You Have 3 Months to Live

After my doctor broke the devastating news, I began to discover the true power of prayer.

By Stephen J. Tomasi

"Stephen, you've got three months to live." With that one simple statement, my life came to a screeching halt. In a fraction of a second, all my hopes and dreams vanished. Stunned, I sat rock still while my physician droned on and my wife, Deborah, sobbed quietly.

Why me? I thought. Why me, indeed. I had always taken care of myself and was a very active non-smoking, non-drinking 49-year-old. How could I have a terminal disease? The events of the next few months would test not only the limits of what my body could endure, but the strength of my beliefs as well.

I had always been a spiritual person but was nonetheless a little skeptical about the power of prayer. But that was about to change.

I had an extremely rare blood disorder called primary amyloidosis, a first cousin to leukemia but much more aggressive. The condition is so uncommon that each year fewer than 200 people are diagnosed with it.

Though the disease was usually terminal, there was a slim chance that a new oncologist might be able to help me. This oncologist had moved to town only the week before and just happened to specialize in rare blood disorders. Coincidence? I thought so at the time. Now, looking back on the events of that period, I am convinced that there are no coincidences in a Christian's life.

A 50/50 Chance

The next day, Deborah and I sat in the oncologist's sterile office surrounded by unpacked boxes and daunting machines. He confirmed the diagnosis but told me it might be possible to buy more time. First he had to do a bone marrow aspiration (a type of biopsy on my bone marrow). Then I was to begin chemotherapy the very next day.

Waiting a week for the aspiration results was agonizing, but I was relieved when they finally arrived. My oncologist was elated--the involvement in my marrow was only 2 percent. It was unheard of to catch this disease so early in its growth, and I became a likely candidate for a bone marrow transplant, my only hope of survival. Coincidence?

"Facing the greatest battle of my life, all I could do was pray to the Lord. Where once I had been prideful, I found myself humbled."—Stephen Tomasi

By now, I'd come to the realization that I could no longer keep this from our 18-year-old daughter, Aly. She knew that I was ill, but just how ill was another story. In one of the most difficult moments of my life, I sat down with Aly and told her the prognosis. We held each other and cried, but finally she wiped her face with the back of her hands, looked me in the eyes, and said, "Dad, we just have to trust in the Lord. He will pull us through this." Her words would sustain me during some dark hours.

Six months of chemotherapy left me bald, gaunt, and listless, with legs swollen from repeated steroid use. Still, despite very poor health, I was accepted by the City of Hope Medical Center in southern California, one of the top hospitals in the nation for experimental medicine. The oncology board scheduled my bone marrow transplant for February 9, 2001. In the surgery, my own cells would be collected, irradiated to kill the malignancy, and then put back into my body. It was a groundbreaking procedure that would not require an outside donor.

After a full week of pre-tests at the City of Hope, Deborah and I sat before the head oncologist. He told us that there was a 50/50 chance that I wouldn't make it. Bolstered by hope, I responded, "Then I have a 50 percent chance of making it." He said he liked my attitude and that was one reason why the board had accepted me as a patient.

Taking Prayer SeriouslyI was reared in the Southern Baptist church and had learned such adages as "The Lord never puts on us more than we can handle." But as we drove home to wait for the date I would be admitted to the hospital, I was angry. I remember thinking how much I disagreed with that proverbial claim.

My world was in shambles. As a teacher at a public middle school, I loved being in a classroom, but I had now been off the job for several weeks, and I was running out of sick leave. Facing the greatest battle of my life, all I could do was pray to the Lord. Where once I had been prideful, I found myself humbled. I begged God for nine more months so that I could see my daughter graduate from high school. I began reaching out to others, seeking their prayers, too.

After Deborah and I first received the diagnosis, people began to hold me up in prayer. I got letters, cards, and e-mails from family and friends across the nation. What surprised me was not only the number of former students who had heard of my plight but the variety of denominations placing me on their prayer lists. I was choked with emotion when I received a prayer quilt from a nearby church. Many of my students and fellow teachers attend this church, and each had said a prayer as they knotted the quilt. I kept that quilt with me the entire time I was at the City of Hope.

One night just a few days before I was to enter the hospital, I was lying on the couch in my den. My Bible was propped on my chest, and I had been reading and re-reading passages of Scripture. I wanted to go to bed, but my ankles were so swollen that they ached. I began to pray for the strength to get through all that was ahead of me, when suddenly a voice filled my mind. It was a powerful and yet gentle voice that challenged me with, "What are you so afraid of? Open your eyes and see what I have done for you."

I did as I was told and opened my eyes to see something unbelievable. My ankles, a major source of concern for weeks, were suddenly back to normal size. I was stunned. Only minutes before I had been rubbing them, trying to get some relief. As I stared in awestruck silence, the voice once again filled my mind, but this time it was softer, almost a whisper. "And you think I can't cure your disease?"

I jumped up, dashed to the master bedroom, and turned on the bedside lamp. When Deborah opened her eyes, I stood back and pointed at my legs. As I related the events of the past few minutes, tears began to course down her cheeks. "Let's thank Him together," she said. And we did.

From that point on, I've lived my life by letting go and letting God take the burden. I won't say that the months of chemotherapy, the transplant, and being away from friends and family were easy times for me, but with the Lord at my side I found I was able to face each obstacle with the assurance that He would be there to lift me up.

A Higher Authority

After a year of treatment, and three months at the City of Hope, I was released. Before I left, I asked my doctors if I could expect remission and was told, "No, we've merely bought you time. Remission isn't possible with your disease. Go home and enjoy the time you have left." I thanked them but thought to myself, "We'll see."

In three months we did see. After my first follow-up bone marrow aspiration, I was declared cancer free. My oncologist was thrilled, and yet when I asked if this meant remission, he replied, "No, this disease is illusive. It's probably somewhere in your body. We'll do monthly blood tests as a precaution."

The monthly blood tests began, and each time they came back clear. My blood work was perfectly normal. It wasn't until my third bone marrow test that the doctors admitted that I must be in remission. What sweet words they were, and yet the doctors were still amazed. I smiled and said, "Makes you realize there is a Higher Authority than man, doesn't it?" This time, they agreed.

Against my doctors' wishes, that fall I returned to work. It was a challenge to regain my strength, but before long I was able to resume teaching full time. One day I called my oncologist and asked him to fax a copy of my latest "clear" bone marrow test to our family physician, Dr. Strategos, the young man who had originally diagnosed my illness. A few days later, Dr. Strategos responded with a short letter:

Dear Stephen,I am very happy that the bone marrow sample was favorable. We have much to be thankful for. Direct all thanks and gratitude to God, for as it says in John 15:5, we can do nothing without Christ.

After reading his words, I knew that not only had the Lord worked a miracle in my life, but he had been working through my doctors as well. I still read his letter from time to time. And although it's been more than two years, I still am overcome by those simple words.

I now share my testimony with anyone who will listen. Until the end of my days, I will tell everyone I see that God's promise is true: "For I am the Lord, your God, who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, 'Do not fear, I will help you'" (Isaiah 41:13).

Stephen J. Tomasi lives in Bakersfield, California.
Copyright © 2004 by the author or Christianity Today International