Walking on Water.... still

This morning in church -- we haven't been there in several weeks -- the guest minister referenced the story of Peter walking on the water from Matthew 14. That is an important story for me; it is the "theme" for this blog and a source of encouragement for me. I feel a bit like Peter in the story, when he sees the waves and becomes afraid:

Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, "Lord, save me!" (v. 29-30)
As soon as Peter took his eyes off Jesus, he saw his circumstances and he became afraid. He started to sink. My prognosis and the words of Kathy Miller are my wind. If I dwell on them for too long, I can feel myself start to sink emotionally. Literally. So, it is important for me to remember Jesus' response:

Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. You of little faith," he said, "why did you doubt?" And when they climbed into the boat, the wind died down. (v. 31-32).
Do I believe that Jesus is nearby and able to reach out his hand to catch me? I do.... I just hope and pray that he does it soon -- I am ready for my wind to die down. Literally.

Today after church we told our older boys what Dr. Miller had said in her consultation last Wednesday. They continue to react to information in a very consistent way -- Shane is forever the fact finder, asking questions and trying to process all of the information. It is hard to tell how upset he is about the news. He puts on a strong front, and does not show his emotions very openly. Tyler had some questions, but he pretty much wears his heart on his sleeve. He needed more reassurance and encouragement. He liked Psalm 112:7, the Bible verse that I had read before the consultation with Kathy Miller.

Dr. Miller might think she was being compassionate by being so "realistic" about my prognosis, but I really and truly resent the information she gave me -- it is a defeatist attitude that has caused my family much grief. She has past experience and statistics to back up her point of view, but no one knows anyone's outcome over the next two years or beyond. I think my anger is what keeps me from spiraling out of control -- I am determined to prove her wrong and to LIVE a full, long life.

And so my fight goes on -- tomorrow is my next chemo date. It is a 4-hour chemo, and after this one I'll be more than half way through the first round of chemo. Another batch of drugs start after Labor Day. My oncologist continues to be optimistic, and I rely on his optimism. It is much better than anything Dr. Miller had to offer me. Perhaps my oncologist knows that the best "chemo" available is hope.

He Says, She Says....

Just before my surgery in May, I found a prayer journal in our local Christian bookshop. I use it each week, moving new requests from last week to on-going requests for next week. The journal has a place for answered prayers and praises, and, just on my own, I've been collecting encouraging Bible verses and quotations that I come across. This is the first time in my life I've been intentional about keeping track of prayer requests and answers to prayer. It has been a really interesting activity. One of the Bible verses that I've written in this week's journal is Psalm 112:7:

He will have no fear of bad news;
his heart is steadfast, trusting in the LORD.
This is surely a verse that God knew I would need for my consultation with Dr. Kathy Miller on Wednesday morning. Both of my sisters went with me, and Paul was able to listen to the doctor's comments via my cell phone. She spent probably about 45 minutes with me, and essentially told me to give up chemotherapy now because she was 95% certain that I would develop metastatic (incurable) cancer within the next 1-2 years. I shouldn't "waste" my good time now feeling badly from unnecessary and unhelpful chemo. She was kind and compassionate as she offered this news, but definite. In her mind, my future is short and it is grim.

Wow... Somehow my sisters and I were able to eat lunch afterward. Each bite was a heavy one. We discussed how in the world I would break this news to the rest of my family and to our boys?? Paul left his office, and went home to telephone his family and regroup. I also called my Beaumont oncologist to let him know that Dr. Miller would be calling him, and that her "treatment plan" was radically different than his. If he could talk to her before our appointment with him on Monday, that would be great.

He called me at my parents home that same night.

God bless him -- he was as upbeat and hopeful as she was grim.

By the time he called me, he had already talked to Dr. Miller, and he said he completely disagreed with her assessment. Her job is deal with metastatic (incurable) disease, and his job is to do whatever necessary to make sure his patients do not progress that far. He said he felt "strongly" that the chemo drugs I am on now are a good strategy and that we should stay the course. I said I would continue the chemo that has already started. He also suggested (to Paul in a separate phone call) that I buy a stack of post cards -- presumably to mail out one each year to Kathy Miller!

So, who is right and who is wrong? Only time will tell. Only God knows.

But I'm not the kind of person who is just willing to lay down and die. To end chemo now because it might not work seems like a defeatist attitude. One of my favorite quotes is from the Introduction of a book by Sue Buchanan entitled I'm Alive and the Doctor's Dead:
"The computer (or statistics or expert doctor or...) doesn't know you. It doesn't know how often you laugh or cry or that you have spunk. It doesn't know about the support of your family and friends and how well you're loved; whether or not you're prayed for isn't taking into consideration by the statisticians. And no matter how many mega-giga-humonga-bytes-bits-RAM the computer may contain, it simply isn't capable of computing the fact that -- are you ready for this? -- the God of the universe has a timetable for your life and mine! Yea! Rah! Cheers! Maybe a hallelujah or two!"
My future is unknown to me, but it is secure in God's hands. That is what He wanted me to remember with Psalm 112:7. I'm not unrealistic -- my time with my family might be very short. I might never see my kids graduate or hold my grandchildren. God forbid, Paul might retire as a widow. But I am also not giving up -- I'll continue with a doctor who has hope and who gives me hope. I can make better diet/exercise choices. I'll try to live each day fully and completely. It is all in God's hands. He is the true expert.