A Page Out of Ethel Merman's Book

MY APPOINTMENT with the oncologist six weeks after surgery was to plan my treatment. Radiation would be followed by course of chemotherapy, how much and how long dependent on my response to radiation.

I MET WITH THE RADIOLOGIST the next day. He studied my history and gave me a long face. Given the location of the tumors, radiation was impossible. Several vital organs would be damaged, and the blood flow to my right leg would be impaired. My face grew hot enough to melt my self-composure.

LATER, THE DOCTOR’S REPORT said that I became too emotional for him to continue. He was being polite. My stomach surged, and I bolted for the restroom, trying to contain the sound of my sobs with a wet paper towel pressed over my mouth.

I CALLED THE ONCOLOGIST that evening after I’d gotten myself together. He gave me the next piece of bad news. Chemotherapy for melanoma had been most successful as a preventative for patients who were tumor-free. He’d planned on the radiation killing the tumors. The response rate for cases like mine was not good. The face of the friend I’d lost to melanoma floated in front of me, and I decided he’d downplayed the results. The oncologist told me to check if the surgeon had any answers.

I BEGGED AND BULLIED my way into the surgeon’s schedule the following morning. He slapped my file on the examining table and said, “The good news is you’re healing nicely. The bad news is I’ve consulted with a preeminent oncologist-surgeon, and he and I agree, any more surgery at this time would be more likely to kill you than help you.”

“SO, THERE’S NO HOPE?” I asked.

“YOU CAN TRY the cancer research centers.”

I HAD ALREADY SEEN what they’d done to my friend, and I had more concern than confidence.

MY HUSBAND, TOM, and I made it on the elevator before tears started spilling down my front.

HE PATTED MY ARM. “This reminds me of my favorite song,” he said, “Everything’s Coming Up Roses. I can hear Ethel Merman right now.” He began to sing the words.

HE HAD A POINT. I was putting too much stock in the doctors. I had pinned my hopes on them, and they weren’t in charge of hope. They weren’t in charge of healing either. Only God was.

I GAVE TOM A SMILE. “If this means I’m worth more to you alive than dead, then I’m glad I don’t have more life insurance.”

“SO AM I, SUGAR.” He gave me a hug. We laughed. It was time to call in a professional. We made a phone call and headed to our minister’s office.

You’re blessed! Be a blessing.