It’s been nearly a year since my last entry. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve opened up this page to provide an update, but honestly, sometimes it’s just too hard to talk about it all.
Cancer is hard. That seems like such a “duh” observation — but unless you’ve truly gone through it, the reality of what hard means is much more than can be concretely expressed. It’s often easier to just be like the people who offer their sorries or commiseration and then walk away…if I don’t talk about it, if I don’t reveal the pain and suffering that persists (despite doing really well) then I can detach myself from that world.
Except, I can’t. Not really. Even if cancer isn’t inside my body anymore, it’s effects are still present every single day. Mentally, emotionally and physically, I am forever tied to this harrowing disease. I dream about it, it pervades my thoughts morning, noon and night - and my body feels the remnants of it almost constantly. Not remnants of cancer itself (God willing), but the pain of scar tissue and nerve damage and chemo-caused degeneration. I’ve lost some of my hearing. I have arthritis in my right hand. My rib cage, which was manually opened and closed so many times in 2 years, is frequently painful.
Yet, despite all of this, despite the utter misery that cancer causes — I am here. My God, my good and perfect Father, has allowed me to be here. I get to write about my experience. I get to wash the dishes a gazillion times a week. I get to wake up at 6am and get my son ready for school. I get to cuddle with my sweet and spicy daughter and braid her hair and comfort her and give her bandaids for all her pretend owies. I get to.
“Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful.” Hebrews 10:23.
Tomorrow is scan day. For a long time, I kept viewing Scan Day as the day that decides the next 3 months of my life. But that’s wrong. God decides every day. That said, as much as I want to live and be true to the words of Hebrews 10:23, I will fully and readily admit that I am scared.
I shouldn’t be! My last scans were so wonderful they canceled my radiation oncology appointment. I continue to get my weekly Mistletoe infusions (through which I meet so many wonderful women that have been in remission from “life taking” cancer diagnoses for 5, 10, 13 years). I eat like a rabbit (though you wouldn’t know it as my body forgot how to lose weight), I take probably 20-30 supplements a day, I drink waaattterrrrrr, I drink raw juice. I go to taekwondo and ballet. I do all things that should help my body do what it needs to do — produce healthy, good cells that heal and kill off the cells that forgot how to work right.
The honest truth at the end of the day, however, is that I can spend every minute of every day doing cancer healing things, but it’s God’s will that has the final say. And yes, His will is greater than my own. Yes, there is nothing He does without a plan and that won’t glorify Him — but that doesn’t take away the fear. I’d love to say it does. I’d love to be so brave like some of the people out there who declare they’re not afraid of death because they know where they’re going. But I am afraid. Of dying. Of leaving my children behind. Of leaving so many things unfinished.
I just, I can’t live in the fear. I think that’s what’s key. I have to wake up every single morning and say, “Not today,” then move on. I have to wake up tomorrow, on Scan Day, and say “Today is Yours, Lord.” I have to wake up and say, “I shall not die, but I shall live and recount the deeds of the Lord!” (Psalm 118:17). Because He IS so good. He IS my redeemer. He IS worthy of praise. “Because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you.” (Psalm 63:3).
I have to remember that He loves me. I have to remember that He doesn’t want me to be sick. I have to remember that He is as likely to Heal me as anyone else. I am not worthy, but HE sees me as worthy regardless. I have to remember that His plans for me are different from the plans He had for the friends who He did not heal (on this earth) from cancer last year. Just because their answer was “no” (in the earthly, physical sense) doesn’t mean the same for me.
So, I must hold on to hope. My hope in the Cross. My hope in Jesus Christ, the Great Physician, who died that I might be healed. In September of last year I was told the cancer had spread all over my lungs. By October, all the spots but one were gone and the one that was left is considered inactive. This is not for nothing. The faithfulness of my God is never-ending. I pray that He allows me to live, that He fully heals and restores my earthly body so that I can spend the next 40 years telling people how He saved me, not once but twice. Once on the Cross, and again when death seeped into my cells but He told death “no more.”
Did I mention I turned 40 last month? Did I mention I achieved my next belt in taekwondo? Did I mention I joined a ballet class and even after 25 years, two children, an extra 50 lbs and cancer, it’s like I never left? Did I mention I’m contracted to publish my first ever Christian fiction-fantasy book? “Even when we don’t see it He’s working.”
Say that again. Even when we don’t see it, He’s working. He told Death “no more.” It is done. It is finished. Jireh. Everlasting.
He told Death, “no more.”
My Father in Heaven, have mercy on me and my family tomorrow. Continue to bring me abundant healing, that I may worship you here on earth and people will see Your glory through my testimony. In Jesus’ Name.
