Ten years ago, my daughter, Elise, was diagnosed with
lymphoma. She was ten years old.
As a cancer survivor, I should have
been prepared to handle the experience. I wasn’t. Knowing terminology and
procedures meant little when I had to enter Elise’s hospital room to tell her
she had cancer. I had to dig deep and hold on tightly to my composure when she
looked at me with those big brown eyes and said, “Momma, I don’t want to die.” Then
it happened. The depths of grace, peace, and faith I had experienced throughout
my own ordeal with cancer guided our conversation. Elise faced her future with
calmness, maturity, faith, and tenacity far exceeding her age. An ambulance later
transported us for the first of many trips to Children’s Hospital.
My husband was able to be with Elise most of the time,
but one rare day he had to be in the office, so I brought her to the hospital for
another dose of chemotherapy. On the menu was the drug I had begged the doctors
not to administer. It was the one which, years before, made me lose my hair,
and everything I ate or drank. It was the one that caused severe burns on my
hands and feet. So severe I couldn’t even pick my hair up off of the
pillowcase. So severe I had to crawl to
the bathroom on my knees when I became sick.
As the nurse donned her thick protective gloves and
connected the chemicals to my daughter, I began to crumble inside. I watched
the red liquid enter my baby’s body, and fought for control over both my
emotions and the contents of my stomach. Then I raced to the exit door, ran out
of the building, and called my husband to desperately cry, “I can’t do this.
I’m not strong enough.”
“I’m leaving now. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Michael said.
“No,” I insisted. “It’ll be over before you get here.
Just pray. Promise me you’re praying. Promise me you won’t stop praying.” Being
fully aware of my frailty has taught me to lean heavily on my Jesus, and the
words of 2 Corinthians 12:9, “My grace is all you need. My power works best in
weakness.”
I re-entered the room, and if Elise noticed anything
odd about my behavior, she never expressed it. That night, she became ill and a
few days later, I found chunks of her hair in the bathroom garbage can. Soon
after, she ditched the wig, and began wearing her brother’s baseball cap to
cover her scalp.
“How do people go through this without Jesus?” she
asked. It is one of many questions for which I have no answer. I cannot imagine
going through anything without leaning on the strength of my Savior.
This past week, I accompanied Elise, now in her fourth
year of college, to her yearly checkup at Children's. I dropped her off at the
entrance, found a parking spot, then joined her in the waiting room. No longer
led by me, my strong and independent daughter spent the day before her 21st
birthday filling out forms, leading the way to the heart scan, almost sprinting
to the lab for blood work, then bringing me back to the clinic to meet with her
doctor.
But our yearly visit to Children's is about so much more
than forms and tests and doctors. It's about returning to the sights and the
smells that instantly bring me back a decade. It's about feeling my heart fill
to the top with gratitude for present health, humility at the thought of God's
deliverance, and pain for the parents pushing wheelchairs, holding infants, and
adjusting caps covering precious little bald heads. And it's about allowing the
tears to flow as I pray for those I know still battling sickness and for these
new little faces who have found a place in my heart.
Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com
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