SEEING THE FOREST FOR THE TREES
It’s true. They say sometimes you cannot see the forest for the tree. It’s very true. Sometimes you cannot see the big picture when surrounded by all the stuff that gets in the way of your view. Details, feelings, other people’s feelings. It’s been one of those weeks. I’m glad it’s over.
We headed to Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN on June 4, for a scheduled MRI at 8:30 p.m. that evening. It was to check on the progress of the gamma knife surgery in January.
If anyone asked, I didn’t feel very anxious about the test. I’ve had them before. (There’s one of the trees.) By the time 8 p.m. rolled around, we were at one of the many front desks in that enormous complex checking in. Everyone at Mayo is so nice and considerate and helpful that you don’t know you are there for a life-threatening disease. (There’s another tree.) All day, my friends and family, also very there for me, sent messages of support and prayer emojis through Facebook, and the forest thickened.
At check-in, I was handed three pieces of paper and asked to fill the front and back of the first two while waiting. Another couple of trees — literally. It was a questionnaire about anything and everything imaginable that could be wrong with me. Very few questions pertained to anything wrong with me, but I did check yes to wearing a Fitbit and have a port on the left side of my chest. No one looked at that paperwork from that point on except myself.
I think filling out the questionnaire was meant to keep me busy while I waited.
It wasn’t long until my name was called and my patient ID was flashed on the screen above the rows and rows of chairs in the waiting area. So that you know, the wait times at Mayo are somehow so short it makes you wonder if you are the only person they are tending to at that time. (Another tree?)
The video display was to let spouses and friends know what was happening to a patient the entire time they disappeared behind closed doors. Something to keep them occupied while they wait.
In the prep room, we went through all the questions again verbally, the nurse accessed my port and I was granted a sedative to calm me down. (That placed several trees in front of my field of view.) Then off to the MRI tube which was not entirely a closed unit, but rather the top opened to a video of Norway. I wanted to see the Antarctic instead, but oh well, that request was ignored. I closed my eyes most of the time anyway still feeling a bit claustrophobic.
Thirty minutes later I was out of the tube to get unhooked, unlabeled, and set free. It was done, back to the hotel room for a well-deserved rest after a long long day.
Wednesday morning we were finishing breakfast when the phone rang. Medical was the only word on the caller ID, so I had to answer it.
“Is this Sue Balcom?”
“Yes.”
“Can you come to the doctor’s office right now? The doctor can fit you in now or about noon.”
“We are stopping at our room and will be right over.” I didn’t think anything of the call except getting the test results sooner than I expected. Not once did I ponder whether this meant good news or bad. I still didn’t think I was experiencing stress.
It took no time at all for the doctor to see us. We spent 15 minutes in his office marveling at the 4,750 images of my brain. It was great news and everyone was smiling.
Some tumors were so small they were reduced to little ghosted images. The largest tumor at the base of my head next to my spine had shrunk 40 percent one way and 66 percent the other. Remember: radiation is the gift that keeps on giving. So maybe, hopefully, the tumor will continue to shrink to nothing. The news was mind-numbing for me.
We kept our reservation and stayed in Rochester to enjoy dinner with my nephew and his family. the next day we headed to Fargo for a family reunion.
Once checked into a new hotel, there was a cumulative release of stress and we could once again see the entire forest. The treatment was working. I had no idea how stressful the week and days leading up to the test was. Now, we could breathe. I rolled in and out of bed all day Friday except for lunch and a family dinner at 6 p.m.
When we arrived on Thursday afternoon, I had a short visit with an old friend that circled God’s idea of a “purposeful life.” It was good to see someone I have known and kept in touch with for nearly 50 years.
Later that day, I received this text message.
So last night, when I was getting Oliver ready for bed, he said, “My VBS leader asked if we had anything we wanted to pray about. I told them my Grandma Sue is sick, so I wanted to pray for that.”
Then, the next day, you said your scans were good, and Oliver said, “Prayers really do work because you got some good news!”
I just thought that was so sweet 🥹 🙏 — Kelsey
Be still my heart. I served a life purpose with my illness, I did nothing, but God planted the seed of witness in Oliver’s heart because of me. For someone only 7 years old to understand about prayer. It brought me to tears.
I emerged from the forest to see the power of prayer.
INDYchildrendotme 
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