I never imagined my dad would be my first patient. February 2019 changed my life forever. I still vividly remember ignoring my dad's call and the chilling voicemail he left me. There I was on campus, crying hysterically with no knowledge as to why (I would later discover that it was the result of a panic attack). My dad called and I didn't pick up because I didn't want to worry him. "Come home right after class. Don't stop anywhere." Those were the words he spoke in the voicemail, but it was his tone that triggered an unusual feeling of numbness. I hopped in my car after spending 20 minutes with a school therapist and I raced home (If you know me, then you know what the speedometer read).
I got home and went straight to my dad's office in the back of the house. My dad sat at his desk and my mom and one of my sisters sat at the perimeter. I took my seat in between them. I want to invite you to close your eyes and imagine how eerily quiet our home was as we waited to hear "the news." He fidgeted around his desk, opening mail and throwing it in the trash. Then he broke the silence. "I can't wait for your sister to get here. I'll tell her later." Let me insert here that this particular day is still a blur, and I can't remember if he told us that the doctor called him, but to continue with the story, he said, "I have stage IV pancreatic cancer." My life at that moment ended and I desperately tried to fight back tears. I lost that battle, and tears streamed down my face. He brought me into his lap and hugged me tight. In true Johnny Baylor fashion, he said, "I'm not dead yet." We knew that he'd have to announce it to our church family next. 2019 was a stressful year for our family. His oncology team began chemo treatment right away and our church family rallied around us the entire year. My dad never let his pain keep him from preaching and teaching. We wanted him to rest, and we were concerned about his pain and energy levels. He never stopped showing up to minister.
A year went by, his numbers improved, and we entered 2020 celebrating his 64th birthday. You all remember 2020. By mid-March, the world shut down and we were indoors. My dad began complaining about acute back pain earlier that month. It didn't dawn on me that he was having issues with his lungs. He initially thought his cancer had matastisized, so, he went to see his oncologist. They kept him for a week after discovering blood clots in his lungs. They were able to successfully treat them and released him back home into our care. I believe that this where I should prepare you for a plot twist because we thought this was a great sign. He called us home and just like the first time, I walked in uncertain of why it was an emergency. I looked around and I noticed equipment I'd only seen working in a hospital. I thought to myself, "This bed and equipment are only for people who are getting ready to die." Me, my mom, and two sisters waited for our other sister to arrive home from work. Once she got home, he gathered us together and informed us that the doctors gave him two months to live.
My science brain went to work and I immediately questioned their prognosis. I knew there was no way my dad would make it two months. I found out later that he thought he was protecting us emotionally and knew he wouldn't live that long. Me and my family kicked into to high gear. We leaned on our medical training and began using our knowledge to make him as comfortable as possible. Our pastor was present every day that week along with our aunt Tee (who was also his executive administrator), and a few other close family friends. I used everything I'd learned from working under physical therapists. I couldn't believe that my dad unexpectedly became my first patient. I knew without a doubt that if my dad needed this kind of care, other patients with pancreatic cancer would need this level of care as well. My dad's diagnosis was terminal, but I knew that I could use my knowledge of rehabilitational care to aid others fighting this battle in the future. My dad was a warrior. He was an example of faith and the gospel he preached about for 30+ years. He went home to glory April 5, 2020. The significance of that date is that was Resurrection Weekend. A weekend that Christians across the globe celebrate our risen Savior, Jesus the Christ.
I hope every reader is encouraged by this testimony. If this story touched you, I invite you to subscribe and share your story with us. If you or your family have been impacted by a diagnosis of pancreatic cancer, share your story with us and know that you have a community fighting with you.
Comments