National Cancer Survivors Day
Apparently today was National Cancer Survivors Day, a fact I didn't realize until 9:30 tonight. (In my defense, I really believe some of these "national days" aren't national or days until someone wakes up one morning and decides it is...) I don't readily have anything particularly profound to say, but as a cancer survivor, it seemed appropriate to share something, so...
The label "cancer survivor" is apparently applied the moment you're diagnosed. But the truth is, I don't often feel like I'm a cancer survivor - for a lot of reasons. For starters, it doesn't feel like I've survived. Yet. I haven't "beaten" cancer, that I know of. Maybe I'll never know. There's a reason why pretty much every life insurance application begins with, "have you ever been diagnosed with cancer?" Regardless, I know that there is still a big question looming.
As you might remember, I had two inconclusive PET scans in March. They showed good improvement, but couldn't conclusively say that the lymphoma was gone, so they scheduled me for another scan at the end of June.
Well, we're now at the beginning of June and we're now 25 days away from what is likely to be a very important day in our lives. The doctor said it would be HIGHLY unlikely for there to be no change in the scan after that long. So, either the scan will show decreased activity, indicating that whatever the scans saw in March, there is no apparent active cancer left. Or, the scans will show increased activity, which would likely indicate cancer, necessitating a new biopsy to confirm and probably the beginning of second-line (or salvage) therapy.
So, it's tough to claim the title of "survivor" when we're still in the thick of it. Even now, my immune system continues to fluctuate (a condition my doctor believes is a late side effect of one of the chemo drugs). In my mind, survivor connotes, having come to the other side of an adverse event (like a storm or a battle) and living to tell the tale. Like a soldier in a foxhole it feels strange to claim that title as bombs fall around you.
Another reason it feels strange is that life actually feels really normal right now. After the two scans in March, we were disheartened to learn we'd have to endure another three months of uncertainty. It quickly became apparent, though, that in many ways three months between scans is actually easier that three weeks. It hasn't been possible for us to be consumed with worry every moment of every day for three months. Life goes on. My hair grew back in. I finally used up all the little shampoo bottles I brought home from the hospital.
I've been back at work (the school year officially ended on Friday!). Kristen and I went on a marriage retreat with our church (which was an incredible blessing, especially since I found out the day of that I had no immune system and we weren't sure if we'd be able to go). We went to a Red Sox game.
I took the boys camping over Memorial Day. We've had numerous fun outings and day-to-day enjoyments, like picnics, playdates, small groups, t-ball practices and trips to playgrounds or museums. These little moments are even more precious and "normal" feeling after the trauma on our kids of frequent hospitalizations.
I'm pretty sure I can't say I've ever gone a day forgetting I had cancer. But there are moments where it surprises me when I remember - the surprise being that I could forget for a couple hours, or even a couple moments, that we face something as big as cancer. But in those moments and for those hours, it doesn't feel like I'm a survivor. Maybe that's a blessing.
There's one more reason why it doesn't always feel like I'm a survivor that I'm hesitant to admit: I know that my cancer journey pales in comparison to that of so many. I hesitate for two reasons. First, I know we're not in the clear yet, and the superstitious side of me doesn't want to jinx it. But if I believe in a good God who works all things for the good of those who love him, then I have to believe whatever goodness he has in store for me (and my wife and kids) isn't swayed in any direction by holding my breath or jinxes.
Second, I know that you can't compare cancer journeys (or anyone's life experiences, for that matter). Your pain is your pain. My experience is my experience. That said, my side effects have been relatively minor. My prognosis has generally been good. I know many survivors have been through hell, and it doesn't feel like my "survival" compares.
So here we are. I have to remind myself that from September 21, 2017 onward, I am a cancer survivor until I'm not. Sadly, while everyone diagnosed with cancer is a survivor, not everyone survives. My hope and expectation is that God will grant me the opportunity to wear that label for many decades to come.
Whatever the case, the good news, I suppose, is that no matter what the future holds for the people of God, we are survivors. A central motif throughout scripture is that whatever trial or tribulation the people of God face, God always preserved a remnant who would remain faithful to him. Ultimately, on the night Jesus was betrayed there remained just one who is faithful. Hanging on a cross, forsaken by his people, his world, and his closest companions (and even, at least in his own perception, by the Father himself) - Jesus was the sole remnant of the faithful. He stayed faithful and obedient, even to the point of death and utter desolation. In his faithfulness, all the faithful before and after became true survivors. Binding humanity to himself, his faithfulness to and victory over death make us survivors in the deepest, truest, most eternal sense of the word.
As that great hymn reminds us, "whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say: It is well, it is well with my soul." We are all survivors, if we are in Christ Jesus
