A Very Merry Christmas

I hope you had a blessed Christmas. This one will likely be my last. Come to think of it, I said that last Christmas. Hmmm, and the Christmas before that. I think I’ve said that every Christmas since I was diagnosed in 2019. I guess the laugh is on me. But one of these Christmases I’ll get it right. Yet, like the boy who cried ‘wolf’ (see last month’s entry), I think I’ll get it right this year.

It’s funny how I’ve gone through my supplies. I recall wanting to buy Q-tips several years ago from Walmart. But the lowest count box they had was 500. I thought, “I’ll never go through 500 Q-tips before my ‘promotion’.” Well, I finished that box 2 years ago and I’m about finished with its replacement. Same goes for my socks, printer ink, and other items I use regularly.

If this was my last Christmas, it was well celebrated with cards, calls, letters, and visits from family and friends. Although I’m about 2 hours from Fort Worth, that didn’t stop David and his family, Sara and her husband from making a couple of visits this past week. I was blessed with visits from former missionaries and calls from Filipino friends. And of course, there’s the daily lively entertainment provided by my dear grandchildren.

Some folks make it a tradition to send out a Christmas letter to family and friends. As you can see, I’ve made a habit to send-out this newsletter the first of each month. I also write a letter to each of my children on their birthdays, reminding them of why each one is precious to me and how deeply I love each one. This Christmas, I also made it a point to talk to my grandkids about Heaven. Although they may miss Grandpa when he’s gone, they need not grieve as do others who don’t have the certainty of hope hidden deep in their hearts due to the sacrificial work of Jesus Christ on the cross.

As for my health, Christmas week brought me a couple of episodes of high blood pressure and dizzy spells, along with my on-going issues with edema, nausea, shortness-of-breath, and digestion. These were accompanied by the continual contentment I feel from the Prince of Peace and the daily inward joy I experience from the Joy Giver that will culminate on my Promotion day, a Christmas day that I will treasure for eternity.

The Boy Who Cried Wolf!

Do you remember the story of the shepherd boy who cried ‘wolf’? Twice he pretended a wolf was attacking the sheep and he called out to the villagers for help. But when they arrived, the boy laughed because there was no wolf. He just wanted the attention. Then, a third time a wolf really did come and the boy cried out. But the villagers didn’t hurry to rescue the sheep this time because they assumed the boy was not being truthful.

Well, I sometimes feel that I am like the boy. Many times the cancer appears ready to overwhelm me. I write in such a way that death seems close at hand. Then my body fights back and figures out a way to give me more days of life. I almost feel like I need to apologize for ‘crying wolf’, only then to get better.

But I’ve always said that cancer is like a wild animal. You never know how fast or which way it will run. There are many who survive only weeks after receiving a cancer diagnosis. An aneurysm or organ failure can happen quickly, as happened to Jan. Others can carry their cancer for years. As cancer doctors will always say, “Each case is different.”

Yet, at the risk of shouting ‘wolf’ once again, there are increasing indications that my ‘promotion’ is approaching and my graduation to Heaven is not far off. For the past month, I have been dealing with edema in my legs and abdominal cavity. My belly has blossomed into a bell-shaped balloon. I’m having to wear compression socks to control blood flow in my legs. These indicate that either my liver or remaining kidney are becoming more out of balance, increasing my heart rate and blood pressure.

The hospice doctor paid me another visit today to do a check-up and recertify me for continued hospice care. She confirmed that my rapid weight gain (20 pounds in the past month) and enlargement of my abdominal cavity is likely due to tumor build up, which is affecting both my breathing and digestion. As my bodily organs become increasingly out of balance, so does the likelihood of something happening at any time. That ol’ wolf could appear suddenly and with little warning.

But I am not afraid of the wolf. In one of its many depictions of Heaven, the Bible says in Isaiah 11:6, “And the wolf will dwell with the lamb…and a little boy will lead them.” For me, that’s the only boy and wolf story I want to tell.

When the Time Comes

When I first signed up for hospice care last March, one of the booklets they gave us was titled, “When the Time Comes”. It explains signs to look for when a patient’s dying process may be coming to an end. For example, the dying person will likely withdraw, wanting to spend more time sleeping than awake. His appetite diminishes, often being content with a liquid diet. Weight loss is normal; it does not mean the person is hungry or being starved.

Obviously, changes in bladder and bowel control (incontinence) will happen at the end of life. When the body weakens, muscles in the lower body will relax. Pain medication can slow the bowels even more, thus requiring some people to need ‘adult-sized’ diapers. That’s why they say that if you live long enough, you’ll likely die in diapers, too! Another embarrassing point in the process of dying is temporary confusion, especially when you wake up, not knowing where you are. (After dying, it will be interesting to see how God deals with that one!)

On Thursday morning, Oct 23, just after midnight, I awoke to tremendous hurting from my abdominal area to my lower back, resulting in some of the most excruciating pain so far. Even my pain meds seemed not to help ease the hurting. I didn’t call hospice care (even though they have 24hr. service) because I really thought this was it. God was finally calling me home. But by the time the sun arose, the pain was diminishing and I called hospice. The hospice doctor increased my pain meds and added oxycodone to my regiment of meds to take when needed. So far I haven’t needed to take it again.

So, I’m back to taking things a day at a time, aware anything could happen anytime. The little booklet, When the Time Comes, goes on to say there can be other signs that the end is near, such as shallow breathing, agitation, rapid heart beat, change in blood pressure and skin color. Last week, even when the hurting was most intense, I felt a readiness for death to take its course. I was excited at what I thought was about to happen; eager to step into Heaven. Such is the joy of the Lord in the midst of pain.

I’m feeling much better now, back to where I was before Oct. 23. I move around slowly, but I still move around, able to take care of myself. Assuming this continues, I should make it to my 68th birthday next week, making it 6 years since I learned my cancer had returned and thinking I only had months to live. But whenever my time is up, I’ll be ready, when the time comes.

A Surprising Respite

For 3 days, a burning sensation sizzled along the skin on my left side. I had not yet experienced this kind of pain. What followed was a couple of days of strong pain in the same area. And then, 2 weeks of feeling really good! Very little discomfort, a renewed appetite, fewer trips to the bathroom, and, best of all, I could breathe easier. I hadn’t felt this good since Christmas.

As best as I could figure, the large tumor on my left side shifted downward and outward, freeing up space in my abdominal area. The burning sensation was my skin stretching to accommodate the tumor’s shift. The movement relieved pressure on my bladder, increased my stomach volume, and gave more space for my diaphragm to move, allowing me to breathe easier.

That was the first 2 weeks of September. Since then, my insides are slowly shifting back to where they were before. Breathing and nausea issues are returning. But the temporary reprieve was quite welcome as it gave me a chance to do some chores around the house and play with the grandkids.

Yesterday, the Hospice doctor gave me a house visit. One of the qualifications for being under Hospice care is that a physician deems a patient likely has less than 6 months to live. This doctor concluded that the extensiveness of my cancer still qualified me for continued Hospice care. As a plus, the doctor was a Christian who had been on over 30 medical mission trips with the Southern Baptist International Mission Board. So, we had a lot to talk about.

For now, I’m almost back to where I was before, taking a day at a time, aware that anything could happen anytime. I marvel at the way my body has been able to stay a step ahead of the cancer for the past 6 years. But the cancer will catch up. Just don’t know when. Surely it must be soon.

During the past few weeks we have lost several great men of faith: James Dobson, John MacArthur, Voddie Baucham, and of course, Charlie Kirk. I certainly don’t know all the details of Heaven, but it excites me to think that maybe I’ll soon have the chance to meet these men and other great people of faith. No doubt their mansions will be big. But as long as I’m with the Lord, I will be very happy with my little cabin in the woods!

Prodding Along

Sara’s wedding went delightfully well. Thanks, again, to all of you who prayed strength for me. The bride was beautiful and each participant did their part well, even Nathaniel as the ring bearer. We were all amazed at how calm Sara was. She and David now live in Sara’s little duplex and work back to back in their work-from-home jobs.

I prod along each day, balancing food intake with nausea meds, discomfort with pain meds, movement with rest. I live with the awareness that anything could happen anytime. My tumors are well-positioned to cause an aneurysm, organ failure, or stroke, although I haven’t had a head scan since this thing began (probably not anything up there anyway!).

A friend recently asked how I thought the cancer might progress and what will happen in the end. I replied, “I don’t know. I’ve never died before. This will be my first time.” Of course, each cancer is different, and mine is no exception.

For example, a huge tumor sits on my left side, oval-shaped, now almost the size of a football. It hangs about 3 inches over my waist like an awning, the rest pushing from the inside against my internal organs, completely encapsulating my pancreas. A week ago I awoke to a sizzling pain in this area that was somewhat relieved with lots of moisturizer lotion. Turns out my skin was stretching to accommodate more of the growing tumor. Rather grotesque, but then cancer is rather grotesque.

Because my eyes are messed up, I haven’t been able to delight myself in God’s Word as much as before. But a precious verse to me is Lamentations 3:32-33: “For if He causes grief, then He will have compassion according to His abundant loving-kindness. For He does not afflict from the heart, or grieve the children of men.” Although God may allow pain as a natural part of exiting this world, He takes no delight in seeing anyone suffer. It’s not who God is. I have no doubt that whatever discomfort I must go through now will seem insignificant compared to the happiness I will enjoy for eternity. I can live (and die) with that!

A Distant Grief

My decrepit, rickety, and ramshacled old body somehow made it through another 30 days. I’ve had some days this past month when I felt the end was near, and other days when I felt I could limp along a while longer. Whether or not I make it to Sara’s wedding will depend on how I’m feeling the morning of. I’ll give a brief update here on Aug. 4 if I made it or not.

In a discussion about Heaven, R.C. Sproul gave an illustration. He had one audience member stand at his extreme left, representing Adolf Hitler, the epitome of evil. He had another member stand at his far right, representing Jesus Christ. Then he asked, “Where would you place yourself on this continuum?” Most naively placed themselves somewhere near the middle. “Where would you place the Apostle Paul?” Most placed him somewhere near Jesus.

Then R.C. responded, “All of you have a very unBiblical, conceited estimation of your own sense of righteousness. You also have a very shallow understanding of God’s holiness. If you fail to place yourself inches away from Hitler, along with the Apostle Paul, then you fail to comprehend your total depravity, as revealed by the Scriptures (Romans 3:10-12; Eph. 2:1-3).” Once we understand our own degree of depravity and God’s perfect holiness, what remains is not why God chooses to save some and not others, but that He would choose to save anyone at all! Oh, what amazing grace!

In relation to Heaven, imagine God transforming us and qualifying us to stand near Jesus, to share in His holiness (2 Peter 1:4). Imagine in Heaven, living with others in perfect kindness, gentleness, compassion, generosity, humility, and joy. Add to that the unstained beauty of Heaven and we have the perfect recipe for unending happiness. What’s going to be better than all the heavenly gardens, waterfalls, forests, and meadows of our eternal home is being released from this body of sin and purified to stand next to Jesus!

But to get there, I have to first get through this cancer. It’s probably going to get a bit rough at times, especially when I have to struggle to breathe. More pain will likely be involved along the way. But I imagine that once I stand near the Lord in His holiness, the cancer will be nothing but a distant grief buried forever beneath mountains of unrestrained joy. That’s a lot to get excited about!

August 4

Because of all your prayers, the Lord gave me an extra measure of strength to attend Sara’s wedding and even walk her down the isle. I also had strength to mingle with the many attendees. Thank you, again, for praying. 

That Day

June came and went. Sara continues to make wedding preparations. Martha is loving her new job. Jonathan made it back safely from Norway. And I’m still alive, I think. New breathing difficulties emerged along with liver problems. I would love to make it to Sara’s wedding, but most days I just don’t see how I can.

Sara’s wedding is 5 weeks away and I can barely stand up for 5 minutes without needing to sit down. The default position for my many tumors is reclining. That’s the way I sleep. Standing makes the tumors shift around and creates a lot of discomfort and difficulty breathing. Plus, the wedding is over 3 hours away and I haven’t left the house in 4 months. But, we’ll see what happens. I guess it’s OK to hope.

To be honest, I cried a little today. I thought too much about the present - things I can no longer do. I might not be able to attend my daughter’s wedding. I can’t play with the grand-kids like I used to. I still prepare my food, do my laundry, and keep my room clean. But these tasks are becoming increasingly difficult. I dread the day I can no longer take care of myself. I would be grateful if the Lord took me home before that day comes. But that’s in His hands.

Yet, when I look beyond that day, to the day the Lord’s angels lift me heavenward, the excitement remains. For all that awaits me, for all that I will be delivered from, the thought of finally being with the Lord in His Heaven fills me with joy. Despite all my physical discomforts, the Lord has whispered His presence with me and He gives me peace. Whatever happens, whenever it happens, my trust is in the Lord. Now, if that peace can just get me through these next several weeks!