Chemo . . . Out
It’s finished. De finition. Fertig. Rifinito. Acabado. However you want to say it, in whatever language . . . no more chemo. I took my last pills yesterday. Now it will take a couple weeks to get this poison out of my system and then on to surgery.
Tomorrow I go for a sigmoidoscopy. That’s like a partial colonoscopy but done while you’re awake and the surgeon will do it in his office. My worst fear is that he’ll get that camera up there and I’ll hear, “Uh-oh.” Another tumor found, we have to do everything all over again.
But like a friend told me, “Even if the worst happens, what are you gonna do?”
My answer: “Deal with it. What else can I do?”
This is where my faith is really put to the test. I keep hearing that still small voice in my head saying, “How much do you trust me?”
“I trust you with my life.”
“Then give it to me.”
“I’m not sure I want to. I’m afraid of what you’ll do with it.”
“Son, do you believe I love you? Do you believe that I’m madly in love with you, that everything I do for you and through you is motivated by my love for you? That I would never, ever, do anything that didn’t scream of my love for you?”
“Do you believe it enough to place your life in my hands and give me control?”
“I do believe . . . help my unbelief.”