I have been blessed.
For a long time, I wondered if I would ever be able to say those words about my voice again.
Many of you know that one of the hardest parts of my cancer treatment wasn’t just the surgeries, radiation, chemotherapy, or the uncertainty. It was losing my ability to communicate. In the mornings my voice was usually manageable, but by afternoon and evening it had faded so much that people often couldn’t understand me. Every conversation became work. Sometimes it hurt to talk. Other times I would repeat myself three or four times before someone understood.
It was exhausting.
I prayed about it constantly. I asked God to restore my voice. There were days when my faith felt unshakable, and there were days when I quietly wondered if this was simply how the rest of my life would be. I never stopped believing, but I would be lying if I said I never questioned it.
Then something wonderful happened.
My voice started coming back.
It isn’t perfect, but it is strong enough that people can understand me again. I can have conversations without constantly repeating myself. I can make a phone call without worrying if the other person will hang up because they can’t understand what I’m saying.
That is a gift I don’t take for granted.
I know my limitations. A loud restaurant or a crowded bar is still difficult, and that’s okay. I’m not setting myself up for frustration anymore. I choose quieter places where I know I can participate in the conversation instead of just sitting there wishing I could.
This experience has also changed how I see people living with disabilities.
Until you lose something that most people take for granted, whether it’s your hearing, your voice, your sight, your sense of smell, or your mobility, it’s almost impossible to understand how deeply it affects every part of your life. It changes relationships. It changes social situations. It changes your confidence. It changes how you see yourself.
I have been incredibly fortunate.
My family never stopped trying to understand me. My true friends were patient. They waited while I struggled through sentences. They never gave up on me, even when I became frustrated with myself.
Now it feels like a weight has been lifted.
I am thankful.
I am grateful.
I am blessed.
I thank God. I thank Jesus. I thank Him for hearing my prayers. I truly believe this is another blessing in a season that has already been filled with miracles.
Now I face my next challenge.
On July 20, I will have my next CT scan with contrast. Like so many cancer patients, I am dealing with something we call scanxiety. The waiting, the wondering, and the fear before every scan can be overwhelming.
But I also have hope.
Over the past year I have worked hard to give my body every opportunity to heal. I have focused on a Carnivore Diet, which is a high protein, healthy fat diet while greatly reducing sugars, desserts, and carbohydrates. I still enjoy a treat now and then, but my priorities have changed. Every meal is another opportunity to fight.
I truly believe I have come this far for a reason.
I believe this scan will show that my cancer remains stable.
I appreciate every prayer, every message, every phone call, and every person who has walked beside me through this fight. You have carried me on days when I didn’t feel strong enough to carry myself.
If you would like to read more about scanxiety and what so many cancer patients experience before each scan, please visit WaynesCancerJourney.com. I recently wrote about it on my blog, along with many other updates from this fight.
Thank you for standing in my corner.
Thank you for your prayers.
Thank you for believing with me.
With faith and gratitude,
Wayne Schlicht
Read the blog at WaynesCancerJourney.com. Share the story with someone who needs it. Leave a review for my memoir, Still Here, on Amazon. Every action moves the mission forward.