So it actually happened. I am in the hospital for the transplant. I was admitted on January 15 just before 9 p.m. I had an appointment with my doctor at noon. Everything checked out okay and I had to wait around for a room to become available. I passed the time as best I could: reading, watching a documentary, and resting. I even went to the café to have some Starbucks and pretend I was in a coffee shop. It didn’t really work.
I started chemotherapy at 3 a.m. the morning after I was admitted. I’m getting a combination of three drugs, plus other medications that counteract the side effects of the chemo, but have side effects of their own. I didn’t expect to feel awful until several days after starting the chemo, based on previous experience. I was wrong. I developed a headache and nausea soon after the poison began to drip. I was also lightheaded and unsure on my feet and even threw up the first morning. By about noon I was mostly better and was able to eat. Today I have this achy pain in my back, hips, and neck. I have four days of chemotherapy followed by three days of immunosuppressing drugs before the transplant, which is scheduled for January 22. My doctor calls it “conditioning”; I call “cruel and unusual punishment.”
I have responsibilities for my recovery just as the doctors do. Every two hours I rinse my mouth with a salt and soda solution to decrease irritation that comes from the chemo. I also breathe into a spirometer ten times every two hours to keep my lungs healthy. I felt good enough last night to walk three miles around the floor.
My room is pretty nice, relatively speaking. There’s Wi-Fi, a TV, hardwood laminate floors, and space to put up pictures of Christi and the girls and the drawings that Emmy made for me before I left. Any illusion of normalcy is impeded by the hospital bed and IV pole to which I am always tethered (Emmy calls it a “medicine tree”). Food is ordered just like room service in a hotel. The options are numerous, or at least they seem to be on the front end. Yesterday I had a turkey Panini with sides of hummus and kalamata olives. Oh, and Ensure, of course. Still, not bad for a hospital. The coffee was even hot when I got breakfast.
I’m on the 18th floor, so the view is nice. I can see downtown Houston and most of the Medical Center. The room’s view doesn’t change, obviously, except with the rising and setting of the sun and the occasional passing helicopter. What has been changing, however, is my view, or rather, my viewpoint, on this whole situation. It didn’t start when I was admitted but has been developing for a while.
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| View from my room on the 18th floor. |
Father, let me want the Cross more than a cure.
How does a man do that? How does a man look his wife and baby girls in the eye and sincerely admit that he wants something more than them? But that is exactly what God calls us to, isn’t it, to love Him with all our hearts and minds and soul (Matthew 22:27)?
What is your “cure”? Erase this word and fill in the blank. Is it a job, finding a spouse, buying a home, your family, or like me, healing from a deadly disease? Whatever our “cure” is, its priority is at best second to the Cross. If what Paul said in Philippians 1:21 is true, then Jesus supersedes everything, our own lives included:
“For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.”
Honestly, I’m not completely there yet. Maybe I’ll never be. But, I’m closer and I like where it’s taking me. Imagine if we could all live with that viewpoint. What freedom there would be in completely releasing all that we care and worry about into the hands of the Father. Don’t take this as a sign of quitting or resignation. In fact, it’s just the opposite. This is precisely how we become victorious.
We are praying for you Jeff. I hope God gives you comfort in your journey to that Cross.
Thank you, Rachel.
Hey buddy, I’m praying for you! I wanted to share this video with you.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b8VoUYtx0kw
Thanks, Brad! I love this song and video. Very uplifting. Great meeting you the other day.
As I read your blog this morning, tears streamed down my face. My husband was diagnosed wirh Squamous Cell Carcinoma in 2006. When I heard the word cancer, my first response was…God, please don’t take my husband! I prayed, fasted, and tried to be a wife that showed Christ’s love on a daily basis. He became so ill, many health professionals thought we might lose him. But, thru God’s mercy and grace he was healed.
He went 5 years almost to the day, “cancer-free. ” My husband is an unsaved man and God’s #1 priority is salvation.
In 2011, he discovered an unusual hardness on the side of his neck. The doctors report was cancer and for the past 2 years, he has had extended chemotherapy, radiation and surgeries to remove this “MONSTER” from his body. And yet, he has not accepted Jesus as his Lord and Savior. I find myself wanting to “give-up.” But as I read your blog, it reminded me that God has purposed this storm to bring Him honor and glory. By His hand ALL will see a life of obedience=blessings! So I await the day of celebration for you Jeff, and for me and my husband!
Wow, thank you for sharing that. I will pray for your and your husband’s day of celebration. God is good and nothing is impossible for him, including penetration the hearts of those who do not yet know him.
Jeff, I met you many years ago out at Artemus (sp?), you were the rapel master one summer at JROTC camp. I found out the week following that that you also attended River of Life in Berea, same as myself and my family. It’s been quite a few years since I’ve been to ROL, but I’ve seen a lot of people post links to your blog via facebook and found out about your leukemia that way. You, your family and your healthcare professionals are in my prayers.
Thank you so much! I appreciate your prayers.
Your faith and courage is inspiring.
Praying for your healing
Thanks for praying.