Giants

  "Keep moving forward." 
   This has become my mantra lately because now "forward" means without known impending medical interruptions.  I have no more chemotherapy planned for my future, no more planned hospital stays coming up, and there is no more sign of cancer in my body.  These are the giants I have been facing since November and now they are beginning to fade into my personal history rather than having a part in my daily experience.
   When Israel sent the twelve spies into the Promised Land to explore it, ten of them came back with the report that the land was indeed beautiful but there were giants already living there.  The giants could not be conquered and invading the land would be foolish.  They had seen but did not believe that God could intervene.  "Then Caleb silenced the people before Moses and said, 'We should go up and take possession of the land, for we can certainly do it'" (Numbers 13:30).  He wanted to move forward, but the people became so distraught and nervous that they even wanted to go back to Egypt where they had been slaves and forget the whole idea of establishing a new nation (Numbers 14:1-4).
   Giants only get in the way when we are moving forward.  Giants will not threaten you if you decide to return to whatever pathetic situation you were in prior to trying a new and better path.  If I had looked ahead at my giants and thought, "Hospitals?  Chemotherapy?  Meds and surgically implanted devices?  Throwing up and always feeling sick?  No control over if or even when I can go back to work again?" and decided just to keep the cancer instead, I would not have had to face these other giants.  I would still have the cancer -- in fact, it would ultimately have killed me -- but I would not have had to worry about these other giants; they would have left me alone.  But once we decided to attack the cancer, these giants became the new enemies that showed up that also had to be overcome as we moved forward.  When we do attack, the giants will show up.  What is possible will have to emerge out of what seems impossible.  But then when we do overcome, when God escorts us through to victory, the reward of the land flowing with milk and honey awaits.  Life will be exciting and sweet and good again.
   Keep moving forward, Phil.  The giants are gradually losing this battle.

"We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; 

persecuted but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.  We always carry 

around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body."

(2 Corinthians 4:8-10)

Numbers and Other Updates

   According to my doctor, I am doing well.  For those of you curious about the physical side of things, here is where I stand on some important numbers as of yesterday's appointment:

White Blood Cells -- 4.19  Red Blood Cells -- 3.52  Hemoglobin -- 10.2  

Platelets -- 216  Neutrophil Absolute -- 2.11

   For those of you who have no clue what those numbers mean, here is the quick synopsis: in each of these important categories, I am trending upwards.  Everything in the blood is looking good.  What about other things health wise?

• I am still too skinny.  I weigh 160 pounds, more than 20 pounds under my normal weight.  I have no appetite yet and have to still force myself to eat or drink.  I have to start gaining weight soon.
• I still get tired easily.  My walks are short, but slow (just like how I was as a basketball player).  Stairs and/or hills just about kill me.  I nap most days, and while I feel little day-to-day progress, I sense that from where I was one week ago, things are getting better.  I said to a friend that this journey is not about turning corners here and there, but more like rounding gradual bends here or there.  
• I am still not allowed to drive much.  I am allowed to go for five-minute trips but that is about it.  Connie is fine with this stipulation.  She loves driving, especially now that she bought me the surprise of my life.  She had told me that when we lick cancer, we can buy another pick-up truck.   (I drove the mini-van around this past year because my last truck, a 2000 Toyota Tacoma with 240,000 miles, finally had to give up.  She was a good girl, but she had to go--the truck, not Connie--and I sold her for $1000 about a year ago.)  But then I was sincerely surprised when Connie picked me up from the hospital in a 2016 Tacoma that she had bought while I was incarcerated!  She says it is mine, but she is currently driving it...all the time.  But when I get the doc's approval to drive again, I have that gift waiting for me (P.S.: Connie, you are the best.  I think you have gone beyond being a Proverbs 31 woman.  Maybe you are a Proverbs 32 woman!)  
• I am often chilly.  I wear a jacket and hat most days, making it appear as though it is October in my house and not June.  Yesterday was a cool day around here and I was in sweatshirt-and-jacket mode.  I even thought about breaking out the long underwear.  
• I have been cleared to go to Family Camp at Upper Peninsula Bible Camp in about a month!  This was a surprise because we stem-cell transplant folks are asked to stay within one hour of the hospital, to check in frequently, to stay isolated.  The fact that Dr. Williams has cleared me to go is exciting news.

   So, the numbers look good.  My complaints are few.  My frustrations can still get me down from time to time but things are slowly moving in the right directions.  Today is Day +33 and I have been told that I must stay diligent about gloves/masks/meds/staying away from groups of people for the first 100 days after transplant.  God continues to bless.  If everything goes according to plan, I will never have to take another round of chemotherapy in my life.  And one of these days I get to drive a really cool truck.

Baseball and Life

   I love baseball.  I love the Detroit Tigers.  They drive me crazy many times, like right now (they lost their eighth game in a row last night) but they are still my team.  1935, 1945, 1968, and 1984 are the years when everything turned magical and my team won the World Series.  I know the players.  I can still tell you the starting line ups for the 1968 World Series team that beat the St. Louis Cardinals in seven games after losing three of the first four games.  I can tell you how it was Willie Horton's throw from left field to Bill Freehan at home plate who then tagged out Lou Brock in Game Five that turned the series around in the Tigers' favor.  I can go on and talk about Ty Cobb, Wahoo Sam Crawford, Hooks Dauss, Hank Greenberg, Denny McLain, Mickey Lolich, Jack Morris, and some of the great Tigers of the past.  I suffered when they lost 119 games one year.  I rejoiced three years later when they made a stunning comeback and earned a trip to the World Series in 2006 (although they lost to the Cardinals in five games).  The Detroit Tigers is more than a team to me.  They and therefore baseball itself is a tapestry of life, filled with metaphors and lessons and entertainment and humor and anecdotes, shadowed by orange and blue and the old English "D."  

   Why do I even bother about talking about this?  There are two lessons I need to remind myself of today.  First, baseball is one of very few sports that is not measured by time.  Nine innings could take two hours or four hours.  The drama unfolds and is done when the drama is done.  It does not simply quit because 0:00 shows on some clock somewhere.  Secondly, the game and the characters and the eras have changed since 1901 when the Tigers played their first season of ball, but the goal each year never changes.  The ingredients for success include each player willing to do his part -- to hustle, to hit the other way, to stretch a single into a double, all little things -- for the good of the team.  

   My situation right now fits this affinity I have for the Tigers.  I am frustrated in the moment with my inability to eat and my lack of endurance.  But this challenge is ongoing, and it's the little things that need to be done to keep me improving.  None of what I am going through can be measured by a time clock.  It is more of an unfolding drama that must be lived out.  Will I feel better tomorrow?  Next week?  Only time will tell.  Achievement is not set on a timetable but on a continuum.  Winning games? Earning pennants? Winning a division? League championships? These are triumphs like walking all the way around the block, like eating a full meal, like making it through a day without taking a nap.  And when time marches on, I will be able to look back at the stories of the past and be able to use them to encourage others to keep going, to soldier on, even when 119 losses in a year make it hard to think that things will get better.  

   So, eight losses in a row. Maybe they will win tonight and turn a corner...

Gaining By Losing

   In many realms of life, achievement is often marked by what we acquire -- awards, medals, money, etc. For me today an achievement was marked by what I lost.  I made a return trip to the hospital this morning, but it was a good trip.  I was able to schedule an appointment to get my perma-cath taken out of my chest.  This device with the dangly hoses became a part of me about seven weeks ago to facilitate the comings and goings of transplant and chemo and transfusions and all of that stuff. It was a pain because it was always getting in the way of whatever I was doing, it was not supposed to get wet when I showered, and there was always the potential of infection.  It is good to have this chunk of hardware gone. I have been stripped of this lovely appliance and I feel like in some ways it is a landmark event in my recovery process.
   Less is more.  Remember how for a while there was a battle going on in the T-shirt/bumper sticker industry between two schools of thought: "He who has the most toys wins" vs. "He who has the most toys still dies." Acquisition of stuff means nothing.  In fact, today I feel like I gained by losing.  And don't even get me started on the topic of participation trophies.  My experience will not be measured in awards and medals and trophies.  Instead, my experience should be measured in other ways.  Kindness, empathy, a deeper understanding of the needs of others -- these must be the realized results of this journey.  This experience will leave scars, but there are permanent changes in outlook and attitude also.  But none of this experience can be quantified in awards or prizes.  Good bye, perma-cath.  You will not be missed.  It is good to lose you.

Making The Daily Choice

   I am at Day +27 (27 days since my actual transplant) and while I had a limited idea of what I was going to experience following this stem-cell transplant, I would like to attempt to quantify how I am doing.  Honestly, it's not that easy...I have no appetite, I have a severe lack of energy, I have no endurance, I have to wear a mask and gloves everywhere I go, I have to take frequent rests and naps, I am unable to do anything remotely resembling work or gardening or lawn care or playing in the woods, I am not allowed to go camping or backpacking, I have a difficult time maintaining my weight, I am unable to walk more than about 100 yards at a time, I am not allowed to drive, I have to take a bazillion meds each day, I am still having to shower while being conscious of the hoses that are surgically implanted in my chest, I still don't have any desire for coffee or beer, I am still wrestling with the status of C.A.B. ("chemically affected baldness"), I am not able to be with large groups of people, and I have to endure this list of maladies every single day...it just isn't easy.
   But really it's not that hard...through it all I have a wonderful wife who counts out my meds and drives me around and loves me even when I am ugly (and that ugliness can come out in ways other than how I look), I have a house and cheerful family, including an eleven-year-old daughter who thinks she might be an opera star, I have brothers and sisters and friends that show up to work in the garden and driveway, I have siblings that just show up and sit with me for a visit, I have friends who write me so many cards and texts and notes, I have people all over praying for me, I have a hope and a future and a Lord and a Savior and a lot of good people to remind me of all of that even if I am not feeling that closeness, I am ten minutes away from my doctors, I have everything I need...it's really not that hard.
   Each day -- each hour -- I have to choose.   I slip sometimes and wallow in self-pity or anxiety for moments here or there.  In those times I find there is more suffering and worry just waiting for me.  It would like to capture me and drag me down, like quicksand.  But instead, I need to consciously and consistently choose the "it's not that hard" option.  That is the option that provides solid ground and a sure foundation.  So really, after all of that, how am I doing?  Oh, it's not that hard.

I Think It's a Saturday

   I am told today is a Saturday.  That may be.  During the last few weeks each day's designation has meant very little to me.  I am quite sure that during that time each day has ended with a "--day" but if you had told me it was different, I might have believed you.  Instead for me, the passage of time over the last month has been marked by this doctor's appointment, that set of vitals, this batch of medications, that attempt at a release from the hospital.  I have also learned that each of those experiences, once they are behind me, do not need to be relived.  The joy of being human is that I can choose to remember what I wish to remember about those days, but I never have to relive the pain and discomfort of those days.  I choose to keep moving forward.
   And "forward" includes staying awake a little longer each day.  "Forward" means being able to walk a bit further each time I amble down the block.  "Forward" means eating just a bit more food a bit more often during the day.  While I am nowhere near ready for an all-you-can-eat smorgasbord, progress is slowly being realized.  "Forward" means not quite so many experiences that are shrouded in that "hard tired" that affects the bones and very innards of who I am but instead I can sit up just a little longer before I have to lay down to relax.  It seems as though none of my "progress" can be measured with terms like: "By Monday..." or "Before Wednesday..."  So forward I go.  I take a step ahead here and another one there.  A little bit at a time.

Release: Part II

   Home.
   After five more unexpected days in the hospital, Connie was allowed to bring me back home last evening so that we can try living life together again.  Meds and diet plans and other things are a part of our new arrangement, but my girlfriend and I are home together again.   While listening to the news late yesterday afternoon, we learned a storm was brewing up over Lake Michigan and so since we were just the two of us (which rarely happens) we decided to go storm chasing.  We cruised our way out to Grand Haven and just watched as God took a humid 90-degree day and turned it all inside out with a thunderstorm that simply erased the uncomfortable atmospheric vestiges of the day.  It was a testimony to the power of our God, but also an obvious metaphor to how he is able to make all things new again.
   Today is the first day since May 17 that I have no scheduled appointments with anyone in the health care field.  On May 17 I spent the day with my students at Lake Michigan.  Within hours of getting out of the hospital I find myself at Lake Michigan.  Home.
   I have no energy to be profound today.  I have now gone for 24 hours without being medicated by a nurse or monitored by a tech.  I have eaten more since I have been home than in the three weeks leading up to today.  I have no energy.  Walking is still a chore.  I also have to wear gloves and hat and mask when I go anywhere outside of our house.  Physically I have a long way to go.  But I am blessed by friends and family and texts and messages and memories and a new driveway and a spruced-up garden and smiles and children and road trips with my girlfriend to Lake Michigan.   I really love being home.

A Health Report

   So as you could surmise from the last few journal entries, I have been a bit out of touch for the last week or so.  Connie has been the primary writer recently because I couldn't muster the energy to sit up and do my job.  So today I offer a few retrospective and introspective thoughts (that sounded pretty deep -- sorry about that):

• "Re-admittance" is now one of my least favorite hyphenated English words.  I was so disappointed on Friday (Day +15) when I had to come back.  But then again I was relieved because I knew something was wrong and I hated to put the burden of my health care on my wife's shoulders. What she was going through was way above her pay grade.  Letting the experts on 5C take care of things is better.
• The fever is what brought me back in.  But then we found my lungs were also filling with fluid.  Without the simple ability to measure my temperature we might not have discovered the fluid in the lungs or the potential damage to the heart until it was too late to correct things.  
• Weakness in any fashion is so humbling.  I cannot stand being the one the nurses are poking, the doctors are studying, and the techs are monitoring.  I cannot stand lying in bed, then trying to go for a walk that ends up being four laps around the hallway (yes, 18 laps is still a mile) before I am too tired to keep going.  
• I need to eat.  I have gone three weeks without really eating well.  Be thankful for hunger and thirst, people.  These two God-given urges tell you when to eat and drink and honestly make the whole experience so much more pleasurable.  I desperately want to be hungry again.
• Other than a three-day hiatus, I have been in this isolated ward since May 18.  They are now talking about allowing me to try going home again tomorrow.  I gotta make it work this time.  I don't want to come back here.
• My family went to work on a project at my house on Saturday that I have wanted to do for ten years.  They took a tree out, prepped an area for cement, worked in the garden, and trimmed up some other stuff.  Bless you Marty, Gary, Dave, Micah, Ben, Jan, Myra, Mark, Tem, and anyone else who took part.  I have not even seen the results of your labors yet.  

   OK, nap time.  Connie, your writing is just a small reflection of how much you are taking care of me.  You are the best.  Jim, Tom, Scott, Myra, Gary, Mom, your visits are so meaningful and important. Thank you.  Talk to you soon.  Thanks for all your continued prayers. They are needed.  Keep going.

Re-Admittance

   Connie here.  I was waiting to write, hoping to have more answers later today but I doubt we will know much more until tomorrow.

To sum up the weekend, Phil very quickly developed a cough, shortness of breath, and a slight fever Friday afternoon.  I brought him to the ED at Spectrum just as they had instructed.  Since they don't mess around in that department with stem cell transplants, he was quickly admitted to 5C and we were reunited with our friendly and capable nurses who we had assumed we would never see again.  Oh, and our favorite internal medicine specialist, Dr. Fayed.

Since then, Phil has been on IV antibiotics.  No more fever.  But another issue.  His shortness of breath became worse and it was discovered that there is fluid in his lungs.  Other issues (and I feel like this is a cycle) are lots of edema (swelling), inability to take in nourishment, constant diarrhea, low potassium level, and low hemoglobin level.  WBC is good and platelets are good.  Phil just had an echocardiogram done and has had high levels of Lasix (diuretic) pushed, with hopes that the fluid will decrease.  There is a possibility that he might need a thoracentesis (to drain fluid from lungs) and blood transfusion tomorrow.  Dr. Fayed still does not seem surprised or nervous and has a plan if it is determined that this is heart related.  The guy just does not get worried EVER!!  That helps me to relax too and not worry.  Well.....you know.  I'm lying just a little.

How can you pray for us?  Pray for a miraculous healing, for peace, for no more diarrhea, for the meds to work, for good sleep (for both of us), for answers, that next time they send Phil home he will be ready, reversal of any damage to any organs, that any lasting effects of this nasty chemo will be flushed out of his body completely, that his hemoglobin will go up tonight so he doesn't need blood, and that our kids will be OK and that this will increase their faith and trust in our  Heavenly Father.  This has been so very hard for everyone in our family, but especially Phil.  He's gone through some very painful days and long, discouraging nights.  We are all exhausted.

In the middle of it all, though, there are moments......when unexpected notes or gifts or food arrive.  Or family/friends come and take a tree down and get the driveway ready for a basketball court for Tem's birthday (which was in November:). Or a kind word from the housekeeper or dietary aide.  And the assurances of the medical staff that we will get through this.  They have seen others do it and we will too.  And a long-awaited gift from Nurse Jenna - Immodium.  Finally!!

Signing off for today and still thankful for the ways God shows us he see us and loves us and will care for our every need, big or small.

Baby Steps and Groundhogs

   It's starting to feel like Groundhog's Day......you know, you wake up every day to Sonny and Cher singing and step in the same puddle while trying to avoid the same person and.......on and on.  Phil and I were feeling that way as we got out of the truck and greeted the same valet and saw the same people behind the desk and took the elevator to the same floor and greeted the same receptionist and gave the same responses to birthdate, insurance, address, emergency contact information.  It's not terrible.  There are wonderful people who we get to talk to every day at Lemmen Holton!  It sure could be worse.  We live ten minutes away!

And speaking of Bill Murray, Phil is taking baby steps every day in the right direction.  (Sorry, there are probably just a handful of you who are totally going to get that connection:).

We are sitting in a cubicle with an awesome view of the Belknap hill neighborhood, waiting for numbers to come back.  The IV fluid is already started.  Phil had applesauce this morning.  He is still awake. Baby steps.

OK, numbers are back.  Potassium is 3.3 today so Phil has opted to take oral meds instead of the IV potassium.  I guess he's decided to shake things up a bit today and break out of the routine.  He's gonna get there......

Maybe he'll even surprise us all and write another blog entry later today!

Cancer Survivor Day

   Today is day +13.  We spent another day at Lemmen Holton getting IV fluid and potassium.  Phil's hemoglobin has gone up to 7.8 so he doesn't need blood.  That is good news.  But he isn't really taking much in as far as far as fluid goes and definitely is not ready for food yet so that is probably affecting his potassium level.  We will return every day for about 3 or 4 hours of IVs but that is better than being in the hospital.  I think.  I've had many mini panic attacks.....there is a list of about 15 things to watch for and I've been instructed to call ASAP if any of these things are off at all and at times some of them have been.  I feel like I need a nurse.....oh wait, I am one.  But maybe an extra nurse.  Oh wait.....I have one.  Thank God, Abby showed up at just the right time!!  It was so nice to have an extra person to hear everything today and remember the questions I wanted to ask and then remember the answers to those questions!  And it was even Cancer Survivor Day!!  So in honor of the survivor that we know Phil is and will be, Abby and I ate cake.

Praise:  that Phil smiled at least a few times today and joked around with the nurse.  He wasn't doing that yesterday.

Pray:  that Phil will be able to take fluids and maybe even some food at some point soon.  That he will gain strength each day and be able to stay awake and alert for longer periods of time each day.  That he will be able to look to the future with hope, knowing that he will feel good again.

Also, the sun is shining and I think it is almost summer break so that gives us all reason to smile!

Release: Part I

  UPDATE

   (From 10:30 am): Ok, hold the phone.  We have an update worth updating: the docs are talking about letting me go home either today or tomorrow! I am at Day +11 right now and nobody leaves before Day +13.  The numbers are coming back well with two notable exceptions -- hemoglobin (7.0) and platelets (15).  The platelets is a bit of a mystery since I have had two transfusions of platelets in the last few days. Also the low hemoglobin keeps me feeling really tired, but I can feel tired at home as easily as I can at the hospital.  But the white blood cell count is up (3.00 from yesterday's 0.65), the absolute neutrophil count is rising (1.47 compared to yesterday's 0.24), and doctors are smiling.  When I can make doctors smile, I am doing well.  Stay tuned...we will see if this glimmer of good news is more than just gossip...

   UPDATE (From 9:00 pm): I was released this afternoon from the hospital and am now at home.  I should be excited but honestly I am a little nervous about it.  While the white counts are good, the hemoglobin is low enough to have the docs consider a transfusion.  This all translates into having very little energy for moving or even sitting up.  I am still not eating much either and now all of the nursing duties assumed by the gifted group from 5C fall on my wife.  While laying out in the hammock in the back yard this afternoon (thanks, Marty!) was a spectacular experience, I don't want my presence at home to be such a burden to her.  Please pray us through these next couple days of transition.  Pray that I start eating soon and that the hemoglobin count starts to climb.  We also are not ready to receive a large amount of visitors just yet.  Please be patient.  Thanks.

Don Williams

   When I was in college, I went through a brief love affair with country music.  It was more of a fling than an affair I guess, because for the most part I have emerged unscarred from the experience.  It started out because the guys I was living with at the time were enjoying country music and it developed for a little while because I was not a thrill chasing rock-and-roller, I was not a high-browed classical music lover, contemporary Christian music was simply not any good at the time, and my developing adult personality was much more like an outdoorsy pick-up-truck-driving good ol' boy.  Country music just seemed to fit what I saw my character was like.  The music was simple and fun.  I enjoyed a few musicians of the day like Alabama, George Jones, and John Anderson.  But my favorite was an old cat named Don Williams.  I even went to one of his concerts.  No pyrotechnics.  No back-up band.  No bouncers.  No nothing.  Everything was just stripped down.  The only thing on stage was a rocking chair.  Don Williams came out with his guitar, sat in the chair, played a bunch of music, and got out of the chair two hours later.  It was great.
   Even today I can still remember the lyrics to several of his songs as they echo somewhere inside my psyche.  Love, loss, trucks, Oklahoma -- all important thematic ideas but honestly none of it was complicated.  It was all so simple.  I yearn for simple again.  But I am blessed.  I need to appreciate the simple and the honest and the genuine things about my life.  I have the love of a beautiful woman.  I have the love of my children and grandchildren.  I have a strong extended family that is rallying around me to clean my house and support my wife and do the things human beings ought to just do for each other but don't always.  I have faith.  I have hope.  Life really is not complicated.  It is simple.  I think I will find time to listen to some Don Williams music today.  All I need is a rocking chair.  You should appreciate the simple today too.  Pull up a chair and notice.  Look and listen for the simple beauty in life.

"Today?"

   "Is today the day?"  Each day I get up and wonder the same thing.  "Is today the day I turn that proverbial corner and start to feel better?"  Today is Day +9 and folks around here claim that things begin to change for a lot of patients between Days +7 through +10.  Usually after Day +10 things start to improve for most folks, but there really is no accurate blueprint that covers the experiences of everyone.  But then again, why not today?  It seems like a beautiful day already -- the sun is shining,  it's a weekend, Kate and Jimmy are here to visit, Steve and Abby will be coming, the Tigers won last night -- all important indicators that today could be the day.
   As I go through this experience, so many lessons have been realized, so much learning had to happen.  I could just sit and dwell in the ugliness of my circumstances.  I cannot eat.  Everything that gets pooped out is loose and I have no way of knowing if that rumbling in my stomach means an eruption is imminent or not.  I get light-headed once in a while.  My lips are chapped and flaky.  Every movement requires so much energy.  I have had the world's worst sore throat for about five days in a row now.  I spiked a fever last night that caused many to be concerned but the temperature is down a little this morning. But when I go through my list of yuckiness, it does me no good.  It only drags down my spirit.  And besides, I don't have to look far around here on 5C to see that others are experiencing similar side effects.
   So then, what?  What do I have to stay optimistic through all of this?  And why is it important?

• I know that I will never have to relive yesterday.  The pain and discomfort and frustration of that day are in the past.  
• I know that I have a great cloud of witnesses cheering me one.  You all have been amazing.  It all provides the power to put one foot in front of the other and not look back.
• I know that I have a Savior who dealt with even more severe circumstances on my behalf and that he comprehends fully all of the frustration I have right now.
• I know how important it is to look forward to better days.  That ability serves as the compass needle that points me in the right direction.  It offers hope when nothing in my circumstances could offer hope.  I can hardly wait.

   I remember when I was a child, we would make plans to go to an amusement park or a Tiger ballgame or some other highly anticipated event and the excitement I would feel before the trip was amazing.  Man, I could hardly wait.  The anticipation itself would take on a life of its own.  I would count down the days (even the hours) until that trip came and the anticipation would just add to the excitement.  "Is today the day?"  I can hardly wait...

Death and Resurrection

   Death and Resurrection.  I am very content to learn these concepts from afar.  We never asked for a visual lesson.  But here we are......and right in front of us is the visual.

   2 Corinthians 4 is amazing.  "We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body."  And "therefore we do not lose heart.  Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day."

   The death of the old immune system.  The bringing to life of the new immune system.  Is there any better way to describe what happens to us when we are born again?  2 Corinthians 5:17:  "If anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come.  The old has gone the new is here!"

   Phil is still waiting for the new.....but there are signs.  Other than needing platelets again last night (platelets were down to 9), the other important numbers have increased ever so slightly.  The doctors are fully expecting him to turn the corner soon and feel better.  He still can't eat and drinking is tough due to a very sore throat.  Taking in good nutrition sure will help so please pray.  The fatigue is still present.  The medical team just showed up and they are believing that Phil is just days away from feeling like a new man......well, maybe we won't go that far.  He'll be feeling better.

   So as the grass goes from brown to green, as a seed in the ground sprouts into a beautiful plant or flower, as a caterpillar disappears for awhile and comes out as a butterfly, and as Jesus was three days in the grave and rose from the dead, we are anticipating a resurrection.  Looking forward to the visual of that new life in Phil.  

   Thank you for your prayers.  Posted by Connie (once again).  

The Dream

   I had a dream last night that I had escaped from this place.  I found myself at Camp Roger, running freely through the woods.  While camp was a busy place, nobody seemed to notice that I was gloveless, gownless, and maskless.  I was just wearing my regular clothes.  Then I found that there were people chasing me so I stole one of the utility vehicles from camp (sorry Doug and Matt) and made my escape.  After a while it ran out of gas and while I was searching for some, it was hit by a semi and basically obliterated (that is why I said "sorry" earlier, Doug and Matt).
   It was all a great adventure until Connie showed up.  Oh boy, was she ever mad.  She lit into me with "You have just wasted the last two weeks!"  and "Now we have to start all over!" and "What the heck were you thinking?!"  Of course, as is always the case, she was right and I was wrong.  I married a great woman.
   Remember: I said it was a dream.  That is all it was.  But at the same time I will have a day soon when I will be able to leave this place.  The doctors today said we are still on target to possibly be out of here by this time next week.  What will have to happen?  My counts need to start climbing.  They have been consistently at their lowest now for the last three days and now we need to see those numbers chart upward.  I need to find an appetite again (one that does not include Ensure -- man, I hate those things).  I need to keep my blood pressure up (it tends to drift downward when I am not active enough). I need to show that I have enough energy to keep moving forward.
   It was just a dream, but it was a great dream.  Well, it was great until Constance ("The Voice of Reason") Warners showed up and let me have it.  But I deserved it. I am glad that woman is in my life...and that I don't only have to dream about her.  She is the best.  Thanks for watching over me so closely through all of this, Connie.  I love you.
   (I still feel a little bad about wrecking the Mule from Camp Roger.  Sorry boys. Put it on my tab.)