I groggily looked up at the nurse. “Do you know the results?” I asked.

It was a struggle to form the words, my brain was still muddled from the anesthesia. She told me that she didn’t know. I was wheeled into a recovery room, where they let me have a sip of water. I wanted more, I was parched. Apparently having too much water after a fairly major surgery is a bad thing, though, because they wouldn’t let me have enough.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, my parents were ushered into the room. I looked up into their faces, and I knew. They couldn’t hide the sadness.

“What kind?” I croaked, my voice still parched.

My dad replied with, “Osteosarcoma, bone cancer.”

Those were the three words that rocked my world to its core.

Let me back up a step. It was my junior year of high school.

My junior year began much like yours, fairly normal. I played football, and enjoyed it thoroughly. At one point my left knee began to really bug me. I saw the athletic trainer and he gave me a knee brace. It helped to take away the pain, and I finished the season.

During March I began to get in weight train for my senior year of football. As I was working out my leg began to really bother me again. It even got to the point where it would give out on me, and I’d tumble to the ground. Something was wrong.

I’ll never forget the first time I saw the orthopedic doctor. He was all fun and jokes, even once saying, “You know, if you were a horse we’d take you out behind the barn and shoot you.” The doctor believed that I either had a torn cartilage, or that the underside of my knee was worn. He ordered an MRI to figure out which it was.

The second time I saw the doctor he was very serious. The MRI showed a tumor. There were two possibilities; it could have been because of an injury. The tumor could be blood and fluid and such. The less desirable outcome was cancer. He sent me to the hospital at the University of Minnesota where I saw one of the best doctors in the nation. He’s written countless papers on reconstructive surgery. Dr. Clohisy, the doctor at the U, ordered a biopsy. They went into my leg and took a piece of the tumor. The results came back as cancer.

I was diagnosed on April 25th, 2005. On August 1st, 2005 I had surgery where they removed my knee and 18 inches of my femur, replacing it with nine pieces of plastic and titanium. Airport mental detectors love me. My last chemotherapy treatment was on February 6th, 2006. I have check-ups every 6 months (for the first two years it was every 3 months) to make sure that the cancer doesn’t come back. Currently I’m in remission, when I make it to the five year mark I’ll be cancer free.

Cancer is horrible, absolutely horrible. It was hard on me, yet it drove me closer to God. When everything in your life is going wrong, God is the constant to hold on to. The hardest part of it was to watch my parents and friends. I was lying in bed suffering and there was nothing that they could do to help me. God was faithful, though, he always is. While it is true that he doesn’t cause harm, He certainly does use harm for His glory.

When I’m asked why bad things happen to “good” people there is a response that comes to mind. Once we go through our struggles we can help friends who are going through similar times. For instance, if your parents are divorced and it happens to your friend, you can relate and help them through it. For me cancer is the bond. One night at 3am my friend called, needing to talk because his good friend was just diagnosed with cancer. Know that whatever bad things happen to you will be used for the glory of God, if you let it.

I want to leave you all with an offer. Cancer runs rampant in our society; there are good odds that someone close to you has been diagnosed. If you ever need to talk, or want prayers, please email me at dhanisch@nwciowa.edu.