“My cancer has returned . . .”

The response to my question as to why he’d come into my office today of a gentleman I’ll call John. John was just barely out of his 50’s and had recently retired. In the early months of this year his early retirement had been rudely interrupted with the diagnosis of esophageal cancer. Chemo, radiation and surgery quickly followed. To his surprise and pleasure, he was pronounced “extremely lucky” and in complete remission.

Yet, “something didn’t feel right,” he explained. “If I was so cured, why did I feel so bad?” “But,” he continued, “I’d had the magic chicken claw waved over me and the encantation appropriately recited: ‘You’re cured.'”

He paused and glanced at his wife before continuing, “So my wife and I accepted it and began planning what we were going to do when I got to feeling stronger. Imagine my surprise when my doc called me Friday and said that not only had the cancer returned but it had spread to my lungs.”

Looking at the floor and taking a long pause, he slowly said in a low voice, “I don’t know what to do now; the chemo made me so sick that I promised myself that I wouldn’t repeat it [his wife was affirmatively nodding as he spoke], and the doc says that all it will do is perhaps prolong my life a little.”

Then he gave the kicker: “I’m not ready to die.”

I have a good friend in Brazil. Twenty years ago his youngest son fell into a pool, no one saw him, and he drowned. To this day, my friend says he’d give anything to have his son alive. His words: “I’m dying to see him again.”

Another friend of mine was wrongly diagnosed with a terminal heart problem and given less than a month to live. A week later the error was discovered and my friend was informed that he wouldn’t die. He told me a few days later that it had completely changed the way he looked at living. Some things that had been very important no longer were; things he hadn’t paid much attention to were now consuming him. “I never knew that life was so good.”

Most of us go through our days without a thought of dying; we’re too involved with living to consider the contrary. Yet, those who’ve come close to dying, and lived, or have been told they will not continue living, have a totally different perspective.

“Master, excuse me for a couple of days, please. I have my father’s funeral to take care of.” Jesus refused. “First things first. Your business is life, not death. Follow me. Pursue life.”  –Mark 8:22-23

My words to John . . .