My Journey Through Cancer
I have not shared about this on social media previously, as neither me nor my family have been ready for that. But I feel it is time to do so now.
Cancer has always been something that I dreaded. Often, I would drive past cancer clinics and pray for the people inside. I thought of the patients and their families going through hell while the medical staff strove daily to be kind, patient, and expert, while putting their patients through that hell. I have watched my parents, close family, and many friends go through this. Mine was not a poorly informed dread. It was dread of the real.
That dread became even more personal four months ago, when I woke up from my regular colonoscopy in post-op, noticing how quiet and gentle the nurses were around me. They have always been nice, but this softness was unusual even for them. My colonoscopies had always been clear – no polyps, nothing concerning. But then they wheeled me in to see my wife and all doubt was gone. She told me what I suspected – I had colon cancer. I wept. The surgeon came in and filled in the details. I would need surgery, chemotherapy probably - maybe worse.
The next month brought tests and appointments aplenty, confirming all this awful news, culminating in radical surgery that removed substantial portions of my colon and small intestine as well as other essential repairs. The surgery was awful. Then the pathology results came in. Stage 3. The cancer had not escaped from my colon or intestines, but it had invaded the lymph nodes and pushed into my intestinal walls.
This meant I would have to endure six months of intense chemotherapy, which started early September. Twelve rounds, every two weeks, each worse than the last. (I just completed round four.) Plus, there would be additional treatment for the eventual side effects – crashing white and red blood cell counts, bone pain, mouth sores, cold sensitivity, deep exhaustion, and more.
Yet today I am happier than I have been in many years. Why?
I could point to my incredible nurses, doctors, and other medical staff, both expert and unbelievably kind. I could point to my amazing family. I am blessed by my daughters and wife, who did not leave me alone in the hospital, even when it meant spending excruciating nights in an uncomfortable recliner for a week. My wife and six children have and are taking care of me in ways that are both profound and, to be honest, sometimes mortifying. All my children check in regularly, show me their concern every day, and give me their constant encouragement and prayers. But that is not even close to the whole story.
By far the most important reason for my happiness is that Jesus Christ has never left me. My sense of His presence has been profound and steady. All I have learned, all I have experienced of His faithfulness and love toward me over forty-nine years of the ups and downs, progress and backsliding, of the Christian life is now so real to me that I have not struggled with doubts, anger, or a sense that I am being treated unfairly by Him. I know that many suffer from these thoughts. I am not better than them, and my profoundest sympathies are extended to them. But so far, God has spared me that.
This began at the beginning of this nightmare, when God gave me Psalm 139, making it clear to me that this psalm was to be my anchor, was to be for me a profound crystallization of critical theology made real to humans like me who are suffering through life in a deeply fallen world. In fact, many of the songs that my children recommended to me, without knowing this, regularly pointed directly to this psalm. There is no doubt in my mind that God has desired for me to embrace this, to memorize it, to live it. He gave me this psalm to get me through. And He has made each part of it profoundly personal.
There is not one thought, not one fear, not one doubt – in the past, the present, or the future – that He does not know before I speak or even think it. And yet His thoughts to me are loving, perfect, and whole. (V 1-6, 17-18). This would strike fear in unbelievers. But they do not believe it, so they move through life unaware of this truth. For those who do believe it, for the redeemed sheep of Jesus Christ, this is profoundly comforting if we understand it aright. And for me now, though I have understood this theologically and doctrinally for a very long time, it has become incredibly real, evident to my very senses; something I can see, touch, taste, hear, and even smell.
There is no place I could flee from His presence, even if I wanted to. Was waking up post-op and into the reality of the misery of surgery recovery like making my bed in Sheol? Are the multiple and intensifying chemo hits like this for me? Were the grief and fear of my wife, my children, my grandchildren, my children-in-law like descending into the pit? Has this been to me like being in the valley of death? Yes. And yet He has been tangibly there with me. Right there. When I woke up in purgatory it was in His presence, He there with me. There has been no place for me to hide, but no place that I have wanted to hide – not Sheol, not heaven, not the wings of the dawn, not lightness, not darkness, nowhere. Jesus Christ has been real, present, tangible, not just as doctrine or theology, but there. Suffering with me, comforting me, assuring me, His hand in mine. (V 7-12) He didn’t take hell away from me. He went into hell with me. And that is far, far better.
He made me, fearfully and wonderfully, before the foundations of the earth. (V 13-16) With care, intimately crafting every cell, ordaining each of my days into eternity. In a fallen world, this included those cancer cells. He put them there to accomplish His will in me, not against me. There were no surprises for Him, just for me. There was no dismay or doubt or fear for Him, just for me. My body, including my cancer, is what a loving God gave me - willed for me - from before time. Why should I rail against it now? My body has been good to me; it has served me; from inside it has issued precious offspring and from them generations yet unborn. My DNA, every cell, every detail, was given to me by One who loves me beyond anything I can ask or even imagine. Anger has no place here. Grief? Yes. Fear? Yes. But not anger.
Are the pangs of death, are cancer, enemies? Yes, they are. Do I hate them with profound hatred? Yes, I do. But Jesus has defeated my enemies. (V 19-22) He has conquered death. Whether from this or something else, I will die. There is no escaping it. But He will be present then too, He will love me then too. He will carry me then too. He will not leave my side in this cancer, or in my death. Isn’t it good to be reminded of this now? If this is what it takes for me to trust Him in the hour of my death, then it is a lesson well-learned.
And so now He searches me too, rooting out every wickedness, every unworthy action or thought. (V 23-24) He is using this cancer to move me along this path of sanctification. Exposing and digging out the evil inside of me. And always in love, with patience and kindness and mercy, even as I am experiencing it now. This work in me is woefully incomplete now, but He has given me a promissory note that all will be made right in eternity, every question answered, every sin destroyed, every tear stored in His bottle. I will be clean. I will be whole.
Do I enjoy cancer? No. Is it worth it? Absolutely YES.
