A Time to Keep Silent...To Every Thing a Season chpt. 10

Our plans for Tybee Island were nixed. It wasn't so much that we couldn't go there, it was more the fact that I so desperately needed to get away. Even though it had been several months since the storm had passed at our Church, the devil was making sure that we were constantly reminded of all the hurt.

Like the Monday after Sandra's diagnosis....I was in the grocery store trying to pick up a few things when I received a phone call from one of my friends. She asked how I was doing since I had heard the "news." I asked what news she was speaking of. Come to find out, her husband, who worked about 100 miles away from our Church was told by an acquaintance that "Bro. Whitman had been caught running around on his wife." I was hurt, but I was not surprised, simply because I was pretty certain of the source. There was absolutely no shred of truth to it, and the people responsible for that lie knew it. All the pain came rushing back through me. I kept wondering how people who claimed to love us so much could purposely say things they knew to be untrue. There's enough truth to be said of all of us; lies don't have to be added to the mix.

I tried to act unfazed, especially in front of my children. We check out at the supermarket, ran through the rain to get to the car, and headed back to the Church. I wanted to cry, but I didn't dare do so with the children in the car. I wanted to drive far, far away. I didn't want to turn left at the Church. I wanted to drive and drive and drive. I wanted to go somewhere where I didn't know anyone and where no one knew me. Not because I had anything to hid but because I didn't want to have to interact with anyone. Caring had become the single greatest source of agony in my life. I was so drained....

And then I realized, it just isn't possible to NOT care. I had to put it all behind me because too many people loved us and supported us at the Church. They were worth going on for, and greater than that, so was the One I served. My family, despite the "rumor" was alive and strong, and they were certainly worth caring for!

It came down to dusting myself off spiritually and staying focused on the things that mattered, and at that point, Sandra and Jackie were our priority. Living so far away made things difficult, but we poured as much time and effort as possible into helping Kevin's parents.

We made it back to Camden for Sandra's breast biopsy, which was done at the local hospital. We were at the hospital bright and early, along with several of Sandra's friends. Linda B. who called us and urged us to come the week before, worked at the hospital. As usual, she was all smiles and talking a hundred miles a minute. As Jackie was wheeling Sandra in, Linda B. pulled me aside and said with a fading smile, "Rita, this isn't good. You know that don't you?"

I was uncomfortable with the conversation, mainly because I didn't like the truth of the matter.

"I know Linda, but it would be so unusual for her to have three separate cases of cancer. It's just so unlikely."

"Rita, my mother died of cancer, three different ones. It is possible. And Dr. Babcock with the Oncology Center has been in here and I've talked to him, Rita. This really, really looks bad. I just want you all to be prepared."

I felt sick. I knew it was bad, but Linda always seemed so hopeful. It was particularly sobering to hear her say the same things I had thought.

Linda guided us back to the area where the biopsy would be preformed. The nurse took Sandra to an X-ray room to help locate the mass in her breast. Unknown to all of us, the X-ray had to be taken lying down.

As we all sat in the hall, we could barely hear Sandra's voice. It seemed to be taking an awful long time. Several times, the door opened and closed, with nurses and technicians going in and out. One of the nurses finally told us that they were having trouble getting Sandra situated on her stomach in order to take the X-ray. I thought to myself, "Stomach? Isn't this a mammogram?" Jackie tried to find Linda B. so that we could get some information, but she was nowhere to be found.

We waiting a little while longer. The sound of Jackie's portable "lungs" were ever present in the background. We could still hear the nurses talking, but we also heard moaning and then sobbing. The sobbing grew louder and louder. Sandra was crying like a helpless child. It was so gut wrenching to hear, I literally covered my ears. Kevin and Jackie looked at each other in shock, both in wonderment as to what could possibly be going on behind the door that separated us from Sandra.

Her cry was one that signaled an abandonment of strength and will. And the more she cried, the louder it got. It seemed to echo down the corridor, and I couldn't help but wonder why there wasn't a rush of hospital personnel coming to her aid. Finally, Kevin asked me to go find Linda; he had heard enough of his mother's anguish.

By the time we found Linda, the nurse had brought Sandra from the X-Ray room. She had calmed down considerably, but when we asked her what happened, she fell all to pieces.

"They made me lay on my stomach, and I told them I couldn't," she sobbed. "My back hurt so bad, I couldn't hardly breath..." Her shoulders quivered as she cried with her entire body. We all tried to comfort her and tell her it was alright, but she had surrendered to her pain and weakness. "I can't do this...I can't...please don't expect me to...I can't live like this, just let me die!"

All of this took place in the hallway, and for all we knew, 1000 people saw what was happening. All of us, family and friends, encouraged her to keep going. We wanted her to know how much we valued her life, but we wanted her to value her own life.

We finally got her calmed down and over to the area of the hospital for the breast biopsy. To noone's surprise, the breast biopsy came back cancerous. It was the most logical source for the cancer in the spine, but the masses in the stomach and gall bladder still had not been addressed.

Finally, after a long day at the hospital, we had Sandra back at home. She asked me to how long it would take for me to make potato soup. I told her it would take about 45 minutes. She seemed so disappointed, so I stewed some potatoes for her. She ate well but complained with her stomach.

As she sat in her wheelchair, she told all of us somberly, "I want you all to know that if they tell me I need chemotherapy, I will not do it. I can't live like that. I can't walk, and I'm not going to be sick like that laying in a hospital bed. If chemotherapy is the only thing that will help me, then let me die." This was no "beg me to do it" speech. She was serious. The option was not on the table.

She fought back tears but succumbed. "I can handle dying, if I could just walk. I can't stand this wheel chair. I can't stand not being able to clean my house. I can't stand it! If I can't walk, I want to die. Just let me die!" All of this was said through tears that spoke of pain deeper than cancer. Kevin, Jackie, and I gathered around her wheelchair, trying to reassure her of our love. She looked up at Kevin and cried out, "What are you going to do? You can't keep coming here every week? You'll wear the wheels off your van! You have to stop coming so much."

"Momma, we can get new wheels if we wear the other one's off...but we're coming up here, every week if we have to. I wouldn't want to be any where else."

I told her, "You know you'd do the same for us."

The whole conversation seemed to give her some comfort for which we were thankful. It had been an exhausting day. Everybody was ready to fall into bed. Sandra had radiation every day, and it wasn't something she was enjoying. Her rest was crucial. I had even made it a nightly ritual to give her a foot massage before she went to bed. It was so relaxing for her and one of the few things that made her smile.

It must have been very early the next morning, for the master bedroom was still fairly dark. I could hear Jackie talking in the living room.... and Sandra crying. In the background was the sound of the oxygen machine, rhythmically pumping life into Jackie's lungs. Sandra's inconsolible sobs were muffled by Jackie softly whispering a hush. I pulled the covers up under my chin, closing my eyes. If only it were possible to shut out the cancer that's taking my mother-in-law from us....

Her sobs were so pitiful. There was nothing I wanted more than to get out of that bed, walk into that living room and tell her that everything was going to be alright.

But I couldn't...I had done that once before. I knew it was time to keep silent.

Only God could change the course of things, and that was completely subject to His will. All of us would have to wait and see what the Lord would do. And once it was done, we would have to accept it as the best course of action for all of us.