Finding Hope

A cancer diagnosis presents many problems. It often seems just when one dilemma is solved, two more emerge. In my case, when my chemotherapy was tolerable, my hair fell out. After I bought a wig, my eyelashes and eyebrows disappeared. Just when I could sleep through the night, I needed a blood transfusion. When my side effects were finally under control, I had a bad reaction to a new chemo drug, and so forth. When problems multiplied, they became a wall, obscuring my vision of anything positive beyond. I knew I needed hope if I was going to see above, around, or through that wall of hopelessness—a wall built with bricks of suffering, disabilities, and isolation.

 One brick in my problem-wall was suffering. The pain cancer brings comes in countless forms. Whether it is neuropathy induced by chemotherapy or the effects of required surgery, pain is usually a given at some point in one’s treatment. I include in the definition of suffering an unnatural fatigue. The chemotherapy would wipe me out for days at a time. About three days after each treatment, for two days, I would fall asleep for much of the day. I was too tired to go anywhere, pursue my hobbies, or watch my grandchildren. My life had so many limitations. I know some people who can even keep working during chemo and others who have far more severe symptoms than I did. So everyone has a different experience, but suffering is the constant.

For me, the worst problem was being incapacitated to some extent. One of the chemo drugs had rendered my upper legs completely weak and my lower legs in pain. When I relayed this information to my oncologist, he discontinued that drug and tried a different chemotherapy. Still, it was weeks before I could walk without a cane. I even needed help to step up on a curb. When your body isn’t cooperating, it is easiest to dwell on what you cannot do.

 Also, cancer seems isolating in many aspects. The diagnosis and pain are yours alone. Others can hold your hand or help you in various ways, but the experience itself is lived alone. Many people have no one else who has had cancer to support them and answer questions. Such was my case. Though my family stepped up, doing errands and caring for me, I wished I knew someone who had gone through cancer so I could get advice and talk to someone who “gets it.” Still, I count myself fortunate because I had family and friends nearby.  Cancer can make anyone feel alone, whether in actuality, they are or not. 

Then, I read something which enabled me to peek above my wall of hopelessness. According to Isaiah 38:5, the Lord shares in the knowledge of our suffering. “This is what the Lord… says: I have heard your prayer and seen your tears…” To actually be heard by the Creator of the Universe was uplifting. No longer was it so significant how he chose to answer my prayers. My comfort was derived simply from the fact the Lord understood what I was going through in an intimate way no human being could. A similar verse in Psalm 10:17 seems particularly applicable to cancer patients. “You, Lord, hear the desire of the afflicted; you encourage them, and you listen to their cry.” It was reassuring to know I would not be facing cancer alone. 

Reflection  

Do you derive comfort from your faith?  

What types of support do you find most helpful?