I’ve been diagnosed with leukemia. It’s more difficult then you would think to keep something like this a secret for very long. You tell maybe one close friend or relative and soon after everybody knows. How does that happen, I wonder. I guess it’s that people gather for one reason or another and after exhausting all the usual polite conversation, there’s a quiet lull and then someone will say something like, “Hey. Have you heard about so-and-so?” They’ll reminisce and share stories about the person. In my case for example, about a predictable, silly, character who’s view of life and of humans can be both humorous and infuriating. And so, what follows are inquiries and well wishing through cards, phone calls and emails from distant family, friends, and acquaintances who have heard about your new diagnosed medical condition.

There’s a variety of categories I put these communications into, There’s the “Sorry to hear about this”, the “You’re a fighter”, the “I’ve been, or my mother, father, sister, brother, cousin, etc, has been through this very same thing.” My personal favorites are the humorous ones. The notes that ask for my stuff after I die, or the dirty jokes about doctors and nurses.

My least favorites are the “We’re praying for you” promises. They make me uncomfortable. Maybe it’s just something people say at times like these. I hope so. “Hey, save that stuff for people who pray themselves”, I want to tell them, but that would be unkind, like giving back the hand made wool socks an aunt has given you for Christmas.

So, I don’t respond. I can’t help but think rationally about what they say though. I want to ask them: “If you believe that there’s some all powerful God who is in control of everything, why would you be praying to Him to save me?” My guess is that this is the same God who gave me the leukemia in the first place. I really doubt that he’s going to change his mind.

I recall some of my childhood catechism classes, those occasions where enlightened teachers explained the power of prayer. “God will grant your requests if you just pray often and hard enough.” They would say. I tried it more than once. I never got that pony, and I remained so lousy at sports that I always was picked second last on teams, right ahead of Donny what’s-his-name, the kid with Polio.

So, I asked Sister Colette, a woman who claimed to know all about the value of prayer, why my prayers weren’t answered. She told me that God was real busy and only listened to the prayers that were important. He doesn’t have time to listen to a selfish, frivolous request for a pony. “He knows what’s best for you.” She said, and then dismissed me by telling me to pray for poor people, sick people, and most importantly, the poor souls who are in purgatory waiting for a vacancy in heaven.

After that revelation I kept thinking, If He knows what’s best for me, then why the hell should I bother to pray in the first place? I had to admit that if He got me that pony I don’t know where I could keep it anyway. So maybe Sister Colette had a point. So my philosophy became: Let’s not start asking questions, or look for trouble. If there’s someone in charge, I don’t think He enjoys a bunch of nagging believers always asking for stuff. Don’t piss him off.

Could it be that I got into this leukemia condition because I’m a nonbeliever? I’m sure some people would think so, and that’s okay with me. These are the guys that you should be praying for, I think. Not for me because I can’t make sense of it all.

So please. Don’t pray for me. If you need to pray, spend that time on believers, like the people who want ponies. I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but really, I don’t want your God’s help. Don’t pray for me because if I come out of this, if I’m cured, I don’t want to strengthen anybody’s superstitions, especially my own.