Five Years Later

I'm watching television.

"Dying Young" with Julia Roberts.

I'm enjoying the story.

The young man has leukemia. He has to undergo chemo therapy when his blood test numbers are bad.

The chemo scene comes on. I see the pump. And suddenly it dawns on me.

It's been five years. Actually, five years February since my diagnosis.

And I forgot. February went by and I missed it. I never even thought about it.

I'm feeling pretty good about myself for that.

I just made my annual mammogram appointment and without the usual sense of impending fear. Good girl!

Then I realize, you know how in movies there's that scene where the heroine stares off in space, not directly towards the camera but a bit to the side, just staring, shutting everything out, the sound continuing but getting dimmer and farther away.

That's what I'm doing.

I'm staring out the window, to the left of the television, and I'm thinking, "She's staring off into space, like they do in movies."

Then I'm back. The movie continues. Then, suddenly, without warning, he's in the infusion unit again, and this time I can see him sitting in the chair, far off, and all the other people in the unit sitting in those chairs, the same chairs that are in every chemo unit in the world.

And I'm crying, crying for all those people who have to sit in those chairs while poison is pumped into their veins wondering if it will kill the cancer, or them.

And I'm thinking over and over again,

God damn you, God. God damn you, damn you, damn you. Go to hell.

"He descended to the dead." (Apostles' Creed)

"When thou didst descend to death, O Life Immortal, thou didst slay hell..." (from the Great Saturday Matins troparion)

"He descended into Hell and took Hell captive!" (John Chrysostom, Easter Homily, 4th century)

Almost good enough.

Almost.

Will it ever be totally good enough?