It’s been a while since I’ve written a brand new blog post. I felt I had nothing new to say, as I’d previously poured my heart out and shared all the wisdom I could think of to help others who are going through a devastating medical diagnosis, caregiving, preparing for the loss of a loved one, grief, and/or moving forward with life.
And then Thursday, Friday, and Sunday happened.
Every year, more women die from lung cancer than from breast cancer according to the American Cancer Society. Early detection is the key to survival, as my friend Cindy Johnston can attest to. I met Cindy in 1998 when she was my sons’ choir director in elementary school. She was also my handbell choir director in church and became a personal friend. Knowing my late husband’s journey with lung cancer, Cindy contacted me when her doctors suspected she may have lung cancer. Her story gives me goosebumps. She had no symptoms. Here is her amazing story of a series of events that allowed early detection and treatment—and survival:
It’s been seven years now since Chris had the ride of his life to heaven. In honor of his memory, I’m posting an excerpt from my book “His Love Carries Me” that contains an excerpt from Chris’ book “Cancer on Two Wheels”:
A year before Chris died, he wrote a blog entry that he asked me to post after he died. I had read it then but hadn’t looked at it since. This particular entry was so important to him that it was first on his list of things for me to do after his death.
In 2011, Chris fractured three vertebrae. We discovered he had developed osteoporosis, caused by a clinical trial drug he was taking. His doctor wanted him to receive an infusion to help reverse the bone loss as quickly as possible. She told him the most common side effects are flu-like symptoms.
I researched the drug options after we got home to see if they would jeopardize his health. I learned they can cause the femur—the strongest bone in the body—to break. But what I found next terrified me.
We attended a local concert in 2014 where Christian artist Carman Licciardello was singing. Diagnosed with cancer in 2013, Carman was told to get his affairs in order and prepare to die. But a year after treatment and disease-free, he was touring again.
After one of his songs, he asked his audience to stand up and join him in singing it again with him. Neither Chris nor I could open our mouths; we were choked up after hearing words we felt were meant for us. Wrapping our arms around each other’s waist, tears streamed down our cheeks as everyone around us sang “Prayer.” The song was about how nothing is impossible for those who faithfully believe. With prayer, the Lord can move a mountain and create miracles over and over again.
Imerman Angels is an international program that recruits mentors to provide emotional support for cancer patients and their caregivers, matching them with someone going through the same type of cancer and treatment. I signed up to be a Mentor Angel and was matched in 2014 with Kay in Colorado. We talked fairly often by email and sometimes by phone.
“How do you fight depression?” she asked one day.
Today would have been our 36th wedding anniversary. I still miss Chris so much. But I have peace because I can see the bigger picture, especially after writing about our journey through cancer.
Although we’ll never know exactly why God allowed Chris to have lung cancer, we were blessed to have experienced such an ordeal together. As trite and inconceivable as that might sound, it’s true. Our love for each other grew stronger. We learned to not take life or each other for granted. Each day became more treasured as God’s hand was revealed, even in difficult moments.
It’s hard to believe it’s been four years ago today when Chris passed away. Life has continued on and been filled with excitement with the marriage of our older son four months later and the birth of our first grandchild almost nine months ago. I’ve published two books and have been working on a big project the last two years (I’ll share more about that sometime).
On the downside, a close relative has had a return of metastatic cancer after almost 20 years of remission. A total shock. Then two nights ago I received a call from my cousin. Her husband had a massive stroke and is currently nonresponsive. Then there’s the COVID-19 pandemic the whole world is facing. We never know what may be in our future, do we?
When you’re dealing with cancer, things that wouldn’t normally frustrate the average person can be extremely stressful and frustrating for the cancer patient (and the caregiver). Although I had rarely seen Chris cry during the first 26 years of our marriage, after the cancer diagnosis, that changed. He became easily frustrated over things that never bothered him previously. Emotions easily surfaced, as he was having to deal with a life-threatening illness, side effects of treatment, side effects of the cancer itself, changes in work status and routine, changes in physical appearance, financial stress, loss of social activities, loss of physical capabilities, etc. I tried to put myself in his place, which helped me be more compassionate.
My moods reflected his. When he was up, I was up. When he was down, I was down. One particular day,
I started cleaning house tonight, getting ready for family to come celebrate an early Christmas. Dusting the nativity scene, I stopped to pause and think about that little baby in the manger and the sole reason He was born. He was born to be the Savior for you and me.
If you’re missing a loved one due to health issues, or you’re about to lose someone, remember that cancer didn’t have the last word—God did. As our friend Tom Wohlgamuth said at the graveside service, “Chris didn’t lose his battle with cancer. Cancer lost its battle with Chris. When the cancer conquered his body, the cancer stopped living. It died. Forever. But Chris lives because Jesus conquered sin and death for us!”
When you're dealing with cancer--especially lung cancer--you never know when you may need to make a sudden exit due to a coughing spell or, to put it delicately, "intestinal issues." When Chris went to church, he began sitting in the spot closest to the exit door for such an emergency. The greeter assigned to our section, dear ol' George, began putting a "Reserved" sign on the back of the seats for Chris and me.
As a way to remember and honor the legacy of their father, Chad and Shane reserved Chris' regular seat in church at his funeral.
Three years ago today, Chris went home with the Lord. In remembrance, here’s part of his eulogy:
Chris knew that this was his temporary home. We can’t celebrate his life without talking about what was most important to him, and that was his faith. When Chris was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer in July 2010, no one understood why he would have gotten that particular type of cancer since he had never smoked in his entire life. He could only come up with one reason: He accepted the diagnosis as part of God’s plan to use him to reach others as he witnessed for Christ. Chris also helped pave the way for successful treatments to be used on other lung cancer patients. He took part in 4 clinical trials, 2 of which were FDA approved while he was in the trials due to the success the treatments were achieving. Chris said he was willing to be a guinea pig if it helped someone else beat lung cancer.
As we near the third anniversary of Chris' death, I've decided to share another special part of his life with you.
Chris’ last month was very humbling for a man who had always been strong and took good care of his family. (In return, it was my privilege and honor to be his caregiver and be by his side throughout this 6-year journey.) He was in almost constant back pain because of the changes in his torso due to a collapsed lung and 5 fractured vertebrae that had been repaired. He walked lopsided with one shoulder noticeably lower than the other due to his collapsed lung. He also lost 2 inches in height. If you could see him now, he’s walking streets of gold. He’s standing tall and whole!
We had just found out the previous day at MD Anderson Cancer Center (in August 2010) that Chris was considered to have inoperable stage IV lung cancer, which had metastasized to the brain. As reality settled in the next day, I was an emotional wreck, no longer numb from the initial shock of the previous day’s news. But cancer wouldn’t wait for me to gain control of my emotions. It would continue to threaten my husband’s life at a rapid pace. I couldn’t let fear paralyze me. I needed to take action to learn how to best treat it and enhance my husband’s quality of life. I had a job to do as his caregiver, and I planned to give it my best shot. Being part of the team to save his life began with learning as much as I could about what we were facing.
Six months after Chris was diagnosed and he had experienced setback after setback, we could have easily started feeling sorry for ourselves. But we had a reality check that I documented in my journal:
Wednesday, we were riding the shuttle van back to the hotel from MD Anderson. We stopped at a children’s hospital to pick up a mother and her nine-year-old son. She struggled to lift him into the front seat. He apparently had brain cancer, as he was bald and lacked motor skills and had tremors. The mother was cheerful, as was the boy. He sang with the radio on the way to the hotel (or at least attempted to sing). We were all laughing because he was so happy, and it was so touching.
Years ago, after listening to Dave Ramsey say that cancer insurance is a gimmick and isn’t needed if you have good health insurance, I agreed. But then my sister-in-law developed cancer and had previously purchased cancer insurance after her mother and sisters were diagnosed with cancer. It really helped them with extra expenses not covered by regular health insurance. I was finally able to talk my husband into allowing us to purchase cancer insurance in 2006 after his father died of cancer and his sister had been diagnosed with breast cancer. It was one of the wisest decisions we made.
You don’t truly understand the financial impact of cancer until it strikes your own home.
