The Last To Go

The doctor looked up from the printed test results, and with a somber but kindly visage spoke those dreaded words: “I’m sorry to have to tell you, but it is cancer. I would suggest getting your affairs in order, just in case.”

As I sat in the doctor’s waiting room, those were the words I was afraid I might be hearing when I finally got in to see him. Those were the words that had been playing in my head over the entire previous week, ever since I had made the appointment to see him about The Lump.

It had all begun about two weeks earlier when a feral kitten showed up at our porch’s sliding door. It was soooo cute, but it wanted nothing to do with us. Not to be deterred, I began to “chum” the cat with offerings of food, which I placed closer and closer to the door as the kitten got bolder and bolder. Exulting in my cleverness (over a cat) I opened the sliding door and laid a food trail into the house. It took a few tries, but finally my plan worked: the kitten was in the house! I quickly slid the door shut to trap it, but it freaked out and after slamming itself against the glass slider two or three times, it tore off through the house and into the attached garage.

I went into the garage and searched for where the kitten had hidden itself. I finally found it in a large, upright and open-topped cardboard box which held a few tools and sticks. Now I had it! At which point I did the second most stupid thing I have ever done, which was to reach down into the box and pick up the little cutie (i.e., a feral carnivore with razor-sharp teeth and claws) with my bare left hand. The feral carnivore latched onto my hand and proceeded to shred everything below my wrist that was capable of bleeding. Within seconds, I had thirty wounds dripping blood as the little beast continued to bite and claw. That was when I did the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

That was when I did the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

Even though I now knew what the little feral carnivore could do, I grabbed it with my unprotected, bare right hand to pull it off my bleeding left hand. Of course, now the cute little kitten latched onto my right hand and did the same to it (though you think it would have been full after feasting on the first hand!). Now I had two bleeding hands. Showing great moral restraint I restrained from “euthenizing” either the kitten (or myself) and tossed it back into the cardboard box.

A few minutes later, Animal Control arrived. The officer saw my hands and smiled (yes, she smiled!), put on heavy leather gloves, and pulled the feral monster out of the box without further incident.

Within a week of that traumatic event, I noticed I had a Lump in my left arm, above the elbow and fairly deep. The Lump grew some, and after several days of ignoring it and hoping it would just go away (which are good, manly things to do) I began to get worried. I called the doctor, but the earliest time he had free was a full week later. I made the appointment and went about my normal schedule.

Only, I couldn’t stop thinking, or worrying, about The Lump. I convinced myself it must be cancer. (I grew up watching TV ads from the American Cancer Society – “The Seven Warning Signs of Cancer” – and had just about memorized the list: difficulty in swallowing – right now, just try to swallow three times without any food or drink! – , a sore that does not heal, a persistent cough, a Lump or thickening in the breast or elsewhere, etc.) Notice the Lump. I imagined the doctor telling me I had only so long to live, and thought through what that would mean in the time I had left.

What would I have to give up right away? What would I do as long as I could? What would they have to pry my cold dead fingers from? In my last blog post, I talked about giving up books and other physical stuff; but as I considered my mortality, I began to prioritize my activities.

You see, at that time I had a lot less stuff and a lot more activities. Besides my work as executive director of a youth-serving multi-agency which required monthly meetings with four boards of directors, I worked with the local United Way which funded our organization, was an active member of a local service club, was president of a statewide mineral chapter, served as Sunday school superintendent, led group discussions for Bible Study Fellowship, represented work at community events, and was taking seminary courses part-time in extension. Oh yeah, and I was (and am still) married. There was more, but you get the idea. I was swamped with things I wanted to do, and with things I was obligated to do for work. What would I do if I got the death sentence?

What would I do if I got the death sentence?

I took out a sheet (a large sheet) of paper and made several columns with headings like, “Give up in a heartbeat”,”Phase out soon”,”Do as long as I can”, and “Pry my dead fingers from.” (Okay, maybe the words were a little different, but you get the idea.) Then, down the side I listed all the things I was doing or was involved in – everything that was part of my life including daily work, church attendance, sports (tennis and swimming), and even my marriage. Then I proceeded to make a check mark in the appropriate column for each activity or involvement. The result was a prioritized list of what I would give up should I get a bad diagnosis, and what would be the last things to go, and then only at my death.

When I finished prioritizing the list, I sat back and examined it. What I realized was that there were only two real priorities: my wife and my Lord, Jesus Christ. The only things I would continue until the end (beside my marriage) were those that had to do with my faith: church, Bible study, and seminary classes. That was it. Everything else would go. This exercise was an eye-opener to me, because most of my time and energy was taken up by all those other things that I would have given up long before what mattered the most.

Those prioritizing results – and the expected news that would start the winnowing process in motion – were going through my head as I sat in the doctor’s waiting room. Finally, they called me into the exam room. When the doctor finally came in, I told him my concern. He looked serious as he felt The Lump. Then he grabbed my left hand and began examining it. I asked why, since The Lump was further up the arm, and he said he was looking for a sore on my hand. I showed him there was one small sore not yet healed from my feral, monster cat death-match. He smiled (yes, he smiled, too) and said that answered what he needed to know. The Lump, he said, was a swollen lymph gland fighting the infection, which since it was caused by the cat, was Cat-Scratch Fever (not the song, but a real disease). He prescribed an antibiotic, and before long, the sore healed and The Lump disappeared.

All that worry for nothing! Well, not for nothing. The infection did have to be treated, but even more than that, God used the incident to help me focus on what was important in my life and therefore what should be important in my living. Because now the question that came to me was, “If I would drop all these items from my life if I were terminal, why am I doing them all now, when I’m not?” Or, more correctly, since we are all terminal, but just don’t know when that date may be, “Why am I doing all those things, knowing my time on earth is finite?”

“Why am I doing all those things, knowing my time on earth is finite?”

Good question. I did begin to back off certain activities and involvements, freeing up time for the more important things and reducing stress from unneeded obligations. And more importantly, God used this crisis to confirm my future path into full-time seminary and ministry. You know,  I never really missed any of the things I gave up, and I can tell you that even today, my priorities remain what they were when I had The Lump, for I know what in my life would be the last things to go.

And now may the Lord bless you and keep you, the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be grace to you, the Lord look upon you with favor, and give you peace. Amen.

Read: 1 Corinthians 3:11-15