Cancer Journal #21 Feb 22

     I'm in the Mayo Clinic Cancer Center again.  I just had my blood drawn and will find out later this morning from the oncologist what my PSA number is.  I'm an old hand at this place.  The receptionist calls me by my first name as I approach the counter and doesn't need any identifying information such as my birth date (they do get it before they draw my blood).  There are two burned out ceiling lights in the waiting room that have been that way for at least a couple months.  I'm not criticizing.  Maintenance staff surely has better things to do than haul in a tall ladder or drive a lift truck to replace the bulbs.  The lighting in the room is fine.  I mention only because the place is familiar.  I could tell you about the carpet too.  

    Things have changed some from my initial impression (blog #3).  There are plenty of old folks but plenty more who are middle aged and have a brisk step.  Their doctor's notes no doubt say that they are "alert".  I wonder about their diagnosis but feel a reticence about inquiring.  I have done a little visiting with my fellow patients and have prayed with two ladies. 

     One was reading a book entitled Intercessory Prayer by an author I am familiar with but don't have total trust in.  Anyway, I asked her if she was able to get "traction in the Spirit".  She responded volubly with words I couldn't totally make out--the mask interferes and then I'm a little hard of hearing.  I did catch that there were "strongholds" she and a group of ladies were combating.  That's an intercessory prayer term I'm plenty familiar with although would not be too apt to use.  I asked her if I could pray for her and she readily agreed. 

     I do find traction in the Spirit, making a little bit of a spectacle of myself to anyone who might have been watching me.  I go through a kind of spiritual agonizing which, in the waiting room, was largely hidden by my mask.  I wish I could go full bore prayer without the show of agony but it just doesn't work.  I imagine that people over the years have doubted the necessity of it.  I remember when I was young, watching torch singers on TV who appeared to be in great pain and anguish while they sang.  I wondered if they really had to do that.  Anyway, it's kind of like that only my agony can be more extravagant than anything on "The Ed Sullivan Show".  I'd like to be able to assure,  "No, no. This is real!" but I can't very well do that.  And it's complicated by the fact that I don't feel any actual agony.  If anything, it's a little bit pleasurable.  But anyway, if I'm going to go all out, it simply has to include the appearance of great pain--which I don't physically feel.  

    Going back to the lady with the strongholds, I pray that she will be able to walk out of that thing, that she can find a door and know that it is an exit from the bad place she is in.  I pray that the Lord take her by the hand and that He show her the door and that the two of them walk through it; that any fog that obscures the situation be lifted and that she be able to see clearly the full situation she is in.  And then the buzzer for my radiation treatment went off.  I saw her the next week, again in the waiting room.  She reports a breakthrough in relations with her son of some sort--again, the mask and my hearing prevent my following all that she says.  I tell her that the prayer was strangely ordained by the Lord and she agrees.   

    Another lady in the waiting room was unmistakably troubled.  I did something to break the ice, I forget what.  She flowed with words about her cancer troubles, only a portion of which I was able to catch.  I asked her too if I could pray.  No agonizing this time but I can pray with an earnest fluency which I did with her.  I pray that the Holy Spirit would wash her with healing.  That the light of his love, his truth, the Father's care and concern for his children would dispel all darkness, all hopelessness and depression.  My buzzer goes off again.  She is still there when my treatment is finished.  She is full of smiles and "God bless you"s when I approach her.  

    This was to be a report on my PSA number.  It got kind of hijacked by prayer stories.  My PSA number was too low for their equipment to detect which meant that it was below .10.  I tell the doctor I've been praying.  He says that's good.  Again, studies probably show that cancer treatment is more successful with a positive spiritual component.  Anyway, so nice to have the number so low but the doctor agrees that it's too early to do a victory lap.