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Christmas in the Cancer Ward

This past Christmas, Jesus did not come to me as a baby in a manger but as a man on a cross. It was Lent in Advent.

On December 7, I checked into a hospital for what turned out to be a 22-day stay to undergo an extremely rough process called a BEAM stem cell transplant. The first six days involved infusions of massive amounts of three different kinds of chemotherapy–substantially more than is given in any other kind of procedure. Its purpose is to kill cancer cells.

A brief explanation of the chemotherapy problem: my body was at war with itself, so I brought in some outside mercenaries. They were not exercising good fire discipline. Yes, they were killing cancer cells, but they were killing many healthy cells as well. It was a slaughterhouse. I learned how a cow must feel after being minced into hamburger.

Physical duress, I was warned, would be accompanied by spiritual duress. On my second evening, the night nurse, whom I’d never seen before, stood at the foot of my bed and said: “There is no time to beat around the bush, so I’m going to say it straight out. You’re going to suffer. With what you’re about to go through, you’ll need to know why. What does it mean? There are two basic attitudes. The first is: ‘poor me. The fickle finger of fate has come down to crush me. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. It’s random suffering. It’s cruel. Why me?’ This perspective produces bitterness and anger. The second attitude sees suffering as serving a higher purpose. It has meaning. It’s meant to change you in a way that you wouldn’t be changed without undergoing it. The higher purpose is to draw you higher–to make something more out of what you are now. So, accept the suffering. Don’t try to walk away from it; walk into it. When things get really rough, remember the higher purpose.”

I was stunned. This was the first of four remarkable experiences with hospital personnel. I wondered how they knew to talk to me this way. On my nightstand was a rosary, Jesus Calling—a book of daily meditations drawn mainly from the Bible—, and St. Josemaría Escrivá’s The Way of the Cross. Perhaps they had seen these? However, this couldn’t have been the case with the night nurse since the lights were out in my room when she entered for the first time. Also, a very gently disposed nurse, soon after having entered my room one afternoon, but well away from the nightstand, asked, “Are you a believer?”

I answered, “Yes, I am a Christian.” The conversation went on from there.

One of the maintenance workers, a lovely Haitian woman, saw Jesus Calling on the nightstand and said, “I’ve heard of this book. I have to get a copy.” I called my wife and asked if she could bring our extra copy the next time she visited me. Several days later, I was able to present the book to my delighted cleaning lady.

Read more at Catholic World Report 

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