I admit to being a bit of a TV junkie.  Not a couch potato.  I don’t just sit and randomly flip, watching whatever mundane nonsense happens to land on my screen.  (As an aside, I have noticed from occasional commercials that I do happen to see that there seems to be a trend toward stranger and meaner reality shows.  I can’t for the life of me understand who would want to watch an exterminator work.  Or a guy who shoots wild hogs.  Or a nasty lady who “teaches” dance by abusing little girls and yelling at their moms.  And don’t get me started on toddlers and tiaras… I have a soapbox and I’m not afraid to use it.)  But I have my shows that I love, and thanks to my DVR, I can watch what I like, when I like.  I often miss a show when it’s popular and catch it much later in syndication.  Part of the reason is I am not all that patient.  I can’t watch for an hour, wait a week, watch another hour, and let it take months to develop character and story lines that interest me.  Occasionally a show is good enough to grab me and I will actually wait for each week, but I much prefer to be able to DVR multiple episodes at once and binge.


My current guilty pleasure is Grey’s Anatomy.  (Like I said, I’m behind everybody else.)  SPOILER ALERT – If you haven’t watched the show and intend to sometime, stop reading.  I am going to discuss important plot stuff.

Izzie Stevens is a main character.  She’s young and beautiful (of course, it’s TV.)  She’s a surgeon (of course, it’s a doctor show.)  And she just found out she has stage IV cancer.

I lost it.  I totally lost it.  I reacted worse than when I found out I had cancer.  I don’t know why.  Maybe it’s safer to cry at movies and TV and books?  I just sobbed.  Later I said to Sam, “She’s young and strong and she’s a doctor and all her friends are doctors, and if she dies…”

I’m crying just writing this.  Isn’t that stupid?  I’m well.  I don’t have cancer anymore.  But I don’t know if the fear ever completely leaves.

I trust in God.  I know my life is in his hands, and I could live to be 90, or I could fall overboard from a cruise ship tomorrow.  (Ok, that would take some doing.)  I know it will be whatever he wishes, for his glory.  But I’m still human, and I’m still afraid of having cancer again.  I guess every so often something reminds me how afraid.

I, the Lord your God, hold your right hand and say to you, ‘Don’t be afraid; I will help you.’  Isaiah 41:13


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