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One of
the things that I have learned since my medical training
is that it is possible to study life for many years
without knowing life at all.
Often things happen that science can’t explain.
Many very important things cannot be measured, but
only observed, witnessed, and ultimately trusted.
Life may not be limited by the facts.
Science defines life in its own way, but perhaps
life is larger than science.
A friend
of mine, director of research at a nonprofit institute,
had become interested in spontaneous remission of cancer.
As his interest became more widely known, people
would call or write him to tell him their stories of
unexplained recovery from serious illness.
One of these was a young man who claimed to have
had a spontaneous healing from a dire form of bone cancer
called osteogenic sarcoma.
He had
been diagnosed many years ago as a college student.
Noticing a hard lump in his right thigh, he had
gone to see a doctor.
A biopsy had confirmed the doctor’s suspicion of
cancer, and he and his parents had been called to a
meeting. Sadly,
the doctor told them of his findings and strongly
recommended that he have his right leg amputated at the
hip. He was
nineteen years old. Despite
the urging of several doctors and his parents, he had
refused this surgery and had gone home to his parents’
farm without any treatment to live out his life.
Nothing further had been done for him except that
the pastor of his church had asked those people who were
so moved to pray for him at
seven o’clock
every night. People
prayed for two years.
Over time, the mass in his thigh had simply grown
smaller and finally disappeared.
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My friend was
captivated by this story. Through
his work he had developed a researcher’s healthy skepticism, but
the man seemed so genuine and matter-of-fact that he could not get
the story out of his mind. Finally
he called to ask a favor. Would
I mind trying to track down the doctor who had made the original
diagnosis and see if he would confirm this story or if he had kept
medical records or a biopsy report?
"How long has it been?” I asked. “Twenty years,”
said my friend ruefully. I started to express my doubts, but my
friend interrupted. “Please try,” he said. And so I did.
It turned
out to be easy. The
doctor, a relatively young man at the time he treated this
patient, was listed in his state’s medical association
and still in practice.
Encouraged, I called and got him on the phone.
After the usual introduction, I told him that I was
calling to see if he had kept the medical records on a
former patient. It
was so long ago that I doubted he would remember, and then
I told him the man’s name.
His response was immediate.
“Of course I remember him,” he said with
feelings. “I’ve thought of him many times over the
years. What a
senseless tragedy. Are
you calling on behalf of the family?”
“No,”
I replied, and told him that the man was still alive.
“Thank God,” he said. “Where did he have his
surgery?”
“He
didn’t have surgery,” I replied.
There was a pause.
When he spoke again, I could detect a change in his
voice. “Then
what happened?” he asked. So I told him the story
as it had been told to me.
There was a long silence and then, without another
word, he hung up the phone.
I called him several times afterward, but he never
returned my calls.
Most of
us encounter a great deal more Mystery than we are willing
to experience. Sometimes
knowing life requires us to suspend disbelief, to
recognize that all our hard-won knowledge may only be
provisional and the world may be quite different than we
believe it to be. This
can be very stressful, even frightening.
But if we are not willing to wonder, we may have to
hang up the phone on life.
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