For decades, my travels had put me in overnight spots that ranged from cushy to chaotic. We had stayed in some of the world’s best hospitality environs, and we had also been in places where UN Peacekeepers were sleeping in the next block. Four years ago today, I woke up with a familiar conscious reaction: Where am I? and Why am I here?

      The second Monday of January, 2022, those questions hit me like a ton of bricks: I was in a hospital bed, in the oncology ward of our local name-brand regional hospital. My next encounter was with the Chief of Oncology, set to conduct a bone marrow biopsy. Are you jealous yet?

      A few days before, blood tests had come back to my primary care doctor, seeking answers for my declining vitality. He called me with the results: I had 18 abnormalities, and he referred me to a hematologist to offer diagnosis. The wait for an appointment was five weeks.

      I sent the results to my friend, Dr. Rick Afable (at that time, in his third year in The Master’s Program) asking his counsel. He called me 10 minutes later. He got down to business: “You have leukemia; go straight to the hospital and demand that they admit you.” Three hours later, I was on a gurney in the Emergency Room, getting ready to be moved upstairs to Oncology.

      You may have been one of my friends with a courtside seat to be aware of what followed. Cheri and my daughters set up a CaringBridge page within days to keep our community current regarding my condition as we solicited their prayers to work alongside my medical team.

      A year of my life (2022) in summary: after an initial stay at that local hospital, I left with a misdiagnosis – Chronic Leukemia – with the assurance that I would likely die someday with the cancer, not from the cancer. An appointment with a specialist – again, five weeks out – would set up an ongoing care regimen.

      My condition worsened; two weeks later, I couldn’t breathe, so Cheri took me to another local hospital (20-mile drive instead of five) for assessment. They admitted me immediately with double pneumonia, extreme anemia and a variety of additional symptoms. Four overnights there – and numerous consults with pros – before I was transported in the dead-of-night to the City of Hope in Duarte. The specialty care I needed was there. A medical transport pulled into the loading dock at Hoag Hospital in Newport Beach, loaded my gurney and we set off for the 45-minute transport.

      Five minutes into the most expensive Uber ride of my lifetime, the EMT attending to me in the back asked me what I did, professionally. I gave him the elevator pitch for The Master’s Program. He asked me, “Do you believe in spiritual warfare?” I told him “yes,” and he said that he believed that I was in a fight that included my health but also involved my calling.

      For the next 40 minutes, he prayed for me. He had grown up in a church on California’s Central Coast – in Arroyo Grande – and his home church was pastored by a leader who had gone through TMP with me in San Luis Obispo. You can’t make this stuff up; it’s too amazing to be just coincidental…

      Deposited in Duarte, the best-in-class hematologist assigned my case re-did the bone marrow biopsy (it hurts like Hell; I’ve now had seven of those), but intent on getting an accurate sample, unlike my earliest biopsy, done with the promise to “make it less painful,” but ultimately less precise.

      Dr. Ali came back with my new diagnosis: Acute Myeloid Leukemia, with a TP53 gene mutation that gave me a less-than-10% chance of making it to Christmas, despite their best efforts.

      No suspense: the team at City of Hope were heroes, our friends were prayer warriors and God gave me a life-extension. It’s been four years we never saw coming, but He has been gracious and glorified.

      Don’t know what you’ve got on your upcoming 48-month horizon, but – take it from me – He’s ready to be alongside you, whatever it may be.

      Take that from a friend who is now “in remission,” and still involved in Kingdom pursuits that draw the attacks of the Evil One in the ongoing experience of spiritual conflict that will continue until the King comes back to take what’s rightfully His!

      Thanks for allowing me to retell in brief the part of my story that God chose to entrust to me, so that I could share it with you! My discovery, over these years: what we say we believe is open to field-testing in ways that He allows. It’s my chance – it’s your chance – to prove that we’re the real-deal.

— Bob Shank

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Chriss Skiff’s Contact Information:
Email: chris.skiff@priorityliving.org
Phone: 805-440-1700