For many months before today, I would turn the thought over and over in my head, of how I would break the happy news of a clear bonescan to everyone. I was eagerly looking forward to it because somehow, I had that confidence that all things would turn out well. I was excited with the thought that everyone would be a part of my answered prayer.
Today, as I finally held the scan results in my hand, the words floated before me: No scintigraph evidence of bone metastasis. These were the very words I had been eagerly looking forward to breaking to everyone. However, the passing of my father-in-law earlier in the day seems to have clouded over the thought, and much more so the joy of it.
I fell to wondering, how is it that I could not find the joy that I was so looking forward to share, upon knowing that my cancer had not spread? Could it not be possible that I mourn the family's loss while at the same time celebrate my gain? As my kids could not help but ask, is God giving all the bad days in a downpour so that we can have only good days after? If we have another loss immediately after, does that make us destined to be like the family of Job?
I pondered upon all of these things as I walked into the Cebu Cancer Institute for my radiation treatment this afternoon. I was pretty much lost in thought when I rounded the corner at the end of the hall where two little girls accidentally bumped into me. About three or four years old, their head gears gave them away. Their colorful scarves were edged with synthetic curly hair and they had no eyebrows, just like me.
I took a seat on one of the corridor benches and continued watching them. They were giggling as they badgered each other, while being spoonfed with instant noodles by their mothers. Apparently they were waiting for their turn in the chemo room. I was amazed that these two innocent beings could find amusement and joy in such a place. Even in a place of pain and discomfort, they could find a reason to laugh and play. While many of the older patients there with me dragged their feet around and were often lost in their thoughts, these two thin, bald, wonderful little girls were having a blast! I felt so much compassion and admiration for them. At the same time, I was immediately overwhelmed with gratitude that my children are all well and they need not go through what these two little girls have to. I realized I still have so much to be thankful for and laugh about.
Holding this thought while holding the tears down, I then felt a different kind of joy. I began to understand in a meaningful way how joy is not always borne out of laughter and happy circumstances. True joy is instead borne out of a deep understanding that even if days are not sunny, even if things don't go the way I plan, it does not change the fact that God had proven Himself faithful to me, and that I am blessed. Joy is not a feeling after all, but a lifestyle of gratitude and hope.
In the midst of death and loss, I choose to rejoice that God gave me a new lease on life.
Today, as I finally held the scan results in my hand, the words floated before me: No scintigraph evidence of bone metastasis. These were the very words I had been eagerly looking forward to breaking to everyone. However, the passing of my father-in-law earlier in the day seems to have clouded over the thought, and much more so the joy of it.
I fell to wondering, how is it that I could not find the joy that I was so looking forward to share, upon knowing that my cancer had not spread? Could it not be possible that I mourn the family's loss while at the same time celebrate my gain? As my kids could not help but ask, is God giving all the bad days in a downpour so that we can have only good days after? If we have another loss immediately after, does that make us destined to be like the family of Job?
I pondered upon all of these things as I walked into the Cebu Cancer Institute for my radiation treatment this afternoon. I was pretty much lost in thought when I rounded the corner at the end of the hall where two little girls accidentally bumped into me. About three or four years old, their head gears gave them away. Their colorful scarves were edged with synthetic curly hair and they had no eyebrows, just like me.I took a seat on one of the corridor benches and continued watching them. They were giggling as they badgered each other, while being spoonfed with instant noodles by their mothers. Apparently they were waiting for their turn in the chemo room. I was amazed that these two innocent beings could find amusement and joy in such a place. Even in a place of pain and discomfort, they could find a reason to laugh and play. While many of the older patients there with me dragged their feet around and were often lost in their thoughts, these two thin, bald, wonderful little girls were having a blast! I felt so much compassion and admiration for them. At the same time, I was immediately overwhelmed with gratitude that my children are all well and they need not go through what these two little girls have to. I realized I still have so much to be thankful for and laugh about.
Holding this thought while holding the tears down, I then felt a different kind of joy. I began to understand in a meaningful way how joy is not always borne out of laughter and happy circumstances. True joy is instead borne out of a deep understanding that even if days are not sunny, even if things don't go the way I plan, it does not change the fact that God had proven Himself faithful to me, and that I am blessed. Joy is not a feeling after all, but a lifestyle of gratitude and hope.
In the midst of death and loss, I choose to rejoice that God gave me a new lease on life.
