Prep for Chemo

I am concerned about tomorrow's chemo. I haven't had enough time to recover from all that kidneystone stuff, even though the urologist gave me the all clear. I know I will see my oncologist first. If there is anything to be concerned about, she will not send me on to the infusion center. Still, I am uncomfortable enough. My discomfort has been growing, and I know I must address it. I ask my pastor if we could meet for prayer.


It seems silly to have prayer about something I have been through dozens of times already. Nonetheless, each chemo is its own entity, and this one doesn't sit right with me. I expect he will do the usual - offer prayers of hope and encouragement, putting me in God's hands and asking for wisdom and grace for the doctors and nurses who will be assisting me. But he does not do that - at least not right away.


He comes to my office (imagine a pastor who makes office calls!!!) and I give him a tour of the library. Then we step into my office and chat a bit. He asks me what there is about this particular chemo that is concerning me. I have a hard time verbalizing my objections. I stumble about a bit trying to get the picture clear. Bottom line is - I just tired of being sick. Yes, people perceive that my faith is strong and I am confident and trusting in God's grace. They tell me that I look the picture of health and if they were not told, would not believe I have cancer. It is true. But sometimes I am just plain worn out with the constant health battles.


Particularly right now. He nods and listens. We are quiet for a few minutes. He asks if there is a particular symbol that has held significance for me. I think. Many things go through my mind, but overall, the communion cup and bread have been an anchor for me. I tell him about the cup my friend Sissie sent me that sits on my entertainment center, a constant reminder of the love of God. He nods understandingly.

Then he suggests we try some guided prayer. He invites me to close my eyes, take a deep breath and breathe it out. Do that a few times. Become conscious of your feet on the floor, the support of the chair. Relax. Now picture Jesus standing in front of you. See his face, his hands, his feet. Sense his caring and love. Now see him hold up the loaf of bread, tear a piece off and offer it to you. See him lift the cup and hold it to your mouth. I have never been offered communion by Christ himself before! Feel his love, his strength, his healing power. Know that his broken body did not stay broken, but was resurrected with power and restored.

He has conquered death. Now that power of the resurrection is flowing past the barrier of death into your life, into your body. You do not have to wait until you are in heaven to be whole. It is a startling rediscovery. I had allowed myself to think that I would never be well again in this life. I had given in to the hopelessness of cancer. I am amazed that I had somehow gotten in this unacceptable place and glad glad glad to be moving out of it. I will not accept the hopeless inevitability. I will trust God with whom all things are possible.

We linger for a bit in the guided prayer, and afterwards, the pastor does lay hands on my head and pray as I had expected - for peace and strength and a good day tomorrow. I am at peace. I am very thankful for his insight and boldness. He says he didn't tell me anything I did not already know. But I am grateful to be reminded.