The first time I was told I had cancer; I thought my life might be ending. I remember thinking, I can’t die now, I have unfinished projects everywhere I look, who will finish them? And I had always assumed I would be here to take care of my wife when we got older. Who will do that if I’m not here?
After prayer and consideration, I came to realize that there isn’t really anything that won’t get by without me. I was mentally preparing my self for the end. You reluctantly try it on for size, wear it around for a while, and with God you can say, “If I must, I can do this.”
I had surgery and recovery, and after a while I thought my life might go on.
Time passes and you start thinking, “Maybe I will be around a while, maybe even a long time.” So you wear that around and get used to it.
Then came the second cancer, this one incurable. Those words are devastating, but good or bad (bad or worse), I have God’s peace. For me, God’s peace is undeniable (because God is undeniable). I’d rather not have cancer; I’m in no hurry to die, but on earth, the mortality rate is 100%.
I’m tested every three months. After stable, stable, and continuing stable, it’s easy to cast your focus a little farther out and think again, “Maybe I will be around for years.”
The difference between 1.2 and 1.8 is such a small number, but enough to bring a (Smoldering) Multiple Myeloma patient back for more testing, x-rays, waiting for the next answer (and the next question), and realizing again that the end could be lurking. Maybe the beginning of the end.
I feel like such a wimp when I read the blogs and posts of other Multiple Myeloma sufferers, they’ve been through so much. I’ve been enjoying a fairly normal life, quietly smoldering a year and a half; that’s easy. These MMr’s are experienced and decorated medical combat veterans. Most have had serious medications, agonizing treatments, terrible side-effects, lives completely upended, and finally for many, death.
I read one MM blogger’s list of predicted stages most of us will go through. Not one mention of Jesus, no peace of God; how sad for him to face this (and eternity) without joy. His only hope was in doctors and medicine. I like doctors and medicine (and insurance!), but regardless, one day I will die.
Monday I go for another bone marrow biopsy. This is where the roller-coaster starts going downhill.
I love this shot of Loren and I. Thanks, Diane
