My Mountain

I felt myself falling…down…down…down…not knowing when I would reach the bottom or whether there even was a bottom. It all began when I heard the word “cancer” and I stumbled backwards in shock and horror and disbelief. I did not know that the edge was so near, the drop-off so steep, and so I lost my balance and -- arms flailing wildly -- backwards I fell. In between my tests, my falling would slow. And at times, my body would even stop for a moment, resting against a rock, allowing me to gather strength. But then the news came: T3, N1. And the rock gave way and I began to plummet.

Falling is such a horrifying sensation. My body reaching out in desperation for something sturdy and stable to grab onto; seeking permanence to rest upon, a rope or a hand to grab that could pull me to safety. But there was only air and the feeling of the wind rushing by, so loud that I could barely hear.

On Wednesday, my PET scan came back and showed no signs of cancer anywhere else in my body. And my body finally stopped falling and came to rest on solid ground.

From where I lay, I slowly, cautiously peered over the edge, down to where the very bottom is and I screamed “Thank You, God!” at the top of my lungs for he stopped my fall before it took me all the way down. And then I slowly turned my head upwards and I saw the biggest mountain I have ever seen, rising above me toward the heavens. Far, far, far in the distance I saw the top. I know how beautiful life is up there; I was just there a moment ago. And I know that I must begin to climb. I must climb with every ounce of strength and determination and grace that I have in my body. For I want to be back at the top, surrounded by the people and the things that I love. The doctors call my resting place “Stage 3”, but I prefer to think of it as ”Base Camp 3”, for this is simply a temporary place for me stay while I prepare for my long climb back up my mountain.

As I begin to catch my breath and plan my ascent, I hear a rumble in the background. Before I can even blink, an enormous boulder crashed down the mountain, knocking me off my feet and sending me catapulting over the edge again…falling… the roar of the wind…the rush of air…when will I stop??

I don’t know where I am now. I see Base Camp 3 – my “safe” resting spot – far up the mountain. I don’t know if I am at Base Camp 4 now or just somewhere in between. Where is this no-mans-land? Part of me wonders if I would feel safer knowing with certainty that I was at Base Camp 4. At least I might find others there as well who could tell me how to get home; I might find guides who know which paths are the safest and fastest way back up. But instead, I am left guessing and gambling on which path to take. What if I choose the wrong path? What if I never make it back up? These thoughts are so overwhelming that I feel almost paralyzed. What I do know, though, is that I am not lying motionless and forever breathless at the bottom of this mountain. I know this with a level of clarity that I have never felt before. And as long as I am not at the bottom of this mountain, then I am equally confident that I must find faith in my heart to free my limbs from the paralysis that binds them. I must begin to climb. Falling to the bottom of this mountain is not a option. It is not an option!!

My amazing husband is gearing up…He has his harness on and he is checking and double-checking our ropes. He is the one who has me on belay; he is my climbing partner. He is the one – along with my doctors -- who will ensure that my ropes don’t snap, sending me plummeting back down to the dark, lonely bottom. And at night, he carefully lowers himself down to me so that we can sleep together on the side of my mountain. We snuggle close on our hanging bivouac and look up at the beautiful nighttime sky, full of stars and mystery. He tells me to be strong and he tells me that he loves me. And he reminds me that tomorrow, when the sun comes up, if I look up to the top of the mountain I will not only see him pulling me to safety, but I will also see all of my incredible friends and family yelling and screaming their love and support. And he reassures me that when I look beyond all those beautiful, familiar faces, I will see God shining down from above, warming me and lighting my way with his presence.

And each day, Pete promises me, two breathtakingly beautiful angels will swing down to me in their harnesses and ropes to help me smile and to give me strength and hope as I climb. They might come down to show me their new Lego creations, or to share with me an interesting rock, or to give me a big hug, or to just flash me their dimpled smiles before they scurry off again to explore the world. But I know, as Pete does, that these little angels are the ones who will make sure that God know how much I want, how much I need to live.

And so it is with faith in my heart, a mind-numbing fear in my bones, and a strength that I never knew I had that I begin my long climb up my mountain, back to the top.