It’s been a long while since I’ve posted anything, image or thought. I suppose a good excuse is that time stopped. Well, maybe not a good excuse. A better excuse could be that nothing occurred that was worth making an image or writing about. That’s not bad, it just isn’t true. I have a grandson and everyday is a new face, a new trick, or an old cry with different cadence. Nope, things have been happening, life is rolling along, and I have been content to observe without comment or documentation.
Contentment is a very dangerous thing if abused.
A month ago I was told I have cancer. Not great news, but then again, men of my age often have cancer of the prostate. 80% of the time it will kill you by the time you are 130. Unless, of course you have the fast growing kind, then it can be six months to five years. I have the fast growing kind. I’m bucking the odds. I’m special! I don’t want to be special, I want to be average. All my life I’ve wanted to be average, to blend in, go along with the crowd…wait, that wasn’t true. It turns out I’m hoisted by my own petard. Odd phrase. It means skewered by my own spear. Think about it, you can cut yourself with your own knife, but speared by your own spear? Hard to do! Well, I’ve lived my life by not being ‘in the norm’, and now I find that the normal cancer is not for me, I get the fast growing, hyperactive cancer. Great!
With the blood test and biopsy results the future looked mighty short. Lots of doctor visits, scans and ultra sounds later, it appears not to have been too active, especially considering the bad numbers. It might even be contained, a real blessing.
With many people praying earnestly I’m not surprised that the latest guess gives me a 50% cure rate. I’ll take that, it was way up from a dismal 25% rate. Eh, it’s only a number.
Two things I’ve learned. 1.) I’m not good at appointments and doctors offices. For some people it is natural, but for me it is like pulling teeth. Which reminds me, I’m due for a crown replacement. 2.) I’m not good at receiving the love and care of so many folks. The overwhelming sense is that I’m not worthy. I’m not even suffering from effects, no open wounds, no bleeding. I just have hideously scary numbers.
Maybe I have also relearned an old lesson, prayer works! Not because I changed God’s mind, but because I’ve changed mine. Thanks C.S. Lewis!