I Barely Knew Them

It takes a village to fight cancer.  I am not alone in this battle.

Since my diagnosis of multiple myeloma on June 18, 2011, I have been encouraged by family and friends, health care professionals and church pals, neighbors, and former students.

These people know me well.  They pray for me.  They cheer me on.

But this is a story about three women who had an outsized influence on my journey, whose stories were compelling, but unlike most of the residents of my village, were barely known to me.  Marianne came into my life for about two months.  Cathy and I spent an hour together.  And Eleanor?  I never met her!        

Marianne

One look at Marianne and you knew that her time was almost up.  She was ashen and emaciated.  She wore a beanie or a baseball cap or a do-rag to cover her hairless pate.  When she was not in her wheelchair, she moved painstakingly slow.  Because her veins had worn out, she had a visible “pick line” and also a “port” for IVs and for the drawing of blood.   

Our paths crossed only a few times, and on one of those crossings we sat side-by-side in the treatment room and talked about our cancers.  I was new to the cancer club; she had been a member for four years.  Cancer Club members do this — talk openly with each other about diagnosis, prognosis, treatment, fear and frustration, victories, and defeats.  We tend to open veins in front of prefect strangers.

She had three forms of cancer – all women’s cancers, and all in advanced stages.  The surgeries, the infusions, the chemotherapies, and the brutal and searing doses of radiation were too numerous to count; but those were not her main concern.

She mainly worried about her dad, who was her chauffeur, wheelchair attendant, and nurse maid.  He sat with her in the waiting room, and his face wore the mask of a deer in the headlights.  Frozen with fear.  Frozen with anguish.

Marianne had come to a place of acceptance, but he had not.

Marianne was at peace, but he was not. 

Marianne was ready to die, but he was not ready to lose her.

When I heard that she had succumbed, I was not ready either.  I found a quiet place to weep and raised my face heavenward and shouted, “Oh Lord!  Why couldn’t you give me ALL the cancers and send that gracious young woman home to her family and her life.”

The thought of Marianne’s dad made the pain especially acute.  You see, when she passed away in the summer of 2012, she was twenty-eight, the same age as my youngest daughter. 

Cathy

Cathy was an ordained minister and on the clerical staff of an Episcopal church in Orange County when, in the fall of 2011, she was diagnosed with breast cancer.  We were introduced by a mutual friend and sat down for a chat in June of 2012, when she shared her story. 

Regular mammograms had not revealed any abnormalities, but that year on her bi-annual checkup she learned that an aggressive cancer had invaded her body.  It was life threatening, requiring immediate and radical attention.  A double mastectomy was followed with radiation and chemo.  She was violently ill and lost her hair.

Many women who are battling cancer are astounding in their grace and courage.  If I lost my hair, it would be no big deal.  I would channel my inner Telly Savalas or Shaquille O’Neal and move on.  Friends might notice the difference, but strangers would not have a clue.  When a woman loses her hair, it is like wearing a neon sign.  “Hey, over here.  Look, I have a killer disease.”

But Cathy did not bemoan her loss; she embraced it.  When she felt well enough to resume some of her normal routines at church, her husband accompanied her on a shopping spree for wigs.  They bought four of them in different styles and shades of color.  On her first Sunday back in the pulpit, she took off the one she was wearing to reveal her bald scalp; then tried on the other three wigs one by one.  She asked for a show-of-hands vote as to their preference, and that became her work wig.

Cancer did not diminish her faith.  It strengthened her faith.  Having faced the possibility of dying, she vowed to live her fullest life and to share the goodness of God wherever she went.  She regarded the treatment center for women where she received her chemo as her “mission field.” 

Cathy has been in remission for almost ten years.  She has regular checkups and maintains a digital presence where she encourages, comforts, and prays for other cancer patients.  Cancer has never dominated her life.  Cancer has never been her focus.  The Lord and His mercies are her center of gravity.

Eleanor

At a student leadership conference many years ago, the keynoter was an Olympic medalist and motivational speaker.  She was sharing with the attendees about dealing with adversity, overcoming failure, turning obstacles into opportunities for growth.  She told the story of her own mother, Eleanor, who had died about ten years previously.  She missed her mom terribly, but her mother was still an inspiration for her, because Eleanor had a “kickass” attitude in the midst of her own battle.  Eleanor had said to her daughter:

“Cancer has ruined just about everything.  Cancer has ruined my health.  It has ruined my life expectancy.  It has ruined my career and my finances.  It has ruined my ability to do the things I love to do.  Cancer has ruined my sex life.  But I have decided that cancer is NOT GOING TO RUIN MY DAY.”

Among evangelical Christians there is an expression we use to describe a meeting or an encounter that is thoroughly unexpected, but which yields great personal meaning and spiritual power.  We call it a “divine appointment.”  Three women came into my life in the most unexpected circumstances, and very briefly.  Yet their impact on my life has been immeasurable.  As sure as I am writing these words, I know that the Lord scheduled these encounters with Marianne and Cathy and Eleanor’s daughter.

Their words inspired me to appreciate and care for the people who care for me.  They taught me to regard cancer with an eternal perspective.  They allowed me to laugh when I can and not to allow cancer to determine my mood or attitude.  They affirmed for me a most important Biblical lesson — you can find joy, laughter, peace, and purpose in the middle of any trial, any setback, any circumstance, or any bad tidings.