From the Foxhole

DISCLAIMER: This blog post has been swimming around in my head for about a week – and I’ve even tried to write it once already. I just haven’t gotten it to work. I’m determined to finish within the next hour while I am at the clinic getting IV meds this morning, though. Please pardon the rambling mess – but here it is.

I love metaphors. They have a unique way of communicating ideas quickly, but with rich and vivid details. They speak to our emotions, to our guts. Metaphors are great.

The problem is that I don’t have many great metaphors for my life lately.

When I began this journey, I was reminded of the marathon metaphor. I knew that this would not be a sprint, but rather a long and grueling race of endurance. I even use this metaphor with my students often toward the end of each semester – encouraging them to “finish strong” – pushing them to end their coursework with a kick at the end rather than coasting. The problem is that my own metaphor is failing me now. I don’t know if I’ll have a kick left at the end of my treatment. I remember an Olympic marathon runner during my childhood that entered the stadium staggering. She was barely able to put one foot in front of the other. Her head hung low and one shoulder seemed to be drooping so much she would topple at any moment. She seemed to have lost coordination of her major muscle groups and dehydration was taking its toll. I feel more like this marathon runner than someone who is going to finish strong. The marathon metaphor is no good for me now.

Another popular word picture comes from the world of boxing. In fact, there is a well-known cancer treatment facility here in town that advertises “taking the fight to cancer” with a picture of someone in boxing gloves. I appreciated this metaphor for a time, too. I was in a battle – and while I knew I would take some heavy punches – I also knew in the end I would KO cancer. I would jab my way with some humor. My blog would show how I could float like a butterfly and sting like a bee in the middle of a heavyweight bout. I might end up with a black eye, but I would stand over cancer at the end, flexing my muscles and roaring in triumph. But this metaphor is failing me, too. I feel more like a boxer who is taking a pounding and can do nothing more than try desperately to cover up his head with his hands and pray for the bell to ring. My eyes are swelling shut, my nose is bloody, my legs are weak, and I don’t care as much about victory as I do about just surviving to fight another day. The boxing metaphor is no good for me, either.

Still unpleasant, but perhaps more accurate for me these days is a wartime metaphor. For a while I was fond of WWII movies and video games (like “Band of Brothers” and “Call of Duty”). From them, I learned that in the midst of an approaching aerial attack, sometimes the best course of action is to dig a bunker and settle in until it is over. I have definitely developed a bunker mentality. This is somewhat literal – spending more and more days in my home-bunker, as my immune system stays so low for longer periods of time, preventing me from visiting any public places.

But it is much more than that. I have developed a sort of cognitive and emotional foxhole, too. For a while, I described this as a “narrowing of my focus” to my wife, but that sounded too weird. I explained to her that I could tell I was letting go of more and more things that I used to care about. I just didn’t have the emotional energy to invest in my usual interests. I was developing a sort of intellectual and emotional tunnel vision. And by now I’ve reached the point that while I may peek out of my foxhole every once in a while, I mostly stay hunkered down, just waiting, hoping, and praying for this all to end.

Blogging, reading, watching good tv shows and movies, returning phone calls and emails, church, politics, reaching out to my friends, Taco Bueno and Zaxby’s, teaching and Department Chair obligations, writing thank you notes… all these things and more have been pushed to the side as I sit in my foxhole, concentrating what little I have left of myself on this ridiculous cancer and the chemotherapy (which at times feels more like a second enemy than an ally.)

I’ve also learned from these WWII movies that some people don’t survive their foxhole experiences too well. After the bombardment is over, they don’t get out. They are shell shocked. Their world is spinning out of control, seeming to go too fast and in slow motion at the same time. Their senses are all out of whack – hearing is shot and vision is fuzzy. Nothing makes sense and what they need is for another soldier to come over and pull them out of their foxhole to get them going again.

I wonder what kind of man I’m going to be after this is all over. I am beginning to imagine that I could very well end up quite shell shocked like this. I may be just a shadow of the person I once was. I could end up in pieces by the time treatment is successful. I may be a broken man when this is done.

But there is hope.

God is in the business of putting pieces back together.

My pastor in Texas once remarked that he always asked potential ministry staff during interviews to describe a time in their life when they were broken. He went on to explain his conviction that God has a unique way of using people who have been broken and it was these kind of people he wanted on staff with him. I’ve taken some comfort in this idea lately. Rather than trying to avoid the inevitable brokenness, rather than trying to fake it, rather than denying that this experience is bigger than me, I’ve decided to take what comes and let God put the pieces back together when it is over.

I also take comfort knowing that I have many people that will come to my bunker and pull me out when it’s over. I trust that my students will be there to put me back together into a good teacher again. I trust that my friends will drag me out to On The Border and Larry’s Pizza. I trust that the guys will get me out for some basketball and movies. I trust that my colleagues will bring me back into the CBC fold again, catching me up on all the happenings and inside jokes. I trust my church family to provide gracious and healing relationships if/when I need them. I trust that all my friends and family members will help me build a normal life again – something I miss terribly.

Please continue to pray for me and my family. And while I’m not posting as often (here in my foxhole) please know I appreciate your thoughtful words. I’m fortunate that about 90% of my blog readers are folks I knew by first name before they left their first comment – so your words of encouragement mean all the more to me.

That’s enough for now. I have a few other items, but I’ll post them another time when I peek out of my bunker. My hour is almost up at the clinic!