The Saints Strike Back

Cancer turns your world upside down. Once a doctor uses the "c" word and your name in the same sentence, you are suddenly and unexpectedly transported into a world that is unfamiliar and overwhelming. Unless you're a medical professional, you have to quickly learn a whole new language. You have to figure out how to navigate the maze of medical appointments and tests you can' t pronounce. You have to watch your family and friends react to the news with sadness and concern that you are powerless to prevent or minimize. You face your mortality and deepest fears; the painful realization that you're not in control of your own life. You're vulnerable, weak, and frightened. -"Everyday Strength" foreward by Dave Dravecky

They sent me home for three weeks with a pending death sentence. That's the way it impacted me. Hmm, what does one do with the time?

I remember clearly the day I left the UW. It was a scorcher outside, upper '90's at least. What would've been a pleasant trip home turned into something else. First, my parting meds were held up for 3+ hours by the UW pharmacy (bureaucracy, remember?) and so we departed at exactly rush hour on a Friday. Plus, my wife, mother, kids, and Lori were all packed into the Jeep with me. Three hours later the trip was no longer fun.

Not that I minded the company. They all basically camped in Seattle, visiting me most of the day while at the UW Medical center. Lori was in from Oklahoma for the duration, being Julie's childhood best friend. Dave and Shonna also came by, which was also pretty far away by anyone's standards. Between my visitors, phone calls, and doctor encounters...the UW was an action packed adventure for me.

After getting home, I had to wear these wierd stockings on my legs for circulation. I also had to get two shots per day of a blood-thinner called 'Lovenox'. Julie had to learn how to do it, and we both hated it. I hate shots in general, and shots in the stomach are worse than most places. Plus, it felt like getting both punched and burned each time. Not fun.

I found out later that this "weren't nothin".

The shock took a couple of days to wear off, thankfully back in my comfortable environment. Then one night it hit me. I could no longer provide for my family. They were all going to suffer, not just because I couldn't provide for them, but also to try and take care of me. Assuming I survived the surgery, it would take months of time, care, and expense to nurse me back to usefulness. All with virtually no income.

On cue, the fear of not making it through the surgery returned. The fear wasn't for me, no...it was for my family. Losing the house would come quickly, followed shortly by losing our only vehicle and then a forced bankruptcy for Julie. Our savings had long been depleted by our last baby two years ago, and we'd yet to recover. Visions of my homeless family, a grieving wife who couldn't cope, and an uncaring community who'd turn their backs...

This struck me like a ton of bricks. I was the PROVIDER for our family, a serious responsibility I'd assumed since our marriage vows. One of the few necessities I accomplished, actually. To see my family fall apart, to imagine it, to play it over and over in my head...was torment to me.

I usually saved the bitter tears until the darkest of night. Nobody could see or hear. After awhile, the torment ebbed and I could see it for what it was. Anything that torments a person is unhealthy, either by itself as a stronghold in our lives or with help by the Enemy. I'm not the "provider" for my family...I'm a steward and steward only. People will care and will help. God will not abandon us. I KNEW these things, studied them intently in the Bible and committed dozens of verses to memory explaining how God sees a man in this.

So I had to pick my brain apart and analyze my fears. One by one, I had to address them and bounce them off reality. Boil down the 'what ifs' and throw out the meaningless. A week of 2am discussions with the Almighty certainly had merit, and I could face the future with the calm assurance I needed. I'd chosen the hard path...I wanted not only to survive the surgery, I was willing to face the painful, humiliating, and messy recovery. I told God that I wanted to be with my family, good or bad. I didn't want to take the easy way out. With a clear goal, I could pray with the earnestness I needed.

Which was good, because pray I did. Every day I had visitors willing to pray for me and our family. We were placed on two, four, eight, a dozen prayer chains spanning many parts of the U.S. I got to meet new pastors from other churches as they came to our home to pray. My friends from CLF were amazing: Not only did many of them stop by to talk, but a large part of our church decided to fast and pray over me. They packed our house and spent an intense hour praying en masse. Julie received hundreds of phone calls by people who wanted to express their compassion and offer some kind of help. Meals started showing up, groceries were being delivered, anonymous gifts began to appear, cards and prayers came in the mail.

It was beautiful. Extremely humbling, and a huge blessing. At work, my co-workers got together and started finding ways to help. Leave was being donated, gifts from various places came in. Totally unexpected, and it blew me away. It dawned on me that we may not become homeless after all.

More importantly, I was awed by the flood of compassion we were receiving. Totally amazing that so many people would rise up to help us, and in so many ways I wouldn't have even thought of. My high-school friends Eric and Chuck got together and hosted a party in my honor, a cool evening of gaming and storytelling that invokes a certain kind of fondness in me. I spent some time with my friend Sam, my brother Bruce, and got to know Darrell in a profound way. Even Pastor Rick spent an afternoon with me.

A special word over my life was also fulfilled. Once upon a time, Fran told me with a boldness that my parents would come to know Christ. Oh, I prayed and prayed for that over the years. On cue, after my mother asked if there was ANYthing she could do, I wanted her and Darcy (my step dad) to come to church with me. They did!! In fact, I've realized that Darcy has been more my dad than anyone else, and I'm happy to say we enjoy each-others company in church every weekend since. It's wonderful to see them come out, enjoy the acceptance and realization of Christ in their lives, and get to know others who've done the same.

In fact, I'm awed more and more by the realization of what happened. I was being loved on by dozens, hundreds of people. Exactly fulfilling Christ's second commandment! My bitter tears at night were replaced by tears of joy, a joy that my God was being honored not just with words, but with the very sweat and actions of people around me. Always with a compassion for us, even if people couldn't understand what it's like to face an uncertain future with cancer.

Deep down, I began to realize that it may be God's plan that I live. I could almost feel Him working all around me. I was definately 'prayed up', humbled, and doing my best to sanctify.

Instead of grimly facing the likelihood of death, I was lifted up so high by those around me that panic couldn't grab hold. I didn't have that eerie calm that people talk about, or some kind of supernatural certainty that things would be alright. Wish I did. It's just that there were SO many prayers, SO many people making sure I knew they were for me, that I couldn't focus on those bad things. My mind wasn't in it. Every thought danced around the people in my life who were showing compassion; the cool things that were happening, the way God was working in and around my situation. I couldn't come down from it.

And all too quickly, my three week reprieve came to a close. Time to head back to Seattle and that dreaded hospital.