Changing moons...

It's been awhile, a long absence from sharing here; a flashback through several months;

February; taking some of holiday time in Tanzanzia, Kafero and I hiked Mt. Meru, overlooking

Mt. Kiliminjaro with impeccable timing, in amazement hiking during the night to reach the summit by sunrise, we were lit by the full moon, and guided by the southern cross above the summit. Winds howled, rocky ledges, alpine temperatures, the full moon was whisked away by the lunar eclipse, and as we reached nearly 16,000 foot summit, the sun rose over Mt. Kiliminjaro as if it was rejoicing in the triumph of making the journey.
March; Lake Bunynoni near the border of DRCongo and Rwanda on our R/R (rest/relaxation) week from the field, bordering. Relaxing tents with views overlooking the water and mountains, boat rides, wonderful fruit salads, coffee and chats. A decadent week of breathing and reflecting.
March 14th, departed for the US to return for my second thyroid cancer surgery, a much anticipated return, which was expected to only be several weeks at home proved to reveal more medical attention that any of us anticipated. Time with family and friends was just lovely and I’ve learned much more about asking for support when feeling the need for it. April; The medical world feels overwhelming and intimidating when every day you are faced with more information, studies, recommendations, treatment plans, percentages of this and that, sign this, take this pill, surgery here, body scan for this, lymph node uptake, other cancer risks. It felt like a full time job, that I didn’t apply for, nor wanted. However, I must show up for this job every day, and for the 2 months of medical mayhem, I learned how to make the most out of it. After the tears of frustration and fear are dried up, what do you do next? Maybe yoga in the backyard with Jason? Paint portraits with Amanda? Write poems? Draw? Call friends? Pray? Make a cancer documentary ? Try experiments with your radioactive treatment beams ? Laugh about it ? Giggle with baby Eli ? Ask my dad how he coped with his cancer ? Watch 1950 films with mom? Cook African soup with Jill ? call Kafero to feel how life and love is nurturing? Support from Alissa with social stories? Listen to Annas encouragement about prayer ? Open up a letter from Katy? A book of poems from Lovella ? Analyze life with Garee and realize through the power of question, what my future path may hold through clarity and learning with art? Connect with others that have cancer? Read about nutrition and make changes to what I’m putting in my body ? Also, through the contemplation of life and choices of how we spend our time, refined a bit of my focus perhaps. Connecting with people and sharing moments has always been dear to my heart, but had a new sense of what that meant. I still feel blessed, and somewhat guilty about having the choices, to have the choices in this medical care; because I realize some of us are of the few percentage in the world who have access to medical care, insurance, and options for treatment. When finishing my treatments, scans, bloodtests and maximizing what could be done in those moments, I organized a Creative Healing Celebration at the Joy Center in Ishpeming, which was a touching evening of family and friends sharing stories of hope and healing. It was such a positive ending to this part of the cancer journey at home; and realizing that the support around us is so meaningful and necessary at times like this. We gather for many reasons in life; graduation, birthdays, births, weddings, deaths, baby showers....what about healing? It was a lovely time; and a sense of closure.

A short time after that ceremony in May, came shock to our family. My maternal Grandpa Withers, passed away on the morning of 15 May, and my paternal Grandpa Sheridan passed away 24 hours later, on my dad's birthday. So, as I was thankful I was not back in Africa when this happened, with mourning also comes family connecting; and with both funerals the following week came both tears of sadness, and joy of having a deeper understanding of their lives, not just as Grandpas, but in the eyes of childhood friends, husbands, fathers, and loved ones. As they are greatly missed; they touched so many lives here; and that will live on.
June; Being back in Patongo IDP camp now for about 4 weeks has been a joyous time of reconnecting with my work team here, community people and friends. It also means so much to be able to come back to Uganda in the healing process, because it represents 1) my life to share with others is continuing and 2) I am healthy to come back to the calling and purpose I feel ; refining that calling and what I'm putting energy into is changing though. I have felt this is the right time to move into psycho-social work with children in Northern Uganda; so I will be leaving Medair July, and connecting with some organizations around that I can contribute with the children of this area. I feel so enthused about this, and am looking forward to the transition and keeping my heart in Uganda.

Africa...cancer?....Africa

So, now its the final leg of flights; tomorrow, Oct. 15th, I'll be departing Kampala, Uganda and arriving in my new home, the Patongo displacement camp in Northern Uganda. Home to approximately 30,000 Acholi people displaced by the 20 year war.

I've been moving around now for about 4 months, training in Geneva, tasting Morocco, enjoying and packing up life in Portland, Oregon, heading back to my home territory in the UP of Michigan, mom, dad, Amanda, Leah, baby Eli's birthday (1!), then in September, departing for a HQ briefing with Medair in Geneva, and directly from there onto Uganda, East Africa. Well, at least that last part was my plan, but clearly it wasn't the plan.

While in Geneva, on September 6th, 12 hours from catching my much anticipated flight to mark the beginning of my new home in Africa, I received an email from my dad. It contained words I didn't want to read, and once I did, I wish I hadn't, or maybe I just had hoped they wouldn't be true. They had just got a report back from the doctor and I did indeed have cancer in my neck, attached to my thyroid. I had to fly home immediately. So, holding a boarding pass for Uganda in one hand, and reading this news on the screen, my mind went blank, I couldn't speak, but I could feel tears rolling down my cheeks. Recycling my ticket to Africa, 10 minutes later I bought a flight home, and literally it was my ticket to life. Why? Because I realize that I was headed to this displacement camp, where if I was a 26 year women born and living there, I would have no access to a chiropractor, thank you Dr. Kalbeida in Marquette, who would have noticed a lump, nor would I have health care at my fingertips, surgeons who rearrange their schedules, endocrinologists who squeeze me in when they don't have openings, labs who rush order, radiologists and nurses who do a procedure on a weekend when they usually never do, and insurance to cover all of it. If I was born in that camp, it would be nearly impossible to have access to all of that, and I would probably just have been a person who died young. So why are we privileged to receive all that? And will they someday have the same care available? I have more questions than answers about this spinning idea.

With many conversations with the surgeon, doctors, research articles, my parents and I tried to make the best decision we could about the surgery to remove the cancer, thyroid, lymph nodes. Because most medicine is based on statistics, there wasn't a clear way to go with this situation, whether to remove 1/2 the thyroid or the whole thing. Both having pros and cons, it felt like I was asking for directions to a place that didn't exist. Every situation had 2 sides, and not a clear way to fall. My head felt like it was at the limit of processing what to do. The surgery day came and went, the 5 hour procedure going well, despite my nerves higher than I've ever felt them. Dr. Heichel is a phenomenal surgeon and took great care opening up such a delicate part on the body; vocal chords, jugular, and other major parts running through this area. Removing the cancerous tumor, 1.4 cm, a lymph node and the left side of my thyroid; I then was waiting for the results of the thorough biopsy of the 3 items they removed.

Perhaps I had thought of that question before, what would I do if I was informed that my life would be shortened? How would I take that news? Would I live differently now? Am I doing what I feel I should be, loving the people I'm with, serving those in the world? If the cancer spread to my lymph nodes, and my life would be cut significantly, what would I do in that time? I had to be ready to hear that....and I'm not sure that I was. The good news was that it had not spread farther than the tumor, and although I will have another surgery, it wasn't necessary now, and could wait awhile. So, pondering some of the hardest thoughts I've had to face, in a short period of time, hoping I made all the right decisions...as my mom told me "if you want to live an interesting life Kathleen, first you have to have a life to live". Recovering at home was peaceful; flowers arrived at the house everyday from loved ones, walks were taken among the fall leaves, canoe rides under the moonlight, laughs sitting my the lake, painting with my sisters, hiking with Eli. And I realize that just because I wasn't told that my life is going to end shorter, doesn't mean that it won't, or yours won't. But, what it does mean is that I have a new feeling inside of me about a "day", and it's hard to put words to it.

With mom and dad in Portland, Oregon

Mama Leah, with Eli Enjoying a night out with my sister Amanda, and friend Jason

I flew to Africa 10 days after my surgery, recovered enough to fly, and healed enough physically to make the long flight. The second goodbye to everyone meant something different from the first; the love and support was reached at a new level and I was now able to continue on my life plans, where as before, it was just a given. When something is questioned or disappears, it gives new meaning to it when you can safely hold it again, and this time with gentle hands. Life.

Eli with his "superstar" pose after a hike up Sugarloaf Mountain