The Question Why

I had a step dad. His name was Brad. Actually, his name was Clyde, but when he was just a little guy, he decided he didn't like the name Clyde. So he changed it to Brad. I know a couple people that didn't like their names so they just changed it. I tried it once.

I had just moved up here to the Northwest and I was working with an apprentice named Greg Idsinga. He was a great guy- I'm sure he still is, but I haven't seen him for about twenty years or so. We got to joking how people that are know by their last names have a certain mystique about them. Think about James Bond... "My name is Bond. James Bond." Wow! Mystique! And he always did it with just a slight pause, "My name is Bond... James Bond." Added mystique.

So Greg and I decided that I was going to start going by Blais (sounds like Blaze). I practiced- "My name is Blais. Paul Blais." I added the pause, "Blais... Paul Blais." I included one raised eyebrow, my left eyebrow. "Blais. (with a slight pause, hand put out in expectation of a firm hand shake, and raised eyebrow...) Paul Blais." We laughed. But we also knew it was going to be effective. I was going to be the man of mystery.

The next person we met was a customer that we were assigned to wire his house. I put our plan into action. Greg introduced himself and then it was my turn.

"My name is Blais. (see action list above) Paul Blais."

"So, you go by your last name, huh. That's interesting. Have you done that all your life?"

I glanced over at Greg and he was trying to cover his laugh.

"Well, it's just my name."

Bond never had to explain. He was just Bond. Strong. Bold. Bond.

Our new friend continued, "I've known a few people that went by their last names. But they usually had an odd first name that they didn't like. But Paul isn't a bad name. Do you not like your first name?"

Going by my last name was supposed to be a statement not a conversation starter. The mystique was dead. But he was a customer and I was his electrician for his home. And every time he referenced my name in conversation Greg would laugh. If Greg wanted to poke fun at me, he'd just call me Blais.

In these past few months I have wanted to change something more significant than just my name. I wanted to change my life story. I wish I could remove the relationship I have with cancer. I wish it wasn't a part of my life. I wish it was as simple as just saying it wasn't in me and it would be gone. Poof!

But here I am. I am still just plain old Paul. And I'm still facing cancer. The only mystery about all of this is the Why?  I've been asking myself that question, Why me? 9 out of 10 people with this cancer are over the age of 55 and the average age is 73. That's decades away. So why me? Typically it is a smoker's cancer. I'm not a smoker. I live a relatively clean life. So why me.

After my first surgery I just didn't do a lot of research. I just went along for the ride to recovery. It wasn't until I had my second surgery that I started researching. I found that last year 72,570 cases of bladder cancer were diagnosed, and 15,210 died from bladder cancer. I also discovered that bladder cancer has a 50 to 80% recurrence rate. I thought that was exceptionally high. It turns out that this cancer has the highest rucurrence rate. My heart sank when I read that. Then I wondered how the percentage could have such a crazy spread- 50 to 80%! Why the 30 point difference? So I researched why and found that that if the tumor was in stage 1 and was a large tumor, then the chances of it coming back was 80%.

When I first read that statistic about five weeks ago, my eyes lingered on that 80%. My heart didn't. It started to race in circles. It ran to find cover. It tried to find a way of out. It tried to pretend I had a different story. And that's when the ax showed up for the first time. I got a picture in my head of an ax that was poised over my head and was just waiting to drop. 

It dropped the other day when the doctor was taking the stent out. We looked around the bladder through the lens of the scope and saw that the bladder was speckled with cancerous growths. Everywhere the lens turned there was another one or two or three. Why me?

Lately I'be been looking around and seeing other people that I feel would deserves my pain instead of me. Look, I know that that is a way bad thought. But it has rattled around my dark little heart. Why not the drug dealer? Or the man that beats his wife? What about the incestuous uncle? I have often thought the pool of humanity could use a little more chlorine from time to time... but me?

I am not the only one that wrestles with that question. In fact, there was one person in the Bible that faced that question head on with Jesus. It was Peter. Jesus had just finished telling Peter how Peter was going to die. Peter immediately started looking around until his eyes settled on John. After a quick inventory of who was the better of the two Apostles Peter concluded that John definitely fell short. Why me? Why not him? was the sentiment of Peter's next question to Jesus. But Jesus would have none of that.

Jesus looked directly into Peter's eyes and said, "If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you. You must follow me." 

I am learning something very hard to fully grasp. My story is my story. I cannot shift it to another. It is mine. And, who am I to say who should get the tough things of life instead of me. Someone once said that if I knew the whole story of another, even the worst of us, then I would have nothing but compassion for that person. After all, isn't that how God feels towards all of us?

So its my story. Plain old Paul Blais. I'm not going to try to escape. I'm not going to search for another well deserving recipient. There is no mysterious why to be answered. I will instead look for the how. How to move on from here and win.