The Upside to the Downside

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Heading up to the Wilmot Cancer Center for an appointment with the oncologist has a downside. There’s the fact staring you in the face that they’re going to tell you some not-so-good news. It kind of goes with the territory when you’re talking about pancreatic cancer. At least that’s been our experience.

They’re good about it. We have a great team consisting of a doctor, nurse practitioner and nurse. They just happen to be the bearers of not-so-good news most of the time. This time was no different.

The goal with the current chemotherapy is not to cure, not even to shrink the tumors, but to the hold them at bay. Since the previous CT scan was two months before Matt began the chemo, some growth on this most recent scan was too be expected.

It didn’t want to disappoint. It was there. And more growth than we had anticipated seeing.

Since the argument we would like to believe is that this new growth took place during the two months prior to the beginning of the chemotherapy, Matt will continue the chemo. After two more months, he will have another CT scan to determine if the treatment is in fact preventing tumor growth or not.

Thankfully, there is an upside to making the trek to Rochester. The upside is I get to spend a day, or at least a good part of a day, with my hubby. That part is always appreciated.

Related articles

• A Winter Wonderland & the Oncologist (rosierambleson.wordpress.com)

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Rosie Cochran

I am a pastor’s wife, former missionary, mother of four great sons (and a wonderful daughter-in-law!), and author of three books: Betrayed, Identity Revealed, and A Murder Unseen. (Available at: Amazon.com.) I have a passion for God, my family, and writing! Follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Have a question? Email Me!

Please do not take offense…

          If I ever go to introduce you, and a blank look turned terrified crosses my face—you’ve guessed it, I’ve forgotten your name. Please, do not take offense!

          I know. I’m sure there’s some written-in-stone requirement for former missionaries and current pastors’ wives to hold an outstanding grasp on the names of each and every person they have ever met. It goes with the territory, right? If so, this is one requirement I have failed.

          Names remain on the tip of my tongue—until they are suddenly required of me. Introductions can be a nightmare event. I open my mouth to begin the introduction—and I enter that memory-numbing stage so similar to test taking. Why? I’ve no idea.

          You don’t believe me? Let me tell you a story.

          We were over a year into our marriage.  As we walked up to the desk at the local hospital, it was obvious what our medical condition was. We were ready to grow our family. The rounded protrusion, where a flat stomach used to be, attested to the fact.

          But not quite yet. We were only registering for the birth of our child in the hospital, the actual event being yet a few months off. The woman behind the desk began rattling off basic questions. This was not an interrogation. These were simple questions.

          “Where do you live?” she asked.

          That one was easy.

          “On the outskirts of Durham,” I replied. “We’re students at New Tribes Mission.”

          “When is the baby due?”

          Another easy question.

          “Early April.”

          “And your husband’s name?”

          That’s then it happened. A blank looked, turned terrified, crossed my face. In a fraction of a second, I had misplaced my husband’s name—lost it in the recesses of my mind.

          My mind raced, but went nowhere. I was sinking deeper and deeper into a foggy abyss of a nameless husband. Sarcastic thoughts pushed their way to the forefront of my mind—none of them helpful.

          Oh right, this is my husband. I just can’t remember his name.

          My husband? No. I’m just a missionary in training and I pulled this poor guy off the street to come in with me. I don’t even know his name.

          “Matthew. My name is Matthew,” my husband interjected smoothly, covering my momentary lapse.

          I breathed a sigh of relief. My panic somehow lost on the woman behind the desk. Disaster was averted. Thankfully.

          We continued with more simple questions. Nothing as hard as my husband’s name.

          So really, if I ever forget your name, please do not take offense!

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Rosie Cochran

I am a pastor’s wife, former missionary, mother of four great sons (and a wonderful daughter-in-law!), and author of three books: Betrayed, Identity Revealed, and A Murder Unseen. (Available at: Amazon.com.) I have a passion for God, my family, and writing! Follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Have a question? Email Me!

Tethered to Technology

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When a server goes down and your business requires the internet, you feel it. A friend of mine just felt it. Acutely. Several days of crisis management—with a bit of anger management—were the results of a server gone down.

It spawned a lot of comments on our dependence on technology. I found I agreed with it all. I’m tied to technology.

But that hasn’t always been the case. You would think that years of missionary work in remote jungle villages would have proved sufficient insulation from ever becoming technology-dependent.

Initially, running water meant we ran to the river, the “corner store” was a 2 1/2 hour flight away, and a precious can of soda was lukewarm—but still precious.

Electrical power was limited to what a few solar panels could pump into our batteries. If the sun refused to shine, power dropped and was saved for our two-way radio, our only contact to the outside, to civilization. The internet? An impossibility.

Life was primitive. We called it rustic, the word invoking a more romantic aura than primitive. Life was rustic, but good.

But now? Life isn’t so rustic.

I’m blessed with modern appliances, electrical power not dictated by the amount of shining sun, hot water in the shower—and technology. I’ve returned to the twentieth century!

I find myself happily tethered to my cell phone, computer, and the illustrious internet. I find myself groaning along with my friend as the server went down. I realize how quickly our lives changed. Rustic turned to high-tech. The internet replaced the two-way radio as our connection to world.

Life is different, but still good. Now, if only the server doesn’t go down before I post this….

Love Is More than Flowers and Chocolate!

Our journey of love began....

I was grocery shopping in Aldi yesterday afternoon. An elderly man was standing in line, flowers in hand. Nothing else. Just flowers. Presumably, flowers for his wife of many years. I could envision the love story behind this act.

It was nearly his turn, when he suddenly stepped out, losing his place in line, and walked over to where the flowers were. I watched as he put them back, my overactive imagination already creating a scenario for his actions.

His wife called him on his cell, all upset about something—and he decided she didn’t deserve flowers!

Of course, I didn’t see a cell phone on his person, so that was an unlikely scenario.—And really, it was much too sad of a scenario.

My creation of yet another sad scenario was interrupted as he reached for a better-looking bunch of flowers, then slowly walked back over to re-gain a spot in line.

I smiled. My belief in his love story restored.

I wasn’t the only one watching. The woman behind me spoke up at that moment.

“Flowers from Aldi,” she said, her tone difficult to read, though not sounding like a compliment.

“At least they are flowers,” I replied with a small smile, wanting to give the man credit.

“I waited ten years before I got flowers on Valentine’s Day,” the woman told me. “I would have been happy even if they have been from Aldi.” Her body language and tone were saying it had been more than flowers that had been missing in the marriage.

I didn’t bother to admit I’d also waited years for flowers. It wouldn’t have been appropriate. I had waited for flowers, but in the meantime I was showered with love.

“It’s the thought that counts,” I said—and I meant it.

“It really is,” the woman agreed.

Love is so much more than flowers—or even chocolate! Love is all those little looks, the caring words, a humor that only the two of you understand, a hug at the right moment—and the list goes on. Love is an accumulation of our lives together. I’ll take that over flowers and chocolate any day—though the flowers and chocolate sure don’t hurt!

“In Everything Give Thanks!”

“In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.”  - I Thessalonians 5:18

Thankfulness is easy when things are going well. In trials? It doesn’t come quite so naturally. Yet we’ve been told quite bluntly that we’re to give thanks in everything. In case we’re scratching our heads and wondering if that really is what was meant, it’s been added that “this is the will of God…concerning you!”

God brought this to mind again this past week. Right, again! I need these reminders from time to time. With all we’ve faced this past year, sometimes I’m just tired of the not knowing, of wondering what will happen next. Sometimes, I just want our lives back. Sometimes, I just don’t feel very thankful.

Yet, there it is in black and white: “In everything give thanks.”

Hard to ignore. Impossible to re-interpret. It’s clear. Give thanks!

So there I was in the midst of my ‘whining’ to God about all the unknowns in our lives, and He brings me back to that.

I didn’t see much point in fighting Him. There’s not really any chance of winning that fight! And really, agreeing and obeying brings much more peace! It’s really a no-brainer.

So I stopped in the middle of my whine and said, “Thank You.”

Amazing. The world didn’t change. My circumstances didn’t change. But my attitude did, and with it my outlook. Isn’t that just like God? — The answer to that is a definite YES! 

Who Am I?

Aunt Rosie & Gigi!

I was chatting with my great-niece and great-nephew this morning, hoping I was reconnecting with them. At five and six years old, not having seen them for two years was a long time. I thought I was doing a good job getting some Aunt Rosie time in until my great-nephew looked up at me, a perplexed look on his face.

“You talk different,” he told me, stressing the word ‘different.’

I wasn’t sure where he was coming from, and wanting to keep the flow of conversation and bonding going, I said to him, “I may have a different accent than your Nana, but I’m still her sister.”

My petite great-niece looked at me and corrected me in her little girl voice. “You’re not her sister. You’re her mom!”

“I’m not Gigi (what they called their great-grandmother)!” I told them. “I’m Aunt Rosie.”

They weren’t so sure and it took a bit of convincing. I mean, in their minds I looked just like Gigi! I’m sure the fact that I didn’t have Gigi’s British accent helped to sway them to believing I was Aunt Rosie! Talk about an identity complex! I’ve never had to convince someone before that I really am me!

The reassuring part came later. When my sister and I arrived back at the house after dropping her grand-kids off at school, Spanky, my sister’s Jack Russell Terrier came bounding towards me, leaping at my legs and demanding attention. My sister started laughing.

“At least Spanky knows you’re not Gigi!”

And it was true. Spanky knew NOT to leap at Gigi who has a great love for dogs at a distance, but not within reach. But Spanky knew I would invite his loving attentions! Whew! I guess I really am me!

A Winter Wonderland & the Oncologist

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Our most recent trip to Rochester, New York for Matt’s oncologist appointment was a greater challenge than we  had anticipated. Oddly enough, winter didn’t arrive in New York until that January morning—and it arrived in full force.

Brushing the snow off my Toyota Yaris as the heater started pumping warm air into the interior seemed successful—until I realized the windshield wipers were necessary to keep the snow from covering the windshield in short order! It was an interesting trip. An hour and a half trip turned into  two and a half hours. But we made it. Safe and sound. We considered the trip a success.

At the Wilmot Cancer Center, Matt had the doctor, the nurse practitioner, and the nurse all smiling at how well he looks, and at how well he is handling the new chemo treatment. (Yes, we all fit in that small appointment room!)  Of course, any time you can get an oncologist smiling instead of looking serious and sad, it gets me smiling as well! Reports that the blood work, though not ‘normal,’ looked great for a man with Matt’s diagnosis, and we were ready to call not just the trip, but also the doctor’s visit, a success.

Matt will continue on with the chemotherapy. His next CT scan is scheduled for March 6, with a follow-up appointment on the March 9. Thank you for your words of encouragement and your prayers.