Season of Blessing

by Beverly LaHaye

  The truth was, more chemo was one of her greatest fears. Her dark night of suffering had finally come to an end. The thought of reentering it was more than she could bear.

  “Yes.” His voice was low, steady. She wondered how often each day he had to deliver this kind of news. “We’ll have to put you on a more aggressive chemo this time,” he said, “and you’ll have to have tests after every three cycles. If it’s not working, then we’ll change the drug.”

  There it was, the crushing despair…the feeling that she had been kicked in the kidney.

  “How long will you do this?” Harry asked.

  The doctor cleared his throat, shifted in his chair. He met Harry’s eyes across the table. “This time the treatment has to last until the cancer is gone.”

  She stared at him for a moment, dissecting his words. “You mean I could be on chemotherapy for another six months or a year…or two years?”

  “We’ll fight it as long as we have to.”

  She looked at Harry. His head was slumped down, and he stared at his feet. “You mean I could be on it until the day I die?”

  “I’m not going to lie to you,” the doctor said. “Liver cancer can be fatal. When the disease has metastasized this much, we’re dealing with a lot bigger challenge than we’ve had before.”

  Harry took her hand. His was as cold as hers. Her breath was shallow, inadequate. Breathe, she told herself. Just breathe.

  “Okay,” she said. “Given this new development, what are my chances?”

  He shook his head. “You know I don’t do percentages, Sylvia. There’s no point in that.”

  Her voice got louder. “But how many people die when they have what I have?”

  “Some of them,” he said. “But some of them live. And you believe in miracles, don’t you?”

  “Are you telling me it’s going to take a miracle to pull me through this?”

  His eyes looked almost as forlorn as Harry’s. “A miracle would help,” he said. “I’m telling you that we have good drugs and they work. It’s going to be a struggle, but you’re strong enough to take it. I know you are.”

  It sounded hopeful, even gentle, but Sylvia knew he’d just given her a death sentence.

  Harry reached for her, but she sat stiff, unable to respond. “Harry, I don’t know if I can go through with this.”

  “You can. Honey, you can. I’ll help you.”

  She started to cry, and turned back to the doctor. “Will my hair fall out again?”

  The doctor turned his compassionate eyes to her. “Probably. The side effects might be worse than they were before, but it’s the best treatment we have. And, Sylvia, it often does work.”

  She wiped her nose and got up, looking helplessly for a Kleenex. Why didn’t he have a Kleenex? “How long?” Sylvia asked. “How long do I have? I want to know.”

  He shook his head again. “I don’t do that, Sylvia. I’m not going to tell you you have six months or a year.”

  “Six months or a year?” she asked. “Is that what I have?”

  “I don’t know what you have. You might have twenty years.”

  “Worst-case scenario?” she said. “If the chemo doesn’t stop this cancer and it keeps spreading at the rate it has been, how long do I have to live?” She leaned over his desk, her hands balled into fists. “I need to know!”

  He didn’t answer, so finally, she turned and headed for the door.

  “Sylvia, we still need to talk.”

  Sylvia turned back to the doctor. “Set everything up with Harry. I have to get out of here.”

  Then she ran up the hall, past the bookkeeper, out into the waiting room. She hurried out to the car and got in, and screamed out her rage, grief, and anguish. She could have torn the steering wheel off and slammed it through the windshield, broken glass all the way around, started the car and rammed it into a wall.

  But she sat in the passenger seat, doubled over with her hands over her face…

  My children, she thought. How will I tell my children?

  It would shake their faith. It would shake everyone’s faith. So many were praying for her. They all believed she would be healed. Why would God let them all down?

  She had said it was a gift—this cancer, this archenemy that occupied her body. She had even believed it, when chemo was a temporary torture and the cancer hadn’t found another home in her body.

  But now…

  The peace and joy she had once known had been banished, and stark fear took its place.

  Where are you, God? Where’s the victory in this?

  She heard Harry at the car door and sat up, wiped her face. The sobs kept hiccuping from her throat, but she tried to get control.

  He got in with several papers and the appointment for her first chemo treatment, twisted, and set them on the backseat. He looked at her, assessing her condition. She patted his hand, reassuring him that she had not completely fallen apart. But Harry looked old, frail…

  They were quiet as they rode home, and when they were back in their driveway, Sylvia got out of the car. “I have to go ride.”

  She started around the house and headed for the barn. Harry followed her. “Sylvia.”

  “You don’t have to come with me,” she called. “I can do this by myself. I need to be alone.”

  “But I don’t!” Harry cried. “I don’t want to be alone. I want to be with you!”

  He followed her into the dark stable, and she opened her horse’s stall. Going in, she slid down the wall onto the hay and covered her face with both hands. The horse dipped his head and nudged her.

  “I won’t survive the treatments, Harry,” she cried. “They’ll kill me faster than the cancer. If I’m going to die, I want to do it with dignity, not with nausea and fatigue and sores and a bald head and yellow skin and all my joints aching like I’m a ninety-year-old woman.”

  Harry sat down next to her in the hay. “Honey, I know it’s a lot to ask. I know you don’t want to go through this again, and right now you probably don’t even feel that bad, just a little pain in your side and back. But, honey, that pain is your enemy, and it’s my enemy, and I want you to live. I want you to do the chemo because there’s a chance that you’ll beat it. I don’t think God’s finished with you yet. There’s still hope. I haven’t ever asked you for much, have I?”

  She shook her head. “No, not much. The last time you asked for something really important, you wanted me to leave all my memories behind and traipse off to Nicaragua to save the world.”

  “And you did, valiantly. You gave it all up, and the next thing I knew you were more passionate about doing our work there than I was. And there’s so much more for us to do yet. I want us to go back to León together. I want us to see the children again. I want to take care of those people who depend on me,” he said, “but I can’t do it without you. I need for you to fight. I need for you to go through this chemo. I need for you to suffer a little longer just for hope of the good outcome. Please, Sylvia. Don’t reject the chemo. I’m begging you.”

  Her face softened as she looked at her husband and realized this was the most important request he had ever made of her, even more important than forsaking everything and heading off to the mission field. This was life or death. Her life. Her death. And she owed it to Harry to fight.

  She reached for him and pulled him against her, stroked the back of his head and breathed in the scent of him. She loved him so dearly. She would do anything for him. Even this.

  Finally she pulled back and looked into his face. “All right,” she said. “I’ll give it the fight of my life. For you. And for whatever fruit is left in me to bear.”

  That night she fell exhausted into bed and drifted into a shallow sleep. Harry lay next to her for a long time, but sleep didn’t come for him. Finally, he slipped out of bed, quietly got on his clothes, and headed out to the barn. Once there, he got down on his knees, face to the ground.

  “Please don’t take her,” he cried to God. “I’ve never as
ked you that much before. I’ve been very accepting of the things you’ve wanted for us. I’ve given you our lives and I’ve been obedient, and so has she. I’m begging you now, Lord, please don’t take her. She’s my helpmeet, my soul mate. You chose her for me. I’m begging you, Lord. I know that death has to come at some point in our lives, but not now. Please not now. Please, God, answer this prayer. Give us a miracle. Save her life.”

  He wept until the wee hours of morning and prayed and wrestled with God. Finally, around three A.M. he felt a peace fall over him. It wasn’t a peace that he would have the answer he sought. God wasn’t making that promise. It was only a peace that God would walk with them through this shadow of death, and that they should fear no evil. It was a tall order, Harry knew, and he wasn’t sure if either one of them was strong enough to follow it. But he had committed to trying, just as she had.

  CHAPTER

  Sixty-Four

  The next morning Harry and Sylvia were quiet as they started their day over breakfast with tired eyes and long faces. “We have to tell the children,” Harry said.

  “I know, but not yet.”

  “When?” he asked.

  “I think I need to spend some time in God’s Word,” she said. “I need to soak up all the strength I can. I need to find verses about why God lets us suffer, about death and dying, about what the future holds and whatever else God decides to show me. I need to be ready for their questions.”

  Harry rubbed his eyes. “That’s a good idea, Sylvia. I’ll do it, too.”

  “I was thinking that, once I feel I have enough strength, I want to call the neighbors over and have a dinner party, and try to be upbeat and positive as I tell them. And I want to call the children and tell them the same way. I don’t want them to see us like we were last night, or even like we are right now. I want them to see a godly woman continuing to serve God even in the dying season of her life.”

  “It’s not your dying season,” Harry said. “It’s just a dark season…but there’s going to be light again.”

  “There’s going to be light again whether it’s my dying season or not,” she whispered. But she couldn’t be happy about that just yet.

  “I wish I didn’t have appointments today,” he said. “I don’t want to see patients.”

  “I want you to go.” Sylvia took her plate to the sink. “I’m just going to stay in today and study the Bible. By the time you come home I’m hoping I’ll feel better.”

  She spent the day weeding through the Bible, searching for passages that would give her comfort, passages she could pass on to others to give them comfort, too. By that night she still wasn’t ready to tell her children or the neighbors, so she and Harry spent the time in prayer.

  Harry took the following day off, and he spent the day with her poring through the Word. Finally by early afternoon Sylvia thought she could manage the announcement.

  One by one she called Cathy and Steve, Tory and Barry, and David and Brenda, and invited them over for a dinner party that night. Nothing in her voice warned them what was coming. She didn’t want it to be some horrible surprise. She just wanted them to see a smile on her face, a positive attitude, hope shining in her eyes, when she told them the bad news.

  She set about to cook for them. While the lasagna baked in the oven, she called her children.

  Heartbroken, they both said they would drop everything and come to be at her side, but she told them it wasn’t necessary. She would let them know if things got bad, but until then she would just be pressing on with the things she had to do. All she needed from them now was their prayers.

  Then she and Harry set about preparing for the dinner party. They hummed praise songs as they worked, decorating the house with fresh flowers, putting out hors d’oeuvres, arranging the tables, buttering the garlic bread.

  By the time the doorbell rang, she was quite sure that she was ready.

  Tory and Barry were the first to come over. Barry and Harry sat in the living room watching a baseball game that was almost over, while Tory helped Sylvia in the kitchen. Then Brenda and David showed up and David joined the guys in the living room, rooting for the Atlanta Braves as the last inning of the game wound down. Brenda came in and picked up a celery stick to crunch on.

  “So how’s the job going?” Sylvia asked her.

  “I love it. Since it’s summer and we’re not doing school, I’m getting the work done earlier every day. It’s working out great. I owe it all to you.”

  Sylvia waved her off. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  The doorbell rang and they knew it was Cathy and Steve. They waited a moment until Cathy buzzed into the kitchen with hugs for everybody.

  “Cathy, Brenda was just telling us how great her job is working out.”

  Cathy slid up onto the counter and looked at Brenda. “Isn’t Sylvia a genius for giving the doctor the idea?”

  Sylvia laughed. “Common sense, my dear. Those doctors have their minds so busy with people’s diseases that they can’t focus on little things.”

  “How does David feel about it?” Cathy asked.

  “Fine now.” Brenda glanced out the door to the men congregated around the television.

  Cathy pulled open the oven and peeked in at the contents. “Mmm, Sylvia. You outdid yourself. The bread is almost ready.”

  Sylvia pulled it out and set it on the stove.

  They chitchatted until the game was over, and when they heard the guys cheering in the living room at the victory of the Braves, Sylvia decided it was time to take the food to the table.

  “All right, guys. Everybody come eat.”

  They headed in and took their places around the table, and Harry led them in a prayer. His voice broke as he spoke to God. He asked God to bless the meal and the conversation, and to give them all the strength they needed to get through the coming week.

  Finally, they sat down and began chattering all at once as they filled their plates and passed the bread and salad. When they’d finished with their desserts and were ready to leave the table, she asked them all to assemble in the living room. She had some news for them, she said.

  Harry helped her clear the table as the others quietly assembled in the living room, whispering. Harry took her into the kitchen, pulled her into his arms, and held her tight. She told herself she couldn’t cry. She had to put a smile on her face and say this with bright eyes so that they would not feel dismal about what she faced.

  Harry held her hand as he led her back into the quiet living room. They sat together on the love seat, as all six of their guests stared at them.

  “What do you have to tell us?” Tory asked her.

  “I bet I know,” Brenda said. “Sarah’s pregnant again. Right?”

  Sylvia shook her head. “No, not yet.” She looked down at her hands and realized they were trembling. “It’s medical news.” Her smile faded and she knew that her face was giving her away.

  “Medical news?” Cathy stood up. “Oh, my gosh, Sylvia. What is it?”

  She brought her face up. “Well, we found out that the cancer has spread to my liver.”

  Dead silence.

  She looked around from one pair of shocked eyes to another. Brenda’s eyes were already filling with tears, and David’s face was turning red as he gaped at her. Tory looked angry and shook her head as if this couldn’t be true, and Barry put his arm around her as if to support her. Steve got to his feet and slid his hands into his pockets, and she could see his jaw popping under the pressure.

  Cathy’s mouth hung open. “Sylvia, what does this mean?”

  “Well, it’s all right really. It’s not as bad as it sounds.” She knew they weren’t buying any of it. She tapped Harry’s leg, passing the baton to him.

  “She’s about to start chemo again,” he said. “It’ll be a lot more aggressive and it will continue until the cancer is gone.”

  “Oh, no,” Brenda whispered.

  “Is it still in the bones, too?” T
ory asked on a wavering voice.

  “Yes, it is, and it just keeps spreading.”

  She knew they all wanted to ask her what the prognosis was, what her chances were, how long she had to live, so finally she decided to address those points one by one.

  “The prognosis is very iffy, guys,” Sylvia said, “and the doctor wouldn’t give me odds. Some survive this and some don’t. And as far as how long I might have to live, it could be anywhere from twenty days to twenty years.”

  Tory collapsed against Barry and buried her face in his chest. He held her tight and she could see the tears taking hold in his own eyes. Cathy backed against Steve, and he slid his arms around her. Brenda seemed frozen with a look of horror on her face. David looked down at his knees.

  “I wanted to tell you like this, because I wanted you to see that I’m okay and that I’m willing to do what I have to do to live. But if I don’t live, God is still in control, and whether he plans to pull me out of this or take me home, I trust him absolutely.”

  David looked up at her and she met his eyes. She could see the questions reeling through his mind. How can you trust?

  She uttered a silent prayer for David. Lord, help me to have enough trust to make a difference in his life before I go.

  She cleared her throat and went on. “Now I know how things are going to be after this,” Sylvia said. “You’re all going to be upset, grieving my loss before I’m even gone, praying for me constantly, bringing me food and books and articles on alternative medicines. And that’s all fine. But what I really need from you, and what I’m asking from you now, is that you don’t cut me out of your lives just because you think I’m too ill to hear the daily activities. I want you to come visit me even when I’m sick. I want you to tell me what’s going on in your lives. I want to know about every one of your children and what they’re doing and what they’re thinking and how they’re acting. Those things keep me going, guys. I love hearing them and I don’t want to be left out. And I don’t want to always be talking about cancer. In fact, if I never hear the word again, it will be fine with me.”