Routine Cancer Diagnosis

 My older sister was diagnosed with breast cancer last week. She got the call on Friday morning, following her Thursday biopsy (during which the doctor optimistically told her she didn't think it was cancer). 

There should be a rule among doctors--or at least a strong suggestion--not to ruin a patient's weekend with a cancer diagnosis. It's hard to have fun on Friday night when you're weighed down by the knowledge that an enemy has invaded your cells. 

This Wednesday, she'll meet with a surgeon. Cancer makes even healthcare move a little faster.

We have a pretty good idea of what lies ahead. We've been here before. My mother is a breast cancer survivor, as is my twin sister. We know the routine: surgery, radiation (sometimes), chemotherapy (often). We know about wigs and hats. We know that eyebrows and eyelashes may not grow back, that curly hair can grow back straight, that leg hair may be sparse for years to come. That chemotherapy keeps your underarms from producing odor, making deodorant unnecessary for up to a year afterwards.

We know about weight loss and vomiting, diarrhea and constipation, nose bleeds and fainting. 

We know how cancer ages you.

But this isn't the worst thing my sister's been through. She lost both her husband and her oldest son to cancer. Their diagnoses were far more tragic than her own. Her husband lived six months after what he thought was an ulcer was discovered to be colon cancer. My nephew lived one day after his doctor began to suspect that his pneumonia might actually be leukemia--a diagnosis not confirmed until his autopsy.

It'll be a rough year, which is another thing we know. But as people of faith--as Jesus followers--we have hope. We have peace. Obviously, we'll be praying for healing, but if healing doesn't come, if that isn't God's plan, then may we have God's grace to walk this road with courage and to stand together in strength and unity.