My mom has cancer…so what?

I’ve been mulling over this blog post for a long time. I’ve waited to discuss my own response to my mother’s diagnosis out of respect for her personal processing and privacy. But with the “ok” from her, I’d like to share a bit about the ugly truth of cancer and the glimpses of beauty I see along the way.

Two weeks before my daughter Blaire was born, I got an awful phone call from mom. She’s been forthright with us kids since day one, and so it was with a tear-choked voice that she shared the news…cancer.

I don’t think I actually believed it at first. My mother? Cancer? Surely another test or two will prove otherwise. But with each new test, the results became glaringly obvious. Cancer. It’s a cancer called Multiple Myeloma that has slowly been eating away at my mother’s bones, causing multiple rib fractures and two sternum breaks. It was after this second sternum incident that my mom went it for additional tests (none of us truly expecting anything to come of it, other than confirming her already known Osteoporosis). But for reasons no one can explain, cancer was lurking in her blood, within her bone marrow, causing several “bone lesions” that could eventually lead to severe skeletal damage.

And so with her seventh grandchild about to be born, my mom suddenly faced a very different future than the one we’d all been imagining. On Blaire’s due date, May 31^st 2016, my mom began her cancer treatments. I don’t intend to speak on my mother’s behalf, although I will say she has been incredibly strong, articulate, brave, hopeful, and faithful throughout the past 7 months of treatments (and their nasty side-effects) and countless hours spent coordinating her own care. I do, however, intend to speak about my own development throughout this process. The “so what?” of my mom’s cancer.

In addition to my own major adjustment to being mom of two, I’ve been absorbing the reality of my mom’s cancer. So what have I learned?

First, cancer really, really sucks. It immediately sucks away time and resources, peace of mind, months of health, energy I know my mom would like to put toward her grandchildren instead of her own wellbeing. It also sucks away any illusion of a care-free retirement, any certain plans for “cousin camp” at grandmas, any amount of long-term dreaming for the future. Cancer sucks.

Second, cancer is more pervasive in our communities than I ever realized before mom got diagnosed. As a pastor, I’ve seen the devastation of cancer within families, but now I truly understand it. And because of our family’s experience, I feel more in tune with the experience of countless others facing cancer or the diagnosis of a loved one.

Third, I’ve learned more about Multiple Myeloma in the past 7 months than I ever imagined possible, and I’m even more-so drawn to the importance of finding a cure. Because for me, it determines whether or not I get to watch my children delight in the presence of their grandmother for decades to come.

Fourth and finally, I’ve learned that I have a whole lot more learning to do. And in assuming a posture of humility (which cancer inevitably evokes), I’ve begun to take less of every moment in life for granted. I’ve begun to recognize the beauty of a common goal drawing me closer than ever to my mother’s side. And I’ve learned what it means to cling to faith and prayer, not as one option in life, but as a necessity to keep on living.

The next step for my mother, after nearly 8 months of cancer treatments, will be a stem cell transplant in late January. She’ll receive an awful dose of chemo to clear her system of (ideally all) cancer, then begin rebuilding an immune system from scratch. This will no doubt be the most difficult challenge she or this family has ever faced. And so it is with a whole lot of humility, and just enough hope for the journey ahead, that we as a family ask for your prayers.

Cancer, so what? So life might be cherished and respected all the more. So families might bond together with positivity and life-giving affirmations. So we human beings might find within us the capacity for greater empathy, further awareness of the plight of others, and compassion for every single living being we encounter. So we learn to hold onto our own plans a little more lightly, and to God’s glorious promises of life-everlasting all the more.

Thank you for sharing in this journey of cancer with us. May we soon delight in news of remission!