A Perfect Finish

Four months ago, I was in pathetically poor condition. I could barely stroll around for a mile before getting jello-legs and needing a nap. And hauling Cooper in his carrier further than from the car to the front door was pretty much out of the question. So, for reasons I’m still unsure of, I made running a 5K my first major goal in reconditioning. I ran in the Toad Suck Daze 5K this weekend and since it was a major milestone for me, I’d like to share with you my glorious experience.

It couldn’t have gone any better. The night before the race, Shanda gave me a nice massage – making sure my muscles were loose and I was relaxed for a good night’s rest. In the morning, I discovered that she had done some research on her own about race day diets and she cooked a light breakfast for me with just the right amount of protein and carbohydrates. Cooper laughed and played quietly while Shanda helped Parker and I get our numbers pinned onto our shirts. Tanner gave us big hugs for good luck. Just before leaving for the race, Shanda put her hands gently on the sides of my face and with a kiss told me she how proud she was of me.

Parker and I left for the race and got there in plenty of time to warm up and calm some of our pre-race jitters. The weather was perfect – sunny and 73 degrees with just a slight breeze. Once the race started, Parker and I soon settled into a comfortable pace. I was worried about the crowd at the beginning, but as it turned out they quickly split like the Red Sea before us and we were able to run our own race without any concern for those around us. The cooling breeze was always at our back and there were plenty of community folks lining the streets cheering us on – including one older gentleman in particular who stood at his sidewalk with his dog and encouraged us, “Keep it up! You’re almost there!”

After a while, Parker decided he would run on ahead of me – which was fine. I’m proud of him. I knew he’d finish the race strong and would then be there waiting and cheering for me at the finish line. As I entered the stadium for the final lap, I noticed the bleachers were packed with people, all clapping and encouraging the racers. Craig O’Neill was there as emcee and I could hear him say something over the loudspeakers about a young man and his recent battle with cancer. The crowd all stood to their feet, cheering and yelling as I crossed the finish line. It was amazing! Shanda and the boys were there at the finish line to greet me with big smiles and high fives. We celebrated my accomplishment together and then hung out with a good number of friends who were also there running or watching.

At least that’s sort of how I imagined it would be.

Here’s how it really happened.

I went to bed early the night before while Shanda stayed up and folded laundry. I think maybe we said good night to each other before I fell asleep. In the morning, I slapped some cream cheese on a bagel because I read on the internet somewhere that this was a good breakfast for racers. I believed it, because, you know, it was on the internet. And I drank some PowerAde because they have some cool commercials. Cooper cried in the background while Shanda and I had a small argument about whether or not we should put our numbers on ahead of time. Apparently, those safety pins could do irreparable damage to t-shirts if worn while riding in a car. Parker and I headed to the race. I’m not sure if Tanner knew we left. I think I heard Shanda yell “Good luck” as the front door closed behind us.

The weather was awful. It was raining. Pouring, actually. Parker and I got to the race in plenty of time to get drenched before the race even began. It was a chilly 55 degrees and I was just a little concerned about the lightning overhead. Once the race got started, I couldn’t figure out my pace. I started out too fast and was hurting by about halfway through the race. I was worried about the crowd at the beginning of the race, and as it turned out it was worse than I planned. Parker and I got hemmed in by a group of runners and couldn’t find a good rhythm because we were always trying to avoid collisions. Several of the residential streets were flooded and we had to run in water that was a good 6 inches deep. Nobody was outside to cheer us on except for one old man who stood at his sidewalk only about a quarter of a mile into the race and mocked us, “Keep it up! You’re almost there!” while his dog barked menacingly at us.

After a while, Parker decided he would run on ahead of me – which was fine. I’m proud of him. As I entered the stadium, I noticed that only 5 people were braving the rain and sitting in the bleachers. With half a lap left to go, I tried to finish with a kick and pass the runner in front of me. It turns out that some 60 year old woman had a better kick than me and I never did pass her. I crossed the finish line with absolutely no fanfare or cheering (except for one race official who mustered out a congesgted “way to go” in between his sneezes). Shanda, Tanner, and Cooper did brave the rain. But after they watched Parker cross the finish line they headed to the stadium entrance to watch for me. Unfortunately, I had already entered and they missed seeing me finish. I hunted them down and I think internally they were considering how awesome of a dad and husband I was. We celebrated by drying off and I picked up Sonic drinks and a breakfast burrito while Shanda and the boys headed home.

I’m not saying my experience was miserable. I had a good time, even in the rain. And I enjoyed sharing it all with Parker – who has taken quite a liking to running. I just built up the event to such an extraordinary degree that it was inevitable for the real experience be a little disappointing.

But I’ve done some reflecting the past couple of days. I’ve been reminded how Paul compares the Christian life to a race and I’m sure he would agree that life isn’t always what we expect it to be. Some parts of it can be disappointing. Sometimes we get a thorn in our flesh that God won’t take away. Sometimes we get cancer. Sometimes it rains on race day. But if we consider heaven our “finish line” then we will never be disappointed. No matter how much we build up our expectations of heaven, it is going to be infinitely better than we can imagine. It is impossible to overestimate the gloriousness of heaven. That provides me the strength to keep running.

(Hey, that was kinda fun – blogging again, that is. I think I’ll get the blog up and running again sometime this summer – maybe with a design makeover. Thanks for checking in!)

Moving On

But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on….

I openly acknowledge that I am taking these verses (Phil. 3:13-14) out of context. They are about salvation and spiritual maturation. But I have taken these words and made them my own as I recover from 6 months of cancer and chemo.

I’m moving on.

Don’t get me wrong – I still have a lot going on related to my cancer. I have weekly visits to do labwork. I’ll be seeing my doctor every two months for thorough checkups. I’ll be getting PET scans and CT scans done frequently. I am still relatively weak and I am in the long process of rebuilding my strength and stamina at the fitness center. My hair is just now coming back in (it looks fuzzy and gray right now). And on top of all that, I am participating in the grand waiting game. My doctor says that if my lymphoma is going to come back, it is likely going to come back in the first year, with a smaller chance in the second year. After two years, I can be pretty confident it’s gone for good. Although two years is not long for most cancer patients, it seems long to me.

But I’m moving on. These issues are no longer central issues of my life – they are peripheral issues. I refuse to let that two year waiting period hang over my head – causing me undue worry and stress. I’m moving on. Cancer and chemo were so much the focus of my existence for 6 months that I am glad to push them to the side now. They no longer get to define who I am. I’ve written about this “identity” conflict several times now and it’s the reason I took a break from blogging, to tell you the truth. I was tired of being the cancer-blogger guy. I’m moving on. If the cancer returns, it returns. But in the meantime, I’ll be living my life as if it’s gone.

So…. While this post has been about me and my cancer, future posts will likely be about other things, if I remember how to write about them. Stay tuned if you are still interested.

Happy New Year!

I've been home for nearly a week and I haven't checked my blog, email, or facebook in during that whole time. I think it's because I feel like I've closed a chapter in my life and I'm ready to move on. I haven't closed the overall story of my cancer, mind you. I still have a long way to go. I will be seeing the doctor and getting scans about every 2 to 3 months. And my body will need some time to recouperate. (Right now, I experience muscle fatigue and shortness of breath just walking up one flight of stairs.) I may need a transfusion or two and my hickman catheter still needs to come out. But I have definitely closed this chapter of daily doctor's visits and/or hospitalizations and daily struggles to just to survive the cancer and chemotherapy.

Honestly, I feel a little lost as I close this chapter of my life. My schedule of classes at CBC doesn't start for another couple of weeks and I'm not quite sure what to do with myself. I've invested so much energy into my treatment the past 6 months. Despite my efforts (and blog posts like this one), I let my cancer define too much of who I was and now I'm having to redefine myself a bit.

I will be taking a break from blogging for a while - at least until February I think. When I return to blogging, I'm not sure how much will be related to my cancer/treatment/recovery - probably very little. But in this one last post, I must say thank you to all who have read and left encouraging comments. Plenty of others read my blog to stay updated, some of whom I know and others I don't. Many of you prayed for me. A simple thank you on a blog seems woefully inadequate. Please know that I appreciate all of you - much more than I know how to communicate here. At this point, my prognosis looks good. But should I have the unfortunate experience of my cancer returning, I'll need all of you even more.

I remain convinced more than ever that God is good. May you all experience His goodness and have a wonderful 2009!

An Open Letter to My Wife

Shanda,

Writing a letter like this is much more than just nerve-wracking. It feels impossible. But as I near the end of my treatment, I want to publically (and quite inadequately) express my love and appreciation for what you’ve done for me the past six months.

From the very beginning you have been my rock. When I had my colonoscopy and the doctor told us I had a cancerous tumor, you kindly and calmly explained to me the results several times as my head cleared of the anesthesia and I tried to understand what was happening. As we talked to Dr. Reid about my kind of cancer and what the treatment was going to be like, you asked the important questions and took notes as my head was swimming. In the beginning, you drove me to all my appointments and hospitalizations and stayed with me to be sure I was OK. Toward the end, you let me drive myself or you dropped me off at the curb of the hospital and then let the church choir tease you about it. When I had a scary reaction to the immunotherapy (like crazy shivering and passing out), you held my hand. When I had the worst headache of my life and just couldn’t stand it anymore, you came in the middle of the night and brought me one hot wash cloth after another until we got it under control. When I was in the critical care unit for a ridiculously low heart rate, you were there to reassure me that everything was going to be OK. During my hospitalizations you brought me decent food every chance you had. You gave me my neupogen shots at home when I needed them and flushed my hickman catheter lines. When I felt like I was falling apart, you sat and held me and offered words of encouragement and hope.

You managed our three boys at home without much help from me. You kept them fed, got them off to school, and did all the hard work of raising a newborn. You gave them good experiences during Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas (for all of which I was absent). You were instrumental in Parker accepting Jesus as his Savior. You kept track of our insurance coverage and bills, even when it was exceedingly frustrating. You’ve done precious little grumbling or complaining when my treatment caused you more work and created chaos in our lives. You’ve made many sacrifices the past six months for my sake, some of which I know about and others that I’m sure I don’t. There’s much more to be said, but when it comes down to it, you gave me tremendous strength and you kept our family together.

I couldn’t have survived these past six months without you.

I will do my best to express my gratitude privately and for a long time to come, but right now I want my small, public world of blog readers to know what a wonderful woman I think you are. While you deserve the accolades of a Proverbs 31 woman, I’ve stumbled over my words and offered only a meager statement of appreciation. While you deserve the greatest of rewards, what you’ll end up getting is a trip to Larry’s Pizza.

Thank you, Shanda. There just aren’t enough words to express my love and appreciation for you. I’m sorry I can’t be at home with you and the boys this Christmas, but I’m looking forward to spending many, many more Christmases with you.

I love you more than I can say.

An Open Letter to My Nurses

To my nurses at Dr. Tsuda’s and Dr. Reid’s offices and to my nurses (& nurse's aides) on the 2nd floor at Conway Regional Medical Center:

Writing a letter like this is a bit nerve-wracking. I’m afraid that just as soon as I get started, I’ll forget someone or something important. But I cannot wrap up my treatment without expressing my gratitude to you all.

With the exception of 2 or 3 weekends, I’ve spent time with you (either at the clinics or at the hospital) every day for the past 6 months. Some of you I’ve gotten to know better than others – but I have enjoyed the company of all of you. As you heard stories of me and my family, you let me get to know you as well. Some of you love your kids and grandkids so much it oozes from you. Some of you almost burned your house down recently. Some of you laugh really loudly. Some of you have mended your marriages. Some of you like cookies and a good energy drink. Some of you are looking for a church to attend. Some of you never miss an episode of Heroes or The Office. Some of you have cool disco shoes and some of you have Batman earrings. Some of you have been oncology nurses for a long time and some of you are just getting started. Some of you have taken care of my milk jugs (you might need to read this post to understand). Some of you enjoy deer hunting with your husbands and some of you really, really love Christmas.

All of you have been both professional and yet personal in your care. Cancer is scary and hospitals are not particularly fun. You all have done an exceptional job in easing my worries, answering my questions, and tending to me through my chemotherapy.

Simply saying “thank you” doesn’t seem enough. But I’m not sure how to elaborate much more. Please know that I am extremely grateful for what you’ve done for me.

May God bless you all richly.

A Hospitally Christmas

Yes, I know “hospitally” isn’t a real word. My spell checker tells me so. But it looks like that’s the kind of Christmas I’ll have this year.

I was admitted to the hospital yesterday with a fever and I’m getting some much needed platelet transfusions, blood transfusions, and antibiotics. And I’ll likely be here until after Christmas. That makes Shanda and me a little sad, but it’s all going to be OK. Maybe it won’t be so different than being home….

Instead of the boys waking me up at 6:00 am to open presents, the nurses will wake me up at 6:00 am to draw blood and get my vital signs.

And instead of hearing annoying, loud, and beeping toys for Cooper, I’ll hear annoying, loud, and beeping IV pumps by my bedside.

See, just the same as being home.

But as I’ve said before, I’ll willingly spend this Christmas at the hospital if it means I get to spend the next 50 at home.

Today's Headline

MY CHEMO IS OVER!
MY CHEMO IS OVER!
MY CHEMO IS OVER!

I'm still in the hospital tonight getting a blood transfusion. And I'll likely end up spending some more time in the hospital before and/or during Christmas - getting more blood or platelets or antibiotics or some such.

But today I'm celebrating......

MY CHEMO IS OVER!

The Home Stretch Gets Ugly

Grumble.

Nothing witty tonight - just an update as I try to knock out these last few days of treatment.

If you read my post on Monday, you know I got a bonus day in the hospital because Shanda and 2 of the boys had some kind of stomach bug. Well, Monday night I spiked a fever here at the hospital. Again, fevers are NEVER good for cancer patients whose immune systems are already taking a pounding. So, I got to stay in the hospital another day. In addition to the fever (that now has gone away), I've had a pretty persistent headache the past two days. That was a bit of a concern for my doctors, so I got to have a consultation with a neurologist and they did a MRI on my brain. (Good news - I have a brain and the MRI looked OK.)

Other people have those kind of headaches regularly. But since I've never really had a two-day headache before, the doctors were a little concerned. I get to have another MRI on my spinal column tomorrow. Then I get to have a spinal tap.

If things go as planned tomorrow and if the next few days go as they have in previous rounds, then here's how my near future looks....

I'll get my LAST - yes my very LAST - spinal tap tomorrow. That will be 16 since this summer and it will mark the end of my chemo treatment. Then after a few days, my white blood cell count will plummet and I'll get sick or run a fever or something and end up back in the hospital again. I'll be in the hospital to get antibiotics and stuff for several days and I'll be cutting it very close to get back out before Christmas. In fact, we are half-way planning on me spending Christmas here at the hospital. We'll just have to see, I guess.

So, I've tied a knot at the end of my rope and I'm hanging on for a little while longer.

Hope Deferred....

…..makes the heart sick (Proverbs 13:12)
…..makes the heart want to watch more UFC.
…..makes the heart want to eat more Snickers with Almonds.
…..makes the heart want to scream wildly at the top of his lungs and he would except that it would scare the other patients and upset the nurses and they might come running and inject him with Ativan or something to calm him down and if he kept screaming they might call security or try putting him in restraints.

I was scheduled to go home today. BUT, I have a house full of sick people. Two of the boys are just getting over some sort of stomach bug and Shanda just came down with it last night. I was a little concerned about going to a home steeped in germs and/or viruses, so I mentioned it to my doctor this morning. She recommended that I stay in the hospital another day to help avoid getting sick myself.

Did you catch that? Stay in the hospital. To avoid getting sick. That just seems weird.

But I understand. So I get the joy of at least one more day in the hospital. We are just going to play it by ear tomorrow. My last spinal tap is scheduled for Wednesday, so I suppose it is possible they will keep me until that is done. But if it is any longer than that, I’m gonna need the restraints.