Testimonies
The diamond chips in my ovarian cancer survivor bracelet twinkled under the lights in the mammography examining room as I twirled it around my wrist. The technician had shuffled back into the room after taking the initial pictures saying they needed to get another shot of my right breast - "just to be sure." This had never happened before. I knew it wasn't good. It was our day off, and we had several errands to run. Living so isolated in our little mountain village, trips to town served several purposes. I had gotten a haircut, and we needed to buy groceries. Having to make time to go to the hospital for a mammogram was a major inconvenience. I had just had a complete physical six months ago. My doctor detected nothing.
This was supposed to be simply a routine mammogram. I had nursed all three of our babies and was in good general health, seven years past an ovarian cancer scare. I asked, "What are you seeing?" The technician replied, "Just a little thickening. The doctor will be in to see you in a moment." I said, "Would you ask my husband to come in here, please? He's in the waiting room." She said, "Yes, of course" and left without looking at me. "Yes, of course..." This was not a matter "of course" to me. This techician dealt with "thickenings" everyday, but this was my life. Stunned is a mild word compared to the emotions I was experiencing as I sat in the cold plastic chair with my pink smock covering the "thickening." I touched the area and gently pressed on the thickening that I had noticed just a couple of weeks prior. I hadn't thought much about it. I'm going for a mammagram soon. I'm sure it's nothing. I just had a thorough physical.
My husband opened the outer door cautiously and peered in. I motioned for him to enter the room. His eyes reflected his concern. "I don't like being called in for a simple routine mammogram," he said. "This is too deja vu." I nodded. My thoughts lurched back seven years ago when I woke up in a room down the hall from surgery to remove a mass from my right ovary. As I fought my way back that afternoon to consciousness, my husband had the same look in his eyes that he had today. Through the receding anethesia I had managed to ask, "What did they find?" "It doesn't look good, Sweetie," he replied. The reality of the Scripture stating that God's grace is sufficient filled my heart and the room as I smiled at him and said, "Okay," and went back to sleep. Peace-permeating, pervading, palatable peace-descended on me. I experienced no fear. Ovarian cancer. The silent killer. A veritable death sentence, but mine was Stage One and had not spread. Almost unheard of. I had never thought I would be faced with an illness like cancer. I had taken good care of myself - eaten right, exercised, drank lots of water. I felt my body had betrayed me. The handsome oncologist told me I would have to undergo chemotherapy. I had vowed I would never allow those ravaging drugs into my body. He had explained that cells get loose during surgery. The chemotherapy is to "clean up" any stray cancer cells. My family voted, and I lost. I took chemo for three months, and I believe, because I had taken such good care of myself, I fared well during the treatment. My blood counts never went down. I continued with my traveling and speaking schedule. I was declared cancer free four years later.
The hole in the yawning revolving door separating me from the diagnostic room opened with no sound and the geek-turned-into-a-
professional-looking man approached me. I'd never seen him before on my frequent visits to the hospital, either as a patient or as co-pastor with my husband. I clutched the pink paper covering, that didn't cover very well. Not again, Lord. I watched and heard the doctor speaking, but my spirit prayed to my Heavenly Father. Why again? Haven't I learned what I needed to learn? Didn't I trust you? Did I not give you the glory? Did I not praise you enough? I don't want to go around this mountain again. Images of a bald head -why do women always think of that first?- an IV needle in my arm making a path for the destructive chemicals to course through my system, the flu-like reaction a few days later, the weakness, the nearly foot-long scar in my abdomen flashed through my mind in an instant. I don't want to do this again.
We didn't sleep much that night. The dread of another surgery, the possibility of chemo for a second time punctured my fitful dreams. Although I am in my sixties, I am a vital, active woman. I felt God was just bringing me into the destiny for which he intended for my life as a pastor, speaker and writer. I had recently signed with a literary agent who was excited about my historical novel that I had just finished. Why was this happening again? Trips to a surgeon, to the hospital for tests and lab work, phone calls from my primary physician - all events I do not relish. Until my ovarian cancer episode, I'd never had any surgery or been in the hospital, except to have babies. Two surgeries and ten days later, the news was not all bad. The surgeon found two tumors in my right breast - one malignant, one benign. They removed both in a lumpectomy. The malignant tumor was small and contained. The sentinel lymph node biopsy was negative. Again, the cancer had not spread through the lymph system and my body. My first post-op appointment with my former oncologist was a bitter sweet meeting. He shook my hand. "I'm glad to see you again, but not under these circumstances." While he recommended chemo once more, I chose not to revisit the ordeal. I did agree to radiation, from which I experienced few side effects, and a new cancer treatment, herceptin. I am grateful that my bouts with the feared disease were, in comparison with so many others, mild.
Why have I had cancer twice? I still cannot answer that, but these things I do know:
I know God is good, and He desires good for His children.
I know that nothing can separate me from His love.
I know that He has a plan in the midst of pain and suffering.
I know that how I deal with trials reflects on the reputation of my Heavenly Father.
I know that there is no reason to let fear or doubt control me.
I know Jesus is my Healer.
I have been plummeted into the depths of prayer and have developed a yearning for a deeper, more intimate relationship with my Heavenly Father. There is wisdom I feel that we can never attain without suffering or pain or a sense of helplessness. It may be cliche, but the saying is true: "We never know Jesus is all we need, until He is all we have."
NOT AGAIN
By
By
Golden Keyes Parsons
The diamond chips in my ovarian cancer survivor bracelet twinkled under the lights in the mammography examining room as I twirled it around my wrist. The technician had shuffled back into the room after taking the initial pictures saying they needed to get another shot of my right breast - "just to be sure." This had never happened before. I knew it wasn't good. It was our day off, and we had several errands to run. Living so isolated in our little mountain village, trips to town served several purposes. I had gotten a haircut, and we needed to buy groceries. Having to make time to go to the hospital for a mammogram was a major inconvenience. I had just had a complete physical six months ago. My doctor detected nothing.
This was supposed to be simply a routine mammogram. I had nursed all three of our babies and was in good general health, seven years past an ovarian cancer scare. I asked, "What are you seeing?" The technician replied, "Just a little thickening. The doctor will be in to see you in a moment." I said, "Would you ask my husband to come in here, please? He's in the waiting room." She said, "Yes, of course" and left without looking at me. "Yes, of course..." This was not a matter "of course" to me. This techician dealt with "thickenings" everyday, but this was my life. Stunned is a mild word compared to the emotions I was experiencing as I sat in the cold plastic chair with my pink smock covering the "thickening." I touched the area and gently pressed on the thickening that I had noticed just a couple of weeks prior. I hadn't thought much about it. I'm going for a mammagram soon. I'm sure it's nothing. I just had a thorough physical.
My husband opened the outer door cautiously and peered in. I motioned for him to enter the room. His eyes reflected his concern. "I don't like being called in for a simple routine mammogram," he said. "This is too deja vu." I nodded. My thoughts lurched back seven years ago when I woke up in a room down the hall from surgery to remove a mass from my right ovary. As I fought my way back that afternoon to consciousness, my husband had the same look in his eyes that he had today. Through the receding anethesia I had managed to ask, "What did they find?" "It doesn't look good, Sweetie," he replied. The reality of the Scripture stating that God's grace is sufficient filled my heart and the room as I smiled at him and said, "Okay," and went back to sleep. Peace-permeating, pervading, palatable peace-descended on me. I experienced no fear. Ovarian cancer. The silent killer. A veritable death sentence, but mine was Stage One and had not spread. Almost unheard of. I had never thought I would be faced with an illness like cancer. I had taken good care of myself - eaten right, exercised, drank lots of water. I felt my body had betrayed me. The handsome oncologist told me I would have to undergo chemotherapy. I had vowed I would never allow those ravaging drugs into my body. He had explained that cells get loose during surgery. The chemotherapy is to "clean up" any stray cancer cells. My family voted, and I lost. I took chemo for three months, and I believe, because I had taken such good care of myself, I fared well during the treatment. My blood counts never went down. I continued with my traveling and speaking schedule. I was declared cancer free four years later.
The hole in the yawning revolving door separating me from the diagnostic room opened with no sound and the geek-turned-into-a-
professional-looking man approached me. I'd never seen him before on my frequent visits to the hospital, either as a patient or as co-pastor with my husband. I clutched the pink paper covering, that didn't cover very well. Not again, Lord. I watched and heard the doctor speaking, but my spirit prayed to my Heavenly Father. Why again? Haven't I learned what I needed to learn? Didn't I trust you? Did I not give you the glory? Did I not praise you enough? I don't want to go around this mountain again. Images of a bald head -why do women always think of that first?- an IV needle in my arm making a path for the destructive chemicals to course through my system, the flu-like reaction a few days later, the weakness, the nearly foot-long scar in my abdomen flashed through my mind in an instant. I don't want to do this again.
We didn't sleep much that night. The dread of another surgery, the possibility of chemo for a second time punctured my fitful dreams. Although I am in my sixties, I am a vital, active woman. I felt God was just bringing me into the destiny for which he intended for my life as a pastor, speaker and writer. I had recently signed with a literary agent who was excited about my historical novel that I had just finished. Why was this happening again? Trips to a surgeon, to the hospital for tests and lab work, phone calls from my primary physician - all events I do not relish. Until my ovarian cancer episode, I'd never had any surgery or been in the hospital, except to have babies. Two surgeries and ten days later, the news was not all bad. The surgeon found two tumors in my right breast - one malignant, one benign. They removed both in a lumpectomy. The malignant tumor was small and contained. The sentinel lymph node biopsy was negative. Again, the cancer had not spread through the lymph system and my body. My first post-op appointment with my former oncologist was a bitter sweet meeting. He shook my hand. "I'm glad to see you again, but not under these circumstances." While he recommended chemo once more, I chose not to revisit the ordeal. I did agree to radiation, from which I experienced few side effects, and a new cancer treatment, herceptin. I am grateful that my bouts with the feared disease were, in comparison with so many others, mild.
Why have I had cancer twice? I still cannot answer that, but these things I do know:
I know God is good, and He desires good for His children.
I know that nothing can separate me from His love.
I know that He has a plan in the midst of pain and suffering.
I know that how I deal with trials reflects on the reputation of my Heavenly Father.
I know that there is no reason to let fear or doubt control me.
I know Jesus is my Healer.
I have been plummeted into the depths of prayer and have developed a yearning for a deeper, more intimate relationship with my Heavenly Father. There is wisdom I feel that we can never attain without suffering or pain or a sense of helplessness. It may be cliche, but the saying is true: "We never know Jesus is all we need, until He is all we have."