A Personal Note From Derek Cole

Every six months, there’s a day on my calendar that I’m grateful for and dread at the same time.

It’s infusion day.

I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis in November of 2012. MS has been part of my life for almost 14 years now, and while I've learned a lot about living with it, I don't think you ever completely get used to it.

This week was my Ocrevus infusion.

I knew it was time.

I could tell by my balance. I could tell by my walking. It seemed like some of the things I deal with were becoming more noticeable as I got closer to my next treatment.

So in one way, I was ready for it.

In another way, I was dreading it.

Not necessarily because of the infusion itself, but because I know what usually comes afterward.

Grateful for Something I Dread

Infusion day is strange because I can honestly say I feel blessed to be there.

Think about everything that has to happen for me to sit in that chair and receive this medicine.

Doctors and nurses have dedicated their lives to caring for people. Researchers developed treatments that weren't available to previous generations. We live in a country where I can have access to this kind of medical care. There are people helping me navigate everything that comes along with receiving treatment. And I have family, friends and people around me who support me through it.

That's a lot to be thankful for.

So there I was, sitting in that chair getting my next round of what I jokingly call my "juice."

I knew there was a pretty good chance I'd be down for the count afterward.

And I was.

When You're Forced to Stop

Anybody who knows me knows I'm not very good at sitting still.

I'm usually working.

If I'm not working, I'm doing something with church.

If I'm not doing that, I've probably found another project, another idea, another problem to solve or something else that needs to get done.

There's always something.

But recovery doesn't really care about my schedule.

Sometimes your body tells you that you're going to stop whether you planned to or not.

So I've spent the last few days at home recovering, resting and doing something I probably don't do nearly enough.

Thinking.

When you're moving a hundred miles an hour, it's easy to push certain thoughts aside. You're thinking about today's calls, tomorrow's schedule, something at church, something at home, the next meeting or whatever else needs your attention.

Take all of that away for a little while, and your mind has somewhere else to go.

Mine went to life.

We Keep Acting Like There's More Time

I've thought a lot about the people in my life.

My family.

My friends.

The people I love.

And one thought kept coming back to me.

Life is short.

We all know that.

We've heard it a thousand times.

But knowing something and living like you know it are two completely different things.

We go through life assuming there will be another opportunity.

Another dinner.

Another conversation.

Another family gathering.

Another Sunday.

Another birthday.

Another hug.

Another kiss.

Another "I love you."

Another goodbye.

But none of us actually knows that.

We don't know when we're having the last conversation we'll ever have with somebody.

We don't know when a normal goodbye will turn out to have been the last goodbye.

And most of the time, we don't recognize those moments while they're happening.

We recognize them afterward.

That's the part I've been thinking about.

What Are We Doing With the Time We Have?

I don't write that to make anybody sad.

I write it because I've been asking myself a question during these days of recovery:

Am I actually cherishing the people God has put in my life, or am I moving so fast that I'm missing some of it?

That's a hard question.

Because I stay busy doing a lot of good things.

Work matters to me. Our people matter to me. Serving at church matters to me. Helping people matters to me.

But the people I love matter more.

Sometimes something has to make us stop long enough to remember that.

For me this week, it was MS.

It was an infusion.

It was recovery.

It was being forced to sit down when I would have rather been up doing something.

But maybe you don't need an infusion to stop for a minute.

Maybe you just need the reminder.

Don't Wait for the Reminder

Call your parents.

Spend some extra time with your kids.

Sit beside your spouse instead of staring at your phone.

Tell somebody you appreciate them.

Say thank you.

Say you're sorry if you need to.

Give the hug.

Take the picture.

Stay another five minutes.

Say "I love you."

Don't assume you'll get another opportunity to do the things you could do today.

I'm still not going to pretend I enjoy infusion week. I don't.

I'm not going to tell you I enjoy being knocked down for several days afterward either.

I'd much rather be up and moving.

But I can still be grateful.

Grateful for the medicine.

Grateful for the doctors and nurses.

Grateful for the people who have helped make my treatment possible.

Grateful for my family.

Grateful for another day.

And most of all, grateful to God for a life that has given me far more than I deserve.

MS has taken some things from me over the years.

But every now and then, it also forces me to stop long enough to see everything I still have.

Maybe that's the reminder I needed this week.

And maybe somebody reading this needed it too.

Cherish the people you're with.

Enjoy the time you've been given.

Because nothing about tomorrow is promised.

But we've got today.

Let's make the most of it.

— Derek Cole

​Let’s go!