Blogging now stands for what used to be called stream-of-consciousness writing, so here it is. My Mom died at 91, Dad at 76. I am 64, and at noon on 9/22/09 a team of highly respected doctors told me I might have less than six months to live. My parents got more decades of life than I ever will, but I am grateful that during my six decades I’ve enjoyed good health.
It’s really not about how many years a person gets. Rather its how we use the ones we have. It’s not about the number of candles on the cake but rather how good the cake tastes.
During these last two weeks, many thoughts have crowded my brain. First came numbness, then pain. I’ve thought about finances for the family, and also about my own uncompleted work. I also pondered soul-issues. In addition, many of my life goals will remain unreached, although I know now that some of them were unattainable anyway.
The family I’ve had has contributed strongly to the quality of my life. I’ve also had many opportunities, such as attending college and law school and participating in the military, that others haven’t had. I’ve been able to attend the best churches in the country and have been taught by the greatest preachers.
I enjoy a personal faith in Christ, especially now, despite the circumstances. I have assurance that it will all work out for good, eternally. (Romans 8:28)
If I could sign on a dotted line to get out of this, my pen would already be out of my pocket. But that isn’t reality. In the end, it all boils down to two things, just as the old hymn says: trust and obey. Apparently this is God’s will for me, and I accept it.
“Let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus…” (Hebrews 1:1b-2a)
I have a confession to make. Both Nate and I sleep in t-shirts. Although I have memories of frilly nighties that looked good, they all had scratchy seams. Nate remembers wearing guy-style pajamas with drawstrings and chest pockets. (We still wonder what he was supposed to keep in those pockets while sleeping.)
These days it’s tough to climb out of bed before dawn and leave our t-shirts behind, but no matter how difficult the day, we know their soothing comfort will be waiting at the end of it.
Today we had three medical tasks to accomplish. First was a blood draw, then an appointment with the head of our chemotherapy team, and lastly, radiation treatment #6. On paper it doesn’t sound like much, but pacing through it is like pushing a boulder uphill.
By mid-morning we were listening to our chemo doctor describe a study being conducted on pancreatic cancer patients. Nate had been “invited” to join this exclusive group of 15 participants. As the doctor described it, signing on for a new and controversial combination of chemo drugs would extend his life. He wouldn’t say by how much, but extending life sounded wonderful to both of us.
When he said, “There might be some extra discomfort,” I thought of our comfortable t-shirts. Nate’s life has been overloaded with discomfort during these last two weeks. Adding more didn’t sound very good. What he needed was more t-shirt time.
As we left the doctor’s office, he handed us six typed pages detailing the study, along with a signature form if we chose to participate. While Nate was getting x-rayed, I studied the study. Potential side effects filled one whole page, a list written in prose style rather than as a column, to camouflage how many there were.
Harsh words jumped from the page: “risk of bleeding, abnormal function, blood infection, inflammation, kidney failure, mouth sores, severe allergic reaction, unforeseeable side effects, potentially serious, long-lasting, permanent,” and the list continued. Also described were endless blood draws, scans and tests to monitor responses to the new drug cocktail. These translated to scores of hours rushing to appointments and waiting in doctors’ offices.
I decided to wait on presenting these findings to Nate, who was too worn to hear them just then. As we buckled our seat belts to leave the hospital, he sighed. “I’ve just had it.”
“I’m with you,” I agreed.
Finally back home eight hours after we’d left, we both napped and then enjoyed a nourishing dinner brought by our generous next-door-neighbors. As a fire crackled, we sat in a circle with our older kids and talked about the study. I read from the six pages and each person contributed an opinion.
Listening to our grown children offering excellent counsel, I was reminded of the blessing they are to Nate and me. We value their opinions and common sense. They are, well, a comfort. Nelson suggested we pray, after which the vote on the study was unanimous: don’t sign up.
We look forward to the end of radiation, possibly followed by limited traditional chemotherapy. After that it will be all about just staying home and relaxing together in comfy t-shirts.
“When you lie down, you will not be afraid; when you lie down, your sleep will be sweet.” (Proverbs 3:24)
We’ve seen over the last days how God has orchestrated circumstances to allow all of our children to come home in surprising and happy ways. (Yesterday’s blog.) Of seven amazing stories, the most spectacular belongs to Hans and Katy, although it really belongs to God.
Hans married Katy, a British citizen, in July of 2007. Before then, Hans had been living with her family for several months, working various jobs on a volunteer visa linked to Katy’s parents, who had agreed to sponsor him.
As a newlywed, Hans upgraded to a better visa that allowed him to work and collect pay in England and to travel in and out of the country freely. The catch was that it expired in two years. If he left the country after that, he wouldn’t be allowed to return without major hassles and possibly couldn’t return at all.
Two months ago, Hans applied for a more permanent work visa that included a residency card. This would entitle him to unhindered travel, as well as most of the perks of British citizenship, even though he would remain an American. The process traditionally takes six months to a year.
When Hans got his call from Nate about the cancer, he yearned to come home immediately, but he’d had to surrender his passport for the duration of the lengthy visa process. Even Katy had had to turn in her British passport, as Hans’ wife, to satisfy the document requirements. Neither of them could leave England in the foreseeable future.
Then God stepped in. A week ago, on Sunday evening, Pastor Erwin Lutzer was seated next to Pastor Steve Mason at a missionary appreciation banquet. Somehow Hans and Katy’s visa/passport situation came up in the conversation. Steve jumped up and said, “Hold that thought.” He walked several tables away and tapped on the shoulder of a young British girl who followed him to Pastor Lutzer’s table. “Tell Tilly what you just told me,” he said.
The surprise of the evening was that Tilly works full time at the British Consulate in Chicago helping people who have visa and passport problems! She gave Pastor Lutzer her phone number and said, “Have them call me in the morning, and I’ll go to work on it.”
I called, and she told me there were three options. The first had only a 1% chance of working, that the British Home Office in London would complete the residency card/visa process for Hans quickly. “That would have to be a miracle,” she said.
The second option had better odds. It involved applying for a second passport given on rare occasions for serious medical reasons. It would have a time limit of three months but would allow Hans to visit us relatively soon. She asked us to get a succinct letter from Nate’s doctor describing the nature of his cancer and the importance of a quick visit.
The third and worse choice was to abort the residency card/visa process altogether, collect the passports and travel to the States. Tilly told Hans that if he chose to do that, he would most likely never get a residency card in the future and might not even get permission to re-enter the country at all.
She peppered the British Home Office with phone calls for three days until Hans’ papers were finally found and given to an officer to study. We all held our breath, and 48 hours later, Tilly called to say the impossible had happened and the documents would soon be mailed! But just then all of London went on a mail strike. We still couldn’t breathe.
When the strike ended, the precious bundle was delivered to Hans and Katy’s home on Pleasant Street, but neither of them were there to sign for it. Today, Monday, Katy raced to the post office and collected the package. As Nate, Linnea and I were on the highway heading home after radiation #5, our cell phone rang and there was Hans.
“You won’t believe it! God has worked a miracle!” Their situation fell in the 1% possibility and it gets even better. Hans received a visa that is the absolute best kind available, a Settlement Visa, with privileges to come and go in the UK for as long as he lives. It will never expire.
Tilly put it well when she said, “God has truly moved a mountain.”
“Truly I say to you, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move; and nothing will be impossible to you.” (Matthew 17:20)
