This is Part II of my journey with leukemia. Part I is linked here.

For believers, our ancestors are the children of Israel. Perhaps our physical bloodline may not be traceable to one of the 12 tribes to feast on manna for 40 years, but in spirit we are of the same family, God’s chosen people. The book of Exodus illustrates God’s providential love for his people. The twelve tribes of the descendants of Jacob were in bondage for hundreds of years by the Egyptians. God made a way for each of the Egyptian gods to be abased and to show his own power and might. After Pharaoh finally agreed to let our ancestors leave Egypt, the Red Sea was parted, the Israelites crossed over on dry land, and God triumphed over the Egyptians. Shortly after the victory, the children found themselves in a wasteland. They quickly began to murmur and complain of their situation, wishing for their former circumstances of slavery where they were fed and had dwellings to sleep at night. It’s easy to judge and point fingers at others, but how different are we really from the children of Israel? How often do we pray to be delivered from a situation to only wish for it again when it is past? How many children “can’t wait to grow up” and then long for childhood as adults? We can find many similarities between ourselves and the Israelites. 

The journey from Egypt to the promised land in Canaan should have only taken a few weeks to accomplish. It took God’s chosen people forty years to reach their destination. Four decades. Almost half a century. A distance that could be covered in close to a month’s time. Why would God allow this to happen? He was leading them by day and night to show the way. Why make them travel in circles?

After I received my good news that my bone marrow showed no signs of leukemia, I endured subsequent rounds of chemotherapy over the following months as a precaution to “make sure they got it all” as my mom explained to my grandparents who wanted me to “just be done with all of that mess.” God blessed me with the strength to endure each hospital stay, and each new round of treatment seemed to cause fewer negative symptoms. My final treatment was in the heat of the summer, and my family and I celebrated “no more hospital visits.” Each round of chemotherapy would send my immune system into a cycle where my defenses would slowly decrease until they bottomed out for 4-5 days, and then my body would miraculously begin to produce appropriate cells to build my immunity back. The human body is a true work of God’s genius. 

While my blood counts were low, we practiced quarantining before it was a “thing.” I wore a mask everywhere in public and absolutely hated it. Masks are annoying in general, but they are commonplace today due to the pandemic. In 2011, I felt so awkward wearing a mask, because no one else had one on. I had already lost the majority of my hair, and adding a mask to it all made things even worse. We avoided public places including stores, restaurants, church, etc. while my immune system was down. My mom was very strict in ensuring I followed all of my medical protocol. I was obedient to her although it was not without grumbling and complaint.

When my counts began to improve as anticipated, my family and I (especially my mom) would take mini “field trips” around Nashville, TN after my appointments at Sarah Cannon. These adventures made me feel alive during this journey. Chemotherapy heightened my sense of taste and smell. Eating became a surreal experience. Our exploring simple shops and diners was my motivation to keep going.

A couple weeks after my final treatment, I woke up in the middle of the night with a fever. I had contracted a virus, my first illness throughout my journey besides the leukemia itself. My family and I had been warned that the greatest risk with the type of leukemia that I had was not the cancer itself but the treatment for it. The chemotherapy treatments were so intense at the time that patients were highly likely to contract a separate illness which oftentimes had fatal ends. 

I spent several days in the hospital. My fever kept climbing, and despite the medical efforts to bring it to a normal range, it persisted around 103°F. My medical team informed us that I had contracted a virus that would have knocked a healthy person off their feet for a few days. My team came into my room one evening after being there for what felt like weeks (it was only 3 or 4 days) to prepare me for the worst. They anticipated my fever to continue rising throughout the night. The next 24 hours were critical. Without them saying it, I could sense that my physical life was in jeopardy. I had kept the peace of God with me all along, but this shook me. My family and I prayed in my room for God to intervene. I laid in my bed that night asking God “is this it? Surely this isn’t my end. You healed me from cancer. You’ve walked with me each step of the way. What was the point of being healed from leukemia if I am to die of a little virus? I don’t understand!” 

His reply was gentle and clear. I came to Him with frustration, fear, and hopelessness. He gave me peace, understanding, and healing. He explained to me “you’re not out of the wilderness yet. I’m still here with you as I have been all along. You will see the promised land I have for you.” 

I couldn’t make sense of it at the time, but sometimes God gives us a seemingly senseless season in the wilderness to teach us. Maybe the purpose of our season is to lean on him for sustenance and protection. Perhaps it is for us to humble ourselves and see His magnitude. It could be a time for us to let go of idols and worship him only. Whatever the reason, these seasons are not purposeless. God uses our circumstances in life to bring to our attention how great he is. Through the hard times, he can reveal to us his power, protection, and unending providential love.