A few days ago I felt a rather large, firm lump on my body.
My first reaction was, “What on Earth is that?”…followed closely by, “Oh my gosh. This could be it.”
Honestly, I started to panic. I know I’m at a higher risk for certain types of cancer and I imagined the worst.
My doctor wasn’t able to get me in for five days. I spent that five days consumed by Google research—diagnosing myself, guessing what stage cancer it would be if I had it, and looking at 5-year survival rates for the various stages. Every time the kids were occupied, I would quickly grab my phone to Google something new about the size, shape, and texture of my unwelcome lump.
I eventually concluded that there was a pretty good chance it actually wasn’t cancer given the characteristics of the lump. I was still scared, but the more logical side of me believed it was more likely than not to be benign. When the morning of my appointment rolled around, I went in with the hope of reassurance.
That didn’t happen.
The doctor said he was “pretty” confident it wasn’t cancerous. I asked him if “pretty” confident meant something more like 51 percent or 90 percent, thinking he would say 90 percent. He replied, “More like 51 percent.”
The words hung in the air for what seemed an eternity. This is just as likely to go either way.
The doctor gave me an urgent referral for the various tests needed to determine what was going on later that day. I went home and had some very dark moments.
Fear consumed me. I prayed with desperate, tear-covered pleas for health.
I felt absolutely nothing back from God. continue reading
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