Call Me Ezekiel

If you’ve been following my story from the beginning (the beginning of the leg part of my story, that is) then you may recall that the necessity of my having a PET scan has been kind of on again and off again. At my first visit to the oncologist I was told that I would have both a PET scan and a CT scan at some point in this whole adventure. A later visit with the surgeon indicated I would only have a CT scan, and that a PET scan would not be necessary.

Well, this last week I had a PET scan. It was an interesting experience. Quite relaxing, actually, because for much of the time I had to lie very still. So after the smiling and efficient nurse put an IV into me and injected some sort of radioactive liquid into my blood stream, I had to lie down quietly for about an hour so as to allow the whatever-it-was (the layman’s term for it) to flow throughout my body.

After having many nights of poor sleep at home, and now with a warm blanket laid over me, soft music playing in the background (to drown out the sound of the guy in the next room yawning very loudly) and lying on a comfortable bed, I had no alternative but to fall asleep. The nap was nice. I wonder how much of our taxpayers’ healthcare dollars I spent per minute during my nap that afternoon at the Vancouver General Hospital. (If you pay tax in Canada, I want you to know how grateful I was for your contribution to my good sleep. I really enjoyed it. Thanks.)

So once they were sure I had all this radioactive substance thoroughly distributed in my system I was laid out on a bed (tablet, actually) and the whirling donut started scanning my body from my neck down. Again I was instructed to lie motionless. Did I have a choice? They had taped my feet together and strapped my arms tightly around my body. I felt like a mummy (the ancient Egyptian variety) except that I was still breathing.

Have you ever wondered why it is that when you cannot move your arms and hands and you’re forbidden to stir at all, the little spot on the side of your nose begins to tickle? My total concentration on not focusing on that problem made it go away. (You know, mind over imaginary matter.) Until it resurfaced on the other side of my nose. I made that go away with the same treatment. I had conquered the little devil again! But it showed up a moment later on my ear. Then just before I started screaming, the donut moved again and distracted the little rascal. All was well again and life was once again unfolding as it should.

So it was that while watching the whirling wheels within wheels moving back and forth around me I remembered something I’d read in the Bible about the prophet Ezekiel’s experience. He also saw wheels within wheels turning and turning. But one difference was that he was having some sort of a vision as part of a message from God. My vision was fine, and I was awake the whole time. I think. And I haven’t heard any message from God that could be directly related to that experience. Not yet anyway. Obviously, they’ve changed the way they do PET scans in the last three thousand years or so.

Now Ezekiel experienced many other weird and wonderful things during his lifetime which I hope I don’t have to. But in a way, and for a short time, I felt like I could identify with the poor fellow. I think we both said to ourselves, “I hope somebody out there knows what they’re doing, because I don’t have a clue what’s going on. And I’m not going to know the outcome of this experience for quite some time. Maybe never.”

So that was my experience with the PET scan. No pets, just radioactive whatever-it-was flowing through my veins. Enough of it so that it could be dangerous for a pregnant woman or child under sixteen to sit next to me for a number of hours later. There will be no side effects, they told me, although I have noticed that my hair is still standing straight up on end. And this is now four days later!

I must tell you about the progress of my leg wound. I invited you to pray (if that was your inclination at all) that before my appointment this past week there would be evident healing of the area where the initial skin graft had not “taken.” We felt that this would help us decide whether or not to agree to more skin grafting which could be “conveniently” done at the same time as the upcoming surgery on February 26^th.

Marvelously, there was noticeable healing there before our appointment with Dr. Nguyen, the plastic surgeon who did all the earlier work on my leg. The flesh in that spot is clearly developing its own covering. Not quite as smooth and pretty as the other side of the wound where the grafting did take, mind you, but at least there’s no stomach hair growing from it.

So our decision was easy. We chose to not have more skin grafting to cover my leg wound. This means I will continue to be lopsided because only one side of my stomach has had a “tummy tuck” (the result of skin being removed from there to graft onto the wound on my lower leg). But I can live with that. It may be that in the end it will all balance out. Not all there on the left side because of the hole in my left leg, and not all there on the right side because of the tummy tuck. I love it when a plan comes together!

It would have been my Dad’s 103^rd birthday yesterday. Obviously he didn’t make it that far. He passed away at the age of 84, old and full of years. Can you imagine being 103? It was George Burns that observed, “If you live to be 100, you’ve got it made. Very few people die after that age.” Hmmm.

So yesterday I was reflecting a little on my Dad’s outlook on life and his relationship with God. One thing I admire the most about him was his understanding and appreciation of the grace of God in his life. Along those lines, then, here are some things that I’m discovering, all of which relate to the complete sufficiency and absolute necessity of God’s grace in my own life.

It’s okay with God if…

• It’s okay with God if I get tired. He made me the way I am. I’m okay with that. I’m not failing him in any way when I just run out of steam now and then and need a rest.
• It’s okay with God if I get anxious. I don’t want my life to be characterized by anxiety, but that’s part of my humanity and stuff happens in life that causes it. I will not excuse it by saying that everyone goes through times of being anxious, but they do, because we’re all human. I find that the sometimes inexplicable peace of God is what carries me through those times.
• It’s okay with God if I ask him, “Why?” I don’t want to sound like I’m questioning God at all. But I am. And I think he understands that I am, and he’s okay with that. If you’ve read the story of Moses alone with God up on the top of the mountain, or Gideon’s interaction with the Angel of God, or Jesus’s conversation with Thomas the doubting disciple, you’ll agree that God’s heard it all before. I’m glad for that.
• It’s okay with God if I don’t appear happy all the time. That’s the reality. Some things just make me sad, and that means there are times when I’m genuinely not happy. That’s it. And it’s the peace which comes from God that I appreciate most in those times. I don’t understand it all, and that’s okay. And God doesn’t mind it at all.
• It’s okay with God if I choose to rely on the ways of modern medicine and the wisdom and skills that God has entrusted to doctors. The next time someone comes to me with a homemade remedy for curing cancer and disses all the new research and development in treating it, I will tell them that between skilled doctors and God, I think I’m in pretty good hands, thank you.
• It’s okay with God if I don’t get up real quickly after I fall. Mae Eastman once said “I don’t know why we’re in such a hurry to get up when we fall down. You might think we would lie there and rest a while.” I think I’ll do that. Those are the times when he leads me beside peaceful streams and renews my strength.

God’s amazing grace is enough for me right now. His goodness and unfailing love will pursue me all the days of my life. And that’s okay with God. I know that for sure because he made it that way.

Next update? After my surgery on February 26^th to remove the lymph nodes in the upper part of my left leg. Until then…

Selah