Following

I wrote the following post and saved it as a draft back in July when my world was in an uproarious change. But really it was just the first of an onslaught of changes.

There comes a point where you just have an overwhelming feeling that you have to focus on what your gut is screaming at you—or a little more sweetly, what your heart is whispering to you. You know, that prompting voice inside that leads? Okay, God, I'm listening. Trying really hard to unquestioningly follow.

Reminds me of this song: "Follow".

There's a fear that comes with letting go, but let me replace one f-word with another—let me rely more heavily on faith instead of crippling fear. God has never let me go, so why do I forget that He has me in every circumstance?

With my brain tumor adventures, I had utmost, complete trust in Him and it was amazingly peaceful and I've often felt that I want to go back to that, which sounds crazy, I know. I don't really want to have more surgeries, but I think what I have been longing for is that feeling of complete trust that's so easy to attain in the most dire of circumstances. What seems so blatantly clear now is that I don't have to wait for extreme situations to trust that Jesus has me. He is my constant.

I had decided in July to tell my manager at the company I worked at for seven years that I would be leaving in December. There were numerous reasons and little nudges for the change, but the biggest reason for the timing was that I knew my review was coming up and I wanted to convey that I wouldn't be here for next year since I was planning to go back to school in the spring of 2014. I joke that I shot myself in the foot by doing that because I gave way too much notice. Looking back though, it was perfect; and I'm glad I gave a ridiculous amount of notice. Understandably, there was no other option for management to ask me to leave sooner—the end of September instead of December—since there was my new partner and my replacement to train (who are both great and exactly where they need to be also!).

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight." —Prov. 3:5–6

Meanwhile, unexpectedly during that seven-and-a-half-weeks of "notice," my husband Kurtis and I learned that I am pregnant. Wow! I didn't see that crazy timing coming! So besides getting all registered for school via NAU (Northern Arizona University, my alma mater), we are getting prepared for a baby to join us in our little home and I was able to feel sick those first three months in the comfort of home. Come January, I will be undertaking a post-baccalaureate certificate in professional writing, and if things go well, I will continue to pursue a masters degree in English: Rhetoric and the Teaching of Writing. I'm super excited to earn the credentials to be qualified in the field I want to be in. I'm also thrilled to get to experience what it means to be a mother! Kurt and I will have a magnificent time figuring out what it's like to be parents together! Our baby is due May 17, 2014—again, what seems like perfect timing to coincide with my first semester back to school.

So, see? I'm reminded daily about God's surprising gifts and that I'm so not in control. I'll keep following.

Faithfully,
Dawn

Mr. Claus at home in the desert

 

That's right! Mr. Claus made a special stop in the desert. He's the best Santa ever—kind, jolly, caring, and he has just the right words for children of all ages!  

Ho, Ho, Ho!
Dawn

Two Scents

Leaving Macayo's Mexican Kitchen after a delightful, relaxing dinner with Kurtis upon his return from a two-day work trip, I spouted memories of visiting him at the nearby AlphaGraphics back in 2001 when we were both students and freshly dating. He had been a key operator there and I was a Picture People photographer. We reminisced about the occasions I would swing by and we'd chat on an outdoor concrete bench while he took his break.

"You had a different smell back then," I recalled aloud. (I had just finished off a deliciously tangy margarita, so perhaps that's why my word choice was "smell" and not "scent.") I clarified, "Not that you ever smell badly, but you just smell differently now than how you used to." We talked about the then-and-now variables, and then I pondered, "Hmmm...I wonder if I smell more like you now or if you smell more like me or if we made an entirely new smell."

Kurt replied, "We melded smells. We smelded."

Still laughing at our "two cents,"
Dawn

Brain Reflections

 
Forgive me for not posting about my last brain MRI from November, which thankfully shows things sittin' just fine! This is what I wrote on November 6, 2012 but neglected to post until now:

I had an MRI yesterday and while things seem to be going excellently with the noggin and my resuming work and regular life, my emotions started up when I had to fill out a run-of-the-mill doctor's office form. When it asked for my height (which hasn’t changed since I was 13), I thought about it and wrote 5’10" (which is actually my sister's height). Then while sitting in the waiting room after I had already turned in the electronic clipboard, a surge of panicked realization surged through me. Oh, Dawn! You’re 5’8 ¾”! I'm unfortunately very critical of myself...especially when I make what feels like "silly" mistakes. People constantly remind me that they make similar mistakes to the ones I make "all the time," but it's altogether too easy for me to quickly associate errors with my brain surgery bout.

Enter hot, burning oozing behind the eyes as I tried to suppress determined, leaking, salty tears. By the time I was in the MRI room with the familiar machinery blooping and beeping, whirring and putt-putting, I couldn’t hold them in any longer.

“What kind of music would you like to listen to?” the friendly MRI tech asked me (who either didn't see my sour-puss face or chose to ignore it).

“Anything non-emotional, please,” I requested at least one octave too high.

I chose what I thought was a safe local Tucson radio station: 92.9 FM. Still, I warned her that I felt like I was going to cry and apologized. She reassured me that I can go ahead and cry and she urged me to not be too hard on myself. “Crying is a good release.” I agree with her, but I just didn’t expect or intend on it at all yesterday morning. Besides my silly height error from earlier and the flood of memories from the reasoning for having to be in the loud coffin-like machine at all, of course the soundtrack inside my head had to be so beautiful: “Home” by Phillip Phillips. Let the floodgates open.

Hold on, to me as we go
As we roll down this unfamiliar road
And although this wave is stringing us along
Just know you’re not alone
Cause I’m going to make this place your home

Settle down, it'll all be clear
Don't pay no mind to the demons
They fill you with fear
The trouble it might drag you down
If you get lost, you can always be found

Just know you’re not alone
Cause I’m going to make this place your home

See what I mean? Much deeper of a song than I needed to hear while having a brain MRI. One that reminds me of my family and not being alone on a curvy, unpredictable pathway.

The challenge of staying still and stifling tears at the same time is so difficult and, in retrospect, comical. It was like having a deep hiccup every 30 seconds or so. I wondered if the image of my brain would be slightly blurry from my little intermittent jumps. Deep breaths in and out, but not because I was claustrophobic—no, I find comfort in that machine in many ways—like he’s an old friend, who has been there with me throughout this journey. It was a hodgepodge of emotions—too much to explain to the friendly administrator or even here now. In the end, she said she got good images and I’ll find out if there are any changes next Tuesday when I meet with Dr. Scully.

Whew! I remember those feelings from November (and now it's already nearly April) and I'm happy to report that it appeared my ventricles even shrank a wee bit!

Tumor still in there, but I think my ventricles shrank!

My MRI scan once injected with intravenous contrast.

My "noodle."

I can't help but see faces in my brain scans.

 My next MRI is scheduled for May and I promise to produce a much more prompt report.

I enjoy the reflection process and realizing the reminder that life is oh-so-quick, to focus on what is good and lovely—you know, the real important stuff—and to enjoy this life with which God has graced and entrusted to me. Go on, let's all live it up...and enjoy the soundtrack to accompany your story!

Sounds good,
Dawn