Cancer

Three weeks ago my life was pretty normal. On Monday, July 16th I had my annual mammogram. A few days later I got a phone call telling me that they wanted to do a few more pictures and set an appointment for Monday the 27th. No problems.

On the 27th, they ended up doing another mammogram, an ultrasound and, with permission from my primary care physician, a biopsy. Two days later, on the 29th, I found out that the biopsy was cancerous. Apparently my doctor was out of the office that day, so I had called the clinic where they did the 2nd biopsy for the news.

I think the radiologist expected me to fall apart. Not so. I have no fear of cancer-- been there, done that. The dilemma is that the cancer has spread to my lymph nodes, but they couldn't establish a point of origin. I was scheduled for an MRI this past Wednesday (the 5th) in hopes of finding the source. I've also got an appointment with a surgeon for this coming Monday.

It was August 1986 when I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer-- almost 23 years to the day. At this point, the pathologist could not say for certain whether this cancer is ovarian or breast in origin. Regardless, I was only scheduled for a chest MRI. Hopefully the surgeon will have a few more answers.

The hospital system has a really aggressive outreach program. A social worker-type called me Tuesday to answer any questions I might have and to offer literature to help me deal with all of the terminology that will be thrown my way. I keep telling people that I'm fine. Hey, I had two surgeries and months of chemotherapy. Last time around my constant companion was a plastic 5-gallon ice cream container-- the proverbial "spit" bucket because I spent so much of my time vomiting. My chemo regimen was hard, but times have changed. I've seen some people keep a draining chemo schedule, but still maintain some semblance of a normal life. I don't know if they were just extraordinarily brave or if medicine has made amazing advances in the last 20+ years. Either way, my future remains bright.

If I learned anything from my first experience with cancer, is that it was worth the price. So many lives were blessed as a result, including my own. I walked away from that experience saying that I wouldn't necessarily ask for it, but if Heavenly Father ever asked me to have cancer again, I was willing. My feelings have not changed.

Superheroes aren't afraid of hard things. They know that life did not begin at birth and it won't end with death. They also know that everyone has trials of one kind or another-- some are just more visible than others. They understand that this life is a test. Any well-constructed test should require those who take it to stretch their mastery of the subject-area. I know that God will not ask more of me than I can handle. So, we'll see where this particular test leads...