Overcome is an interesting word. To be overcome by something is to be overwhelmed. To overcome is to seize, to overpower. The word can be a negative, but it should be a positive. It certainly is for me.

I look at the picture above quite often. Each time, my eyes water. The picture is saved on my phone and is a reminder of where we have been, where we are, and who is walking beside Sam in this season of life that was unexpected.

There is rarely a day in our life now that we do not mention the names Al-Rajabi and Ashcraft. These two men are a part of our family, albeit from a distance. We pray for them as we do our daughters, our Dad, our siblings, our grandchildren.

We have experienced doctors who are doctors, and that is all. They treat. They consult. They chart. They prescribe. Bedside manner doesn’t pay their bills. But these two doctors are not just names with MD attached.

I will never forget the first day we met John Ashcraft. He walked in the room, stuck out his hand to shake Sam’s, and told us to call him JOHN. That’s his name. And then he proceeded to be himself.

He’s quick-witted and puts Sam to shame with the smart remarks and comebacks. John is also one of the kindest men we’ve ever known. He speaks to us as if we are guests in his home. He takes the time to get to know Sam and his personality, his routine, his world. He is gentle but firm with his evaluation of Sam’s condition. He includes me in the conversation. He is never in a hurry, always stays in the room until all of our questions are answered.

After Sam’s first surgery to remove the original colon tumor, we were just getting used to John’s personality and always looked forward to his smirk and sarcasm. But he walked in the hospital room the afternoon the pathology report had come back, and he sat down. His face was solemn as he told Sam the news was not good. We could immediately sense this surgeon genuinely cared and hurt alongside us.

Now three surgeries down, John is still quick-witted and sarcastic, and he is still genuinely caring and right beside us, every step of the way. He’s the guy that sees Sam in the hallway at the Cancer Center and says, “Hey, Scofield.” He’s the guy that gave Sam a firm shoulder squeeze as we stood at the counter waiting to schedule appointments after learning the cancer had spread to Sam’s liver.

Post-op, surgery #1, summer 2017. We finished up with John, and he told us he was sending us across the “hall” to the best GI oncologist and a good friend, Raed Al-Rajabi. He also smirked as he told us not to be afraid of the foreign-sounding name. Al-Rajabi was “more American than I am.” And then told us he would trust this man with his life.

Dr. Al is the pillow to John’s sarcastic wit. He speaks softly, and from the moment we met him, we knew everything was going to be okay. After hearing the cancer had spread to lymph nodes, our insides were raw and fragile. But Dr. Al walked into the room and spoke words that were calming, reassuring. Without having to say the words, he essentially gave the message, “We’ve got this. You’re in the best hands.”

Dr. Al and his team have never once made us feel like their day is packed full with appointments. We see the waiting room. We know. But when it is our time, it is OUR time. He sits on a rolling stool and just visits. He and Sam talk about motorcycles at every visit. He’s got an Indian bike, Sam’s got a Beemer. He always asks about Sam’s work, a particular vacation we might be taking, or they swap laughter about John.

And then he transitions to the purpose of the appointment. He never talks above us when it comes to chemotherapy drugs, course of treatment, side effects. He walks through it all with us slowly and matter-of-factly and waits for questions. He pillows the ugly reality of chemotherapy with lightheartedness and a genuine smile. Even though he had to give us the hard news of oxaliplatin side effects after surgery #1, he also agreed to discontinue it early, concerned that some of the side effects would become permanent. After surgery #2, he changed up the chemotherapy and put Sam on irinotecan, joking about a particular side effect, that it is also known as, “I run to the can.”

When round 2 chemotherapy involved a trip to Kansas City every other week and a weekend stay, Dr. Al came up with a plan to help us out. He relinquished the chemotherapy treatment to one of his former fellows who is a thriving oncologist in Hays, just 90 miles from our home, rather than making us drive 250 miles each way every two weeks. He reassured us, however, that he would oversee it all, and we would still be under his guidance and direction.

We leave the Cancer Center each time, overcome. Overcome with gratitude. Overcome with blessing.

We leave the Cancer Center each time, overcoming the odds. Overcoming the diagnosis.

And each time, as we walk to our vehicle in the parking garage, we acknowledge that God is taking care of Sam through John and Dr. Al and their team.

We never want to take for granted this gift.