There are many roles I have chosen for myself. Roles I love. I am a Christ-follower, a wife, a long-time foster and adoptive mother, a friend, a sister, a daughter, a homeschool teacher, a neighbor, a sign-language interpreter and a blogger. But now, for the past few months, I have had another role thrown at me: a warrior. Being a warrior is not a role I would have chosen for myself. I did not voluntarily sign up for this. I am unskilled, ill-equipped, and insecure at times, but a reluctant warrior nonetheless.
When I first heard the words cancer, rare, aggressive, incurable, stage 4, I naturally felt deep fear. Terrified at the unknown future. How long do I have left to live? And how long will I still feel like me? How long will I feel well and be able to take care of myself and take care of the two youngest children that God has brought into our family through adoption? What will the symptoms be like as they worsen and progress? What will it feel like when I am no longer able to speak or to swallow or to breathe on my own? What if the pain becomes excruciating? How will I bear it?
Suddenly, it felt like this little village that is my body was being attacked, under siege by a powerful enemy, and even if I could somehow defend myself from its progression, it would only be a matter of time before this evil conqueror would eventually prevail.
Sitting in the oncologist’s office that day, I felt weak and helpless, utterly at the mercy of the cold, clinical medical technology and what it would do to me. I felt like a victim. No choice, no voice, no power over the limited treatment options I was being offered, nor the dreadful side effects – both temporary and permanent – that would be left in their wake. I felt a deep emptiness inside, knowing that my season of advocating for orphaned and vulnerable children, of caring for them and loving them in my home, was over. Now, instead of foster mom, adoptive mom, speaker, advocate, mentor – roles I was passionate about - I was forced to become “cancer patient.” And with every bone in my body, I hated it, grieving the loss of all that I had lost.
For several weeks after receiving my diagnosis, my heart was filled with fear and dread. Uncertainty about which direction to take. My husband and I spent countless hours researching and discussing options, praying for wisdom, weeping in grief and worry, seeking counsel. For weeks I lost sleep, was unable to think of anything else, and was almost completely paralyzed with anxiety. Not only did I have a physical enemy that was attacking my bodily health, but I had a mental enemy, every bit as detrimental, that was attacking my emotional health. I couldn’t go on like this.
One evening, some of the pastors and elders from our church came to our home to pray with us, And right in the middle of their visit, I received a phone call – a second opinion from a specialist at a leading-edge facility in another state – that I had been waiting for. Those two events, happening within minutes of each other, provided the clarity we had been looking for. We finally knew which path to take, and finally, we felt peace.
From here forward, we decided, I would take responsibility for my own wellness. I would seek alternative, natural, non-toxic treatments; I would focus on wholesome nutrition for my maximum health; I would exercise to build up my strength and stamina; and with a medical practitioner’s guidance, I would take vitamins and supplements . . . all with the goal of strengthening my immune system to be able to fight this cancer on its own. My body may be under attack by a deadly enemy, but that doesn’t mean I can’t fight back!
After making this decision, it seemed so obvious. If given the choice of chemotherapy, which the oncologist assured me would be “brutal,” making me almost instantly weak and nauseous and frail, with no guarantee that it would work and with no guarantee that I would survive it; or the choice to be as healthy as I can possibly be, with no guarantee that it would work or that I would survive it, of course I would choose to be healthy as long as possible. To be me as long as possible.
Once that decision was made, I felt like a real warrior, not only in my battle against cancer, but in my battle against the incessant fear. I no longer felt weak or helpless. I was no longer a victim. In fact, the opposite is true. Now, when I am in my kitchen making bone broth and juicing vegetables and tossing a fresh salad with home-made balsamic dressing, I feel strong and capable. I feel empowered, knowing that I am doing everything I can to be well. When I am running my daily mile, lifting weights at the gym, sweating out the toxins in the sauna, I feel confident and brave. This life-threatening enemy that has my little village under siege? It is still here. And it is still wicked and persistent, still trying every vicious strategy it can to take control. But I am not giving up this battle. I am fighting with fortitude, feeling courageous with each new day that I am still alive. Thankful that I still feel like me with each new day that I am still alive.
At my 3-month appointment with the oncologist, and again at the 6-month appointment just a few weeks ago, the news was not what I had hoped to hear. Despite my best efforts. Despite the nutritious food and diligent care that I am giving to my health, the tumors in my neck (7 of them at last count) are continuing to grow. Threatening to block my carotid artery, which provides life-giving blood and oxygen to my brain. As I listened to the results, my tears flowed. Again! How could I not feel disappointed? How could I not feel frustrated that all my hard work and careful vigilance seem to be in vain? That in the battle between cancer and health, this savage cancer seems to be winning?
The disappointment and frustration were, thankfully, short-lived. The good news is that, although the tumors are continuing to grow, they are not growing nearly as quickly as the doctors would have expected. This cancer? It is, by all accounts, angry and aggressive. Statistically, it should have won by now. The fact that it hasn’t gained any more ground than it already has, that my health is still strong and stable, is a testament to the power of the immune system to fight hard. And this fills me with hope. Hope that I am making the right decisions, following the right path, doing the right things. Hope that maybe, in this battle between cancer and health, my health isn’t going to give up just yet.
In fact, it is hope, the anticipation of the future ahead of me, that inspires me to keep fighting this battle every day. To keep putting one foot in front of the other, to keep pressing on. And even, inexplicably, to look beyond myself and my current diagnosis, and to pray that God would still allow me to serve. That somehow, He might be able to use my life and the days I have left to make an impact.*
God’s Word is filled with stories of unwinnable battles. Of invading armies that are much too powerful for ordinary people to fight. Again and again, though, God doesn’t say, Girl, you got this! No. Instead, He says, Do not be afraid! He says, Remember what I have already done! And He says, I will be with you!
“If you say in your heart, this enemy is greater than I. How can I win this battle? You shall not be afraid, but you shall remember what the Lord your God has done . . . the wonders, the mighty hand, and the outstretched arm, by which the Lord your God brought you out. You shall not be afraid, for the Lord your God is in your midst, a great and awesome God.” (Deuteronomy 7:17-21)
With the great and awesome God right here with me, I no longer need to feel afraid. The enemy is still a very dangerous one. My future is still uncertain. The prognosis is still not good. I don’t know if I will have many more days or only a few more days. Or what those days will be like. Or how many of those days I will still feel like me. But this I do know. Even as “I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will not fear, for You are with me.” (Psalm 23:4) And I know that the days I have left will be good ones. That “surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life.” (Psalm 23:6)
Each day is different. Each step, each moment of this battle has its own unique challenges. There has been some fear and plenty of tears along the way. There have been days when I feel week and vulnerable. Ultrasounds and test results and medical appointments have a way of filling me with discouragement. Sometimes I just lay in bed and think, I don’t want to be a warrior any more.
But mostly I still feel like me. I feel courageous and strong and able, full of life. Mostly I feel hopeful and optimistic and confident, knowing that whether the test results look good or not, whether I am struggling with fatigue or running an extra mile, God’s goodness and His mercy are right here with me. God Himself, the great and awesome God, is right here with me! Oh, how that fills me with hope! How that gives me courage to keep pressing on! To keep fighting!
I may be unskilled, ill-equipped, and insecure at times. This is not a battle I would have chosen. But with God right here with me, I can be courageous. I can be confident. I will continue to fight. I will fight the cancer by living well, and I will fight the fear by choosing, every day, to believe.
Because I am, reluctant or not, a warrior.
* My husband and I, along with our two youngest children, have an opportunity to go on a mission trip to Jamaica next spring. I can hardly believe that we are making plans for a mission trip that is 6 months in the future! To find out more about this amazing opportunity and why we are hoping to go, I invite you to visit www.gofundme.com/manage/we-wish-to-serve
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