In Christopher Hitchens’ Wake : Reflections on Cancer and Losing My Religion

By Anthony David Jacques on January 8, 2012

I nearly died of cancer five years ago, so when I heard the news that Christopher Hitchens was facing esophageal cancer in early 2010, it struck one hell of a nerve. I was on my way out of Christianity at the time and had only just discovered the polemical pundit a few months earlier. I found him compelling, well-read and debonair, brilliant and, when needed, rather scathing. Now, it looked like the beginning of my non-religious road may coincide with the end of his.

When asked if he ever reconsidered his atheism in the face of cancer, in what has become one of the most inspiring quotes in recent memory, Christopher Hitchens showed that his humanity, intellectual honesty and inimitable sense of humor remained fully intact.

“No evidence or argument has yet been presented which would change my mind. But I like surprises.”

To the very end Hitchens remained a man who spoke candidly against tyranny, injustice or oppression in all its forms, even as it became difficult to speak; a figure who knew exactly where he stood, whether or not he could physically stand at all.

Seven years ago I was an Evangelical Christian, a music pastor fresh out of Bible College determined to find my way toward the right denomination, the right theology and doctrine with which to pursue my God and bring new depth to my music and life as both a leader and worshipper. I told myself and everyone around me that really, all I was interested in was Truth.

That search for Truth at all cost, Truth no matter where it leads, has culminated in my leaving the faith in which I was raised, but not before my most desperate attempt to see God work in my life.

Five years ago I was diagnosed with Chronic Myelogenous Leukemia. My white blood cell count was an epic 290,000, the highest anyone on the ward had ever seen. Compare that to the typical 5-10,000 for most healthy people and it was clear to my doctors that time was of the essence: My blood was literally thick with leukemic cells. I’d been having trouble catching my breath in the months leading up to my hospitalization, and those peculiar blackouts I’d experienced were more than likely mini-strokes. At that moment, the doctors were speaking in terms of days at a time.

To put it in perspective: I’d been married a little over a year, I’d just started a new Music Pastor gig a few months earlier, and now, just before midnight on the second Tuesday in March, I was hoping just to make it to the weekend.

On death’s door, I sought to draw ever closer to a God who seemed content to remain hidden. Instead of offering healing or comfort, He relied on my doctors for medical intervention and my family and friends for support. We all believed God was working, but no one could put their finger on precisely where.

It may seem odd, but I was okay with that at the time. I was sure God was at work and, like many Christians in the first world, eager to label any sort of progress a “healing”. Over time I resigned myself to the idea that maybe God’s healing came in the form of spiritual renewal. I certainly had no shortage of desperation or sincerity in my pursuit of God. Maybe that’s it, I thought.

It took eight grueling months for me to reach remission, and although I still technically have cancer five years later, and I still deal with side effects of the medication I take to maintain that remission, I am in many ways better prepared to live out the rest of my life with purpose and focus. I can also say I understand (if only in some small measure) Hitchens’ recent sentiment about facing his own death.

“In particular, I have slightly stopped issuing the announcement that “Whatever doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.’ … In the brute physical world, and the one encompassed by medicine, there are all too many things that could kill you, don’t kill you, and then leave you considerably weaker.”

I am lucky this has largely not been the case with respect to my fight with leukemia, but that is something I say with the knowledge that everything could change tomorrow.

The truth is I got lucky, or about as lucky as one can get when it comes to cancer. At twenty-five, I was diagnosed with leukemia rather young, in otherwise good health, and the form of leukemia had very recently become highly treatable. Such would not have been the case even five years earlier and my chances of survival then would have been almost naught.

My remission was forged with a so-called smart weapon, Gleevec, a very new pill that directly targets leukemic cells within the bone marrow itself. The side effects were nothing I would wish on my worst enemy, yet this pill allowed me to avoid chemotherapy almost entirely, for which I am very grateful.

There are those in my family who attribute my remission to God, claiming that instead of healing me directly He worked through the doctors and the medicine. The arduous side effects, however, the botched biopsy that resulted in a hematoma the size of a baseball, the intense bone pain that Codeine and Vicodin were powerless to assuage, the severe vomiting, diarrhea and weight loss; Somehow these didn’t rest on His mighty shoulders. God got credit for everything good, including my own positive attitude throughout treatment, but not a lick of responsibility for the pain and suffering that paved the road to remission.

I now understand that I am at the mercy of a physical world with absolutely no guarantees, and this thought drives me to make the most of the time I have with my family and to do those things that I love and that make their lives better.

It is the legacy of brave men who would not accept prayer as a legitimate medical intervention that has brought the medical field to the place where it is today, where cancers that would have claimed lives in mere weeks can be maintained for a matter of years, and other cancers can be either removed surgically, fully treated or otherwise immobilized almost indefinitely.

It is the legacy of the faith I no longer espouse that would have excommunicated and, in darker times, tortured and murdered those great men and women of medicine and science for rejecting the idea of faith or prayer as our only means of rejuvenation.

I have yet to find evidence of any disease that has been eradicated from the world thanks to prayer alone, yet for some reason most of us still seek the advice of both doctors and clergy when it comes to dire medical situations.

However, the role of the priest in the hospital is clear: He does not supernaturally triage patients in the ER, nor does he read X-Rays or offer second opinions on prognosis, he does not lend a hand in the operating room or suggest new and revolutionary approaches to treatment or patient care. No, the priest does what he has always done, which is to sidle up next to the stricken when the doctors have either charted their course or determined there is nothing left to do. There was a time when the priest was the only option, now he is a last resort, and with good reason.

Please don’t misunderstand my sentiment. Support and empathy are certainly important to the healing process, but it must be pointed out that the clergy retains no monopoly on such matters. Anyone who tells you different is selling something, because the data on this front is clear. And this is what I’m interested in: Truth, no matter where it leads, no matter what the cost.

And truth be told, I know that in the last five years I’ve quoted Nietzsche’s famous line about the things that do not kill us, but it never really felt honest, and now I understand why. For this and so many other reasons I am glad to have had Hitchens as a part of my life. Like Hitchens, I remain open to the possibility that I could be wrong, and I too enjoy a good surprise now and then.

Yet I become more and more convinced each day that it is men like Hitchens who say what needs to be said, no matter how counterintuitive, unpopular or even abrasive, that effect the most change in our world. His boldness continues to inspire me, his wit to bring joy to my life, and his conviction urges me toward becoming the best father, husband and writer I can be.