Fireworks

Let's take a quick walk down memory lane since my last post. (Plus a little self esteem boost for the guilt I have for putting this off until now...)

• Booking a flight 2 weeks before a mission trip to St. Lucia. 
• Finding out lab results & the plan in the Miami airport.
• Endless paperwork, emails, errands, and phone calls in preparation for moving/PA school (24 days from now, but who's counting??)
• Countless creative DIY projects. The Home Depot guys just laugh each time I enter the store. 
• Annual week of memories at the College World Series. Already miss my LSU family.
• Nanny adventures with three adorable children who continually warm my heart. 
• Quick trips to Kansas to cheer on my favorite baseball player.
• Wedding showers on bachelorette parties on weddings on repeat.
• And then that one thing called "life." It's happening too.

I was hoping that by actually "writing" all those things down, I would have a better sense of what to post about. But I think it actually did the opposite. In front of me sits a blank screen like an open sky, with thoughts shooting off in bursts of colors for every emotion. Fireworks. Where do I even start?!

Everyone loves simple smoke balls. Let's start there and then move towards the more explosive topics. The mission trip with my parish was remarkable in so many ways. We spent most days at the Marian Home for the elders, ran by nuns. Painting, performing eye exams, washing and clipping toenails, tiling the kitchen countertops, listening to their stories, praying with them, and soaking up the endless outpouring of love they have for Jesus. Nights were spent reflecting as a group about our experiences that day and what we thought our individual purpose was that was the driving force for how we ended up more than halfway down the globe, on a tiny island, north of Venezuela. Except, like other missionaries could probably attest, it's not always a slice of heaven. I, myself, struggled for the first three days. It wasn't the moments and work that was causing a problem; I was having a wonderful time. But for the life of me could not figure out why I was there. My ticket was booked 14 days prior to takeoff. And to be honest, I had not once asked myself why I was going. I just was. So, each night at reflection I was silent. Just listening to the others. And for those of you who know me, I am not one to remain quiet! Then later in the week it finally hit me...

On to lighting off a parachute. Our last night there was spent at an orphanage. We picked up 13 pizzas (tuna as a topping, included) and pop to take with us. The children absolutely loved it. But rewind to the moment we arrived. I eagerly walked into the home ahead of the others. In front of me was a boy, who I later learned was 8 year old Orlando, doing handstands down the hallway. But the instant he saw me, he darted down the hall to a different room. I followed his trail and could tell right away he was very shy and possibly a little afraid. After introducing myself and asking his name, age, and commenting on his awesome handstand, I walked back out of the room, giving him time to process everything. When I reached the end of the hall I looked back. There was Orlando poking his head around the corner, waving at me to come back. And that's the moment we clicked. A bond was forming that I would never forget. 

Time for sparks. Let's ignite a fountain. Soon after meeting Orlando, his friend Joshua came running up. We were the three best friends that anyone could have. Both boys only ate one piece of pizza. I thought it was because they were anxious to have their eyes examined. So after the check was complete, I offered them more. Both objected. I was confused. I told them we had plenty and they should at least have one more slice. Orlando quickly said, "I want to know it will be there for my lunch tomorrow." I was taken aback. Here this lively 8 year old was worried about the food he would eat the next day; something no child his age should have to mentally process. I quickly acted and picked out the two pieces they had the first time, wrapped them up, and put them in the fridge. Evidence for them that there would be a piece for each waiting the next day. This was enough to ease their minds about having seconds. This was when my heart started to crumble like the remains of a firecracker. 

But it only got worse. Both boys asked if I had ever been to England. I responded, no. Then they asked if I had ever been to Disney World?!! The emotion in the way they asked reflected the fact that going to Disney was the ultimate dream. Something no one on the island would attain. And then there was me. Sitting there thinking, "Yes. I've been to Disney World twice, and Disneyland once as well." The stinging pain felt like a BlackCat exploding in my hand. Fighting back my sadness, I simply said "yes," then tried to lighten the mood by explaining how cool it was that the city Disney World is located in is Orlando, just like his name! So we spelled it out together and diverted from the pain. Oh how badly I wanted to buy them each a plane ticket back to Florida with me and spend days on end at Disney together. Unfortunately, the questions didn't stop there. Next, each boy wanted to know when I would be back to play with them. Tomorrow? No? Alright, how about Sunday? Not until next year. So, 2014? At that one, I said yes, because it's true. Our church goes each year. But in reality I knew it wasn't possible for me to be back in a year as I would be in school. Another explosion to the heart. 

Once the pizza was eaten, we ran off to play some more. Except that right away I heard one of our leaders call out that it was time to leave. The boys tugged and pulled at my arms. Asking for just one more minute. I explained to the best of my ability that I wanted so badly to stay, but that it was late and we had to travel back to the Marian Home. I can still feel their little bodies holding tight onto mine. Never wanting to let go of me. And I too, never wanted our hugs to end. It took every ounce of me to not let the welling tears fall from my eyes. I held their hands and asked them to promise me with their perfect eyes that they would study hard in school. To promise me they would never give up. Because I knew education was their only chance for hope. My prayer each day now is still the same. It's so easy for children down there, especially orphans, to get in with the "wrong crowd" and lead a disastrous life. I miss my Orlando and Joshua every day. What I would give to be able to adopt them...

After that blow to the heart, it's time for the artillery shells. My lab results. I have said before that I have a love/hate relationship with my medical background and knowledge. And this held true again the day before we set flight for St. Lucia. According to my calculations, the blood samples I had drawn and sent up North should have been processed and read by that day. So naturally I logged onto my Mayo Clinic app and checked it out. Tapping and scrolling. I reached the specific one I was looking for; the one I mentioned last time my doctor wanted to go down and was labeled a potential "false" reading due to the mis-dosed medication the pharmacy gave me. Instead, a big, red arrow. Pointing up. The number had gone up even higher since my appointments in March. What does this all mean? The cancer is creating activity somewhere. The plan initially if it went up was that I would undergo surgery in June to remove my thymus. But the next day right after landing in Miami, my doctor called. She wants to wait. Lab work begins to ignite the firework. But only scans can cause it to explode. Her reasoning for waiting is that we aren't exactly sure where the activity is going on and exactly why it is. Therefore, the new plan is to wait until early November and run through all blood work and scans again. That will show exactly where the cancerous activity is taking place (potential areas of concern: thymus, lymph nodes, and/or lungs), with scheduled surgery over my Christmas break. The only way that will change is if my symptoms progress for the worse. Then things will need to be bumped up. But not really because I'll be full blown into PA school at that point and don't necessarily have the option to push pause. Only time will tell. All in all, nothing new in terms of my health. Just, waiting. So for now, I'll keep racking up a bunch of virtues with all this accumulated patience! 

Now for the grand finale. What was my purpose for being in St. Lucia? After my night at the orphanage I finally spoke up during reflection. I had fought the tears the entire time with the boys and during the ride home, so with the first few words out of my mouth, the flood gates opened. I was there to love. And to be loved in return. Simple as that. Nothing extravagant, yet the most remarkable thing one can feel and experience. A true love for another and knowing they love you just the same. One of my favorite Mother Teresa quotes is this: 

"Being unwanted, unloved, uncared for, forgotten by everybody, I think that is a much greater hunger, a much greater poverty than the person who has nothing to eat....I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love."

And boy, did that love hurt. So badly. I can still feel that hurt today.

To close, the 4th of July is my absolute favorite holiday. The sights, sounds, and smells of fireworks, BBQs, and time with family and friends are unbeatable. It's centered around being together and enjoying the moment. So share some love this weekend. And be forever grateful for the freedoms we have in this country. For just a few thousand miles away there are two boys saving their food to see another day.

Snap, Crackle, Pop!

Keri Ellen