Faux Pas

I threw up at Christmas dinner yesterday. Major party foul, right? Don’t worry, though, it wasn’t all over the nicely set table or anything like that. No, I made my way to the bathroom in plenty of time. Unfortunately for everyone else, though, the bathroom is attached to the kitchen, so they got to hear the entire show and exchange what I’m sure were very sympathetic glances and quietly whisper about “poor Levi”.

I committed another minor faux pas earlier, too, when I fell asleep right in the middle of the talk-to-all-the-relatives-you-haven’t-seen-in-a-while portion of our first Christmas dinner of the day. Some of my morning cancer pills kicked in just then and they make me impossibly sleepy.

And then there was the drive home well after dark when I had to pull over and let my wife drive me the rest of the way home because the passing lights on the highway had morphed into long lines converging at a single point in the middle of my vision. Although I did feel a little like Hans Solo making the Kessel run in less than twelve parsecs, that was a real shot to my pride. I know I’m a little old-fashioned and the #metoo movement would probably hate on me, but it seems a little weird when women drive and men ride, right? My big male ego likes to drive, but I don’t often feel well enough to do so these days. But I had jauntily hopped into the driver’s seat when leaving our last Christmas dinner, only to be humbled by the pills again.

And then there was my grandfather, who made fun of my lack of eyebrows. At least someone is seeing the humor in all of this.

So at first glance, it may seem like cancer was the Grinch who stole Christmas. It was at least very present all day.

But that wasn’t the whole story. A friend of mine also sent me a picture of a letter he received as a Christmas gift that said the sender had made a donation to Emily’s and my GoFundMe as a gift to my friend, because the sender knew my friend cared for my family’s situation deeply. What outrageous kindness!

And last night, alone with my thoughts as I fell asleep, I realized that I had witnessed a lot of kindness that day. My cousin and uncle who assembled a basketball goal for my kids. The other uncle who cooked pizzas for the whole family. The people who didn’t even notice their own gifts piled beside them because they were so excited to see others open theirs. So despite cancer’s best attempts to bring sorrow to the celebration of Christmas, it had failed- kindness had instead transformed its efforts into acts of love, just like the act of love we were celebrating- the sacrifice of Christ all those years ago. And just like I’ll never be able to repay the debt I incurred that day, so I’ll never be able to repay all the kindness I received yesterday.

And this makes me really thankful. So I just want to explicitly say, “thank you” to all of you. Emily and I have been the recipients of so much kindness that there’s no way I could list here all the people who have given this kindness or what they’ve done, but that doesn’t mean that each and every act hasn’t been noticed and appreciated. You know who you are. You are the people who have brought us meals and put up our Christmas lights. You’ve written thoughtful letters and prayed for us. You’ve covered shifts for me at work and given up your time to work on our flip house. You’ve donated your hard-earned money to our GoFundMe to help us cover all these medical expenses (and by the way, it’s important to me that you know that not a dime of that has been spent on anything but medical costs). You continue to care enough to ask how I’m doing, even months after my original diagnosis. In these and a thousand other ways, you all just absolutely insist on caring for us, expecting absolutely nothing in return, and it’s humbling in the most complete way. So for all these mentioned and all those unmentioned ways you all have cared for us- thank you. It’s so unbelievable how much good has come of cancer because of you.

And now, because there’s already no way I can repay you all, I’m going to ask one more kindness. Pray for me today. I have a call with my oncologist scheduled this afternoon to discuss surgery. The thing is, we’re not yet sure surgery is going to be a viable option, and if it’s not then there aren’t a lot of effective options left for me. So what this doctor has to say today could be the difference between life and death. The tone of our conversations thus far have been positive, so I suspect this call is more to schedule the surgery than anything else, but still, I’m scared. My life hangs in the balance. Until now, waiting to hear about the possibility of surgery, there was always the possibility that it would be an option. But once the decision is made, I may be robbed of that option, so the knowing is actually harder than the not knowing. So send up a prayer for ole’ Levi if you think of it today.

P.S. I received a lot of hoodies for Christmas this year, perhaps because people intuitively sensed that this bald dome of mine needs some warmth. But when I wear them with the hoods up, and especially the black one, I look exactly like Emperor Palpatine in Star Wars. Seriously, y’all. Bald. No eyebrows. Sunken eyes with dark circles underneath. And I think that we should all take a little time out of our day to recognize that This. Is. Hiliarious.