Referred blessings

A few months ago, I got an email from a sweet girl who “referred” me to her college girlfriend–a Cincinnatian who had just been diagnosed with breast cancer.  I was able to get in touch with the patient, and I was able to give her a thorough de-briefing about the ins and outs of being a breast cancer patient.  It was a great conversation, and I hung up the phone feeling like I’d made a new friend.

Yesterday, my mom was at work, caring for a patient who had a bilateral mastectomies.  Nurse Roz was telling her all the relevant information, and eventually, the patient commented, “You seem very knowledgable.”

Mom’s reply was, “Well, I had the same surgery  a year and a week ago, so I feel very able to care for you.  Have you talked to anyone about the impact of surgery?”

The patient said, “Yes, I have a connection and got some information.”

Before long, the two of them figure out that Mom, aka Nurse Roz, is actually the Rozzinator, and that this is the Cincinnatian whom I’d spoken with on the phone many weeks ago, and that I am her “connection”.

Isn’t it amazing to see how God orchestrates these meetings so that we can be blessed: the patient was blessed, the friend who referred us to each other was blessed, my mom was blessed, and I was blessed.  I love this!

Another new friend was referred to me in the spring by my cousin.  A young mom in another city was diagnosed with breast cancer, and to date, I’m the only been-there-done-that friend she’s “met” through the course of treatment (ironically, we haven’t even met in person yet!  We will in September: she’s coming for the Komen race.)  Her Chemo Room is a series of private suites, which sounds pleasant enough, but I’ve come to believe that it’s the people in the chairs around me that promote the power of the healing in that room.  Her experience, alone in a room, has been markedly different from mine.  I’ve prayed for her throughout her arduous chemo #1, her mastectomy surgery, and chemo ordeal #2.  (Yep, you read that right: two chemo’s cycles.  Yikes.)  Her prognosis, like mine, was kind of a hold-your-breath-and-pray because we need all the good vibes, prayers, awesome mojo, medicine, and miracles we can get.

Today she got the news that she is NED.  No Evidence of Disease is the prize at the end of treatment that is on a pedestal like no other.  I am weak-kneed and shakey with relief for her.  NED.  I’m brought back to the vivid elation that I had last September when I got my NED status, and in January when it was renewed via clean PET scan.  It’s Christmas-y, birthday-y and vacation-y all wrapped together.  She and I know NED bliss.  ‘Tis amazing, people.  Amazing.

(In case you are wondering, my next PET scan will be in October.  I’m praying to see No Evidence of Disease in October.  In the meantime I’m living in NED bliss; Dr. Wonderful is monitoring the science-y stuff like tumor markers, and all my numbers are in the normal ranges.  YAY!)