A Game of Chess

I find myself at the beginning of a new treatment plan for my cancer and have been reflecting, not only on my situation but also on the many people with cancer who have crossed my paths on this cancer journey. Some have done well and are now proclaimed cancer free, if such a bold proclamation can be trusted. Others are struggling. One is in her last days. Several others are near the end of their treatment options. I myself am standing at the brink of a new treatment plan. As soon as we can get the drugs approved through insurance and delivered to my home I will be plunging back into the world of side effect management and low blood counts.

Chess ... why does my mind keep going toward that game? For some strange reason, I have come to equate managing stage IV cancer with a chess match. It's a game of strategy. My kids will tell you that I am not a very good chess player. I know how each of the different pieces move and I can play the game but I lack in the strategy department. "You have to think several moves ahead," my son tells me. Fortunately, in the chess game of life I have a great strategist. Her name is Dr. Thompson. She gives great thought to each move. Her mind is totally focused on the game and she is not limited by the most obvious moves. She was taught to "think out of the box" and so she does. Some of her moves are pure genius.

The whole idea of chess is to protect and defend your king. When the king is captured and there is no escape then it's "game over." I know several people in check right now. Their strategists are running out of moves. The possibility of check mate is very close. One of my internet friends is in check mate. Any day now I will get that Care Page notification that her king has left the board to meet the real King Jesus. This is the reality of cancer.

I enter this next move, this new phase of treatment, with gratitude to my strategist, with prayer to my maker, and with love for others going through this cancer journey. I may lose a few pawns in the process but it is my hope that the opponent will lose 50% of his pieces. This is the hope and expectation of these drugs - 50% reduction in tumor size. That certainly would give me strength on the board!