Exit Taylor Street

 Sometimes Life can get rather messy, just like Ella in her highchair. Crumbs ramble around us sifting in between everything that we are. Those crumbs can never be returned to their original cookie state, but goodness can still be derived from them. 

As it is in each and every day, our lives may crumble, but the pieces can still create something great. Born from mere imperfection, the mosaic we create can be strong and beautiful. 

I rambled on and on talking my friend Liz's ear off. Pure nervous energy as we traveled into the city to see a new medical oncologist. I recently was made aware the Axonal sensory Polyneuropathy I have been battling was likely due to medication I have been taking to keep my breast cancer from metastasizing. I have been desperate for some answers, and a pathway to restore my health. The neurologist at UIC gave me little hope that things could ever get better and painted a picture of progressive pain and weakness with an abbreviated life. Afterall, I had asked her to be honest, and that she was. 

She, however, did refer me to a medical oncologist specializing Soley in breast cancer. We pulled up to the valet and walked across the street to a building I had never been in before. I registered and took a seat, waiting to be called. 

Shortly I was called and met by a lovely medical assistant who took me back to the exam room. She was wonderful, and Liz and I quickly settled in. I had never seen this doctor, I didn't know what to expect, but I knew if he could help me, it would be a great relief. My questions were soon to be put into perspective in a kind and succinct way. With a short knock on the door, the doctor entered. His soulful eyes immediately engaged me. He had reviewed my medical history with the precision of a Rolex. There was no bit of information I could tell him that he was not already aware of. He explained my condition and its relationship to the cancer drug I have been taking for over 2 years with humility and eloquence. I have never before met a doctor like this, he was truly a cut above the rest. I hung onto every word, taking it all in like a long cool drink on an August day. He laid out a plan, promised to coordinate with other providers, and just like that, a cloud was lifted. 

He made no promises, but hoped a change in medication could help slow the progression of the neuro-muscular disease while still keeping the breast cancer from metastasizing.  At that moment, I felt strongly God had planted a miracle on my lap. I can honestly say, I have never felt such a strong presence of God in an exam room. 

I know that I will never be "better" but at least we have identified how this happened and are able to move forward. 

To tell you Axonal Sensory Polyneuropathy is a gift may not make sense to you, but it makes perfect sense to me. God is calling me closer to him, drawing me in to feel his perfect love in light of my imperfection. I will be a presence of his Glory through it all. And that, is a divine gift. 

Before my doctor left the room, he turned to me and said, "I'm a hugger" with tears falling down my face, I said, "I am too". That hug was absolutely Heaven sent.