Mortal (2016)

4 July 2016

I'm not going to die. Not from this and not now. I don't know I'm not going to die because God told me or because I am more blessed than others. I know I'm not going to die because I have the most beatable cancer and I have no other factors working against my prognosis. I'm quite healthy except for the cancer. My prognosis to live beyond 5 years is the same as it would be if I didn't have cancer at all.

pause

Ok, I'm fairly and reasonably certain I'm not going to die from this cancer at this point in life. Most likely. But...what if?

"Katherine, we confirmed Hodgkin's Lymphoma" = "Katherine, you have cancer."

To so many people, myself included, cancer = death. Just like a diagnosis makes one feel reduced to stats and numbers, knowing one has cancer brings to intimate closeness one's mortality.

I may die.

Right after I received confirmation, a close friend asked me, "How do you feel about it?" My one-word response:

"Mortal."

My intent wasn't to sound dramatic but "mortal" was indeed how I felt and that one word summed it all up, so why embellish. Death seemed to be sitting next to me, or at least watching me through the door from the next room.

I could die.

As a Christian and, specifically, as a Christian who whole-heartedly subscribes to an Ignatian philosophy -- health or sickness, and even life or death, matter not just so long as I am in close communion with my Lord.

So, faced with the prospect of even the spectre of death, how will I respond? With fear, panic, anger, resignation, joy? If this thing goes down, then I have to be prepared for that.  I must be indifferent to either outcome. "Indifferent" doesn't mean "don't care." It means you prefer not one over the other so long as you are in the will of God.

Am I so attuned to my relationship with my Savior that I am indifferent to death or life? At 42, which is known as the "prime of life"?

If I am honest with myself and really in the right spiritual place, then, yes, I am that indifferent. No, I don't want to die. But if I am dedicated to a Spirit-led life, then, yes, death must be an option.

So. I look upward and inward. I may die. I could die. I have cancer. Am I prepared for either outcome?

I'm a woman who has given up material possessions, personal relationships and emotional strongholds to follow what I feel is a Spirit-prompted life. Cancer can't change that, can it?

Will it?

Cancer is tough. It brings Death to sit right next to you, his gazed turned toward you with no compassion or favoritism. I'm lucky; my diagnosis brings some good news - there's hope. So I am reluctant to shout my fear, disappointment, surprise. But fear, disappointment and surprise still accompany a diagnosis of cancer; regardless of name or etymology.

More than fear, disappointment or surprise, the question that accompanies a diagnosis of cancer is "What if?"

That moment of "what if" means everything. How do I feel when I think it? Is there a drop in my stomach, a nerve-gripping fear, an angry rush, or a calm moment of, "well-----."

I'm no angel. Haven't been nor will I ever be. I am honest with my Lord about what's going on, about my feelings and about the reality of life as a human. For the most part I'm comfortable about the possible outcome of death, relying on the hope of grace given in response to honesty in genuine plight of human struggles.

How do I end this post? I'm afraid but not afraid. I'm fighting but confident of victory. I feel mortal but know I will endure. Which of these stays with me? The word "mortal." Loss of innocence and youth has arrived. Death is ever present. I know I'm late to this deduction but also know I'm not alone in my arrival here.

How poignant a moment!