Personal Journey Entry # 38

On January 28, Shay and I heard the word cancer for the first time. We were waiting in post-op for a quick chat with Dr. Tompkins about her findings during my routine colonoscopy/endoscopy. We had done this every few years, and it was no big deal. Tell us all is good and we’ll see you in three. This time, nothing was routine. Dr. Tompkins sat down, which is never a good sign, and broke the news. I remember looking at Shay; I don’t think either of us reacted. I looked up and said to myself, “Dear God, we are in Your hands.” The last seven months have been a pure journey of faith.

I don’t sleep well; I usually get four hours on a good night. Insomnia gives me far too much time to think, and I have spent many hours alone in the dark trying to make sense of this cancer within me. This silent demon has changed the course of my life, and by extension, our lives. For seven months, I have lived every minute thinking about the cancer within but not having any physical sense of its presence. Surgeries, procedures, and anesthesia have been monthly events, but it still lurks within me. I look around the radiation clinic or infusion room and feel like I don’t belong. Some of these folks look so frail and tired from their battle, and it is then that I realize how lucky I am. There is no guarantee that we are close to the end of our fight, but catching my demon early gives us a better chance than most.

As I wrote in my last entry, this weekend delivered the first feelings of the cancer or treatment side effects. They are certainly manageable with some localized pain in my esophagus, some difficulty swallowing, and some indigestion. I was told these effects would kick in after the second week of radiation, and they were right on time. We have a long way to go with 18 more radiation treatments and ten more weeks of chemo, and those same people who predicted the effects now tell me they will get worse. (Pause for happy thoughts). If what lies ahead will chase this demon from my chest, then bring it on. In the meantime, I will continue to consider myself the luckiest guy in the room. We caught it early, we have a wonderful medical team, we have the most incredible friends in the world, and above all else, we have the arms of Jesus Christ around us all. I may never make sense of it all, but there are plenty of dark, quiet morning hours ahead to mull it over. I keep telling myself, “Cancer will not define me, but how I defeat it will.” I hope this phase of my life makes me a better man.

Thanks for stopping by. May God bless you and keep you in his arms. Ray