Sunday is seldom a day of rest for pastors and missionaries. On Sunday, March 19, 2017, I drove an hour to one of our Filipino churches where I preached the morning message, followed by a church lunch potluck. After arriving back home in the early afternoon, I prepared for and then traveled to lead a weekly Bible study. The sun was setting when I arrived back home.
Monday was usually my day of rest, but I awoke the next day with an annoying left abdominal pain. I tried ignoring it, but the pain increased. By 11 a.m., I was writhing on my bed with the most intense pain I had ever felt. What was going on? Finally, I forced myself to drive to a nearby hospital (same one where Sara and Jonathan were born) and checked myself into the emergency room.
As the doctors tried to figure out what to do, the pain reached its greatest intensity. Thinking the worst, I managed to call a Filipino friend who lived nearby, and he immediately came to my side. I forgot to consider that his wife was the WMU president, and by the time the doctors checked me into a room, a small crowd of well-wishers had arrived. By now the pain was ebbing and an x-ray and ultrasound revealed nothing abnormal. The doctor ordered an enema to preclude colon obstruction. When the nurse entered for the required procedure, the crowd was ready for the show. But I politely explained that Americans were particular about privacy and their momentary exit from the room would be appreciated.
By late Monday night I was finally able to sleep. When I woke Tuesday morning, the pain was mostly gone, but my abdomen would remain sore for several days. I was discharged without any explanation for what had caused the pain.
Nearly 2 years later, the incident repeated itself. In early 2019, I was living in a mission house in Fort Worth when intense abdominal pain, same location as before, left me doubled over on the bed in agony. I considered calling 911, but I endured the pain to see if it would begin subsiding, and by early afternoon it did. As before, I was sore for several days. I didn’t consider cancer because for more than 10 years I had no evidence of its recurrence and had considered myself practically cancer free. So, I dismissed the event once again.
But when it happened a 3rd time later that year in September, I realized I could dismiss it no longer. I was scheduled to return to the Philippines in a couple of months and I knew I had a better chance of discovering the cause while still in the U.S. What followed in October of 2019, exactly 5 years ago, was a series of tests – blood work, C.T. scan, pancreatic biopsy, and PET scan, that confirmed my kidney cancer had returned and was metastasizing, beginning in my pancreas.
I made the decision not to pursue treatment (too expensive), but I figured I had enough time to return to the Philippines to conclude my ministry there, sharing with them the joy I had despite my diagnosis. When the pandemic hit in early 2020, I was unable to travel to Manila for a follow-up PET scan. In June of 2020, abdominal pains made me think that my cancer was advancing rapidly, as kidney cancer usually does, and I chose to return to the U.S. following the resumption of international flights.
Now, here I am, 5 years after my diagnosis. Oddly, even though the cancer has spread throughout my body, I have yet to experience the level of pain I had on that Monday morning back in 2017. With my arsenal of pain meds, I hope I don’t have to. But cancer can be mean, so I’m expecting anything could happen anytime. Until then, and even during then, I know the joy of the Lord will be my strength.
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