An Upcoming Anniversary

The next few posts I am adding to mark a milestone for me and my husband. October 6, 2003 R was diagnosed with Acute Leukemia. It was a dire diagnosis that changed our world. His treatment required months of chemotherapy followed by a Bone Marrow Transplant. He was out of work for a full two years recovering from the treatment. He is now two inches shorter, has cataracts in both eyes, must carry eye drops with him all the time, has permanent scars on his chest from two Hickman ports they had to insert, will sometime soon need both shoulder and hip replacement surgery . . . but he is alive.

We are thankful to all the doctors and nurses who walked us through the toughest of times with an amazing amount of patience and grace. We are also grateful to all our family and friends who stood by us and provided tangible help to us. JT and DC who crawled under the trailer in sub-zero temps to work on plumbing that awful January. AK who fought the phone company to get our phone back in service. IW who provided financially when we had almost no income. TB who cared so wonderfully for our cats so we didn't have to get rid of them. KP who came with his snowblower every storm that winter. KS who sold us the car at a ridiculously low price when my car finally gave up the ghost. Countless others who sent cards and called and visited at the hospital. These were the people who kept us sane and didn't judge when insanity won out.

Five years later it is sometimes easy to forget what we went through. Though I would never wish it on anyone, that time is precious to me. The reality of life and what is important was so close during that time. I remember when Gracia Burnham returned home after 14 months as a captive of the Abu Sayaf rebels in the Philippines. She said something similar--that when she was a captive, if she was thirsty or hungry or sick, she was dependant on God to provide for her needs. Now that she is home, if she is thirsty, she goes to the refrigerator. She missed the tangible reality of her dependence on God. I know what she means. Although I felt far from God during that time, I know I was more in his hands then than I am now that the sickness is mostly a memory.

I have recently been reuniting with some old friends through Facebook. In the catching up with what people have been doing since I last saw them however many years ago, I discovered that at least one family is familiar the situation of a dire diagnosis. In their case, it is a young son. It's funny. Having gone through something like this, you run the risk of developing kind of an elitist attitude. As if to say "I've done something important. I've looked in the eyes of death . . . what have you done?" I was squarely put in my place when I realized that my story is not so unique. I wrote the following in response to this discovery. I didn't really finish it, it kind of just peters out. But here it is . . .


So you know . . .

You know the day-by-day, hour-by-hour existence, when the word FUTURE changes its meaning. It becomes closer--you turn claustrophobic in its definition. You cannot plan your day, your wardrobe. You cannot trust that the short sleeves will be sufficient, because the morning can turn to afternoon, to evening, to midnight with no prior warning.

So you know . . .

You know what it is like to sit through biopsies and blood draws and spinal taps without flinching. You know how to look into his eyes and become the rock, the anchor. You cannot wince--no sympathy pain--except for in your soul where it doesn't show. No sign of weakness. You are strength. You are comfort. You are advocacy. You are the stiff upper lip.

Did you become the weakness as well? Did you cry because you recognised that he would not? Did you rail against him in his helplessness? Did you make your appeals to God? Did you long for others' help, then resent it when it came?

Did you want to scream or spit when other people looked at you in amazement. They shook their heads and told you that they could never do what you were doing--as if you had chosen this life for yourself--for him. Of course they would do what you do! What option would they have had? What option did you have? You longed to pick up your cards and go home--declare that enough is enough. But retreat is impossible. Escape does not exist. The past is unattainable. The future is non-existent. There is only the present. The pain, the anxiety, the boredom, the desperation, the craziness, and the waiting. The ever-present waiting.


JM, Thanks for the lesson.

Peace
C