Moving home...

December 3, 2008 - Well, this was a day of cheers and tears. We got up early this morning and Wes took his final dose of chemo for 2008 - Hurray! We quickly got ready and left for our final radiation treatment. It was a silent ride to the hospital, my mind was rolling and every once in a while I'd look down at the card that I was holding. It was a Christmas card for the radiation technicians, a small 'thank you' for helping us through a difficult time with their professional abilities and sincere concern. I took a deep breath as we drove past so many familiar houses and schools, just as we had for the past 6 1/2 weeks. This was proving more difficult than I realized. We parked in the underground parking and walked hand in hand in silence to the radiation unit.

A short while after we had taken our jackets off and made ourselves comfortable one of the young women came to get Wes. I quickly handed her the card "This is for all of you!" I said, she thanked me with a smile and then she escorted Wes down the hall one last time.

I sat staring at the TV in the corner watching as the news gave further reports about the pending coalition. As I watched the reporter speak with the immigration minister I could feel the tears running down my face. I quickly wiped them away, but they kept rolling. For twenty long minutes they wouldn't stop. Good thing I hadn't bothered with any make-up.

Wes finally came out with Sunil walking beside him, the one person I wanted to see. He had been our main contact throughout our time in that place. He smiled his shy beautiful smile and gave a little wave, mouthing the word 'goodbye'. And so the tears continued in full force. I turned to look at Wes and I could tell he was finding this tough as well.

"You going to be OK?" Wes asked

I shrugged my shoulders "Yeah, not sure why this is so hard."

That was when I noticed that Wes was carrying a small black bag. He held it up with a smile, "They gave me my mask." And my tears just kept coming.

We walked upstairs to the hematology department and I went to get a number while Wes walked back to Clinic 2 to pick up his paperwork for the blood test. He joined me a short time later and again he held up the little black bag.

"You want to see it?" he seemed eager for me to see it.

I nodded, after all I hadn't seen it since they had formed it over seven weeks ago. He opened up the bag and handed the mask to me. I held it gently knowing that to many others it may seem like an ugly reminder of our struggle, but really it had become quite an important piece in our journey.

Every marking was essential for each treatment, to aid in the attack of the tumour and the mask was there to protect his eyes and to keep his head perfectly still so that no unnecessary brain tissue would be damaged. It was our little suit of plastic armor.

Wes put the mask back in the bag and we sat back waiting for them to call our number. I knew it was stupid this feeling sorry for us, but I couldn't seem to stop. "Why?". As we continued our wait, a young man about in his mid thirties walked into the waiting room. Just before he sat down Wes and I both saw the familiar scar at the side of his head, his hair shaved off at an awkward angle and we knew.

Then another young man perhaps in his early thirties walked in with his wife. His walk was cautious and unsteady. I looked away and my eyes went past the beautiful Christmas tree and on to an older couple in the corner, they were holding hands and he was leaning heavily against his wife. He was thin and pale and struggled to stand when his number was called.

I looked down for a moment and it was as though God whispered "Who then? Who would you choose?" and the tears stopped, this was not the time to feel sorry for our situation, it was time to thank God for his graciousness in the way that he was carrying Wes through this time, time to thank him for his faithfulness and the joy that he encourages us to experience in this moment in time, time to thank him for all the people back home praying, time to thank him for giving us this new perception of life, a perception we would not have without the struggle.

Wes and I are not special or unique, we are not stronger or more capable of handling this fight any better or differently than anyone else, we are simply clinging to God's promise that we are His and nothing can snatch us from His grip.

As we drove home we drove past a church that always has interesting little blurbs on their signage. Today it said "There is nothing the body suffers, that the soul cannot profit from"

God speaks, if we are willing to listen.

"He who belongs to God hears what God says." John 8:47

"My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one can snatch them away from me, for my Father has given them to me, and he is more powerful than anyone else. No one can snatch them from the Father’s hand." John 19:27-30