Reflections On A Recent Chat With My Son

The other day, I am ashamed to admit that I had a pity-party.  On September 12, 2001, as we all were reeling over the tragedy of 9/11, I had the first of many surgeries that marked the beginning of my struggle with cancer.   I heard myself sharing that with my friends and whining about how I wish I had never undergone chemotherapy, since it has left me with a permanently impaired immune system and memory, and painful growths all over my liver.  And to those friends, I offer my apologies.  Because my very wise 16-year old son helped me put things in perspective - again.  He reminded me of the tremendous good that came from my having gone through what I did 9+ years ago.  He understands that I would never put my body through an ordeal like that again, but  reminded me of the wonderful gift God gave me during that time - a gift that will last a lifetime and beyond.

In August of 1981, I reached the point in my life where I knew beyond a doubt that God was real and that, because He came in the flesh and reconciled mankind to Himself, I would never die - not in any way that matters.   I would eventually shed this body that gets sick and breaks down with time, but I would still "be".  It was a wonderful revelation and it sustained me throughout my life.  But when I was undergoing grueling cancer treatments 20 years later, I feared I would not survive, and what had been a warm-and-fuzzy relationship with my God, suddenly took a dramatic turn.

Many women do just fine through chemotherapy treatments, feeling some nausea and becoming fatigued, but none the worse for the wear.  I was not one of those women.  After my first treatment, I was so hyped up that my heart raced, I could not sleep for days and my eyes occasionally rolled back into my head.  This was due, I discovered, to the steroids I was given to help stave off a possible allergic reaction.  We could not eliminate them altogether, but we cut the dose in half.  I've been told that there are high performers on chemo and low performers (people who handle the drugs just fine and those who don't).  I was an extremely low performer.  After the third of 6 treatments, we could not control the vomiting.  For days on end, I was unbelievably nauseous - have never felt anything like it since, even with stomach flu.  My white blood cells plummeted to almost nothing and made me susceptible to pneumonia and various other infections (things I still struggle with now), and when my red blood cells fell as well, it became difficult to breathe.  Long story short, I was sure I was going to die - that my body would not survive the battering it was taking.  And I took to prayer like I never had before.

Before those days, when I prayed for comfort, I got it.  God's presence would envelope me like a warm blanket and I knew all would be well.  But when I prayed during the 6 months I underwent chemotherapy treatments, God dealt with me much differently.  There was no more soothing milk, so to speak - it was time for solid food and hard truth.  God showed me that physically dying would not be the worst thing that could happen to a soul.  And he revealed areas in my life that had spun out of control, leaving me spiritually broken and crippled.  I have shared some of this with you before so I won't belabor the point, but suffice it to say that my diet was such a mess that, my lack of control over what I was eating, led to lack of control in most other areas of my life, as well.  The book of the Bible God led me to read?  Revelations.  I learned that, like everything else in God's Word, there was not one meaning to that difficult, highly symbolic book.  At one time or another, each person goes through his or her own personal "revelation" - a reckoning, a test of fire, a final battle here on earth.  I learned a lot and, through the years, I have shared that knowledge with my son, who has one of the deepest relationships with God I have seen.  

The other night, after I had my pity-party, my son and I shared a dinner together and I confessed what I had done and how I felt that day and he pulled me up short.  He told me that it was because of what I had been through and how God had dealt with me through it (including healing me of liver cancer - see post dated 3/19/11 ), that he had the faith he did.  He knew I would die someday (we all die), but was thankful that God was keeping me here as long as he was.  Oh my!  I was stunned - happily, of course, but stunned nonetheless.  And we proceeded to have "one of our talks"....

As a result, I have remembered to take one day at a time (thankful for each and every one of them), to be mindful of my limitations (but never lose sight of the fact that my "good days" are often very good), and grateful for the things God has taught me, especially that, although this life is indeed a precious gift, it is but a mere flicker in the scheme of things.

This post may seem to have nothing to do with food, except that it was in learning to control my diet that I also learned to control many of the other passions that kept me captive, as well as to be able to draw closer to the Source of all I see, smell, hear, taste, desire, and love.  I have a long way to go - that goes without saying - but I am grateful for the journey, on most days, that is.... : )