The Finish Line

Yesterday, we went to the Tom Baker Cancer Centre for our penultimate meeting with the Radiation Oncologist. She reviewed Charl’s treatment, its effects, assessed how he was managing. Nodding: Good, good, she said. She explained that he would need one more PET/CT scan, and that she’d like to see him for a final appointment at the end of October. After that, we’d see our Haematologist every 6 months for routine check ups. Charl may experience mixed emotions now that his treatment is over, she explained. “This is entirely normal. It’s the end of a long and stressful process. Even though it will take you time to recover, we don’t need to see you anymore, you can still reach us if you need to.” She closed his file on her lap and pronounced Charl cured.


As though in a daze, we shook hands, thanked her, and arm in arm, walked out of the cancer centre. Tears incapable of expressing emotions streamed down my face. Chuckling, I asked Charl what was happening. He laughed and said he didn’t know either. The sun was shining, and a warm breeze rustled the leaves in the trees around us. Usually able to articulate my thoughts and feelings with ease, this scenario stumped me. Why was I crying? This is beautiful news! Was it sadness? No… Thankfulness, yes. Relief, indisputably. Surely we were thrilled!? But why did it feel so strange?

I thought of how to express what it’s like to experience walking out of that cancer centre with my husband now cured of cancer. Nothing suitable came to mind other than the experience of running a race; I likened it to the feeling of crossing the finish line of a long, hard race. An athlete sets a goal, sacrifices much, works very hard, and with stringent discipline focuses on that singular goal, endures the rigors of the race and triumphs over hardship.

Charl was thrown into running a race he didn’t sign up for; he had no time to prepare, no training, no coach, and the race had no bands playing or water stops along the way. He had to run several months before the finish line even came into sight. But what Charl did have was a God who gave him exactly what he needed to get to the finish line: the best medical care money can buy, loving and supportive family, friends and colleagues, a wonderful church community, more prayers than we will ever know, and faith that God would carry him through this trial.

It’s thrilling to witness someone reach their goal. We are thrilled to be done with the treatment; tired and relieved and partly sad to think of what we’ve come through; amazed at God’s provision, and so very thankful to every person who helped us along the way. To all of you who walked through this with us, read the blogs, prayed for us, sent cards, gifts, food, emails, and called us regularly to check in: You were like heavenly gifts to us during this time. Dare I sully my last blog with an old cliché – we couldn’t have done it without you.

I started the blog to keep those of you far from us in touch with how Charl was doing. I hope it served that purpose – I certainly enjoyed your comments. I also discovered that writing helped me cope with all that Charl and I went through.

I can now officially sign off with this, my last post. Tomorrow Charl will complete his last radiation treatment and cross the finish line victorious, my hero.

With love and grateful hearts,

C&C