Lessons from cancer #2 (of 2 or so): July 14, 2008


Upon reflection, I think that cancer provides a crucible in which the issues that I ought to be addressing are forced to the surface. Today's topic is summarized in something I heard Joni Earekson Tada say in an interview on Focus on the Family some years back. She was reflecting on being a quadraplegic and said something to the effect of "I cannot think about being like this for the rest of my life: it is too crushing a thought. I have to live one day at a time." (She said it better than that, but that's the best of my memory.)

That's the second lesson, and it's especially hard for me, in part because I cling to my job (associate professor) as a source of security, significance, and meaning.

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To understand where this lesson comes from, it is helpful to review the history of my illness. My tumor was discovered nearly 6 months ago on Monday, Feb 18 2008. At the time my doctor said that it's serious, but if there was a preferred type of cancer, this was it. He suspected a lymphoma. After two biopsies, a needle biopsy and a thoracotomy (surgery), this diagnosis was confirmed 3 weeks later as my strength and health rapidly declined. Had we not started treatment, I did not expect to survive to the end of March. The R-CHOP treatment is a standard and very successful chemotherapy for non-Hodgkins large B cell diffuse lymphoma, and it was expected that my tumor would "melt away."

It did not melt away. At the start of June the tumor was nearly as large as it had been on Feb 18. By contrast, two others who started treatment the same time that I did now had almost no visible trace of their tumors in their X-rays. For some reason, my tumor was resistant to treatment, and so my plans to be 100% strong again by Jan 2009 were scrapped.

The month of June brought several significant changes of direction. I had a second thoracotomy (not the most pleasant of hobbies) which confirmed the presence of a non-Hodgkins diffuse large B-cell lymphoma. That is, the diagnosis was correct. It was decided to have a two tiered treatment plan: first, put me through 2-3 rounds of R-ICE chemo treatment, followed by a time for my marrow to recover from R-ICE, and then an autologous (self donor) bone marrow transplant. I began to schedule in my mind how long each of these events would take, and realized that I would not be 100% until Christmas of 2009. That's a big change of schedule, and that ignores what happens if something goes wrong on the way.

I started talking about this to my oncologist at UAB, Dr. Forero, and he quickly stopped me. He said somethig like "Let's first finish the R-ICE treatment and then see what happens. Take it one step at a time."

This is very hard for me, largely out of professional concerns. For those who don't know, the maintenance of a research program as a professor requires a significant amount of long term planning. My work typically requires US citizens, whom I have to carefully groom and recruit years ahead. Commitments to grad students are typically made in March, and the students start work in August. However, contracts with research sponsors are largely independent of that recruiting process. On that side, we walk several projects along the various stages of idea, idea with potential sponsor, proposal draft, proposal submitted, authority proceed, contract actually approved and in place, research work in progress, and final report. In short: this is not something that easily fits in a "one day at a time" frame of mind, nor is it something that will easily tolerate me being bedridden for months on end.

Therein lies the rub: one day at a time, when first brought up in Matthew 6, speaks exactly to this kind of anxiety. Jesus said,
 25"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? 26Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? 27Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?
 28"And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. 29Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. 30If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? 31So do not worry, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?' 32For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. 33But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. 34Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

The underlying issue here, as it was yesterday, is trust: can I trust God to take care of me when I cannot? Can I trust God to take care of me when I can? This delivers another Christian paradox, as we on one hand must plan for the future, while at the same time submitting all aspects of our lives in trust through prayer to Christ.

I'm not there yet. Why not? I'll write more about that tomorrow. In the meantime, you might think about the question, "What does it mean to trust God?"

Posted: Mon - July 14, 2008 at 03:19 PM           | |

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