True Power

I am not afraid of tomorrow, for I have seen yesterday and I love today. - William Allen White

I am not overly philosophical, but watching my angelic child suffer from blood cancer has provided many opportunities for me to explore my inner demons. I have learned many things about myself and about human nature in the past five months, the least of which is not the strength we can draw from one another. Dealing with a life threatening disease in any capacity causes one to pause in deep contemplation, if for no other reason than to attempt to make sense of your current situation. I have struggled with many internal battles, none the likes of what Hazel is dealing with, but emotionally I have been torn down. I have had my morals rocked, felt my inner strength tested, and dealt with the nagging enemy of depression that is always just a few steps behind me, nipping at my heels.

My contemplation began in the early days of Hazel’s diagnosis, touching on the realities of life and death. How would I deal with outliving one of my children? What would it do to my faith? Would I ever recover from such a horrible, unimaginable tragedy? I never found the answers to those questions. I suppose I could say that I forgot about them as Hazel’s condition improved and we moved further away from the remote possibility of losing her. But that isn’t entirely true. The truth is that I never fully answered those questions because I am much too afraid of exploring those dark depths of my heart. Selfishly I never want to experience that feeling of loss; attempt to heal the gaping hole that not having Hazel would leave in my life. It’s as if by exploring those thoughts I somehow give power to the cancer that could rip her from my grasp; that by acknowledging her plight it becomes more “real.”

I have often waxed nostalgic in this space about what cancer “does” or what it “takes” from us. There is no doubt that cancer has changed my life, but it is only recently that I have truly begun to understand on a highly conceptual level what a disservice that type of thinking has done for me, and for us all really. Like many of you today, I was afraid of cancer. It was the only thing that I prayed my daughter did not have as I entered the hospital and began the process that would eventually lead to her diagnosis. When the news was delivered I thought nothing could be worse, there could be nothing more terrible than being told Hazel had cancer. My fear stemmed from my limited understanding of cancer and how it is treated. It was tied to what I had experienced in the past with my grandmother, a heart-wrenching, physically-painful fight that ended in loss. In short, my fear was based on the unknown, not the known.

My fears are not unfounded as we know that for as many lives that have been saved within the walls of Nationwide Children’s Hospital, just as many have been lost. Every time we visit the hospital, we walk the same hallowed halls that hundreds of other parents have walked, many of which were experiencing the worst days of their lives. Death is a difficult concept to bear, but when it is associated with children it becomes the purest evil that I believe our world can see. To watch someone lose a child is to see them be destroyed from the inside out; to literally lose the will to live their own life. Suddenly nothing matters anymore. They have no goals, no concern for what is going on around them. They become a shell, a ghost of their former selves with a far off stare of hopelessness.

A lot has happened in our cancer journey. We have finished a treatment phase, went through a long purgatory waiting for blood counts to rise, successfully started another phase, finished that phase, and are now in the middle of a more intense treatment regimen. We have seen additional side effects come and go, dealt with common bumps, bruises, and fevers; visited the hospital more than seems possible in such a short time.

We are adjusting to this life and learning what it means to live with cancer. I hate to say it, but at times this life feels almost routine. We have never been where we are now. We feel suspended emotionally. Not sad, not happy, but just here. For the most part, our life now only includes cancer and doesn’t totally revolve around it. But there are still days that we live with fear.

Our fear is what gives cancer its power. By fearing cancer and what it brings, we give it authority over us and over our lives. The reality is cancer is nothing more than a genetic mutation. It doesn’t choose its victims, it doesn’t fight with any type of focus, it is not malicious. Cancer simply is. We attach power to the word with our own emotions, but we can choose to take that power back. We can choose to manage our fear, control our emotions, and understand that cancer is a malady of this earth, and this earth alone.

I have for too long made cancer the main antagonist of this struggle. I have focused my story on the villain, and not the heroine. The reality is that cancer has taught me nothing. Cancer is nothing. Cancer just happens, it’s a disease, a meaningless biological change that affects a human body, but cannot touch the human spirit. Hazel has shown me what it means to be strong; she has shown me what God can do with a little faith and a lot of love.

Inside of Hazel’s tiny, frail frame, God has housed a spiritual powerhouse. In her birth, she served as the anchor for our family, the final stone to complete our small family arch. If her mother and I are the foundation stones, Hazel most certainly serves as the keystone. She locks us all in place and allows our family to bear the weight of the world as it rains down upon us. With her here, we shall never fall.

Even in her sickness, Hazel has united a diverse community, a family of believers and non-believers, strangers, friends, and advisors all connected through their love and care for her well-being. Hazel has taught us to be strong, to stand up for what we believe in, and to use love to combat the forces of evil.

Since her diagnosis, my perspective of Hazel has changed. I first thought of her as a cancer-stricken victim, fighting for her life against an unfathomable foe. She was so weak, so fragile, as she lay alone in her hospital bed. I wondered, “How could someone so small battle something so big?”

As her treatment progresses, I have begun to see Hazel for what she truly is: an inspiration, a fighter, a warrior impervious to the struggles that she faces every day. She has shown me what it means to be created in God’s image. She feels everything, sees everything, and experiences everything in life with incredible gusto. Hazel has not conquered her fear of cancer, she just never had any in the first place, and that is true power.

“…but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” – Isaiah 40:31