I don’t remember the last time I went to church before I was diagnosed with skin cancer. But after, I was going to all kinds of churches. Baptist, Methodist, Episcopalian. I once even went to a Jewish Synagogue and a Hindu Temple. I was maximizing my chances of reaching out to God.
I told my nurse that I lived my life nobly. She said that was not enough to go to heaven. We must believe in our hearts that Jesus came to sacrifice himself for mankind, and we must confess our sins. She said I must read the Gospels in the New Testament. So Matthew, Mark, Luke and John became my best friends in those days.
One of my sisters wanted to gift me a dog for companionship. I refused. If I didn’t survive then who would explain to the poor creature why it’s best friend had just disappeared one fine day.
After the surgery I had a nasty scar on my face. Instead of thanking my doctor for saving my life, the first thing I said after the bandages were removed was that this ruins my chance of ever dating again. He very matter of factly said that beauty only goes that far. I would meet someone with whom I would connect on other levels. Emotionally. Intellectually.
I now own an adorable 5lb Yorkie Poo. I had named her Baby but when I became a father I renamed her to Bebe.
I don’t know if I am more religious now or not. I still occasionally visit all of Churches, Synagogues, Temples and Hospitals. One of them saved me.
I wear my scar with pride to remind me of what I went through. To remind me to be thankful for everything I have.