Chemo Day

    Today is chemo day. It is my least favorite day. I go to bed the night before dreading it. I wake up dreading it. I sit here waiting for lab results, dreading it. Half praying my labs will come back too low to get treatment. The other half praying my labs are fine...I know I need to be able to get treatment. But I don't want to.

   It's not so much that it makes me feel bad, although I don't enjoy that. It's the reality of it. On chemo day there is no pretending that every thing is okay. There's no forgetting, from the moment they access my port until Thursday afternoon when I take off the pump, for even a few minutes that I have been diagnosed with cancer. Even with the ostomy, I can forget for hours at a time, but not while I am wearing that pump. It's a constant reminder for these next 3 days that I am in a battle for my life.

   It also reminds other people. It lets others know that I am sick. It opens the door for other people to ask questions. Two questions that I get asked most often are "how many more treatments do you" and "what is your prognosis?" The answers to these questions are as complicated as they are simple.

    I was diagnosed with stage IV colorectal cancer. This means that the cancer has spread beyond the original site into the lymph system and to other organs. By the time the tumor was found it had penetrated the rectum and was attached to the pelvic wall. They removed and biopsied 17 lymph nodes from the surrounding area and all 17 were positive for cancer. The CT scan showed metastasis to the liver and lungs. Meaning there are lesions on those organs that they highly suspect are cancer. They have not been biopsied because they are too small and it would be more dangerous than beneficial to do so. They say that even if it were to go into remission I would have to continue taking a maintenance dose of chemo for the rest of my life. They say if I did not, the cancer would just come back due to how far it has spread. By the medical world's view, I am not curable. I am only manageable.

    So, how many more treatments do I have? Until God heals me.

    The second question is probably a little harder for people to ask. They want to ask but are afraid to or don't know how to. They worry about offending me. Eventually they get it out -- sometimes directly, sometimes around the bush. What's your prognosis? How long do you have? There's no definitive answer. Only averages and in the matter of mere minutes, my life expectancy went from 35-40 years to 2-5 years. Or maybe 10 years. The average patient with stage IV colorectal cancer lives 2-5 years but they are quick to tell your they have some patients that are 10 years out. Every cancer patient is different. Every outcome is different. What works for some nay not for others and vice versa. And just as with any other illness or trial that you face, attitude makes a difference! By the medical world's standards, I have 1-4 years left.

    How long do I have? Until God decides to take me home.

   How fortunate, how blessed am I that the world's views and standards are not God's views and standards?! Praise the Lord that I have the Great Physician as my healer. And only He knows how much time I do or do not have left. I do not accept this diagnosis or prognosis. I know I am healed. I know that when God is finished with me here on earth He will call me home -- just like He will all of you. But it will be in His timing. Both the manifestation of my healing and my death.

    Thank You, Father, for the hope I have in You. Thank You for healing me. Your word says that by the stripes Jesus bore and the blood He shed, that we are forgiven and healed. I praise You for my healing and for my life. Help me to be what You want me to be. Let my life be a testimony for You. In Jesus' name, Amen.

~Delta