Remission; A Cause for Celebration

By Larry Puls @larrypulsauthor

Remission from Cancer, Celebration

Remission. A coveted word. The sought-after goal. A destination that encapsulates both hope and light in the midst of a precarious future.

Over my career, I have witnessed numerous reactions to that word, to that idea. And in all those observations, one thing I have undoubtedly learned was that achieving remission could incite unpredictable responses.

Walking into the room, I had finished studying the chart and her CT scans. I was hopeful that her chemotherapy was now relegated to the past. Remission, which is what I was hoping for, had at one time seemed almost untenable. But now I had a hunch it might happen. Call it the oncologist's sixth sense. We had likely achieved what initially seemed impossible. The patient sitting before me was probably wondering where our conversation would go. In some ways, I wondered too.

The exam room door closed behind me. Both her daughters were present. Fear and hope simultaneously plastered on their faces. These women, while so different from me, had become friends. All of us in that room, patient included, shared a common hope of looking for the same remission dream.

I had developed a true bond with the elderly mother over our long and intense journey together. One that started slowly, but with time and investment, matured in both depth and respect. The metamorphosis occurred over months of time, over talks and laughs, over physical struggles and moments of doubt. But those complicated days, those times where trust was required, resulted in our friendship. It was the trials that made us a team.

After some pleasantries, the necessary exam was completed. The patient got dressed while I stepped out. Upon returning, a "state of the union" update on where we were and where we were going was delivered. Opening up the discussion, we reviewed all of her treatments. At this point, I knew where the talk would land. There was a secret needing to get out. After some final prerequisite issues, she heard my pronouncement: "You are in remission". Shock mixed with disbelief spread over her face, over everyone's face. "There is no sign of that cancer," I said. "Nothing on the scan, the exam, or the blood work. It is for the moment, gone." For that isolated moment in time, on that day and in that room, we were in a wonderful place. If we could have only frozen that day.

What happened next is what stuck with me all these years since her passing. First, the unexpected outcome gave birth to tears. No words, just emotion. Just hearts bubbling over with thanksgiving. The moist eyes screamed happiness. I looked over at the daughters and everyone was uniquely expressing themselves. A minute later, Mom took her hands from her face and glanced over at her grown daughters. Her eyes, now reddened, told them that a new day was dawning--for now anyway.

Then she said, “Come over here girls”. Her voice suddenly cracked.

When the daughters arrived at her side, there were only stares and holding of hands. Then a family group hug ensued. Then suddenly, without warning, two arms grabbed me and lassoed me into the embrace. I had been reeled in like a fish that couldn't escape, crushed by six loving, shivering arms. And these women could squeeze! I was now out of my comfort zone. But truth be known, my heart was secretly content, having been offered a joyous place in the midst of the excitement. This is why you do what you do, I thought. I was smiling. And then after nearly a minute, the hug broke up. The party was over. It was time to move on to my next patient.

"Hold on just a minute. Before anyone gets away", Mom interjects, “Let’s sing”. What was that? Did she say what I thought she said? 
"What should we sing?" the daughter immediately responded with a smile. Suddenly, I wanted to escape. I don't sing in public and absolutely not with patients. That was not my forte, never was, never will be. Then they looked over in my direction. Don't ask me, I thought, turning my head.

The ladies formed a new circle of hands. And as if that wasn't enough, they drew me in, yet again. I became part of the human chain. My hands were grasped by theirs. The song was chosen, an old gospel hymn. And like the start of a roller coaster ride, the singing commenced slowly, softly, then built. The volume ascended until it hit a crescendo. At its loudest point, choreographed moving and swaying of bodies broke out. A total loss of inhibition. I couldn't believe I was positioned in the middle of this dance scene, awkward as it was for me, feeling the beat with these women. It was so not me!

But it was something to be savored, beautiful music to my ears. They could sing! And sing they did. A beautiful three-part harmony, with a shy man in a white coat embedded in the front row of this symphonic sound. A glorious seat given the melodious tune. The bodies, moving in unison, enticed me against all my will into the dance production. Back and forth with the beat. I could almost hear the drums. There was a feel of oneness, of emotion, through the touch of hands. This was a once in a lifetime deal from where I stood. We all understood, grasped, that this remission was a true gift from God. His praises were being sung through the sweet voices. I closed my eyes and swayed. It was easy to feel the joy of the celebration. I was one with this patient, with this family. They had allowed me into their inner circle. A private family celebration including an unworthy outsider. It was a gracious gift.

Looking over at their faces, the tears were rolling down. The excitement was palpable. I was overcome by the sight. It was remission. It was a blessing. Amazing part was that I got to partake in their unbridled celebration.

What was your greatest joy from remission?

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Remission, Finding Yourself Cancer Free, Larry Puls, (click to tweet)