Last week, we joined one of those clubs nobody wants to join. When Jerry's urologist opened up his laptop in his office last Tuesday afternoon, he glanced at the biopsy report and said, "Uh, oh." We knew. And we quickly learned about Gleason numbers, and brachytherapy and radical prostatectomy. None of which we wanted to know.
We didn't want to learn that Gleason numbers run 1-5 and 5 is worse than 1, nor were we interested in the dual nature of the numbers, where the first one represents just how bad the dominant group of cancer cells looks and the second one informs us of the second worse group. (Jerry's: 4+3 on one side, 3+4 on the other.) We did not want to know any of that!
And yet, here we are. Not where we expected to be. Jerry feels fine. We had no clue. The PSA (Postate Specific Antigen) was 5, but lots of guys have high numbers without cancer. Only about 25% of those who have biopsies because of high PSAs actually hear bad news. We were really counting on being in the 75%. But, no.
So surgery is scheduled and we think it's early enough and we're trusting Papa-God. The Father of all comfort. He who does all things well.
We all join unwanted groups. The club of a teenager doing drugs. The fraternity of divorce. The association of the unemployed. These are times that test our trust, that challenge our naive hope that life will be as it has always been.
Enlightened now, we face the truth. Life is not what we want it to be. And yet. God is as he has always been. At our side. Full of truth and lovingkindness. With compassion and grace sufficient for the trial.
Father, thank you for grace to endure, grace to trust, and grace to cling. Truly, you do all things well, no matter what it looks like and no matter what it feels like. Amen.