my other heart

Today I had my third echo-cardiogram since my cancer treatments began last fall. I get one every three months to monitor the effects of Herceptin on my heart. My first echo was done in my oncologist’s office. It was my baseline before treatment. My second echo was done in a cardiology center, and unbeknownst to me, it was the wrong kind of echo. I now know it was a wasted appointment for me and for the tech who performed it. It was a standard echo, but I needed one with “strain images,” which only the hospital can do. Today’s echo was originally scheduled at the same cardiology center, but last week someone noticed the mistake and my appointment was switched over to the hospital’s cardiology center.

That’s where I was today. It was there, while the echo tech was explaining the procedure, “…it will last between 30 and 40 minutes and I will take between 50 and 60 strain images…,” that it occurred to me what “strain” must mean.

“Does strain refer to how strenuous the treatment has been on my heart?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

She didn’t explain the depth of the algorithms that would be used to measure the strain on my heart, but as I lay on the table and watched her click across the colorful pumping images on the screen, I was astounded at how much data was being gathered. My mind was spinning as my heart was pumping – pumping – woosh – woosh. All this technology. All this attention. All this concern. For this one solitary organ which has pumped since before my parents knew I existed. It will – incredibly – continue to pump until the day I die. So, I am thankful so much care is being taken to protect it’s health.

I wondered, how many brains have studied the heart and it’s intricacies? How many hours, days, years have been invested in the procedure I am experiencing now? I was flooded with amazement and gratitude to be benefiting from such study and investment.

But then I began to think about my other heart. You know, the one that doesn’t pump, but that also enables my existence. The seat of my emotions and motivations, the interpreter of what I experience, and the determiner of how I walk and talk. What kind of care is shown for it? What measures it or evaluates how it is functioning in the midst of life’s strain?

Both hearts need to be healthy. Both hearts suffer wear. My oncologist requires the testing of my physical heart, but I need to be the one who takes responsibility for my spiritual heart. I need to evaluate how I’m thinking about life and what emotions take control, fueling my actions. As a Christian, I need to be examining Scripture to evaluate where my heart is at, and I need to know how to offer up my heart daily to the One who formed me and redeemed me.

Trust in him at all times, you people;
pour out your hearts to him,
for God is our refuge.
Psalm 62:8

Search me, God, and know my heart;
test me and know my anxious thoughts.
See if there is any offensive way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting.
Psalm 139:23-24

Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Matthew 5:8

Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
Matthew 6:19-21

 

Since my last post, nearly a month ago, life has swamped me and my heart has not been so steadfast. I have seen anxiety grow where peace had claimed firm territory. It must sound strange – that I would have such peace in the midst of chemo and surgery, but have anxiety now that I’m feeling good and know I’m in remission. It’s strange to me too, but not entirely.

I am confessing this to you because I want you to know that I’m not as strong as you may assume I am. Sure, I was brave in the face of cancer, but God did some amazing things in my heart in that time, for that time. I also had you all lifting many a heavy burden on a daily basis. It. was. incredible. Now I’m back to being full-time mom to five, and I feel like I’ve forgotten how to multi-task and prioritize. I am having to shake myself multiple times a day and say, “Trudy, why are you freaking out about this little stuff?!” I have literally had to read my last blog post to remember what I said I learned!!! And, it has helped to be reminded. Good thing it’s in writing!

I actually have a neighbor driving my girls to and from school and a friend from high school sending me her cleaning lady every other week…and yet I am still struggling with an anxious heart. So, in the midst of this new season – the season of looking like a chemo patient, but having chemo behind me – I am evaluating my heart and learning more about myself and the God I belong to.

I am learning that it is hard for me to give myself permission to take life slowly. Part of feeling anxious is me being impatient with where I’m really at. I know it’s okay that I’m not “full-speed” yet. That’s a hard thing to truly believe.

I am learning that Jesus isn’t impatient with me now, and that He values these “regular” days as much as the cancer fighting days. When I was in treatment, there was focus and I knew the stakes were high. Normal days are nice without side effects and such, but they lack battle glory. ha! I didn’t know my treatment days were being elevated in my mind, but now I see that they were. They had clear purpose. Yes, these days also have purpose, but there are about 1,000 needs clamoring at once for my attention and I am re-learning that Jesus has me here intentionally too. A quote I keep on my phone has helped me with this lesson:

You can always trust that what you’re living right now is God’s personal assignment for you. – Ron Hutchcraft

I am learning that Scripture memory helps my heart. I have been working on memorizing Romans 8 for some time now. Don’t be impressed. I’m only through 11 verses (28 more to go!), but those verses have been a lifeline for my anxious heart and brain. I recite them and meditate on them when I sense the anxiety rising and I am filled with peace again.

I am learning that physical memorials help my heart.  In the Bible, after God did a great thing, they would build an altar of stone and make a sacrifice of thanksgiving on it. After the sacrifice was done, the altar remained as a reminder of what He had done. I wanted to have a physical reminder of what God brought us through over these past 6+ months. So, a week ago, we planted a “Cherokee Brave” dogwood tree outside the family room window, across from where I sat and rested through my chemo treatments. It has been so helpful to look at it in the days we have had it there, and to say to myself, “He brought you this far. He is that good. There is nothing now to fear.” I can’t help but smile big and be reassured after that.

I am learning that I still have much to learn. And, I will for the rest of my days. And, that’s a good place to be – in the position of humility, listening, looking, asking, growing.

The clock is now 20 minutes into the next day, and that means I’d better get to bed and let both of my hearts rest.

Goodnight,

Trudy