Reprinted with permission of Sharol Hayner
SHAROL here:
Today we met with Steve’s oncologist to discuss the latest CT scan. Though Steve will have an abdominal CT scan on Monday to confirm his assumptions, the doctor believes that based on evidence of growing cancer on the liver, Steve’s pain in the area of the pancreatic tumor and his rising cancer markers, the chemo Steve has been on is no longer working and the cancer is spreading. Having already endured the five major pancreatic cancer-fighting drugs during two different chemotherapy regimens, Steve is left now with the option of clinical drug trials. Some good news in the midst of this–Steve doesn’t have chemo today.
We have the choice now of doing nothing except to deal with Steve’s pain and discomfort or of putting Steve on a waiting list for a drug trial. We have chosen the latter. It might take 6-8 weeks to be placed in a trial. But it might be sooner.
Yes, we are sad, but we are not surprised. We both suspected that with increased pain and malaise, Steve’s growing hair and diminishing neuropathy in his feet, something was going on and the chemo wasn’t working.
So now we will focus on each day that we are given. Always, one day at a time. We are grateful for the eight months since Steve’s diagnosis. He has outlived a huge percentage of fellow pancreatic cancer sufferers and for that we are thankful. Of course, we hope for many more months ahead and for a miracle of physical healing. But we aren’t without miracles during these past eight months. Miracles of all kinds of healing. Miracles of lives which have been impacted because of Steve’s witness. Miracles of peace and joy in the midst of difficult circumstances. These are all answers to the prayers of so many.
Yesterday a friend reminded us of an Advent poem that Steve penned almost twenty five years ago, a poem which I set to music. Steve wrote it on a napkin as we gathered with our small group in Madison, WI and shared where we wanted to see God at work—sharing those places in our lives where for years we had hoped we might experience transformation and healing. Mostly in our helplessness that Advent, we could only say, “Come, Lord Jesus, come.” This remains our prayer as we walk through the next days, weeks and months. We are all terminal. We just happen to know it up close and personal. Our prayer for you and for us is “Come, Lord Jesus, come We have prepared a place for you.”
We will also post a blog written by our daughter, Emilie, on hopes and fears. We will be gathering up our hopes and fears this next week as Jesus once again comes to our wooden manger in the fullness of time—between dinner and dessert on Christmas Eve. Missing from the manger for all of Advent, Jesus will come as the only one who can hold our hopes and our fears. We’re ready to welcome him.
Advent
Is there grace enough to cover
The darkness I discover—
To light the inner places
Long cloaked in sad disgraces?
Come, Lord Jesus, come!
Is there love enough to lift me
When bold rebellion grips me
And failure bleakly presses
Guilt’s overwhelming stresses?
Come, Lord Jesus, come!
Is there peace enough to hold me
When nagging fears erode me;
And strangling expectation
Turns hopes to desperation?
Come, Lord Jesus, come!
Is there joy enough to fill me
When barren reaches chill me
And grieving contemplation
Brings spirit’s isolation?
Come, Lord Jesus, come!
Stephen Hayner
November 18, 1990
