Dealing with the Fear, July 6

I'm into week three of my chemo/radiation therapy and as much as possible for a person without medical training, I think I've got a pretty good handle on the rest of the process.  Chemo/rad through July, about five weeks off for the body to heal, then tumorectomy surgery in early September.  I'm not excited about it, but I'm coming to realize it could be much worse.

Before I get too far removed from the initial diagnostic events and the emotional trauma of that time, I want to capture my thoughts from that time, perhaps for the sake of others who find themselves in that situation.  From my perspective, dealing with the physical aftermath of a cancer diagnosis is far easier than dealing the the emotional effect.

I've decided that waiting for medical results is like watching water boil, knowing that when it does someone is going to pour it all over you.

I talked about the most difficult part of the emotional journey in my extemporaneous comments before communion a couple of weeks ago.  One of the bigger fears a patient deals with during this time is the fear that the cancer is at an advanced stage and has spread to other parts of the body.  When I got a call that additional tests had been ordered, I figured out pretty quickly that they had found additional tumors.  I watched the technicians faces during the abdominal ultrasound and knew they saw something and were trying to get the best possible images for the doctor.  I woke with a start in the middle of the night when I got stabbed with the word "pancreas."  I'll admit it; it was agonizing.

It's impossible to describe the mental gymnastics of waiting through a day for the appointment when you will learn the extent of your cancer.  I'm a spry 49 years old, and in a few minutes some doctor is going to tell me how much time I've got left.  One one extreme, he could say, "Tumor? What tumor?  We just can't find it!"  On the other hand, he just as likely could say, "I'm sorry Mr. Price, but there's nothing we can do.  You should go home and enjoy the next few months."  It's very hard to get your mind wrapped around that concept, I don't care how spiritually mature you are.

I've always had this weird thing going where if I get really nervous about something, I get sleepy.  I guess it's an escape mechanism.  Several hours before my appointment, I just had to go lay down and crash...I don't think the human mind is designed to take that kind of stress long term.  The process of driving to the hospital and sitting in the waiting room seemed almost surreal.  Jacqui Stahl had given me an excellent little book called "Red Sea Rules."  Reading that book (and reminding myself to keep breathing) got me through until time for the appointment.  Charlene was a rock; I could not have survived without her.

Two biblical images helped me deal with the "boiling water" phase of my cancer.  The first was of John the Baptist.  This is a locust eating, leather girdle wearing, Pharisee-attacking desert preacher that Jesus said was the "greatest man ever born of woman."  He jumped and kicked and screamed in utero when Mary came to visit Elizabeth.  He was the first to point out Jesus, "Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world."  John was a real tough guy; think Chuck Norris with a pulpit.

So Herod throws John in prison and John gets a message out to Jesus' disciples (some of whom used to be his disciples).  You may expect this tough guy to come out with some great tough guy phrase, something that people would repeat time and again to celebrate John's bravado in the face of danger.

Nope.  He gets a message out that says, "Ask him if he really is the One, or if we should be looking for someone else."  In the face of death, John's faith was shaken to its core and he wasn't afraid to admit it.  (By the way, you should read Matt 11 to see Jesus' compassionate response.)  John was scared to death.

The second image is of Christ in Gethsemane.  Perhaps the incomprehensible spiritual separation from the Father was foremost on his mind, but the impending physical torture of his human body must also have been a factor in his agony.  He pled with the Father for "the cup" to pass, but he found strength by putting himself into the Father's hands.  

I've tried to imagine how I would have processed the news (and what I would be feeling right now) if my diagnosis had been more grim.  I've got a long, painful journey ahead of me as it is, but at least it appears at this point that this cancer is not going to kill me right now.  I don't know the answer to that question, but based on what I've experienced thus far, I know that Jesus has been through what I'm facing (and more) and that God's presence and the prayers of his people can sustain me through any diagnosis.