Our Tuesday began with unexpected van repairs to the tune of $422. The front tires were frayed. A belt on the engine was cracked in multiple places. I was suddenly glad I arrived when they opened. As I surveyed the tires with the service manager it dawned on me that this was now my task. Ben couldn't pay attention to tires anymore. Mental checklist enabled. Perhaps a true written list is a better move.
The drive to Atlanta on Tuesday was long and tiring. Ben was not up to driving, so I drove there and back -- around 3 hours each direction. There were so many crazy drivers swapping lanes wildly, an 18 wheeler that tried to run us over, and a 10 car accident on the opposite of the interstate from us on I-285W, looking quite terrible.
Ben was relatively quiet so I spent much of the time on the drive silently talking to the LORD. I'm not entirely certain of all the topics I touched on, but He remembers. It felt good to just communicate with Him and lay all my distresses at His feet. It always feels good to talk to the LORD. It's the listening I must work on.
My talks makes me think of our children. I recall how they'd come to us, tearful and heartbroken, because of a toy that was no longer working or was outright broken. With big tearful eyes and a trusting heart, they'd hand to toy to myself or Ben. Their sad eyes would plead, "fix it." We'd gently take the item from them and examine the damage. Sometimes, we could repair the toy, leading to elation. Sometimes we could not, leading to a child's sorrow.
So, we arrived at Emory just in time for the appointment for lab work. Navigating to find a parking space, walking to find a correct building consumed frustratingly large amounts of time -- or so it felt -- such that Ben actually was in the lab 30 minutes after the appointment time. Their setup was seemingly quite efficient, and we soon found ourselves sitting in the waiting room for the doctor.
Cue fear.
Fear, for me, is a curious thing. It pounces on me unexpectedly, like a stalking animal. It makes my heart pound, my stomach starts feeling upset, and I am unable to concentrate on anything beyond ... fear. It leads to a ridiculous cycle of increasing fear. The chaplain at the Cancer Center told me to focus on what exactly drives my fear and identify it. I'm still working on that.
The doctor is a extremely patient man. He is very obviously not in any hurry to leave, takes a seat comfortably in the examination room, and answers every question that Ben has thoroughly and with enthusiasm. He's very passionate about the cancer trials at Emory, and about appropriate and correct information for Ben and I to use to make good decisions.
But he does confirm what the oncologist at the Cancer Center told us -- there is no cure. This care is all about extending the time that's left without robbing that time of it's value. And value is defined wildly differently by every patient.
The doctor does make treatment suggestions that can be performed at the Cancer Center at home. He suggest an immunotherapy trial, stage I, at Emory that he feels is the best option -- but only if the cancer has a specific marker. He also suggests checking UAB when Ben balks at numerous drives to Atlanta. I don't care about the drive -- I'll drive to the moon if there's a cure for Ben there. But driving saps Ben of precious energy. I understand his reluctance.
We leave his office, one hour later, armed with more information. Ben says to me, "I'm not sure about chasing treatments."
I knew he'd say that. I understand what he means with that too, even if it's quite painful to hear. Treatments make him feel rather poor. They destroy the intestinal system causing it to vacillate between diarrhea and constipation which then leads to excessive pain. Treatments cause extreme fatigue, pain, and a general feeling of malaise. What type of quality of life is lying in bed all day, miserable from symptoms? It's a question I can't really answer. It's only a question that Ben can answer - the man I love so very much, who's walking the walk.
I spend the entire trip home thinking of what it means and I start talking to the LORD again. I tell Him I'm afraid, that I'm not sure what to do. I tell Him that I don't quite understand, that I'm struggling with the destination of this journey. I tell Him I love Him and I trust Him and that I need Him to water my mustard seed of faith, cause it's taking a beating.
Partway home, I stop at a rest stop somewhat west of Auburn just to walk and shake off the the mounting sleepiness of the long trip. It's shortly after 8pm. Ben and I are standing outside in the cool air, listening to the whir of vehicles on the interstate, admiring the stars and I suddenly feel a sense of peace. I have this moment in time, this precious hand-holding whilst staring at distant points of light that the LORD calls by name (Isaiah 40:26). I am going to remember this moment. This moment is peace. This moment is us, husband and wife, walking the toughest journey I've ever experienced. And somehow I experience ... PEACE.
Isaiah 40:26 (NASB)
26 Lift up your eyes on high
And see who has created these stars,
The One who leads forth their host by number,
He calls them all by name;
Because of the greatness of His might and the strength of His power,
Not one of them is missing.
And see who has created these stars,
The One who leads forth their host by number,
He calls them all by name;
Because of the greatness of His might and the strength of His power,
Not one of them is missing.
Amazingly enough, I sleep well after we get home. Not sure how, since my mind was a-whirl, but the LORD can calm the raging sea (Mark 4:35-41), and He can calm me too.
So, on Friday of this week, the 8th of April, Ben will see his regular oncologist. He's thinking, praying, pondering what he's been told. He's considering the genetic testing of the tumor, to see what markers it contains. He's considering genetic counseling, in case our children need the information for their futures. And he's considering the extra treatment option.
But, the final statement of the word of man is that the medicine of man cannot cure Ben. We are simply buying time, precious time.
Going back to my story about our children and their broken toys, I think of the LORD. I've come to His feet, my eyes looking to Him. I've handed Him the object of my sorrow. I don't know His answer yet, regarding the brokenness of my heart over Ben's condition, but I am going to trust Him. Just as our children trust us in our imperfect parenting state, I am going to trust the perfect Father. Don't get me wrong -- it's very hard. But it's what I am going to *choose* to do. I have chosen to follow Jesus. No turning back.
As for prayers, Ben is visiting Social Security Thursday for disability evaluation. On Friday, Ben will speak with the oncologist. Please pray for these things to move forward smoothly, for us to hear and respond to the LORD's calling, and for us to accept the LORD's will in all these things. Pray with thanksgiving, for the LORD is good (Philippians 4:6).
Philippians 4:6-7 (NASB)
6 Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. 7 And the peace of God, which surpasses all comprehension, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.*Graphic at beginning of page is from the website The Graphics Fairy. All credit for the lovely image belongs to them.
{Hugs}and continued prayers for your family in facing the days ahead. Thank you for your faithfulness and willingness to share your heartfelt fears as you trust the Lord and fully rely on Him.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for the hugs and prayers! They mean quite a lot in these days.
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