Hard Words and Dry Bones
Hearing the scan results and listening for the Spirit
I should have kept track of how many words I wrote in the month of May. Between updates and personal communication and work projects, my fingers were flying and the words were rippling into sentences and paragraphs—almost the way you imagine writing should feel.
And then the words have slowed in the past few days. In part, issues with my hands are making it harder to type. The steroids caused my face to swell so much that I also had trouble moving my facial muscles—I could speak, but it was especially tiring to try to speak and do any emoting with my face. Finally, we received the CT scan results. Those words were not what we were hoping to hear or to share. Sometimes you need a time of silence instead a deluge of words.
The Scan Results
The key words from the scan results: “Multiple bony tumors.” This cancer has been busy taking up residence throughout the bones in my hip, pelvis, ribs, sacrum, backbone, shoulder . . . the doctor didn’t even try to list each individual location. This wonderful, well-respected oncologist used words such as “many” and “lots” to describe what he was looking at on my scan.
Despite all the lots of many, multiple cancer in my bones, there seem to be very few options for a biopsy. The doctor could identify only one location where the tumor might possibly be accessible for a biopsy, but he wanted to review with other consultants. Without a successful biopsy, we won’t know for sure what characteristics this cancer has and what treatment options I might have. The words we had wanted to hear would have some clarity, some direction, some indication toward action and next steps and treating. But the words around the biopsy are full of hedging and uncertainty and caution. We might not be able to biopsy. If we do, we still might not get the information we need.
And more hard words: The doctor thinks that the issues with my feet and legs, especially my left leg, are more likely due to the tumor locations than inflammation response. That means it’s unlikely that I’m going to recover much more mobility; in fact, I’m more likely to continue losing mobility.
Enough Words, What About Action?
One treatment that I can start is bone-strengthening medication, with the hope of slowing the spread of the cancer eating my bones and preventing fractures. We’re working out now which option might be best, and I should be able to take that at home rather than travel to have it administered via a drip.
Addressing my mobility issues feels both promising and overwhelming. Promising: the nurse team is coming over soon to measure me for a wheelchair, which should give me much greater freedom to move around. Overwhelming: we will need to make some accessibility upgrades for our house, and the prospect of finding the tradesmen and getting that work done is not on my list of fun ways to spend my time.
BREAKING NEWS
As I was working on this update, the oncologist called—and I am scheduled for a biopsy on Monday!
These Dry Bones
If you learn that you have cancer throughout your bones, and you are a fan of the Old Testament prophets, I suppose it’s not a huge leap to think of Ezekiel 37 and the valley of dry bones—even if it’s only to have the James Weldon Johnson song “Dem Bones” stuck in your head. To summarize this passage: The Spirit takes Ezekiel to a valley filled with bones, and then asks if he thinks these scattered bones can live. Ezekiel replies, “I can’t answer that—only you can!” Then the Spirit gives Ezekiel a word to speak to the bones, telling them that the Spirit will breathe into them, and make them live again, and come to life. Ezekiel speaks this word from the Spirit, and the valley of dry bones is transformed into bodies and muscle and flesh and breath and life. God then tells Ezekiel that this is a vision of hope when all hope is gone; “I will put my Spirit in you, and you will live” (v. 14).
Pentecost Sunday was two weeks ago, and my friend Amy Peeler put these themes together beautifully in a powerful sermon from this text. I confess that right now, I feel like Ezekiel in verse 3: What does healing mean? I can’t answer that. I don’t know what hope means right now. But I’m thankful for this word that Amy preached on the day when we celebrate the power of the Holy Spirit being poured out, reminding me that somehow God holds on to hope, even when we can no longer imagine it. Reminding me that God’s Spirit still speaks. Reminding me that even dry bones can be filled with life.
Carrying hope for you, for your future, for your present comfort, for your mobility, for your ability to keep writing, for doing what gives you meaning and purpose. 🙏
Dear Heather, We are praying for you and your family.