The two most dangerous words in our house these days are “what’s next?” Just when I think I’ve had every complication to leukemia possible, those two works awaken me from my slumber of false assurance with a loud “THAT’S WHAT’S NEXT, PUNK!”
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| Photo by Crystal; https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/legalcode |
You Can’t Make This Up
Last Saturday evening my right eye began to hurt. I thought it was just dry, as is the norm with GVHD. However, it swelled considerably as I slept into Sunday morning. I sent an email to my doctors at MD Anderson telling them that I thought I had an eye infection. They advised me to go to the emergency room. Being the good patient but bad Christian that I am, I skipped church and went to the ER. After some tests, the doctor confirmed that it was an infection, gave me some eye ointment, and advised me to follow up with an ophthalmologist.
So the good patient went to see an eye doctor on Monday who promptly said, “Well, it’s definitely not an infection.” What, but the ER doctor… “It’s a corneal abrasion – a scratch on your eye ball. But I want you to see a specialist.”
“You have to be kidding me,” I thought. How did I cut my eye? Come to think of it, I remember irritating it a few days ago when taking out my contact. My fingers are hard and scaly from GVHD, so that must have been it.
I saw the specialist the next day who confirmed the diagnosis and proceeded to sew my right eye closed, saying it would heal faster this way. I can unequivocally say that having your swollen eyelids injected with lidocaine is one of the most painful experiences humanly possible that last under 15 seconds. As he injected me the first time, I grabbed hold of the bed sheets for dear life and sank deeper and deeper into the bed, trying to get away from the spire of mortal pain. The lower eyelid was worse because this time I knew what was coming.
If this all didn’t hurt so badly, then it might actually be funny. At least I have some experience trying to function half blind from my eye GVHD experience this spring. I’ve managed to get the pain medicine right and even got some work done yesterday after tripping all over the house the last few days.
What isn’t remotely funny are the initial results of my recent bone marrow biopsy. There is no significant change, but no improvement either. This suggests the chemotherapy hasn’t done its job, so I will start a different drug next week.
A Blow to Belief
Another setback. Another blow to faith. Another reason to give up, not that I will. To think the last few months have been largely wasted is frustrating. It’s one thing to endure when you can see progress. It’s entirely something else when every hard-fought step has you sliding back down the hill.
It’s getting harder to believe—not in God’s existence, love for us, or ability to heal me, but in his willingnessto. We are not giving up, not abandoning hope, but it’s harder to hold on to what’s left. There are some of you who said you would believe for us when we were unable to do so. We’re not there yet, but each new complication and negative test result gets us closer.
Like the father of the demon-possessed boy who asked Jesus for healing, I’m crying out “Lord, I believe, but help me with my unbelief.”
The father instantly cried out, “I do believe, but help me overcome my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24 NLT)
Maybe God is trying to get me to the point where I feel totally helpless, all my pride broken and lying beside me like a shattered mirror, capable of no action except muttering the name of Jesus. If that’s what it takes to strengthen my faith, then so be it. In the meantime, as I struggle with believing, I won’t quit, I won’t stop fighting, and I will not be a victim of my circumstances. I will not give up on God, because He will never give up on me.
Oh geez man . . .