Month: March 2016

Cue up Wille, I’m back in the saddle again …
My first off chemo week, I’m feeling really good, the day is glorious, and my bike was begging me to ride to work today.  No great accomplishment, it’s only a six mile round trip, but it felt great to do something “normal”. The only chemo side effect I’ve experienced so far is a form of peripheral neuropathy where my fingers tingle when I touch something cold.  Even with warm gloves, it felt like a mild electrical shock when gripping the bars.  I’m going to call it digit buzz.

My weight is in a realm not seen since we were first married and thus my riding kit fits quite comfortably.  However, any dream of being a professional cyclist is now dashed; I’m sure my life enhancing pharmacological cocktail wouldn’t pass the drug screening.  I pray my cancer fight will be as successful as Lance Armstrong’s, but I promise not to become an a**hole no matter what.

 

No matter what happens to me, I claim the promise of life after death though Jesus Christ, my Lord.  Some of you reading this share that faith, some question it and some deny it.  Fact is, none of us can prove our position.  Doubtful you came here today to read a sermon, but I’m not ashamed of the gospel.

Some day I’ll attempt to explain the basis of my faith. But today, we celebrate the completion of my 1st round of chemo with minimal side effects, seeing friends at church, some Oregon spring sunshine and enjoying time with our dear Peder and Lucy.

Happy Easter!

This morning we finally take the battle to the insurgent cells attacking my body.  Chemo, round 1, starting @ 10 AM.  CANCER, we’re coming for you.

Last night Floyd took me to the Trailblazers vs Mavericks game and I can’t express how much I enjoyed the diversion.  Just like old times, Blazers Win!  Floyd and I have shared some memorable Blazer games, way back to when we shared in a season ticket consortium.  Reminiscing last night, we recalled a quadruple overtime game with the Suns.  Looked it up this morning, that was 1997.  We have a long history together, as alums of Spokane Community College and working together at Tektronix, Credence and now, Summit.  Something like 36 years of contiguous friendship. During some of those development crunch years at Credence, I probably spent more hours of my life with Floyd than with my wife and family. Grateful for his friendship and yours, I really am a lucky man.

The L99 small-block in my Camaro (aka: Grandpa’s black Chevy) employs sophisticated multi-port  fuel injection to deliver 400 HP when I want it and 23 MPG when I can restrain myself.  My trusty, rusty, old ’89 Astro is equipped with earlier technology throttle body injection, essentially a computer controlled carburetor. Both get the job done.  A few hours ago I had my “PowerPort” (yes, that’s the actual product name) installed, so I’m single port injected now too.  Given a choice, I always seem to return to a machine analogy 😉

We are grateful for the physical and moral support of friends Marsha and Ed, with us at the hospital and the hundreds of you praying, texting and reading along.  Marsha was our chauffeur out to Kaiser Sunnyside for my first real surgery.  Prior, all the cutting and repairs done on me in 61 years were for some self inflicted trauma.

The surgeon said the actual install procedure went perfectly and took just 21 minutes.  The bigger bandage in my portrait is the port, the smaller one is where the catheter was inserted into my jugular.  The port is about the size of a quarter; it lives under the skin when healed and gives us a place to plug in the chemo needle for infusions without traumatizing my veins with an IV or similar. Given travel time, surgical prep and recovery, it was a six hour day.  Just woke from a magnificent nap and so far, no pain, not even discomfort.

I’m almost ready to engage this dragon, cancer; my power port gets started up Thursday with first chemo.  There’s no coincidence it’s shaped like a little heart.   I love you all.

 

Saw the urologist yesterday, he’s a bit concerned about swelling of my right kidney.  Thinking it’s being irritated by swollen lymph nodes, the best option right now seems to be to wait and see how I respond to chemo.

Looking toward an upcoming week of procedures, I need spiffing up, so went for a haircut.  I’ve followed a number of barbers around lately; can’t seem to replicate the decade long relationships I’d once enjoyed.  I found “my” barber has moved to a different shop, so sat down in the first chair offered,  acceding to let some stranger have her way with my hair.  During the usual barber / customer small talk, she asked if I had any big plans for my summer.  What do I say? I don’t feel everyone I encounter needs to hear my story.  She asked a seemingly simple question.  After a long pause, I mumbled being unsure how to respond, eventually sharing I was starting chemo soon and didn’t know with any certainty what my summer held.

And then she changed my day.  Pointing at a family photo in her gear box, she said it was the Make-A-Wish trip they had enjoyed when her son was battling cancer.  Diagnosed with stage 4 cancer at 23 months (some blastoma type, the details didn’t stick with me), he is now 7 and doing great.  We talked about treatments and Kaiser and Doernbecher and life.  All I could imagine was the hell she’d experienced as Mom dealing with her little guy’s battle. She told me that in the end, it had been good for them, they were a stronger family for it.

And at the end of my haircut (excellent job too)  I was a little stronger for hearing her story.  Thanks Valerie, I was supposed to meet you today.

Barely out of the blocks on this marathon and I’ve had to make a spreadsheet to manage my meds.  Some are taken with food, some at specific time intervals, others before bed.  One prescription is for pain, the rest to deal with unpleasant side effects of the first.  As Grandpa used to say (though probably in a different context), “I’m stove up”, so need pharmaceuticals to get my wonky G.I. system processing regularly.   One of them is green and tastes like suspiciously like alfalfa; as close to a green beer as I’ll get on this St. Patrick’s Day.  And then there is the water.  A friend generously shared an ionized water machine with me.  Depending on what Internet site you read, ionized water is either a cancer curing miracle or modern day snake oil.  My doc says I need to stay hydrated and that it won’t hurt me, so I’m drinking it up. Soaking in our hot tub brings me more relief than any of the meds but I can’t stay in there 24 x 7.  The REAL life-saving water is in the brown ceramic bowl.  At Christmas, we were shopping in a Portland gallery for a beer growler for Peder.  Judy spotted this little bowl and asked me to buy it for a font, providing a daily reminder of our baptism.  And so it does.

Our bell choir this morning played this song.  Knowing the lyrics, they played in my head as I thought of these past few days.

The sun comes up
It’s a new day dawning
It’s time to sing Your song again
Whatever may pass
And whatever lies before me
Let me be singing
When the evening comes

Yes, we have a difficult road ahead and can’t be sure what lies before me, but all the love and support expressed for Judy and me these past few days will have me singing (You really don’t want to hear that though).

Thank you all.

Maybe listen to the songwriter instead:  Matt Redman — 10000 Reasons

I’m officially stage 4. Yes, just a number, but admittedly a scary one. Oncology Doc called today with that bit of news, though it was expected. We talked over my chemo plan; I’ll start on March 24th, two days after port install. Will be a two part cocktail, one delivered at the chemo center, then a wearable infusion pump that goes home with me and runs for another two days.  Skip a week, then rinse and repeat.  Can’t remember if he said for six weeks or six times; doesn’t matter I’m all in.

Judy and I visited school district headquarters today and filed paperwork generously granting her the rest of the year off (starting last Monday) to be my caregiver.  Those six months of sick days she thought would be left on the table at retirement look like a beautiful blessing today.  The angel benefits adviser gave me a chemo swag bag too, pillow, teddy bear, blanket, gloves and more.  Finally,  we stopped by school to pick up some of Judy’s personal stuff and were surrounded by the love and concern of her staff mates who have had her back since before we knew what was wrong with me.

 

Today I received this prayer shawl, knit by ladies of the St. Matthew Prayer Shawl Guild and delivered with an extra dose of love and prayer from Nita & Ron.  I expect it to keep me warm during chemo treatments when we get to that point.  The mail brought my first cards and neighbors Sue & George provided delicious home-made stew for dinner.  Had a good call with Pastor Jim and he helped me realize my situation can be a blessing in my interaction with family and friends.

And the Holy Spirit helps us in our distress.  For we don’t even know what we should pray for, nor how we should pray.  But the Holy Spirit prays for us with groaning that cannot be expressed in words.  — Romans 8:26