“It sounds so pleasant,” my son said when I told him the doctor’s diagnosis: Leiomyosarcoma, and I agreed that it did have a musical sound with all those o’s, and a poetic rhythm as well. This son once wrote to a grieving friend, “I hope you can overcome the sorrow.”
Can there be anything pleasant about cancer for the person whose life is fading away as the cancer steals all nutrition and energy? And yet, the Bible, that work of literature full of wonderful poetry, states clearly that “All things work together for good to those who love God….” (Romans 8:28)
In 2016, my sisters and I had planned a trip together to Grand Canyon National Park. But following the election that year, our Seattle sister stated, “I can’t be in the same room with the three of you, knowing you voted for this disaster.” We were shocked by the vehemence of her statement, because although our political views have been at odds for half a century, we have been a close knit set of sisters. I was amazed that she held me personally responsible for a national election. All communication was severed for many months. Although we were all present in the canyon in late June, 2017, our estranged sister made no effort to join us, even for a dinner.
I had first thought fatigue was an expected result of a high energy trip in high altitude and high heat. I joked, “I’m going to sleep for a week when I get home.” I did indeed sleep for a week, long nights and long naps during the day, but I felt worse and worse. The doctor said, “Maybe some strange virus from the desert that we don’t see here.” As the summer wore on, I lost weight, I lost energy, and I lost focus. As I lay on the couch napping and half waking, I thought of the song fragment, “And the things of the world will grow strangely dim.”  I felt my life fading away.

I set lawn chairs in my garden because I could walk only a few steps before I had to sit down. I forced myself to walk out there every day for at least a brief moment, to seek what beauty might be found, the hydrangeas, the marigolds, the dill and mint. Some days I saw a butterfly, or a hummingbird, or a robin in the birdbath. I focused on these rather than the weeds which were taking over the space, or the damage the Japanese beetles had done to the green bean plants. But I could do nothing except watch.
In early August we had our family vacation on the shore of Lake Michigan. My daughter in law, an RN, asked me directly, “How are you?” I told her all I knew of the blood tests which showed only “inflammation” and “elevated eosinophils.” This meant something to her, if not to me.

By late August, I said to my prayer group friends, “What else could it be, except cancer?”
So, when the mass was finally found, the scan complete, and the doctor said, “If I had to guess, I would say there is a 97% chance it is cancer” I was not surprised. That evening, I sat in my reclining chair, and called my children, my dearest friend, and my sisters.

My Seattle sister made immediate plans to come to Iowa. She stayed more than a week, cooking for us, taking care of the garden, taking me to the park, and in general lifting me up with conversation, memories, and laughter. Although she never apologized for her hurtful words concerning the election, she did renew her relationship with me.

Leiomyosarcoma: a cancer that focused priorities and renewed a relationship. I’d call that pleasant.