Footprints from the Cave

I am trying to find a balance of inner and outer space.
I probably really am healing up well from surgery.
But I cannot just rest now.
The work of chemotherapy begins this coming week.

John and I went to the oncologist for my "post-op" visit on Friday. The project of the day was bladder function. Dr. Malviya had sent me home from the hospital a week ago today with a catheter, trying to retrain the bladder to function on its own, since nerve endings had no doubt been involved in the areas where they worked during surgery. So we tried out the bladder (removed catheter at home) when we first got to the office at 1:00 pm, then were sent to the mall to walk around for 4 or 5 hours (my first outing), then we returned to the office for a second chance. I can make urine, but I was still retaining too much. So I am measuring and recording all out-put and will report back to him on Sunday by phone. If I seem to be doing ok with that, my understanding is that I will call on Monday to see the next step.

After some conferencing time, which our Parish Nurse Karen DeBenedet also attended, we arrived home around 11:00 at night. I had been setting my alarm for 7:30 (never mind that I woke earlier). But Dr. Malviya wants me to get up at 6:00 am to begin the bladder practice. I am sleeping mostly through the night now, which is a help.

I have been thinking about a story called, "Footprints in the Sand" by Mary Stevenson, in which a man reviewed his life in a dream, walking along the beach with the Lord. When he noticed places where there were only one set of footprints, he wondered aloud to the Lord if he had been left alone in his hard times. "The Lord replied, 'The times when you have seen only one set of footprints in the sand, is when I carried you.'"

I feel like that... that I am not in control, and things may look harder and scarier than I would have wanted. And yet, I know I am being carried in the Lord's arms. Always warmly, safely, lovingly. Whatever goes on around me and in my body. I know support also comes from those around me, near and far. Your love carries me as well.

I have not been writing as much during this recuperating time. I may think I need to carry my weight and write to keep up my end of communication. But I thought of this story, and reflected that there are times I am just being carried.

Quiet blessings and thankfulness...

P.S. Keeping track of the family.
Carrie drove safely back to her home in Philadelphia on Thursday. I miss her bunches.