When it comes to medical procedures, I’m a wimp. Here I was a blood donor, and I can’t stand needles. I still grimace and look the other way when I get shots or labs drawn.
I joyfully survived four natural childbirths, was really into coaching and cheering, but got too carried away one time, hyperventilated and almost passed out.
The nurse looked at me and said, “Sir, do you need to sit down?” I sat down.
Confronting cancer
Just before Thanksgiving 2015, I started having symptoms that something was amiss. After two doctor visits and extensive labs, the nurse practitioner was concerned and said she wanted to refer me to the urologist.
“I feel great,” I said. “I ran 45 minutes this morning. I’m fine. I don’t want to go to the urologist.”
Then she said something very wise: “Your body is trying to tell you something. You need to go.”
I went and eventually had an outpatient procedure on Feb. 12, 2016. The doctor removed a dime-size cancerous tumor from my bladder. He got it, but, as anyone confronting cancer knows, one faces the shock of “I’ve got cancer?”
Emotionally, I experienced ups and downs: numbness, disbelief, one melt-down (“God, I want to live to see my grandkids grow up”) and then determination to do what we had to do to conquer this menace.
Two years of treatment
I began a regimen of treatment designed to lessen greatly the chance of recurrence. However, it involved tubes. I’d rather have a shot. Or maybe a tooth pulled.
The late journalist and humorist Lewis Grizzard wrote about tubes when he was recounting his first heart procedure. Lewis was a sportswriter for The Atlanta Constitution who evolved into a national humor columnist and stand-up comedian.
In his book, “They Tore Out My Heart and Stomped That Sucker Flat,” Lewis wrote about his heart troubles: young love, three marriages, the heart murmur that kept him out of Vietnam and eventually heart surgery.
He mentioned the seven places on the human body where a tube may be inserted without making a new hole, and he wrote he didn’t think God intended for tubes to be stuck in two of them.
Yet, they do insert tubes to fight bladder cancer. So, deep breath, this wimp did “man up” and followed protocol.
When I woke up after the initial exploratory procedure that discovered the tumor, I remember the recovery room nurse saying, “Oh, this is just a little bump in the road.”
God got me through the uncomfortable two-year protocol, and I made it almost to the point where I could go one year between check-ups and follow-up biopsies.
‘Not if, but when’
My doctor, on the front end of this journey, stated I had an aggressive cancer, and it would not be a matter of IF, but WHEN the bladder cancer would return. The cancer did return, and the protocol clock started all over again.
Again, I had to get six treatments once a week for six weeks, then continue with one treatment a month for 12 months, followed by regular cystoscopies.
While in my second round of treatments, the cancer returned a third time. My doctor retired and handed me off to a blunt, young doctor. The first time we met, he said, “Mr. Chancey, I want you to start thinking about life without your bladder.”
Stunned, I replied, “Let’s give the treatment a chance to work.”
I finished that round of treatment and met again with the doctor. He shared, “You have the most dangerous kind of cancer that has a 50–60 percent chance of return. We can do everything we know to do, and it can still return and spread.”
‘Cured at the moment’
Several weeks after that conversation, he took eight biopsies in an outpatient procedure. The results? No cancer!
Upbeat, he declared me “cured at the moment.”
More than two years later, I’m two-thirds done with my follow-up monitoring and treatment protocol and, thankfully, doing very well.
In fact, I got another “no cancer” report on my six-month check-up this past week.
Yet, after more than 60 treatments over the 10-year period, I still pray every day this stuff does not return.
I hate cancer. There’s nothing good about cancer. Yet, I trust in a good, good heavenly Father who can work through cancer to speak to our hearts.
5 truths to remember
Here are five basic truths God spoke to me during my journey and as I live with the possibility of cancer’s return.
First, I am with you through this. You are not alone. I will never leave you nor forsake you (Deut. 31:6, 8; Joshua 1:5). I drew comfort from God’s presence.
Second, my people are praying for you. My church family rallied around me in prayer. I shared in a deacons’ meeting about how the doctor scared me to death when he advised me to have my bladder removed if cancer returned. I got somewhat emotional.
After the meeting, the deacons surprised me by coming to my house. They circled around me, laid hands on me and prayed over me. Many others prayed, churches and individuals. I’m living proof that “the effective fervent prayer of a righteous man avails much” (James 5:16b).
Third, do not fear. As I sat in the waiting room time after time, dreading the next treatment, I constantly meditated on Isaiah 41:10 — “Fear not, for I am with you, be not dismayed, for I am your God.”
Fourth, David, I will give you strength to endure. Isaiah 41:10 continues, “I will strengthen you, Yes, I will help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.” I also repeatedly claimed, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” (Phil. 4:13).
Fifth, find joy daily as you make each day count (Eph. 5:16, Ps. 90:12). Life is fragile, so we need to live each day to the fullest.
My journey continues, and I know God is in control.
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How would I encourage those fighting the cancer battle?
•Realize you are not in your battle alone.
•Realize God gives supernatural power to persevere.
•Realize God is faithful, and His promises are true.
•Realize God can bring good out of what seems to be bad.
•Realize we are more than conquerors through Christ.
•Remember this world is not our real home.
