It is a question I dread. “Can you cure me?” With general knowledge of disease here so
poor, and belief in all kinds of weird and wonderful cures here so rife, it is
a common one.
I have built up something of a reputation
for curing leg ulcers and preventing amputations. The recent cure of a diabetic man who came
with his foot literally a ball of pus, who had been told at the hospital the
only alternative was a below knee amputation, has created quite a stir. People are genuinely astonished that he is up
and walking about again after 5 months of honey dressings.
They are so astonished I have had several
cancer patients brought to me hoping I can work a miracle for them. The 60 year old man with advanced gastric
cancer asked me the question. “Can you
cure me? I am too weak to get up out of
this wheelchair. I just want something
to give me energy.”
It is a hard thing to take away someone´s
hope. But at some point surely the truth
has to be faced. This man cannot have
many weeks left of his life. I hope we
helped him focus on spending those days in the company of his loved ones,
rather than travelling the length and breadth of the country, exhausting
himself more in the vain search for a cure.
The 46 year old woman with terminal breast
cancer´s brother asked me that question.
“Can you cure her?” Her chest is
covered in a huge fungating weeping cauliflower of a tumour. It has been growing and spreading round her
back for a year now. The cancer hospital
is waiting for some new drug to arrive from Switzerland as a final attempt to
control it.
I showed them how to dress it to stop the smell
and the bleeding. I gave her medication
for her pain. But this is no diabetic
ulcer. This is uncontrollable malignant
cells running riot and causing havoc.
Distressing as it is – and it truly is distressing – I cannot cure
it.
But I can help them. I can work with them and make her more
comfortable. I can give them someone to
turn to for advice, someone to phone when she takes a turn for the worse. I can touch her and listen to her and point
her to the Saviour who loves her and offers her hope.
The 32 year old woman with 3 children under
7 years old who is dying of cervical cancer asked me that question too. She went to the cancer hospital first, had
all the tests and was told there was nothing that could be done. Then she went to the general hospital,
without telling them she had already been to the cancer hospital, and went
through all the tests again, only to be told again there was nothing that could
be done. She was sent home to die with
no medications. She was constantly
vomiting and in pain.
“Can you cure me?” That question laden with hope. “I can stop you vomiting. I can take away your pain. I can help you sleep at night.” Was my
reply. But I cannot give her more days
with her children.
As we accompany these patients on their
journey, as they accept their diagnosis and bravely try to make the most of the
time they do have left, I hold on to the conviction that even when I cannot
offer that cure they so desperately want, it is still worth doing what we can.
I don´t know why one person dies aged 32
and another aged 102. But I am convinced
that this life is short for all of us in comparison with eternity. I hold on to the hope that God can bring beauty
from ashes, that beyond what we can see and touch there is something more wonderful
yet to come.
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