It Takes a Team

   Guest blogger here again.....Phil is a bit wiped out today so I told him to rest and I'll handle this again today.
   He had some bloody noses that wouldn't quit last night.  But I guess with a platelet count of 18 that happens.  His blood just isn't clotting much.  So they gave him platelets at 4 am.  He also started on the Neupogen injections last night.  I hope things turn around now.  And quickly.
   I hear the sounds of the medical team in the hallway.......let's see what they say.  My guess: this is all to be expected.  The way it goes most mornings, Phil cracks some kind of a silly joke just before they walk out the door and we hear them laughing and talking about "what a funny guy he is."  I don't think he is feeling real "funny" this morning though.

And.....just as I suspected.  They are not overly concerned.  Phil's throat is sore so his meds will now be liquified or given IV.  On the plus side, he is now given slushies whenever he wants them.  They would like him to eat more (by eat, I mean drink Ensures).  The doctors are saying that nothing has been out of the ordinary with Phil's counts and they expect that soon those blood cells will multiply and do their job.
   Your job, dear prayer team, is to pray.  Phil is totally dependent on God's healing power now.  We will sit here and watch it happen.  We might watch a few movies while we're at it though.  If you need to know anything about what is on TV, what movies are good, which movies are bad, what the talk show hosts are saying, the daily news happenings, etc., just ask us.  We are in the know.  And we are grateful for you, our faithful team.

Science and Memorial Day

   I'll start today with a little of the science that is going on inside of me.  Day +5 is today.  That means I am five days past the actual transplant of my cells from me and back into me.  Prior to that I was reduced to a pile of wet rags by heavy rounds of chemo designed to eradicate the last strongholds of whatever cancer could be in my body.  I am always tired right now and never hungry.  Also everything in my body has been compromised so that they can begin the rebuilding process, which we hope can begin today.  Here are a few of the numbers for you medical professionals:

• When I entered the hospital on May 18, I weighed 182 pounds.  Within five days I weighed 197 pounds.  Today I weigh 171 pounds.
• When I entered the hospital on May 18, my WBC (white blood count) was at 4.26.  Today it is at 0.03.
• When I entered the hospital on May 18, my platelet count was 211.  Today it stands at 18.
• When I entered the hospital on May 18, my hemoglobin count was 11.1 and now it is at 8.5.  

    For some of you, those numbers make sense.  For me, it just means that I am always exhausted, never hungry, and frustrated to have to feel this way.  But feeling frustrated means expending energy and I have very little of that to spare.  There is your science lesson for the day.  Now on to more important things.
   It seems as though my grandson Jesse had a difficult time understanding the notion of Memorial Day.  In my daughter's small northwestern Ohio town, there was a parade yesterday.  Kids decorated wagons and bikes and I am sure it was all quite exciting.  My son-in-law was pulling Jesse and his little buddy in a wagon for the parade and as they walked the streets and waved their American flags, Jesse was yelling out, "Hosanna!  Jesus is coming!"  Indeed he is.  Never before has anyone confused Memorial Day with Palm Sunday.  But then again, perhaps we should.

The Passing

   I am not sure what to do.  My friend Lisa lost her father to cancer early this morning.  He passed away at 1:25 am.  I never met Lisa's father, but considering the kind of person Lisa is, he must have done a great job as a father.  His cancer diagnosis was realized only a couple of months ago, well after my initial rounds of chemotherapy were completed.  Her response to my e-mail this morning was so typical of her heart:

Thank you so much, Phil! You are so lovely to email me when you yourself are fighting such a tremendous battle.  I have been on my knees for you often!   Your strength in Jesus has helped me so much through this.  I've been walking through my days, first singing "one day at a time, sweet Jesus" and then "....every hour I need Thee...". He is always there.  Always ready to carry me when I can't bare to walk.  I can't wait to give you a giant hug!  

   So I am not sure what to do.  I would like to run out of this hospital right now and find Lisa and claim that hug and share a good cry with her.  I would like to tell her it will all be alright, when I know she knows it will be, even though right now it is hard to imagine that everything can have meaning in life again.  I would like to go to this man's funeral service, because he and I have shared something (besides being blessed by his daughter) that makes us a part of the same team.  Cancer is a unifier. I would like to do and say and eat and escape and live and hike and camp and thrive and laugh and...but I can't just right now.
  What should I do right now?  Pray...and wait.  And Lisa, I will get that hug soon enough.  I will give you a call as soon as I get out of here.

Wrestling With God

"Then the man said, 'Let me go, for it is daybreak.'

But Jacob replied, 'I will not let you go unless you bless me.'" (Genesis 32:26)

   This is Day +3 (three days after transplant) and it is a Sunday.  I have never been inside the same building this long in the history of my life - ten consecutive days without going outside...and counting.  It is Memorial Day weekend, the sun is shining, and I can only look outside.  Physically I have had a few hard days here.  I have no appetite and everything that comes out of me is...well, not solid.  My weight is hovering downward back toward what it ought to be, but I need to turn a corner soon in the battle for the digestive system so that my next round of Neuprogen shots can happen on schedule.
   I read through Genesis 32 again this morning.  This story is fascinating for a lot of reasons.  Prior to meeting back up with his estranged twin, Jacob has this night of wrestling.  He is wrestling with some unknown character, but it soon becomes evident that it is with God himself.  Now I recall being a part of wrestling matches that would go on for twenty minutes or more, but at the end of those matches I was whupped.  I remember Coop and Jared going at it one evening at camp for about an hour.  But after that amount of time only sheer exhaustion on the part of both participants is present.  Strength is gone.  So wrestling on all night seems impossible to me; even as I recall the thoughts of those matches now with my current diminished physical abilities, I get tired.
   But what is curious about this story is that through this experience, Jacob receives his new name: "Israel," a word that means "wrestles with God."  So what truth is here for me today?
   God wants me to engage with him.  He welcomes my frustration, my anger, my sadness, my frailties.  I may have scars from the encounter (Jacob's hip was damaged) but I will be forever changed when I encounter God in this way.  But it seems to me that Jacob did not receive his blessing just for wrestling with God but for his clinging to God.  After that long evening, Jacob had no more energy to wrestle, and the only thing he could do is hang on.  According to God's word, the blessing came because he refused to let go.
   I am beaten.  I am exhausted.  I have wrestled with God about this cancer and chemotherapy and treatment and I am tired of the whole affair.  But I will not let go.  I will hang on.

Connie's Reflections

Hello!  I get to be the guest blogger today.  Before my update on Phil, I thought I would be reflective. Cancer seems to do that to people.  The picture above is just after our engagement 32 1/2 years ago.  We were in California and had just returned from Sequoia National Park where Phil got down on one knee in the middle of a blizzard on the side of a mountain.  Obviously I said yes.  I remember the rest of that day (and for months after) discussing our future life.  Not so much the wedding, but mostly thinking about how we would have the perfect life, the perfect marriage, raise the perfect kids.  We weren't so much interested in having material things and safety and comfort (that just was never us), but we did think we were prepared to impact the world in a huge way and share the love of Jesus with everyone who came along.  Well, those were our plans......

But along the way comes failure.  Personal failure, health issues, grief, loss, rejection, difficulty with child raising, etc.  But also comes great joy and celebration and laughter.  I remember meeting each of our children for the first time and loving them instantly, whether they were bio or adopted.  And the camping adventures......and holidays......and experiencing new jobs and homes and friends.....discovering Romania and Ethiopia.  Through all of these, good and bad times, God has been working in our lives to mold us into people who see the needs around us and react with compassion.  I doubt that we would even notice if everything always went our way.

And we remember HIS promises to us......"I'll never leave you nor forsake you."  "I died for you."  "I'll give you my strength when you have none of your own."  "I will be with you in the valley of the shadow of death."  "I created you with purpose."  "I'm going to make all things new."

So it's OK.  There is a bigger picture.  I don't know if we'll ever understand the whys.   But we have trust in the one who is overseeing EVERYTHING.

The update:  Phil is doing pretty well, other than nausea, lack of appetite, fatigue, some aches and pains, diarrhea, and chemo brain (I am not really noticing the chemo brain but he says he can't focus on things.)  Dr. Fayed was just here and he said it's all normal.  (We really like this guy.  I'm trying to get him to say Michigan is better than California but he hasn't said those words exactly yet.)  The nurses have said there might be worse side effects of chemo ahead yet.  But let's not even think that way.   Please pray that they're wrong......that now Phil can heal and each day get stronger and get discharged in a couple of weeks (which would be the earliest possible).

One more memory......this is us in San Francisco, the year before we were married (I think we're headed out to Alcatraz).  We look pretty carefree, huh?  And pretty 80s too.  I think we're looking at more carefree days ahead.  Post-cancer.  God is not finished with us yet.

Oh, and this is Connie writing today.  Just in case you haven't figured that out yet.......

Frustration

   It has been a long 48 hours.  Connie will bring you up to speed tomorrow.  Thank you for continued prayers.  Pray for the effects of chemo to pass, that the stem cells get re-accepted, and that I find an appetite again.  I also need some good sleep tonight.  Thank you.

Day Zero Has Arrived!

   It is 7:30 am of Day 0 - Transplant Day.  Please just pray that all goes well.  Thank you.

   As we now approach 4:30 pm, the family reunion inside of me has started!  Thank you everyone for the warm wishes, the prayers, the cards, the thoughts.  The transplant was both uneventful and monumental -- uneventful because everything went well but monumental because this day is a turning point of sorts.  Now real recovery can begin.  But it will still happen slowly.  I have at least two weeks left here in the hospital or until my stem cells can prove they are doing what they are supposed to be doing. Also I have had a lot of chemo put into me in the last week and so that will have to slowly matriculate its way through my system too, leaving me feeling generally--whats the clinical word?---yucky.  (More later -- I have three special visitors right now...Connie and Tem and Tess).
   Now that my family has eaten room service (which Tessa thinks is really cool -- "just call them up and they deliver!") and Tem has wiped me out in cribbage, the family is heading back home.  I have just a couple of thoughts.  I didn't want it today but my devotional book wanted me to focus on Job.  No God...not today.  But the point made is that without the suffering in Job's life, who would Job have been?  His hardship formed him.  I want this hardship to form me into being a better man.  I am not sure what that looks like yet, but I am now open to it.
   Also, Curt went home yesterday.  He was a BMT patient that was released from his hospital stay just three hours before his daughter's high school graduation.  They had him gowned up in a private room, but he was there to watch his daughter walk across the stage.  Those things too will now take on new significance for me as well.

The Eve of the Reunion

   Today is Day (-1) and so tomorrow is the scheduled day for my stem-cell transplant.  That also means that today (as of twenty minutes ago or so) I have Lord willing received the last of my chemotherapy for a good long time.  In a moment I am actually going to try to eat something and that will be an adventure.  Connie is here with me and that makes things go so much better, but I ended up taking some drug called Ada-Van (not a transportation company from a Grand Rapids-area village) that put me to sleep for about 4 hours today and it was wonderful.  I have not slept that long in many nights.  God bless Ada-Van.
   So tomorrow comes the transplant -- around 11:00 am.  Folks around here love the smell of creamed corn because that what it seems transplants smell like.  I don't know why -- but I will investigate and get back to you about that.  Do I anticipate this like a Christmas morning?  Or like the last day of a school year?  Not really.  All of that kind of excitement is tempered by the fact that this is just one more step in the process.  I will still be here for two-three weeks following the transplant and then have to live for about 100 days with gloves and masks and other cool Halloween props.  It'll be a while, but it is a step.  One more step in the journey -- no sense rushing this thing along now.  Just keep going.
   But in other news:

• Scott has received some great news!  His tumor has disappeared through prayer and chemo and while he will still have to complete his regimen, he is thrilled by this turn of events and so are we.  Surgery may still be pending, but get to be friends with him on Facebook to watch another miracle story unfold.
• Howie received an emeritus award from Calvin Seminary this weekend and stood up like a giant to receive it.  Ephesians 6 mentions that with all the spiritual protection we have -- shield of faith, belt of truth, breastplate of righteousness, and so on -- we are called to stand.  To stand.  Howie stood.  It was a good thing.
• Nancy is clear and continues to energize those around here.  I received a text from her today encouraging me to keep going.  We are now a team.  I cannot imagine that changing for the rest of our lives.  
• Brandon had a little set-back but I don't know what is going on.  Keep praying for him and Danielle.  
• How are you doing Val?  I haven't heard from you in a while.  But it goes to show that you nerf need to look far to find people to pray for.  Do that today.  Thanks. 

Thoughts About Cancer vs. Chemo

   Were you ever in a situation where you were forced to watch some kind of athletic competition between two teams, both of whom you did not like and maybe they were doing a sport you didn't really appreciate?  For instance, imagine Ohio State vs. Nebraska in bowling...or the Green Bay Packers vs. the Minnesota Vikings in a poker tournament.  Who do you cheer for?  I guess I would pick the team I hate the least.
   I feel that way about Cancer vs. Chemotherapy right about now.  I don't like either one and I don't like the game they are playing inside of me, but I hate cancer more so I find myself cheering for chemotherapy.  Another long night last night with frequent interruptions, but each night like that I go through is one less I have to deal with.  Today is Day (-2) so we anticipate a stem-cell family reunion on Thursday.  I have one more day of chemo (today) and then the nurses back off a little and give me a day of reprieve before my little boys all get reintroduced to their friends inside of me.  I am still fat with water retention but have yet to top the 200 lb. mark.  My legs are sore, I cannot breathe as well, and I could whine a little bit more if I let it get out of control.  "This burden is yours again today, God.  I don't want it.  Thanks for taking it.  Amen."
   On to today.  What will I do?  Take my meds.  Walk (remember: 18 laps = 1 mile!) Read a little.  Write a letter.  See my wife (I hope).  Watch television.  Do a crossword puzzle.  Pray.  Drink.  Drink.  Drink.  Take in more chemo.  Nap. Visit the restroom a lot.  Get ready for tomorrow.  Heck, I think that Mississippi State is playing Gonzaga in team pickle ball on ESPN today.  I can hardly wait.
 
 

100

   Day (-3): From my devotions this morning:

"I cry out to God Most High, to God, who fulfills his purpose for me."  Psalm 57:2

One beautiful old translation of this verse says, "He will perform the cause I hold in my hand." That makes it very real to me today.  The very thing "I hold in my hand"--my work today, this concern that is beyond my control, this task in which I have greatly overestimated my own abilities--this is what I may cry out for Him to do for me, with the calm assurance He will perform it.

   This entry from May 22 from Streams in the Desert by L.B. Cowman came at just the right time (thanks for this gift, Lori - this book has been a blessing).  I have a few burdens this morning and if I don't unload them soon they will become worrisome and they will drag me down.   I am feeling the effects of three days of chemo and my body is not liking it.  The nausea, the constipation, the lack of appetite are the trifecta I have experienced before.  Additionally, just like the night before, I was awakened seven or eight times last night by nurses needing this and that and the other thing.  I had to deal with a couple of pokes, more chemo, and two sets of vitals.  I also have had some complications from an anti-coagulant drug that dropped my heart rate down to 42 beats per minute.  Added to this list of complaints is that the constant fluid that is dripping into me, whether it be chemo or saline, has added about fifteen pounds of "puff" to me.  I have never weighed 197 pounds before...I do now. 

   Q: What is the difference between Phil and The Pillsbury Dough Boy?

   A: There is no difference.  Both are white, adorable, and fat.

   While I know these circumstances are temporary,  I need to roll these burdens toward God 's feet and let him carry them for me.  I have that promise that he will take it all ("Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you." 1 Peter 5:17) so why should I ever try to power on with strength I don't have?   There is no reason to be fearful of these things.  I may have to endure a little discomfort but enduring and fearing are two different states of mind.  "So God, take the fear out of my circumstances.  Help me to endure well today without worry.  I give this to you today.  Thank you.  Amen."

   (This is Blog Entry #100 on this journey of mine...thank you for following along and praying me through this experience...there is nothing like the loyalty of good friends and praying people.)

Little Things

   Sometimes things are good and sometimes little things get in the way of things being good.  Today I am tired and swelling up.  I had a long night last night because of chemo.  My nurse started it at 11:00 pm, it was done at 1:00 am so she had to come along and detach things.  Vital signs are taken at 2:00 am and at 6:00 am.  Two in-between trips to the bathroom (only two!) made for a short night of sleep and by 6:30, I knew it was fruitless to try for more.  Once up, I had a whole day in front of me.  I went for one of my four assigned walks around the hallway (18 laps for one mile, don't you know) and met two other folks out for their morning strolls-with-poles.  Scottie and Lynda and I had a wonderful conversation as we started out our day.  Both are believers and so our conversations became real quickly.  I think we were all encouragers to each other.  The nurses laughed when they saw the three of us putzing around.  I thought with our gowns and gloves and masks that we might be mistaken for terrorists or at least some version of a radical biker gang.  No such luck.
   But now my legs and arms are swelling up.  The doc says this is a common occurrence since they are constantly pumping fluids into me, but another med is supposed to help reduce the edema and make it easier to walk and use my hands again soon. We shall see.
   Mike came by last night and sat and talked for what seemed to be 15 minutes when it was really about two hours.  He is from Florida and made the impromptu visit following the funeral of his first wife's father.  Then Scott came by this morning and the same time phenomena occurred.  Both are godly men.  Both prayed with me.  Both have had cancer in their pasts and Scott is facing it currently again.  Both are athletes, fathers, Christians, in love with their wives.  Both have experienced loss. Both have experienced suffering.  Both testify to the goodness of God.  They are my kind of people.  "Thank you for friends like these guys, God.  They get it.  I appreciate that you prompted each one to stop by and visit  Amen."  
   OK, it's only noon, but now it's nap time.  If only these nurses would leave me alone when I am trying to sleep, the world would be a better place.  But that is one "little thing" -- all for the greater good.  Here we go.  One day at a time, sweet Jesus...
   

Thoughts About Suffering and Pain

   It's Saturday -- Day Three of my stay here at 5C.  Actually the medical staff calls this day Day (-5).  I entered the hospital on Day (-7) and I receive my stem cells on Day 0.  A technicality I know, but here is yet another instance of using two scales just to confuse one issue -- Celsius vs. Fahrenheit, English vs. Metric, Snapchat vs. Instagram -- it can all get unruly for no apparent reason.
   I have been thinking more about a deeper question though.  It is one that young Christians and non-Christians both ask and needs to be wrestled with by those of us blessed to have known Jesus and his love for a while.  "Why does a good God allow suffering and pain?"  Many authors like C.S. Lewis and Louis Smedes and Henri Nouwen and Thomas Merton have written about this alleged conundrum regarding God's goodness far more eloquently than I will in the next few minutes.  But I wanted to share a few things as chemo is yet again being pumped into me.
   We tend to think that if God is truly in control of all things, we could pray and he could just snap his fingers and whatever we ask for would be granted.  A lot of this thinking is rooted in the wrong idea of who God is.  He is not the "Genie in the Bottle" or the "Santa Claus" who is just waiting to give us whatever we want when we want it.  Many times what we want is not what is right or good or noble or worthwhile.  Then again what we do NOT want, like pain and suffering, we strive to eradicate so our perceived sense of comfort and safety and "cuddly-warm-puppiness" can be again realized.
   Understandably, there are times when pain and suffering seems unbearable.  I remember the grief my sister and her husband endured when their daughter tragically died almost ten years ago.  I remember watching my wife go through breast cancer ten years ago and now she has to watch me go through lymphoma.  I remember the free fall I felt in July, 2000 when two of our summer staff kids at camp were killed in a car-truck accident and a third had to live with the fact that he had been driving and was at fault. This all makes no sense at the time.  We ask,"Why?" as if there was some answer that could be provided to make it all explainable and understandable.  But I also think there is more.  When God allows us to go through hard things, there are benefits if we ever take the time to notice.  We may wonder at the time of noticing such benefits whether they were worthwhile to have learned. Losing a daughter or a spouse or a friend to death or disease simply to learn a lesson does seem like a high price to pay. But perhaps God is not done using that lesson yet.
   So back to the question: "Why does a good God allow suffering and pain?" I will present a few thoughts in bullet points because none of these are well thought out yet and bullet points are more like bite-sized chunks that brains like mine can more easily handle:

• Suffering allows us to draw closer to God.  When I was a boy I would ask my father for help with something only if I did not understand or if a job was too big for me to do alone.  If I could deal with it by myself, I would not have to consult my father.  God wants us to draw close to him. 
• Suffering allows others the privilege of praying, of serving, of blessing, of loving, of recognizing the sovereignty of God and the power only he has.  My Rockford Christian School community has been ridiculous at this and I believe that my illness has been used to make our community even stronger for him.  I know how humbling it is for me when a first grader hugs me and tells me he is praying for me.  This has been God's gift of grace to me.
• Suffering allows us to appreciate the blessings of health to a greater degree and to recall with nostalgia and thankfulness the things that we once did.  Admittedly, like Grandpa's fishing stories, stories of my athletic prowess can become enhanced as the years go by, but I am thankful for those experiences.
• Suffering allows us to re-connect with people that have been important to us in the past and that still care for us and love us even when we do not see them often.  Dave, Boon, Andy, Mike, Mule, Randy, Heidi, Chuck, Tiny...you all know what I mean.  Again, God's grace in action.
• Suffering allows us to look forward to that day when ultimately there will be no suffering.  While I fight for life right now, I also know that something called heaven is waiting for me.  "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and you will be saved..." (Acts 16:31).  Something greater is waiting for me.  Because of this certainty, hope can rule my attitude.  Another gift from God.
• Suffering allows us to show empathy for others.  Without going through trials ourselves, empathy would be reduced to mere pity and pity doesn't help much.  My friend Tom visited yesterday.  He is a two-time lymphoma survivor and has experienced a stem-cell transplant.  His words and blessings were like pure gold, far more valuable than any chaplain or life coach or relative that has not been down this same road we have traveled and are traveling.  

   "Why does a good God allow suffering and pain?"  Still gonna wrestle with this one a while.  At least I have a start on it for the next time when one of my seventh graders brings up the question.  

My New Place (But I Would Rather Live with Connie)

   So this is home..my temporary place of residence...for the next month or so.  You do not see me in the bed because I was probably in the bathroom relieving myself when Connie took the picture. The nurses are constantly monitoring my vital signs (so far so good) and pumping the fluids into me and that means...well, you know what that means.  I am most likely behind that door on the left side of the photo -- that is where I spent much of my day.  Today was the first full day that I was here on 5C in Butterworth Spectrum Hospital and it included a different form of chemo that really gave me a headache and caused me to be exhausted.  But the nurses warned me that would happen.  And it did.  Oh well...a little discomfort is to be expected.  One logistical challenge that will be different is that for the next  three weeks my catheter will be connected to the lines that get hung up on a pole.  Anywhere I go, the pole goes with me.  I take a walk...I take the pole.  I watch television...the pole watches with me.  I go to the bathroom...the pole supervises my actions.  I sleep...I will stay connected to the pole via the umbilical-like bond that we now share.  He has already earned several labels ("The Tower of Power" or "My Tall Pole-ish Friend" or "My Go-Pole" or "The Statue of Non-Liberty") but no one name has actually stuck.  I do know that it is a "he" because I would never take a woman to some of the places I have to take him.  It all reminds me of a dumb joke:  Q: Who was Alexander Graham Bell Pulaski?  A: The first telephone Pole.

   So what will happen in the near future?  More chemo for the next four days and then in one week the docs will hang a bag on the pole that has little pieces of me in it -- my own stem cells.  They were harvested from my blood stream on May 1 and have taken a little three-week vacation from being in my body to spend some time in a cooler at West Michigan Blood.  Now that they are well rested, they should be ready to do their jobs again.  I am obligated to stay on this floor for the duration of my stay.  If I leave my room, I must be gowned and masked and gloved.  I can have visitors if they have not been sick in the last couple of weeks and if they do not stay too long.  But each day I am here is one day closer to finishing this journey.  It's all just temporary, so let's get it done.  

The Next Step

   Today is the day.  In a few hours I will be moving into Butterworth Spectrum for a month or so.  This transplant is never anything I wanted to do but it is now my experience to embrace.  Let's get it done and move on with the rest of my life.  I am supported by so many people and have the certainty that this too will be overcome by the power I claim that is outside of me.  "Bless me, God.  Please take care of my family while I am hospitalized.  Please allow this experience to be used by you to point to your goodness and your power.  You have been so good to me.  Let's go.  Amen."
   It was all a wonderful distraction yesterday as I played around with 20 beautiful seventh graders for the day on our class trip.  Going out for breakfast, on to the Whitecaps game, and then to the beach allowed me to not even think much about what today might have in store.  But also today is here and now I have new challenges to face that may not be as fun, but fun is overrated.  Life is about learning and laughing and becoming more like our Father in heaven and showing his love wherever we go.  Each day we have the opportunity to do just that.  It will be a great day.
   Already today I have been blessed with so many texts and messages wishing me well during this next step in the journey.  You people are amazing.  I will keep you updated as I can from the 5-Center floor of Butterworth Spectrum Hospital in beautiful downtown Grand Rapids, MI.  Please pray for Connie and the kids and their lives as I abandon them for a while.  Thank you.

Grandma's Cheesy Potatoes

   Three more days until T-Day and right now I am in the hospital preparing for yet another pet scan.  This will be my third one during the course of this journey.  The pet scan surveys my body (neck to knees) in an effort to see if any cancer cells are lurking anywhere.  The word on the street is that the docs wanted one more baseline check prior to starting all of the stem-cell stuff to make sure my carcass is clean.  The scan demands that I lower my blood sugar significantly through a specialized diet the day before…no big deal.  But then we had two family gatherings for Mother’s Day that included so many no-nos: a big and beautiful fruit salad (no fruit), Grandma’s cheesy potatoes (no starches), genuine lemonade (no juices), ice cream (no sugars) and cake (never good for you anyway).  Just about everything that was on the table was also on my taboo list.  But my resistance to temptation was rewarded: my blood sugar was at 79 this morning, well under the threshold to begin the science needed to make this pet scan happen (it must be between 60 and 200).  So now I sit.  My port is right now receiving the solution needed to show up in the imaging machine (this will take a couple of hours) and so I wait. Once the scan begins, I will be out of here in twenty minutes.  

   “How are you doing?” is of course the standard question.  Honestly, I am tired.  Physically I am not sleepy or exhausted but nonetheless I am just tired of being the guy with cancer.  I am tired of having cancer and the accompanying hospital and clinic visits constantly interrupting my life.  I am tired of conversations revolving around me and cancer and what appointments are coming up this week and what the prognosis is and how I am feeling.  I know, I know…I need to be patient.  I have heard it before and I have told myself that for months.  And I know that people are concerned and therefore want to know and I appreciate that, but I just how I am feeling right now and if it sounds like griping, so be it. I guess I am no better than the Israelites wandering in the desert.  But I know I will be fine when I can eat some of that fruit salad and Grandma’s cheesy potatoes.  For now, I wait.  

   I was able to hang out on the beach for a while yesterday.  It was beautiful and good.  I won't be able to do that much this summer so despite the chilly wind, it was definitely a blessed day.  OK...that was enough.  I am now done griping.  Grandma's cheesy potatoes are waiting for me at home when I get done with this scan.  

Three Events to Celebrate

   Five more days until T-Day.  Today I have three important events to attend.  Each one reminds me that chasing after life is a good thing.  Each one is a celebration of good and God.  It should be a fun day:

• My first stop today will be to go to the city-wide middle school track finals.  My son is a sixth grader and will be running in two events and jumping in a third.  As I sit in the stands assuming the posture of a proud father, I will also celebrate running and jumping and competing in general.  The blessings of having a physically healthy body to do all of these will be remembered.  Now I understand that I am not as fast as I used to be, but someday soon I should be back and able to do some of those things without getting too tired. Life is worth celebrating.
• Today I am going to Nancy's "Cancer Free!" Open House celebration. This is exciting because Nancy was diagnosed just shortly after I was and our journeys coincided frequently.  We each played cheerleader for the other on multiple occasions.  Nancy has decided to celebrate with a party -- not a bad idea -- and I cannot imagine not being there based on our connection.  We are members of the same team even though neither of us wanted to join the game in the first place.  Life is worth celebrating.
• This afternoon Connie and I are attending the wedding of a co-worker of hers.  Michelle is getting married on a beautiful warm and sunny spring day.  She is marrying Kyle, and the two of them blessed us with the gift of a kitchen table a few months ago.  But about six weeks ago Michelle's father past away from cancer.  Michelle will not be able to live out the magic moment of being escorted down the aisle by her father.  This wedding is a reminder that life and love continue even when interrupted by sadness and grief.  Weddings always remind me of my own wedding 32 years ago and how blessed my life has been with Connie.  Weddings are great and this one will be special.  Life is worth celebrating.

   Five more days until T-Day, but in the meantime I have some celebrating to do.  Find something to celebrate today too.  God is good.

What Will Happen?

   Seven more days until T-Day.  Many of you have asked me what I will be facing and what it will all be like so today I will simply lay out the information in a factual sort of way for you (at least to the extent of what I know).
    When the transplant process begins, I will become a resident of 5-C at Spectrum Hospital in Grand Rapids, Michigan for three to four weeks.  For the first week of my stay, I will be administered a heavy dose of chemotherapy designed to zap whatever residual cancer-crap that may be still floating around inside of me.  After another week or so I will be reintroduced to a large Zip-loc bag full of my own stem cells which were harvested from me on May 1.  The medical personnel then monitor me closely to see if the blood-cell family reunion is a joyous and non-combative affair and that all of those little guys play well together.  The occasion will also be accompanied by a myriad of drugs, pills, and prescriptions to assist in this coming-together time.  It will look a lot like Club Med (ication).
   As time goes on my blood counts will be watched closely and when the numbers indicate that the white blood cells are back to where they ought to be and the stem cells are doing what they are supposed to do and the rest of the critters in my veins are back to enjoying life together, I will be allowed to come home to recover.  "Recover" means to avoid large groups of people, mold, gardening, snakes, chain saws, turtles, campfire smoke, lawn mowers, dust, germs, beer, pollen, fish eyes, bad Chinese food, dead critters the cat brings home, trips to most African countries, volcanoes, fast cars, alligators, bird poop, dog poop, cat poop, poop in general, car repairs (like I ever did that in the first place), mean individuals (I am not releasing my list just yet, but don't worry -- I don't think you are on it), returning the Michigan ten-cent cans and bottles (well, not really, but I never liked that job so I am putting it on my list), and a plethora of other things since I will have no immunities built up.  Later I will have to be shot up with any and all inoculations that I ever received as a child because all of that will be filtered out of my system too.  Even whooping cough.  The doctor claims that the first one hundred days must be lived out with this sense of hyper vigilance, but then it will take 4-6 months before I am back to "normal."
   There you have the low-down.  That is the basic information of the process I will be facing in one week.  My patience is stretched right now.  Let's just get this party started.  My blood cells need each other.  They all want to be one big happy family again.  Let's go.

Shout-Outs

   Nine more days until T-Day.  For a while today, I almost forgot that I had cancer.  I have been feeling well lately, better than I have since about September.  Other than the limited endurance factor, I feel normal.  I have energy.  I am six weeks removed from my last exposure to chemotherapy.  I am excited to be at school, complete with its drama and frustrations (but by the way, if anyone has a recipe for leading graduating eighth-graders out of the doldrums of mid-May, let me know.  Some are suffering from a childhood strain of "senioritis." I am afraid that for some of them, the clowns are packing up the carnival and the train has started rolling out of town).  I almost forgot I had cancer, but then I realized as I felt my head that I am still bald, that I still have these implants -- complete with the dangling udders -- in my chest, that I still have no taste for coffee, and that I have no facial hair.  Oh yeah, that's right.  I still have cancer.  But honestly, it was the first time that I genuinely forgot about the disease even for a few moments...and for those few moments it felt good to forget.
   Since this is my blog, I decide each day how to use it and what to say.  Today I offer a random collection of shout-outs.  If you don't know what these mean, you don't have to.  Just know I appreciate so many people who have blessed and encouraged and upheld me in different ways just lately.  I hope you will be challenged to look for those in your life that deserve your appreciation:

• Dan and Lori -- My wife returned from a weekend with you all refreshed and renewed.  Your friendship means the world to us.  Thank you for taking care of her.
• Bekah -- We ate at Chili's tonight.  You know why.
• Sara, Eric, Anna, Julie, Don, Alex, et. al. -- You all have been so ridiculously patient with me this year.  I did not plan to be a burden to our institution this year and while I cannot really say "I am sorry" for something so far outside of my control, I feel as though I owe you each so much.  You all have rallied around me in ways and at times that you don't even understand.  
• Rob and Lil -- You know why I list you here.  Bless you.  And thank you for loving your son so much.  It has been a pleasure to know you.
• Carson -- Your shaven head means more to Olivia than you will ever know.  Heck, it means a lot to me.  Thanks for shaving your head to show what is in your heart.
• Aunt Ruth -- Praying, reading, giving, riding through this whole thing with us from afar...thank you for paying so much attention to us.
• Roland and Sarah -- Thank you for helping us raise our son and chauffeuring him to places when we could not.  He likes being with you all. 
• Julie -- Same thing as above except insert the word "daughter" for the word "son."  And insert the word "loves" instead of "likes."
• Scott -- It doesn't matter if the conversations we share are at the "Chemo Corral" or in your living room or in my driveway or porch.  They are valued and treasured and God-honoring. We each plan on dying someday, but we also know that cancer will not be the cause.  Respect the enemy, then defeat the enemy.  
• Lori -- I didn't imagine I would have such a consistent cheerleader.  Thanks for the encouragement and the cards and the books and the kindness.  Maybe I will write that book someday.  
• Gary and Marty -- For the tree-and-driveway project, thank you.
• Tom, Tom, Jim, Tim -- As always, bless you boys.
• Connie -- Welcome home.  I love you.  Sleep well.

   Take the time to recognize all of the people who have blessed you and remember to thank God for those folks.  Then turn around and be that kind of person for someone else.  Good night.

   

 
 

Being Aware of Others

   Eleven more days until T-Day -- Transplant Day.  I still have a few hurdles to jump.  I must get through a heart stress test and dental clearance this week.  Keep moving.  Keep counting down.  The fear of the unknown can be worse than the pain of the known.  Forward.  But that's enough about me for now.  I move on to a more important issue:
   Many of you read this blog to find out how I am doing physically and what I am currently facing as I battle with this disease of lymphoma.  I am appreciative of that.  Thank you for upholding me and our family in prayer.  God is the giver of all things good.  He will continue to supply all we need.  But I also realize that in writing this blog, I have the tendency to become very "me-focused," to think what I am going through as Topic #1, to not even notice when others are hurting or have gone through difficulties.  I hate that about myself when I fall into that trap.  "Forgive me, Lord, when I get that way."  
   This week I found out a woman I know who recently lost her husband had been sick for about ten years leading up to her husband's death.  His death a few months ago was unexpected and now she is left to raise two kids.  I never knew.  I never asked.  Another person I know has been battling depression for quite some time and I never knew and I never asked.  Still another is the primary care giver for her father who was just recently given three to six months to live because of inoperable cancer throughout his body.  I found out, but have done nothing about it.  I don't like this about myself.  I have been blessed by so many people in so many ways during this rocky journey of mine.  Now I am again challenged to be a blessing to others, despite -- or maybe because of -- my current health status.  "God, make me more aware of the hurt and pain and sadness of other people.  You have given me hope -- and I have plenty of it to share with others.  Help me to be more willing to wade into the muck that others are struggling with and not just be concerned with my own muck.  Amen."
   Eleven more days until T-Day.  That gives me plenty of time to look out for the needs of others.

The Two-Hour Training Session

 
  We are now less than two weeks away from Transplant Day.  The timing of it all was a little off, but today I sat through my "Autologous Education" session down at the cancer treatment facility.  This two-hour training session was presented to five or six patients and their accompanying caregivers/cheerleaders. The purpose of the event was to explain all about what to expect during the stem-cell transplant process.  I say that the timing was off because the first hour of the lecture was all about the hoops I have already jumped through: the catheter implant, the harvesting of stem cells, the neuprogen injections in my belly (by my wife who I think was often smiling during those five days of jabbing me), and a briefing on all the lingo.  But Connie reminded me the more education one can have, the better.  The rest of the training included a lot of things about the stay in the hospital which are also listed in the book I have read, but maybe other people don't read the book.  Connie again reminded me gently to just soak in the knowledge and that even refresher courses are good.
   It was an interesting mix of people in our group.  The nurse leading the discussion had a difficult job.  She walked us through her fifty-seven power-point slides (I counted--sometimes I do weird things like that), reading what we probably could have read ourselves.  Each time she had to change slides, she had to walk over to the computer, squint like I squint when I don't have my reading glasses, and then apologize for not being more efficient.  Her monologue/presentation was complete and interesting, but it had to appeal to a variety of people, each of whom were very different and at different stages of this process:

• One patient was a guy I deduced was from up north (the phone number embroidered on the back of his Carhartt jacket had a 231 area code).  He had six female relatives with him.  I am quite sure they were all related because he did not look like a polygamist nor a harem-leading kind of a guy.  The women all had voices like men and several also wore Carhartt jackets.  They were a little scary.  
• One older woman spoke about the danger of ticks.  She had heard all about it on the local news and so assumed the role of resident etymologist.  She was a little scary too. 
• One guy could only talk about his Harley, until he fell asleep for the last 45 minutes of the presentation.  But at least his wife/girlfriend/sister asked a lot of questions on his behalf.  It is too bad that he wasn't awake to hear the answers.

   While it was obvious each of us there had a different story and background, I was reminded again to treasure my story and the accompanying joys and blessings I have.  The gifts of home and love and family and hope are nothing I have earned and should never be assumed.  

   People are fascinating.  They humor me and cause me to speculate about what has happened to them in the past that has formed their personalities.  But God does more than that.  He doesn't just observe them.  He both knows them and loves them.  All of them.  Even the Harley dude snoring in the corner who has lost a few teeth and more than a few brain cells over the years.  "Thank you God for being love to all.  Help me to learn to see people like you see people.  I want to keep working on that. Amen." 
   

Loving "Normal"

   Wednesday begins with a cloudless sky and a beautiful sunrise.  Thank you, Lord.  I am blessed.  Because of my fine performance in the stem cell production event on Monday (if I must say so myself), I have three days in a row without any further doctor's appointments or tests.  That means I am allowed to return to a shortened but somewhat normal day at school each day this week.  "Normal" is no longer normal.  "Normal" is good.  Again, I am blessed.  Two weeks from tomorrow is Transplant Day (May 18  -- "T-Day").  Then I re-enter the hospital to begin the stem-cell transplant process.  I will receive chemotherapy for a week, then one week later the transplant itself will take place.  And each day I go through another medical procedure or test or meeting is one less procedure or test or meeting that I have to go through.  It is great to have this medical team so close to my home and doing whatever they can to bring me to health again.  Blessed again?  Check.
   So where are we at right now?  Currently I have five more appointments between now and T-Day to verify this, that, and the other thing.  I am also feeling really quite good even though I would love to get rid of this cumbersome catheter that is embedded in the right side of my chest.  It itches and is annoying.  It has these dangly leads that seem to get in the way all the time.  (Note to self: I am reminded that there is no earthly reason for me to ever get jewelry implanted permanently in my ears or nipples or navel or any other random body part -- that just makes no sense at all!)  I still get tired easily but my endurance is slowly returning.  I am almost back to the weight I was when this all began, although I know I will be losing some poundage again in the hospital.  I still have a wife.  I still have children.  I still have a praying family.  I still have a job.  I still have working vehicles.  I still have a mortgage.  I still have love and encouragement and hope and a future.  I still gain pleasure from a cloudless sky and a beautiful sunrise.  I am blessed.
   Today's goal then is to lead a few checked-out and disinterested middle schoolers into noticing the joys of normal living, understanding the importance of doing a job well, and recognizing the gift of having God's blessings everywhere we look.  It is so obvious.  We just have to notice.  Hallelujah.

Apheresis: One and Done

   It is 6:00 am right now and today is Day One of Apheresis, the process of taking blood out of my body and sorting out the stem cells that have hopefully spilled into my arteries and veins.  For the last week I have been getting injections that are designed to encourage the stem cells on an adventure outside of their world: to step out of the safety of the bone marrow and wade into the bloodstream where they can cruise around and be free with the other blood cells like they are all in one big Kroc Center Lazy River together.  But what they don't know is that they will be harvested along the way.
   Am I a little nervous?  Yup.
   Does this all seem like science fiction?  Definitely.
   Is there a good team of people out there to pray away my anxiety and any infection?  Certainly.
   Does my sovereign God still have me in his care?  No doubt.
   Then let's do this -- I will provide more of a report for you when my job is over for the day...

   It is 6:00 pm right now and today was Day One of Apheresis.  While I have not heard yet whether or not I need to go back tomorrow, I guess it was a success.  What did I do?  I sat.  All day.  The lines that were hooked into me did not allow me to leave the chair I was parked in for the day.  I gave up a full bag of stem cells but we will have to wait and see if what was harvested is enough.  If not, I go back again tomorrow for another good long sit time.  I am tired right now.  I feel a little unsteady on my feet but all in all I guess I am not much worse for the wear.  Now I wait for a phone call...

   ...and the results are in.  I gave enough stem cells in Day One to earn me a pass for Day Two.  This is good!  My numbers are still looking good.  Now what should I do with my day tomorrow?  I think I will go to school.  "Thank you Lord for good nurses today, for good counts today, for a good wife who made the day go by quickly...or relatively quickly.  Please keep this process on track now so that I can get better.  Amen."