The last week has been tough - a mixture of growing exhaustion and other side effects. There are days when I can hardly walk in a straight line - I feel this and think: ‘I’ve been a runner/jogger for over thirty years, and now I can hardly walk.’

Today the more disruptive symptoms are beginning to lift.

So I’m sitting here knowing that in seven days I begin the final treatment - Hallelujah!

The problem, however, is that I know all this too well now. I know exactly how I will be feeling next Wednesday evening, Thursday morning, Thursday evening, Friday evening and on into the weekend. I know that by next Friday evening I wont feel like eating anything, and on Saturday I shall have to make myself eat food, whatever it tastes like. That will then go on for another three, four or five days. There are other things, but too much detail is depressing!

What can I do about this - nothing. I have tried everything I can think of to make it easier each time, but it is a steam roller that just takes over and does what it does to me. I know all this now. It is the last one, but I understand it all too well.

Last Sunday morning I sat in church wanting to be there, but just surviving to the end of the Service. As I sat, I read about the crucifixion, and Jesus’ ‘cry of dereliction’. It occurred to me that Christians often get all theological about these words, when maybe the humanity of Jesus needs to be seen here too.

One of the struggles of faith is that at our most desperate moments in life, it seems as though God is most absent. CS Lewis described it in ‘A Grief Observed’ - just at that moment of greatest need it is as though God slams the door in our face and bolts it on the other side. Was Jesus’ cry that same human feeling of abandonment - trying to pray, but there is nothing, no-one there?

What do I make of this? This is as far as I can get, so far:

Jesus was reduced to helplessness, vulnerability and agony. Knowing this would happen, he ‘gave himself up’ to it all voluntarily. I fight against that stuff with all my being.

Jesus accepted it all, cried out in despair and abandoned himself to the moment. Somehow, his obedience in all this released the power of the Spirit to raise him to new life.

Perhaps I should do the same next week. Maybe I need to go into treatment twelve accepting my vulnerability and helplessness; accepting the loss and yet staying in the moment (but that is so hard to do!). Maybe it is at that point that the Spirit begins to work new life. If so, that would be the most powerful and counter-intuitive reality in the universe, wouldn’t it? Life overcoming death.

Next week is coming whether I like or not. Will I fight it or look for a better way …? The question is: Am I capable of trusting THIS much - acting as if THIS is true? We’ll see next week …