Facing Death

Stage 4 brain, lung, and spinal cancer, the doctor said.

A death sentence by medical standards.

Well, the euphemism is “terminal.” 

Really?

As if “terminal” softens the blow. The doctor pitches that we are buying more time - that’s all.

I would never have predicted my unexpected reaction.

I mean, at 56 years of age, who’s thinking of death?

Well, maybe besides my husband.

He was a firefighter for 38 years, and he has seen his share of death and tragedy.

He lost both of his parents to cancer early in his life.

His attitude: He's always felt ready.

He isn't afraid because he knows being in the Lord's presence is nothing to fear.

I never had such thoughts in the real world.

However, as a kid, to be willing to do death-defying feats of courage was something I yearned to embrace.

My favorite stories as a child were about the hero against the odds. Figuring out a mystery. Slay the dragon. Leap tall buildings with a single bound. Lasso the truth out of the bad guy. Rescue someone from the clutches of evil. 

Pretending I was brave like David against Goliath or Daniel in the lion’s den. 

Fantasizing about the bravery required to place one’s life at genuine risk of death.

I’m not fantasizing now.

What does it really feel like? Not as I expected.

It was as if I were listening to a lecture.

No tears sprang to my eyes.

My heart didn’t pound.

No skittering thoughts.

No sense of shock in my body.

Just listening to the words come out of Dr. Mercado's mouth.

Hmmmmmm, this is most unexpected.

I asked questions. She answered. Al asked questions. She was direct. She was plain.

We both liked her immediately.

Initially, Al kept his emotions together better than I expected. He did leave at one point, and I knew it was so he could cry without me being around.

The drive back home was quiet. Each of us lost to our own thoughts.

I’m surprised by my own emotionlessness. I knew it wasn’t suppression of emotion.

It was more…shock, surprise?

No.

Supernatural peace.

I recognized, once again, that the Lord did the unexpected.

But I was going to be okay.

This isn't the end of my story.

While this particular diagnosis was unexpected.

I’ve been journeying through the mysterious arrival of severe, chronic pain into my life for 25 years now.

When the Lord said I was entering another “sickness wilderness,” I thought He meant the flare-up of my typical pain, fatigue, brain fog, and other symptoms that showed up this past summer. 

I did have some new symptoms as well.

I couldn’t use my voice at full volume.

Ear ringing. Loud. Constant.

Visual spots, swirls, and other distortions.

A persistent cough.

I was diagnosed with allergies (confirmed by testing) and acid reflux.

None of my symptoms ever cleared up.

My GI doc said, absolutely not acid reflux, and tested me for all varieties of things, including more possible autoimmune conditions.

While waiting for the GI docs' scans and other testing to be completed, my ENT ordered scans of my chest because of the persistent cough and the response of my GI doctor.

It’s early December now.

I get a phone call from my primary care doctor, who tells me the chest scan lit up like a Christmas tree. 

The scans were forwarded to Dr. Liao, one of my physicians.

Dr. Liao is an oncologist and hematologist. He was only monitoring a genetic condition for me, Hereditary Hemochromatosis, at the time.

We were off and running!

Every scan and test was STAT.

Yes, the suspicion was cancer.

He assured me the tests and scans were to gain as much information as possible.

 As quickly as possible.

So that they could begin treatment as immediately as possible.

Compared to my first sojourn into health drama, this was a cakewalk.

The doctors were all in place. 

They set up every scan and every appointment.

I added things to our calendar, and Al delivered me to every appointment.

I felt as if my steps were following in the tracks of the Lord's chariot wheels, staying the path, never straying from His way, as it says in Psalms 17:5-6 (TPT).

Dr. Liao already had a working relationship with a brain and lung cancer specialist, Dr. Mercado.

About a week before Christmas, she was the physician who got the pleasure of confirming the diagnosis and showing us the results of my scans.

The brain and lungs were the two areas of most pressing concern.

My brain scan showed two large tumors.

Eye-poppingly large.

I had a myriad of tiny dots of cancer scattered throughout my brain. She said they stopped counting the cancer spots after they got to forty.

My lung scan showed a partial collapse and curling of one lung with polyp-like attachments all inside the lungs. Non-smoking lung cancer.

The partial lung collapse is the source of my voice sounding like a hoarse whisper.

The treatment plan started on December 26, 2025.

Yup.

The day after Christmas.

Nobody knows yet.

We couldn’t fathom breaking the news to family before Christmas.

My parents left a few days after Christmas for a 10-day cruise.

We intended to tell the kids before my parents came back.

I just didn’t feel right telling anyone else other than the kids until after we spoke to my parents.

Stage one of the treatment plan was targeted radiation of my brain and lungs.

For this fun stage, they made me a head mask and chest cage.

For the head, it reminded me of the mask given to the movie character, Hannibal Lecter, so he couldn’t eat anyone.

I kid you not.

My head and mouth were covered.

Only my eyes can be seen.

My head was locked in place.

Its a hockey mask of sorts that allows them to map out the precise cancer locations to target. No scattershotting.

Mind you, my cough is still not under control at this point.

During my first brain radiation session, I shot snot everywhere because a cough exploded out of me.

My nose was the only option for escape.

My mouth was firmly pressed closed.

I got lectured to hold still.

Stillness matters for precision.

They built something similar for my chest, which was just this huge open device I lay on top of while a rotating collection of different-shaped computer-looking screens buzzed around me at various angles and for various lengths of time.

Three sessions for the brain were completed, and I began the chest radiation sessions before we broke the news to our kids.

Things were moving fast.

It was early January. Zack’s birthday is January 12th.

There is never really perfect timing.

What a gut-punch! 

I prepped myself. I did.

Just focus on getting the initial diagnosis and treatment plan out, I told myself.

Easier said than done.

My husband’s voice cracks as he tells Zack, “Mom has something to tell you.”

The words don’t want to come out. 

Tears are swimming in my eyes till they spill over.

Keep it together, Rhonda.

My throat is tight.

I can't speak.

The words sit there in my mouth, refusing to leave. 

Now all the words sound different in my head.

I release the words of diagnosis. 

Silence. 

I hear movement through the phone; I can almost see Zack sitting up. 

I hear starts and stops of words, until the only words that come out are, “What? What does…”

We share the rest.

What the doctors found, when, and what is currently underway for treatments.

This is the type of conversation that should be face-to-face.

He lives in Tampa, and his birthday was approaching fast.

It was a tough conversation, but we encouraged him as best we could.

By this stage in the game, we had positive news to share.

Dr. Liao found my specific genetic mutation of cancer.

He was super excited because there is an oral medication for my specific mutation.

A medication not available even five years ago, with an 80% success rate!

I would be able to take this oral medication while undergoing the radiation and would remain on it for the rest of my life, or as long as my body continued to tolerate it.

Once the radiation is over, the spinal cancer will be treated with chemo infusions every three weeks for a total of six sessions.

Later, an extra radiation session was added for my spine due to some tumors beginning to press against my spinal column.

Kaylee was next. 

She was driving home from work.

Al announced we had something to tell her.

She asked if she should be at home, not driving, since she was only a few minutes from her condo.

Yes, we said.

The words came out a little easier.

Kaylee was almost immediately encouraging and speaking God’s word over us.

Remarkable.

Both kids reached out later that same day.

They wanted to see us.

They both drove over.

We talked some more, but mainly we just sat together as a family.

Kept each other company.

Just wanting to be near each other, not really knowing what else to do.

It was comforting.

I felt blessed and loved.

Al was deeply touched as well.

The journey marriage takes you through.

We’ve walked a lot together in almost 30 years of marriage.

His response was the opposite of mine.

A caretaker walks beside the patient, but lives it differently, too.

Al's world was shattered.

I'm losing my wife. She's dying.

He didn't understand my lack of tears.

He said he was grateful that I hadn't emotionally crumbled.

His first tears he cried alone in the waiting area of the hospital.

His body bore the brunt of the shock.

His sense of anxiety skyrocketed.

His heart rate and blood pressure increased.

His hands started shaking all the time as if he had Parkinson's disease.

He never complains.

Al stepped up to the plate- again.

He takes me to every medical appointment.

Actually, he drives me everywhere for everything.

I stopped driving during the radiation treatments.

Weird lighted shapes spun and swirled in my eyes.

My head didn't feel "right."

Al's at peace now.

He was down in the dumps for a good week.

The thoughts of losing me danced continuously through his mind.

Then, he regrouped, drawing strength from the Lord and from me.

He was further strengthened by the targeted treatment plan and the 80% success rate of the medication for my genetic mutation.

There were more golden nuggets of God's grace.

Our neighbors know a woman with the same genetic mutation who is on the same medication.

I got to speak with her and be encouraged by her.

She is still going strong after five years!

When diagnosed, she prayed a list of things to witness before being taken from this world.

The Lord has fulfilled every request!

Her words and testimony uplifted us both.

As of this writing, all radiation treatment is complete.

I am halfway through my chemo sessions.

Side effects are manageable.

I have chunks of hair missing, but it's been concealable so far.

Minimal side effects were a specific answer to prayer - thank you, Lord.

My follow-up scans of the brain show no new growth, all spots are gone, and there is significant shrinkage of the two largest tumors.

This is the beauty of marriage.

Yes, beauty.

True love is lived out in everyday action.

My husband's favorite phrase for young pre-marital couples is "Be ready for the storms."

Our spouse is the one we walk through life's ups and downs.

Our spouse is the only person we choose to bring into our lives.

We don't choose our parents or our kids - we get what we get.

A spouse is a choice.

The most important choice we will ever make.

Al cuts to the chase: Is this the person who will wipe your butt for you?

Christ tells us to expect fiery trials.

Once married, what happens to one happens to both. You are ONE.

Marriage is about submission to Christ and one another, a servant heart, and steadfastness.

Love is a daily choice.

Our confidence is in Christ for the way through every circumstance.

Our confidence is in Christ's ability to do the impossible and to call things into existence that do not yet exist.

Christ, and He alone has our answer.

In the meantime, we are walking the path set before us - together.

Thank you, Lord, for the gift of my husband, who demonstrates every day unconditional love.

Al, you are a beautiful role model not only for our children, but for everyone witnessing your actions.

Thank you.

Both of us are doing our part: loving Christ and loving each other.

We know nothing is ever wasted by Christ.

We stand together.

We stand in love.

We stand before our Creator and Lord and say Your Will to be done in and through our lives.