I really don’t know. It’s been 6 weeks since the last CT scan, and I don’t have any updates on my condition, other than to mention a couple of lab results that showed some elevated measurements that required follow-up diagnostics to monitor possible side-effects from treatment. The protocol for one of these results required that I urinate in a jug for 24 hours.

That day was another which made me thankful for my job, which allows me to work from home on days like that. I realize that I probably should have written something about these tests beforehand to facilitate the support of prayer and “positive vibes,” but I didn’t feel up to it at the time. Well, the jug thing could be a regular event prior to treatment, so I may yet need them.

As I sat on my porch this morning, listening in the dark to the varying sound of the rain as it falls upon my roof, the gutters, the yard, and the woods behind us, the pictures in my mind reminded me of the numerous times that I have been blinded by what I’ve seen. My basement is filled with pages and pages of lab results, radiology reports, insurance-related documents, and invoices from the numerous providers I’ve visited over the years. Somewhere in all of that paper is a story but certainly not one I would have foretold at various stages of this journey based upon the information they contain. Most often, I’ve imagined that I was approaching this train’s terminal station, and yet, there has continued to be optional routes to take. Thank God.

I suddenly pictured a scene from a Shakespearean play that I read in college, taking place on the edge of the White Cliffs of Dover. I don’t want to pretend that I remember all of the details (I wasn’t that kind of student), but I recall someone leading a despairing blind man to a field and convincing him he is at the cliff’s edge. Despite the lack of misty breeze or crash of breaking waves, the blind man trusts the one leading him. Pleading solitude, he kneels and then takes a suicidal plunge, seeking the end to his life of suffering. The audience knows that the man has merely fallen forward, feinting, but, upon waking, the man ascribes the miracle of survival to the will of the gods. You literary folks know this to be Scene 6 of Act IV of King Lear, with Edgar, in peasant’s clothing, leading his father, the blind Earl of Gloucester, to the safety of the Dover countryside. Regardless, it hits close to home. I confess there have been a few moment of weakness when I have uttered silently something similar to,

“O you mighty gods!
This world I do renounce, and, in your sights,
Shake patiently my great affliction off:
If I could bear it longer, and not fall
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills,
My snuff and loathed part of nature should
Burn itself out…”

The poor Earl. In hindsight, things haven’t been so bad for me after all. I feel mostly fine.

So I’m no longer tracking my test results, other than imaging, which I’m somewhat forced to with my doctor. But labs and such, I’ll just wait to worry when a medical professional personally gives me reason to. Otherwise, I’m in danger of fretting a path to doom. I believe there are supernatural wills at work, but they are much more evident in hindsight against real threats than in anxious moments against perceived ones. Walk and trust. I am a blind man being led by One who was once disguised as a peasant, but He isn’t leading me to green pastures* to trick me. It is there that I find rest for my weary soul.

Blessings all. CT Scan in 2 weeks…

* Psalm 23:2