After my team had time to take their findings from my exploratory surgery to ultimately confirm my current diagnosis of Stage 4 Appendix Cancer and to “map” it out (in hopes that I am still a candidate for the Cyto-reductive surgery/HIPEC)…a few plans were changed, again. I am still in the window for candidacy of the surgery right now but that window is sliding by quickly; if it spreads too much more, this cancer will be classified as inoperable. And that is unthinkable to me right now. Even if Chemo has stopped it from spreading to my vital organs and lymph nodes, it is not stopping the cancer I already have from growing and spreading in my abdomen. So, we stopped the somewhat ineffective chemo, and today was my last round, I made it through 9 rounds of a chemotherapy my body can’t properly process due to a genetic mutation I have. My surgery is 5 weeks from the time I write this.
So much staggers me about my situation. Like, the little statistic telling me that only 1 in a million people are diagnosed with Appendix Cancer. That’s right. I am not exaggerating this statistic, folks. I had a better chance of being struck by lightning. Or, that this particular life-saving surgery & localized chemo blast that will keep me in the hospital for 7-10 days at minimum, was only recently developed.
10-15 years ago…this was not available and my chances of survival would have been very close to zero had this happened back then. The fact that I am on THIS side of that timeline on the scale of human history and medicine…has me enormously grateful. And what I have to endure to survive is still difficult for me to process all at once. Or at all.
I don’t think I have ever knowingly faced anything so dire for my own health and survival. There is so much I don’t want to know and so much I simply don’t understand. I am doing the best I can with the magnitude of what little I can process. I confess to you what I tell my closest loved ones: hour by hour, day by day, I waffle back and forth on this spectrum of extremes. I jump between intense fear, choking on doubt and grace-filled peace, a confidence in the healing power of God’s presence and purposes for me. Just a breath can heal me if He chooses….but what if He doesn’t? I can’t right now.
It is a no-man’s land, a battle over my body, mind and heart, this deeply visceral and spiritual un-knowing. So with what I don’t know and understand, I allow myself to feel the weight of the grief, fear, sadness, frustration, etc. and then I choose to turn. I offer those things back to God in some way, repenting or changing my mind toward the mind of Jesus. Not because those feelings are sinful or wrong but because I can’t stay in that space and expect to heal in any way.
So, I “take captive those thoughts” (2 Corinthians 10:5) and replace them with what I know of Jesus. That he has been so faithful in every crisis we have been in. He always shows up with provision, mercy and some measure of healing at the 11th Hour, but I have to move through all 10 of the previous hours in the valley, clinging to His hand. I do this by listening to the tried and true worship songs that remind me of who Jesus is and that I am dearly loved. I read devotionals, I recite phrases of scripture verses in my head like mini-mantras, I simply pray for myself and I pray for others. I call or text someone else I know who needs a friend or a word of encouragement.
These are weapons I use to push back the darkness if it is taking up too much space in my head and heart. To psychologically grit my teeth but somehow keep my heart soft and tender. I don’t know how to do it any other way. And even as I listen to a particular song on repeat that speaks to the wrestling in my soul, I let myself cry. Alone. I let my spirit cry out to God and I know he catches me and there is a release when I come to that brink. I imagine the brink as an invisible alter right inside my chest. He catches and stores the tears (Psalm 56:8-10) I offer up as the incense of my heart. That is where you cultivate a tender intimacy with a God who loves you so.
If you find yourself there, on the brink, a crisis of circumstance which becomes a crisis of faith…pick up a weapon or a tool to fight back against the darkness that is lingering in your heart and mind too long. Maybe an old one you have used before, or a new one. Turning toward faith requires you to imagine and visualize God in old and new ways, to imagine your whole SELF (body, mind and soul) under his protection and care. If you have placed your trust in Jesus before, remember his faithfulness to you in the past. If you have never placed trust in God, imagine that God catches your tears and Jesus weeps with you, that the Holy Spirit longs to minister to and nurture your heart & mind. Find a way of expressing yourself, alone with just you and your faith. Even if it is just a tiny mustard seed, God can do wonders with a seed.
Ruth bears witness 