If he did not know better, he would have said they were making fun of him. “How are you?” they asked, then quickly followed up with, “You’re looking good.”
He wondered if they were really looking at him when they said that, or whether this was an exercise in surrealism.
He did not look in the mirror much. He knew what he would see. In a year-and-a-half, he had become a different person.
Last year, it hit him out of the blue. There had been light, tell-tell signs that he had ignored.
Then, while out for a walk, the dampness shocked him. His specialist friend sadly confirmed the worst suspicions.
He was put on therapy straight away, both chemo and radio. Never very open, he introverted more than ever. His spiritual side had revived with age. Now he prayed more than ever before.
The operation, when it came a few months later, was difficult. But to his relief, it was successful. He thanked his Maker like he had never done before. More weeks passed, and the follow-up operation took place. It too went well, said the surgeon. But there were side-effects which would take months, maybe two or three years to wear off.
They were unpleasant side-effects but, he told himself, much better than what he would have had to go through for life had the first operation not been successful. He sought solace in prayer and was grateful for the unfailing support he received from his wife, family and close friends.
Then another roof fell on him. He was sent for a scan to check on the progress of the second operation. He was startled a few days after he had done it when he received a telephone call from his oncologist.
He went to see him straight away. The oncologist, as calm a man as could be, seemed flustered.
“You remember that node the scan had showed up before the first operation?” he asked him.
“Yes,” the man replied. “You and the radiographer thought nothing of it.”
“But, it has grown!” said the oncologist. “Notwithstanding the chemotherapy you had, it has grown!”
The man knew exactly what the doctor was telling him. He had overcome his first cancer, he now had another one.
“I am in your hands, as always,” he said.
The oncologist had already made up his mind.
“We have to go on chemotherapy again,” he said.
The treatment began. The man could not tell how it was going. Part of the way into it, he had an accident and had to stop the treatment for several weeks. When he was better he was sent for another scan.
He hoped, he prayed. He begged his Maker to give him better belief and faith
The oncologist was not happy with the result.
“We have to increase the chemo dose, and go for a stronger quality,” he told the man.
The treatment started all over again. The man bore it silently, upset by the side-effects but knowing there was nothing to be done.
“Except hope, and pray,” he repeatedly told himself.
He hoped, he prayed. He begged his Maker to give him better belief and faith.
He tried to rationalise that he was not simply praying because he was severely ill.
He really wanted to believe, to have faith to bridge what he failed to understand of the Maker’s mysterious ways.
According to those who saw him, it was working.
“You’re looking well.”
“Yes, you’re looking well!”
Even his oncologist told him he was looking well.
But, he knew how he felt. And he had to put up with the side-effects of his treatment.
As time passed, his despondency grew. He continued to pray and pray but at times he felt himself slipping.
Waiting for another chemotherapy infusion, he was lying down with his eyes closed, thinking about his plight, wondering if he was going to get out of it, begging to be given his health back but, despite his desire to have faith, he was beginning to doubt.
“Hi,” a tinkling voice interrupted his thoughts.
He recognised the voice. He had spoken to the owner over the telephone to make sure that his chemo concoction had been delivered to the hospital. He opened his eyes.
“Hello, there,” said the woman facing him. “I thought I’d drop by to see you. I wanted to put a face to the voice. Now I’ve done it.”
She was cheerful, bubbling with enthusiasm. Not quite fitting into his mood.
“Don’t take it too badly,” the woman told him.
“What should I do?” he replied, peeved at her question.
“There is always hope,” she said. “You never know.”
“You know when you’re in it,” he said gruffly.
“I have been in it,” she said gently, her eyes still smiling. “My one-and-half-year-old boy came with cancer.”
The man was shocked and did not reply.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “he survived. “He’s 30 now.”
“Thank goodness,” the man whispered.
“But, I’ve lost another son. Five years ago my 20-year-old was struck down with a virus.”
“I’m so sorry…” he mumbled.
Her face remained serene.
“These things happen,” she said. “Cancer does strike children, viruses and accidents do not hold back. That’s life.”
The man did not reply. He felt ashamed. Ashamed of his gruffness towards her. Ashamed of his weak faith. Beyond his shame he also knew that his plea for hope was being answered.