Journal of a Living Lady #130

 

Nancy White Kelly

 

            Let me check my pulse. Hmm. My heart is still beating. Miraculous. Yet with metastatic cancer, I am constantly aware of the grim reaper, scythe in hand, standing in the corner. Not that I believe literally in the grim reaper, of course, but in our culture he is synonymous with death, an appointment we shall all keep.

 

I am aware that death ultimately looms on the  horizon. However, I am much more comfortable with the reality that angels are awaiting God’s timing, not some macabre scavenger.  Hope springs eternal from my one-sided bosom, an optimism buoyed by a spiritual well that runs deep.

 

            Some people don’t realize what a miracle I am. Maybe if you read my book, Journal of a Living Lady, you would have the background to appreciate what prayer has wrought. For late readers, let me sum it up quickly for you.

 

In 1985, I had breast cancer with a resultant mastectomy followed by chemotherapy. In 1997, the breast cancer reappeared in my lymph system, lungs, and ultimately bones. The best educated guess for my life expectancy was eighteen months with treatment. Surgery, radiation and chemotherapy followed. After brief time-outs came other promising chemicals with exotic names like Taxol and Navelbine. Round followed round until I symbolically yelled “uncle” and took a less aggressive approach.

 

The much-hyped millennium came and went.  It is late 2001.  I have passed every living deadline offered.  Good doctors. Yes. Strong will. Affirmative. God’s intervention. Undeniable.

 

            I am honored that so many people pray for me as I am but one among many who is seriously ill with some disease or another. Am I better than another? Hardly. Many are prayed for, but only some are healed. My thought is that healing in this life is temporary at best for again we must all die sometime. I think of my situation as delayed death by divine degree.

 

Part of the reason is you. If you have ever offered a prayer on my behalf, you have cause to rejoice with me. Some have told me they pray daily. Entire churches have prayed. Intimate circles have prayed. People from all over  the world have prayed for me in many languages. I have received hundreds of letters and emails, yet I am sure there are even more who pray privately who have never told me personally.  I pray too, thanking God for those who care enough to voice my name.

 

I know this may come as a shock, but I want to die sometime. This corner of the world may be the place of my reluctant prominence, but not my ultimate permanence. Thank God I am just passing through.

 

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September 13, 2001