What Cancer Taught Jeremy Kimpton About Family and Faith

This is a guest post by Jeremy Kimpton, 49, who was diagnosed with Grade 4 clear cell renal cell carcinoma with sarcomatoid features in 2024. Jeremy Lives in Preston, Idaho.

I’d been sick for a while before anyone found the tumor. I knew something was off, but cancer wasn’t even on my mind. I figured it was something small, something that would pass. When they told me it was kidney cancer, it hit me in a way I can’t really explain.

I just didn’t see it coming.

My faith in God has always been solid. I knew where I stood with God, and that didn’t change for a second. But I was worried about my family.

I’ve got four kids and three grandkids. They were the first thing I thought about. I didn’t want to leave them with that kind of hurt. I didn’t want to miss their lives.

That’s what sat heavy on me, not fear for myself, but fear of what it would do to them.

My poor wife… she carried a lot of this with me. She saw me sick, worn down, and not myself. She tried to stay strong, but I could see the worry in her face even when she didn’t say anything. Knowing she was going through it too made everything feel even heavier.

The days before surgery were rough. I felt terrible, and I was tired of not knowing what was coming next. The weight of it was real. I tried to kept most of it to myself but it was there every single day.

Surgery day was when it all hit me. As I was lying there, hooked up to everything, I felt so out of control, that was the hardest part.

Recovery took time. It wasn’t easy. Some days I felt like myself, some days I didn’t. But every step forward felt like a reminder that I still had time with the people I love.

And then there are the scans. People don’t talk about that part enough. The anxiety starts days before. You try to ignore it, but it’s sitting in the back of your mind. walking into the hospital trying to stay calm, but it seems like thoughts go places you don’t want them to. And when they finally say everything looks good, you can breathe again. Until the next one.

I’m still here. I’m still a husband. I’m still a dad. I’m still a grandpa. And I’m grateful for every day I get to stay in their lives.