Hallway of Hope

I mentioned in my recent post that we are faced with a new "normal" in our family: my husband has cancer. It's a slow-growing, rare form of cancer with no real cure, however there is a chemo cocktail in clinical trial form which promises to manage, and possibly even minimize some of the tumors in his body.

Daunting, I know. However, after tons of research, multiple consultations with doctors and cancer center department specialists, we are cautiously optimistic. We don't have many choices, actually. And so we need to be confident with our decision. Or do we?

My confidence comes from my faith. Confidence is not from the medical decision itself; it's in the fact that I know God is there, all the time, no matter what. I have been focused on a phrase in Phillipians 4 about God's peace. It's God's peace, which is so great I cannot understand it, that guards my heart and mind. Not my peace. Heck, I cannot create a sense of peace about any of these issues. Instead, I simply hold on to hope with a new start each day.

Two full months lapsed between the time of his diagnosis and his first day of treatment. Two months of waiting. With hope. Two months of planning. With hope. Two months of getting ready to get started in his fight with cancer. With hope.

My husband was examined; blood was drawn; papers were processed, and the first step of his actual treatment was prepared, which was in the form of a shot. He was escorted to the hallway where his medicine would be administered chair-side, in a special chair reserved for him. When I walked to the entrance of that hallway, I gasped. There were at least a dozen other patients sitting there, lining both sides of the hallway, receiving their medication, too. All shapes, sizes and ages of people. The unspoken common theme: we were all dealing with cancer. Funny how we all become the same, then. I now call that place the Hallway of Hope. And together we all continue to fight this thing called cancer. With hope.