The Numbers Game

Did you know that your chances of being killed by an asteroid are 1 in 74.8 million? 1

How about being attacked by a shark? 1 in 3.7 million. 2

Winning Powerball? 1 in 175 million. 3 (I think it’s interesting that we have a greater chance of being crushed by an asteroid or digested by a Great White than we do winning the lottery, yet tens of millions of Americans buy lottery tickets each week and very few purchase asteroid or shark insurance.)

What about dying in a car accident? 1 in 108. 4  From cancer? 1 in 7. 5

The odds of a male contracting leukemia are 1 in 63, or about 1.59%. Lucky me. Most of us don’t spend our days thinking – worrying – that we might develop cancer. And we shouldn’t. But it happened to me. Despite being healthy and young, my number came up and here I am on day four of my third round of chemotherapy, almost 100 days into this trial.

I met with my hematologist on Tuesday to give consent for the stem cell transplant. The tentative date for admission is September 3, with the transplant scheduled for September 11. The doctor went over all the details, side effects, potential outcomes, and risks associated with the transplant.

It was a long conversation, but perhaps the thing I remember most is this: medically speaking, I have a 60% chance of living five years post-transplant. That means a 40% chance of dying within the next five years from complications or because the leukemia comes back. That’s a 3 in 5 chance of seeing Emmy turn nine years old and Abrie celebrate her fifth birthday. Statistically, there is a 40% chance that my wife will be a widow in five years. I need a minute to regain my composure…

I like to think that my relative youth and good health give me an even better chance of long term survival, and that’s probably true to some degree. And then I think of what I’ve already experienced in my life. Take my deployments to Iraq, including one in the Sunni Triangle. I mean, what were the chances that I came home both times unscathed? And then there is the fact that I commuted an hour each way to work for ten years without incident. Parachuting from airplanes at Airborne School. Rappelling and fast roping from helicopters. Living as a Tennessee fan among my wife’s family. All these things have an inherent risk associated, yet my number never came up. And now the odds have gotten the better of me. The 1.59% came true and my own mortality is staring me right in the face. Why this and not something else?

I don’t know, but I do know that God is no respecter of statistics. I’ve checked and the Book of Numbers in the Old Testament has nothing to do with this. I have a patient number on my bracelet that the nurses check every time they give me chemotherapy or blood products to make sure I’m the right person. To some, I am a patient with a number.  Or maybe a statistic. But, my Father, see, he knows my name. To Him I am not patient #1488….; I am Jeff. Or son. He does not see “60%” labeled on my forehead. He ordained every day of my life before I was even born, way before I ever got cancer. He loves me infinitely more than a sparrow, none of which will fall from the sky apart from His will. He was my protector in Iraq when I was shot at and he is with me now as we fight a different enemy. The doctors may not be certain of my future, but I am. I am 100% certain that Jesus will never leave or forsake me. I’ll take those odds any day.

1 You have searched me, Lord, and you know me…13 For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb. 14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. (Psalm 139:1, 13, 14 NIV)