The Past Two Years, One Step at a Time

What changed? 

I really like talking about myself.  Sometimes (more than I care to admit) I can talk (or write) too much.  However, the events of the past two years have been life changing and I want to share them with you.   This is your warning, skip this post if you aren’t up to reading about major life experiences right now.  I will still love you. 

My last post was in April 2014.  In May 2014, Steven and I traveled to New York City, Greenwich Connecticut, Hudson, Massachusetts, and Acadia Maine.   We saw “Wicked” on Broadway, we visited with his sister and mine, we kayaked an inlet near Kennebunk, and we laughed in the rain as we biked through a wicked rain storm in Acadia National Park. 

Steven is a university professor.  We had the chance to organize and take a study abroad trip to Australia, New Zealand and Fiji.   I was excited to plan and carry out all the details of the dream trip our family would be able to participate in.  

Unfortunately, I had some medical issues that were greatly hindering my ability to participate in almost any physical activity. 

I was conflicted about using surgery to fix the problem because I had always had been of the mind that you don’t just rip out an organ because it’s not working correctly.  I tried everything I knew to heal the issues and they weren’t changing.  Finally I relented and scheduled surgery.  It was to happen the week after we arrived home from New England. 

The surgery was carried out in one 23 hour stay, and I went home to heal. It was perhaps the easiest surgery I had experienced so far, as my only others were the four c-sections bringing my children into the world; and I was delighted with my timely recovery.

After about a week, I got a phone call from the doctor’s office.  They wanted to schedule a time when I could speak directly with my doctor.   I had never experienced such a call.  I hung up and wondered what was happening.  It was a couple hours, or maybe even a day or two later that I was finally able to connect with my physician. 

“We found cancer in the tissue we removed.  It was in the early stages so there’s not a lot to worry about.   I want you to make an appointment with the specialist at the clinic and they can decide on your treatment plan.”  

I hung up the phone in a fog of disbelief.  “He said it was in the early stages and I shouldn’t be concerned. So I won’t be.” I thought to myself. 

I debated on how to tell Steven.  If the doctor said it was not a big deal, I certainly didn’t want to worry Steven about it.  I knew that once the “C” word was thrown out there, he could be very upset, especially since he had lost his mother to the disease only two months earlier. 

My mind raced, “a treatment plan? Would I have to have chemo?  How serious is “not very serious?”” 

I tried to remain calm and I knew I needed to tell Steven something.  I called him and prayed he would not be upset. 

Steven got quiet after I spat out my news.  “The doctor said it was only stage one and it would probably be no problem.” 

We discussed whether our dream trip, scheduled to commence at the end of June would be realistic.  We decided to go forward as normal and wait to see what the specialist had to say. 

While waiting to see the specialist I had the chance to see my life in a very different perspective.  What if it was more serious than they thought?  What if it was nothing?  Who should I tell?  Why would I tell anyone? 

The specialist appointment was two weeks after the initial phone call.  At one point in those two weeks I was struck with a thought that puzzled me.  For the past seven years, my only need in life was to find “my place.”  The day we moved in to our house in Springville, Utah, I had the distinct feeling that something about the place needed changing.  I had found a wonderful home in a perfect family neighborhood.  We had the chance to get to know almost every family in every home within a half mile radius of our home.  However, for seven years I looked around my home and neighborhood, trying to figure out why I felt I was not yet where I belonged. 

When Steven and I first discussed my discontent, we decided to give it three years to see if the feeling went away.  I was determined to bloom where I was planted and be happy where I was.  I ran for city council and won the majority vote in my precinct, but not overall, but was put directly on the planning commission. 

I joined the PTA and attended legislative meetings and I loved it all.  …But I still felt that yearning for my place. 

After three years, we started looking for that place that would resolve my privation.  We found a beautiful lot at the top of Woodland Hills and we designed our log cabin home.  I was stressed about the cost of the build but we forged forward, fasting and praying and looking for our answer to this problem. 

The housing market crashed.   Our home lost nearly half its value.  We were upside down with equity in our house. We had to wait it out.  I still felt the yearning but I was at peace with letting the mountain lot and log home idea go for now.  I had faith that things would work out. 

A couple years later, before housing prices recovered too much, Steven was asked to be the bishop of our young ward (for those not LDS, a bishop is like a pastor of a neighborhood congregation.)   We walked away from our interview with questions and wonder.  We decided that we would wait one last run of three years and pray to know where to go from there. 

Steven absolutely loved his calling as a bishop.  I would dare say that his ward totally loved him back.  We had chances to serve and love and comfort….it was a joyous chapter in our lives. 

So. May 2014 marked pretty close to the three year mark of Steven’s being a bishop.  At one point, the stake president ( a little like a regional leader, over several congregations in an area) was being replaced and all former and current bishops were being interviewed by a church general authority (GA,one of the big guys who works with the prophet in Salt Lake City.)

When it came Steven’s turn to interview, he took the opportunity to ask the general authority about what we should do concerning my problem of wanting to move and find my place.  The GA’s answer was that we had to do what was best for our family and we shouldn’t feel bad about leaving.  Steven said at that point he felt relieved that he wouldn’t be doing something wrong by turning away from his bishop calling. 

And then we went to Maine, and then I had my surgery…and here we were. 

Dealing with your own mortality, even the slightest chance of your absence, especially as a wife and mother, is an enlightening experience. You look differently at your kids, at petty things that used to bother you, at the possibility you could be absent for a long time.

 You try to prepare and prevent as much pain for your family as possible. You try to make NOW more important than anything else in your life, because even if things work out and you get to stay, you realize that there is nothing ever lost in making every day the best it can be

One day the thought came into my mind  that if something did happen to me and I never found that place I was looking for, Steven was the type that could never forgive himself.  I knew things would probably be okay, but that mental picture of my husband with yet another burden was the last straw. 

 It was time for me to start making life happen now.