UPDATE WRITTEN ON 11-17-08:
I went to my pre-op appointment on Monday, November 17 thinking I would do blood work, etc. Instead, my doctor had thought of another procedure he could try in the office to get a biopsy! Those biopsy results should be back by Wednesday, November 19. Pray that they will be. You'll see why this is so very important as you read on. I may still have to have the surgical biopsy on Thursday, November 20. I will not know for sure about that until the nurse calls me on Wednesday with the results from Monday's biopsy. So, I still need and appreciate your prayers. If I do have to have the hospital procedure, please pray that it can be done with no complications this time. Just like everyone who has to have a biopsy--a good, clear, benign report is something I'd like to have. I will let you know what I can as soon as I am told about if the surgery is on or off and what the biopsy report is from Monday &/or Thursday. Knowing that you are praying means so very much.
UPDATE WRITTEN ON 11-19-08:
Dr. Rahhal called me around 10:50 am on Thursday, November 19 and he did not have good news. The biopsy from Monday does show malignancy for endometrial cancer. This will involve a hysterectomy and removal of nodes. He is referring me to an ob/gyn/oncologist, Dr. D. Scott McMeekin; this doctor was in surgery this morning and Dr. Rahhal was unable to discuss my case with him. When Dr. Rahhal hears back from Dr. McMeekin I will be contacted again today and I will see the new doctor as soon as we can get an appointment. Dr. McMeekin’s office is over by University Hospital and that is where he usually does surgery, but sometimes he will come to Mercy and do surgery w/ Dr. Rahhal. For my Mom’s sake, would you pray that the surgery can be done at Mercy? She just could not drive back and forth to University Hospital by herself. Pray especially for her—Momma Faye—she is taking this very hard. (She was doing better this afternoon when I called to check on her. I have stayed at work as a way of coping.) Also, please pray that I could have surgery before the end of the year because that would help out financially. My insurance deductible is $1500 and I have already met that with all of these tests this autumn. If I have to wait until January, then the deductible starts over as you know. Okay—as my grandma Dovie used to say “Take life as it comes, not as you order it.” God is still in control and is faithful and good. I was able to tell Dr. Rahhal that Christians have hope beyond today and he agreed, so there's already been an opportunity to say a good word to someone about our marvelous God. Dr. Rahhal also said that if you’re going to have to have cancer that this is the kind to have because of the high cure rate. They will not be able to stage it until the actual surgery. Thanks for your prayer support and words of encouragement. Mom and I need them now more than ever. Please check up on Mom in person, by mail, or on the phone as often as you can.
The good news? I do not have to have the hospital biopsy on November 20.
Love & prayers to you and yours,
JFB
Showing posts with label Grandma Dovie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Grandma Dovie. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Friday, October 24, 2008
A Few Quotes
"Take life as it comes,
not as you order it."
~Dovie Velma Drye (Grandma)
"None of us is as effective
as all of us."
~Janet F. Broyles
"Never make a long-term decision based on
a short-term emotion."
~Janet F. Broyles
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© by Janet Faye Broyles 09-29-04 & 10-23-08 Edmond, Oklahoma
These quotes are protected by copyright laws and may not be reprinted or posted to a site without permission from Janet F. Broyles. All readers are welcome to forward the quotes to a friend or link to it. If you would like to seek permission to reprint the devotional in full, please leave a message for me here.
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Tuesday, June 24, 2008
"Wheat Field Memories"
When I got home from work tonight I opened the blinds so that I could watch the birds at the bird feeders in my back yard. I saw a few birds, but the most surprising thing was--I saw something that made me think back to wheat harvest time on our farm.
We usually tried to cut wheat around Memorial Day, but it was most often early in June when the wheat was ripe for harvesting. Daddy, Grandpa Wallace, and Uncle Victor would rotate jobs in the wheat field: one would run the combine, one would drive a truck to the grain elevator, and one would stay with a truck in the field awaiting the next time the combine bin was full and ready to dump a load of wheat. Mom, Grandma Dovie, and I would share the work of preparing food for all the harvest hands, driving to get parts for a broken-down truck or combine, driving a truck to the elevator when they were short-handed, etc.
Harvesting wheat was hot, dirty work since it was in the days when neither a combine or a truck had an air conditioner. Daddy wore goggles to keep wheat chaff, straw, bugs, etc. out of his eyes. When he'd take his goggles off, he very often looked like a little racoon-in-reverse because his face was so dark with dirt, but he had white places where his goggles had been around his eyes.
I was always glad to see Daddy when he stopped to dump the wheat and get a drink of water. I'd run up to him and give him a big hug even if he was covered with dirt from head to toe. Very often there was the smell of grease on his hands and clothing because of all the work that had to be done on the old farm equipment to keep it running. All of that mixed with old-fashioned sweat made for a rustic blend of a scent I'll call "farm aftershave." I didn't care what he smelled like when I hugged him--he was my Daddy!
Sometimes Daddy would go to the small toolbox built in to the combine and I'd stand at his side in eager anticipation. Now why would that be something a child would anticipate with eagerness? Who'd get excited about seeing a greasy wrench, grimy pliers, or a dirty hammer? The reason for anticipation was not the tools that were in the toolbox, but what was sitting on top of the tools.
Daddy would barely open the toolbox with one hand and reach gingerly inside with his other hand. I'd be peering inside the box as best I could in order to see what treasure Daddy was going to pull out, all-the-while knowing what it was going to be. I wanted to jump up and down with excitement, but if I did it might scare away what was bound to be something that could move faster than me and rapidly disappear into the wheat field.
S-l-o-w-l-y Daddy would pull out the brown and white package and place it carefully in my outstretched, closely-cupped hands. I could feel the racing heartbeat against my palms and its fur was as soft as the velvet on one of my bedroom pillows. It's whiskers tickled my fingers and it's long ears twitched in the sunlight, showing how pink they were on the inside. Daddy couldn't pull a rabbit out of a hat like a magician, but he certainly could pull a young cotton-tail bunny out of the toolbox on the combine. I couldn't have been more thrilled to receive that bunny than if Daddy had pulled out a new bicycle from the toolbox. The bunny was mine to take to the house and take care of for a few days before Daddy and Momma would "help" me decide that I'd better let it go back home to its parents in the wheat field.
Yes--the surprise in my back yard tonight was a young rabbit, much too big to fit in a combine toolbox though. The only other time I have seen a rabbit in or near my yard was the day I came to look at this house when it was on the market, and that was in August 2007.
For several minutes I took pictures through my east living room window because I knew if I opened the door even a little that it would hop away. It stayed quite a while eating grass, stretching out in the dirt, and even closing its eyes for a few moments to take a nap.
I was sad to see it hop off, much like I was as a child when I returned my harvest bunny to the wheat field. However, the rabbit tonight came back for another wallow in the dirt and another nibble of grass. Maybe it knew that it was stirring up memories from deep within me and that I needed to be nostalgic a while longer.
My Grandpa Broyles was a rabbit ya know. But then, that's another story for another time.
Thanks for reading and have a "hoppy" evening! =o)
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© 06-24-08 by Janet F. Broyles
This story is protected by copyright laws and may not be reprinted or posted to a site without permission from Janet F. Broyles. All readers are welcome to forward the devotional to a friend or link to it. If you would like to seek permission to reprint the devotional in full, please leave a message for me here.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
We usually tried to cut wheat around Memorial Day, but it was most often early in June when the wheat was ripe for harvesting. Daddy, Grandpa Wallace, and Uncle Victor would rotate jobs in the wheat field: one would run the combine, one would drive a truck to the grain elevator, and one would stay with a truck in the field awaiting the next time the combine bin was full and ready to dump a load of wheat. Mom, Grandma Dovie, and I would share the work of preparing food for all the harvest hands, driving to get parts for a broken-down truck or combine, driving a truck to the elevator when they were short-handed, etc.
Harvesting wheat was hot, dirty work since it was in the days when neither a combine or a truck had an air conditioner. Daddy wore goggles to keep wheat chaff, straw, bugs, etc. out of his eyes. When he'd take his goggles off, he very often looked like a little racoon-in-reverse because his face was so dark with dirt, but he had white places where his goggles had been around his eyes.
I was always glad to see Daddy when he stopped to dump the wheat and get a drink of water. I'd run up to him and give him a big hug even if he was covered with dirt from head to toe. Very often there was the smell of grease on his hands and clothing because of all the work that had to be done on the old farm equipment to keep it running. All of that mixed with old-fashioned sweat made for a rustic blend of a scent I'll call "farm aftershave." I didn't care what he smelled like when I hugged him--he was my Daddy!
Sometimes Daddy would go to the small toolbox built in to the combine and I'd stand at his side in eager anticipation. Now why would that be something a child would anticipate with eagerness? Who'd get excited about seeing a greasy wrench, grimy pliers, or a dirty hammer? The reason for anticipation was not the tools that were in the toolbox, but what was sitting on top of the tools.
Daddy would barely open the toolbox with one hand and reach gingerly inside with his other hand. I'd be peering inside the box as best I could in order to see what treasure Daddy was going to pull out, all-the-while knowing what it was going to be. I wanted to jump up and down with excitement, but if I did it might scare away what was bound to be something that could move faster than me and rapidly disappear into the wheat field.
S-l-o-w-l-y Daddy would pull out the brown and white package and place it carefully in my outstretched, closely-cupped hands. I could feel the racing heartbeat against my palms and its fur was as soft as the velvet on one of my bedroom pillows. It's whiskers tickled my fingers and it's long ears twitched in the sunlight, showing how pink they were on the inside. Daddy couldn't pull a rabbit out of a hat like a magician, but he certainly could pull a young cotton-tail bunny out of the toolbox on the combine. I couldn't have been more thrilled to receive that bunny than if Daddy had pulled out a new bicycle from the toolbox. The bunny was mine to take to the house and take care of for a few days before Daddy and Momma would "help" me decide that I'd better let it go back home to its parents in the wheat field.
Yes--the surprise in my back yard tonight was a young rabbit, much too big to fit in a combine toolbox though. The only other time I have seen a rabbit in or near my yard was the day I came to look at this house when it was on the market, and that was in August 2007.
For several minutes I took pictures through my east living room window because I knew if I opened the door even a little that it would hop away. It stayed quite a while eating grass, stretching out in the dirt, and even closing its eyes for a few moments to take a nap.
I was sad to see it hop off, much like I was as a child when I returned my harvest bunny to the wheat field. However, the rabbit tonight came back for another wallow in the dirt and another nibble of grass. Maybe it knew that it was stirring up memories from deep within me and that I needed to be nostalgic a while longer.
My Grandpa Broyles was a rabbit ya know. But then, that's another story for another time.
Thanks for reading and have a "hoppy" evening! =o)
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
© 06-24-08 by Janet F. Broyles
This story is protected by copyright laws and may not be reprinted or posted to a site without permission from Janet F. Broyles. All readers are welcome to forward the devotional to a friend or link to it. If you would like to seek permission to reprint the devotional in full, please leave a message for me here.
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