An anniversary reflection

Exactly two years ago this morning, I got a phone call from my doctor.
In a calm, but clearly concerned voice, she told me I needed to come in to the office. When we were face-to-face, she explained that the abdominal CAT scan showed that I had a pancreatic tumor about the size of a grapefruit. Although her demeanor was calm, the worry in her eyes was unmistakable. Six months before, the abdominal CAT scan showed the same tumor -- but it had been misread as a pancreatic cyst. I had a pancreatic mucinous tumor -- the type of tumor that becomes pancreatic cancer. She had already made me an appointment with a gastroenterologist for that afternoon and they had a surgery consultation set.
My daughters came and my sister, knowing the seriousness of what I was facing, drove down from Kentucky. By the time we got to the surgeon's office, we were a delegation.
This was a completely new experience for me. Other than having two babies, I was a stranger to the hospital as a patient. All of a sudden, I was scheduled for one of the most extensive surgies that anyone can have. It was a blur to me. Dr. Iannitti would say something and Ruthie would repeat it to me in understandable terms. Finally, he looked at her and said, "You're a doctor, aren't you?" Taking in that kind of drastic, life-affecting news is overwhelming.
Years of pastoral experience didn't really help me at this point. I had held the hands of members who had died of pancreatic cancer. I had seen how quickly people --like me with no symptoms--could be gone. And we wouldn't know until the pathology reports came back after the surgery whether this was a malignancy or not. If it was a malignancy, it was--literally--a death sentence. If not, a life-saving experience.
I had three weeks to get my life in order.
I went through a whirlwind of labs and tests and pre-op work. I finished my DISCIPLE class, finished up training for Stephen Ministers and ordered the life of the church through the recovery period. I wrote my funeral. I updated my living will and health care power of attorney. We made plans and more plans for the post-op time. No detail was left untended. Since I had never been in that particular place in life, did the only thing I knew to do: I followed the advice I had been giving to people as a pastor through the years. Turns out, it was good advice.
And I went into the surgery with a deep, deep peace in my heart.
I got through the hospital days because my sister was my guardian angel, ever-present physician walking me through it step by step. I got through the recovery because I was surrounded with an astounding outpouring of love from people in my congregation. I will never forget their tender care, their love and their help. And my family stood by me through it all. That's how I made it.
But I had the peace in my heart because of Jesus. Of course I was relieved that the pathology was benign. But the peace in my heart didn't depend on a pathology report outcome. With every fiber of my being, I believed that God was healing me. Whatever form that took, a healing was taking place.
Every day, life is a gift. That's not just a motto for me or a general life truth. It's a precious personal reality. It's a gift every day of my life. And today, as I remember the anniversary of the shocking news, I thank God for the gift of life. I thank God for his medical delivery system -- for Dr. Lackey and Dr. Iannitti and my sister doctor. For medications and procedures and support equipment that made recovery bearable. And I thank God all over again for the outpouring of love from the congregation I served...the scores of people who brought flowers and food, who called me every day, who got groceries, who did yard work and errands of every kind. I got a real shock two years ago today. But I also had the chance to experience a great outpouring of healing love and appreciate life as never before.