Written May 10, 2020
If I don’t hear anything by 2:30, I will call. 1:45…my heart is starting to race. 1:50, the phone rings. It is from a 206 area code, so it could only be my doctor in Seattle. I hear the voice of one of his nurses. Oh, this is good; the nurses only call if the news is good; otherwise it is the doctor. My hope is quickly dashed. The nurse wants to know if I am available for a telehealth conference this afternoon with my doctor. Are you kidding me? Tell me now. My heart is absolutely pounding. I find myself saying, “that doesn’t seem good.” I know better than that. She cannot tell me anything. Strict protocol. Bad news comes from the one bearing the burden of the higher calling. I know. I practiced law before melanoma. Although a heavy burden, I much prefer being on the side of the conversation providing the news and strategizing the way forward. I do not like this side of the conversation; I like to be in the know; I do not like to be waiting for information that others have about ME. I feel vulnerable, weak. She says to look for an e-mail from the scheduler with instructions. Minutes later it comes! But it is just a generic e-mail instructing to click on the link at the time to be given in a separate e-mail. Five minutes go by; ten; fifteen. I can’t stand this much longer. This is agony. I e-mail the scheduler. “Do we have an appointment time yet?” Oh, yes. You were supposed to click the link when I sent it. With trembling hands, I click the link and there is my doctor with his wise and kind eyes; his steady voice. He knows me; he understands patient anxiety. He gets right down to business.
“There are several findings…” I am armed with a pen and notepad. Page one…page two…half of page three. I say with a sarcastic smile, “Is that all?” He continues with some ideas for the way forward. A conversation we will continue after the necessary brain MRI as we need to know if the cancer is there as well. He apologizes that we are not in person. COVID 19 has truly impacted everything. I am actually glad. I prefer to be alone for a minute. Only I am not alone. The Holy Spirit is in me. My friend Jesus is with me. My body is literally shaking and for the first time in my life, I physically have weak knees. My trembling hands call my husband who is working out of town. I hear the sadness in his voice. I hear the hope in his voice. I hear his continued commitment to take this journey with me. I hear his affirmation of faith.
After the call, I sit and think. I realize I am in shock. I must let my training take over because I do not have the wherewithal to do anything. What have I been trained to do? Years of Bible Study; years of practicing “giving it to the Lord.” Years of claiming “The Joy of the Lord is my strength.” What is it I am supposed to do? Ah, yes, it is simple. Praise him. Praise him. Praise him when I don’t understand. Praise him when I am afraid. Praise him knowing the way forward will be difficult. Praise him. “Father, God. I do not want this story. This was not what I had hoped for, but you are not surprised. You already know what each and every day of my life entails. You go before me; you are my rear guard. Isaiah 52:12. You will sustain me on my sick bed and restore me from illness. Psalm 41:3. You work all things together for good for those who love you. Romans 8:28. And I love you, Lord. I have loved you since I was a little girl. You have prepared me for this day. I praise you, Sovereign God. That is all I can do right now; praise you.”
I make a few necessary phone calls: immediate family and friends who are expecting news. It has been said by cancer patients that one of the hardest parts is telling the people you love and seeing the pain on their faces or hearing it in their voices. It is, in some ways unfair. Unfair that the afflicted one must, in that moment, be the one with strength. I have to be the one that says, I am okay. We need to believe; we need to be positive. Please don’t cry.
Those who do not know my Jesus may be very perplexed right now. Please stick with me. This strength is not something that was born out of cancer. Oh, sure, it has become increasingly stronger with each recurrence, with each message of unwelcome news. No, I am blessed. This strength has been built over a lifetime. But stay with me because the most amazing thing is that this strength is available to anyone who is willing to receive it: right now; this moment. Journey with me you who have melanoma. Journey with me you who have cancer. Journey with me you who are trying to walk beside us. Journey with me you who have chronic illness; who have experienced loss; who are suffering the effects of COVID 19: isolation, depression, fear, loss of all kinds. All are welcome, even those who don’t know Jesus or who don’t believe there is a sovereign God. Journey with me. Why? Because my Jesus promised that this world would bring trouble. But he has overcome the world. John 16:33. Journey with me. I want you to know why the Joy of the Lord is your strength. Nehemiah 8:10. I don’t want anyone to take this journey without having the opportunity to know the peace and joy that I have…even in the face of adversity.
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Between the Scans 