There are few words in the English language that have the ability to stop someone in their tracks and immediately cause panic and fear like the word “cancer.”
We have tried to soften the word so it’s not so raw by using “the ‘C’ word” or whispering it so as to not really say it out loud for fear that if we do, boom, there it is.
I recently had a cancer scare, and until you’ve gone through it, you have no idea what it feels like.
It started when I had a third positive test for COVID-19 that laid me up for more than a week. But I was not getting better after that; in fact, I was feeling worse.
So, like most men, I put off seeing my doctor until I absolutely had to. My doctor ordered a battery of tests and lots of lab work and scheduled an appointment so we could go over the results.
Those results showed my white blood cell count was more than 48,000 – normal range is between 4,000 and 12,000. So there was certainly something out of whack.
As I sat with my doctor on the day I will never forget and was told all the markers pointed to leukemia, time seemed to stop.
At the same time I received the diagnosis, my doctor promised me he was going to look for other answers as to why the WBC (that’s the abbreviation for white blood cell when the tests come back) was so high, and we were far from a final diagnosis.
So, I entered into a season of testing that included more lab work, an MRI, an ultrasound and visits to other specialists including a urologist and oncologists. Some of the lab work was sent to the Mayo Clinic for evaluation, so there was a slight delay in getting those results.
When the second round of lab results started to come in, thank God they pointed in a different direction. The MRI had revealed a massive infection in the kidneys and bladder, which my team of doctors confirmed could have been the cause for the higher WBC count. So, I started two rounds of strong antibiotics, followed by more tests.
When the Mayo Clinic tests started to come back as negative, there was great joy that was punctuated by a visit to my oncologist who told me I didn’t need him – I didn’t have cancer. My doctor did what he promised he would.
Here’s the thing: I think it is entirely possible the original diagnosis was correct. But God had other plans. Literally an army of people were praying for me. I received notes back from friends all over the world stating they were praying for a full recovery. One friend from London told me people across the pond that didn’t even believe in God were praying.
Prayer is a very powerful thing I think sometimes we take for granted. It has almost become a throw-off line that we’re programmed to say when we hear bad news. But I believe with all of my being the power of God, in my situation, demonstrates what can happen when “my people pray.”
I wish I knew why my outcome doesn’t happen for everyone. We all know people who have gone or are going through a similar situation that does not end the way mine did. We may never have the answer this side of heaven. But if our faith is strong, that’s OK, we don’t need to know. God’s got this, and that’s all that matters.
- Jonathan Freeburg is an Ottawa transplant for the past two decades-plus and a regular contributor to 1430 WCMY Radio. He can be reached at newsroom@shawmedia.com.