My father smoked cigarettes as a youth but by the time I was born he had already switched to a pipe. I suppose I expected to hear those words from him because he avoids doctors unless absolutely necessary. But mother had always been more considerate of her mortal casing than that.

My parents live barely an hour away, but since that is still a long-distance call, almost all communication is done via email. So, on February 25, 2000, when my husband Robert stated that mom was on the phone, I feared the worst. While I've been a born-again Christian since the mid-1980s, I am still a hopeless pessimist. I subscribe to the theory that those who prepare for the worst are rarely disappointed. But nothing could have prepared me for what I'd heard.

My heart was a tempest of emotion. I felt helplessness over the word "cancer", for it's such an unpredicatable disease. Regret for the two years I was estranged from my family over a misunderstanding, as we'd only been rebuilding that relationship for less than 18 months. Somewhere in there was also a selfish fear of my own future health, as breast cancer is considered a hereditary disease. But above it all, my main concern was for the grandmother of my 20-month old daughter. Would she be robbed of a chance to play the part she never seemed interested in until my child was born? And what did mother's future hold if the prognosis wasn't good since she didn't share in the salvation my father and I knew.

My mother has been a nurse since 1978 and has always handled medical situations with utmost professionalism. Even when reporting on the health of a family member, she seemed to be removed from the pain that the rest of us felt. She's always "known" how she'd react if anything ever happened to her. As I child I recall her saying, "If I get cancer, I'll never go through chemotherapy. I see how sick those patients are and could never go through it."

All these thoughts were swirling in my head as I asked, "What happens next?" In her usual "nurse" voice she described the options: lumpectomy, partial mastectomy, complete (what used to be "radical") mastectomy; chemotherapy and radiation were possibilities based upon whether the cancer had spread into the lymph nodes. I was failing in my attempt to control my emotions when I heard her voice crack. The strength I'd always known was crumbling on the other end of the phone. This scared me even more. I felt like a helpless child, but now I was 29. It wasn't like two decades ago when a broken bowl sliced deep into her wrist. Then I grabbed a towel and felt like I had saved the day, even though I hid beneath the table as the sutures were being inserted. There was no towel that could fix this and no table to hide under.

My husband was fighting his own demons across the room as he recalled losing his mother to cancer eight years before. They were estranged until three days before her passing. He had come to view my mother as his own and couldn't bear the thought of reliving the scenario. I wasn't sure where to turn for strength, so I called our preacher. When he asked about her spirituality I explained about her bad experiences in churches and how, over the years, she vowed never to set foot in one again. My father became saved in 1982 and introduced me to the Bible for the first time then, as well. But since I moved on with my adult life, he attended church alone and spent every Saturday for the past 19 years conducting a prison Bible study without her support. She avoided all religion.

The preacher insisted that "never" was too strong, especially in light of the new circumstances, but I was unaffected. I lived with her for 18 years and watched her rely solely on herself to get through any difficult times. Why would this time be any different? We ended the conversation with a prayer. It didn't seem to bring me any peace.

I stared blankly at a hockey game on television with tears pouring down each cheek. I never had felt so lost and alone. It was then that I heard a voice, just as plain as if someone was in the room with me. I looked up, somehow knowing this was the answer I sought.

I was then told, "There is a reason for this, but know that the Lord has everything under control. He caused this to bring her closer to Him and her family and everything will work out." That fast it was over and my tears were replaced by calmness. Cynics would say this was just an attempt to rationalize a tragic situation. But I don't function like that. I always fear the worst until I know better. It's just how I've always operated. I knew immediately that I'd just witnessed a miracle of sorts. I'd been visited by an angel. At that point I didn't know why I was chosen, but I was certain that I had heard what I'd heard even though Robert heard nothing as he sat in the same room.

I approached the topic very cautiously the next afternoon when mother called again. I feared sounding like a "holy roller" when I relayed the previous night's experience. "Mom, I don't know how to phrase this because you'll say I'm nuts, but I must say it. I was visited last night and told that you are going to be fine. God's plan is to bring you closer to Him and us. It won't be easy, but you are going to get through this."

I thought nothing could shock me more than mother's diagnosis, but again I was wrong. Her response was the last thing I expected. "I believe you. I believe you because at 2am last night I became saved! I prayed with your father and let Jesus into my heart. I asked Him to help me get through this."

I broke down into tears over this fabulous news and at the miracle of God's work. If subconsciously I had any doubts over the message I'd been sent, they were permenantly erased. The next week mother had a complete mastectomy, by choice. We waited for the results of the lymph node biopsies. When fear crept up on me, I just focused on what I was told and prayed. Only 4 nodes were cancerous. Next came the bone scan, to determine if it spread. Again, I'd occasionally let my mind wander towards pessimism. Quickly, I'd pray and let the reassuring strength engulf me. The bone scan was also clear.

Mother still chose to undergo eight chemotherapy sessions followed by radiation. She vowed when she had some strength she'd return to work and begin accompanying dad to church. She accomplished both within 8 weeks of the mastectomy, only missing work the day of chemo and the following two, for the most part.

Not everything went smoothly, she had good days and bad, but God kept His word and saw her through. Just before Christmas 2000 she was given a clean bill of health from the doctors. And we talk and visit more now than ever before. Even during the treatment she and dad came up to help my family move to our new house (right next door to our church.) And her faith is as strong as anyone's I've ever seen. I see that the true miracle is not the visit I received, but rather how God can work in anyone's life, no matter what their history.

Mother and I both have seen her situation paralleled in a story I have included on this website, called "The Brick". Breast cancer was her brick (and her eternal dent was provided by the mastectomy.)

09NOV02 - Just an update, to keep this page fresh! We're now nearly two years since Mom was proclaimed cancer-free and all remains well. She has her own hair and her bond to the Lord is as strong as ever.