Prior to 2018, my cancer diagnoses came with easy to follow rhythms. Not that there was anything easy about it, but they at least followed a mostly linear pattern that went something like this:
- Bad scan
- Diagnosis
- Treatment. This was IV chemotherapy every two weeks in 2015 and high dose chemotherapy followed by a stem cell transplant in 2017.
- Feel awful from treatment
- Recover and heal from treatment
- Repeat steps 3-5 as many times as prescribed
- Clear scan – yay!
In 2018 that pattern got seriously interrupted at step 5. I was on immunotherapy treatments and my body decided after six months that it didn’t care for that. The doctors treated the adverse effects and I continued on another six months until, again, my body said nope. I was back at the beginning of the pattern – a scan that still showed vibrant disease in my body, but this time with with no clear step 3. It was the most out of control and helpless I have ever felt in my life.
This most recent diagnosis has me feeling similarly.
On April 6th there was a bad scan – more lymph nodes in my lungs and new ones in my abdomen. Then there was a plan for treatment. There would be a biopsy and then a restart of my chemo pill and radiation. Repeat until a clear scan!
Except the biopsy failed. Then the radiation planning took much longer than I anticipated with a lot of back and forth. Then a trip to the oncology evaluation center because of a virus and extreme dehydration.”Let’s start the chemo pill,” came the instruction from my doctor. Then finally, a radiation start date. Except it was during our one week of vacation this summer. Bump it back. Closed for a holiday. No problem – stretch it out over two weeks instead of just one. Deal with intense sickness and other strange things happening in my body. Hold chemo pill longer than expected. Check-up with my doctor and a secondary (unplanned) biopsy. Biopsy is negative for anything unsavory. Ok to restart chemo pill again. Sick with a cold. Spend more days in bed.
It has been so many little things over the last four months, ups and downs, aches and pains, anger and sorrow. As strange as it is, I have found myself longing for the early days of cancer. Of predictable patterns and side effects. Of having a plan for treatment that went accordingly. Of feeling in control.
I’ve started a new habit in recent years of reading through the bible. This last week I read Psalm 46:10. Even if you’re not a bibley person, you have probably heard this one – “Be still and know that I am God.” I hate it every time. Be still? Clearly not spoken with the modern working mother in mind. Worse yet, in my version it says “Cease striving and know that I am God.” It’s a compassionate call to sit down and rest, the God who holds the stars, the sea and my heart is in control.
This time, it brought to mind the story of Moses leading nearly a million Hebrews out of slavery in Egypt. All was going okay’ish, until they came to the Red Sea. Then they looked behind them and saw the might of the Egyptians bearing down on them, chariots and horses thundering their way across the desert, swords drawn. The people cried out in fear and I imagine, a bit of panic. They started saying things like, were there not enough graves in Egypt that you brought us out here to die? You should have left us there to be slaves, that would have been better than dying out in this wasteland! But Moses said to them, “The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.” -Exodus 14:14
Knowing how the story goes I can easily glaze right over that verse and continue on without realizing what it really must have felt like to be in that moment and simply be still, waiting for the Lord. The people were surrounded by impossibilities.
I have never related so much to those people. God has led me out of so much already, he has clearly been my cloud by day, protecting me from the harsh sun of the desert and my fire by night, providing light and warmth on dark nights. But here I am, trapped again. Walled in on every side. Feeling abandoned. Feeling scared. Feeling like what I have already come through was horrendous, but at least it was predictable, controllable, preferable to this place I’m in now. Then those compassionate words that I hate to hear and nearly miss in all of my striving – rest. Be still. I am fighting for you.
I have a scan coming up on August 10th. In the meantime, I am faithfully taking my chemo pill and practicing being still, anxiously awaiting what it is going to look like for God to fight for me this time.
Daring to Hope 