.jpg" width="213" /></a>Hard to believe that this will be my sixth walk. On Sunday, September 8th, Amanda and her two sweet kiddos and I will once again, head to Barrie to participate in the Ovarian Cancer Canada Walk of Hope.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq6d4Q-0nzFcPAAPzamgEM7atLSvO-b8ZpKoqlUwTPUg68o3ZqTP_BembkFcjRyCG9iED8qD5rSuocSV1YL1t4mpd0f-5PWvZeAPEG_NW7HCyr6DzgxPZ4H9JJqJqQB190jPM0Py2JgdM/s1600/aloof.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq6d4Q-0nzFcPAAPzamgEM7atLSvO-b8ZpKoqlUwTPUg68o3ZqTP_BembkFcjRyCG9iED8qD5rSuocSV1YL1t4mpd0f-5PWvZeAPEG_NW7HCyr6DzgxPZ4H9JJqJqQB190jPM0Py2JgdM/s200/aloof.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
Some people wonder why we still do it. Others think it would be wiser to forget all this cancer stuff and get on with life. Surely that would be the better choice.<br />
<br />
Perhaps, for some, forgetting is the way. But participating and walking and raising awareness and making a noise...that is how I am getting on with my life.<br />
<br />
Ovarian cancer is a wretched and horrible cancer that slowly overtakes the body often before a woman even knows there is something up. Hence the monikers - the <i>Silent Killer</i> or the <i>Disease that Whispers.</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbYlp0bhHOe_cfH9HfG69NyoHnE-S0cok-KfRJTZWVJIpbp2vz49ATaAwTSY6FaLBBtBc1mmQXP1FNEC-QW9NeUcuT2VJcu7exUmj_bClBtARMytejx5STZ95PKdOHQuYBwEHeu8PqF1U/s1600/oc2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbYlp0bhHOe_cfH9HfG69NyoHnE-S0cok-KfRJTZWVJIpbp2vz49ATaAwTSY6FaLBBtBc1mmQXP1FNEC-QW9NeUcuT2VJcu7exUmj_bClBtARMytejx5STZ95PKdOHQuYBwEHeu8PqF1U/s1600/oc2.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Why I was granted the luck/privilege/blessing of being found in the early stages, I cannot understand. Maybe God knew that He had a loud-mouth on His hands and if he let me stick around for a few more years He knew I would tell others; write about it; blog about it; learn and speak about it. I made a promise to God that if I survived the rigours of chemotherapy, then I would make it my mission in life to help raise awareness and funds to help other women not yet diagnosed.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Z69HaoT7-efCRXhiTXXjdvzMNhycXCIDaTX_b-dznTMM-Jnf0gRahZlqeCxIUeNehxhYHvoyxxDJbi9hwBGRcDlrfLXynTyeUdz2e9a4v_7TaZ0MZrw3rjlrKIsE3VOHQ6SDecHFkUM/s1600/DSCF8247+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Z69HaoT7-efCRXhiTXXjdvzMNhycXCIDaTX_b-dznTMM-Jnf0gRahZlqeCxIUeNehxhYHvoyxxDJbi9hwBGRcDlrfLXynTyeUdz2e9a4v_7TaZ0MZrw3rjlrKIsE3VOHQ6SDecHFkUM/s320/DSCF8247+-+Copy.JPG" width="320" /></a>I rarely ask myself why I walk each year because it just seems automatic - the right thing to do. But then I think of the girls, my oc sisters, who I learned to love. Then I look at my daughter and my granddaughter. I think of my daughter in law, my sisters, my cousin, my aunts, my girlfriends here and afar. I remember the ones afflicted and weep for the ones who have lost the battle. I pray for the ones not yet diagnosed.<br />
<br />
It cuts me like a knife when I think about the precious lives lost to ovarian cancer - Jackie, Rosie, Daria, Becky and so many more.<br />
<br />
Jackie was the sweetest soul. I met this brave woman when I went to my first walk in Barrie. She was such an encourager. I had no hair and was a bit of a bucket of emotions. She had been dealing with ovarian cancer for five years. She had all the right words to say and she handed me flowers and a hug that would unite us always. Now Jackie is no longer here. She succumbed to the wretched disease and the world has lost a wonderful person.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJZKH87EiZTZMeRr_5L9KODDrjMqlSY84ECaDL5ioGKUhLsf9QujOsS092LL26TOsH_F3ynhzkZ81gv8X1uVRh0hiznrPLaJaQGh67PkdKu7dO3Y2q0B7TY_2UFgYashdixsvdBh71eoY/s1600/WOH+005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJZKH87EiZTZMeRr_5L9KODDrjMqlSY84ECaDL5ioGKUhLsf9QujOsS092LL26TOsH_F3ynhzkZ81gv8X1uVRh0hiznrPLaJaQGh67PkdKu7dO3Y2q0B7TY_2UFgYashdixsvdBh71eoY/s320/WOH+005.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jackie's blue eye's twinkled. I felt as if we had been BFFs</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I will walk again this year and remember my friend, Jackie. Her precious smile lifted my spirits. </span></i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghpzmyRDTFY8kMWZzDRnCnEltI2_ZXSOkGzNRn7N1D-o9blQm6aFjUyINovuWp721yhuehY5Tn3xj1v5Go7dA-rkee0rFlgyJTXF8SMTGoTpDbS7LzmX3PCCrm2YqzPCMeZPpPlV3per8/s1600/Rosie+Mott.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghpzmyRDTFY8kMWZzDRnCnEltI2_ZXSOkGzNRn7N1D-o9blQm6aFjUyINovuWp721yhuehY5Tn3xj1v5Go7dA-rkee0rFlgyJTXF8SMTGoTpDbS7LzmX3PCCrm2YqzPCMeZPpPlV3per8/s1600/Rosie+Mott.jpg" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKD31td83C6i7JfSleRmFgQl_C4v-oICB87LPnc1KzwMtnsce7EX-rf8ooOWW8hIuP1FTAG7wuh8w2W7St_pugnxYtiH6563M8OTJR7Y1s9Y-d2IoD7EgbaASS3Rq2zvc69FEeBX27GbE/s1600/Daria.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKD31td83C6i7JfSleRmFgQl_C4v-oICB87LPnc1KzwMtnsce7EX-rf8ooOWW8hIuP1FTAG7wuh8w2W7St_pugnxYtiH6563M8OTJR7Y1s9Y-d2IoD7EgbaASS3Rq2zvc69FEeBX27GbE/s1600/Daria.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>I will think of Dr. Rosie. A medical doctor who lost her valiant battle last November. We had become good chums via Facebook. Oh how she loved Jesus. </i></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And Daria was a blogger to beat the band. Her witty posts brought a smile to my face every time. One day her husband appeared on her blog - with the sad news...</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV4niypD6oeszzmJeiA5lMMYr34jj7__egv0SslImlz7NKjzYqY779Ayc4vwdGnMtW81QGln-wNcnffL67AqJf72aac7EycmFr1ME8iNTbN6qGtEsESdni5ndAP_Py57XUHVUu4MsrBNA/s1600/Becky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV4niypD6oeszzmJeiA5lMMYr34jj7__egv0SslImlz7NKjzYqY779Ayc4vwdGnMtW81QGln-wNcnffL67AqJf72aac7EycmFr1ME8iNTbN6qGtEsESdni5ndAP_Py57XUHVUu4MsrBNA/s1600/Becky.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I didn't know Becky but I watched her little boy, her husband, her friends and family year after year walk in Barrie to honour this young mother's courage. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cancer claimed the life of these beautiful women but their spirits live on. I will r</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">emember each of them on September 8th. I will look at my daughter and my granddaughter before we set out on our 5 km trek around the Barrie waterfront and I will pray that they never have to come face to face with the silent killer. I will give thanks to God that I am still here and am still able to be as obnoxious as I can be about getting the word out. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How grateful I am for all the people in my life who support me in so many ways. For those wonderful souls who help out on the committee and our faithful participants, many who come out year after year to our big Zeal for Teal fundraiser just so we can participate in the annual Walk of Hope - oh how we love you. This year we raised over $4000.00! How blessed we are. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For those who step out and sponsor us year after year. You always manage to find a little left over from the pay cheque - thank you. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFjrHlCTSo_p8waMvQu1JCc7gZ2y9Ug7i0fCoWPkKbV50qPYfSPNHcFsJivrf2VrqYW-pkTcq9GOjXm2BDGY4rlXsChsQK10jjNJRrCNHQmtlmYzbIl496NV1jdWf1M791q3AW3F7CTZU/s1600/oc6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFjrHlCTSo_p8waMvQu1JCc7gZ2y9Ug7i0fCoWPkKbV50qPYfSPNHcFsJivrf2VrqYW-pkTcq9GOjXm2BDGY4rlXsChsQK10jjNJRrCNHQmtlmYzbIl496NV1jdWf1M791q3AW3F7CTZU/s320/oc6.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For those who support us in prayer and with words of encouragement. We really need that to make it through the emotional stuff. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Such a bittersweet day. I always come home and for a short while and try to deal with survivor guilt. 'They' say that's normal.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our ultimate prayer, though, is that some really clever people will soon be able to come up with an early detection test for ovarian cancer. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It just doesn't seem right that so many beautiful women are dying from this wretched disease.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I look forward to our annual mother/daughter weekend with Amanda and my two darling grandchildren. It's a bitter-sweet time but we always greatly anticipate helping to </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">turn up the volume by lacing up and heading out. Barrie, here we come! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
Glynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-929925616875931161.post-6925390217802299992013-07-11T23:37:00.000-04:002013-07-11T23:50:22.743-04:00Sunny Side Up! <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Check this out - Yikes! </i></span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://london.ctvnews.ca/lockdown-lifted-at-london-regional-cancer-clinic-after-gun-scare-1.1360443#.Ud9yQg8Zcas.blogger">Lockdown lifted at London Regional Cancer Clinic after gun scare | CTV London News</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3NpqGvzHjXpCmCOYz0MomhvohZm31QNjNIYRMKZU6hq3P9aMMmZ_krcr52qPdnpPpCRukd-ICAAY-Iq-6O7QBgwtvype_x3Q-jlLnLhaJ8ME9SgJEHQJphw6hJuSE7ugzpJQSrrZdRus/s1600/cancer+clinic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3NpqGvzHjXpCmCOYz0MomhvohZm31QNjNIYRMKZU6hq3P9aMMmZ_krcr52qPdnpPpCRukd-ICAAY-Iq-6O7QBgwtvype_x3Q-jlLnLhaJ8ME9SgJEHQJphw6hJuSE7ugzpJQSrrZdRus/s320/cancer+clinic.jpg" width="320" /></a>Apparently there was some undue excitement at the cancer clinic on Tuesday. Someone spotted a man dressed in fatigues and armed with a rifle. Some reports say he was inside the clinic; others say he was not seen entering the building.<br />
<br />
As if there isn't enough trauma and confusion in the cancer clinic without some knuckle-head wandering around scaring the be-jeepers out of people. Sometimes I just want to scream at the top of my lungs 'What is going on in this crazy world?' I keep wondering when God is going to put a stop to it and call us all on the carpet.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivrxCq-svAdqExy7tp6iBnrCB-ozahLBSOBckIkFDab3FprBPD5dFD4EpHmiDjtMtWobULGIGnJdZP0_X00i9iOOW8G32utUb2NDUpb4BhFPanxjqJiZnc0lB3K2_1Gm6jW1uA6qCLz94/s1600/stop.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivrxCq-svAdqExy7tp6iBnrCB-ozahLBSOBckIkFDab3FprBPD5dFD4EpHmiDjtMtWobULGIGnJdZP0_X00i9iOOW8G32utUb2NDUpb4BhFPanxjqJiZnc0lB3K2_1Gm6jW1uA6qCLz94/s200/stop.jpeg" width="200" /></a><br />
I had my own little episode of trauma as I entered the clinic for what I had hoped might be my last time today. But upon closer inspection...let's put it this way - I have to return in 3 months. I had the choice of going through another barrage of tests including a CAT scan, blood work and more, but I opted to self monitor for now and get in touch if symptoms presented themselves as untoward.<br />
<br />
I choose to get on with my life. I have lots to do. Much to accomplish. People to love. I don't have time to get back into that old grind of medical regime.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMxsSv4IZ1q9UHpXElwoffzZhH88GkP-mxiK7PyO4qZ9D2EoH2ZXPkAa2vD7LdSs8R52qKrI6Yk8q9QhL8b56mDGB0FJvVhHhSbXF67uOllGUksbwIvJQhXq4PxLKyRoYLOSd0LDwS5RE/s1600/OC+bird.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMxsSv4IZ1q9UHpXElwoffzZhH88GkP-mxiK7PyO4qZ9D2EoH2ZXPkAa2vD7LdSs8R52qKrI6Yk8q9QhL8b56mDGB0FJvVhHhSbXF67uOllGUksbwIvJQhXq4PxLKyRoYLOSd0LDwS5RE/s200/OC+bird.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
But I won't be foolish either. I am a changed person in many ways since that wretched ovarian cancer took a toll on my soul. I know the importance of being aware and proactive. So I will do just that. Meanwhile, though, I will continue to give thanks that I am upright and on the right side of the grass.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhST5hbGf5NqBZhuKKCMr8e9TxhHiSxYvLIU_JklJPY-Fo_ruFs0_Ro6f4I1-Syrt6Bd5qex2HoTg1aUdYDuHJ9Pup-Dfv4PxBECiuzm5d6JciDiHLree75Ss73eNOPaW5xcHFGLjdLLUI/s1600/sun3.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhST5hbGf5NqBZhuKKCMr8e9TxhHiSxYvLIU_JklJPY-Fo_ruFs0_Ro6f4I1-Syrt6Bd5qex2HoTg1aUdYDuHJ9Pup-Dfv4PxBECiuzm5d6JciDiHLree75Ss73eNOPaW5xcHFGLjdLLUI/s200/sun3.png" width="200" /></a>One of my promises to God as I journeyed through the valley of ovarian cancer was that if I lived through it all then I would do what I could for the rest of my life to help women become aware of what that silent cancerous killer is and how it can quietly invade cells.<br />
<br />
So tonight I will tuck myself into bed and be thankful for friends and family; for life and breath; for <br />
my sweet, sweet Saviour and for having the strength and desire to live my days sunny side up! Glynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-929925616875931161.post-89454065426193904832013-07-01T17:34:00.000-04:002013-07-01T17:34:10.991-04:00Oh Canada 2013! <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheWnkNm0JKNHtwYucAb1RoBstd6eyFL5gPrAKTMmlyjg_qRAMiKTWysU_P99FPFsvIUjgcZXVWfsLBb1zxpN-PLGBS8k_8cZ3uvFpYqisAcmMC7a3lWvU619c5XTHjAxdebJDzJj0R4fo/s282/canada4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheWnkNm0JKNHtwYucAb1RoBstd6eyFL5gPrAKTMmlyjg_qRAMiKTWysU_P99FPFsvIUjgcZXVWfsLBb1zxpN-PLGBS8k_8cZ3uvFpYqisAcmMC7a3lWvU619c5XTHjAxdebJDzJj0R4fo/s282/canada4.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">Happy Canada Day 2013!</span><br />
<br />
<br />
Here is a post from 2009. I have so much to be thankful for every day but as I look at this video from when I was still actively dealing with ovarian cancer I am reminded how much I love all my grandbabies so very, very much. I am proud to be Canadian and proud to be a Grandma! Sweet memories.<br />
<br />
Check out this link:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://glynis-myjourney.blogspot.ca/2009/01/o-canada-i-love-my-grandchildren.html">http://glynis-myjourney.blogspot.ca/2009/01/o-canada-i-love-my-grandchildren.html</a>Glynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-929925616875931161.post-22982501539907950262013-06-13T09:52:00.001-04:002013-06-15T07:11:30.939-04:00If All Else Fails...Follow the Direction<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQsHMlcWlwz5cjpUcYbazyAjRdijKr1kOCOG83pIBDWlR6prXb69sDUurT96SRkj13qV17SiF0xhiTO71jy7yPQN8xo4ZqUOZV41lo2_D49zA4Sb6OinCzA4VTR1a-jQ259_xj-qjICbE/s1600/Cross+-+Gilles'+appt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQsHMlcWlwz5cjpUcYbazyAjRdijKr1kOCOG83pIBDWlR6prXb69sDUurT96SRkj13qV17SiF0xhiTO71jy7yPQN8xo4ZqUOZV41lo2_D49zA4Sb6OinCzA4VTR1a-jQ259_xj-qjICbE/s320/Cross+-+Gilles'+appt.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Though storms rage all around us, God is there every step of the way. When the dark days come and we feel lower than a grasshopper, God carries us through. <br />
<br />
Admittedly, I sometimes forget to think upon these things and that is when I get that sinking feeling and find my self stepping out of the boat and heading in the 'down' direction. It's when I turn my face heavenward that I truly draw strength and remember how God is always, always there. God has wonderful ways of reminding us that He is perfectly in control.<br />
<br />
Take yesterday morning. It was blood work day for Happy Hubby. His diagnosis of chronic lymphocytic leukaemia (CLL) has been on the agenda for six months now. Today we were going to see what changes had transpired over the past months.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRWexDgjjp2gM2Dkp4PRCvRQjzz4jSwd8IqBTh66gB4TOWRDynUqv1GbD0fQMbVSmg-oEh0H_v3t2HSf07-8rqpubrBrrjvOtUZ_cKtCPEn3rY7pl7XENT1JtTbYW1Gaoi-1gU5UClWJg/s1600/Cross+-+Gilles+appt2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRWexDgjjp2gM2Dkp4PRCvRQjzz4jSwd8IqBTh66gB4TOWRDynUqv1GbD0fQMbVSmg-oEh0H_v3t2HSf07-8rqpubrBrrjvOtUZ_cKtCPEn3rY7pl7XENT1JtTbYW1Gaoi-1gU5UClWJg/s320/Cross+-+Gilles+appt2.jpg" width="320" /></a>My dearly beloved and I were chatting and planning and just passing the time as we waited for the blood work results. I was listening to him talk about this, that and the other and inwardly I was thanking God that he is doing so well. As my ADD brain is wont to do, I was carrying on a conversation but I was also wondering what God had in mind for us down the road. I have to admit that I didn't ask for a physical sign that very moment, but I did wonder when He would really show us what direction we should go.<br />
<br />
Then it happened. Right in the middle of a chat about how we want to downsize I saw it. Right over my happy hubby's shoulder. The beautiful symbol of hope. A cross. Upon further inspection I saw that it was a reflection of part of the outside railing around the Healing Garden outside. But just the way it was perfectly arranged was balm for my soul. We both smiled and nodded and decided that that had to be a confirmation that Jesus is with us and we don't have to worry as long as we keep heading in the direction of the cross!<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkNxCNlncctXUL809KawZ-_dMpjLAP7MJSoZiOqsusdPFBHotu6QXdYmniG5Cjj4OFhpQYRcI7Ff484OzDV8szwtlPof3QijQ-fLx0dp7i3UVdRZpVF5w1bbXsWbK5-dBTxXh3ZYu96hE/s1600/peace+like+a+river.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkNxCNlncctXUL809KawZ-_dMpjLAP7MJSoZiOqsusdPFBHotu6QXdYmniG5Cjj4OFhpQYRcI7Ff484OzDV8szwtlPof3QijQ-fLx0dp7i3UVdRZpVF5w1bbXsWbK5-dBTxXh3ZYu96hE/s1600/peace+like+a+river.jpg" /></a><br />
A few minutes later we were called into the examination room. Gilles was given a good going over by the nurse practitioner. Blood work - one type of white blood cells were a smidge elevated but another had actually gone down a little. Nothing of great concern to the medical powers that be. Next appointment? Six months unless something is amiss. Judging by the reassurance we received earlier, it is well...with our souls. Peace like a river...<br />
<br />
Thanks be to God! Yay!Glynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-929925616875931161.post-36159385247867960482013-04-11T00:20:00.000-04:002013-04-11T00:20:06.034-04:00It's Here! Zeal for Teal 2013... <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnbUmChRfaV095ermi58GhHsL6id1bVVGBxrZnbKQiNaiSyGuXXN882TdeA4Y_GyP3HC8kgzbCQgJSthUhOWHgRCHfS1-4K2LyL0CenJJJFkWoZX6dBioktuhgaIpbkrVk2kpXwd0zShs/s1600/Alice+Logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnbUmChRfaV095ermi58GhHsL6id1bVVGBxrZnbKQiNaiSyGuXXN882TdeA4Y_GyP3HC8kgzbCQgJSthUhOWHgRCHfS1-4K2LyL0CenJJJFkWoZX6dBioktuhgaIpbkrVk2kpXwd0zShs/s200/Alice+Logo.jpg" width="200" /></a> Excitement abounds. It's April and that means<b><i><span style="color: #274e13;"> </span><span style="color: #134f5c;"><u>Zeal for Teal</u></span></i></b> is peeking around the corner. On April 27th, at the Drayton Arena, our 5th annual fundraiser for the Ovarian Cancer Canada Walk of Hope will raise the roof once more.<br />
<br />
<br />
Over 100 women [and we know of at least one brave man] will gather for a multitude of reasons. Zeal for Teal is a spectacular day out for participants to relax and be creative. We started out as an exclusive scrap booking event but over the years we have evolved to include crafting of every ilk.<br />
<br />
One of the main reasons for starting Zeal for Teal in 2009 was to, number one, raise awareness and encourage women to pursue symptoms that persist. Secondly, our plan was to help do what we could to raise funds to help discover a test for early detection and/or maybe one day, a cure.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhoU5HVGKeBQl3N5-SvQ9fXcQlHkBwsHky1nJCeamEwWgRqOYXUndsOBYqF8f0SQ-UamFJSPx5HJ-nrqqicDZ1Fv91U3fVd0-JopeIUnIvDWJ0xJmXEi3BKpwivgl52UWN8nKH8M0Vt3E/s1600/alice+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhoU5HVGKeBQl3N5-SvQ9fXcQlHkBwsHky1nJCeamEwWgRqOYXUndsOBYqF8f0SQ-UamFJSPx5HJ-nrqqicDZ1Fv91U3fVd0-JopeIUnIvDWJ0xJmXEi3BKpwivgl52UWN8nKH8M0Vt3E/s1600/alice+3.jpg" /></a><br />
Amanda's super idea has blossomed into something neither of us ever imagined. I think we both thought that Zeal for Teal would be a wonderful one time event. But our encouraging and faithful attendees keep coming back and bringing friends. So here we are again. Zeal for Teal 2013 celebrates, remembers and pushes on.<br />
<br />
Our theme this year is Alice in Wonderland and the Hoity Toity Tea Party. We are so excited about this theme for it gives us great opportunity to be MAD!<br />
<br />
For anyone who might be getting Curiouser and Curiouser, the day will be filled with everything from card games to Mock Turtle surprises. The Queen of Hearts (yours truly) will be on hand to boss everyone around.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKetFja3HYSgnuZm-0dke9wQt0_-HErs6hcSrvE3kApCO3V2GxFRJJoZ9dleEYqgrTyQEYvHyG47xicWK7fZ8ETrRpDfK6paAItTdaiB1I25mK9vH4e38ZgqETBMA_3NFzq1BFv6ETFcw/s1600/Alice+in+Wonderland+quote+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKetFja3HYSgnuZm-0dke9wQt0_-HErs6hcSrvE3kApCO3V2GxFRJJoZ9dleEYqgrTyQEYvHyG47xicWK7fZ8ETrRpDfK6paAItTdaiB1I25mK9vH4e38ZgqETBMA_3NFzq1BFv6ETFcw/s1600/Alice+in+Wonderland+quote+1.jpg" /></a></div>
Expect to be surprised if you are coming, as the zany cast of characters help everyone feel right at home down the rabbit hole. Something very special that we are doing this year [thanks for the idea, Renee] is we are collecting donations of non-perishable food for the local foodbank. Anyone who generously brings a donation will receive an extra door prize ticket. We have a ton of super gifts for door prizes, some crazy wonderful silent auction items and lots of enticingly interested penny table items. We have such generous people in this community and beyond. Amanda and I are always amazed at the generosity of friends, family and even those we hardly even know.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5GX9045ph2S6r1lq_HaI7GH4_gkNlKE61gGzNJ-gwVbz-iA6QmfO2ALyUVQiWdPG3lTwJL68o5D5XsopQ7hG3117zoEcNJiborqiMoRs_npQ5sblp7Mw-7e3orpvQA2QqirS2IV4iZ2U/s1600/mad+hatter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5GX9045ph2S6r1lq_HaI7GH4_gkNlKE61gGzNJ-gwVbz-iA6QmfO2ALyUVQiWdPG3lTwJL68o5D5XsopQ7hG3117zoEcNJiborqiMoRs_npQ5sblp7Mw-7e3orpvQA2QqirS2IV4iZ2U/s200/mad+hatter.jpg" width="175" /></a> <br />
We are excited, too, about an idea from a special friend and wise <br />
lady. Johanne Robertson, editor of Maranatha News in Toronto, came up with a brainwave. She suggested that since the Canadian penny would no longer be of any pecuniary value or interest, we should collect pennies for the cause. Before we knew it the Zeal for Teal Penny Appeal was born and folks across Canada are now saving their cents.<br />
<br />
Not only do we have fantastic, and creatively clever participants who spend the whole day with us, we will also open our door for visitors again. Some people do want to come out and support us but they can't commit to spending a full day. That's okay. For $5 anyone can drop in for a visit and have a nice cuppa', a snack and share in the fun. For $10, visitors can do the same <i>and</i> stay for a positively delicious lunch.<br />
<br />
My sister, Rosemary, our dedicated and gifted back drop, artist and creator, is working hard right now getting everything ready for the big day. You will be impressed!<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHPv-F7yDmEcWI5wrdrOy_OHiZj5lgTcNwFiDwu4U5tWmXxoVDOvyrCskr1FQvdBNASypXepU6mDwUhJMqVC0sBAHt_kZfP6BLPWIVq5sx2pSa0dA28aODsIH6YlqhzBS0SJPKOrj3DMc/s1600/alice+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHPv-F7yDmEcWI5wrdrOy_OHiZj5lgTcNwFiDwu4U5tWmXxoVDOvyrCskr1FQvdBNASypXepU6mDwUhJMqVC0sBAHt_kZfP6BLPWIVq5sx2pSa0dA28aODsIH6YlqhzBS0SJPKOrj3DMc/s1600/alice+2.jpg" /></a></div>
Committee members, Amber, Darlene, Rosemary, Amanda, Amanda and yours truly are on the edge of our seat excited as we get our last minute plans and preparations into place. We are all tickled and inspired once again, at the great response.<br />
<br />
Life is good. The end of October marks my five year 'cancerversary.' I know it's just a number, but there is something psychologically pacifying about that 5 year mark. I just pray that our collective efforts over these past years in the least, has alerted and ultimately helped women become more aware!<br />
<br />
The generosity of friends, family and community has been a blessing to us all. God is so good!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCUi-mSKO9xA_V6wG0YZ3yJhdF2Zh9-bhwUqLfG0-1CsdeDdz2z5RN-NuJ87AapovcVC1nVj06p4_wxGjXaC9PkZpLHikLgNDbeFKJcN-o7dp7tP0bnCXFJbtQkxJFlnaX5f-eztWxDVA/s1600/oc+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="111" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCUi-mSKO9xA_V6wG0YZ3yJhdF2Zh9-bhwUqLfG0-1CsdeDdz2z5RN-NuJ87AapovcVC1nVj06p4_wxGjXaC9PkZpLHikLgNDbeFKJcN-o7dp7tP0bnCXFJbtQkxJFlnaX5f-eztWxDVA/s320/oc+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Glynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-929925616875931161.post-61694888721413518902013-02-02T00:26:00.002-05:002013-02-02T08:31:30.148-05:00Can I Have This Dance? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivE-FO7y6q8kANZXlAcSgIptVBjr1MbyfGRUPCZkIzqBd4wrAY19qjF1zgVNg8o6IWr_QiL6sA_ayE_uv4NOHXnKGBPkwD_oi_-SGVlQXecPrN6mNPM4EDv0uENKq5iGw1dyUJv8BVJDA/s1600/sad4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivE-FO7y6q8kANZXlAcSgIptVBjr1MbyfGRUPCZkIzqBd4wrAY19qjF1zgVNg8o6IWr_QiL6sA_ayE_uv4NOHXnKGBPkwD_oi_-SGVlQXecPrN6mNPM4EDv0uENKq5iGw1dyUJv8BVJDA/s200/sad4.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Why do we fear death? What causes us to freak out and think the worst when we are diagnosed with cancer? What is it about the human condition that causes us to sob silently when we know 'the end might be near?' We all die. We all know that. No exceptions.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBiDCllphSR8YAHjRKZiSF2a-eGVYSDFHzIcs-rp6_S6SgNF9h2Til59rF44Qnb1uXvwMKeizQ-GJuDZUK8mc-Zgv6hE3XR6-24LIFBiabO_p4Q6yrzfSy1TkXb_SvNwpdPuyCijtdsyA/s1600/ovarian_cancer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBiDCllphSR8YAHjRKZiSF2a-eGVYSDFHzIcs-rp6_S6SgNF9h2Til59rF44Qnb1uXvwMKeizQ-GJuDZUK8mc-Zgv6hE3XR6-24LIFBiabO_p4Q6yrzfSy1TkXb_SvNwpdPuyCijtdsyA/s320/ovarian_cancer.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
If I had enough time in a day I am sure I could whittle it away philosophizing about the human condition. But there is no time for that. I experienced cancer and both my happy hubby and I learned a ton. When I was first diagnosed with ovarian cancer back in 2008, I was, admittedly, shocked and I travelled quickly through the stages - shock, denial, confusion, sadness and acceptance. God taught me plenty. Probably the biggest lesson was about the fragility and brevity of life and how not to waste one iota. (P.S. Just because I arrived at the acceptance stage doesn't mean I didn't freak out on occasion - like when I lost my hair or some brain cells along the way.)<br />
<br />
November 1st of this year will mark my five year point. They say if you survive to this anniversary, a cancer patient can consider herself no longer in remission. Dare I say cured? That brings me great joy but today, it also brings me great guilt.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ovsIOFBuwS4w88nDVW5VTPVCzkjI2CWfOl3MoaXyhTcRYjZv6PrFhadXGMClpvLdDZB-Mdq7LDDpkkNNJEpGO50cSeuS4_6ph6lQKqLom1spNa6yN8W4cYRq1ClbkEHrViZq8hlrpcY/s1600/leukaemia+ribbon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ovsIOFBuwS4w88nDVW5VTPVCzkjI2CWfOl3MoaXyhTcRYjZv6PrFhadXGMClpvLdDZB-Mdq7LDDpkkNNJEpGO50cSeuS4_6ph6lQKqLom1spNa6yN8W4cYRq1ClbkEHrViZq8hlrpcY/s1600/leukaemia+ribbon.jpg" /></a></div>
Perhaps it has something to do with my hubby being diagnosed with leukaemia? Could it be a defense mechanism at play as I clearly have walked a mile in his mocassins and I don't want him to travel the same road? Maybe it's because Karen and Joanne and Becky died from ovarian cancer and I didn't. Survivor guilt, maybe...<br />
<br />
My sweetheart has chronic leukaemia and the haematologist told us he is in stage 0. Basically stage 0 means we can breathe easy for a while. We walked away from the cancer clinic armed with the knowledge that all could be well for a while. However, the nasty niggle is that chronic leukaemia is just that - chronic and it doesn't go away. Slow progression is the prognosis. Although no one can really predict how quickly aggravating and troubling symptoms will rear their ugly head. At present that grinning groom of mine is experiencing little except tiredness. I notice he tires a little more easier than he has in the past. He beats me to bed most nights and a nap in the afternoon when the opportunity arises is not uncommon.<br />
<br />
So what do we do with the rest of our lives? We can sit here bemoaning our fate, wondering why we were dished up a double whammy? We might contemplate what it was that we did wrong in our life and then begin to feel sorry for the way the cards were dealt. Or we can roll out of bed each morning giving thanks for each breath, each golden sunshine, each smile...each blessing.<br />
<br />
Both my dearly beloved and I head back to face the music in June. I have to check my calendar but I think we go the same week. I head to the cancer clinic in London. He heads to the cancer clinic in Kitchener. Maybe we should meet halfway, stop our vehicles and dance in the middle of the county road like we did so many years ago and dance to the sounds of Ann Murray - Can I have this Dance for the Rest of my Life...did I ever tell you that story? One day...Sweet memories, which no one can erase. Those I will treasure...<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/iE3z-6XO2Ds" width="420"></iframe>Glynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-929925616875931161.post-48727458842035756172012-12-14T08:22:00.001-05:002012-12-14T08:22:22.653-05:00Reflections from the Cancer Clinic Waiting Room<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFO2qqszXQMjcrkFSHW4-VHnWCpjhjUjBNMnabc9SQ-99_geqZFsnbK2yCF2653kzqXzXwMH0K9HIL128Z5Fbnh4Ij5uokjeH41aMah1NDMWDMm6bz0Tglm20q2xpKmlAhwyGcdAv4Dkc/s1600/Cancer+clinic4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFO2qqszXQMjcrkFSHW4-VHnWCpjhjUjBNMnabc9SQ-99_geqZFsnbK2yCF2653kzqXzXwMH0K9HIL128Z5Fbnh4Ij5uokjeH41aMah1NDMWDMm6bz0Tglm20q2xpKmlAhwyGcdAv4Dkc/s320/Cancer+clinic4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As I walk towards the door, I wonder what lies in store. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
12/12/12<br />
<br />
Some say this is a lucky one. On my two hour trip to the London cancer clinic today, I listened on CBC as the hosts interviewed some giddy couples who had determined that to be married on the 12th day of the 12th month in the year 2012 was a good sign. <i>Lucky</i>, some said. <i>Exciting</i>, said others. As I glanced at my watch as it neared 12 noon, I wondered myself if this would be a good day for me, too. After all, the numbers aligned on the calendar. Would they soon align on my medical chart and would I be declared 'good to go'? <br />
<br />
...Not much has changed here since I last paid a visit in June. Same full reception area. Same complement of medical staff and anxious patients awaiting verdicts, chemotherapy, good news...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFJ73uESe8rYgVx0WOsZkVItwfh0_iNQb87kduW8j8teTPZZvM0X9oZxrw-6t0MZjKDUyYkNLyJNT-8j1ckEit8SsYK4b890vc1bBR0mfPm8X-PXbtAX8HsvRm1IeMX_DCn5tMN62-RX0/s1600/ovarian-cancer-ribbon2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFJ73uESe8rYgVx0WOsZkVItwfh0_iNQb87kduW8j8teTPZZvM0X9oZxrw-6t0MZjKDUyYkNLyJNT-8j1ckEit8SsYK4b890vc1bBR0mfPm8X-PXbtAX8HsvRm1IeMX_DCn5tMN62-RX0/s200/ovarian-cancer-ribbon2.jpg" width="154" /></a></div>
Just as I start thinking about how far London is from Drayton and how none of the faces look familiar, lo and behold, I spot them. A couple of Draytonites. When you bump into someone at the cancer clinic the typical Canadian greeting, <i>how are you? </i>seems a little more invasive than when asking the same question at Timmies or in a retail store. I was sad to hear that prostate cancer was the reason I met my neighbour there.<br />
<br />
Such a lesson. I may live in a small town but that doesn't mean I know everything about everybody. I'm a little sad about that, because I would love to be able to 'help' encourage and offer hope to someone travelling a similar road. And there is a tiny measure of guilt that creeps in when I hear of someone else going through cancer. I am not sure what that is; perhaps a wicked force breathing in my ear quizzing me on why I should be a survivor and someone else not...I have spoken with other cancer survivors about that, and I know it is not uncommon. When this happens I try to give it over to something positive.<br />
<br />
Behind closed doors lurk problems and situations; concerns and heartbreak. I suppose we can't always be privy to everything. I know that I am far from being alone on my journey. We all have different baggage but, ultimately, we all journey the same life path. Thank goodness, with Jesus as the Gatekeeper and Divine Greeter, the path - although sometimes rocky and rough, always leads to an eternal Hope and a ceaseless raison d'être.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKa4N6jC0QCcEE-TUx8yvDnnQmV8ZuSZDSASfCRQ1XpZS1o5XhR15YEtvd_hqDTfgAlfkud9L_byIiMk_EKuin_VZIGaM6H9PbCahW5jYDUab_9qtAzZfugG_LSQiZ9u_RfzQSEpIneIY/s1600/thankfulness.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKa4N6jC0QCcEE-TUx8yvDnnQmV8ZuSZDSASfCRQ1XpZS1o5XhR15YEtvd_hqDTfgAlfkud9L_byIiMk_EKuin_VZIGaM6H9PbCahW5jYDUab_9qtAzZfugG_LSQiZ9u_RfzQSEpIneIY/s200/thankfulness.jpg" width="200" /></a> So when I finally get into the examination room and endure the third degree by the wonderfully, professional primary nurse, I get into my less than glamorous gown and wait. I fill my time by writing - a therapeutic and perfect way to spend an interval. Soon my oncologist appears on the scene with a student in tow. We chat. We discuss my psychological health. We weave around all sorts of words; he tells me how good my hair looks (gray and straight - is he crazy?) and we laugh when he tells his attentive student how he has seen me through all the stages of hair! I bemoan the fact that I no longer have chemo curls.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSqKkt97B6fvswZIPVYAczo3YSjhbNYKOkT-rHqN2_ETadQw2DqAzdTKSjcD5C3ACWkwUuIBk8PaE514AqH3iz_e1G9IQJ7GZOjNxZxl1InCThI-h1JAe571_rxxlvrWv4DRzgBG_MtJI/s1600/thanks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSqKkt97B6fvswZIPVYAczo3YSjhbNYKOkT-rHqN2_ETadQw2DqAzdTKSjcD5C3ACWkwUuIBk8PaE514AqH3iz_e1G9IQJ7GZOjNxZxl1InCThI-h1JAe571_rxxlvrWv4DRzgBG_MtJI/s200/thanks.jpg" width="162" /></a><br />
Finally the 'cancer talk.' He asks questions. I tell him about the 'other lumps.' He checks and charts them and says they seem to be nothing to worry about. I am a lumpy person. He examines more. Then he informs me that 'I am good to go.' He wants to see me again in June. Six month protocol. They leave. I breath a sigh of relief; utter a prayer of thankfulness and dress.<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span>Next Tuesday is Gilles' turn. I will take my journal and the knowledge that God is in control...<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i style="font-family: georgia, serif; line-height: 23.100000381469727px;">In everything give thanks; for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus</i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, serif; line-height: 23.100000381469727px;">.</span><b> </b></span><b><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 23.100000381469727px;">Thessalonians 5:18</span></b><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoI7ajb5iKeGErnafp0dJy0hJ0RzPAJGysDUp8_ymghBLA4ebtqFR04ZPJS-yxHZrf_qmDLT07eDZTKYbqpY1cVoNxca5Ee3VAFYTELwrrZ4vX2rtSn1EGdMgt1_iMBh3ECvfzyvO1HLg/s1600/prayingman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoI7ajb5iKeGErnafp0dJy0hJ0RzPAJGysDUp8_ymghBLA4ebtqFR04ZPJS-yxHZrf_qmDLT07eDZTKYbqpY1cVoNxca5Ee3VAFYTELwrrZ4vX2rtSn1EGdMgt1_iMBh3ECvfzyvO1HLg/s1600/prayingman.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Glynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-929925616875931161.post-32025184041027803942012-11-06T21:14:00.000-05:002012-11-06T21:14:50.653-05:00Dad<div style="text-align: left;">
<i> </i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVH4HZYIf6YE0Wcjm7u2MCE5LYO59N1bxPQs2Abt-iJv4pl5YPibKzxlDyveBMYmjFkAeEW7gMJYTFACiPJwOMTbSixbcGnSyCr-wtuQg0-1mcDOPEk5GfO50s3v0vY7h_NcyjIHueEmE/s1600/teal2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVH4HZYIf6YE0Wcjm7u2MCE5LYO59N1bxPQs2Abt-iJv4pl5YPibKzxlDyveBMYmjFkAeEW7gMJYTFACiPJwOMTbSixbcGnSyCr-wtuQg0-1mcDOPEk5GfO50s3v0vY7h_NcyjIHueEmE/s1600/teal2.jpg" /></a><i> I know my blog is supposed to be focussed on my journey with ovarian cancer and for the most part I try to do that. But today, I cannot help thinking about Dad. It's getting pretty close to Remembrance Day and so I wanted to honour him in some little way. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i> If I have to make a connection to Dad and ovarian cancer, I can. I recall the morning of my surgery in London. I wanted desperately to see him before I went under the knife, so Gilles, my sweet hubby, took me to Dad's home which was maybe just over a kilometre from the hospital. It was early in the morning - 6:30 - so I wondered if he would even be up. I was so sad when after many tries at the doorbell and knocking, no one answered. I would go to the hospital anyway. I had to. But I was sadly lacking a final hug from my poppa bear. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i> When we arrived at the hospital, imagine my surprise when we entered the waiting room, there was Dad. All 82 years of him, seated on his motorized scooter, wearing his British tweed jacket and fedora. I wept like a baby as he hugged me and said he wanted to see me before I had surgery. I will never forget Dad's act of selflessness that morning. He had left home in the dark on his scooter just so he could be with 'his Dinny,' so he said...I love my dad...</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">The Royal Marines</span></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> <i>more than just a green beret, it's a state of mind!</i></span><i> </i></b></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR36obcFhu_SL8RYecmkL786BI83_X4h_lkR0WEro4UB_Uum8yWJHjdQ_TcH0hqMq4dDDJTsqGXbLI1_RPOWdS259bMw8VQUPMq894hzKWvvomwFdh__KWasom_Mmdx3jI8ygKnRtaOxU/s1600/DSCF3743+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR36obcFhu_SL8RYecmkL786BI83_X4h_lkR0WEro4UB_Uum8yWJHjdQ_TcH0hqMq4dDDJTsqGXbLI1_RPOWdS259bMw8VQUPMq894hzKWvvomwFdh__KWasom_Mmdx3jI8ygKnRtaOxU/s320/DSCF3743+%25282%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
I heard that saying somewhere. It's a slogan about the British Royal Marines. I wonder if maybe Dad didn't utter those words sometime or maybe I read this catchphrase in his Globe and Laurel Royal Marines magazine somewhere. Wherever I heard it, it actually holds a measure of truth. Even now, 59 years after Dad left the RM 45 Commando ranks, he still has the state of mind of a Royal Marine.<br />
<br />
Another snappy slogan that anyone who knows Dad well has heard a million times:<br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span>
<span style="color: #274e13;"><b><i>'</i></b><b><i>Once a Marine, Always, a Marine!'</i></b></span><br />
<br />
It's true, too. The sticker on Dad's scooter says so. But not only does the sticker say so, so do the pictures on Dad's wall.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfQhNHxcR8LmkSBp-9OciGrAxXgx9-CiTIjl5D3-3_f2YzTU86GWdyjmgCLXpM7pNVlhCpwGNTNT3VY0qwTRKy7MNm1sXqa8l_xnUphG4qgaORJPcFNHWJq9YWmXMy4iGu5GMAuOVsHc/s1600/DSCF3728+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfQhNHxcR8LmkSBp-9OciGrAxXgx9-CiTIjl5D3-3_f2YzTU86GWdyjmgCLXpM7pNVlhCpwGNTNT3VY0qwTRKy7MNm1sXqa8l_xnUphG4qgaORJPcFNHWJq9YWmXMy4iGu5GMAuOVsHc/s320/DSCF3728+%25282%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
If my mother was still alive I am sure she would have him drawn and quartered for adorning the kitchen and hallway with all his fine military photos and memorabilia. But Dad lives alone now, so his walls are his to adorn. And adorn he does.<br />
<br />
Dad, though, does not decorate his walls simply with pictures of yesteryear. They are stories; representations of a life lived according to the military - both good and challenging. Ask Dad about any of the black and white photographs on the wall. Each one will spark a memory; an experience and a story. For anyone who is interested and who would take the time to listen, he will use a plethora of words and his years of experience to relay the story in each one.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Since Mom passed away and Dad moved to Drayton, close to where I hang my hat, I have come to know Dad so much more. I am happy to be able to hear his stories and help him swap and switch his framed 'stories' around whenever he adds something else to the lot on the wall. Dad is 86 now and his memory is excellent. His stories are not always the glory and the honour; many are sad and troubling - although Dad is still loathe to go into any kind of detail of the horror of war. And I think, personally, I don't need to know those details.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbl23j2tvaxgLSFqXINV0zq6xRKsmGLiZcPj3jfFy2ByfdZ9zU6erEcQ9jp8rjuD8PIBRmuhtNGPKEoaUvwy7gKxC1QIcD5SKzlYOjL536-MwREyYfaaH4COBkDX2UtULhbTk5RhAmDZ8/s1600/DSCF4008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbl23j2tvaxgLSFqXINV0zq6xRKsmGLiZcPj3jfFy2ByfdZ9zU6erEcQ9jp8rjuD8PIBRmuhtNGPKEoaUvwy7gKxC1QIcD5SKzlYOjL536-MwREyYfaaH4COBkDX2UtULhbTk5RhAmDZ8/s320/DSCF4008.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
There is no way in this world that I will be able to recall the precise setting of each picture nor relay the series of events told in each representation. My memory is just not that good. So I had an an idea. I have started a little journal. I have put a number on the back of each photograph and then the same number appears in the journal. When Dad is ready, he relays the story behind the picture. What an amazing experience that is. To know and to learn so much about my father's past<i>. </i>It's like a little piece of history coming to life right before my eyes.<br />
<br />
One day with a little help from my daughter who is good in the photography department, we can put a book together for our family. We can remember through Dad's eyes, the events that made him into who he is today. I am proud of my poppa. He has been through a lot. He lost his mother when he was only two years old. He enlisted when he was just over 16 years of age. Shortly after that, his father died. So he hasn't had an easy life.<br />
<br />
This week as I don my poppy I will think of Dad and all the other brave men and women who fought, and battled so that generations to come could taste freedom. I will thank God for the gift of life. I will bow my head in prayer for all that I have as a result of many sacrifices of the courageous men and women who lived and fought through the war. I will try to remember to never take anything for granted and I will count Dad in as one of the most treasured blessings in my life.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHPYb-3lMgPggWYasup3fO6B4d5NnO95uM_z-H40AJAqB5a-I-62_zcF2IjATwZqLahynMfAZ0gGBfJSHFwWh55zd8F2_jFsGfGiK3FpxbojJOWh1smVAzGF0CBBfn_7xzKu7JYQviTF4/s1600/cross.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHPYb-3lMgPggWYasup3fO6B4d5NnO95uM_z-H40AJAqB5a-I-62_zcF2IjATwZqLahynMfAZ0gGBfJSHFwWh55zd8F2_jFsGfGiK3FpxbojJOWh1smVAzGF0CBBfn_7xzKu7JYQviTF4/s200/cross.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/C4pSsNj9AUQ" width="420"></iframe>Glynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-929925616875931161.post-13284949170837562392012-10-15T23:04:00.000-04:002012-10-15T23:21:23.129-04:00Bitter-sweet?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx11zIg-wHHCY7VVYMeX-Aof4H1D3ObNOsbzABPLUWhF8M9HLRhpEzpoj1-zHpbg9ZpWiqyRdaeQXuXflFh8fbIiqmq9iPjSmDn_8J6ua5nWDShpMiEe4CYpO9tkFSgG1RAxkcg7S0qfs/s1600/Leukemia+awareness+ribbon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx11zIg-wHHCY7VVYMeX-Aof4H1D3ObNOsbzABPLUWhF8M9HLRhpEzpoj1-zHpbg9ZpWiqyRdaeQXuXflFh8fbIiqmq9iPjSmDn_8J6ua5nWDShpMiEe4CYpO9tkFSgG1RAxkcg7S0qfs/s200/Leukemia+awareness+ribbon.jpg" width="126" /></a> Finally, an appointment. We received the letter today from the hospital informing us that my hubby will be assessed by the haematologist. The definitive diagnosis is leukaemia. That's the bad news. The ray of sunshine that pervades the black cloud, however, is that the sweet man who said 'I do' to me 34 plus years ago, is dealing with the chronic form - chronic lymphocytic leukaemia (CLL) they call it. So now we once again wait for the day of the appointment to discover what the experts might say.The so-called good part about CLL is that it is slow and progressive. That is somewhat reassuring. So no chemotherapy or radiation off the bat. We await direction from the wise ones but meanwhile we ['specially me] try to stop playing the <i>what if</i> game. I did it when I battled my own cancer but then God, through a series of experiences and a few special people, showed me that everything would be okay.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglhgCu_ASk4RB_gpvw3EW-1_mdrYcEQnAkS0mNH0s2tE-2jBOazl7a02YZ3mbxPcXhqE4VxYEiJtiZWUqoby9Rw4Vu3XAb44M2gARQOWYHbh6CZeUZXzD5a4LVpEl4VGD8KRYmpnRKTsU/s1600/questions.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglhgCu_ASk4RB_gpvw3EW-1_mdrYcEQnAkS0mNH0s2tE-2jBOazl7a02YZ3mbxPcXhqE4VxYEiJtiZWUqoby9Rw4Vu3XAb44M2gARQOWYHbh6CZeUZXzD5a4LVpEl4VGD8KRYmpnRKTsU/s1600/questions.jpg" /></a></div>
Do y'ever wonder why things happen? I admit that I sometimes do and sometimes I question out loud, but there is just something deep down in the recesses of my soul that whisper that there is something better. This world is merely a gateway to something extraordinary. It's a messed up crazy world we live in and some of the sad, brutal horrible things that happen make me want to curl into a ball and hide.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwxT4rJj5bUoyhInuay7_kSkNvY1X9eS2ssLKAfkoheexGUG8dqWdjI2K-AcseOUCUpeSNChREq24w3il6RGTYSoPn82tULYLjYvqeIx7UPWOMp18sMCcbIwdG-kI9CgiqQqVBZXq_hDE/s1600/sadness.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwxT4rJj5bUoyhInuay7_kSkNvY1X9eS2ssLKAfkoheexGUG8dqWdjI2K-AcseOUCUpeSNChREq24w3il6RGTYSoPn82tULYLjYvqeIx7UPWOMp18sMCcbIwdG-kI9CgiqQqVBZXq_hDE/s1600/sadness.jpg" /></a></div>
I've heard it all. "If there is a God, why does He let these things happen?" "Why do accidents happen?" "Why do disasters wreak havoc?" "Do you really think that a merciful God would allow babies to die or children to be abused?" "Why do young people shoot each other? Bully? Kill themselves?" Why did God let you both have cancer?"<br />
<br />
We all have our opinions. (Some are quicker to share theirs than others.) I don't have all the answers and I don't believe anyone, no matter how eloquent or sage, can truly have an answer for all the dreadfulness that is part of this world. But just because horror and hardship enter, doesn't mean I can denounce and give up on God. Besides, I don't want a fair-weather God.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
I know in my heart God is not the purveyor and perpetrator of wickedness. There is another force beyond our capacity to comprehend, that seeks to destroy.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i> For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places. <b>Ephesians 6:12 </b></i></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihGJjW9-k-9AK3cgVZrCS2YjN2Y3di_NYBo8hR30u-riL1jlBW31qLtzRkIxwrVDA4H79YqUK-wD5nlV_vBclqijafdSf4mOFRuXnS-6z1nwlgcJXtNF55dSqtlX8i8-BCNoz5RwLEobQ/s1600/armor+of+God.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihGJjW9-k-9AK3cgVZrCS2YjN2Y3di_NYBo8hR30u-riL1jlBW31qLtzRkIxwrVDA4H79YqUK-wD5nlV_vBclqijafdSf4mOFRuXnS-6z1nwlgcJXtNF55dSqtlX8i8-BCNoz5RwLEobQ/s1600/armor+of+God.jpg" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEOQlx1eLricYYE3uMqe5tcLU2s45LZ5K2UrojVbSk0yjoqiSILVFNqoUDcZzhgOje6cjX2qlngTFD-3qmkuLMp_S082HAjemZhXCBGIUrN33fsWa3JUxLE9zAVlSFESWxWaZ6FkPDHSE/s1600/heaven.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEOQlx1eLricYYE3uMqe5tcLU2s45LZ5K2UrojVbSk0yjoqiSILVFNqoUDcZzhgOje6cjX2qlngTFD-3qmkuLMp_S082HAjemZhXCBGIUrN33fsWa3JUxLE9zAVlSFESWxWaZ6FkPDHSE/s1600/heaven.jpg" /></a> So we don't waste time bemoaning the fact that another blip on the radar is seemingly steering us off the course of normalcy again. We open the trunk, dig out the armour and once again prepare ourselves for the fiery darts. My dearly beloved is embarking on a journey. He is courageous and ready. I am thankful to be able to travel with him. We don't really know at this point how long the journey will take, but thanks be to God, we do know the destination...<br />
<br />Glynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-929925616875931161.post-82541545368535903402012-10-13T23:11:00.000-04:002012-10-13T23:11:41.450-04:00Helping the Homeless <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5fIEL8g0wcbpVs0gfxE3B_m0LGpuEK9JTr5Nvly7O3g6irqv45rJOODDgWWzUaFYaiAlwAQSQ43s5OsPDrnFsok3XMuNZ39aSkSTLJINOFy19R0eYO3xylswqTJNRFeSGIf5-VODQSKo/s1600/Angel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="115" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5fIEL8g0wcbpVs0gfxE3B_m0LGpuEK9JTr5Nvly7O3g6irqv45rJOODDgWWzUaFYaiAlwAQSQ43s5OsPDrnFsok3XMuNZ39aSkSTLJINOFy19R0eYO3xylswqTJNRFeSGIf5-VODQSKo/s200/Angel.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Freestyle Script"; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Freestyle Script"; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Tender
Heart Ministries in Greater Toronto</span><span style="font-size: 24.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 24.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 24.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You
asked how <span style="color: red;">YOU</span> could help?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 22.0pt; line-height: 115%;">…Give
a “Jesus Present” this Christmas and Share the love<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxc8tvwBSm-3rBnZCEx3aaQ36KJ851w5Wcd_GVRNeje0Tgx6JhieUAjXpBeIsfg4qKz90-tHTaWPEn0ZTiE28SbF2HK7FyMeA2S5_XkceT0Qtghf-vHtva2VjLBLcOu7ML8oFlUfUa5Sk/s1600/logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxc8tvwBSm-3rBnZCEx3aaQ36KJ851w5Wcd_GVRNeje0Tgx6JhieUAjXpBeIsfg4qKz90-tHTaWPEn0ZTiE28SbF2HK7FyMeA2S5_XkceT0Qtghf-vHtva2VjLBLcOu7ML8oFlUfUa5Sk/s320/logo.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuVQApZ-_ucA8Gfub7QxtagurlS7Doj3xkMBizRyeg75X6AhHiR03RbQwzBzhdAoxykfgs7GD2D-_2KyT96Myh7_-ks8MozwNz4EzQrRxNKy7r1KbHs9btIn7cq487nn4S8COyEktYJdI/s1600/Michael+Bull+Roberts+013WM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuVQApZ-_ucA8Gfub7QxtagurlS7Doj3xkMBizRyeg75X6AhHiR03RbQwzBzhdAoxykfgs7GD2D-_2KyT96Myh7_-ks8MozwNz4EzQrRxNKy7r1KbHs9btIn7cq487nn4S8COyEktYJdI/s320/Michael+Bull+Roberts+013WM.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br clear="ALL" />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Michael Bull Roberts is looking to help 400 homeless and
displaced youth on the Toronto streets this winter. Each needy young person will be given a
backpack containing basic necessities to help them make it through the lonely,
chilly days.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Make a young man or woman’s Christmas a little brighter
by either giving a cash donation to help purchase items to fill the back packs
or by giving a useful gift-card such as Tim Horton’s, Shopper’s Drug Mart,
Walmart, etc. I am collecting all the
items and any cash donations for Michael and then I will send them on to him. <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Please attach
your gift card to a Christmas card and send a personal ‘generic’ message of
love for the recipient. Some of these kids can’t remember the last time they
felt love. Your love gift will make a difference. A thank you letter will be
sent to you and your family to share on Christmas Day for any donation or gift.
No gift too small. <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg9xtDXic2uQizngPyNgV4kj7g4yNrEP8nKQL6zvr8U_Y3H6CtMDSumLt2fu5gfZfKDxAkeKpD0cE_TuDFnjQL7Iq1bzlk0rgxqgScbZWjmVqPmHZd4qJ6vEw9Ah9Ixeo1Na1x8XaNPas/s1600/holly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg9xtDXic2uQizngPyNgV4kj7g4yNrEP8nKQL6zvr8U_Y3H6CtMDSumLt2fu5gfZfKDxAkeKpD0cE_TuDFnjQL7Iq1bzlk0rgxqgScbZWjmVqPmHZd4qJ6vEw9Ah9Ixeo1Na1x8XaNPas/s200/holly.jpg" width="200" /></a><b><i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><b><i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></b></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><b><i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">May God bless you for
your generosity. </span></i></b></i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">(Please respond
before December 15<sup>th</sup>, 2012)<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: red; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: red; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Glynis M. Belec </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: red; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: red; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 115%;">519-638-3215; gbelec@bell.net<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: red; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
Glynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-929925616875931161.post-22447848513718326702012-09-23T13:24:00.002-04:002012-09-23T13:40:31.348-04:00What if...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOYp42ApfyFXzOm1gTueeI8WxN19tP5KaCtqDDTayqZEaod10YrcyuRyh9vbzYuWNjvxWQ-FrzL5gHTn9ByCLz4hN8CBCv0rwHc0ba8flMX3c_ZpoSI3noBKFDc-VBehCSUVv-ZXA-liI/s1600/praise.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOYp42ApfyFXzOm1gTueeI8WxN19tP5KaCtqDDTayqZEaod10YrcyuRyh9vbzYuWNjvxWQ-FrzL5gHTn9ByCLz4hN8CBCv0rwHc0ba8flMX3c_ZpoSI3noBKFDc-VBehCSUVv-ZXA-liI/s320/praise.JPG" width="301" /></a></div>
What if each sunrise heralded a day filled with joy unending? What if people truly loved each other unconditionally? What if pain and suffering were not known to mankind? No more angry, hurtful words. No bitterness, no anger. No more cancer...of the body or spirit...no more crime or disaster; disappointment or despair. If spoken words were free from callousness and accusation; if power and monetary gain were not the motivation. If acquisition of the biggest and the best were the least desired and trumped by concern for our neighbour - wouldn't that be...uh...heavenly?<br />
<br />
Sometimes I wonder why we have to have stress in our life. I think if there was no stress, then we could sample a taste of normalcy. But then I remember stress forces me to [choose to] relinquish control to God. I do that because I have found out so many times in my life how I am not in control. All through my own cancer journey, I have been reminded about the love & power of God. Here I am, almost four years since my last chemotherapy, looking forward to that grand magic number - 5 years. Just as my anticipated joy looks like it might just come into fruition, another stress lurks in the wings.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfvQX7KSFo2Tg0nbTO1H4Z97Ry48yelSOLts6W4BBnYpG-ZBFhX8WtKwNutgzPX3Y1ipAE45WQQJ-eP5550RdHWs0FAHT-SCAPO6actyKhYbutLrKPMJS32fpLbsNCXJ1dBrKXK2mWDI8/s1600/Control.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfvQX7KSFo2Tg0nbTO1H4Z97Ry48yelSOLts6W4BBnYpG-ZBFhX8WtKwNutgzPX3Y1ipAE45WQQJ-eP5550RdHWs0FAHT-SCAPO6actyKhYbutLrKPMJS32fpLbsNCXJ1dBrKXK2mWDI8/s320/Control.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A powerful message. Always thankful to Dale for this one! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Two weeks ago my happy hubby had a bone marrow biopsy. The pattern was the same. Routine physical. Checking out a suspicious abnormality and before we know it, my dearly beloved is now facing the prospect of cancer. Wednesday, we meet with the doctor to get the final diagnosis but it looks like we are dealing with leukaemia.<br />
<br />
Yea, it really does seem that joy unending is something we can only experience one heavenly day. Meanwhile we face the music and dance the dance. We are not sure why things always happen but one thing we do know is that God is there and is holding us near. We are choosing to trust and to make the days count. 'Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus...<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/km63bQinoJk" width="420"></iframe>Glynishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15621548333351709607noreply@blogger.com1