The humility of illness, the grace of vulnerability

By Lisa M. Hendey, OSV News

When I was diagnosed with invasive lobular carcinoma during Lent this year, I prayed to experience spiritual transformation as a part of my treatment journey. Calling to confirm my diagnosis, my doctor uttered that cliche phrase, "Are you sitting down right now?" At that moment, I asked God to help me overcome my desire to handle my illness privately. By inviting everyone I knew to pray for me, I took my first step out of pride and into the fullness of healing.

This is my second foray down the breast cancer path. My first happened when I was 45 years old and still had children at home. Then, I approached my surgery and treatment as a project to overcome and complete, an item to be checked off of my to-do list. With a relatively uncomplicated case, I was able to continue life and my work schedule with little disruption. Daily Mass became part of my path to wellness. My illness and subsequent healing transformed me physically but especially spiritually.

This time around has been markedly different. In late March, I underwent a 10-hour surgical procedure followed by four days of inpatient care. Back at home, an infection then wreaked havoc on my system. For six weeks, I marked time to the beat of my next dose of non-prescription painkillers. As soon as I could raise my arms over my head, my daily radiation oncology treatments began.

When I complete radiation in a few weeks, I will commence a five-year path of endocrine treatments. With every passing day, as my pain diminishes and reality sets in, I realize that far from being something I will mark as "done," this cancer journey is a life lesson I'm only just beginning.

It is a consolation to be a person of faith when health issues arise. Prior to surgery, I received the sacraments of penance and anointing of the sick. I've been blanketed by the prayers of friends and strangers. I had my most poignant Easter celebration ever when my husband, a convert to the faith, returned home from his music ministry duties at the Easter Mass I'd watched on television with a pyx in hand. With tears of gratitude filling both our eyes, Greg quietly offered me the Body of Christ in my recliner. Amen, alleluia, my heart sang.

By far, the roughest spiritual lesson of this illness and recovery has been the one I apparently most needed to learn: humility. Like many seniors, I am growing increasingly concerned with my ability to continue to function independently. I went into this experience expecting to be back on my feet and at my desk a few weeks after surgery. I've been slow to accept the fact that God has other plans.

Learning to humbly accept help has become a beautiful spiritual practice for me during a time when my normal prayer disciplines feel too daunting. In trying to admit my frailty and need, I am unlocking the sweetness of the virtue that has long eluded me.

When "I want to do it all for myself" is impossible, the opportunity to grow in humility presents itself at every turn.

Saying yes to humility has meant accepting meals from the women in my parish. Their generous gifts have sustained us, body and soul.

Striving to embrace humility has helped me trust that having my work commitments reassigned to others is a blessing in disguise.

Putting the sin of pride behind me has led me to be honest about my need to seek care for my mental health. Counseling now accompanies the physical treatments that fill my days.

My most significant humility lesson has also been the hardest. For weeks, so weak and needy, I tried to humbly accept my husband Greg's love as he bathed, dressed and nursed me back to health. Fighting against my pride, I let him take on my share of running our household. And by me humbling myself and Greg serving from a place of selfless love, God has bonded us in ways we could never have imagined.

Our life together will have trials. We will be stronger as a married couple facing those humbly together than we would if we met them with prideful independence. Being humble in loving service to each other has blessed our 37-year marriage with new joy and unexpected hope.

In his spiritual classic "The Imitation of Christ" Thomas à Kempis wrote, "The more humble you are in heart and the more you submit yourself to God, the wiser will you be in everything, and greater peace will be yours." I am far from wise. But humbly, one step at a time, I am growing ever closer to the peace that surpasses all understanding.