I find myself in an unusual place. Sitting in front of a computer screen before dawn, my mind races with thoughts that will not let me rest. My spirit is wrestling with the idea of embracing the physical, emotional, and spiritual dimensions of wellness. Looking at life through those three lenses, physical, emotional, and spiritual, may help us find healing and wholeness.
The Fight is Real
In the past, I have spoken much about learning to live with cancer. The fight language adopted by much of our culture does not sit well with me. It could be I take it all too personally. Yet that is my reality. Let me explain.
A few months ago, it felt like my time here on this earth was ending. I lost eighty pounds in a very short period. When my oncologist spoke, I saw a nervousness and sense of urgency that I had not seen since my diagnosis in 2016.
Joseph and Rayann were both home for Christmas and New Year’s. I did little more than sit in my chair and sleep their visits away. To conserve my energy, we would plan one outing every few days. Even that was exhausting.
I found myself unable, unwilling, or even scared to commit or plan for events more than a few weeks into the future. Every day, I felt weaker. Projects got prioritized, and I found myself taking care of things so Nancy would be comfortable living in our home alone. In many ways, it felt as if cancer was finally winning. A part of me raged against being labeled a loser. I despise that language.
Something Shifted
We added another liver doctor to my team. He declared me “over-hydrated” and has me on water pills. Thanks to the pills, I lost another twenty pounds and am closer to getting my daily ten-thousand steps in. If you “lose me,” check the nearest bathroom.
My oncologist had me meet with the physician’s assistant this past week. This does NOT happen when he is imminently concerned about my well-being. When all my appointments start being scheduled with my oncologist, I know he is concerned.
Nancy and I have not felt comfortable scheduling vacations for a few years. Between caring for Mom and Dad, Nancy’s job, and my myriad doctor appointments, we have stayed close to home. Last week, we planned three trips between now and July. Looking to the near future seems like something we can do. At Christmas, I was unable to think past any given day. Something has shifted.
A “New” Way of Thinking
If we view life’s journey through three lenses: emotional, physical, and spiritual, that may be helpful. We can look at each area separately, yet they are intimately tied together.
How I am doing physically impacts me emotionally, which affects me spiritually. In much the same way, when I am doing well spiritually, feeling centered and confident in my hope for the future, it is much easier to travel a difficult emotional or physical journey.
My journey is filled with ups and downs. Seasons of health and struggle in each area. As I notice myself feeling burdened or weary in one area, I stop and take inventory in the other areas. Sometimes, I am simply struggling physically. In moments like those, I am emotionally and spiritually strong. That realization is encouraging. It helps me endure whatever physical challenge rages at the moment.
Moments where I am physically exhausted, emotionally drained, and spiritually questioning are the toughest. They are the darkest moments.
Physical Therapy
I started physical therapy the other day—a little something to help me regain strength and build stamina. My first visit was all about understanding where I was and developing a plan to move forward. There were a bunch of tests that did little but reminded me I am not the person I used to be.
One test started with me sitting in a chair. I had to stand up and sit down without using my hands. It was a timed test; the goal was to get up and down as many times as possible in thirty seconds.
Simple enough.
Thirty Seconds
My therapist said, “Go,” and started the timer. Thirty seconds later, I was a mess. Each time I stood, my legs looked and felt like overcooked spaghetti noodles. The waving and wobbling rivaled the advertising inflatables you see outside car dealerships on a windy day. Physically, I was confronted with the reality that I was not anything close to the person I once was.
As I struggled to stand for my third (and final) time, I was hit with a tidal wave of emotions. The tears came as if someone had opened a giant floodgate. I sunk back into my chair, a blubbering mess. Looking around the room, I locked eyes with Nancy. That did not help my emotional state. In an unrecognizable, pitiful voice, I cried out, “This is not who I am.” Yet it is.
Every eye in the room was on me. My therapist was gently rubbing my shoulder. “It is okay, take a moment.” Physically exhausted and an emotional basket case, I sat in the middle of the room, taking deep breaths and trying to regain my composure. In that moment of physical and emotional chaos, I was reminded that I do NOT walk alone. The Spirit provides a quiet strength that brings a peace that does not make sense based on current circumstances. Sitting quietly for a few moments, I prayed for peace and strength. Moments later, I was up and moving on to the next test.
A Balancing Act
My most recent scans show the cancer in my liver is progressing. We took these scans a little early. So, the subsequent scans could show what we hoped to see: stability or decreasing tumor size.
In the meantime, Dr. Saroha has added another medication to my chemo cocktail. One of our challenges remains balancing treating the cancer and protecting my liver from further damage. It is a mix of art and science.
In much the same way, learning to move through life by paying attention to one’s physical, emotional, and spiritual journey is an art learned over time.
May we all grow to be aware of the three lenses through which we view the world.
May we discern the Spirit speaking to us through each of them.
Dear Dan and Nancy,
I was impressed and encouraged by your very real sharing of hope, discouragement and trusting God all at the same time. It reminds me that numbering our days is not for us to do, God has many surprises and is unlimited in his power. While I do not presently know of active cancer in my family, I think those concerned about it would be encouraged to be open about it and receive courage for their day to day, from your journaling.
Jerry and I were married 12 years ago after my husband, Gordon Rennick passed. We are both 82 and thanking God daily for our health and the job he has given us to do as we serve him daily. I lovingly remember your parents and their faithfulness.