“No! No! I refuse to hear the words that you are telling me!” These were my thoughts when word came that my sister, nine years my senior, had been diagnosed with a brain tumor. We had already lost our mother and father to this dreadful disease though it had not yet been established that it was cancer that she had, but in my heart I feared the worse. I asked myself, “Why my sister? Why is our family once again being attacked by hell itself?”
After many doctor visits and M.R.I. scans, a date was scheduled for surgery at the Kaiser facilities in Sacramento Sacramento
My heart was aching for my sister. Such a beautiful lady; why did something like this have to come upon her? It was hard to grasp what was happening. I could not reason in my mind why. There was no answer that could ease my concerns.
After parking my car in the large parking lot outside the hospital, I walked through the double swinging doors leading to the lobby. I was greeted with a familiar odor that I had smelled in another Kaiser hospital in Martinez , California
I too had surgery for a growth located in the soft pallet of my mouth that was malignant. I distinctly remembered this smell as it again filled my nostrils; bringing back solemn memories of frustration, anxiety, and fear. Reflecting back, I relived the sensations that I had experienced that day—they were not fond memories.
As my wife and I walked closely together, I knew what she was thinking without her saying anything. The countenance on her face said it all. Drawing closer to the elevators I wanted to break and run, and hide my face in my hands hoping that this was just a horrible nightmare. I wanted it to go away, but it was no dream, reality was upon us—my sweet sister had a growth in her brain and today was the day it was going to be removed. That was the reality.
Getting off of the elevator we were directed by some of the family members through a door that led into the surgery preparation room where I saw my sis laying on a gurney with her head covered with a light blue towel. As her eyes met mine I was reliving something that happened before—déjà vu—Mom’s surgery.
Sis tried to smile, but I looked past her pale lips and saw fear staring back at me. It was the same look that I had seen in my mother’s eyes just before she went into surgery so many years ago.
As I approached my sister I kept asking myself, “What can I say? What words can I speak that will ease her troubled mind?” She was looking directly at me now with her right hand outstretched. It was all I could do to hold back the tears. I wanted to scream out, “Everything is going to be alright!” I wanted to throw my arms around her, lift her up, and steal her away to protect her from the very thing that had taken our mother.
I wanted to lay my head on her breast and have her stroke my head and tell me that everything was going to be alright—how selfish of me. All these thoughts were going through my head, but instead, I just smiled and took her hand in mine and said nothing. What can one say at a time like this?
I knew that she knew I was there for her; praying and believing God for a miracle. I also knew, though words were few, that her trust was in someone bigger that both of us. He would see her through this day. He would give her peace in this time of storm. God in His mercy would prevail. This is what she imparted to me through her touch. This is what she gave to her little brother in her darkest hour. Thank you, Sis.
The hours spent in the waiting room seemed like an eternity. I was surrounded by family members and friends that came from afar. I fought off negative thoughts and replaced them with thoughts of hope and healing.
It wasn’t until the surgeon slowly walked into the room; rounded shoulders; exhausted from the many hours in surgery; that I truly realized how frightened I was. As he began to speak I could hardly hear him, because of the pounding of my heart in my ears.
Did I hear him right? “Speak up!” I wanted to say. Was he sharing words of encouragement and hope? Then I saw my brother-in-law’s eyes light up like the sun peaking out from behind a black, cloud; announcing that the storm’s passing was nigh at hand.
He almost picked the doctor up off of his tired feet as he threw his big arms around this small-framed man and hugged him with compassion. The operation was a success! It was not cancer! The tumor was encapsulated in just one area!
The doctor was able to remove the growth without having to use a radical incision as he had anticipated that he would have to do. This was made so, because of a new machine that was being used for the first time at this hospital. It showed the surgeon exactly where the tumor was located and exactly how deep he had to make his incision.
The designer of this fabulous machine flew up from Los Angeles
After a short time of therapy my sister now walks, talks, and praises God for His never ending love and faithfulness that He so graciously imparted unto her. God loves you Sis, and so do I.
As I write these thoughts, the feeling of walls closing in around us was real, as were the emotions and numbness everyone felt. Through it all, a peace that passes all understanding was with each of us. God was in the operating room and the waiting room. God never forsakes His children—never. In times of need He is always there.
(Philippians 4:6-7), “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God;” vs.7 “and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.”
Through it all we learned to trust God even more and depend upon His Word. This experience reminds me of the gospel song written by Andrae Crouch; “Through it All.” The lyrics go something like this:
Verse 1
Verse 2
Verse 3
Chorus:
Papa Boyd
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