It's Good but it Feels Bad

Initially, the weekly chemo requirement of getting a needle stuck in my arm was no big deal. But I lost 20 pounds in the first month because of a naturapathic diet designed to rob the cancer of needed glucose, then had trouble gaining it back the second month because of chemo-induced diarrhea. Between the direct effects of the chemo and the effects of the weight loss and tendency toward dehydration produced by the diarrhea, it became increasingly difficult for the nurses to find a vein each week, and the attempts became increasingly painful. I raised that issue with the doctor last Tuesday and he advised getting a permanent line stuck in my arm so they only have to stick me that once and then every week when I need chemo or blood work, they just stick the needle in that permanent line sticking out of my upper right arm, instead of trying to stick the needle in my arm. It makes the whole process quicker, easier and less painful. When they're done, the line will just come right out and not even leave a permanent mark.

It's good, but somehow it feels kind of bad on a purely psychological level. Something permanent sticking out of your arm every minute reminds you every minute that you're not really as well as you feel; that you're a patient. I feel like it makes me look like a patient, too, to people like my mother and brother who'll be here in three days, and for whom I wanted to look as normal as I feel, to reassure them. It's an odd, silly little thing, and it'll pass, but for the moment, there the feeling is.

Another good thing that feels bad is the people who are being drawn into my consciousness. When you're fighting cancer as publicly as I've chosen to, you get to know a lot of other past and present cancer patients. The first round of stories that you hear are the great, encouraging victory stories of people who won their battles when the doctors said they couldn't. But part of the reason I've chosen to be so public in my struggle is that I want God to use even this as an avenue for ministering to other people. That means I'm getting to know other people who are still fighting cancer now, and some of their battles aren't going well at the moment. Because I'm in the same battle, I know how to pray and what to say that will be encouraging instead of merely trite. God gets to use this as a tool for more effectively loving other people who need to know that they're loved and lovable.

That's good. That gives my own struggle meaning and value even if I ultimately lose it, but even more so if I ultimately win it. But it feels kind of bad at the same time, because I care about those who seem to be losing their battles at the moment and I begin to carry their load with them. And it feels a little bad because I realize that what's going badly for them could be going badly for me tomorrow. It even feels a little bad that my latest news is encouraging while theirs is discouraging, because it raises the question of why God will heal some of us of cancer but not others. The trite, easy answer of the living that suggests it's because those who live always have more "faith" than those who die, doesn't fit my personal observation or experience or understanding of faith or scripture or God, or the view of most of the wisest and most holy of Christians through the centuries. So trust has to be enough when my understanding isn't. When I don't have all the answers like I did when I was younger, I have to choose to let God be God and love be enough.

So I do.