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Author’s Note: Diana Newquist Parson is from Ottumwa. She and I have something in common: we both know first hand The Big C, although mine is in remission, while Diana’s is still snapping and snarling, gnashing its teeth and playing its tricks. I invited her to write the following piece. Her books can be found on Amazon.
This is an excerpt from my upcoming book: "Dusty Women." As in "Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust." It's a book about ordinary women facing death and handling death. While this section tries to capture what happened when I was diagnosed with uveal melanoma in my eye, it does not touch on what has happened since. Proton beam radiation up at Mayo Clinic was successful. The tumor was effectively killed and continues to shrink. The retina is reattaching all by itself and I have regained some of my sight in that eye. But what the doctor said about this kind of cancer metastasizing was true. I am now a two-year survivor of the original cancer, but some rogue cells rode the blood stream super highway down to my liver and set up housekeeping. Squatters Rights. They have taken over my liver with over 15 tumors. How much over? The doctor didn't say. My last set of tests showed that some of the tumors are growing. Some are shrinking. One has disappeared. I am living in a state of urgency, and I still have to depend on The Rock.
Lead me to the Rock that is higher than I
by Diana Parson
It began as irritation in the eye
Then diagnosed as a detached retina
Then became cancer
Not just any cancer
Melanoma.
Death sentence cancer.
I have lost half of the sight in the left eye already...
Most likely, that will not return.
I always wondered how I would respond
If I received a cancer message.
Scream?
Fall apart?
Cry?
I did none of that.
Instead I had a holy numbness.
I also had a blank moment
Where nothing registered,
Where the only movement was my heart pounding,
Feeling it pound right down to my finger tips.
Where the only sound was my gasping breath.
Sitting in the chair as the doctor explained…
showed me the pictures… expressed his compassion...
Explained that I would have radiation. Failure to do so.... or failure of the treatments could mean loss of the eye, or the cancer traveling to my liver, My brain, My lungs, My bones.
The doctor was not just all business.
I watched him struggle for words.
I watched his eyes look down.
Did I have any questions?
At that moment,
I was too ignorant to ask anything.
Surreal.
Unreal.
I am a Jesus follower.
That doesn’t mean I am immune to problems...
Or never have sorrow.
It means that I have a relationship with God….
A Rock higher than I.
It means that I don’t really understand
Why bad things happen.
That I can't explain the universe and its Creator.
My feeble understanding forces me to look up,
Up,
Up.
Up to the Rock that is higher than I.
So I'm not shaking my fist at God.
Not screaming to the heavens about being fair.
Not demanding instant healing.
Instead I am watering my garden and flowers,
Picking tomatoes,
Doing laundry,
Paying bills,
Talking to my family,
And all the other common paths of life
While waiting for the call that it is time.
That holy numbness,
That uncommon peace.
Where my feet walk among the zucchini vines
Without even seeing the zucchini vines.
Where I know the sun is blazing
But can’t feel any warmth on my arms.
Where I look at my Bible
And see
"Not your thoughts…Not your ways…"
And have to say it aloud again.
Again
And Again.
Because it still isn’t real.
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Have a good story? Call or text Curt Swarm in Mt. Pleasant at 319-217-0526 or email him at curtswarm@yahoo.com. Curt is available for public speaking.