Limits

On Wednesday, May 18th, I came home from work, changed clothes and went out for my usual bike ride. I had done a couple of laps around the neighborhood when I realized that I was breathing easier that night. As I continued on, seemingly out of nowhere, I heard the same voice that had told me that I was in for a long hard battle say, "The tumor is gone." A week later, with those words echoing in my head, I once again slid into the machine for my CT scan.

The next morning we were again in the examining room waiting for my entourage to enter. Now that I am in the clinical trial, I have been seeing four people at each appointment: two research assistants, the physician's assistant, and the doctor. I have jokingly begun calling them my entourage. Finally, one of the research assistants came in to pick up my empty medicine bottles and research survey. He then handed us the reports from radiology for the x-ray and CT scan and left. They were waiting on the report for the MRI that I had done earlier that morning. He left, leaving DeLayne and me to read through the reports. As we read the reports, we noticed that they mentioned the fluid and scar tissue in my lung, but nowhere was there a mention of the lung tumor. These were the first reports that have not specifically mentioned the presence or the size of the mass in my lung. Could it really be gone?

Finally, three of the four people entered the examining room. We were still waiting on the doctor, but the physician's assistant told us that all of the reports looked great and that there was "No Evidence of Disease" (NED). She then asked if we had any questions. I asked if the absence of any mention of the tumor in the reports meant that it was gone. We were told that sometimes radiology does not mention the tumor, and that it all depends on which radiologist is reading the test results. She further explained that NED does not necessarily mean the dead tumor is gone; it just means there is no evidence of "active" cancer and that this is as good as it gets for lung cancer patients. The medical profession will never say a lung cancer patient is "cured." The three of them left, and, once again, we were alone to wait for the doctor.

After a few minutes, my doctor entered the exam room. He told us that the test results and the way I said I am feeling were all very encouraging. He asked what questions we had, and we repeated the question about the tumor. He then told us that due to the damage done to my lung from the radiation treatments and the cancer, it was very difficult to tell. This led us to ask if my lung would ever recover. He told us, "No," and that, "Performing radiation on any portion of the lung is essentially like removing that portion of the lung."

I will admit that those are not words that I expected to hear from the doctor. I still believe that I will be completely healed, and that includes my lung returning to a fully-functioning lung. After a few days to think about it, my interpretation of what the doctor said is that we have now determined the limits of what medicine can do for me. That means from here on, any improvements to my lung will be 100% God-given miracles.

The story of the man with the withered hand that Jesus healed in the synagogue has been on my mind (Mark 3:1-5). I am very thankful and blessed by what God has done for me this past year, but if He can heal a withered hand, He can do the same for my lung. We may have found the limits of medicine, but there is no limit to what God can do.