There is an elderly lady I know who has been very sick for a very long time, and she has been close to death several times, but always lives to see another day. She never hesitates to give God the glory on Sundays. She's actually quite a marvel, I suppose. Today, when I walked into the Cancer Center, she was there, and she asked me how the chemo was going. I said, "Pretty well, actually." And she fixed me with a look, and she said, "I don't believe you."
I did not know how to respond to this. Mostly, I think I am doing pretty well with chemo. I mean, I will never consider this a highlight of my life, but I think that I am confronting the challenges well, learning the lessons, seeing the blessings. There are the bad days, but no sense in dwelling on them. I do not want to talk about feeling like crap. I do not want to talk about exhaustion, and blood levels, and shots every day. I know that I look haggard. She stares intently at me, waiting. I fidget a little, and I repeat, "No really, I'm doing good, I think." Disappointed, she turns to another elderly lady, who regales her with the story of her latest hospitalization.