How I put in time in a Hospital Waiting Room

A new dawn, a new day, a new chance to begin again.

Today, we are waiting for results from Cecil's follow up CT scan.  Fingers are crossed that the news will be good, and that we can continue our dreams of Celyn Away and enjoying life, but anyone who's ever walked through the world of cancer knows, the waiting can be the worst.
We are hopeful of course, and things looked good after the initial surgery and healing, but there are still those funny little things that the body continues to do that makes you just stop and take notice and to wonder.  The little things that cause the big worries to keep raising their nasty heads. 
I decided to share my writing from the Portage General Hospital waiting room in July when Cecil was undergoing his initial surgery.  Its a good reminder to me at this moment, of continuing to look for the gift, as we wait for the results. 

July 2014: Its been a long time since I've spent time in one of these rooms...and I can't say that I missed it at all. We've managed four years without major health risks or the loss of someone close to our hearts...but ten days ago that changed once again on us. The results of the colonoscopy came back with the biopsy test showing the growth that was found was malignant. Now the questions continue to circle, as we sit waiting for the completion of the surgery that will tell us whether the growth is contained, whether their will be life changing adjustments because of the surgery and of course the big question...whether we are in for a bigger battle than we are aware of at this moment.
Cecil is in surgery as I write this. He was scared going in, we all are. The morning has been slow, the weeks ahead will be as well I fear, with the healing and the waiting to learn where things are at and what is next on our agenda.
I keep trying to ask myself that if everything happens for me, not to me...what is the gift in this...for me...for us? 
My heart tells me that there is one, maybe many...but it has taken much deep thinking and quietly asking my heart.  Here are some answers that have come to me:

• In sharing with others, I've been reminded of how much love and support we have out there enveloping us. That gets forgotten at times, but we don't have to reach far to find a hand to hold through our family and friends.  We're very lucky.
  
• The kids have a chance to step up and be there for and with Cecil, as they've been reminded that he is not as invincible as they'd like to believe he is. They have the opportunity to appreciate him for the father/grandfather he is, and reflect on how he lived so much of his life for them.
• It's made me step back and think about the man I'm married to. How kind he's always been to me and my family. How much he has done to make my life as easy as it can be, things he's taken off my plate. Endless love he offers, his attention to all that I say, memory of all that I've done, support of all that I do. I know that he's been under appreciated and taken for granted too often. I now have the opportunity to do better from here forward, however long that might be.
• We've both had some time to reflect on what is really important to us at this time in our lives. The picture is becoming clearer, and if the disease will give us permission, we are more dedicated to moving forward into a life that is more aligned with our own passions and dreams, while we have the health and ability to do that. 
• It forces us to priorize what really, truly matters, and let go of what doesn't. To rethink how our limited time on earth is going to be spent from here forward.  To make choices one way or another so that we get of the fences we've been sitting on. To realize that none of this can be taken for granted, because life can and does change at the drop of a hat.  We need to keep that in our hearts long after this surgery is over.

My dear friend Bert LeSage once told me "It's hard to hear, but the truth is cancer gives us a gift...the gift of time, to say all that is in our hearts." I keep hearing his voice and seeing his kind, brown eyes, knowing that he knew more than I did at that time. It was the day after Greg, my first husband, had died of the same disease. 
In the 13 years since his passing, I've had time to get to know that Bert was right. Living through my own Mom's brief battle with pancreatic cancer in 2010 I held that thought and embraced every moment, shared every thought that needed to be shared, said every word of love that need to be spoken. 
In the end, with both of them, there was nothing left unsaid or undone...there was loss, but there was peace as well. That peace of heart and mind means so much. I will work towards that same sense of peace now, regardless of whether we are up against a long, hard battle...or whether this has just been a reminder to practice all that I preach and try to teach...to live in the moment, to appreciate everything that we have right now...to love with all my heart. Lesson learned, reminder acknowledged, gift accepted.