The Gift - Part 2

That day was one of the longest of my life.

I saw my husband - his mind still sluggish from the colonoscopy drugs - try to make sense of his diagnosis. Ever the scientist, he still managed to ask some surprisingly cognizant questions. Then, as the doctor stepped out of the room, I knew that C.R. truly understood what he was facing. His eyes met mine and a single tear ran down his face.

My heart ached.

C.R. was hurried into surgery and I found myself in a different waiting room. I both longed for and dreaded the moment the surgeon would walk through that door with news.

Hours passed.

I watched the clock. Time dragged.

Suddenly, the surgeon was in the doorway, motioning me to join him in the hall. My heart in my throat, I stepped into the hallway.

"The surgery went well," he explained. "The tumor appeared to be confined to the colon, so I anticipate that we got it all. I didn't see any sign that it had spread to his liver."

This was a great relief, but I waited for him to finish.

"We won't know until we get the pathology report in a couple days, but I'm hoping that it's a form of lymphoma and not colon cancer."

I considered this. Huh? Lymphoma can't be good...yet it's preferable to colon cancer?

Later that night, I waited beside my husband in the recovery room. I tried to overlook the gray pallor of his face and the concern in the nurse's voice as she ordered another two units of blood. For the first time in my life, I needed to be the strong one. I struggled to push aside my fears and show a brave front.

At two in the morning, a groggy C.R. urged me to try getting some sleep. I finally left his side and crawled into bed. (Earlier, Barb had helped me settle into a guest room on the top floor of the hospital, one reserved for the family members of patients.) Before I fell asleep, I stared out at the wintry city and asked God why this was happening to my husband.

There didn’t seem to be an answer.

Still, I knew deep inside that whatever happened, God is good.

I clung to that truth in the months that followed, through C.R.’s bumpy recovery and chemotherapy treatments. (The pathology report showed that it was stage III colon cancer and had spread to a few lymph nodes, although not to any organs.)

During that time, many people loved and supported us, but one person stood out for the way she uniquely demonstrated God’s goodness.

Barb became our general practitioner - completely free of charge. She used her healthcare connections to make certain that C.R. had access to the best doctors and hospital care. She called in a late night prescription to relieve his nausea. She listened as we shared our medical concerns and helped us cope with the emotional toll of a major illness.

We were amazed when she stopped giving us our water and garbage bills and paid them herself. She lowered our rent and even let us bring home a cat from a local animal shelter to help with C.R.’s recovery.

Barb was that kind of friend.

God, in His providence, met our needs through an unexpected friendship.

In December 2002, nearly a year after C.R.’s diagnosis, we told Barb that we’d decided to move back to the West Coast to be closer to our families. She said she’d miss us and, a few days later, brought down a beautifully wrapped Christmas gift with Santa inside.


Every year since, the Santa cookie jar has held a prominent place in our home at Christmas time. Each time I see it, I’m reminded of God’s goodness and faithfulness to us through this special person.

God bless you, Barb.