Presence

(The photo is one that Dick took of me as we were hiking in Mammoth Cave National Park yesterday – five days after getting out of the hospital. A banner moment! And a place where God’s presence was clearly seen.) 

This coming week is a big week. In fact, Dick and I are marveling that we are at this point in the journey. On December 4, 2025, my treatment plan for ovarian cancer was laid out – 3 chemotherapies, a hysterectomy, and 3 more chemos. This Wednesday, May 13, if all goes as planned, I will sit in the chair for my final chemo treatment. And when I am unhooked, I will ring a bell (loudly and with much joy) signifying this concluding infusion. At some point, a few weeks later, there will be a scan or two and some follow up appointments that will officially declare me cancer-free. I’m not putting the cart before the horse, but I am hopeful all of this will come to be. 

For any of you who have walked through medical deep waters, I hope you have gained a clearer and more personal bond with our Heavenly Father through your own journeys. That has been the case for me on so many levels. His presence has been so tangible. So intentional. So obvious. And recognizing that has been crucial to the peace I’ve experienced in this trying season. I’m listening to an audio book right now called Suffering is Never for Nothing by Elisabeth Elliot. This paragraph was powerful to me:

“We are not adrift in chaos. To me that is the most fortifying, the most stabilizing, the most peace-giving thing that I know about anything in the universe. Every time that things have seemingly fallen apart in my life, I have gone back to those things that do not change. Nothing in the universe can ever change those facts. He loves me. I am not at the mercy of chance.”  (Elisabeth Elliot)

His presence. It is real. It stabilizes, comforts, strengthens, encourages, lifts, satisfies, calms . . . I could go on, but you get the picture. 

I thought of a few more stories from my time in Hospital World that might define this a little better.  

First, let me share more of an analogy. One of the first things that happened once I was admitted to room 5309 was that I was hooked up to an IV pole and attached to an ApexPro FH heart monitor. I don’t expect you to have a clue what that is, but it involved 5 wires attached to my chest that connected to it. And it was about the size of a large walkie talkie. 

Every time I got out of bed, specifically to go to the restroom, the visits were complicated, to say the least. Dick, or a nurse, would unplug the IV pole from the wall and help walk all of this gear into the bathroom, as I held the heart monitor close by in my hand. Let’s say the presence of all this equipment definitely was not leaving or forsaking me. 😀

The presence of nursing staff was also non-stop. I get that they were just doing their jobs (and they did them so well!), but as I mentioned in the previous post, Hospital World is a place where medical personnel can walk in at any time, with any shots or meds or lab orders.

The presence of people in and out of my room in the middle of the night was almost comical. Almost. A loud beeping sound from the IV pole would go off, signaling the need to hang a new bag of fluids or meds. Sometimes the nurses would hear this, other times they wouldn’t. If they didn’t come within a minute or so (the beeping continued, by the way), I’d push my “nurse” button and a loud recording would say, “Your care team has been notified”. This would be followed by someone responding on the other end with, “Yes? How can I help?” and a conversation would ensue until the other end understood my need. A few minutes later, the nurse would come, turn on the computer in the room (cue bright light here), chart as needed, and then deal with whatever bag needed changing. 

I was also given oral meds and meds through my port through the early morning hours. Some of these required me stating my name and birthday (boy, I’ve got that down pat!), just adding to the “waking up when you don’t really want to” process.  My vitals (Blood pressure, temp, oxygen, pulse) were taken every 3-4 hours, separate from the medications. A different person altogether does this. The door would open, I’d hear the wheels of the cart and know it was time to have my wristband scanned.  

But the biggest and most intense interruption came on night #3, probably around 2:30 a.m. A doctor walked into the room, and apparently no one had ever given him the protocol for turning on lights. While nurses and tech folk understand the benefits (to the patient) of trying to keep the room as dark as possible, this physician opened the door and switched on every light (there were 4 different fluorescent fixtures in various places). Startled, I gathered myself and listened as he began to explain my need for a blood transfusion. My initial thought was, “do I need it right now”? He then proceeded to list all of the benefits and risks. And you know how things can sound so much worse in the middle of the night? “Risks from a blood transfusion” definitely fit in that category. As he started expounding on all this, Dick quickly woke from his cot nearby, and we sleepily asked some questions. The biggest one was to know if my Oncologist knew this was being recommended. No, Dr. Bright Lights didn’t see that he had been alerted. To be fair, that isn’t normal protocol. However, Dick and I weren’t comfortable proceeding without his knowledge. I asked if the decision could wait until the morning? In 5-ish hours, my oncologist would be in for morning rounds and I could consult with him. Dr. Bright Lights said that yes, that would be okay. The BIG question I had was . . . did we really have to have this conversation at 2:30 a.m.??  

After he left the room, my human tendency would have been to think, “Okay, just when I was starting to feel better and think about leaving the hospital, we’re introducing something as major as a blood transfusion. Hmmm, this must be critical.” But (and I’m not patting myself on the back), the Lord has been training me not to “go there” like that when I hear rough news. But instead, to go to Him. And truly, His presence brought me back to that place of surrender and trust where I desperately needed to be in the middle of the night. 

I’ve mentioned that doing blood draws from my port is at the bottom of my “fun list”. One night, the nurse came in – again, in the very wee hours – to do her assigned task. Dick was sleeping on the cot several feet away and I didn’t want to awaken him for our usual routine where he would hold my hand during this process. I decided, it’s pretty dark in the room, I’ll just close my eyes and pray until she’s finished. As I lay there, a song came to mind. It’s a song based on Psalm 3:3 that our son-in-love, Shawn, wrote and recorded several years ago. The words say:

You, O Lord, are a Shield about me,
My glory, and the lifter of my head
I need not fear though my enemy surrounds me
I lay my head in peace upon my bed

How purposeful were these words at this time? The Lord laid this song on my heart during an overnight blood draw, as I lay on . . . my bed. My hospital bed, yes. But for 5 days, this was “my bed”. And He was reminding me of His protection (Shield) and comfort (lifter of my head). I smiled at this very obvious gift of His presence. 

Fast forward to today. In preparation for a blood draw tomorrow and my final infusion on Wednesday, I will abide and rest in God’s presence. He truly never leaves or forsakes me, but sometimes I need to intentionally trigger my memory on that! Maybe you do, too. Tomorrow, His presence will surround me. And the day after, and the days after. I’m living life with open hands before the Lord. If the path twists in different ways than we might be anticipating, His presence will be with us. I’m not being Debbie Downer. I’m trying to be Hannah Hopeful or Rita Realistic, recognizing the last few weeks have taken us down a few different trails than we were anticipating.

We so appreciate you lifting us up for what we hope are some of the final laps of the race. Here are some specific prayers:
1) For my blood levels to be acceptable in order for my last chemo to be approved (platelets, white counts, red cells) for this Wednesday. I so want to ring the bell! But because of my unexpected hospital stay combined with the continued effects of cumulative chemo, there’s no way to know what the levels will look like. This is what I hold to: I know the One who created my blood!
2 ) For God’s presence to continue to be evident and real to Dick and I, even if curve balls might be thrown.

Dick and I wrote a song many, many years ago that is ringing loud and clear to us in these days. I hope it encourages you as well. Here’s the chorus:

In His presence, there is comfort
In His presence, there is peace
When we seek the Father’s heart, we will find such blessed assurance
An ever open door to know our Savior more
In the presence of the Lord

“The Lord replied, ‘My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.’ Then Moses said to him, ‘If your presence does not go with us, do not send us up from here.’” (Exodus 33:14-15)

“Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?”(Psalm 139:7)

“You make known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand.” (Psalm 16:11)