Today I was in and out of the hospital. A blood test early in the day and back later for chemo. But these weren’t my chemo moments.
That happened in between. I visited my friend Hiep who has a lung cancer like mine. He’s not doing so well because the cancer has spread to his bones in his legs, such that he can no longer walk. He’s praying for a miracle—and so am I. We spent the best part of half an hour together and he spent so much of this time smiling. He has a real joy—a joy that comes from knowing that no matter what may happen to him physically, he has a real hope grounded in God’s promises. He’s looking beyond this life to the life to come with Jesus. I was deeply challenged by our time together. It’s normal for me to get anxious and a bit depressed as I face each chemo treatment, but this time I was determined to be thankful that I had access to medicines that have been working so well. It increased my resolve to remain vertical for the sake of bringing hope to everyone I can. This wasn’t my chemo moment either.
Later I visited a shop near my office and exchanged a bit of silly banter with the bloke behind the counter. I was drinking a can of ginger beer as I walked in and he thanked me for bringing him a drink. I said he was welcome to have a drink, but that I was sick and he mightn’t want to. He asked me if it was serious, and I said it was just cancer. Wow. He then began to open up to me about the horrors of losing his wife to cancer last year. We enjoyed talking, he wished me the very best as I was headed to hospital, and we agreed to catch up again. Just before closing I was able to pop back in and give him a copy of Hope Beyond Cure and he looked so pleased to get it. We will talk again soon. But this wan’t my chemo moment either.
Back in hospital, Hiep had asked me to sign a copy of the book with a message containing his own recommendation and give it to his oncologist. So I grabbed a copy and wrote a message to the doctor. I also wrote in a couple of others and addressed them, put them in envelopes, and attached stamps. I found a post box for the envelopes before heading to the hospital for chemo. I planned to get their early and drop a copy into the oncologist. When I got there I no longer had my copy—it somehow sneaked into the post box without an envelope to join the others. This was my chemo moment! I should get it back in a fortnight!