Remission

Remission (medical): A decrease in or disappearance of signs and symptoms of cancer, signifying a major improvement, but not always a complete cure, as the disease can recur.

In a letter dated December 1957 Lewis wrote: of Joy Davidman's miraculous remission:

My own news continues better than we ever dared to hope. The cancerous bones have rebuilt themselves in a way quite unusual and Joy can now walk: on a stick and with a limp, it is true, but it is a walk–and far less than a year ago it took three people to move her in bed and we often hurt her. Her general health, and spirits, seem excellent. Of course the sword of Damocles hangs over us. Or should I say that circumstances have opened our eyes to see the sword which really hangs always over everyone.

The cure didn't last. She died three years later, a cherished three years together, but none the less three years of remission.

One of the first messages I received about T was in November 2016 and had this heading "Prayer works - keep praying" - T, who was nine at the time, had been admitted to hospital with a dangerously low red blood cells count, leukaemia was diagnosed...  Nine years later, and after so many treatments and hopes, the message I received yesterday read "we are devastated to have to send this message... Sadly, the disease in T's central nervous system overwhelmed his brain and he didn't wake after his procedure yesterday afternoon. We are heartbroken. We said goodbye to him this morning, with the sun shining on his face. It was peaceful and beautiful".

As in that most beautiful of books "I walked up the winding stair, and entered his room. A lovely figure, as white and almost as clear as alabaster, was lying on the bed. I saw at once how it was. They thought he was dead. I knew that he had gone to the back of the north wind".

In 2020 his parents had written: "A new cure for T's cancer (we have already exhausted the existing cures!) offers the only medical chance of life returning to normal for him. The virus isn't gone. His cancer is still there. As far we are concerned we're living with a fragile hope. Hope that we might beat the virus. Hope that God will heal T. Hope that his current treatment could put his cancer in stable remission for long enough so that other curative options might be discovered.  So we keep praying".

Remission. How I hate the word. The word that engenders, fuels, prolongs false hopes. Like playing with and savouring those iconic words "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well" in full defiance of knowing that the reverse is true.

What am I to conclude? That prayer is, at best, wishful thinking? That I wasted my time hoping, and believing as best as I knew how, for "full and forever" healing? My insides are churning even as I write these words. I could revel, as many do, in vain platitudes but I hate such hypocrisy.  I rest my case.

Is it the end of a chapter? If so then I say that another chapter begins. My relationship with T's parents (who I have never met) is stronger for it. I might weep now but I will not forget the journey. I say that all the suffering was not in vain. Possibly even my own so weak faith in a loving God is strengthened rather than shipwrecked.

Why art thou cast down, O my soul? Hope thou in God (Psalm 42)

Older

Growing older. You don't think about it much until it happens to you. The mountain bike boy I met a few weeks back whilst walking in the forestry, tackling scary obstacles on the narrow bike trails carved out of the hillside: we are two generations apart and yet he had the grace to stop and wish me well. I don't even know your name, but I hope that the brakes on your bike are good - please don't fall and hurt yourself because I want you to live life to the full.

Another boy in his early teens: I teach him woodwork - there's such a sparkle in his eyes, such a rejoicing in his new-found skills, so thankful for the time I give him, so outspoken for his age (in a good way, wanting to complete the projects I set by himself without my interference). Again I find myself looking forward and wondering what life has in store for him.

I wish I were young again. Without a care, no aches or pains, with a portion of that youthful vigour that now seems so elusive.

But then there's T, now in his late teens, suffering from leukaemia - I know him only via social media, but have been praying for his "complete healing" for about eight years now. The medical staff have no doubt been wonderful, but I have hoped and asked for so much more. A young life in the balances - why, why O Lord? And how dare I complain about my own aches and pains when he has had to grapple with this condition for so long, in and out of hospital.

I aim to jog four or five miles several times a week (barefoot of course). It used to be that, when it was cold outside, I would start off with a long enough sprint to warm up. But I find I can no longer do this: chest tightness tells me to slow down. I am told this is due to plaque forming in my arteries - not yet life threatening but the doctor wants to put me on all manner of drugs with scary common side effects. I don't want drugs. I want to be young again!

Generally speaking I think I am relatively fit for my age and I am so thankful for that. But there's no getting away from it: I'm not as young as I used to me. Growing older.

Timothy

My last post left him in a hospital. Ten days later he is apparently still there and the family need some encouragement. If you are the praying type, please pray and invite others to do so. If not then at least hold him in your thoughts - for Timothy to know that so many folk are are standing with him must in itself be an encouragement.

Timothy

Timothy was re-admitted to hospital as a precautionary measure after "spiking a temperature". This is not totally unexpected especially in the first "100 days" but just to say that dear boy continues to need our prayers or, put more accurately, needs the grace of God working in his life.

Thou shalt not nine

Timothy, yes I think there is no further need to hide his name, is discharged and back home. True I had hoped he would not have had to endure this treatment but, who knows, he may end up stronger for it. Tribulation works character. I certainly hope and pray so, else what was it all about? Perhaps I did not tempt God. Perhaps I did not fully understand. And it is still not the end of the road but I am so thankful he has made it this far. Here are some quotes from his parents' last news letter:

After two months living in Bristol while Timothy received a bone marrow transplant at the Bristol Royal Hospital for Children, we're back home. Timothy is in good form despite a low level of stamina and a bit of sickness...

He was diagnosed with a one/two-in-a-million condition with bleak prognosis unless he received a bone marrow transplant in Bristol. The search for a bone marrow donor ultimately led to a young German who matched perfectly: 57mls of life, delivered fresh by a volunteer courier! Timothy would have life-threatening leukaemia today if it wasn't for that bone marrow donor...

This guy is our hero. He's gone through so much so far [you can see a short video of him ringing the 'End of Treatment' Bell on the ward the other day here. He'll need patience and protection in the restoration to come. Forgive us when we avoid you if you're sniffling! God is good. So please keep praying for Timothy's protection and complete restoration - he could take months to fully recover, and simple illnesses can still be dangerous to him. Pray for God's glory in the story.

Through all of this, hundreds if not thousands of people like you have been praying for our son and family. Thank you. God's peace, hope, love and joy are real.