The Adventure

   "It is almost spring break.  We have decided we would like to take a trip.  We as a family have sat around a lot this winter doing a whole lot of nothing so while it may not be considered perfect timing to take a trip right now, I want to go because my kids need adventure.  Waiting around is hard on me...it makes no sense for children.
   We are going to visit our out-of-state daughters and their families, with a trip to northwest Ohio and then moving on to Richmond, Virginia. Stops in between those two places will include a few Civil War sites and Washington D.C. for a couple of days.  Nothing big...nothing earthshaking, but it is something.  We need to embrace and enjoy adventure again.
   We will leave tomorrow.  I have a blood test to take care of today and a bit of packing to do, but it is energizing to anticipate a road trip.  Chemo Round Six has been aggressive.  I have not felt well since last Thursday when the final round was pumped into me.  But today feels a bit better than yesterday.  We will see what happens...after all, that is the basic nature of adventure.  Adventure does not really begin until something is hard or something goes wrong.  I hope I am ready for a little adventure."

   I wrote the above three paragraphs early this morning and now that I read it, I am thinking: "That all sounds fairly boring and benign to an able-bodied person.  Sit in a car, then sit in a house, then walk a little bit.  Where is the adventure in all of that?"  But a side effect of chemo is that it makes the easy tasks tricky, it makes the mundane acts of life arduous, and it makes the hard things virtually impossible.
   For example, when I would take a shower in my pre-cancer life, I would grab a new set of clothes, go to the bathroom, get undressed, clean up, towel off, comb my hair (hair??), and be ready to go in ten minutes.  But now this same action means I have to make choices as I assemble together an entirely new set of clothes and actually carry them all by myself all the way to the bathroom (thinking AND working at the same time).  Then I have to get undressed, maintaining my balance the whole time (and this part also has to be done all by myself).  With every layer that comes off, I am struck with how suddenly the temperature in this bathroom is dropping.  When bare skin is finally exposed, it feels as though Antarctica has entered my house.  And that step over the side of the tub...I never remember having to lift my leg that high for anything before.  Then, when it is time to get out, I turn off the warm water and am instantly hit with that deep chill again, but this time I am also wet so it seems even colder.  I towel off and get dressed as quickly as a frozen body can without falling over, and then gather those three blankets and I find my place on the couch, completely exhausted.  Whew.

   "It is almost spring break.  We have decided we would like to take a trip."  It's just a little trip, just like the shower was a short shower.  But I will go -- after all, that is the basic nature of adventure!  Help me out family!  Let the adventure begin!

The Taste

   Each person who goes through chemotherapy can experience similar side effects, but no two journeys are the same.  There are reasons for this of course.  They may include (but are not limited to) the following facts:

• each person is different and therefore will react to the medications differently;
• each set of drugs used is different based on the type of cancer, the location of the cancer, and the severity of the cancer;
• the amounts of drugs used are different;
• there are different intervals of time between the doses for different people;
• each of us has a different threshold to pain and discomfort.

   It makes no sense to compare how one person reacts to chemo with how another reacts because each of us understands that the journey is most important, not the comparisons.  But one fairly common side effect that is difficult to quantify but is nonetheless a real bother is the taste of chemotherapy.  How does one describe this?

   Chemotherapy has "The Taste."  It is nasty.  Some use the word "metallic" when describing it. Others say "tinny."  Those adjectives attempt to capture the idea but the pervasiveness of that taste is what is bothersome to me.  I go to sleep with that taste in my mouth, I wake up with that taste.  Ginger candy makes it go away for five or ten minutes.  Lemon candy does the same. Brushing teeth and using mouthwash has no real lasting effect. Not only is the taste itself unsettling, but then of course everything one tries to eat or drink tastes like "The Taste." In the interest of education, allow me to attempt to explain this phenomenon to those of you who don't have any experience. 

   

   Chemotherapy tastes a bit like this: Imagine that you are walking along the road.  You find a penny in the gutter.  This excites you because you like pennies, so you put it in your mouth and start sucking on it.  A little further along your walk you find another penny in a mud puddle.  You clean it up a bit and throw that in your mouth as well.  You find another penny on the locker room floor at the health club and, sure enough, into the mouth it goes.  You see a penny left in the mechanical horse at Meijer and since you are currently collecting pennies, you take it out of the machine and add that to your oral collection. And don't forget to notice that penny that has been stuck to the carpet under your car's front seat for the last three or four years.  Peel that one up and pop it in as well.  Eventually you find twenty-five to thirty pennies during the course of your day and they are now all in your mouth.  Then they stay there -- overnight -- while you sleep (I know you could choke, but that is not a part of my metaphor so don't bother me with those kinds of anatomical details).  When you wake up, the pennies are all still there (I told you you wouldn't choke) and the taste doesn't leave.  

   There.  It's a little like that.  I just thought you ought to know.  Public service announcements are helpful for the education of the masses, even when they are not offered in good taste.  But you received this information for free.  You are welcome. Consider yourself enlightened.

Australia Is Not Really an Option

   According to a book I used to read to my children, I should have moved to Australia yesterday.
   Remember the old childhood book Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day?  In the story a little boy named Alexander goes through a difficult day.  Things go wrong, nothing gets resolved, and he becomes overwhelmed.  Much of what he endures is not earth-shaking, but the cumulative nature of it all is his undoing.  He repeats the title line several times, with the adage "...I think I'll move to Australia."  Well, moving to Australia was not really an option for me yesterday, but if I wanted to count up the difficulties of the day and not let them go as Alexander did, a move to Australia should have been considered.
   I did not feel well yesterday.  The truck ran me over again.  I slept on and off, but mostly had the chemo-based nausea that just did not want to abate.  It was nothing I haven't felt before, but somehow yesterday it seemed more difficult to deal with than some of the previous rounds.  Maybe I am just getting sick and tired of being sick and tired or maybe I am becoming more of a wimp...I don't know, but it was hard yesterday.  Besides that:

• It was rainy and cold all day -- a drop of about 30 degrees from Friday's temperature and the rain never stopped all day.
• Connie made some scallops and they did not sound good to me at all.  I normally love scallops. That is just wrong.
• We cleaned the top of the refrigerator and I found a paper that I really needed...three years ago. I don't need it any more.
• Grand Rapids Christian High School lost their bid for a Michigan Class A state championship in basketball.  Clarkston High School beat the Eagles 75-69 in the finals at the Breslin Center.
• Wauseon High School lost as well in the Division 2 bracket of the Ohio state championship game, 45-30.  They played St. Vincent-St. Mary of Akron, LeBron James' high school.
• Gonzaga University won in the NCAA basketball tournament.  I needed them to lose. What a dumb name for a college anyway.
• My van has a soft tire...
• ...and when I went drive it to the gas station to pump it up, the engine would not hold its idle.  
• The dog threw up.

   I know, I know...moving to Australia would not solve anything.  We have friends living there and I am only assuming they have a few problems every once in a while too (am I right, Josh and Brynda?).  And when I look at my list, it is a bit ridiculous and childish, just like in the book.  While a move to Australia may represent a fresh start, a blank slate, a do-over, so does a new day. Saturday is over...Sunday is here.  That's good news.  Let's see what happens.  I won't book passage for Australia just yet.

The Final Round: Chemo and State Championships

   Twenty-four hours ago my last round of chemo entered my system.  This milestone is a landmark on the journey I am on.  As I explained before, it is tempered by the fact that I have a stem-cell treatment on the horizon and I don't know when or how long or the other nuts-and-bolts details of this procedure, so I feel as though I am not as excited as I should be (although I did wear a suit and tie to chemo yesterday to celebrate -- my nurse loved it). One day at a time...
   I am feeling alright for now.  I will get another bag of fluids this afternoon to prepare for that truck coming around the corner, but for now I have the typical post-chemo nausea and heaviness.  But again, one day at  a time...
   Basketball has been a nice distraction for me.  I have always loved basketball and lately I have been following three different basketball stories.  The NCAA's March Madness is in full swing and we have a family bracket contest going on.  My daughters each married smart guys because Steve and Jimmy are currently in first and second place respectively.  Me? Next to last (Villanova and Duke broke my heart and my bracket).  Who am I beating?  My grandson Jesse.  He was holding out hope for Bucknell to make the Final Four.  It's nice to know I can beat a two-year-old at this kind of thing, but I never do well in the March Madness bracket challenge.  
   Meanwhile, Jimmy and Kate's hometown high school (The Wauseon Indians) will be playing for a Division 2 Ohio state championship tomorrow.  In about five hours undefeated Grand Rapids Christian High School will be tipping off in the Michigan Class A semi-finals.  That team is coached by my brother and one of my nephews is a starter.
   Basketball is a big deal.  To the players and fans and hometowns and families, it is all a big deal.  What a joy it is to rally around a team that is striving to become something great.  We all appreciate that kind of effort and somehow we want to support that.  We know we cannot be out on the floor in the game with the team passing and dribbling and playing defense, but we can cheer and encourage our teams in their endeavors.
   This is how I feel about you all.  Many of you reading this have not been on the floor with me as I do battle against whatever comes next.  Some of my best supporters I have not even seen since this battle began (thanks Charlie, Tom, Lori, Randy, and others).  But you have rallied around me.  You have cheered me on.  You have supported me in ways that continually amaze and surprise me.  The gifts and the prayers and the thoughts I have received have been such an encouragement during this battle.  They have come in so many forms: texts...messages...cards in the mail...special events at school (even a special fundraising project by five boys at a school I don't even teach at!)...food...rides to and from appointments...gifts...and more.  It all adds up to crazy support and love.
   What comes next?  Basketball will be over before my fight with cancer is completed, but with this kind of support, I will keep going.  I can finish strong.  Besides, when basketball is over, baseball will be here to distract me.  That should also keep me going a while.  Before the Detroit Tigers win the 2017 World Series about eight months from now, I will be cancer-free and enjoying life.  But one day at a time, sweet Jesus.  Here we go.

Two Attitudes About Tomorrow

   Tomorrow.  This is the day I was looking forward to when this whole journey began back in December because tomorrow I will receive by sixth and final round of chemotherapy.  I should have ended that sentence with an exclamation point but I opted to end it with a period because I find myself feeling ambivalent toward what should be a significant event.  This bothers me.  I think my lack of enthusiasm at this point is because I have also been notified that I need to follow this all up with a stem-cell transplant.  In my mind, my naive and simple mind, I had hoped and even assumed that when chemo was done, I would be ready to resume real life without any more treatments.  While I understand completely the need for this transplant I wish it wasn't to be.  I want to be done.  But I need a new attitude.
   I am blessed.  I know that.  My friends Becky and Scott are both at the beginning stages of chemotherapy.  Please pray for them. Becky's treatments begin tomorrow and Scott just started his rounds this week; meanwhile, I am twenty-four hours away from being done.  But this transplant...it looms, with all of its discomfort, interruptions, and the long list of prerequisites I must accomplish.  None of it all is impossible.  All of it is inconvenient.  But come on, Phil...let's go.
   The Appalachian Trail runs for 2185 miles from Georgia to Maine.  Ninety percent of those who "thru-hike" the trail begin in the south and spend between five and seventh months working their way northward. The goal for north-bound hikers is Mount Katahdin in Maine.  Most of these backpackers eagerly anticipate their first view of Katahdin and ultimately the final climb that signifies completion of the trek.  But I have met more than one hiker who slips into a nearly depressive state as this day approaches.  Thirty years ago, as we approached the end of the trail, we met a woman named Wanda ("The Wanderer") who dealt with her anxiety by summiting Katahdin and then simply "flip-flopping."  Not knowing what else to do, she just turned around and started walking south back to Georgia.
   Why such a bizarre choice?  I think she had no goals for what would come after her time on the trail was done.  There were no "post-Katahdin" plans.  She felt she had no place in this world except the identity she had created for herself on the trail.  What is the rest of her story?  I have no idea, but at the time I found this to be a remarkable--and sad--phenomenon.
   I need to keep my eyes on the end results.  I need to know that there is life for me after this experience.  I need to realize that all of this discomfort and frustration will be rewarded with health and excitement.  I just have a little detour called a stem-cell transplant in the way.  It makes no sense to turn around now and wallow in my ennui.  It makes no sense to NOT celebrate tomorrow's chemotherapy session.  I need to just keep moving forward until it is all completed...detours and all.  Adjustments will have to be made but the goal is still the same goal.  So let me rephrase: Tomorrow is the day that I receive my sixth and final chemo treatment!! Praise Jesus because, after all, even this pending stem-cell treatment can be conquered!! Come on, Phil...let's go!!
 

Focusing on Trust...Again

   I just returned from a visit with the stem-cell transplant people an hour ago.  This is not going to be a simple process and why I ever held out hope in my simple-minded way that it ever would be simple, I have no idea.  While there is still a possibility that I can ride out the school year with my students and get this thing done during the summer months, there will also be a myriad of blood draws, consults, tests, and scans between now and then, causing my schedule to suddenly look very busy.  How busy?  We still don't know.  A lot of that has to be determined.  One doctor will now talk with another doctor and they will get back to me.  Meanwhile I have a few hoops to jump through myself.
   Whatever happened to "simple?" That might have left with childhood or certainly by college-aged.  I feel like up until now my life has been stress-free when it comes to health issues.  My first 56 years on earth were relatively free from any major health concerns.  Oh sure, a bum knee here, some weird seizures there, and that one bout with poison ivy was crazy, but nothing this ugly.  While that care-free state of mind is something I once again yearn for, I also realize what a blessing my own personal health status has been up until now. Then again, even now, I am fine (but frustrated), content (with a tinge of anxiety), and joyful (even though happiness comes and goes).  Now it is all somehow tainted, and yet I cannot be overwhelmed by the tarnish.  I need to be fully focused on the good.  It is time to allow the refining of God to take place so that the real truth of God's goodness can be evident.  Job 23:10 says, "But he knows the way I take; when he has tested me, I will come forth as gold."  It is my time to be tested and therefore my time to shine as gold.  I might as well start now -- after all, my last chemo round is on Thursday.
   But none of this is simple.  I should never think that anything on this journey ought to be.  My typical naive way of looking at this world and my place in it gets in the way.  Wishes and nostalgia are nice pastimes, but they can easily mask reality.  Trust in more important than simple anyway.  It's time for this simple-minded soul to trust.

The Importance of Receiving Well

   The little knot of trepidation in my stomach is starting to be noticeable.  It is that same little knot I used to get as a kid before swimming lessons or a piano recital.  It's just those crazy nerves; at least I think that is what it is because the uneasy feeling I usually get from a round of chemotherapy should be gone by now.  But I am on the edge of a big week:  I am going in to school tomorrow for a chance to hang out with my eighth graders, then I have my consult with the stem-cell experts (which is supposed to last for three hours).  Also this week on Thursday, I soak in my sixth and final round of chemotherapy.  While the knot-in-the-stomach feel is not debilitating, it is noticeable.  I know that when I get that feeling I need to cast my cares on to Jesus because he cares for me (1 Peter 5:7).  When I do that, the knot doesn't go away instantly but now at least I am sharing it with someone who is in charge and that makes it easier to handle.
   My school community once again blessed us in a huge way last night with a benefit dinner.  The proceeds of this dinner are to be split between us and Adam's family.  Adam is the father of a pre-schooler who is currently battling his second round of brain cancer.  I am thinking, "Brain cancer!?  That is far worse than lymphoma!  He should have this whole thing to himself!"  But Adam and I were talking.  We each shared with the other how humbling such a journey is and how it is so much easier to reach out to help others than it is to receive help.  He told me of a friend of his who said to him, "Just stop and let us do this.  Today is your turn to receive.  You can bless others by receiving this well."  He is right.  Tomorrow I will bless others by doing.  Today I need to bless others by receiving well.  The turnout was amazing, the food was great (thanks Chad, Katie, and Gavin!) and the love was overwhelming.  Maybe it was the sickness that made me feel so overwhelmed, but I don't think so. The evening certainly had more than a few "weak-in-the-knees" moments.
   It's Sunday evening.  This is usually the time I am finalizing lesson plans for the week and finishing off the grading that didn't get done earlier as I prepare for Monday morning classes.  That will start to happen again, but not quite yet.  Just a little more waiting...and dealing with that little knot in the stomach.  God and I will overcome both.
 

Realizations on a Friday

   It's Friday.  I am getting ready to head into school for the day, which is something I hope to do for many more Fridays to come.  I am feeling pretty good.  I am looking forward to the post-cancer portion of my life with an excitement that is hard to measure.  While March Madness holds a lot of hope and expectation for the basketball world, the excitement I feel for life after cancer is certainly comparable -- with a difference.  Unlike the March Madness participants and fans, I know I will win.  I will win because God cares more about me than he does about March Madness.  I will win because everyone in my circles is cheering me on.  I will win because "...to live is Christ and to die is gain" (Philippians 1:21).  That makes it all a no-brainer...I will win.
   I received several cards this week that reminded me of facts that cannot be overlooked.  I am loved.  I am being watched.  I have a voice even though what I have to say now is tempered by experience and circumstances.  Even when it is limited to this blog, I still have that voice.  I have the opportunity to write these things down and dissect them and  (without trying to be too introspective) track the process of my own mental health as my physical health ebbs and flows.  I believe that even now I am a better person than I was before all of this started.  We each have burns and burdens and scars and troubles and losses and hurts to endure.  There are lessons in these experiences.  Don't miss what it is that you are learning as you stroll through life.  In learning something new, it must be shared with others to that others can benefit.  Which brings me back to the fact that today is Friday.  A school day.  School implies learning.  I think it is time to go and assist in the learning that is in store for 39 middle schoolers.  Let's go.

Courageous

   Cancer is ugly.  It afflicts people indiscriminately of rank or status or gender.  When people die from this nastiness, we resort to reporting the death as we would with any death -- the obituary notice.  And when the person who passes away has died of cancer, there is a common phrase that often gets included in the obituary.  In some form, this sentiment is expressed as such: "...after a courageous battle with cancer."  Why is that word "courageous" often associated with a person when facing cancer?
   None of us who have cancer ever wanted it.  I have a hard time thinking of myself as "courageous" when it comes to this struggle.  And what makes this malady more of a noble and courageous fight than anything else that people face?  When I think of someone being courageous, it more often involves situations where the hero of the story has the choice of accepting the challenge or not.  It includes pursuing relentlessly what is right in the face of everything being wrong.  It involves overcoming great odds and facing the giants along the way.  It mandates facing an enemy that is far more powerful than any one human being.  Dictionary.com defines courage as "the quality of mind or spirit that enables a person to face difficulty, danger, pain, etc., without fear."
   If left to myself, I would not want to be courageous about anything.  When facing cancer, I do not feel as if "courageous" could be associated with me.  According to that definition, facing a situation without fear makes one courageous.  I admit there are times of fear.
   But then again, look at Joshua.  When called by God to take over the reins of leadership of Israel after Moses left, God commissioned him to "be strong and courageous" (Joshua 1:6), to "be strong and very courageous (Joshua 1:7), and to "(b)e strong and courageous" (Joshua 1:9).  Three times.  Only then was he ready to proceed.
   The courage any of us needs comes from God.  No matter what the giant is that we are facing, courage can be ours.  We can proceed in life courageously only when we recognize where our strength comes from and who the author of the ending of the story is.  The results of what we do is not for us to be concerned with.  The process of how we do things forms our character and therefore this is what we need to face. In that light, those of us who struggle can be labeled "courageous."
   So maybe the ramblings of this post have brought me full circle.  Maybe people who face cancer or ALS or old age or tragedy or anything else are courageous -- but only when facing these things fearlessly.  And that fearlessness is based on God and God alone.  OK...courageous -- maybe I am.  After all, it is only God that provides that sense of courage.  When I recognize that, I can be courageous but only because it is God who offers me fearlessness.

Sudden Death

   Last night an innocent Calvin College student was hit by another car that was being driven by a man being pursued by the police in southeast Grand Rapids.  It was one of those cases that could quickly be dismissed as a "wrong place...wrong time" thing.  But this all makes absolutely no sense.  "Why does something like this happen?" is the immediate question that many want to ask.  We ask it as if we could arrive at some quintessentially right answer that makes all the nonsense of it disappear.  We ask it as if some remarkable solution were even available.  Here I am, sitting in my home with my family around me, looking forward to the afternoon when I meet with a portion of my extended family.  Wrapped in this bubble of family love, my own health concerns can temporarily take a back seat to the fun and laughter of simply hanging out and catching up with my siblings and their children.  But this other family must now also gather together today but for the far more dire reason of planning a funeral for the senseless death of their loved one.  God, honestly life on earth makes no sense in situations like this.  Teach us all to count our blessings, to remember the value of life, to celebrate love and family, to realize the only real purpose in this life is to please you with how we live an love and interact and respond.  You are God.  You are sovereign.  We have neither your insight or your wisdom.  Teach us again to rely only on you for everything we have and everything we hope to be.  We are nothing without you. Amen.

Quality, Scope, Heft, and Zest

   Today is a day to move forward.  So often I feel as though I sit or lie down and make no progress toward anything worthwhile.  I hate that.  Chemo Round Five has had fewer side effects overall except for the lingering nausea and its accompanying urps and burps.  It has been a week since that round entered me and I sense that the nausea is gradually abating a bit.  But today I have decided I am going to stay busy with little things.  I have a few calls to make.  I have to get gas in the van.  I need to get tickets for a basketball game.  I get to see an old friend today.  These are all normal things that normal people do during the course of their normal lives.  While I understand my life is not normal right now, I want it to be so and therefore I will make the attempts I need to make things happen.  I hesitate to make a "to do" list because it might get overwhelming, but I will mentally check things off and make today a worthwhile day.
   I found a quote by a woman named Barbara Brown Taylor that I would like to claim as my own for today.  She once said, "What God cares about, with all the power of God's holy being, is the quality of my life...not just the continuation of my breath and the health of my cells--but the quality of my life, the scope of my life, the heft and zest of my life...fear of death always turns into fear of life, into a dingy, cautious way of living that is not really living at all.  To follow Jesus means going beyond the limits of our own comfort and safety.  It means receiving our lives as gifts instead of guarding them as possessions."  I have not met this woman nor do I have any further citation on where the quote comes from, but I get the feeling that I could identify her by watching how she lives.  My life is not something to guard closely, but to be used to bless others, to dare and achieve, to exercise the "heft and zest" of it all.  I think I would like to have a cup of tea with this woman.  She would challenge me.
   Thanks for reading.  Gotta get things done.  The gift of life needs to be exercised and enjoyed.
 

A Reminder From Ezra

   I still feel a little yucky.  I am tired.  I am queasy.  Chemotherapy, as my friend likes to say, is the pumping of poisons into your system to see what shakes loose.  During the last couple of days I was reading the book of Ezra (yes, I know there are more inspiring books in the Bible, but hear me out).  The people of Israel had been allowed to matriculate back to Jerusalem after seventy years of captivity in Babylon only to find the city and all its buildings in ruins.  The first goal was to begin rebuilding the temple of the Lord.  The squatters living there started a letter-writing campaign with the king against the effort.  The single-minded effort of the Jews that returned was put on hold a couple of times as the naysayers waged verbal assaults and taunts.  Even once it was being built, the older generation of the remnant cried because the new temple could never match the glory of the former temple.  It all seemed liked nobody wanted this temple rebuilt except the few true followers of God.  Along the way, these people celebrated the meager completed phases of the project. "And all the people gave a great shout of praise to the Lord, because the foundation of the house of the Lord was laid" (Ezra 3:11).  
   Why mention this trivial bit of history?  What is my takeaway value from this?  Without twisting the Bible to say what I want it to say, I think I need to celebrate during this process, not to just endure it.  Unlike the experience of those builders, I have a lot of people cheering me on and praying for me.  But it is a process and I need to recognize the "He is good" (Ezra 3:11) part of that verse too.  So today I choose to celebrate.  I celebrate life, sunshine, love, marginal energy, progress, hope.  I celebrate family, friends, expectations, dreams, good scan reports, and joy.  I celebrate Tom, Dave, Gary, Myra, Jan, Tom, Tim, Tom, (wow - three Toms on this list!) Jim, Scott, Julie, Marijo, Eric, Nancy, Connie, and my other personal cheerleaders.  I have so much to celebrate.  Life is good.  And when this is all done, when the stem cells are back in and doing their job, when the chemo leaves my carcass and stops bothering me, when health and appetite and energy and exuberance return, there will be much rejoicing.  "Then the people of Israel -- the priests, the Levites and the rest of the exiles -- celebrated the dedication of the house of God with joy" (Ezra 6:16).  Oh, and that celebration lasted seven days.
   Maybe sometime this summer we should get together for an open house that will last for a while to just celebrate.  It might not last for seven days, but maybe for seven hours.  I will run the idea by Connie and keep you posted on the details.  I look forward to seeing you then.  Who knows?  Maybe I will even like the taste of beer again by then.

Pondering the End of the Weekend

   As the weekend disappears into Monday morning, my upcoming week does not include deadlines, whistle stops, or due dates.  I am still waiting.  I have labs sometime this week, and then at some point I need to meet with the folks who will be doing my stem cell transplant but neither of those times are arranged yet.  Maybe I will try to take in a ball game later this week.  I will try to get to the grocery store and even make a meal.  My life is frankly quite surreal in its lack of structure and its attention to the necessity of personally getting well.  I really don't like it anymore -- it is all too self-absorbed, too introspective.
   But really what I am going through is simply an interruption.  I have met and have seen and have been aware of so many that are facing far more difficult situations than I am facing.  I have been humbled by the perseverance of people who should -- by earthly standards -- really just give up.  I have been encouraged by stories of charisma and effervescence through the worst of circumstances.  I have reflected on this point before and for some reason I needed to revisit this thinking today.  What makes this all do-able for people?  "Oh, the power of the human spirit," it can be said.  Nah, I don't think so.  It begins with the knowledge that life is precious and that God has offered it to us for his reasons.  We are here to impact, love, and encourage other people.  Others must be seen as more important than ourselves.  That knowledge allows people like Tim and Steve and Scott and Howie and Nancy to keep going.  But we each also have the knowledge that this life ain't all there is.  There's more...there's always more.
   I have an upset stomach.  I have no energy.  But I have it all.  I have everything I need.  Let's go.  I guess I just needed to think this all through again.

Chemo: Round Five

   It's Saturday morning, 48 hours post-Chemo Round Five and I think I am doing alright.  Thank you again for checking in with me.  Five down, then just one to go.  Besides that, I had two other bits of good news that buoyed our spirits:

• The results of the PET scan showed good news.  My doctor actually used the word "great" when describing what he saw.  I will still need to finish the treatments and the ensuing stem-cell transplant but the scan results were exciting.
• The stem-cell transplant can most likely be postponed until after school gets out in June.  This is great news because I really want to get back to school following spring vacation and ride the rest of the year out with my students like a normal teacher.  I will have a rough start to my summer -- two weeks in isolation and then some time to recover -- but it will be worth it.

   All of this good news was enhanced as well by the presence of my two out-of-state daughters (with each one bringing a grand baby) being able to hang out with me for a few days.  What fun. All in all Round Five and the accompanying news has been fantastic.  Thank you to all of you for praying, for being in my corner through this ordeal, and for allowing me the room to heal and grow. So far my fifty-seventh year on earth has been a difficult one but it has also been filled with blessings and hope.
   But please continue to pray for those I have met and re-met along this journey who are battling through this ugliness too:

• Pray for Pete who just lost his wife Millie to this disease.
• Pray for Scott (and his wife Kathy) who is facing bladder cancer after battling kidney cancer just a few years ago.
• Pray for Nancy (and her husband Ed) who is one week behind me in her treatments for lymphoma and has been an awesome cheerleader for me through all of this.
• Pray for Howie (and his wife Ellie) as he battles through a very complicated case of cancer and Ellie who is recovering from a nasty fall.

   We are all members of a club that none of us wanted to be in.  But here we are as fighters.  We all share the same God and the same hope of eternity.  "The God of peace will soon crush Satan under your feet" (Romans 16:20).  Life is good.  Eternity is better.  Thank God for both.

Scott

   The truck is revving and is coming around the corner.  It is 6:00 pm now and Chemo Round Five is inside me and now we wait to see what the effects are.  But right now I am asking you to divert your attention from me and pray for my friend Scott.  He is a cancer survivor and last had issues seven or eight years ago.  But Scott was in the hospital overnight on Tuesday into Wednesday with some symptoms that led the doctors to perform some tests.  So stop right now -- before reading any further -- and pray for this man and his wife, children, and grandchildren -- I will write more after you pray for him.
   Scott and I go way back, about as far back as any two people can.  He is a few days older than I am and his family and my family both grew up at Sherman Street Christian Reformed Church.  My mother tells me that she and Scott's mom were in the same hospital at the same time following our births (I cannot verify this because I was a little young at the time and my mother never lets the facts get in the way of a good story).  One cannot go back much further when tracking relationships than that.  We have run together when we were young and studly.  We played a lot of softball together.  We watched each other's families grow up.  I was his oldest son's teacher in school and our daughters were best friends in high school.  The litany of togetherness goes on and on.  Scott's wife has returned the favor and currently works at the school where my two youngest children attend.  Scott has been a beacon for me in my early days of this journey by visiting and offering both advice and hope in the name of Jesus. If you ever mysteriously find one dozen cinnamon rolls on your back porch some day, Scott was there when you weren't looking.  Without getting too dramatic, I might have to return those favors for him based on the pending tests.  I am willing to do that...I just hope I don't have to.
   Did you already pray for Scott and his family?  Thank you.  Now please as this entry closes, do it again.  God won't mind.

"When peace like a river attendeth my way

When sorrows like sea billows roll

Whatever my lot, you have taught me to say:

It is well, it is well with my soul."

                                                  --Horatio Stafford

Check out the story behind this song at:
http://staugustine.com/living/religion/2014-10-16/story-behind-song-it-well-my-soul

Shakespeare and My Voices

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time.

William Shakespeare in MacBeth

   Tomorrow is Chemo Round Five and while I don't have plans for this to be "the last syllable of recorded time" for me personally, it is nonetheless a day I do not eagerly anticipate.  When one has hard circumstances looming, one gets a little philosophical in the hours leading up to the hard thing.  I guess without wanting to I am doing just that.  I have rather appreciated these last few days when my body is feeling good, when I eat and drink because I have hunger and thirst, and when I don't have the overwhelming need to sleep.  But the "petty pace from day to day" is something that I can also relate to.
   People ask me, "What do you do with all that time?" Well, it depends.  If I am throwing up, not much else.  If I am sleeping, not much else.  If my stomach is moving around and goes from my throat to the base of my hips in 2.45 seconds, not much else.  When I am feeling good, I walk, I read, I write, I play Ruzzle, I do the laundry, I clean the refrigerator, I pray, I text, I clean up around the house.  Soon there will be a day when I won't have the need to justify what it is I do with my time.  This is a personal justification, mind you; you see, when I feel good, I also feel guilty that I am at home feeling good.  Guilt is that voice (borne out of some doctrinal standard in the church somewhere, I think, that was meant for good but can cripple us at times) that says that you are in the wrong and you should be in the right.  Specifically for me it says, "What are you doing at home when you should be at school or at least living life?"  When all is well, guilt can motivate us back toward the narrow road we should all be walking on, but cancer also has these warnings: "Always wash your hands!"  "Don't hug people!" "Do everything you can to avoid getting a virus from someone!" "Don't touch your face!"  "Even a virus in your condition could be catastrophic!"  The Cancer Voice and the Guilt Voice seem to be competing in my brain for my attention and therefore my action (or non-action).  Ultimately I need to just set both aside and get healthy.  I know that.  But the voices are there.  I guess I need to read a little more Shakespeare and recognize this truth: Those voices are "full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."  Who would have thought that Shakespeare could be an antidote for the voices inside my head?

   OK, Tem is home.  Time to go play Cribbage. Thanks for listening to my voice(s).