Chuckling

This morning arrived with wild wind and spit-like rain. It was still dark as we loaded the van and climbed in with our coffees, headed for Nate’s first radiation treatment. Normally I would have been behind the wheel for the 108 mile trip, but Nelson wanted to share this experience with us and kindly took my place.

As we sped along, Nate riding shotgun and me in back, I observed father and son. They conversed steadily and even chuckled together, a sound that washed over me like a balm. There hasn’t been too much levity at our house recently.

Suddenly Nelson braked and pulled sharply onto the left shoulder. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Look behind us,” he said.

Pulling up close was a police car, bubble gum lights flashing. My heart sank, because I’d just told Nelson they’d raised the speed limit, which proved inaccurate for this section of highway. I wished I’d been driving and could have taken the ticket, despite his record being clean and mine being, uh, dirty.

After scowling and quizzing Nelson about his speed, the officer went to his car, eventually returning with license and ticket. “You have a total disregard for everything,” he said. “You’ve got to slow down. I’m giving you a warning.” And he was gone.

As we merged back onto the expressway, we were all chuckling about Nelson’s supposed “disregard” for not just traffic rules but for absolutely “everything”. And laughter turned to amazement when we talked about the gift of a warning instead of the penalty of a ticket. All of us saw it as one more touch of kindness from the Lord. “Whatever is good… comes down to us from God our Father.” (James 1:17a)

We arrived on time for radiation treatment #1, which was a breeze for Nate. No claustrophobic tube to slide into and no pain in the treatment process. Friendly techs announced, “Now we’re going to Grant Park,” as pictures of Chicago’s beautiful lake front came into view during his “zapping”.

He returned to the lobby saying, “So far, so good.”

Tomorrow we repeat the process. Maybe then he’ll get to “go” to Millennium Park or the Chicago River as the radiation does its work. In the next few days, doctors said, his skin will redden at the three radiation sites and then feel sunburned, possibly blistering after that. “But with our magic creams,” they assured us, “we’ll make it easy.” We trust them and hope they’re telling the full truth.

Driving home while eating Subway sandwiches, we watched for speed limit signs. Nate was tired but talkative, and as we rounded the bottom of the lake headed for home, all three of us agreed it had been a very good day.

“I will turn their mourning into joy, and will comfort them, and make them rejoice from their sorrow.” (Jeremiah 31:13)

Still at work

When we arrived in the hospital conference room to receive the shocking news about Nate’s pancreatic cancer last Tuesday, Nate was dressed in a new grey business suit and the red tie I’d given him two weeks before. (Who knew Wal-Mart had such great looking ties?)

He’d spent the morning fighting for a client in court and had won the case. I thought he looked especially handsome as he stepped into the room. Standing up each time a new doctor entered to introduce himself, Nate reached out for seven hand shakes and gave seven greetings. He was in lawyer-mode and was definitely the catalyst in the room.

After three hours had passed and all the miserable facts were swirling in our brains, the head doctor said, “You’ve had a terrible afternoon, and I think that’s enough for today. We’ll meet again tomorrow and talk more then.”

Nate took out a Post-it note to write down the time and place, while I dabbed at my eyes with his handkerchief, already soaking wet. The meeting had officially ended, but the doctor had one more thing to say.

“All of us on your medical team had gone over your test records before today. Anticipating meeting you, I expected you would be… well… not in such good condition. Everything I saw in the data said that…. well… Actually, I just can’t believe you were at work today… and even in court.”

Nate, only half listening, took it as a compliment. I took it as a portend of difficult days coming quickly. We have traveled through six of those days so far, and I was right. Nate’s pain is escalating. His suits are in the closet. And the lawyer is not at work.

But God is at work, and he is working on our behalf. As we climbed into the car today, there, folded and tucked into the back of the driver’s seat, was a wad of bills. One hundred dollars. Someone knew of our many 180 mile round trips into Chicago from Michigan, and thoughtfully provided a couple of tanks of gas. God’s touch is in the details of our lives, and we feel him very close.

“There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear. God is love, and the one who abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him.” (1 John 4:18, 16)

CANCER!

It’s been 5 days since we heard the dreadful news, and we are just beginning to come up for air.

In that first conversation with a doctor, in just a few excruciating minutes, Nate and I found ourselves tangled up in a snarl of horrifying words we did not expect: pancreatic cancer, inoperable, metastasized, stage 4, terminal.

“Stunned” does not explain our response. “Crushed” is better. “Devastated” is accurate.

The doctor was backed by six others in the room, all eyes fixed on us. When he paused to let us respond, I spoke first. Trying to will the words away, to banish them from the room, I said, “But we only came for surgery on his back! He doesn’t have any other symptoms! We don’t know anything about any of this!” As my voice got louder and began to crack, Nate reached for my hand.

We had known about his back pain and the stenosis, bulging disks, arthritis and spurs causing it. Having made the rounds to several doctors, we’d settled on “the best in the country” and signed up for spine surgery to take place on September 28… which is tomorrow. In Nate’s routine pre-op physical, multiple red flags popped up. Two short weeks after that, we were sitting in a hospital conference room surrounded by learned doctors, being assaulted with unwanted words.

Encouraging friends have responded. “Remember, this was not a surprise to God.”

And my heart has screamed, “BUT IT WAS TO US!”

Today, five days later, we are still reeling but are no longer screaming inside, at least not on this day. Our family is gathering. We all agree on how we want to spend our time. Love and support is pouring in from all directions, some quite unexpected and all exceedingly helpful and precious to us.

I plan to use this blog space to keep interested parties informed of Nate’s situation while the clock ticks and the days pass. As we begin putting one foot in front of the other to plod into this foreign land, we’ll let you know how things are going. Feel free to comment. And thank you so much for your kindnesses to us already. We’ve seen that our un-surprised God has traveled ahead of us and now stretches out his hand to say, “Over here now. Follow me. It’s all going to utterly amaze you, and I can’t wait to show you.” And so with tears streaming down our faces making it hard to see, we follow.

“May our Lord Jesus Christ himself and God our Father, who loved us and by his grace gave us eternal encouragement and good hope, encourage your hearts and strengthen you.” (2 Thessalonians 2:16)