I recently ran into Claire, a woman who used to attend our church, and she asked concerningly about my health. I had not posted anything for many months, and she was afraid my silence was foreboding.
Never fear, Claire. My wife will vouch that I do not suffer health problems stoically or silently.
But the conversation reminded me that perhaps I should give a health update, even if the news is, thankfully, non-dramatic.
And it is indeed non-dramatic. I’ve had three tests over the past four months to check if any of the cancers have returned, and all 3 have come back as clean as a proverbial whistle.
The last one was a CT scan at St. Francis Hospital on Halloween, where I was checked in by this guy:
I was a little worried they might break out the leaches, but thankfully that did not happen.
The PA at the urologist office, Bailey, did say that I have a 20-25 percent chance of the prostate cancer coming back, and if it did it would likely be in the first 2-3 years. So, if I can make it to age 45, I’m good.
About the only thing bothering me right now is some rather persistent sciatica, which makes extended times of sitting rather painful.
I saw my Physician Assistant Hannah about it. Hannah, by the way, is 12. Or at least she looks that way to me. As I get older people in their mid-twenties look like teenagers, and teenagers look like babies.
Does anyone else remember the slightly unsettling feeling you had the first time your doctor was younger than you? I mean, doctors are authority figures, or at least we have made them so. And its weird the first time your authority figure is younger than you.
And it’s even weirder when they start getting younger than your children. Of course, you stay respectful, but inside you’re saying, “all right young lady, I’m going to need to see some ID with your age on it, and also a copy of your medical degree. And by the way, do your parents know you’re here?”
The whole thing reminds me of just how much we live by faith in this world. Here I am, meeting this woman for the first time, who’s young enough to be my daughter, and, without checking her degrees or qualifications I just gobble down whatever medicine she prescribes. All because she’s in a medical office.
And, of course, I don’t check out the pharmacist’s degrees or qualifications either. I just assume that because he’s wearing a white coat and behind the CVS counter that he knows what he’s doing. He could be filling that little amber bottle with Midol, or cyanide, for that matter, and I wouldn’t know any better. At least for a while.
We live by faith in this world. No getting around it.
Anyway, I did end up getting a steroid injection in my back…which helped, but not as much as I would like. Oh well. I can live with it. Unlike cancer.
I still have to go in for testing, but they are now going to be less frequent.
One thing that amazes me is how seldom I think about the cancer. About the only time it crosses my mind is when I have a CT or an ultrasound. This is not good. I mean, think about it: I’ve now had cancer in a lymph node, malignant melanoma, and an aggressive form of prostate cancer. And they are all gone! I should really be constantly thankful and humble that all the treatments have been successful, and all the prayers answered. I should be writing in my gratitude list every day: “I DON’T HAVE CANCER.” I should let that good news be ballast against every thing that might frustrate me or get me down. But, to be honest, that is not really happening often.
Sometimes I’m a spiritual bozo.
But here is the best news: God loves bozos, too. And, one Day, by God’s grace and Word, I will be cured of my bozo-ness as well.
And that will be my ultimate healing.
Or like when your pastor is younger than you or as old as your kids!