“This X-ray doesn’t show me what I need to see” said Regina’s doctor yesterday.
Last month Regina finished her 6^th month of chemotherapy and over the past few days she’s had an ultrasound, blood tests, and an X-ray taken of her chest to find out if there are still signs of her breast cancer.
“The ultrasound and blood tests look good though” her doctor continued. Still, he looked at me and I could tell he was uneasy with declaring her cancer in remission and her treatment course finished. It takes a few days for the Central Hospital to schedule and perform an X-ray for a patient, a result of a valiant effort to keep up with the constant demand in a city of 2 million people combined with the limited resources of a developing country.
“I tell you what,” I said, “I will take her to a private clinic this afternoon and pay for an X-ray there, then tomorrow I’ll bring that back to you so you can feel better about making an informed decision and we can all rest easier about her health.”
“No problem.” Her doctor replied, “Just swing by in the morning and I’ll look at it then write up her discharge papers and she can be on her way home the next day!”
“Perfect!” I said, “See you in the morning.”
Regina and I left the doctor’s office smiling and I could see in Regina’s eyes the anticipation and joy of being so close to going back to seeing her family. That afternoon we sped through a little private clinic up the road from our house (where we’ve taken Pedro and Filomena for emergencies in the past) and got a quick X-ray done.
This morning I found Regina’s doctor in the oncology conference room busily doing his best to care for the hundreds of patients he is responsible for. He looked up at me and smiled and, when I asked if he had a sec to look at Regina’s X-ray, he quickly moved aside his current task and held out his hand for the X-ray.
When he pulled out the plastic film and held it up to the light, his face clouded over.
“This isn’t what I wanted to see.”
My heart sunk. Still… I hoped.
“This isn’t what I hoped for.” He reaffirmed.
He indicated a cloudy section, contrasting with the dark around it, and said, “This should be cleaner.”
“What do we do?” I asked.
My heart was racing. Regina, dear sweet Regina, oh, how I wanted to send her home tomorrow. Oh, how I wanted to get her to the “nice” bus at 2:00 AM tomorrow, the one with air conditioning, with a TV, with a bathroom. Oh, how I wanted her to see her grandchildren, all waiting and hoping that their grandma would be home soon.
“She needs a CT scan.” said Regina’s doctor. And he pulled a little piece of paper out and started writing instructions to the CT scan technician.
Carcinoma of the breast, suspected it has metastasized to the lung or bone.
My heart sunk further.

Beach Day

Regina

Metastasized.
The word no cancer patient ever wants to hear.

After a few more minutes of conversation with the doctor, I called Layne. She was at home with our three girls and Regina was preparing to leave early tomorrow morning. I told Layne what the doctor told me. We agreed that Layne needed to tell Regina right away.
So, three kids running, playing, crying in the background, Layne approached Regina and started, “Regina, Jon talked to the doctor. We have some bad news…”
Regina listened stoically to the report. Her face betrayed little emotion as it began to sink in. She tried to keep doing the cleaning Layne had found her in the middle of. Soon she was leaning against the wall… crying… asking God for reasons that didn’t come… looking for answers to questions too terrible to voice.
Sitting on a bench back at the hospital, praying and venting my frustration I shook my head over and over.
Not this one. Not this one. Cancer! You shall not have this one! My heart and soul screamed out, desperate for a confirmation to my challenge. I sat, lungs and throat sucked dry and raged against a disease that ravages so many people I love here.
NOT THIS ONE, CANCER! My silent scream echoed out to an empty courtyard.

I don’t know if I’m right. I don’t know if Regina will have a clean CT scan. I don’t know.
But I pray.
I pray.
Layne told Regina the plan. For the next 8 days we will pray. Regina will pray. Regina’s friends and family will pray. Our friends and family will pray.
We pray for a miracle.

We pray for a clean CT scan.

Don’t make us liars.
Pray with us.

A Layne Post

There we sat at a lovely café, girls giggling in the sand pit, me catching up with an old friend, sweets and sodas in array on the table, Jon and Pedro in chairs quietly talking. I knew the topic of the conversation – scans were bad, can’t operate, can’t shut the wound, no use doing more Chemo, you are dying.

That evening with hands in tight gloves, wiping a large wound, I tried to speak hope, hope of another life. I tried to pray peace, you know that kind of peace the Bible talks about that surpasses all understanding? Yeah, that kind. He shuffled out of the house to his room, me taking note of the weakness in his right side.

I peeked out my kitchen window and saw him lounging in the sun, eyes closed, head in hand. Depression was near. Understandable.

He woke up and we saw his wound had bled through the bandage. We quickly reassured it was no problem, so I snuck in the room to get the pillows and sheets to clean. When I saw the mess, my tummy turned. I gathered everything up and went to the kitchen. Everything needed rinsing before a bleachy wash. I willed myself one item at a time to continue, telling myself I could cry later. I got it all in the washer, went to my bathroom and let out a few good sobs. He was dying. It was messy. I hated this.

Pedro thanked me for my service, so full of humility and gratefulness. “It was nothing,” I assured, remembering and hiding my struggle to make it through. Oh God, help me do this.

The girls burst from the door for their afternoon play. We sat in the warmth of the sun. Anaya played in her car, Jovie jumped on hers, and Karasi toddled behind. Pedro laughed out loud. So good to hear.

Jon told me later about a conversation between him and Pedro about eternity. Pedro compared it to taking a test and not knowing the results until the professor grades it, one couldn’t know if they passed until they got there. This made for the perfect example – Jon shared the good news. Guess what, Pedro? Jesus took the test for you, and He got the perfect score! Isn’t that awesome? It became their thing for the week. “Who took the test?” “Jesus.”

Dressed for church, getting diaper bags ready, we got the call  – Pedro fell in the bathroom. He had been dizzy, the floor had been wet, he slipped. He lost feeling in his right leg. We told him he could rest and I would stay home with Karasi to make sure he’d be alright, but he insisted, he wanted to be at church.

It was the night they were to drive to Pedro’s home. Sara came to the door, “Pedro. It’s starting again.” We knew the drill. Seizure had started, Jon rushed out, sat next to Pedro and began praying. Seizure slowed and stopped. Pedro said, “Brother Jon, this body is broken.” Jon communicated that he understood, he spoke of our hope for a new body soon. Pedro responded, “I know, but separating my spirit from THIS body… it hurts.”

Yes. Yes it does.

Sara popped her head in again, this time saying Pedro was calling for me to say goodbye. Pedro wanted to thank me for all Jon and I had done for him, how much we had helped him. I wanted to lose it. Instead I bounced Jovie on my lap, told him he is our family, that we love him and have been nothing but happy to have him at our home. Tears would be for later. I kissed his cheek and assured him I’d see him off in the car.

I waved them through the gate and off they went on their long journey home. Jon tells me as they neared his village, Pedro’s demeanor began to change. He was close; he was almost home. They got to the local market and his brother jumped in the car. Pedro’s joy was evident. A few minutes later they were there at Pedro’s home. Wife, children, brother, Father… everyone there. Jon got to spend about twenty minutes with them before he needed to be back to the military convoy to get out of the area. It was shorter than he imagined or hoped, but time he was grateful for. He left Pedro in good hands. He has a loving family, a good family.

Pedro and His Son, Armando

We don’t know how long Pedro has, but we pray he has memorable times with those he loves. We pray He takes full confidence in the fact the Jesus took his test for him. We pray for deep soul peace. We pray for ease of transition between this life and the next.

Pray with us?