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It's Cancer It's been more than two years since my husband and I heard, "It's cancer," followed by the even more fearsome words, "The cancer has spread."
You may be wondering which of us has cancer - and that's a lesson in itself. My husband has the cancer cells, but we both have cancer. After nearly thirty-nine years of marriage, healthy boundaries notwithstanding, both of us carry the cancer: one of us in body and painful awareness, the other in heart and soul. The fruit of the blessed communion and the one-flesh God intended is that if one of the fleshes has cancer, in a way both do. It's a nasty business, this cancer thing. Fear is always circling the camp, looking for a way to move a person's attention from the glow of the Gospel campfire to the darkness outside the ring of firelight. It's easy to move ahead of God and ahead of the cancer with "what ifs" and "how will we manage?" and "do I have the strength to endure?" The daily struggle is to stay in camp, stay next to the ring of Gospel light, and not run ahead of either the cancer or of God. Staying in the present moment of grace is enough. God's Word tells us, Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own (Matthew 6:34). I can tell you from personal experience that it is useless to move too far into the future and conjure up too many sad and gruesome scenarios that may, admittedly, never happen. Such anticipatory anxiety wastes perfectly good and useful vigilance that can more helpfully be applied to immediate dangers and others' needs. The most common question others ask us is, of course, "What can we do to help?" We fully realize that it is likely that there will be a time in the future when we will need specific help with meals and many of the practicalities of life. Right now it is both delicious and empowering to answer with a loving thank you and, "We're fine for now, but we'll let you know." What can you do to help someone who is managing cancer treatments well, being productive over the long haul, but still scanning the night beyond the campfire for dangers and the unknown? Here are a few ideas: When you hear a cancer diagnosis, don't assume that all is lost. It's an interesting phenomenon that most people assume the worst and scrunch up their faces and say good-bye. The reality is that many people live a very long time with cancer. Listen. It's interesting how many loving and well-meaning people need to talk in the face of cancer; they talk about relatives who have died, they talk about not waiting too long for hospice, they use terms like "filled with cancer," they overflow with advice and send e-mail links. It is immensely comforting when someone wants to listen to what it's like to live with cancer. You've got a lot of stories. Select the encouraging ones. Tell us of the man in a hospital bed in his living room with only weeks to live with a rare and virulent cancer who, sixteen years later, has written a compelling and intelligent article for a professional journal. Tell us of the colleague who endured eighteen months of unproductive cancer treatment before the doctor said, "I hope this next treatment works; it's the last arrow in my quiver." And it worked. If you tell us, we will repeat those stories to celebrate God's ability to transcend the perilous. Send cards and notes and favorite Scriptures. I can't count the number of times that we have faced a medical crisis comforted by all the cards and notes that we rotate on the kitchen island. Written when no specific crisis was on the horizon, your loving good wishes and sharing of God's promises rise huge when we return from a disappointing appointment or medical test. Cut us some slack. Because of adrenaline and stress, disorder is one of the most challenging side effects of cancer. Thanks to God for wonderful and generous-spirited people who will allow you to miss a deadline, decline an invitation at the last minute, or understand when you can't get yourself organized enough to do what you said you would do. Thanks to God for generous souls who say, "You know, if you want, I can probably find someone else to do your job this month." Everyone knows someone with cancer. The weeks and months pass, the treatments work or fail, hope waxes and wanes, side effects demand creative interventions, tears fall, fear muscles in, but God remains steadfast in love, in help and salvation. It's possible to live with cancer. By the grace of God, it is possible to thrive with cancer. Imagine that.
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We have lived well
for thirty-two months, navigating the medical labyrinth and being
supported by people who love and care for us: family, friends,
and the Body of Christ. We have learned to be deeply grateful
for medical folks, both Christians and non-Christians, who extend
small courtesies that are huge in the scope of things like carefully
and thoughtfully reading medical records, making realistic treatment
plans, listening with empathy and thus reassuring us that we
are not only a number on a chart or a blip on their daily radar.