Journal of a Living Lady #44
This is it, the new millennium. Maybe 2000 will be the year that the cure for cancer is found. Probably not, but maybe during this century. With all the money given for research, you would think that cancer would be eradicated like Small Pox and Polio. It amazes me that so many people think that cancer is already licked. Not so, no matter what the media says. We have made a lot of progress and there is promising research. Yet, cancer is still the number two killer in America. Heart disease is number one.
Doctors told me months ago that I will never be cured of cancer. On a scale of one to four, four being the worst, I am Stage Four. This means the original cancer has spread (metastasized) to other body sites. In my case it went from the breast to the lungs, lymph system, and then to the bones. Stage four is considered terminal. There is no magic bullet for cancer. It is not a single disease. Cancer begins when a living cell goes for a wild ride with hundreds of other faulty genes. Sometimes it plays a cruel game of “hide and seek.” There was a twelve year interval before my first diagnosis and its recurrence. The five-year mark is a myth.
This last year I have lost many friends to this disease. Most recently I attended the graveside service for Gary Hudson. He was in my Sunday School class and the same age as my husband, Buddy. Gary found out about his lung cancer the same month I found out about my recurrence of cancer. We e-mailed almost everyday, cheering each other on. We would call if a day or two went by without hearing from the other. We talked at great length about chemotherapy, radiation, and the pros and cons of surgery. We shared our cancer war stories and brief victories. When Gary began losing his thick hair, I offered him my wig.
We shared the same home nurse. Hospice would never acknowledge that either of us were patients because of patient privacy concerns. We found that amusing and purposely dropped each other’s name to the nurse occasionally. She pretended not to hear and wouldn’t comment.
Gary and I discussed life and death. Sometimes the conversations were light, but many times we honestly shared our concerns. Neither of us wanted to leave our spouses alone. Both of us firmly believed II Corinthians 5:8 which comforted us in saying “to be absent from the body” is to be present with the Lord. We wondered what that instantaneous step into eternity would be like. It must have been okay. When Gary drew his last breath, he smiled.
As Gary grew weaker and unsteady, I accused him of trying to beat me to heaven, never really believing he would. He did and I will miss him. Gary was an inspiration to all who knew him.
On Sunday, the day after Christmas, I stood arm and arm with his wife, Peggy. Other members of Gary’s family, as well as many mutual friends, stood silently on the windy hillside. We solemnly stared at the small, earthen cavity that would hold the canister of ashes. Along with our teary-eyed pastor, we quoted Psalm 23 and the Lord’s Prayer. Brother Rudy reminded us of Gary’s valiant battle and his ever-present optimistic attitude.
My own burial plot is less than a hundred yards away from where we were standing. I couldn’t help but think that this could have been me. That day the service was for Gary. Someday the funeral will be for me. Until then, I must keep on keeping on. If the situation had been reversed, that is what Gary would be doing.
January 5, 2000
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E-mail: nancyk@alltel.net
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