I Received Miraculous Healing in My Stage IV Cancer Battle (But Probably Not the Kind of Healing You’re Thinking Of)

In 2010 my family and I were living a nightmare. I had been diagnosed with Stage IV cancer and given about 18 months to live.

I spent my nights terrified, longing for the light of day. As I lay there in the dark my mind envisioned all the horrific medical scenarios I would soon face.

My days were spent exhausted, barely able to interact with the world around me, hoping for the evening to bring a good night’s rest.

But the cycle would just start all over again after the sun set.

As each day passed, I grew more accustomed to my “new normal”. I hated it, but I slowly accepted that I would most likely not make it out of this fight.

I was 33-years-old and I was accustomed to fighting. After all, I had served as a fighter pilot in the U.S. Air Force for the last decade. I knew that battles were part of my job, and I was ready to face anything that stood in my way.

I was travelling faster than the speed of sound and scanning the far-off horizon for the next threat. But cancer snuck up behind me.

I bargained for more time. “Just let me make it five years, God! My boys will be 8 and 6 by then. I’ll be able to teach them some things before I go.” I hoped they’d have more than a vague memory from their youth of a sickly dad confined to bed.

But it didn’t look like I would get five years. As I learned more about my cancer and the severity of my diagnosis, it looked like things would go downhill pretty quickly.

So, I recorded videos for my boys to watch at future life milestones after I was gone. As the camera rolled, I painted on a smile and held back tears as I celebrated their future achievements:

“Happy birthday! I’m so proud of you!”

“Congratulations on graduating high school! This is a day I dreamed of when you were born.”

I even counseled my wife on the type of husband I thought she should look for to share her life with after I was gone. That was a discussion I never imagined having, but I found cancer brought a lot of morbid “firsts”.

With each day, I grew to accept my situation, but my resentment grew as well.

This wasn’t fair. I had always made the right decisions. I ate pretty healthy, I worked out regularly, I had done what I was supposed to.

I didn’t deserve this, and soon I was brimming with righteous anger. My emotions came to a head as I was travelling to my first appointment with my cancer doctor.

I was going to see a world-renowned specialist for my cancer. We lived only a few hours’ drive from the hospital and I could conveniently go there for all my care.

The entire drive to the hospital I had this horrible feeling of dread and anxiety.

I didn’t say a word to Marsha on the long drive. Several times I had trouble catching my breath.

When we arrived at the hospital, Marsha dropped me off at the front and went to park the car. I stared up at the enormous building, many stories high, with scores of people entering and leaving. As I walked toward the entrance, I glanced up at the all the windows, and suddenly I realized why I was so anxious.

This is the place where I will die. I stared at the walls of glass going up toward the sky and wondered in which room I would take my final breath.

I started walking slower, then I stopped. I squeezed my eyes shut and hot tears streamed out. I was overcome.

With my eyes closed I faced heaven.

Where are you God? Because I’m going through this alone! Do you even care? Fix this! We don’t deserve this! Where are you when we need you?

I was angry, and it felt good to release those emotions. I had been pretending to be strong for so long.

When I finally opened my eyes again I saw her. She was being wheeled into the hospital by her parents. She was maybe nine years old. Her skin was pale and loose, and her body was gaunt. She didn’t have any hair, and she wasn’t wearing a hat to hide it. I couldn’t see her mouth because it was covered by a surgical mask. But I did see her eyes.

She had striking, beautiful blue eyes, and the moment I noticed her our eyes locked onto one another. I continued staring at her as she whisked past me, and she turned her head to hold my gaze. She met my stare unashamedly, but in her eyes, I also saw something else.

Her fear. In just a few moments of eye contact I saw her struggle, the weight of her disease, and death, and everything else a nine-year-old shouldn’t have to carry. I desperately wanted to help her, because I knew I was stronger. I had thirty-three blessed years to fall back on. I have a beautiful wife and two sons who love me. She might not live to be a teenager.

A moment later, she disappeared down a hallway, and I was left standing outside the entrance to the hospital by myself again.

All my self-pity was gone, replaced by a worse feeling.

I’m sorry. I’ve been so selfish. I’m so sorry, God. Thank You. Help her, Lord. Not me. Help her.

I wiped away my tears and made a promise to never feel sorry for myself again. I steeled my nerves and entered the hospital with fresh determination to meet whatever came next.

That was in 2010. Somehow, I’ve been blessed with good health since that day. But the healing I received from my experience was much more important than a physical salvation.

I learned something very important that day. In my darkest moment, I still had the freedom to choose my reaction. In a matter of seconds I went from feeling lower than I ever had in my life to feeling deep empathy and appreciation for another human being that was struggling.

My life changed forever that day.

I wasn’t guaranteed to live through that ordeal. In fact, I knew that I probably wouldn’t. But I received something much more valuable than physical healing that day. I learned that with whatever time I had left, I could choose how I would respond to each day.

I think about that little girl often - where she is today, whether she lived through her battle.

I wonder if she knows the gift that she gave the weeping man full of resentment and self-pity outside the hospital many years ago. We shared a moment of connection in our mutual battle against a horrible disease, a moment that lasted little longer than a fleeting glance, but will impact me for a lifetime.

I like to think that wherever she is, she does know. 

I’ve paired up with a friend and colleague who also survived a near-death experience to share the many lessons that we took from our trials. Chris Stricklin and I both struggled heavily in the years after our very different near-death experiences, and we’ll share our story in a book entitled “Survivor’s Obligation”, to be published on October 1st.