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This is 'Snow Angel', he's a beautiful sculpture that sits looking in one of the windows that Wes and I pass everyday in Cancer Care on our way to the basement for radiation. He was named 'Snow Angel' after the age-old tradition of children making angel forms in the snow. His wings are called the wings of hope, and each feather holds a name. The wings with their names is meant to carry a message of peace and love. I love looking at this bear and thought you might like it too!

October 28, 2008 – We were in the waiting room when a couple, not that much older than us walked in. They were smiling and joking around with one another and after they reported at the desk they sat down to fill out their form. Filling out the informational form usually means that this is your first visit. Though the husband was smiling and joking with his wife you could tell he was tired and in pain. He slouched in the chair next to us and she with the clipboard in hand sat beside him. He peeked over at the paper and realized very quickly that the questions needed answers that were on a scale of 1-10.

“Whatever the question is, just write down 6 or 7.” He said easing his head back on the chair.

She giggled and picked up the pen that was on a string attached to the clipboard and began reading, “Pain”

“Oh, that’s a 10!” he said

“Fatigue”

“10”

“Anxiety”

“7, no make it a 9”

And on they went down the list. There were times when she would read out a symptom and they would both guess the right number at the same time. We were included in their little game, I think to help ease their own tension and that was just fine because I remember how it felt to run through that list.

The only difference was that our list had all 0’s on it, because Wes was not experiencing any symptoms.

Our name was called and we said goodbye. The RN directed me into the room and took Wes down the hall to check his weight which they do every time he sees the doctor and while they were gone I worked myself into a bit of a panic. This was not our regular exam room, this one was much more formal with a flat screen TV and a table and chairs and the first thing that ran through my mind was ‘Why were we put in this room? What does he have to say here that he couldn't tell us in our regular room? What is he going to show us on that screen?’

By the time Wes came back in on his own I had worked myself into a bit of a lather, my tears were on the verge of spill over. I tried to tell him why I was so upset, but we didn’t have much time to talk when the RN walked back in.

“Sorry, we can’t meet in our regular exam room” he said with a smile “But, they are being used and all we had left was the conference room.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, nothing to be afraid of. Wes just smiled at me and my mind stopped running at a hundred mile an hour.

The nurse threw out the regular questions, marked down that nothing had changed and then left closing the door behind him. A short while later there was a knock at the door. We invited them to come in, but nothing happened. A few seconds passed and then came another short knock. We were used to them knocking before they entered the room, but they usually walked in without too much hesitation. This person did not. As I called out again that they should come in, Wes noticed that the knob wasn’t turning so he got up and walked over and sure enough the door was locked. He unlocked it to let the doctor in.

We told him that we weren't trying to keep him out.

“Well, ” he said with a laugh “with the door locked you could have been in here for a long time before anyone would have found you. But I’ll warn you now already if you’re thinking of hiding out in here than you need to know that that flat screen TV won’t get you the sports channel or anything else interesting, it’s only for Telehealth communication, nothing you’d find interesting!”

We all laughed and then the regular interrogation began. Same questions...same answers. No headaches (good thing he wasn’t asking me, I had a roaring headache by then), no dizziness, no blurred vision.

Our appointment was short and to the point, as long as Wes was continuing to feel as good as he does the treatments would continue. According to him everything seemed to be going fine and that was good by us.

He slid the binder/chart across the table so that Wes could take it back with him to radiation and sent us on our way and that was it.

It seems so cut and dried and yet nothing about this whole process is cut and dried or predictable, nothing.

I’ve never been really fond of roller coaster rides; I only went on them because Wes and our boys loved them so much. But a roller coaster ride in life....was definitely not on my list of ‘Things I want to do with my life’...but you do survive, every day in different ways, some days are easier to handle than others. There are those days when the cart you’re in comes around the corner at 60 mph and you're riding the rail faster than you can breathe and you can’t see where you’re going to land. Well, let’s just say it’s good to know that God is right there riding beside you. And if you can keep your mind focused on that, then those are the times when you can release the death grip you might have on the handrail, raise your hands up in the air and shout for joy...OK, not always, but it does happen.

"But you are to hold fast to the LORD your God, as you have until now." Joshua 23:8