Faith & Chemo

Embraced by God: Facing Chemotherapy with Faith

I recently finished writing a book, which was released in March 2010 by Twenty-Third Publications, based on my experiences being treated by chemotherapy for a rare blood disease called Langerhan’s Cell Histiocytosis. I will be writing more about this in my blog posts, but below is an excerpt from the book’s introduction.

Introduction: That One Word

If you can see the path laid out before you,
You are on somebody else’s path.
–Joseph Campbell

The moment when I got the news from my oncologist is one of those moments etched in time. If you’ve ever received similar news (which is very probable since you’re reading this) you know what I mean. The words tumbled out of her mouth ever so cinematically and slowly. I think I only heard bits and pieces at first…

Blood disease…very rare…we’ll need to be some research…run a few more tests…don’t know for sure what the…

And then it all hit home with the utterance of one word: chemotherapy. Everything snapped into focus. I KNEW what that meant. Or at least I thought I did. A million thoughts flooded my mind in a matter of seconds. How would my life be changed? How would I change? Was I on a fast course toward an early death at 47? Would I get sick, lose my hair, miss time at work? Would I die, or would this be a blip on the radar screen of my life? Was this “one of those things” that so many people go through and come out the other end whole and better and changed? What would I tell my wife and kids? Those were the questions I asked myself in a brief moment sitting on the examination table in an ill-fitting gown.

That one moment – and that one word — was the beginning of a new chapter in my life, to be sure, and one that would change me in many ways. For now, a couple of years and two rounds of chemotherapy later, that change has been mostly positive and life-affirming. It hasn’t come without its challenges, of course. There have been times of pain, sickness, confusion and sadness. But it has also been a time of renewal and re-birth spiritually, and that’s the reason I decided to write this book.

Admittedly, my journey through this disease and its treatment, which is often worse than the disease itself, has not been as devastating for me as it so often is for others. Perhaps that’s the biggest blessing of all, for although many have a story to tell, they are not always able to do so because of the toll their disease has taken on them. So while I can’t compare my experience to those who have fought more aggressive diseases such as cancer or leukemia, I at least have an inkling of what they have gone through. And I know that my own journey is not yet over. I’ve already had one period of remission followed by a recurrence, and I know this disease will never fully go away.

I think a brotherhood and sisterhood exists between those who have undergone chemotherapy. We are kin, of sorts, those of us who have sat in the recliner or laid in the bed while toxic chemicals were injected into our bodies to try and save us or give us a little more time. We know each other’s pain and numbness and exhaustion. We smile at each other when we meet in the hallways or while blood is drawn because we can relate and because we know.

Many people have asked how I “coped” with it all. My first answer sounds a bit smug but it’s truthful: I coped because I had no choice. One day I thought I was basically healthy and the next someone was scheduling my chemotherapy treatments. This is now just part of my life, as it is part of yours. We accept it as we do a new family member.

But “how” we accept it all is up to us, and I have chosen the way of faith and God because I know of no other way that brings peace and gives me a reason to go on. I know that not everyone shares this view of life and eternity, and I respect that view even as I can’t imagine it for myself, especially as I grapple with issues of life and death.

So I have opted to embrace my disease and its treatment because I really have no other choice. But I have chosen, as a matter of faith and survival, to not embrace it alone because my arms are not big enough or strong enough for the battle. But as I hope you will see in the pages that follow, the arms of my God are big enough to encircle both me and the disease that is attacking me. Whatever the outcome, I have decided to live (and someday to die, as we all must) held in the arms of God. I can’t think of a better way.