Here's in Kokomo, we are busy.
I'm back to school and working with 6 new classes of students.
Zach, the new graduate, is job hunting in a most depressed market.
And Mike, the retiree: swimming at the Y daily; teaching two classes at IVY Tech; tackling his most ambitious furniture project, a slatted, reclining chair; preparing a speech to a local men's group; hosting a couple's small group; oh yeah, and meeting with his doctor.
We eye the calendar these days. 2 years. We are approaching 2 YEARS. As many of you have been with us for the duration, let me remind you that, although this blog was birthed in May 2009, our medical adventure began in late February.
Discomfort/ER/scan/'something weird with your gall bladder/and a huge kidney stone. March brought the removal of said stone and gallbladder. The weirdness was a 4 cm cancerous tumor. So, into April, when the surgeon explained, sketching on the white paper that covers examination tables, that this just might be the one caught early, we expected no less.
April, the surgery. The finding of spread to 'distant locations.' The news. The prognosis. The about-face of our lives and the preparing for passing. Mike's oncologist sat next to him on her examining table, held his hand and said, "Mike, this will take your life."
Last Friday, again she held his hand and said, "This wasn't supposed to happen."
THIS being yet another clear scan.
And why? Her expert take: God doesn't want you yet.
We'll take it. Actually, over many long talks, we marvel at God's grace to these two frail children.
As we are the middle of this, it's difficult to see any big picture. I know, however, that Mike's very existence gives hope to several friends whose fight with cancer is hard these days. I do know, as I've been told so many times, that Mike radiates a new glow that draws people to him.
So, let me share this news with you. Feel free to pass it on. We will continue to update you as we live our life.