The Illusion of control; the gift of now

An eye-opening diagnosis

 

We like to think that if we live a certain way or take certain precautions, misfortune won’t strike us.

But cancer doesn’t play by those rules.

Last winter my husband Jim was diagnosed with a rare form of melanoma in the eye.

He was leaving for a work trip, bent down to pick up his luggage at the airport, and suddenly felt like someone stabbed him in the eye.

He staggered backwards and realized he could no longer see out of his left eye. It was like looking through fog.

That was the only symptom he had; there were no previous indicators whatsoever.

Being a diehard employee, he went on the work trip anyway. When he returned, he saw an ophthalmologist and received the diagnosis, and let me tell you, the moment when we heard “melanoma” it got our attention.

Only 150 doctors in the U.S. treat this; one of the best is in Ann Arbor, where we were fortunate to be seen quickly.

He told us the tumor was too large to radiate, so the only option was to have the eye removed.

Out it came a week later in a three-hour surgical procedure. Afterwards, the advice started pouring in, and most was not helpful.

Lots of people told Jim he got this because he hadn’t worn sunglasses often enough.

One guy told him to put sunscreen in the other eye to prevent it happening there.

These types of comments are in reality illusions: these are comforting illusions, but illusions nonetheless.

People believe they can take steps which will prevent these types of things from happening, which is a falsehood but easier to deal with than actual reality.

Reality is that this type of melanoma hits blue eyed, fair haired (most often) males on rare occasions, and there is nothing anyone can do to prevent it.

It’s humbling but honest to realize there are things out of our control.

We know we can’t control this diagnosis. The cancer is now gone, but we wonder, will it come back?

It has a high chance of recurrence in the liver, in the words of the doctor, it is “relentless.”

Chasing those anxieties, feeding them through dwelling on them, does not help. The only help is remembering that God is God and I am not. I don’t have control, so I lean on the One who does.

This has led to a surprising side effect. I cherish each moment now. I realize this moment is all any of us have. Tomorrow is not guaranteed, today is not even guaranteed. All we have is now.

There is peace in this, a strange sort of peace that can only come from something greater than me.

Jim and I enjoy each other more, we continue to do our work but we also realize that now is the moment in which God meets us.

The great I Am is not waiting for us down the road, but right in the moment. He is here, always here, always now.

About the author: Rev. Sharon Smith is pastor of St. Paul’s Lutheran Church. She is also a writer who tries to notice what others overlook. She lives with her husband Jim and their two large rescue dogs who think they run the house (they’re right).

Contact Sharon at tct@pageone-inc.com