Just Some Guy

Day 18 of hospice care. Still no symptoms. But the results of my last PSA test came in. It's 13.2, up from 5.45 a month ago. The clock is ticking. When I see my doctor on the 31st, I'll ask for an updated prognosis based on that number.

People were very kind in their comments on my last post. Too kind, really. Now, far be it from me to shy away from compliments, but I have to disagree with some of the things that were said, as nice and complimentary as they were meant to be.

One dear lady called me an angel. My response was that I'm no angel, I'm just some guy who God decided to show himself to. Whatever good you think you see in me has nothing to do with me. It's nothing that I achieved, it's something that happened to me with little or no effort on my part. Kinda like cancer. And it wouldn't have happened without cancer, either.

One quality that seems to be coming to the forefront now, however, is one that has always been part of my nature. It's not something I learned in my journey, or that God granted me since he drew me so close to him. It's something I've always had, like curly hair and brown eyes, therefore I can't take any credit for it. I've never been afraid of dying. I can't remember one time in my life when I thought about death and was afraid.

I've been in a few auto accidents, and once or twice I thought my number might be up. In that moment right before the crash when I realized there was nothing I could do, I've never felt fear, only peace. That tendency seems to have carried over to now, when facing a short prognosis. I feel no fear at all. Not just about death, but about anything.

In the comments of my last post, many called me brave. I appreciate your kindness, but I am not brave. Bravery, or courage, is not the absence of fear. It's the ability to overcome fear. I'm no hero, I'm just some guy who's run out of things to be afraid of.

Who is brave, the one who dives from a tall platform because they're not afraid, or the one who dives in spite of their fear? I have no fear of the platform or the water. For me, this dive is like falling into bed. It doesn't take much courage to fall into bed.

I was talking with my friend Miki Chambers about this recently. She had a hard time understanding how I could be so calm about all of this. I told her I didn't become a saint on purpose. It just happened. One day, God decided to show me the reality of who he is, and all I could do was say, "...Oh!"

I wrote a post a while back called What I'm Afraid Of, which Miki inspired. Even then, more than a year ago, I had no fear of cancer or death. There were a few things I feared, but none of the things I was afraid of then apply to me now. I was afraid of long term side effects from treatment. Now there is no long term. I was afraid of spending my remaining years in misery from harsh conventional treatments, and having cancer come back and get me anyway. Hence my attitude toward chemo and radiation. Now, all of that's a moot point.

But mostly, I was afraid of depleting our limited financial resources and leaving my wife with little to live on. Now, that doesn't seem possible. God has taken away all my sources of fear. There's nothing left for me to be afraid of. When you have no fear of death, the closer you get to it, the less anything else can make you afraid.

The results of my last PSA test are bad, but nothing to be afraid of. Symptoms are coming soon, but while I'm not looking forward to them, I'm not afraid of them. I know they will only last a short time. God keeps coming closer, and soon I'll be able to make out his facial features. Just like when I was a little boy, and I felt safe walking next to my dad, I feel safe now, because I have my Heavenly Father walking with me. He's bigger than any bully, any disease, and even death. Nothing can hurt me because he protects me.

He doesn't do this because there's anything special about me. He does it because it's who he is. I'm only this way because he revealed himself to me. I'm no angel, hero or saint. I'm just some guy. #waroncancer #bearingwitness