I fear horror movies. I scream, loudly, in fear when anyone sneaks up on me. Otherwise, not much scares me. I have spent my life finding a way around or through anything that life has dished out. I am a “we can do this” kind of person. Then, I woke up in a private recovery room and was told I have colon cancer. Surgery and tests determined the cancer was staged 3b. I focused on what could be done as I met my oncologist. One of my first prayers was:
"God who breathes life, fill my body with all the good things. As chemo begins, let it wash away all the presence and possibility of cancer. Even as it takes some of my good health, I let it go with a blessing, confident it will be renewed. Renewed by a fresh breath of God, by good foods and vitamins and good faith and comfort from so many. I claimed Isaiah 41:10: So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. I wrote in my journal: I have all I need already to do this, to fight this—body and soul. The light and air, God and God’s people, my family and friends and friends to be and I am certain even strangers. The doctors, nurses and staff and medicines will all come together to transform this cancer."
I was not afraid of the chemotherapy. Even when it put me in the hospital, my focus was on coping and enduring. But at some point, paralyzing fear crept in. It was the fear of dying. Fear of missing out on my favorite part of life: my family