Yesterday, I had my regularly schedule follow-up appointment with my oncologist. It went fine. I didn’t think too much of it … life went on after I came home yesterday. My blood work was normal, no more lumps and bumps. I settled right back into the busy routine of a family, trying to help Ken get some work done so we can take our planned holiday, feeding the baby, etc.
But then I woke up this morning, thinking a bit more about what transpired yesterday, I have a new perspective on that appointment. And this is it:
I was diagnosed with incurable cancer over nine years ago now, and given "10 years to live." Since that time, I have been blessed with 2 more children, and we believe I have been healed by the Lord, without traditional treatment at that. I feel loads better physically now than I did then. My blood work is almost completely within normal limits. Even my iron is at a very good level, which was never the case when I was younger. Which brings me back to yesterday …
I walked into the unit, and many patient and staff eyes turned to see a stroller roll through. Someone mentioned, "Hey, we don’t see those things here too often!" All the available staff came like magnets to see our not-so-little Caleb and were greeted with big smiles between chubby cheeks. Many of the staff asked right off, "And how are YOU feeling?" I was ushered into an examining room and given the usual instructions to get ready to see the doctor. Then the doctor was greeted by a happy nursing baby as she came into the room and commented on the fact that we both looked "really good." (By the way, Caleb is quite chubby and is surviving exclusively on what his mommy provides.) She said she hoped that I didn’t mind that she often mentions me (though not by name) to many of her patients also diagnosed with lymphoma, in order to encourage them and give them hope. I said no, I didn’t mind. Why would I? After a few pokes and prods, listening to my heart and lungs and asking some questions, she shook her head, said "Wow,"shook my hand and said she would see me in six months again.
Am I coming across as bragging? Well, maybe I am, and I hope you are not offended. But why not brag about what the Lord has done in my life? He deserves more credit than He often gets.
I know some of you have a hard time believing that God is really out there, or that He cares enough to do something nowadays. But I have a really hard time relating to that kind of philosophy when I see this kind of evidence of His intervention in my own life. It doesn’t mean I can’t empathize with you though.It is no fluke that when I should be heading out of this world, I seem to be just beginning. Some days I can take that for granted, but today I am looking down at my sleeping son on my lap with his healthy chubby cheeks, and I just can’t seem to shrug it off. Nor should I.
I am reminded of a song I learned a few years ago, which goes
something like this:
Look what the Lord has done!
Look what the Lord has done!
He healed my body,
He touched my mind.
He saved me just in time.
I’m gonna praise His name.
I’ll never be the same, Oh…
I’m gonna praise Him
Look what the Lord has done!
