My Way Through the Darkness-Part 2

The Ryan Superbowl party has become an annual event at our house for the past 3-4 years, but this year we were going to pass since we didn’t technically have a house.  However, as the weeks went by no one seemed to be planning anything, and many were still certain that we would somehow find a way to throw a party, homeless or not.  I mean obviously the world would end if we did not have this event.  So, a few weeks before the Superbowl, our absolutely wonderful friends, the Blake’s, graciously offered their house for us to use for the party. It seemed at the time that the annual event would still take place; though I was not really convinced this was a good idea…there just was not enough time.  I of course began to worry about the party, how I would find the time, and what food I would make.  I wish throwing a Superbowl party was all I had to worry about now, and really what good does it do to worry about anything at all?       

Anyways, I now had a new worry…Colon Cancer. The only thing more painful than being told I have cancer, was sharing that news with our loved ones. Every time we would tell someone the news, not only would the pain be re-lived by us, but we would have to see the hurt in someone else’s eyes.  The only two people I could bare to tell myself were my Mom and my best friend Melissa.  My mom already knew something was wrong; she is of course a mom and therefore has a freakishly good sense about these things.  Phil had called her at 9 to say the procedure was over, and they were just waiting for me to wake up.  When we didn’t answer our phones and hadn’t called by 12, she knew…they found something.  When she called at around 1pm it was all I could do to mutter “they found cancer.” I didn’t have to say anything else, although I could hear the pain and hurt in her voice.  She then hung up the phone and promptly made her way home.  That was hard enough, and I didn’t know if I could do it again.

 For those of you who don’t know, Melissa and I have been friends since the sixth grade. I couldn’t imagine how I would feel if the situation were reversed, I did not want to do this. How do you tell your “person” that you have cancer, or anyone for that matter?   A simple text was all it took, “What do you have going on? I need to talk to you.” Words something to that effect made it abundantly clear I was not okay, and she would be over as soon as possible.  The wait was agonizing, but she finally pulled up and I met her on the porch. Thankfully it was a relatively warm day outside because I wanted to tell her alone.  No matter how hard I tried to force back the tears, they came before I could mutter the phrase again. She sat back in shock, no real emotion, just as I had experienced several hours ago.  I knew the tears would eventually come for her, as she seemed surprised they weren’t there now.  Melissa did what she does best, she told me “We got this no matter what”, which is what I needed to hear.  We hugged, a lot, and then she went on her way.  That was it for me.  I told Phil and I couldn’t bear to tell anyone else, it was too painful.  Luckily Phil and my mom were more than understanding, and proceeded to tell my Dad, brother, sister, Phil’s family, friends, etc.  I was done sharing the pain with my loved ones.

                That weekend I had entered into what I can only describe as darkness.  We would not know my scan and lab results until Monday, which seemed like an eternity away.  The weekend was literally a blur of events, my family came to visit and the kids went on about their daily lives; they were a wonderful break from the giant elephant in the room named ‘Cancer’.  Ugh the kids...Jackson and Lydia were my life. Every time I looked at them my mortality would flash before my eyes, and it was all I could do to fight back the tears. Just the thought of leaving them brought on more pain than I care to ever have.  Looking back, it was a blessing that they were too young to understand what was going on.  Their happy faces and laughter kept me going that weekend.   Most of the time I just wanted to be alone, but if I was alone I would be forced to succumb to my emotions.  Therefore, I spent the first 24hours just “living.” I played a little with the kids, sat around and pretended to be part of the conversation, and let numbness overtake me.  It really wasn’t until Saturday afternoon when it all hit. My brother and his wife Joni had stopped by to visit, and after we talked for a while I decided that I wanted to go upstairs and watch a movie with Phil. We hadn’t been alone since Friday afternoon, and in our time to ourselves ALL of the emotions came. Instead of watching a movie, Phil and I held each other and cried. We cried because we were scared, because this simply did not make sense, because this is not what was supposed to happen, and because we were realizing how deeply we loved and needed each other.  That love was going to have to carry us through, the vows “in good times and bad, sickness and in health” now fully applied to us. 

                I shouldn’t say the superbowl party didn’t happen; it just only involved the Blake family and us.  Melissa brought over lots of awesome food, which I ate as best as I could, and the kids played and made a huge mess of toys.  The game was a welcomed break to the stress of the weekend because I didn’t constantly think about Monday.  We yelled at the game, watched the commercials (that is when Phil wasn’t changing it to the Puppy Bowl), and avoided reality for a few hours.  I did not think I would be able to sleep Sunday night, but after a quick prayer I dosed right off only to be awoken by that horrible bus.  Every time I would wake up from a nice cancer-less sleep it would hit me all over again.  My scan was at 9, the doctor appointment wasn’t until 4, again it seemed like we had to wait an eternity.  On the way to see the doctor we didn’t talk, we also waited in silence at his office; the only real communication before the doctor came in was Phil’s hand in mine.  A knock on the door and in came Doctor Nissing, no offense but after our last encounter I really didn’t want to see him.  He sat down and again my mind raced as to what he was going to say.  His tone lowered as he seemed afraid to tell me what I already knew…”the pathology is back, it is cancer.”  Again the oncology nurse in me did not need to know that I had cancer, but how bad it was.  He then told me that the scans were clean and my labs looked good.  At the end of the conversation he said “all things considered, this was the best news you could get.”

                Thank God we had gotten some good news.  I went home, hugged my kids, and was happy to be the one to share the news with my family. I still had no clue what my future held, but I was learning that it didn’t matter.  I could never have foreseen this, and no worry would have stopped it from happening.   Again, instead of leaning on fear and worry about what was going to happen, I put my trust in God and lifted my worries up to Him.  All of this was beyond my control, and God’s grace continued to carry me.  Even in the darkness I was beginning to find my way, the light on my path was becoming brighter and the darkness was starting to fade.   

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” John1:5

“So hold on, you got to wait for the light
Press on, just fight the good fight
Because the pain you've been feeling,
It's just the dark before the morning”
BEFORE THE MORNING - JOSH WILSON