Good News and Bad News

Wouldn’t it be great if good news could just be announced all by itself?  You know, just a spot of sunshine to brighten your day and lift your spirits, giving you a moment to celebrate without waiting for the inevitable bad news that always seems to tag along not far behind?

A few weeks ago, I received some good news while sitting in the oncologist’s office.  The chemo was very successful.  The scans show no sign of cancer.  My colleagues and I have never seen anyone with your kind of cancer respond so well!

Oh, how I wish that the doctor could have just given us that good news all by itself.  That my husband and I could have taken even a brief moment to celebrate this positive report.  Unfortunately, however, the bad news came just a few seconds later, dampening any possibility we might have had to just pause and give thanks for this obvious answer to so many prayers.  

The chemo was successful . . . but you need to have another round.  And this one will be 12 weeks instead of the 8 weeks you just endured.  And this time it will be just as harsh, the side effects just as miserable.  And this time, you will be facing treatment with your body already weakened, your immune system already depleted.  I will be honest, it’s going to be really tough.

The scans show no sign of cancer.  My colleagues and I have never seen anyone with your kind of cancer respond so well! . . . But the response is only temporary.  You have terminal cancer, and it’s only a matter of time before it comes back.  Possibly within a few weeks or maybe, if you’re lucky, in a few months.  But it will come back, every bit as aggressive and every bit as painful as before.

The good news is that we did not have to make an immediate decision.  But we did leave that appointment that day stunned, both of us silent on the drive home as we processed what we had just heard.  It was good news, right?  That the chemo worked and the cancer was gone?  Shouldn’t we be happy?  It’s just that the . . . but  that came afterwards was so brutally honest, so hard to hear, that it made the good news almost irrelevant.

What do you do when facing such a significant decision?  When your very life – and death – depends on making the right choice?  Do you keep fighting, subjecting yourself to awful treatments that leave you sick, frail, bed-ridden, bald, and boney as a skeleton, in hopes that it will lengthen your life for a few more months?  Or are you only prolonging the inevitable?

If you stop fighting, if you decide to stop treatments, is that the same as giving up?  Or are you just being honest enough to know when to say that enough is enough?

After a few sleepless nights and many tear-filled discussions with my husband, I found some peace, as usually happens, in the unchanging Word of God.  He promises, “If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him.”  (James 1:5)  Those two little words without reproach  just jumped right off the page and planted themselves in my heart.  God is not up in heaven wringing His hands, worrying, I sure hope she makes the right decision.  Or thinking, What?  That’s what she is going to do?  Well, that certainly messes up the plans I had for her life!  If I ask Him for wisdom, which I have been begging Him to give me, He promises to give it to me.  To give it to me generously!  Without reproach!  Without being disappointed or surprised or dismayed.  I found peace in knowing that whatever decision we make, God’s purposes cannot be thwarted. (Job 42:2).  Even before I was born He wrote my days, the story of my life, in His book. (Psalm 139:16)  There is such peace in being reminded of that!

And so we decided.  No more treatments.  No more dreadful chemo.  No more days when I can barely make it out of bed.  No more crying every single day because I feel just so miserable.  Yes, I admit that it will be very difficult for my family to lose me; but as I’ve learned over these past few months, it’s infinitely more difficult for them to watch me suffer.  If I’m going to live for a few more weeks or for a few more months, then I’m going to live.  I want to give my body and emotions and battered faith a chance to recover.  I want to heal.  To be fully present with my family.

So, coinciding with my personal journey, the bad news is that there is a contagious virus spreading to all parts of the globe, forcing everyone into social distancing.  Self-quarantine.  Isolation.  This means that the meals we had been receiving, the help that people were offering, the care that our friends were providing for my children these past few months have all come to a sudden halt.  We are now on our own, making it through each day the best we can.

But the good news is that now that I am a few weeks out from my last chemo treatment, I am feeling a little bit healthier and have a bit more stamina with each day that passes.  The help that I was so dependent on just a few weeks ago is no longer quite as critical to our family’s survival.  

And now that I am a few weeks out from my last chemo treatment, my immune system, which had been completely depleted, is slowly being strengthened, putting me at less and less risk of being infected with this contagious virus.  

And the really good news is that if I have to be in quarantine, I get to be in quarantine with my family, the very ones I love the most!  The very ones I want to spend as much time with as I possibly can while I can!  How providential is that?!

So what’s next?  I have been referred to a Palliative Care doctor whose team will support me and my family as we maximize the quality of my life and navigate the end of my life.  Of course we need help navigating this.  This is a season of unknowns and fears and so much sadness.  There are so, so many tears.  (Ok, so maybe I need to admit that crying every single day is just going to happen, regardless.)  

The bad news is that terminal cancer sucks, and we know, the doctor has been very clear, that it’s going to end badly.  The good news is that I won’t have to face it alone, but will have a team of physicians, nurses, physical therapists, nutritionists, pharmacists, counselors and administrative staff – all experienced and trained to guide us on this terrifying journey.  (There will most likely be a chaplain on this team as well, but I’m going to request that our own small group leader and pastors, the shepherds of our family, suspend social distancing in order to visit us and walk alongside us to the end.)

Ever since my initial diagnosis, I had such hopes of ending well.  During the past few months of chemo treatments, however, “my feet had almost stumbled, my steps had nearly slipped.” (Psalm 73:2).  Other cancer patients might be brave, calling themselves warriors or whatever, but that’s not my story.  I’m not brave.  And I’m not strong at all.  Certainly not a warrior.  During the worst of it, during the darkest moments of this journey, I honestly didn’t think my faith would survive.  I have been so incredibly thankful for those who continued to believe for me, even when I was unable to believe for myself.  

But I am still here today, and today I do believe!  I believe that during every single step, every single sleepless night, every single tear-stained day, He has held me fast! (Psalm 139:10)  And as I face these next few weeks or, if I’m lucky, these next few months of unknowns and fears and so much sadness, I know with certainty that nothing – not death nor life, nor joy nor sorrow, nor fear nor confidence, nor cancer or pain, nor anything else will be able to separate me from the love of God.  (Romans 8)

Even in the darkest moments of this journey, God’s love for me and for my family has never, not once, wavered.  And it never will.  And that, in spite of everything else, regardless of the prognosis, no matter what happens, is good news indeed!!