I’ve shared about Dave’s cancer a couple of times now, but I have some leftover thoughts I’d like to purge. Writing them down seems to be the best way to do that.
When Dave was first diagnosed with cancer, I must be honest and say that I didn’t handle it well at all. Having watched my mother and my brother both die from cancer, the mental pictures that filled my thoughts and devoured hours on end were just terrifying. My insides felt like jelly, and I couldn’t think of much else but the fact that my husband, the man I love forever, had cancer.
According to his doctor, he had two different cancers in his prostate. One was the kind that many men contract and which doctors just watch for years, because of its slow growth–the kind of cancer doctors say men might die with but they won’t die from. The second kind of cancer was labelled aggressive and lethal. You can understand why that would cause anxiety, right? Aggressive. Lethal. Those words beat like a constant drum in my mind. And the pace at which we were going about finding the right treatment to get rid of that cancer seemed to move as slowly as molasses.
I always thought I was strong. I always thought I could handle anything that came my way, that I’d be the bastion of non-wavering faith when the “big” challenge struck. I was none of those things. I was weak, scared, and felt as if my liquid insides wouldn’t hold the weight of me if I stood for long. I couldn’t sleep; and every time I did stand from my chair, I found the kitchen, and whatever was edible, I ate it. Pathetic.
But God.
It didn’t happen immediately, but it did happen. God sent friends to me, reminding me that God was totally in control. And they didn’t stop reminding me. I’m thankful for their constancy, because it eventually registered in my muddled brain and shook me awake from my stupor. Family and friends prayed for us, faithful folks that kept us in their minds constantly. We received cards, phone calls, texts, and emails full of concern and promise. And ALL of them shared the same message: “God was not surprised by this; God is in control; God loves you; God will be your strength.”
And He was. He is.
Dear friends and family, thank you for reminding us that we are not alone. Thank you for bearing me up in my weakness and trusting that I’d eventually recover my senses. Thank you for not being disappointed by my first responses.
I momentarily lost my direction and acted as one without faith. BUT—with the word of God being my lifeline each morning, His promises shining through the letters written by men with human frailties, and through the unwavering love and support of God’s people I don’t feel so “liquid” inside anymore.
Having experienced a bit of a setback in his treatments, Dave is currently in a holding pattern. Hackers, it appears, have struck at the medical world and taken computer systems hostage across the nation. This has put Dave’s treatments on hold, and whereas he should have completed 13 treatments to this date, he has completed only ten. But God. God is in control. He is in every moment of every day. He knows that not only Dave, but thousands of folks are not receiving the care they need. He isn’t surprised, and one day He will take care of the evil in this world. Until He does that, I cling to this: “I will lift my eyes to the mountains; where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth. He will not allow your foot to slip; He who keeps you will not slumber.” (Psalm 121:1-3)
I am not strong. But God is.
