A Life Sentence

What do you do when you have a life sentence? Rather, a death sentence? Do you spiral into depression? Or do you find joy?

It turns out I do both. 

Recently, in my cancer struggle, one of my doctors told me I’d be doing hard core chemotherapy for the rest of my life. I did the math. My life would be short and miserable. It was, essentially, a death sentence. 

I didn’t handle this news well. I spiraled into depression. Definitely considered a lot of things differently, like time with my adult children, finding a new wife for my husband (only half kidding), whether or not to stop chemo altogether. And I just stopped living for a couple of weeks. It was overwhelming news. 

Often, when given overwhelming and horrible news, we need to feel it. We need to grieve. We need to consider accepting our fate. Consider. We also may need to push back and ask all the questions we possibly can. I’m the type to ask a million questions. Except this time I didn’t. 

And I certainly lost my joy. Lost it completely. 

Y’all, I keep writing these depressing cancer posts. But in the middle of a pandemic, I’m processing double tragedy, in a sense. Yet… I’m still finding joy. In all of it. Except this one time. Cancer, impending death, the pandemic are tragic. 

Back to my doctors - two weeks after my death sentence was given I spoke with my main oncologist. He probably yelled at the doctor who told me I’d be on hard chemo for life, because he promptly took me off of the hard stuff, reassured me, and moved me to chemo lite, or maintenance chemotherapy. 

Y’all, never have I been so relieved. And filled with joy. Psalm 30:5 sums up my experience:

For His anger is but for a moment,

His favor is for a lifetime;

Weeping may last for the night,

But a shout of joy comes in the morning.

I wept. I wept a LOT. It was a long “night”. Seemingly eternal. But the depth of joy equaled the pain. I certainly shouted for joy once I got back to the car to head home!

I know that one day I’ll die. We all will. That’s the reality. But how do we live every day until then? And how do we graciously accept that our days may be markedly shorter because of a terminal illness? For me, I continue to live one day at a time. Sometimes I bear more sorrow than I think I can manage. Often I share that sorrow with my husband, with friends. Sometimes the sorrow is too much to share. 

In the moments when it’s too much to share I cry out to God. I sob. Sometimes I just feel empty. And I won’t lie, there are times when I fall asleep with no relief. But many, many more times I sleep peacefully, knowing full well that my ending is not my own. Knowing that the story of my life is only partially being written by me, and that it’s for others to read. Knowing that every day, from beginning to end, matters. 

Every day, from beginning to end, matters. 

How can we not find joy in that if we know that God has us in the palm of His hand? I find joy in knowing I’m in the palm of His hand. And I keep moving forward. 

Tell me, how would you react if you were told you had a few months left to live? To whom would you reach out? How and where would you find joy? Would you turn to the One who created you?

I hope to be writing here a long time. If I’m not? I’ll be finding joy ‘til the end. 

Until I write again …

Flea