29. I Forget I have Cancer. And Then...
My friend Roger passed away. His wife Sue and I go all the way back to First Grade and Laurel Elementary School in Junction City, Oregon. Her parents had a neat old house with a front porch on 6th Street, and I lived just outside of the city limits on the same street. Roger began attending the same school as Sue and I sometime around the middle school years. They became sweethearts in High School and married soon after graduation, paralleling my courtship with Juli and married around the same time.
Thirteen or so years ago Roger was diagnosed with cancer. We reconnected via FaceBook as so many of us have, and along with that reconnection came the knowledge of his battle and I watched the slow trek toward a physical battle lost.
When I was first diagnosed in December, my own news seemed to get worse and worse with each subsequent appointment. There were lots of tears and fears all wrapped up in the latest test result. As time went on and treatments began, the news improved and the potential for living a normal life, albeit with the occasional injection or infusion, seemed to be a stronger and stronger possibility. It has been absolutely wonderful over this past week as my body emerges from the final period of nadir to begin feeling some energy and stamina.
I can almost forget I have cancer.
What do I say to Sue? She has been a rock for Roger and their children and grandchildren. But now he is gone. I don't want to be like Job's friends who offered really stupid analysis and would have been much better remaining quiet. But Sue and Roger have something in common with Juli and I. We have turned our faces toward God in humble obedience, trusting Him, and experiencing His comforting Presence as well as His all-wise guidance.
Sue knows Roger is still alive. Roger's soul did not pass away, his body just quit working. He is "Absent from the body, present with the Lord" as we are taught in the Holy Scriptures. As Christians, we also believe and hope in the Resurrection, a time in the future when all will be recreated, when all those who face Jesus in obedience will receive new bodies without the tendency to disease and decay. Perfect bodies.
Someone described the process as analogous to the way a caterpillar becomes a butterfly. There is continuity between the two in that the butterfly that proceeds from a caterpillar is the same being, yet the caterpillar in essence dies before becoming a butterfly. As a caterpillar it is basically blind and crawls everywhere, an eating machine, yet after its metamorphosis it can fly, is beautiful, can see color...
Hope.
Cancer is not the end. Death is not the end.
I've been reading a novel by Garth Stein called The Art of Racing in the Rain. I love to follow Formula 1 car racing and the title of the book grabbed me when my "adopted daughter" Stacy sent me a picture of the bookshelf at our church's Giant Garage Sale a few weeks ago. Stacy and I share a love of reading, so while I was stuck at home recovering from chemo, she sent me pictures of books and bought them for me for 50 cents a piece. I'm pretty sure she paid 25 cents each and is charging me double as a finders fee. (Granted, she picked up a classic for a song - The Total Woman by Marabel Morgan - a clear winner, and I haven't actually paid her for any of them yet!)
The Art of Racing in the Rain has a Golden Retriever on the cover, another reason it appealed to me, and as I began to read, I discovered it is a family story from the perspective of a dog. A philosopher dog even. And the more I read, the sadder I became.
I'm about halfway through the book (spoiler alert) and the husband in the book is about to lose his wife to brain cancer. The hopelessness is deadening. Eve, his wife, has been experiencing headaches and dizziness for some time, but has been deathly afraid of going to the doctor as though she knows something is seriously wrong and wishes to remain in denial. Of course the dog knew this was coming for some time since he could smell the disease at an early stage. When it is finally discovered, Eve remains in the hospital for weeks after surgery until finally being discharged to a full-size hospital bed in the living room of her parents home. There she can be cared for by a full time nurse and her parents while her husband works, cares for their little girl and the dog. But Eve wants the dog with her, right by her bed and the fear she experiences over those first few nights is palpable. She begs the air not to die in the night and keeps the dog close by to protect her from death.
She begs the air.
Oh how hopeless one must feel to beg the air. I felt her fear right then for myself and began to tear up. I thought of Sue being alone without Roger, and I thought of my sweet Juli being alone.
Juli knew something wasn't right as we turned out the lights. We held hands in the dark as I contemplated the darkness of soul that Eve felt in the story knowing she was going to die and soon. The memories of those first weeks of my diagnosis came flooding back and I was reminded that I am not OK. I have cancer and there is a good chance that it will be the cause of my death.
But Eve was without hope, and I am not. We are all going to die of our last disease. I love gravestone humor and laugh when I remember the one with the inscription, "I told you I was sick!" I do not place my ultimate hope in getting well or being cured, although I do ask God for that if that is His desire. My hope is in what comes after death whatever the cause of death may be. My hope is placed in the Source of hope. As Jesus said to the woman at the well, I will give you water and you will never thirst again. He is the water of life.
If I have posted the following Orthodox prayer before, please forgive me, but it so clearly portrays a proper attitude toward illness and our position before Almighty God that it instructs better than I can describe using my own words:
Thirteen or so years ago Roger was diagnosed with cancer. We reconnected via FaceBook as so many of us have, and along with that reconnection came the knowledge of his battle and I watched the slow trek toward a physical battle lost.
When I was first diagnosed in December, my own news seemed to get worse and worse with each subsequent appointment. There were lots of tears and fears all wrapped up in the latest test result. As time went on and treatments began, the news improved and the potential for living a normal life, albeit with the occasional injection or infusion, seemed to be a stronger and stronger possibility. It has been absolutely wonderful over this past week as my body emerges from the final period of nadir to begin feeling some energy and stamina.
I can almost forget I have cancer.
What do I say to Sue? She has been a rock for Roger and their children and grandchildren. But now he is gone. I don't want to be like Job's friends who offered really stupid analysis and would have been much better remaining quiet. But Sue and Roger have something in common with Juli and I. We have turned our faces toward God in humble obedience, trusting Him, and experiencing His comforting Presence as well as His all-wise guidance.
Sue knows Roger is still alive. Roger's soul did not pass away, his body just quit working. He is "Absent from the body, present with the Lord" as we are taught in the Holy Scriptures. As Christians, we also believe and hope in the Resurrection, a time in the future when all will be recreated, when all those who face Jesus in obedience will receive new bodies without the tendency to disease and decay. Perfect bodies.
Someone described the process as analogous to the way a caterpillar becomes a butterfly. There is continuity between the two in that the butterfly that proceeds from a caterpillar is the same being, yet the caterpillar in essence dies before becoming a butterfly. As a caterpillar it is basically blind and crawls everywhere, an eating machine, yet after its metamorphosis it can fly, is beautiful, can see color...
Hope.
Cancer is not the end. Death is not the end.
I've been reading a novel by Garth Stein called The Art of Racing in the Rain. I love to follow Formula 1 car racing and the title of the book grabbed me when my "adopted daughter" Stacy sent me a picture of the bookshelf at our church's Giant Garage Sale a few weeks ago. Stacy and I share a love of reading, so while I was stuck at home recovering from chemo, she sent me pictures of books and bought them for me for 50 cents a piece. I'm pretty sure she paid 25 cents each and is charging me double as a finders fee. (Granted, she picked up a classic for a song - The Total Woman by Marabel Morgan - a clear winner, and I haven't actually paid her for any of them yet!)
The Art of Racing in the Rain has a Golden Retriever on the cover, another reason it appealed to me, and as I began to read, I discovered it is a family story from the perspective of a dog. A philosopher dog even. And the more I read, the sadder I became.
I'm about halfway through the book (spoiler alert) and the husband in the book is about to lose his wife to brain cancer. The hopelessness is deadening. Eve, his wife, has been experiencing headaches and dizziness for some time, but has been deathly afraid of going to the doctor as though she knows something is seriously wrong and wishes to remain in denial. Of course the dog knew this was coming for some time since he could smell the disease at an early stage. When it is finally discovered, Eve remains in the hospital for weeks after surgery until finally being discharged to a full-size hospital bed in the living room of her parents home. There she can be cared for by a full time nurse and her parents while her husband works, cares for their little girl and the dog. But Eve wants the dog with her, right by her bed and the fear she experiences over those first few nights is palpable. She begs the air not to die in the night and keeps the dog close by to protect her from death.
She begs the air.
Oh how hopeless one must feel to beg the air. I felt her fear right then for myself and began to tear up. I thought of Sue being alone without Roger, and I thought of my sweet Juli being alone.
Juli knew something wasn't right as we turned out the lights. We held hands in the dark as I contemplated the darkness of soul that Eve felt in the story knowing she was going to die and soon. The memories of those first weeks of my diagnosis came flooding back and I was reminded that I am not OK. I have cancer and there is a good chance that it will be the cause of my death.
But Eve was without hope, and I am not. We are all going to die of our last disease. I love gravestone humor and laugh when I remember the one with the inscription, "I told you I was sick!" I do not place my ultimate hope in getting well or being cured, although I do ask God for that if that is His desire. My hope is in what comes after death whatever the cause of death may be. My hope is placed in the Source of hope. As Jesus said to the woman at the well, I will give you water and you will never thirst again. He is the water of life.
If I have posted the following Orthodox prayer before, please forgive me, but it so clearly portrays a proper attitude toward illness and our position before Almighty God that it instructs better than I can describe using my own words:
"Merciful Lord, the true comfort and hope of those who suffer, I entreat that You accept the prayers which I offer to You in my affliction. Grant that this sickness which You have permitted to come upon me may bring me closer to You and lead me to a more righteous life.
Master, You send down upon us both affliction and consolation. You are the Lord of life and health. You alone can raise me up from my bed of sickness. Without Your gracious help I cannot hope to recover.
It is true that I am a sinner unworthy of Your mercy. But because of Your goodness You receive everyone who turns to You with a humble heart and a repentant spirit.
My Lord, Jesus Christ, have mercy on me. Say to me as You said to the sinful woman, “Your sins are forgiven.” Surely I will not forget Your warning to the paralyzed man, “Sin no more, that nothing worse befall you.” My health is in Your hands. You need say only the word and I will get well again. Yet Your will, not mine, be done. You know best what leads to my health and my salvation. You have bestowed many blessings upon me throughout my life, and I pray that You will not forsake me now, in this time of sickness.
I bless and glorify Your name, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, now and ever and to the ages of ages. Amen."
I did not go to sleep with a soul parched from darkness and thirst. I went to sleep with hope.I bless and glorify Your name, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, now and ever and to the ages of ages. Amen."
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