Drew downloaded pictures from his camera to my laptop, mostly pictures he had taken during his visit to DJ and family in North Carolina, as well as pictures he took enroute to home.
Buried in the middle of his excellent visual journal of his adventures were pictures I took last summer at Concordia. Not pictures of the campus proper, or the activities we participated in, but pictures of the lakeshore and the flowers and birds on the water.
What a delightful uplift of the good times and great walks of last summer! I was reminded that although this summer may have its downturn, next summer I will be back at Concordia enjoying the walks and the peace and quiet once again. What a boost!
I have uploaded them to Picasa. You can take a look here:
http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/sredir?uname=esg413&target=ALBUM&id=5366529437477254545&authkey=Gv1sRgCPLFkdP0h6DLhgE&feat=email
Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Theology of Evil, Sort Of
She wasn't big on God, the woman in the waiting room last time I went in for a blood draw. She was probably in her late thirties, accompanying her teenage daughter sporting the tell tale signs of cancer.
The daughter was busy flipping through a magazine looking at the pictures and not really seeing anything. Her face was pale and her movements listless like those with little energy, like someone who would rather be anywhere but in the waiting room of a cancer center alone with her Mom.
The Mom was just plain mad. Her anger lashed out at the receptionists as she demanded this and that. She tongue lashed the nurse who took her daughter's vitals then sent her back to the waiting area. She sat clutching her black patent leather purse as if it were life itself, her face screwed into a stormcloud.
I knew better than to interfere with that! But she scowled at me and asked, "Is this your first time here?" "No," I replied. One word opened the doors to her pent up anger and she spewed her story out in one long sentence. I let it gush, careful to look her in the face and do my best to really listen. She ended her diatribe with the age old question, "How could a God who claims to love us let this happen? What did I do to deserve this!"
There it was, hanging between us, this wound, this betrayal, this horrible hurt. And just then, they called her daughter's name. "I'm sorry for your pain," I said, touching her arm. "I hope things go well." And they were gone.
It's not like I haven't been asked that question before, especially when facing some life disaster. Somehow I think people need to know that what I am going through is attributable to something I did, just to reassure them that they will not have to go through such stuff if they behave. Too bad it doesn't work like that.
Lots of eminent writers have addressed the "why" question, and I admit I have read many of them. It's not an easy question, and the full answers will not be clear until we exit the limited perspectives of this world and see a fuller view of things. For now, I have adopted a kind of simple answer that allows me to move beyond the pointless question of "why" to the more important issues of what to focus on now that the bad thing is here.
If you're interested, here's an attempt to describe my simple paradigm:
We live in a fallen world that is twisted and wicked. It wasn't designed to be evil, but fell prey to a disease. Because of this problem, things don't work the way they are supposed to (can you tell I am not a theologian?)
I envision that being in this world is kind of like being locked in a huge courtyard filled with all sorts of people. At various places there are evil beings who are loading catapults with big balls of mud and rocks. They fire at anyone who comes in range as well as just fire for the fun of it even if no one is near. Anyone who gets hit is not only plastered with filthy mud, but risks being injured by the hidden rocks. Some people get knocked off their feet completely.
The people in the courtyard also harbor ill will and evil sentiments, and they pick up mud and rocks and throw them out there, sometimes aiming at someone, sometimes not. People get hurt. And I myself have less than good thoughts and desires, and sometimes choose to roll around in the mud without realizing the danger it might cause, thinking that somehow I am having fun.
Between these three sources of mud and rock throwing, its kind of hard to stay pristine! What is God's role in all this? Well, I don't claim to understand it all. There are some things I can say. He certainly left us instructions on how to avoid getting hit - and from all three sources! He does not interfere with a person's free will. He does not desire for anyone to get muddy or hurt by flying rocks. If we ask, He cleans up the messes we get into. Sometimes He cleans us up even if we don't ask. He protects us from more mud and rocks than we are aware of. He has an ultimate plan to do away with the courtyard and replace it with a world not broken and twisted.
And my part? As God seeks me out and instructs me, I seek to listen and obey. When I get in trouble, I call out to Him right away and accept His help. I thank Him for his protection and assistance and love. And I look forward to the day when it will all be right and good.
OK, so its not all worked out. But it's a comfortable analogy that helps me keep a better perspective and not take things so personally. If you are in the courtyard, you will get muddy. And maybe even injured through no fault of your own particularly. And God is very active in this world. Otherwise it would have self destructed long ago.
Well, it probably not for everybody. And ten years from now I may have a better understanding and a new analogy. I do pray for that angry Mom though. I hope she will experience the comfort and help of God and come to know that He does, indeed, love His children very much.
The daughter was busy flipping through a magazine looking at the pictures and not really seeing anything. Her face was pale and her movements listless like those with little energy, like someone who would rather be anywhere but in the waiting room of a cancer center alone with her Mom.
The Mom was just plain mad. Her anger lashed out at the receptionists as she demanded this and that. She tongue lashed the nurse who took her daughter's vitals then sent her back to the waiting area. She sat clutching her black patent leather purse as if it were life itself, her face screwed into a stormcloud.
I knew better than to interfere with that! But she scowled at me and asked, "Is this your first time here?" "No," I replied. One word opened the doors to her pent up anger and she spewed her story out in one long sentence. I let it gush, careful to look her in the face and do my best to really listen. She ended her diatribe with the age old question, "How could a God who claims to love us let this happen? What did I do to deserve this!"
There it was, hanging between us, this wound, this betrayal, this horrible hurt. And just then, they called her daughter's name. "I'm sorry for your pain," I said, touching her arm. "I hope things go well." And they were gone.
It's not like I haven't been asked that question before, especially when facing some life disaster. Somehow I think people need to know that what I am going through is attributable to something I did, just to reassure them that they will not have to go through such stuff if they behave. Too bad it doesn't work like that.
Lots of eminent writers have addressed the "why" question, and I admit I have read many of them. It's not an easy question, and the full answers will not be clear until we exit the limited perspectives of this world and see a fuller view of things. For now, I have adopted a kind of simple answer that allows me to move beyond the pointless question of "why" to the more important issues of what to focus on now that the bad thing is here.
If you're interested, here's an attempt to describe my simple paradigm:
We live in a fallen world that is twisted and wicked. It wasn't designed to be evil, but fell prey to a disease. Because of this problem, things don't work the way they are supposed to (can you tell I am not a theologian?)
I envision that being in this world is kind of like being locked in a huge courtyard filled with all sorts of people. At various places there are evil beings who are loading catapults with big balls of mud and rocks. They fire at anyone who comes in range as well as just fire for the fun of it even if no one is near. Anyone who gets hit is not only plastered with filthy mud, but risks being injured by the hidden rocks. Some people get knocked off their feet completely.
The people in the courtyard also harbor ill will and evil sentiments, and they pick up mud and rocks and throw them out there, sometimes aiming at someone, sometimes not. People get hurt. And I myself have less than good thoughts and desires, and sometimes choose to roll around in the mud without realizing the danger it might cause, thinking that somehow I am having fun.
Between these three sources of mud and rock throwing, its kind of hard to stay pristine! What is God's role in all this? Well, I don't claim to understand it all. There are some things I can say. He certainly left us instructions on how to avoid getting hit - and from all three sources! He does not interfere with a person's free will. He does not desire for anyone to get muddy or hurt by flying rocks. If we ask, He cleans up the messes we get into. Sometimes He cleans us up even if we don't ask. He protects us from more mud and rocks than we are aware of. He has an ultimate plan to do away with the courtyard and replace it with a world not broken and twisted.
And my part? As God seeks me out and instructs me, I seek to listen and obey. When I get in trouble, I call out to Him right away and accept His help. I thank Him for his protection and assistance and love. And I look forward to the day when it will all be right and good.
OK, so its not all worked out. But it's a comfortable analogy that helps me keep a better perspective and not take things so personally. If you are in the courtyard, you will get muddy. And maybe even injured through no fault of your own particularly. And God is very active in this world. Otherwise it would have self destructed long ago.
Well, it probably not for everybody. And ten years from now I may have a better understanding and a new analogy. I do pray for that angry Mom though. I hope she will experience the comfort and help of God and come to know that He does, indeed, love His children very much.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
No Drive for You
My friend Sue, recently laid off by Syracuse University, and I had planned a little outing - just a simple drive along the Finger Lakes, a bit of lunch in the fresh air, and good conversation. It sounded wonderful. After all, I would just be sitting, riding.
But after yesterday's bank trip, I knew I couldn't swing it. I put off calling her until evening, hoping that by some miracle, I would suddenly jump into feeling better, into discovering some secret cache of energy and strength. But of course, no such thing happened. I finally admitted the inevitable and rang her number.
Sue is a cancer survivor - five years out from her final treatment now, and clean. She totally understood. While her cancer was not the same as either of mine, she had chemo and remembers well how it can affect you.
I am sad to give up a pleasant leisurely drive along the lake, but we agreed to just take a rain check. After things are over and I feel better, we will take the drive. Perhaps there will be great fall foliage to see this year. Meantime, when I have sufficiently recovered from the next hit, she will come for a visit. Excellent!
But after yesterday's bank trip, I knew I couldn't swing it. I put off calling her until evening, hoping that by some miracle, I would suddenly jump into feeling better, into discovering some secret cache of energy and strength. But of course, no such thing happened. I finally admitted the inevitable and rang her number.
Sue is a cancer survivor - five years out from her final treatment now, and clean. She totally understood. While her cancer was not the same as either of mine, she had chemo and remembers well how it can affect you.
I am sad to give up a pleasant leisurely drive along the lake, but we agreed to just take a rain check. After things are over and I feel better, we will take the drive. Perhaps there will be great fall foliage to see this year. Meantime, when I have sufficiently recovered from the next hit, she will come for a visit. Excellent!
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Bank Trip
Today, for the first time in weeks, I ventured out of the house. My car's registration and inspection was up for renewal, and I had a "check brake" light on, coupled with a growly sound, so I knew it would be more than just something simple.
Sure enough, a wheel bearing needing replacing. In order to cover the expense, I had to go to the bank to move money into my checking account, something I couldn't do online. I relished the thought of getting out.
Kiel drove, and I sank back into the passenger seat. It took a massive amount of energy just to get into the car. The bank is less than a five minute drive, and there was no one in line ahead of me! I was there less than ten minutes, and Kiel drove me right home. It felt so good to be out and about - see people and activity and scenery.
It did drain my strength though. Energy supplies change depending on the day in the cycle of chemo, the state of my immune system, and the strength of the side effects of the day's medicines. Too bad I don't have a reserve account for energy! Wouldn't it be nice to move a bit of strength into my "body checking account" and have a bit extra to add to the mix!
Sure enough, a wheel bearing needing replacing. In order to cover the expense, I had to go to the bank to move money into my checking account, something I couldn't do online. I relished the thought of getting out.
Kiel drove, and I sank back into the passenger seat. It took a massive amount of energy just to get into the car. The bank is less than a five minute drive, and there was no one in line ahead of me! I was there less than ten minutes, and Kiel drove me right home. It felt so good to be out and about - see people and activity and scenery.
It did drain my strength though. Energy supplies change depending on the day in the cycle of chemo, the state of my immune system, and the strength of the side effects of the day's medicines. Too bad I don't have a reserve account for energy! Wouldn't it be nice to move a bit of strength into my "body checking account" and have a bit extra to add to the mix!
Monday, July 27, 2009
Mega Napping
These days I retire at 9pm or so, and don't get up until almost 8am. Such unheard of goings on! I regress to my childhood. Except for the part about needing at least one morning nap and more like two afternoon naps and possibly one after supper. Egads.
It is difficult not to feel lazy under these circumstances. New England work ethic is so woven into my brain that I find myself apologizing for not being able to do what I would like to do and feeling a bit guilty at sitting around while the rest of the world is hard at work.
I do what I can. Yesterday I folded the clean laundry that Drew brought upstairs three shirts at a time, resting inbetween. It took me an entire morning to fold one basket, but I got it done! And then took a nap, completely worn out.
My friend Beth alleviated my inner turmoil when I spoke to her on the phone. "That's what you are supposed to be doing right now - resting so your body can fight the cancer and heal." I know that. I still feel like I am letting people down though.
Just keep looking ahead, I tell myself. This will come to an end and you will be able to take care of the tasks you need to. Yup. Think November. Treatment will be over in October, and by November, you will be picking up steam. That's not all that far away. Meanwhile, kick back and enjoy! How often do you have a valid excuse for daytime mega napping!
It is difficult not to feel lazy under these circumstances. New England work ethic is so woven into my brain that I find myself apologizing for not being able to do what I would like to do and feeling a bit guilty at sitting around while the rest of the world is hard at work.
I do what I can. Yesterday I folded the clean laundry that Drew brought upstairs three shirts at a time, resting inbetween. It took me an entire morning to fold one basket, but I got it done! And then took a nap, completely worn out.
My friend Beth alleviated my inner turmoil when I spoke to her on the phone. "That's what you are supposed to be doing right now - resting so your body can fight the cancer and heal." I know that. I still feel like I am letting people down though.
Just keep looking ahead, I tell myself. This will come to an end and you will be able to take care of the tasks you need to. Yup. Think November. Treatment will be over in October, and by November, you will be picking up steam. That's not all that far away. Meanwhile, kick back and enjoy! How often do you have a valid excuse for daytime mega napping!
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Perfect Roses
Just outside the south side of our building there is a small rose bush. The first time I saw it, I thought perhaps it was newly planted, a young plant that had yet to bear any roses. It doesn't get a lot of sun, being tucked under the shade of a cluster of four tall elm trees.
How surprised I was to see the first bud develop! One lone branch shot up tall, and at the tip a tiny peach blushed bud nodded unconcernedly in the gentle breeze. Over the course of several days, the bud grew and opened and opened and opened until I beheld the most perfect and full rose I had seen in some time.
The edges were lined with a deep ruby while the main petals were a bright peach color fading to a creamy yellow in the center. There were so many petals I thought the flower would bend the stalk clear to the ground. Even the fragrance was light, barely perceptible, a joy to encounter.
I was blessed by its quiet beauty for almost a week before it withered and dropped petals to the brown earth below. How surprised I was to see another shoot grow tall and repeat the process, producing a perfect, beautiful, fully-opened rose. Once again I was blessed by the beauty, the gentle fragrance, the vibrant colors, the peace.
Four more times the tiny bush, obviously neither new nor inexperienced, blessed me with a gorgeous rose. I was grateful that no one succumbed to the urge to pluck the flower and imprison it in their private quarters, but left it for the world to enjoy. Each flower, while unique, bore wonderful resemblance to the others. I thought after six roses, the little bush had outdone itself and was finished for the season.
Today, as Sugar and I stepped off the front stoop, there was yet another shoot with a new bud promising another beautiful rose. Maybe I should learn from this unassuming rosebush. Do one thing. Do it well. Do it often. Bless the world.
How surprised I was to see the first bud develop! One lone branch shot up tall, and at the tip a tiny peach blushed bud nodded unconcernedly in the gentle breeze. Over the course of several days, the bud grew and opened and opened and opened until I beheld the most perfect and full rose I had seen in some time.
The edges were lined with a deep ruby while the main petals were a bright peach color fading to a creamy yellow in the center. There were so many petals I thought the flower would bend the stalk clear to the ground. Even the fragrance was light, barely perceptible, a joy to encounter.
I was blessed by its quiet beauty for almost a week before it withered and dropped petals to the brown earth below. How surprised I was to see another shoot grow tall and repeat the process, producing a perfect, beautiful, fully-opened rose. Once again I was blessed by the beauty, the gentle fragrance, the vibrant colors, the peace.
Four more times the tiny bush, obviously neither new nor inexperienced, blessed me with a gorgeous rose. I was grateful that no one succumbed to the urge to pluck the flower and imprison it in their private quarters, but left it for the world to enjoy. Each flower, while unique, bore wonderful resemblance to the others. I thought after six roses, the little bush had outdone itself and was finished for the season.
Today, as Sugar and I stepped off the front stoop, there was yet another shoot with a new bud promising another beautiful rose. Maybe I should learn from this unassuming rosebush. Do one thing. Do it well. Do it often. Bless the world.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Way Cool
Summer has been soooo pleasant here in Rochester. Just the right amount of rain to make everything beautiful. The tree foliage is lush and jungle-like, the flowers big and deep colored, the grass as emerald green as Oz.
Everyday there are cooling breezes, blue skies, fluffy clouds and low humidity. Walks with Sugar are delightful and uplifting. How blessed I am not to have to undergo a physical battle in the midst of a heat wave with sticky humidity like other areas of our country are enduring.
The weather channel announced today that Rochester is enjoying the coolest July since 1871 - think about it! Almost 140 years since we have had such a great summer. I am so tickled to be the beneficiary of such great weather. While I am not silly enough to believe it was all done for my benefit, I do believe the good Lord put me in a sheltered place intentionally. And if his choice for me resulted in lessened suffering, how amazing is that!
I shall totally enjoy it with thanksgiving for as long as it holds out.
Everyday there are cooling breezes, blue skies, fluffy clouds and low humidity. Walks with Sugar are delightful and uplifting. How blessed I am not to have to undergo a physical battle in the midst of a heat wave with sticky humidity like other areas of our country are enduring.
The weather channel announced today that Rochester is enjoying the coolest July since 1871 - think about it! Almost 140 years since we have had such a great summer. I am so tickled to be the beneficiary of such great weather. While I am not silly enough to believe it was all done for my benefit, I do believe the good Lord put me in a sheltered place intentionally. And if his choice for me resulted in lessened suffering, how amazing is that!
I shall totally enjoy it with thanksgiving for as long as it holds out.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Present, Past, AND Future
When you are standing ankle deep in water and suddenly see a tsunami about to devour you, there isn't much you can do except grab onto what ever you can and hang on for dear life. It's all about the present. You are totally in the moment, scrambling, trying to keep your head above water. There is no past, no future, only now.
Once the main danger is over, you find yourself dealing with the aftermath, the work to get to solid ground. It is still very much the present. That's what cancer is like. You first deal with anything life threatening, and your focus is on right now. Once the immediate danger is past, you deal with the aftermath, the chemo, the treatments, the side effects, trying to keep your head above water and avoid any aftershocks while scrambling to get to higher ground as far away from imminent danger as possible. There is no past, no future, only the immediate - survival.
When you finally find yourself in some stable condition, then you need the past - if for no other reason than to remind yourself that life will not always be this disaster. There have been many, many good times in your past, and reflecting on them helps you gain perspective. This too shall pass. Your whole world does not consist of the present moment, the current battle. You can drown out the noise of the persistent immediate with the balancing memories of the whole picture.
And so I have had lots of present and past going on in my head. But I knew I had turned a corner when I once again began to think about the future. I can finally see myself in a few months getting back to business, picking up the pieces, moving forward. I can once again put some thought energy toward Jairus House, toward PrayerSong, toward the upcoming choir season and of course, the important work at the library. I haven't quite managed to add into my thoughts all those future plans, but I can see them, can begin to think about how things might be, see what I will need to do to prepare.
It is very freeing to once again have healthy thoughts about tomorrow. I didn't even realize that I had not been doing future planning, that I had been so absorbed in the present and relying so heavily on the past to maintain my balance. But it feels good to approach life once again with thoughts of tomorrow and what life will bring. Progress!
Once the main danger is over, you find yourself dealing with the aftermath, the work to get to solid ground. It is still very much the present. That's what cancer is like. You first deal with anything life threatening, and your focus is on right now. Once the immediate danger is past, you deal with the aftermath, the chemo, the treatments, the side effects, trying to keep your head above water and avoid any aftershocks while scrambling to get to higher ground as far away from imminent danger as possible. There is no past, no future, only the immediate - survival.
When you finally find yourself in some stable condition, then you need the past - if for no other reason than to remind yourself that life will not always be this disaster. There have been many, many good times in your past, and reflecting on them helps you gain perspective. This too shall pass. Your whole world does not consist of the present moment, the current battle. You can drown out the noise of the persistent immediate with the balancing memories of the whole picture.
And so I have had lots of present and past going on in my head. But I knew I had turned a corner when I once again began to think about the future. I can finally see myself in a few months getting back to business, picking up the pieces, moving forward. I can once again put some thought energy toward Jairus House, toward PrayerSong, toward the upcoming choir season and of course, the important work at the library. I haven't quite managed to add into my thoughts all those future plans, but I can see them, can begin to think about how things might be, see what I will need to do to prepare.
It is very freeing to once again have healthy thoughts about tomorrow. I didn't even realize that I had not been doing future planning, that I had been so absorbed in the present and relying so heavily on the past to maintain my balance. But it feels good to approach life once again with thoughts of tomorrow and what life will bring. Progress!
Thursday, July 23, 2009
New Shopping Protocol
I have seen people - usually guys - on their cellphones, standing in front of a shelf of products in a grocery store, completely done in by too many options and choices, reading off the selections to someone on the other end of the phone, in hopes that they will bring home the right stuff and save themselves a repeat journey.
My use of cell phones in the grocery store has so far been limited to calling Drew and commanding him to meet me at the checkout as I am ready to leave and he needs to stop sneaking stuff into the cart when I am not looking! Some of the grocery stores, like the Pittsford Wegmans, is actually so huge that we could wander for days and not see each other. At least I don't have to go to the service desk and have them make an embarrassing announcement!
Today was different. I made my usual list of necessities and asked Kiel to go to the store. I knew perfectly well what I meant when I made the list, almost to the point of knowing where on the shelf to find these items. And I thought that since Kiel lives in the same house and uses the same products, he would know too.
But I found myself the "person on the other end of the phone" repeatedly over the course of the next hour as Kiel tried to sort out my list and get exactly what I needed. And Drew was reduced to calling me to ask permission to "sneak" his treats into the cart as Kiel wouldn't allow anything not on the list. I had to laugh. Gives a whole new interpretation to shopping online!
Even five years ago we would not have been able to do our shopping in this way as not all of us had cell phones. The world changes paradigms as quickly as a chameleon changes colors, as almost as imperceptibly. Suddenly you look around and realize how vastly the landscape has changed.
While my foray into online shopping is temporary, and I hope to be back to cart leaning by mid fall, the truth is that the world will not change back just because I don't take advantage of the potential. We struggle with the question at work "Just because the technology exists, should we be using it?" The answer is, someone will, and it might as well be us playing around with the possibilities, seeing what unexpected benefits might arise.
At least in this case, Kiel came home with all the right stuff, and even Drew got some treats without a major battle. Yeah!
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Crash Day Again
2:22am. I knew it was gonna be a bumpy day. I woke and needed to check on the dog, but I just couldn't rouse myself. Before I realized it, the clock said 4:23am and I still couldn't seem to get myself up.
Every crash day post prednisone has offered its own set of challenges, and I knew this one would pass too, that I would just have to cooperate with my body while I rode the roller coaster down to the depths, however far they may take me this time. Then things would level out and I would hover a bit before heading back to better.
So I just rested. Never mind the phone, the dog, the maintenance man, the meeting I should have attended (how much energy could it take to listen to a conversation?!), the ticking of the clock. I lay down, moving only to refresh my water or shift positions, drifting in and out of sleep, vaguely aware of the day.
This is the important work I need to focus on. Let my body deal with the physical challenges in the best way it can. This is the work my friends and family have freed me to attend to. I do not think of task lists, my feelings of helplessness, my desire to be productive. I am working hard. I am fighting cancer. I am fighting with all my might.
Tomorrow will be time enough to walk the dog, answer email, make li
sts. Today I do the work of healing. Better yet, I cooperate with the healing force God placed in my body. It will be better tomorrow. Definitely. Now, sleep!
Every crash day post prednisone has offered its own set of challenges, and I knew this one would pass too, that I would just have to cooperate with my body while I rode the roller coaster down to the depths, however far they may take me this time. Then things would level out and I would hover a bit before heading back to better.
So I just rested. Never mind the phone, the dog, the maintenance man, the meeting I should have attended (how much energy could it take to listen to a conversation?!), the ticking of the clock. I lay down, moving only to refresh my water or shift positions, drifting in and out of sleep, vaguely aware of the day.
This is the important work I need to focus on. Let my body deal with the physical challenges in the best way it can. This is the work my friends and family have freed me to attend to. I do not think of task lists, my feelings of helplessness, my desire to be productive. I am working hard. I am fighting cancer. I am fighting with all my might.
Tomorrow will be time enough to walk the dog, answer email, make li
sts. Today I do the work of healing. Better yet, I cooperate with the healing force God placed in my body. It will be better tomorrow. Definitely. Now, sleep!
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Self Prescription
I have been faithfully writing down every pill I have to take - both to make sure I take what I am supposed to take at the right time in the right order and combination, and to make sure I don't take something twice! I don't totally trust my tired brain to get it all straight.
They say you know yourself best, and I got to thinking about the bitterness of the medicines I have to take. Wouldn't it be nice if, in true Mary Poppins style, the meds could have some nice flavor to leave hanging around in your mouth afterwards, instead of the galling after taste that continues to remind you of their potency for hours?
So why not? Why shouldn't I prescribe a flavor pill to suck on to remove that bitterness? Indeed! I thought about it, and decided to prescribe Jelly Bellies! Kiel went to Wegmans and stood in front of the Jelly Belly bins and read off the flavors while I "yea'd" or "nay'd" the selections. Watermelon, raspberry, peach, grape, cherry, tangerine, plum, LICORICE!!! What a delightful palette of flavors to choose from.
Now I take those bitter pills, drink a ton of water, and then select the appealing flavor of the hour to leave the aftertaste of choice. Much better! Now that's a prescription I don't mind taking.
They say you know yourself best, and I got to thinking about the bitterness of the medicines I have to take. Wouldn't it be nice if, in true Mary Poppins style, the meds could have some nice flavor to leave hanging around in your mouth afterwards, instead of the galling after taste that continues to remind you of their potency for hours?
So why not? Why shouldn't I prescribe a flavor pill to suck on to remove that bitterness? Indeed! I thought about it, and decided to prescribe Jelly Bellies! Kiel went to Wegmans and stood in front of the Jelly Belly bins and read off the flavors while I "yea'd" or "nay'd" the selections. Watermelon, raspberry, peach, grape, cherry, tangerine, plum, LICORICE!!! What a delightful palette of flavors to choose from.
Now I take those bitter pills, drink a ton of water, and then select the appealing flavor of the hour to leave the aftertaste of choice. Much better! Now that's a prescription I don't mind taking.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Sleepin' Hard
Some nights exhaustion sets in and I hit the sheets early, like last night. I lay my head on the pillow around 9:30 pm. Before I had time to settle in, I was asleep, my jaw clenched, my fists in tight balls, my body weighing the mattress down in a sagging wad.
After what seemed a long time, I found myself struggling to escape from dreams that seemed very real, as if I were an actor in a play that was based on my own realities. I was convinced it was early morning, but when I looked at the clock, I had only slept for about an hour. My body felt as if it had done a full eight hours of repair work and growth.
I was sweaty and thirsty and confused, rousing myself to go to the bathroom to flood my face with cool water. I downed an entire glass of water, shook out the crumpled sheets and curled up again, rationalizing that I could now settle down for a normal night's sleep.
But no. Again and again I worked through the hard labor of sleep that repairs the body and drains the inner resources, waking to splash my face and recharge, letting the brain waves resume some sort of normal thought pattern and take a deep breath to reassure myself that I was still in my bedroom, that I was OK, that it was still night, and that I had only been "asleep" a short while.
This is the third or fourth time I have experienced this kind of recovery work. I take it as a good sign that I am decompressing from all the toxicity and pressure of cancer. By my usual waking time of early morning I was finally able to fall into some sort of normal sleep and I eventually woke refreshed and restored from the hard work of such sleep.
I'm sure a sleep specialist could tell me the in's and out's of this type of experience. I am just glad it doesn't happen too often!
After what seemed a long time, I found myself struggling to escape from dreams that seemed very real, as if I were an actor in a play that was based on my own realities. I was convinced it was early morning, but when I looked at the clock, I had only slept for about an hour. My body felt as if it had done a full eight hours of repair work and growth.
I was sweaty and thirsty and confused, rousing myself to go to the bathroom to flood my face with cool water. I downed an entire glass of water, shook out the crumpled sheets and curled up again, rationalizing that I could now settle down for a normal night's sleep.
But no. Again and again I worked through the hard labor of sleep that repairs the body and drains the inner resources, waking to splash my face and recharge, letting the brain waves resume some sort of normal thought pattern and take a deep breath to reassure myself that I was still in my bedroom, that I was OK, that it was still night, and that I had only been "asleep" a short while.
This is the third or fourth time I have experienced this kind of recovery work. I take it as a good sign that I am decompressing from all the toxicity and pressure of cancer. By my usual waking time of early morning I was finally able to fall into some sort of normal sleep and I eventually woke refreshed and restored from the hard work of such sleep.
I'm sure a sleep specialist could tell me the in's and out's of this type of experience. I am just glad it doesn't happen too often!
Sunday, July 19, 2009
A Day of Rest
Sunday. Once again I want to go to church, but find I am too done in to go. I swallow my disappointment and remember that there are online sites where I can view decent church services. One of my favorite sites is the Duke University Chapel. They have marvelous guest speakers, and an interesting liturgy. I scroll through the archive to see who has spoken recently and am delighted to find two of my favorite authors listed! Yeah!
First I watch a Lenten season service where Jeremy Begbie spoke, then the Palm Sunday service with Walter Brueggemann as featured speaker. While not the same as going to my own church, it was engaging and a welcomed change of pace.
Afterward, I glanced around the apartment at stuff that needs to be done. There is always cleaning that must happen. And then there are those little tasks that I keep putting off because I have no motivation or energy to see it through. I need to write thank you notes and pay some bills and make shopping lists and all those little life details that one gets wrapped up in.
Suddenly, I rebel. I decide that today I will not "do" anything. I will rest. I have lost track of what day is what because every day seems the same. I need to set aside this day in particular and make it my oasis in the midst of the storm. I will not think hard thoughts, deal with big issues, mope, feel obligated to do anything, or guilty for not doing something.
I will simply relax and rest. And so I do! Sleep comes easier and feels sweeter. I do not fuss about getting meals at any special time, just when I am hungry. I keep it simple - quick to fix stuff. I do not watch the clock to make sure Sugar stays on any sort of schedule. We go out when we want, stay in when we like. No plant watering, no TV, no noise, no agendas, no thoughts of outstanding tasks. Just rest. Real freedom to rest.
It is a detachment that brings peace. I used to experience it when I visited my grandparents in the summer and we sat outside in lawn chairs and hammocks in the early evenings. There is a certain sense that all is right with the world, that nothing will fall apart nor will I explode, that life has its own pace that happens with or without me, a rhythm set in motion long ago when creation was just an idea in God's mind, a majesty far beyond the smallness of my existence.
It is very healing. I should definitely do this more often, cancer or no. I highly recommend you try it!
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Freedom Letters
Mail call! Let's see what came today (sad when you are cooped up and one of the big highlight's of your day is when the mail arrives!). Wow - 2 postcards from a friend vacationing in Ohio, a card and letter from Sissie in Illinois, and a card from the Library where I work! Jackpot!!!!!
I get lots of cards from people. Sometimes they arrive in my mail slot in the hallway outside my door. Sometimes they arrive in my email box and entertain me with animation, games and music. Each one is a gift of lightness to help me through dreary days. I am thankful that so many people take the time to send their good thoughts, wishes, and prayers in my direction. It makes a huge difference.
During my bout with rectal cancer, I started hanging the cards people sent on the wall and ended up plastering the entire living room and dining room. Every day it reminded me that I have lots of love and support. This time I have been stacking them on my piano, watching the pile grow, sometimes picking them up to reread and enjoy.
Today I curled up in the rocking chair with the precious missives and started with the postcards. The pictures whisked my straight out of my tiny box prison into the wide world of summer campgrounds with pavilions, lakes, gift shops, boats, auditoriums, concerts - for a moment I remembered being at Chautauqua with the Oratorio Society, singing Carmina Burana of a summer's evening. It was a great escape.
Then I picked up Sissie's card with the picture of a white polar bear on the cover. Inside it said, "Bear hug comin' at ya!" It was as if she had wrapped her arms around me in a big old hug, just to say hang in there and that I am not alone. She enclosed a juicy letter full of the details of her summer activities, and once again I was released from my stuffy confinement to freely follow her as she prepared a special garden in honor of a neighbor who passed away from cancer, a neighbor who loved butterflies, so Sissie is planting the kinds of flowers and plants that will attract butterflies, and including a bench where people can sit and take it all in. What a wonderful thing to do!
Then I opened the cheery yellow floral card from all my friends and colleagues at the Library. As I read each personal message, the tears began to flow. They have not forgotten about me though I only "see" them via speakerphone. They pray for me each day and send encouragement. You are loved, you are loved, you are loved every line sang out.
I sat for nearly an hour hugging the wonderful letters and rocking and crying and knowing - really knowing - that this siege will end and I will burst out of this jail and back to life. The letters brought a freedom I had not yet experienced, a joy I am delighted to discover.
I can no longer leave these precious postings in a pile on the piano. I will hang them up over the desk and drink them in every day, hang them so I can open them to read the names, remember the jokes, enjoy the beauty of the graphics. Yes, letters are leaves of joy floating down in the midst of sadness to bring light and refreshment. Letters are good!
I get lots of cards from people. Sometimes they arrive in my mail slot in the hallway outside my door. Sometimes they arrive in my email box and entertain me with animation, games and music. Each one is a gift of lightness to help me through dreary days. I am thankful that so many people take the time to send their good thoughts, wishes, and prayers in my direction. It makes a huge difference.
During my bout with rectal cancer, I started hanging the cards people sent on the wall and ended up plastering the entire living room and dining room. Every day it reminded me that I have lots of love and support. This time I have been stacking them on my piano, watching the pile grow, sometimes picking them up to reread and enjoy.
Today I curled up in the rocking chair with the precious missives and started with the postcards. The pictures whisked my straight out of my tiny box prison into the wide world of summer campgrounds with pavilions, lakes, gift shops, boats, auditoriums, concerts - for a moment I remembered being at Chautauqua with the Oratorio Society, singing Carmina Burana of a summer's evening. It was a great escape.
Then I picked up Sissie's card with the picture of a white polar bear on the cover. Inside it said, "Bear hug comin' at ya!" It was as if she had wrapped her arms around me in a big old hug, just to say hang in there and that I am not alone. She enclosed a juicy letter full of the details of her summer activities, and once again I was released from my stuffy confinement to freely follow her as she prepared a special garden in honor of a neighbor who passed away from cancer, a neighbor who loved butterflies, so Sissie is planting the kinds of flowers and plants that will attract butterflies, and including a bench where people can sit and take it all in. What a wonderful thing to do!
Then I opened the cheery yellow floral card from all my friends and colleagues at the Library. As I read each personal message, the tears began to flow. They have not forgotten about me though I only "see" them via speakerphone. They pray for me each day and send encouragement. You are loved, you are loved, you are loved every line sang out.
I sat for nearly an hour hugging the wonderful letters and rocking and crying and knowing - really knowing - that this siege will end and I will burst out of this jail and back to life. The letters brought a freedom I had not yet experienced, a joy I am delighted to discover.
I can no longer leave these precious postings in a pile on the piano. I will hang them up over the desk and drink them in every day, hang them so I can open them to read the names, remember the jokes, enjoy the beauty of the graphics. Yes, letters are leaves of joy floating down in the midst of sadness to bring light and refreshment. Letters are good!
Friday, July 17, 2009
Food!
I am simply amazed at how well cared for I have been throughout this chemo siege. The first round, people just showed up with casseroles and goodies, people who had heard that I was starting treatment. I was so surprised, and the food was so delicious!
Second round, my friends and colleagues at the Library organized a veritable feast of dishes and delectable desserts that made even the boys ooh and ahhh. Third round brought even more delightful recipes and selections from the ladies at the church where I conduct (Methodists tend to be well known for their covered dishes!). I have to say, the third round was a tough one for eating too. More nausea to contend with, not to mention the inability to taste. Good thing there were tempting dishes around to entice eating.
This week the trend continues marvelously. My fellow worshipers at Community of the Savior Church where I had been attending in the evening and now during the summer when I am able, organized the meals. What a wonderful variety and such thoughtful preparations. Homemade bread and pies, entrees ranging from chicken to pork to lasagna, veggies - I have not eaten so well in a long time. No fear of losing weight here!
The best part is the ministry to the boys. To watch their faces as the dishes arrive - often piping hot and ready to be devoured - is pure joy. It is one moment of light heartedness and happiness in a dreary summer of plodding and contending. They inhale the good smells of food prepared in love like it were a drug of choice. Kindly, they dish me up a plate first, then pile their own plates high. You can almost hear the contentment as they enjoy each repast to the full extent. The sighs of happiness afterwards never fail to bring a smile to my face.
I know the sacrifice of taking time and resources from busy hectic schedules and already tight budgets to bless someone else, and I want to personally hug and thank each and everyone who has so blessed our little family over these past ten weeks. You can never know how much we appreciate this outpouring of care and concern. You have not only freed me to concentrate my energy on battling cancer, but you have touched our lives immensely by your love. Your kindnesses will long be remembered. May God return the blessing to you a hundred fold.
Second round, my friends and colleagues at the Library organized a veritable feast of dishes and delectable desserts that made even the boys ooh and ahhh. Third round brought even more delightful recipes and selections from the ladies at the church where I conduct (Methodists tend to be well known for their covered dishes!). I have to say, the third round was a tough one for eating too. More nausea to contend with, not to mention the inability to taste. Good thing there were tempting dishes around to entice eating.
This week the trend continues marvelously. My fellow worshipers at Community of the Savior Church where I had been attending in the evening and now during the summer when I am able, organized the meals. What a wonderful variety and such thoughtful preparations. Homemade bread and pies, entrees ranging from chicken to pork to lasagna, veggies - I have not eaten so well in a long time. No fear of losing weight here!
The best part is the ministry to the boys. To watch their faces as the dishes arrive - often piping hot and ready to be devoured - is pure joy. It is one moment of light heartedness and happiness in a dreary summer of plodding and contending. They inhale the good smells of food prepared in love like it were a drug of choice. Kindly, they dish me up a plate first, then pile their own plates high. You can almost hear the contentment as they enjoy each repast to the full extent. The sighs of happiness afterwards never fail to bring a smile to my face.
I know the sacrifice of taking time and resources from busy hectic schedules and already tight budgets to bless someone else, and I want to personally hug and thank each and everyone who has so blessed our little family over these past ten weeks. You can never know how much we appreciate this outpouring of care and concern. You have not only freed me to concentrate my energy on battling cancer, but you have touched our lives immensely by your love. Your kindnesses will long be remembered. May God return the blessing to you a hundred fold.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
The Morning After
Not too bad today. A bit wobbly, but able to get some email done and take a number of walks with Sugar. I finally made a meds list so I can track when I am taking these ten different drugs to manage symptoms. Makes me feel like I can shake, rattle and roll with the best of them!
Drew rearranged the living room to make conversation more comfortable and the space suddenly feels roomier. I like his sense of balance and flow. I remember when I was younger I rearranged rooms on a regular basis. Perhaps he finds this activity as satisfying as I used to. These days I am less into habitat and more into outreach. I have become content to just rest while I am home.
He did leave Sheila, my ivy plant, where she hangs in the front window. Sheila is flourishing and vining out nicely, a welcome oasis of green that makes the whole room seem to breathe easily. My chair now faces the door and I can see into the kitchen. It's amazing how a change in perspective can open up better vistas, cause you to connect better with people arriving, give better opportunity to truly communicate.
I'm glad Drew was so inspired. In fact, he moved from the living room to his bedroom and soon the beds were in a different corner, the rest of the stuff shifted here and there. Here's to improving perspectives - rah, rah. Now if he would get as inspired about his summer reading!
Drew rearranged the living room to make conversation more comfortable and the space suddenly feels roomier. I like his sense of balance and flow. I remember when I was younger I rearranged rooms on a regular basis. Perhaps he finds this activity as satisfying as I used to. These days I am less into habitat and more into outreach. I have become content to just rest while I am home.
He did leave Sheila, my ivy plant, where she hangs in the front window. Sheila is flourishing and vining out nicely, a welcome oasis of green that makes the whole room seem to breathe easily. My chair now faces the door and I can see into the kitchen. It's amazing how a change in perspective can open up better vistas, cause you to connect better with people arriving, give better opportunity to truly communicate.
I'm glad Drew was so inspired. In fact, he moved from the living room to his bedroom and soon the beds were in a different corner, the rest of the stuff shifted here and there. Here's to improving perspectives - rah, rah. Now if he would get as inspired about his summer reading!
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Round Four
The day began with a slight headache and a bit of nausea. I rationalized that once I arrived at the infusion center, they would be giving me something for both things, so I didn't take anything before leaving home. As we pulled up to the front entrance, Kiel asked if I had brought my symptom list. I looked at him quizzically since I didn't know he had seen my running dialogue of kavetching. Apparently I had left it on top of my notebook and he had perused it. "I had no idea you felt so awful all the time. I'm sorry," he explained. I smiled. "It's not all the time."
The day didn't improve when I showed up for a port draw and they couldn't seem to get the port to work properly. Saline flush went in, blood refused to come out. I figured they had tapped me dry, but the nurse said if they couldn't clear it, I might not get the chemo. We went through all sorts of contortions as they kept pumping the flush in. Hold your right arm up over your head. Turn your head as far to the left as you can. Cough as deep as you can. Stand up. Tilt forward. Lie down. Put your feet up. Breathe deeply. Nothing was working. They called in a second nurse. We went through the whole drill again. Nada.
Finally, she took out the IV stick and redid the insert. Before I time to utter a prayer, we got red! Thank you God I breathed just as Baiba peeked around the corner and delivered a well needed hug and good wishes before she headed home after a long night of demanding chaplaincy.
The doctor looked at my litany of gripes and said, "These are all to be expected rather mild reactions. You are doing very well. Everything looks good here." We had a productive conversation about preventive measures to deal with some of the discomforts, next steps and some solutions to deal with my concerns about iodine allergies before I returned to the infusion center to start the drill. BONUS!!! This is the last time of the 6 chemo infusions that I will be given the Rituxan! Yeah!!! That's the one that takes 6 hours and I have the hardest time tolerating.
I had just gone through the drill of premeds, saline flush, and hook up to Rituxan when my personal chef, caterer and good friend Diane arrived with lunch! She had volunteered after the dismal experience of last time when I ordered the cottage cheese fruit plate and got two small containers, one a fruit cocktail cup and one of cottage cheese.
Boy, howdy, she pulled out all the stops! First a gorgeous bouquet of flowers - cheerful daylilies, daisies, choreopsis, Russian sage - so cheery and bright it was like bringing sunshine into the space. Then a candle! One of those battery flamed units in a reflecting glass. Great mood lighting. Real blue floral china and silver with matching blue napkins flew magically out of her carrying satchel, followed by a delightful repast of grilled veggies, barbecued chicken breast, pickled beets and the piece de resistance, chocolate pudding for dessert - make with real whip cream and topped with squirted on whip cream from a can!
What a great lunch. I sure needed the cheering up and it was just the ticket! Our conversation brought a window on the outside world that I cherished. Her daughter just returned from a mission trip to the Dominican Republic, and I listened as Diane told of the poverty and hunger that was rampant there. It's actually better to be an orphan because they are better provided for than the people who live in town. How sad that is.
We talked of music and church activities and VBS and all kinds of things going on in the great wide world beyond the four walls of my tiny apartment. And of alternative things that might help defeat cancer - diet especially. Meat and sugar are not recommended, which made us laugh since we had just consumed copious quantities of both!
I left at 7pm, nauseous and tired but encouraged, both by the catered lunch and conversations, and the fact the there will be no Rituxan for the next round, and the further investigation into the Bexxar risks. All in all, a good day. AND I have to say how happy I am that all this is happening in the summer and not the bleakness of winter. I can't imagine how difficult it would be to keep my spirits up with bare tree branches and snow covered roads.
The day didn't improve when I showed up for a port draw and they couldn't seem to get the port to work properly. Saline flush went in, blood refused to come out. I figured they had tapped me dry, but the nurse said if they couldn't clear it, I might not get the chemo. We went through all sorts of contortions as they kept pumping the flush in. Hold your right arm up over your head. Turn your head as far to the left as you can. Cough as deep as you can. Stand up. Tilt forward. Lie down. Put your feet up. Breathe deeply. Nothing was working. They called in a second nurse. We went through the whole drill again. Nada.
Finally, she took out the IV stick and redid the insert. Before I time to utter a prayer, we got red! Thank you God I breathed just as Baiba peeked around the corner and delivered a well needed hug and good wishes before she headed home after a long night of demanding chaplaincy.
The doctor looked at my litany of gripes and said, "These are all to be expected rather mild reactions. You are doing very well. Everything looks good here." We had a productive conversation about preventive measures to deal with some of the discomforts, next steps and some solutions to deal with my concerns about iodine allergies before I returned to the infusion center to start the drill. BONUS!!! This is the last time of the 6 chemo infusions that I will be given the Rituxan! Yeah!!! That's the one that takes 6 hours and I have the hardest time tolerating.
I had just gone through the drill of premeds, saline flush, and hook up to Rituxan when my personal chef, caterer and good friend Diane arrived with lunch! She had volunteered after the dismal experience of last time when I ordered the cottage cheese fruit plate and got two small containers, one a fruit cocktail cup and one of cottage cheese.
Boy, howdy, she pulled out all the stops! First a gorgeous bouquet of flowers - cheerful daylilies, daisies, choreopsis, Russian sage - so cheery and bright it was like bringing sunshine into the space. Then a candle! One of those battery flamed units in a reflecting glass. Great mood lighting. Real blue floral china and silver with matching blue napkins flew magically out of her carrying satchel, followed by a delightful repast of grilled veggies, barbecued chicken breast, pickled beets and the piece de resistance, chocolate pudding for dessert - make with real whip cream and topped with squirted on whip cream from a can!
What a great lunch. I sure needed the cheering up and it was just the ticket! Our conversation brought a window on the outside world that I cherished. Her daughter just returned from a mission trip to the Dominican Republic, and I listened as Diane told of the poverty and hunger that was rampant there. It's actually better to be an orphan because they are better provided for than the people who live in town. How sad that is.
We talked of music and church activities and VBS and all kinds of things going on in the great wide world beyond the four walls of my tiny apartment. And of alternative things that might help defeat cancer - diet especially. Meat and sugar are not recommended, which made us laugh since we had just consumed copious quantities of both!
I left at 7pm, nauseous and tired but encouraged, both by the catered lunch and conversations, and the fact the there will be no Rituxan for the next round, and the further investigation into the Bexxar risks. All in all, a good day. AND I have to say how happy I am that all this is happening in the summer and not the bleakness of winter. I can't imagine how difficult it would be to keep my spirits up with bare tree branches and snow covered roads.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Retreat Planning from Afar
I curled up on my bed with a steamy mug of Earl Grey tea and opened my laptop to roberts email and the agenda for our retreat, then waited for them to call me. Summer planning is all about fall activities, especially our Open House for incoming students and the welcome event for our student workers, new and returning. This year will be more complex since we are repurposing a number of student workers after deciding to not staff the 24 hour lab in an attempt to live within our budget while still increasing salaries to stay up with the minimum wage increase.
Each retreat has an overall focus. Last time we focused on being transformed into the image of Christ, becoming someone more than we have been before. This time our focus is on customer service as ministry. Learning how to anticipate needs and look beyond the negative experiences to see where we can improve how we do business.
I am excited about the prospect of a "Midnight Mystery" event for freshmen and transfer after hours in the library. I think it will appeal to more students than we were able to attract last year. The frustrating part is that I want so much to be part of these events, but I cannot commit. I have no sense yet of how I will feel in September, or what treatment or tests I will have to do, so I can't volunteer. It's like having your hand tied to the chair and you can't raise it to be chosen to help.
I feel like a kid watching a sports event through the cracks in the fence. I know its not forever, so I try not to fuss. I just hope I can get back in the game soon!
Each retreat has an overall focus. Last time we focused on being transformed into the image of Christ, becoming someone more than we have been before. This time our focus is on customer service as ministry. Learning how to anticipate needs and look beyond the negative experiences to see where we can improve how we do business.
I am excited about the prospect of a "Midnight Mystery" event for freshmen and transfer after hours in the library. I think it will appeal to more students than we were able to attract last year. The frustrating part is that I want so much to be part of these events, but I cannot commit. I have no sense yet of how I will feel in September, or what treatment or tests I will have to do, so I can't volunteer. It's like having your hand tied to the chair and you can't raise it to be chosen to help.
I feel like a kid watching a sports event through the cracks in the fence. I know its not forever, so I try not to fuss. I just hope I can get back in the game soon!
Monday, July 13, 2009
Liszt Piano Music
Before my last infusion, I checked out some CD's from the Library's collection, one of which was of religious songs written by Liszt for piano. While I tend to be a sucker for Romantic piano music, I am usually drawn to Chopin and Brahms, less to Liszt.
This particular collection of songs was quite appealing, including pieces titled Ave maria, Pater Noster, Prayer to God, etc. How easy to get wrapped up in the music pouring forth from the headset. This music felt less dense, less dramatically contrived than some of his other works. I listened several times, following these prayers as they rose upward.
I wonder, did this man who lived in another time, another place, have a close relationship with God? Did he write from personal experience, from a head understanding, from some upbringing? I do not know enough of his life, but will see what I can find out.
And what of the pianist interpreting the music? Did he understand? Certainly there was a technical proficiency, but I want to hear some of my more favorite pianists play these songs. Some pianists whose hearts are passionate in a way with which I reverberate. Just as not all speakers are equally eloquent, not all pianists are equally passionate!
One can never truly know the heart of another, but this music definitely bears further investigation.
This particular collection of songs was quite appealing, including pieces titled Ave maria, Pater Noster, Prayer to God, etc. How easy to get wrapped up in the music pouring forth from the headset. This music felt less dense, less dramatically contrived than some of his other works. I listened several times, following these prayers as they rose upward.
I wonder, did this man who lived in another time, another place, have a close relationship with God? Did he write from personal experience, from a head understanding, from some upbringing? I do not know enough of his life, but will see what I can find out.
And what of the pianist interpreting the music? Did he understand? Certainly there was a technical proficiency, but I want to hear some of my more favorite pianists play these songs. Some pianists whose hearts are passionate in a way with which I reverberate. Just as not all speakers are equally eloquent, not all pianists are equally passionate!
One can never truly know the heart of another, but this music definitely bears further investigation.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
On Being Worthy
I walk up the sidewalk towards the chapel, admiring the beautiful flowers in the Prayer Garden. It is a tempting invitation to turn aside and experience the peace and presence offered there, but I cannot for I am playing for service today. The weather is gorgeous, a light breeze ruffling the leafy greenery of the graceful trees and rippling the deep green grass. Birds sing, locust sing, the whole of creation seems alive and vibrant.
I hesitate a moment before entering the glass doors and stepping into the hush of the sanctuary. The stained glass windows seem to pour Jesus himself into the well appointed space. The green of the ordinary season altar linens bring creation inside gently, the lighted candles cheery and filled with hope.
How is it that I, one riddled with disease and death, am allowed to enter here? Truth be told, the fancy wig, the careful makeup, the coverings that hide the devastation of the cancer, are doing a good job. People ask me how I can look better with cancer than before cancer! But they cannot see the truth.
In the Old Testament, people with diseases such as leprosy were not allowed anywhere near public places much less into the synagogue or Temple. People with deformities could not serve before the altar. Deformed or diseased animals were certainly not acceptable as sacrifices! These regulations were strictly enforced.
God is not fooled. He sees my bald head, the black spots of cancer with which my body is riddled, the marks of bruising and blood where the chemo has left damage. He knows how unwhole I am. I can do no more than simply bow before Him, sans excuse, to wait, fully aware on another level that the disease consuming my body is nothing in comparison to the disease ravaging my soul.
In His presence, how totally aware I become of my shortcomings, my mistakes, my wrongdoings, my bad attitudes, my sins. I am riddled with the black spots of wickedness so displeasing to the very One who loves me most. I wait, knowing there is no reason He should allow me to enter His house in such a state.
In another time, another culture, I would simply be rejected, turned away. But as a daughter, I am covered by grace, I am not turned away. I am allowed not only to enter, but to serve. I do not take it lightly, this privilege extended. I am grateful, both now, and when I will come to the final gate where I will once again wait to be invited in. What joy to find then the black spots, the devastation, disease and sin gone and full restoration a done deal!
I hesitate a moment before entering the glass doors and stepping into the hush of the sanctuary. The stained glass windows seem to pour Jesus himself into the well appointed space. The green of the ordinary season altar linens bring creation inside gently, the lighted candles cheery and filled with hope.
How is it that I, one riddled with disease and death, am allowed to enter here? Truth be told, the fancy wig, the careful makeup, the coverings that hide the devastation of the cancer, are doing a good job. People ask me how I can look better with cancer than before cancer! But they cannot see the truth.
In the Old Testament, people with diseases such as leprosy were not allowed anywhere near public places much less into the synagogue or Temple. People with deformities could not serve before the altar. Deformed or diseased animals were certainly not acceptable as sacrifices! These regulations were strictly enforced.
God is not fooled. He sees my bald head, the black spots of cancer with which my body is riddled, the marks of bruising and blood where the chemo has left damage. He knows how unwhole I am. I can do no more than simply bow before Him, sans excuse, to wait, fully aware on another level that the disease consuming my body is nothing in comparison to the disease ravaging my soul.
In His presence, how totally aware I become of my shortcomings, my mistakes, my wrongdoings, my bad attitudes, my sins. I am riddled with the black spots of wickedness so displeasing to the very One who loves me most. I wait, knowing there is no reason He should allow me to enter His house in such a state.
In another time, another culture, I would simply be rejected, turned away. But as a daughter, I am covered by grace, I am not turned away. I am allowed not only to enter, but to serve. I do not take it lightly, this privilege extended. I am grateful, both now, and when I will come to the final gate where I will once again wait to be invited in. What joy to find then the black spots, the devastation, disease and sin gone and full restoration a done deal!
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Buttercups and Sweetpeas
Behind the building next to ours, near the edge of the parking lot, is a old rut created by a car that got a little too far over when it parked, leaving an ugly muddy tire tread print. The rut is fairly deep and narrow and well overgrown with grass, hard to see. Which is why the lawn mowers just run over the top of it, leaving the growth untouched.
Today when Sugar and I were doing a noontime walk, we discovered that the rut was a riot of beautiful yellow buttercups waving daintily in the breeze. I love buttercups! The first time I encountered a buttercup was when I was in kindergarten. Back in my time, kindergarten was mornings only. I had the whole afternoon to play, and often I spent the time with a fellow kindergartner who live at the end of our street, my friend Paul.
There was lots of yard space around our houses and we wandered about pretending to be explorers or swinging on the gym sets or just laying in the grass watching the clouds. One day we found the empty lot covered with lots of wildflowers, some of which were buttercups. Paul picked one and held it under my chin. I batted his hand away and he tilted his head, shutting one eye against the sun, and asked, "Don't you want to see if you like butter?" Huh? I already know! I like butter. But I asked him what he meant. "Well, when I hold the flower under your chin, if I can see yellow, you like butter. If I can't see yellow, then you don't like butter."
I'm not sure where he learned this, and even more, why he would want to know if I liked butter, but not wanting to disappoint my friend, and just a tad curious as to whether it worked or not, I let him hold the flower under my chin. "Look up so I can see," he instructed. "Yup! You like butter!" Ta-da! It worked. We sat there for the longest time surrounded by buttercups and sweetpeas of all different shades of purple. They nodded lazily while I checked my friend Paul to see if he liked butter. I looked first, then asked him. Nope. Confirmed. No yellow reflection appeared.
It was good enough for me, and I tried it on my siblings and other friends. It never failed to form some sort of camaraderie bond between the two participants of this acid test of butter fondness. Interesting that it doesn't seem to work with other yellow flowers like dandelions or black eyed susans! Tis the season for buttercups and sweetpeas. I couldn't help but wonder if holding a sweet pea under your chin would show a purple spot if you like peas! Apparently not.
Buttercups always bring me back to Esperance and lazy afternoons and kicking back to see who likes butter and who doesn't. Nice.
Today when Sugar and I were doing a noontime walk, we discovered that the rut was a riot of beautiful yellow buttercups waving daintily in the breeze. I love buttercups! The first time I encountered a buttercup was when I was in kindergarten. Back in my time, kindergarten was mornings only. I had the whole afternoon to play, and often I spent the time with a fellow kindergartner who live at the end of our street, my friend Paul.
There was lots of yard space around our houses and we wandered about pretending to be explorers or swinging on the gym sets or just laying in the grass watching the clouds. One day we found the empty lot covered with lots of wildflowers, some of which were buttercups. Paul picked one and held it under my chin. I batted his hand away and he tilted his head, shutting one eye against the sun, and asked, "Don't you want to see if you like butter?" Huh? I already know! I like butter. But I asked him what he meant. "Well, when I hold the flower under your chin, if I can see yellow, you like butter. If I can't see yellow, then you don't like butter."
I'm not sure where he learned this, and even more, why he would want to know if I liked butter, but not wanting to disappoint my friend, and just a tad curious as to whether it worked or not, I let him hold the flower under my chin. "Look up so I can see," he instructed. "Yup! You like butter!" Ta-da! It worked. We sat there for the longest time surrounded by buttercups and sweetpeas of all different shades of purple. They nodded lazily while I checked my friend Paul to see if he liked butter. I looked first, then asked him. Nope. Confirmed. No yellow reflection appeared.
It was good enough for me, and I tried it on my siblings and other friends. It never failed to form some sort of camaraderie bond between the two participants of this acid test of butter fondness. Interesting that it doesn't seem to work with other yellow flowers like dandelions or black eyed susans! Tis the season for buttercups and sweetpeas. I couldn't help but wonder if holding a sweet pea under your chin would show a purple spot if you like peas! Apparently not.
Buttercups always bring me back to Esperance and lazy afternoons and kicking back to see who likes butter and who doesn't. Nice.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Get It Right
I look at my growing list of side effects from round three. It's been a more difficult few weeks with more pain, bleeding, temperatures, bruising, tingling and exhaustion than I have encountered to date. It's enough to make a grown man weep.
Then I remember what my friend Sissie said. Chemo is not the enemy. Keep it straight. Chemo is the weapon with which you battle the real culprit, cancer. Cancer is the enemy. Battle cancer, not chemo.
She is right, of course. I try to hold on to that frame of mind, but it's difficult. With the cancer, I felt only a bit of pain now and again, and the cyclical puffing of glands here and there. Nothing that derailed me from work. It is a quiet and insidious disease that does not tip its hand until too late to do much of anything about it. Same as with the rectal cancer. I felt great - best I had felt in years - when I was diagnosed. It seemed so impossible that I was facing a potentially lethal disease when I felt so well.
Chemo is not so polite. It makes itself know immediately, sometimes within hours of administering. The side effects sap your strength and definitely interfere with life. Yet, that is how it is with a battle. There are casualties. Casualties that get in the way and demand time and resources to clear away. Innocent bystanders sometimes get hit; unavoidable. It's hard to see the big picture when you are in the trenches looking at death and devastation.
The trick is to find the right balance between devastation and success. And that is the balance my friend's reminder helped restore. I have survived 9 weeks of chemo. I only have 9 more weeks to endure, and it will end. If I have made it this far, hanging in there seems very doable. That being said, it's easier to conceive of chemo as the weapon and cancer as the enemy. Focus on winning the war, but make sure you have something left to have won.
What will come after the chemo I am not yet sure. I am not convinced of the radio therapy stuff, but I will cross that bridge when I get to it. And with the understanding that whatever other weapon I select, I will make sure that the benefits outweigh the risks. And now, back to the trenches!
Then I remember what my friend Sissie said. Chemo is not the enemy. Keep it straight. Chemo is the weapon with which you battle the real culprit, cancer. Cancer is the enemy. Battle cancer, not chemo.
She is right, of course. I try to hold on to that frame of mind, but it's difficult. With the cancer, I felt only a bit of pain now and again, and the cyclical puffing of glands here and there. Nothing that derailed me from work. It is a quiet and insidious disease that does not tip its hand until too late to do much of anything about it. Same as with the rectal cancer. I felt great - best I had felt in years - when I was diagnosed. It seemed so impossible that I was facing a potentially lethal disease when I felt so well.
Chemo is not so polite. It makes itself know immediately, sometimes within hours of administering. The side effects sap your strength and definitely interfere with life. Yet, that is how it is with a battle. There are casualties. Casualties that get in the way and demand time and resources to clear away. Innocent bystanders sometimes get hit; unavoidable. It's hard to see the big picture when you are in the trenches looking at death and devastation.
The trick is to find the right balance between devastation and success. And that is the balance my friend's reminder helped restore. I have survived 9 weeks of chemo. I only have 9 more weeks to endure, and it will end. If I have made it this far, hanging in there seems very doable. That being said, it's easier to conceive of chemo as the weapon and cancer as the enemy. Focus on winning the war, but make sure you have something left to have won.
What will come after the chemo I am not yet sure. I am not convinced of the radio therapy stuff, but I will cross that bridge when I get to it. And with the understanding that whatever other weapon I select, I will make sure that the benefits outweigh the risks. And now, back to the trenches!
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Choir Music!
September may seem a long ways off, but if I don't start working on the fall lineup for church now, I will not be ready. Besides, it takes me longer to organize things these days. I spent the morning perusing new musics, looking at pieces I have conducted in the past in other church settings as well as this one, thinking about how to improve hymn singing, how to involve the youth and various other components, not the least of which is the new keyboard and the instrumental possibilities it offers.
Additionally, I am organizing the cluster choir this year, and need to be thinking ahead about that as well. What fun it is listening to music - most of the new pieces merit listening to about three measures before I click "Next." But there are those few pieces that are engaging and suitable to consider. I still need to check the planner to see what the readings and topics are for each week, and get together with the pastor to hear what she is planning, but bigger events like the Christmas cantata can be considered ahead of time.
By noon I was pretty tired and stopped, but felt I had made good progress in sifting through the tons of music to select those few appropriate pieces. It feels good to be productive once in awhile!
Additionally, I am organizing the cluster choir this year, and need to be thinking ahead about that as well. What fun it is listening to music - most of the new pieces merit listening to about three measures before I click "Next." But there are those few pieces that are engaging and suitable to consider. I still need to check the planner to see what the readings and topics are for each week, and get together with the pastor to hear what she is planning, but bigger events like the Christmas cantata can be considered ahead of time.
By noon I was pretty tired and stopped, but felt I had made good progress in sifting through the tons of music to select those few appropriate pieces. It feels good to be productive once in awhile!
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Baptism At Last
Drew and I had begun talking about his getting baptised before my first cancer hit in 2004. I was working at one church and he was attending another one, and we were trying to find a good time for both of us. But before that happened, I ended up in the hospital and it got put on the back burner while I dealt with more immediate concerns.
Somehow in the milieu of recovery and trying to pick up the pieces, I forgot about this important event until after we had moved to Connecticut. We both felt unconnected to the community there, and although we both attended the same church, neither of us were members there. Besides, I was pretty sure our Connecticut setup would not work well should I encounter another bout of cancer, so the likelihood of staying was remote.
I had spoken with my Dad about Drew being baptized in his church, but since we were not members nor did we attend on any regular basis, that wasn't possible either.
On arrival in Rochester, once again we found ourselves attending different churches, but with all the work of settling in and adjusting to new routines, baptism wasn't foremost on my mind. Not until I once again faced chemo did I suddenly realize that I needed to schedule Drew's important step of baptism before I ended up unable to think about it in the mix of health issues.
It was a struggle to find a time that worked for not only Drew and I, but his youth minister and my pastor, a professor at the seminary as well as pastor of the small evening congregation I had been attending. The date had to work around Drew's being out of town as well, and my chemo schedule so that the day was during my good week and not right after infusion.
At last we had a date settled, the facility booked, and everything was set. Things almost got derailed when Drew was stranded in North Carolina due to a broken clutch, but I was determined that nothing would stand in the way of this and we worked it out. As for my not being allowed in public places, I decided that I would try to sit to one side and not be mainstream. I anyone coughed or appeared to be ill, I would avoid them and thoroughly scrub after I got home.
We entered the Pearce Memorial Church auditorium at 6pm. Only the pastor was there, and Drew and I tiptoed down the aisle, whispering about whether we were too early. I pointed to the clock on the balcony railing. Pastor welcomed us and we sat in the front pew waiting for others to arrive. Two other kids from the youth group were being baptised, one by sprinkling, the other by immersion as Drew would be.
Many from the youth group attended, lending their support. After instruction to the communicants, the service began. A meditation on the meaning of baptism and community of believers, the church. Prayer. Testimony from the baptees. A hymn. Then the baptisms. A simple yet significant service. I watched Drew as his youth pastor immersed him and raised him up and he joined his brothers and friends in his public confession of belief in Christ and acceptance into the fellowship of believers.
What joy! Not to mention relief that I had not let Drew down in this important step. I cleared the lump in my throat and hugged him as he grinned down at me (there's a change!). He went on to Horton's to celebrate with the rest of his friends while I headed home (no public places allowed). It feels good to know Drew's baptism is a fait accompli! Now I can rest easy should things get complicated.
Somehow in the milieu of recovery and trying to pick up the pieces, I forgot about this important event until after we had moved to Connecticut. We both felt unconnected to the community there, and although we both attended the same church, neither of us were members there. Besides, I was pretty sure our Connecticut setup would not work well should I encounter another bout of cancer, so the likelihood of staying was remote.
I had spoken with my Dad about Drew being baptized in his church, but since we were not members nor did we attend on any regular basis, that wasn't possible either.
On arrival in Rochester, once again we found ourselves attending different churches, but with all the work of settling in and adjusting to new routines, baptism wasn't foremost on my mind. Not until I once again faced chemo did I suddenly realize that I needed to schedule Drew's important step of baptism before I ended up unable to think about it in the mix of health issues.
It was a struggle to find a time that worked for not only Drew and I, but his youth minister and my pastor, a professor at the seminary as well as pastor of the small evening congregation I had been attending. The date had to work around Drew's being out of town as well, and my chemo schedule so that the day was during my good week and not right after infusion.
At last we had a date settled, the facility booked, and everything was set. Things almost got derailed when Drew was stranded in North Carolina due to a broken clutch, but I was determined that nothing would stand in the way of this and we worked it out. As for my not being allowed in public places, I decided that I would try to sit to one side and not be mainstream. I anyone coughed or appeared to be ill, I would avoid them and thoroughly scrub after I got home.
We entered the Pearce Memorial Church auditorium at 6pm. Only the pastor was there, and Drew and I tiptoed down the aisle, whispering about whether we were too early. I pointed to the clock on the balcony railing. Pastor welcomed us and we sat in the front pew waiting for others to arrive. Two other kids from the youth group were being baptised, one by sprinkling, the other by immersion as Drew would be.
Many from the youth group attended, lending their support. After instruction to the communicants, the service began. A meditation on the meaning of baptism and community of believers, the church. Prayer. Testimony from the baptees. A hymn. Then the baptisms. A simple yet significant service. I watched Drew as his youth pastor immersed him and raised him up and he joined his brothers and friends in his public confession of belief in Christ and acceptance into the fellowship of believers.
What joy! Not to mention relief that I had not let Drew down in this important step. I cleared the lump in my throat and hugged him as he grinned down at me (there's a change!). He went on to Horton's to celebrate with the rest of his friends while I headed home (no public places allowed). It feels good to know Drew's baptism is a fait accompli! Now I can rest easy should things get complicated.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Magic Closet Door
The boys came home Sunday night. I can tell because the living room is a disaster area of backpacks, dirty clothes, shoes, hoodies, and other boy paraphernalia. And because the fridge needs stocking badly. And because there is the bass thumping of music playing behind their bedroom door. I am happy they made it home safely from North Carolina, and I hope they settle back in quickly.
One thing puzzles me though. We did laundry, and I folded the towels and asked Drew to tuck them in the towel closet in the bathroom. It's a weird little closet with a shutter door covering an opening only about a foot wide - next to impossible for me to squeeze anything more than one arm inside. I can barely reach the edges of the three shelves, and have to find an implement to reach anything at the back of those shelves. I am not crazy about the closet, but it came with the apartment, so I make do.
After Drew grumpily loaded the clean towels on the shelf, I noticed that he hadn't shut the door, so I closed it quietly. Next time I went in the bathroom, the door stood open again, so I closed it. An hour later (I tend to have to go a lot) the darn door was open again. This was getting tiresome. I closed it and decided to keep a watch and see who the culprit was that kept on opening the door.
Despite my best efforts, that door was open every single time I went in the bathroom! Even when I knew perfectly well no one had been in there. I was beginning to think Drew had brought an imp back with him from North Carolina. Either that or the drugs I am taking are messing up my head! Since the door opens outward, I knew Sugar was not the culprit.
After a few days, I noticed that the door was staying shut! I'm not sure whether in the general confusion of getting things back where they belong the boys didn't realize that they were opening the door (yes, I asked and got the usual "it's not me" responses) or whether the door just kept flying open on its own, but whatever the reason, I am happy to be greeted by a closed closet now. Now if I could just get other stuff to take care of itself, I'd be golden!
One thing puzzles me though. We did laundry, and I folded the towels and asked Drew to tuck them in the towel closet in the bathroom. It's a weird little closet with a shutter door covering an opening only about a foot wide - next to impossible for me to squeeze anything more than one arm inside. I can barely reach the edges of the three shelves, and have to find an implement to reach anything at the back of those shelves. I am not crazy about the closet, but it came with the apartment, so I make do.
After Drew grumpily loaded the clean towels on the shelf, I noticed that he hadn't shut the door, so I closed it quietly. Next time I went in the bathroom, the door stood open again, so I closed it. An hour later (I tend to have to go a lot) the darn door was open again. This was getting tiresome. I closed it and decided to keep a watch and see who the culprit was that kept on opening the door.
Despite my best efforts, that door was open every single time I went in the bathroom! Even when I knew perfectly well no one had been in there. I was beginning to think Drew had brought an imp back with him from North Carolina. Either that or the drugs I am taking are messing up my head! Since the door opens outward, I knew Sugar was not the culprit.
After a few days, I noticed that the door was staying shut! I'm not sure whether in the general confusion of getting things back where they belong the boys didn't realize that they were opening the door (yes, I asked and got the usual "it's not me" responses) or whether the door just kept flying open on its own, but whatever the reason, I am happy to be greeted by a closed closet now. Now if I could just get other stuff to take care of itself, I'd be golden!
Monday, July 6, 2009
Virtual Meeting
Since the quarantine, I have been monitoring work from home via email and intranet access to my personal drive where I have a lot of documents stored that I can work on. I can still call people I need to touch base with from home (I had a lovely chat with the head of HR), and for meetings, they use a speakerphone and I put my cell on speaker.
It has been working OK - at first I had to get the hang of organizing my online documents so I could easily find what I needed for reviewing. And its a bit tricky to know when I should interrupt the conversation with my comments. Also a bit hard to read people by their voices only, but the more I attend meetings by phone, the easier it gets.
Monday I spent the morning sorting through email and following up on things that I have ignored while I have not felt energetic. I realize that shooting out a boatload of emails like buckshot to staff and colleagues is not the ideal approach, but I have to work while I am both coherent and energetic.
After the meeting, which went well, I worked on an agenda for our Public Services Retreat which will have to be held in the Library this time instead of at the Meridian Center. Over and over I am so grateful that my colleagues make such accommodations for me. I can be productive when I am able, but am not impeding progress when I am hung up with health issues.
I have to say this is a far better approach than just being forced to go out on disability for the duration. It's a huge incentive to be able to contribute and feel normal when you are able. Makes you keep plodding along, knowing that in time, you will be able to take up a normal workload.
I do focus most all my energy on the health battle. I learned that the first time around. The work I must do is get well. Then anything left over from that work goes to maintaining the house if needed, and after that, my job. It's a good indicator when I have time and energy to do job related work, and so far I have been able to hang in there for the important stuff! I really look forward to being back full time, and I know that will come. I keep realizing how fortunate I am! I know it is not so for everyone and I am thankful that I am so blessed.
It has been working OK - at first I had to get the hang of organizing my online documents so I could easily find what I needed for reviewing. And its a bit tricky to know when I should interrupt the conversation with my comments. Also a bit hard to read people by their voices only, but the more I attend meetings by phone, the easier it gets.
Monday I spent the morning sorting through email and following up on things that I have ignored while I have not felt energetic. I realize that shooting out a boatload of emails like buckshot to staff and colleagues is not the ideal approach, but I have to work while I am both coherent and energetic.
After the meeting, which went well, I worked on an agenda for our Public Services Retreat which will have to be held in the Library this time instead of at the Meridian Center. Over and over I am so grateful that my colleagues make such accommodations for me. I can be productive when I am able, but am not impeding progress when I am hung up with health issues.
I have to say this is a far better approach than just being forced to go out on disability for the duration. It's a huge incentive to be able to contribute and feel normal when you are able. Makes you keep plodding along, knowing that in time, you will be able to take up a normal workload.
I do focus most all my energy on the health battle. I learned that the first time around. The work I must do is get well. Then anything left over from that work goes to maintaining the house if needed, and after that, my job. It's a good indicator when I have time and energy to do job related work, and so far I have been able to hang in there for the important stuff! I really look forward to being back full time, and I know that will come. I keep realizing how fortunate I am! I know it is not so for everyone and I am thankful that I am so blessed.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Exhaustion
I had every intention of going to church - I can usually manage morning things well, though admittedly this round my energy dissipates quicker and by 2pm a nap is in order. But this morning when I woke, I just couldn't move. It wasn't that I had stayed up late or anything. In fact, not only had I taken several naps, I had fallen asleep in the chair in the early evening, and woke only to go to bed as soon as I thought Sugar would tolerate being put to bed.
No, this was the kind of tired where your arms and legs feel like weights and rolling over is such a chore that you just lie still even though your muscles ache. I knew I had to go to the bathroom, but I lay there listening to my labored breathing and wondered if I should call for help. After twenty minutes, I managed to sit up, then slowly lower my legs over the side of the bed. I grabbed the edge of the dresser to steady myself as I stood and took a deep breath.
It was difficult to make my legs move, and my feet barely scuffed across the rug and I willed myself to the bathroom. After splashing my face with cold water and taking a long drink, I managed to hook Sugar to her leash and wobbled down the steps to the grassy area so she could relieve herself. We didn't take our usual walk, but instead I headed inside as soon as she was done.
Thank goodness there is a handrail near the steps because without it, I am not sure I would have made it back upstairs. Sugar must have thought I lost my marbles. It's practically unheard of. Instead of feeding her, I went directly to my room and lay back down. She walked about restlessly for a few minutes, then crawled back into her crate and heaved a huge sigh. We slept until after 11 am before the heaviness and exhaustion lifted.
When at last I was able to rise, I was tired but not overwhelmingly so. I had not only missed going to church, but I had effectively missed any church on TV or radio as well. In days gone by, I might have joked about attending the church of the inner springs, but today it didn't seem funny. At least there is next week. I can only assume I will continue to feel better as I head away from the last infusion.
Besides, it lifted in just a few hours, and that's not so bad. I've had spells when this sort of exhaustion lasted for days. Not to worry, after I had showered and dressed, two dear friends stopped by with beautiful flowers and a loaf of home made bread - what a shot in the arm! Just the fellowship I needed. What started out a rocky day ended up a joy. Count your many blessings as they say.
No, this was the kind of tired where your arms and legs feel like weights and rolling over is such a chore that you just lie still even though your muscles ache. I knew I had to go to the bathroom, but I lay there listening to my labored breathing and wondered if I should call for help. After twenty minutes, I managed to sit up, then slowly lower my legs over the side of the bed. I grabbed the edge of the dresser to steady myself as I stood and took a deep breath.
It was difficult to make my legs move, and my feet barely scuffed across the rug and I willed myself to the bathroom. After splashing my face with cold water and taking a long drink, I managed to hook Sugar to her leash and wobbled down the steps to the grassy area so she could relieve herself. We didn't take our usual walk, but instead I headed inside as soon as she was done.
Thank goodness there is a handrail near the steps because without it, I am not sure I would have made it back upstairs. Sugar must have thought I lost my marbles. It's practically unheard of. Instead of feeding her, I went directly to my room and lay back down. She walked about restlessly for a few minutes, then crawled back into her crate and heaved a huge sigh. We slept until after 11 am before the heaviness and exhaustion lifted.
When at last I was able to rise, I was tired but not overwhelmingly so. I had not only missed going to church, but I had effectively missed any church on TV or radio as well. In days gone by, I might have joked about attending the church of the inner springs, but today it didn't seem funny. At least there is next week. I can only assume I will continue to feel better as I head away from the last infusion.
Besides, it lifted in just a few hours, and that's not so bad. I've had spells when this sort of exhaustion lasted for days. Not to worry, after I had showered and dressed, two dear friends stopped by with beautiful flowers and a loaf of home made bread - what a shot in the arm! Just the fellowship I needed. What started out a rocky day ended up a joy. Count your many blessings as they say.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Bing Bang Booms
That's what my younger sisters used to call fireworks when they were children. The nickname stuck when we were trying to describe to a one year old what all the noisy scary bright lights were about. We got her laughing at the alliteration and she stopped being so afraid.
Why is it that we celebrate our Independence with a fake battle in the air? That's sure what it looks like! Between the smoke and the gunfire sounds, you would think you were in the middle of a battle if you didn't know better.
I was surprised at Sugar's reaction. When the fireworks began, we couldn't see the lights, we could only hear the booming and popping sounds. She perked up her ears and looked at me questioningly. The rest of the dogs in the building were howling already. But Sugar wanted to go out and see what the hubbub was all about. I obliged. She sniffed about, looking this way and that, scratching the grass and rolling about in the cool evening dew. After awhile, she lost interest and we headed back inside.
I was happily watching the fireworks shows from DC, Boston and NYC when someone near our complex began setting off fireworks that made very loud bangs. Sugar raced to the kitchen and tried to climb on the table, then she raced to the living room window, jumping on the mini trampoline. Back and forth she raced, growling and whining. Nothing I said calmed her down, so I just let her run.
Her frenzy lasted a good twenty minutes before she finally buried herself in her blanket, her paws covering her eyes, her tongue hanging out in a rapid pant. I spoke soothingly and she finally calmed down. She still jerked her head up and stared at me with every loud sound, as if to say "Make it stop!"
Of course, she was in no danger. The fireworks were all noise and color and smoke, nothing injurious. But Sugar had no way to understand that. I often wonder if the good Lord isn't watching us race around in a panic over stuff that is all bluster and no harm, waiting for us to calm down because really, we are in no danger. If only we could understand things from his perspective, we would see when there is no need for concern, and sit back, and enjoy the show!
I think eventually Sugar understood that since I wasn't panicking, she could trust that things would be OK, and that the other dogs were in a stew because their owners were out watching the fireworks up close and not there to let them know everything was cool. They say that most of the things we worry about never materialize. Maybe if I could just keep my eyes on the One who acts on my behalf, I would worry much less and enjoy life much more.
Why is it that we celebrate our Independence with a fake battle in the air? That's sure what it looks like! Between the smoke and the gunfire sounds, you would think you were in the middle of a battle if you didn't know better.
I was surprised at Sugar's reaction. When the fireworks began, we couldn't see the lights, we could only hear the booming and popping sounds. She perked up her ears and looked at me questioningly. The rest of the dogs in the building were howling already. But Sugar wanted to go out and see what the hubbub was all about. I obliged. She sniffed about, looking this way and that, scratching the grass and rolling about in the cool evening dew. After awhile, she lost interest and we headed back inside.
I was happily watching the fireworks shows from DC, Boston and NYC when someone near our complex began setting off fireworks that made very loud bangs. Sugar raced to the kitchen and tried to climb on the table, then she raced to the living room window, jumping on the mini trampoline. Back and forth she raced, growling and whining. Nothing I said calmed her down, so I just let her run.
Her frenzy lasted a good twenty minutes before she finally buried herself in her blanket, her paws covering her eyes, her tongue hanging out in a rapid pant. I spoke soothingly and she finally calmed down. She still jerked her head up and stared at me with every loud sound, as if to say "Make it stop!"
Of course, she was in no danger. The fireworks were all noise and color and smoke, nothing injurious. But Sugar had no way to understand that. I often wonder if the good Lord isn't watching us race around in a panic over stuff that is all bluster and no harm, waiting for us to calm down because really, we are in no danger. If only we could understand things from his perspective, we would see when there is no need for concern, and sit back, and enjoy the show!
I think eventually Sugar understood that since I wasn't panicking, she could trust that things would be OK, and that the other dogs were in a stew because their owners were out watching the fireworks up close and not there to let them know everything was cool. They say that most of the things we worry about never materialize. Maybe if I could just keep my eyes on the One who acts on my behalf, I would worry much less and enjoy life much more.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Piano Four Hands
You would think that with all the staying home, I would have plenty of time to practice piano. I have tried to keep at it, but I am experiencing some back pain at the location of the first identified cancer spot they found in my bones, the T-1 vertebrae. I have concerns that if the bone deteriorates, there could be serious consequences. I will definitely be talking to the oncologist about that.
Meantime, I try to play for at least ten minutes a day. The church got some new hymn arrangement books and I am enjoying exploring the different arrangers' presentations. When my friend emailed me to see if I were up to doing some piano duet playing, I readily accepted! She and I have done a bit of that before, and its lots of fun, especially since she is such an excellent reader and can keep us together even when I fall down on the job.
Sure enough, I asked her to play the left hand part, the solid structural hold it all together part. And I was right. I was so rusty that we had to start the first piece three times before I got it right. We played along until I messed up and stopped to figure out where I got off. The piece kept changing key signatures, and every time it did, I would forget a flat and the clunkers were so uproarious we nearly fell off the bench laughing. We finally got through the multi page selection and collapsed in relief.
The second piece went much better, being a Strauss waltz, until I discovered that I couldn't count properly and we had to redo several sections. We had a marvelous time, but I quickly reached the hurting back situation and had to stop. We chattered away and fellowshipped, catching up as time flew until I had kept her captive way too long.
She left me with beautiful flowers from her yard, uplifting and joyful music and a wonderful memory to hang on to. I was truly glad I had said yes even though I struggle with my back issues. I wouldn't have missed it for the world.
Meantime, I try to play for at least ten minutes a day. The church got some new hymn arrangement books and I am enjoying exploring the different arrangers' presentations. When my friend emailed me to see if I were up to doing some piano duet playing, I readily accepted! She and I have done a bit of that before, and its lots of fun, especially since she is such an excellent reader and can keep us together even when I fall down on the job.
Sure enough, I asked her to play the left hand part, the solid structural hold it all together part. And I was right. I was so rusty that we had to start the first piece three times before I got it right. We played along until I messed up and stopped to figure out where I got off. The piece kept changing key signatures, and every time it did, I would forget a flat and the clunkers were so uproarious we nearly fell off the bench laughing. We finally got through the multi page selection and collapsed in relief.
The second piece went much better, being a Strauss waltz, until I discovered that I couldn't count properly and we had to redo several sections. We had a marvelous time, but I quickly reached the hurting back situation and had to stop. We chattered away and fellowshipped, catching up as time flew until I had kept her captive way too long.
She left me with beautiful flowers from her yard, uplifting and joyful music and a wonderful memory to hang on to. I was truly glad I had said yes even though I struggle with my back issues. I wouldn't have missed it for the world.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Dental Flashback
Today I am battling mouth sores again - they are not as bad as the first bout, but I definitely have a few breakthrough cankers. I got to thinking about mouth health and how susceptible I was to canker sores when I was young which made me remember various dentists who helped me along the way. Here is one of my earliest memories of dentists!
His office was just down the street from our house in the little border village of Fort Covington. Before third grade, I only knew of him from my Father who had gone to have a tooth pulled. That alone scared me because my Father never goes to doctors or dentists unless its extremely serious. His philosophy is to just tough it out and most things self correct and end up being no big deal. So for him to have gone was a big deal. Worse yet, when he came home, Mom shooed us away because he had had a hard time. Seems the roots of his teeth are bent and extracting meant digging and rooting around to get those broken off tips properly removed.
I remember Mom describing how the dentist had leaned his knee on Dad's chest trying to get the proper leverage, and how excruciating it was for Dad. True, Dad looked a bit pale and though in typical Dad fashion, he insisted he was fine, he actually laid down in the middle of the day! Unheard of! Well, it all blew over and I didn't think much about the dentist for awhile, even though I sometimes stared at the lace curtained windows of his waiting room and thought how uninviting the whole brick building was.
In third grade, they began a dental hygiene program at school. Some government program provided all the accouterments of teaching us tooth care, even to the point of having someone dress up as a tooth and brandish a huge toothbrush the size of a grown man. The hygienist had a lot of sets of fake teeth and we all practiced brushing the mock ups with her sample toothbrushes. Then we all were given our own new toothbrush and toothpaste and told to see a dentist for a check up.
There was no help for it. Despite my preference to ignore stuff unless it blew up to the point of excruciating pain, I was scheduled to see the dentist, and the guy across the street from us offered the most reasonable rates - free to the preacher's kids! Mom took us over a few at a time. We climbed the wooden steps that seemed to stretch upwards forever and open the heavy wooden door with the fancy glass window in it.
The waiting room was paneled in dark wood, and a stairway led up to the living quarters on the second floor. We sat timidly on the uncomfortable chairs waiting for someone to notice that we had arrived. Mom didn't have to tell me to be quiet and sit still. The room was not conducive to playing or chatter. It reminded me of a funeral parlor with its heavy dark drapes and sparse decor. There was a strange, sickening antiseptic smell in the air. Every once in awhile we heard the whine of a drill and muffled conversations behind the closed door at the far end of the waiting room.
My stomach was tied in knots and the palms of my hands were sweaty. I nervously licked my lips and swallowed. Finally the door opened and a man came out holding his puffy cheek. He walked past us without saying anything and left. I turned my eyes to the open door and saw an older gentleman with white hair and wire rimmed glasses. He nodded to my Mom and she sent my brother in first. Visions of the heavy older gentleman with his knees on my Father's chest floated before me and I strained to hear what was going on behind the closed door.
I fiddled with my pants pocket, twisting the fabric in a knot then loosening it. After a bit I wandered over to the bay window and peered outside, watching my friends play hopscotch across the street and wishing I were out there with them. Mom was reading a magazine and not paying any attention to my discomfort. In what seemed a very short time, Pete came out and I knew I was next.
Slowly I walked across the squeaky wooden floor. My heart was pounding in my ears and I thought I was going to either pass out or throw up. Inside the small examining room was a tan recliner type chair, a movable tray with all sorts of odd looking metal tools of torture on it, and tiny little white porcelain sink with water swirling around the edge and down the drain.
I sat meekly in the chair, jumping when the dentist put the bib around my neck. He didn't say much more than "open wide" and as I gazed into his glasses, I resisted the urge to suggest that he was surely old enough to retire and that perhaps he should consider it immediately. My hands gripped the arms of the chair in a death grip and my legs were so tense I had cramps in them. Mostly he just poked and prodded around in my mouth and told me the same thing every dentist I have ever seen tells me - "you have a very small mouth." Go figure.
Somehow I never quite got beyond the image of the dentist with his knees on my Dad's chest prying out teeth with pliers. Perhaps it explains my reticence to address the canker sores I struggled with all through childhood. When they got really fierce, the whole side of my cheek in size, I would finally break down and dab a bit of oil of cloves on them. The burning only lasted a few minutes before the sores puckered over. Of course, you tried not to swallow or your whole throat would go numb.
I had no idea they were caused by a virus. Thank goodness for the valtrex and mouth wash I have now. I no longer subscribe to the "tough it out" philosophy of health care. I am much more into the "an ounce of prevention" method. Way better. Way.
His office was just down the street from our house in the little border village of Fort Covington. Before third grade, I only knew of him from my Father who had gone to have a tooth pulled. That alone scared me because my Father never goes to doctors or dentists unless its extremely serious. His philosophy is to just tough it out and most things self correct and end up being no big deal. So for him to have gone was a big deal. Worse yet, when he came home, Mom shooed us away because he had had a hard time. Seems the roots of his teeth are bent and extracting meant digging and rooting around to get those broken off tips properly removed.
I remember Mom describing how the dentist had leaned his knee on Dad's chest trying to get the proper leverage, and how excruciating it was for Dad. True, Dad looked a bit pale and though in typical Dad fashion, he insisted he was fine, he actually laid down in the middle of the day! Unheard of! Well, it all blew over and I didn't think much about the dentist for awhile, even though I sometimes stared at the lace curtained windows of his waiting room and thought how uninviting the whole brick building was.
In third grade, they began a dental hygiene program at school. Some government program provided all the accouterments of teaching us tooth care, even to the point of having someone dress up as a tooth and brandish a huge toothbrush the size of a grown man. The hygienist had a lot of sets of fake teeth and we all practiced brushing the mock ups with her sample toothbrushes. Then we all were given our own new toothbrush and toothpaste and told to see a dentist for a check up.
There was no help for it. Despite my preference to ignore stuff unless it blew up to the point of excruciating pain, I was scheduled to see the dentist, and the guy across the street from us offered the most reasonable rates - free to the preacher's kids! Mom took us over a few at a time. We climbed the wooden steps that seemed to stretch upwards forever and open the heavy wooden door with the fancy glass window in it.
The waiting room was paneled in dark wood, and a stairway led up to the living quarters on the second floor. We sat timidly on the uncomfortable chairs waiting for someone to notice that we had arrived. Mom didn't have to tell me to be quiet and sit still. The room was not conducive to playing or chatter. It reminded me of a funeral parlor with its heavy dark drapes and sparse decor. There was a strange, sickening antiseptic smell in the air. Every once in awhile we heard the whine of a drill and muffled conversations behind the closed door at the far end of the waiting room.
My stomach was tied in knots and the palms of my hands were sweaty. I nervously licked my lips and swallowed. Finally the door opened and a man came out holding his puffy cheek. He walked past us without saying anything and left. I turned my eyes to the open door and saw an older gentleman with white hair and wire rimmed glasses. He nodded to my Mom and she sent my brother in first. Visions of the heavy older gentleman with his knees on my Father's chest floated before me and I strained to hear what was going on behind the closed door.
I fiddled with my pants pocket, twisting the fabric in a knot then loosening it. After a bit I wandered over to the bay window and peered outside, watching my friends play hopscotch across the street and wishing I were out there with them. Mom was reading a magazine and not paying any attention to my discomfort. In what seemed a very short time, Pete came out and I knew I was next.
Slowly I walked across the squeaky wooden floor. My heart was pounding in my ears and I thought I was going to either pass out or throw up. Inside the small examining room was a tan recliner type chair, a movable tray with all sorts of odd looking metal tools of torture on it, and tiny little white porcelain sink with water swirling around the edge and down the drain.
I sat meekly in the chair, jumping when the dentist put the bib around my neck. He didn't say much more than "open wide" and as I gazed into his glasses, I resisted the urge to suggest that he was surely old enough to retire and that perhaps he should consider it immediately. My hands gripped the arms of the chair in a death grip and my legs were so tense I had cramps in them. Mostly he just poked and prodded around in my mouth and told me the same thing every dentist I have ever seen tells me - "you have a very small mouth." Go figure.
Somehow I never quite got beyond the image of the dentist with his knees on my Dad's chest prying out teeth with pliers. Perhaps it explains my reticence to address the canker sores I struggled with all through childhood. When they got really fierce, the whole side of my cheek in size, I would finally break down and dab a bit of oil of cloves on them. The burning only lasted a few minutes before the sores puckered over. Of course, you tried not to swallow or your whole throat would go numb.
I had no idea they were caused by a virus. Thank goodness for the valtrex and mouth wash I have now. I no longer subscribe to the "tough it out" philosophy of health care. I am much more into the "an ounce of prevention" method. Way better. Way.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Quarantined
Today I met with my primary care doctor to follow up on my blood pressure issues. I am doing much better in that department, but she virtually ordered me home and told me to stay put. The swine flu has reached epidemic proportions here, and she told me in no uncertain terms that I was not to be in public places - especially doctor offices! - until further notice.
That in addition to my oncologist who had told me that from 10 days after infusion until next infusion my immune system is minimally if at all active makes me take this seriously. Besides, I can't help remembering that cancer patient at the Look Good Feel Better session who said she was doing well until she caught a cold right before her last chemo. She was so bad that she ended up with pneumonia and shingles and has yet to fully recover from the effects of such a bout. (Yikes! I hope she's not still contagious!)
I had already been concerned about exposure to germs and for that very reason had decided not to go on campus Monday or Tuesday because of the RWConnect when campus would be flooded with freshmen doing orientation. Although I would likely be safe in my office, many of the events were scheduled in the library instruction labs and conference rooms, and I would risk exposure.
Masks and gloves can only protect you so much - despite the numerous signs that are posted everywhere, the ones that say that if you have a cough or a fever, please let someone know and you will be given a mask and gloves. I have to say, our culture is so driven that we have learned not to stay home unless we can't navigate and that means that those who are not susceptible to these sorts of things will be out and about.
So for the time being, I am relegated to home, and will have to send Kiel to get supplies. I do still go out to walk the dog, but rarely encounter anyone while I am outside. I wash my hands every few hours whether I have touched anything or not, and liberally use Clorox wipes. Garbage goes out more often than normal, and I change the sheets biweekly. To get exercise (the Y is now off limits) I pulled the mini trampoline into the living room and I bounce whenever I get weary of sitting about.
The only thing I haven't done is forbid people from visiting though I do make sure they are not ill or feeling like they might be coming down with something. I also ask them to wash their hands when they visit . . .
Whew! Lots of precautions. I will find out next infusion on the 15th how long to keep this up or if I need anything else in the mix.
That in addition to my oncologist who had told me that from 10 days after infusion until next infusion my immune system is minimally if at all active makes me take this seriously. Besides, I can't help remembering that cancer patient at the Look Good Feel Better session who said she was doing well until she caught a cold right before her last chemo. She was so bad that she ended up with pneumonia and shingles and has yet to fully recover from the effects of such a bout. (Yikes! I hope she's not still contagious!)
I had already been concerned about exposure to germs and for that very reason had decided not to go on campus Monday or Tuesday because of the RWConnect when campus would be flooded with freshmen doing orientation. Although I would likely be safe in my office, many of the events were scheduled in the library instruction labs and conference rooms, and I would risk exposure.
Masks and gloves can only protect you so much - despite the numerous signs that are posted everywhere, the ones that say that if you have a cough or a fever, please let someone know and you will be given a mask and gloves. I have to say, our culture is so driven that we have learned not to stay home unless we can't navigate and that means that those who are not susceptible to these sorts of things will be out and about.
So for the time being, I am relegated to home, and will have to send Kiel to get supplies. I do still go out to walk the dog, but rarely encounter anyone while I am outside. I wash my hands every few hours whether I have touched anything or not, and liberally use Clorox wipes. Garbage goes out more often than normal, and I change the sheets biweekly. To get exercise (the Y is now off limits) I pulled the mini trampoline into the living room and I bounce whenever I get weary of sitting about.
The only thing I haven't done is forbid people from visiting though I do make sure they are not ill or feeling like they might be coming down with something. I also ask them to wash their hands when they visit . . .
Whew! Lots of precautions. I will find out next infusion on the 15th how long to keep this up or if I need anything else in the mix.
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