Oh, the cross I'm to carry.

Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,

It seems unreal that I am officially down to one week left of treatment.  Appears like a cause to celebrate, wouldn't you say?  I'm having a hard time kicking up my heels though... which is extremely unlike me.  I often promote celebration in anything and everything -- from mustering up the courage to kill a centipede in the bathroom to graduating college after years of late nights studying.  Regardless of the degree of accomplishment, I rejoice... and squeal again 5 minutes later.  But here is why it is especially challenging now to make merry: 

I recently sat across from my oncologist, and after we looked over a few scans, I said, "So we're going to get rid of this thing?!"  He looked at me with pensive eyes and replied, "Well, no... we will never say you're cured or healed.  There's always a chance it could come back, so instead we call it 'remission.'"  What?... No closure?... So the combination of chemotherapy AND radiation doesn't guarantee a thing?  Holy crap, modern medicine, I instigate a call to arms to become a bit more modern.   

"What's going to happen is, on your last appointment, you are going to just walk out the door.  No tests, no meeting with me... and then we'll see you in 5 weeks to take a PET scan once the treatment has thoroughly set in.  If it's clear, it'll be another 3 months until I see you for yet another PET scan, meeting and so forth.  We'll meet like this for the first year; then every 6 months up until 5 years; and then once a year until year 10 hits." All I could then think of was the anxiety my friends harbored as they waited for their parent's results to come back.  Now, I will be that individual.  I'll be the one sitting through an hour and a half test praying the whole time that I'm clear.  I'll be the one waiting to hear back from my doctor within 4-7 business days (which, this may be for another time, but let's learn ways to become a bit more efficient in delivering results to patients, medical field.  Please remember, these are people's lives and you could make the difference of one less painful night as they lie awake in wonder... analyzing all the directions their lives could possibly take.) And I'll be the one learning how to trust Jesus deeper and deeper all along the way as I literally depend on Him for life.  Praise God He never fails.

A nurse weighed in after the appointment and said, "This is where your faith comes in."  I in no way compare myself to Mother Teresa, but times like this, her words reign true in every part of me: "I know God won't give me anything I can't handle. I just wish He didn't trust me so much."  But on the flip side... how honoring for it has never been more clear that my Lord has a plan for my life.  Why else would He spare me from the blow of your attacks?  Or from the toxicity of further treatment?  Or from the despair of an incurable disease? 

Yes, sir, it is certainly clear my God is up to something.  He promises all over His Word that He will fulfill His purpose for me, and since I'm still able to inhale oxygen and produce carbon dioxide, that promise indeed applies.  What is His purpose for me, you ask?  As I read through my God's Word, my heart is called to be a modern-day Joshua who prays audaciously and watches the sun stand still in faith of God's power to do the impossible.  My spirit is hand-crafted to dance free before the Lord in pure adoration just like my kindred spirit, David.  And I already see the Lord harnassing my gifts at a young age for His church like He did with Timothy.  Finally, and ultimately, as I picture my Lord Jesus carrying a cross on His back as He willfully walked towards His death, there's no doubt in my mind I'm called to emulate as high of a degree as I can of this unwavering trust... regardless of the cross I'm to carry.  Gulp.  Life sure is interesting, Mr. Hodgkin's.

Yours Truly,
Heid