Archive for the ‘Postcards from Cancerland.’ Category

It’s a Family Tradition.

Posted: August 16, 2018 in Postcards from Cancerland.
0

8321B787-3C6C-4759-8F7B-7D513EB820D1.jpeg

Here’s a picture of some of my current reading material.
I’m reading the Collected Short Stories of Louis L’Amour.
It’s  a family tradition.
I grew up watching my Dad reading a lot of Louis L’Amour books. He sat in his well worn recliner and read every night.
He read mostly western novels. I think they took him to wide open places, that’s what a good story can do.
My Dad unintentionally taught me a huge lesson…
Real men read.
It’s drastically important for a boy to see his Dad read. It demonstrates that knowledge and imagination are some of the manliest of pursuits.
As I watched him devour stories about cowboys, I was given permission to love books.
I developed a thirst for story.
I discovered the places that a book can take you, it can transport you to Dodge City, or the  cockpit of an X-Wing, or to Hogwarts, or Narnia, or to where the wild things are.
I’m very thankful for this family tradition, especially right now.
because I find myself a bit restricted.
Disease, treatment, and some immunity issues keep me from getting out much.
But, I live unlimited because a good book can take me places!
And…
OH, the places I will go.

Joy Jiu Jitsu.

Posted: August 16, 2018 in Postcards from Cancerland., Uncategorized
0
836FB5E4-93A8-4E77-A44B-546BBA28C78A.jpeg
I’m realizing that many of the small struggles in my life have prepared me for the big fight that I currently find myself in the midst of.
Even the small silly squabbles that seem kind of insignificant…
I remember an old story that I would like to forget…
When I was thirteen, my mom’s boss, who not only was a pharmacist but also a black belt in karate, was sure martial arts would be my ticket to popularity and success. He convinced my mom that it would be good for my waning self-esteem and that I would learn some much needed self-defense skills—which would come in handy on the mean streets of Owasso, Oklahoma.
He convinced me that I could be the next Chuck Norris and talked me into taking jiu jitsu. My folks shelled out 45 bucks for the uniform, and I actually got a little excited. Maybe this would be my “thing.” Maybe, just maybe I could be the next Chuck Norris. Stranger things have happened, right?
I went the first week and met the instructor. He was a slightly overweight, off-duty cop who took himself entirely too seriously. He had an incredibly thick red neck and a flattop hair cut. During the first lesson he took me aside and spent 15 minutes explaining to me how he was probably one of the toughest men I’d ever meet and then proudly demonstrated this by actually showing me eight pressure points on my body. Because of his vast knowledge and skill, he could, by applying the right kind of pressure to these spots, kill me, temporarily paralyze me, or make me lose control of my bodily functions.
This was terrifying stuff for a 14-year-old, especially the bodily function part. I went home scared but also a little hopeful that maybe I could learn this pressure point stuff so I could use it on the next person who made fun of me because I was short. I would simply press a secret spot on his ear and make him wet all over himself. It would be awesome.
The second week we learned some fundamentals guaranteed to turn us into well-tuned, lethal fighting machines. We learned valuable fundamentals like how to tie our karate belts and how to pronounce cool karate words like sensei, gi, and dojo.
The third week the instructor (or sensei) informed us that using the fundamentals we’d learned the previous week, we would be free-sparring with each other. This meant we’d actually be fighting someone else in the class. At first I thought this might actually be fun, but then he teamed me with the only girl in the class. I was supposed to fight her. Not only was she a girl, but she was also younger and smaller than me. I felt a little sorry for this poor, defenseless female. So I thought I’d just take it easy on her—I’d dance around make it look good, but I wouldn’t hurt her.
As I was thinking this, the little girl grabbed me by the collar and flipped me over her shoulder. I quickly hopped up and thought I’d better be a little more careful, but I still didn’t want to hurt her because I was brought up learning that you never hit a girl.
Suddenly, she grabbed me and flipped me again. Some of the guys in the class started to snicker a little bit. At this point, I also realized that I hadn’t tied my karate belt correctly, it came loose and my uniform (or gi) flew open exposing my chunky girth and unleashing a tidal wave of adolescent self-consciousness.
This was all very embarrassing.
I decided I didn’t care if she was a girl, she was going down. I assumed an offensive posture and started to make my move. She countered by grabbing me and flipping me again.
I lay there on my back listening to everybody, including the instructor, laughing at me—it was horrible. I got up, dusted myself off, and walked out of there. I never went back.
So when I quit, I was only about 4 years away from getting my black belt so that pretty much makes me an expert…RIGHT? Not so much.
But, in the following years, I DID learn a highly specialized form of spiritual combat…joy jiu jitsu.
It’s what I am practicing in my current fight.
Here are a few things I have learned…
* Make sure that your karate belt is tied, otherwise you can really embarrass yourself. OR better yet, live BEYOND embarrassment. Lose your self-consciousness and laugh at yourself.
* the concept behind jiu jitsu is that a small, weaker person can defend themselves against a bigger, stronger person by using the right leverage. It’s not about what you have, it’s about how you use what you have.
* In martial arts there are exercises that you go through called “katas”. A kata is a series of steps that you go through to practice and position yourself. It’s best to follow each move with a loud grunting noise. Katas are all about remembering what you need to know and rehearsing in your mind where you need to be.
In joy jiu jitsu we have a kata too, it’s something to know, remember and continually meditate on as you fight.
Here is our joy jiu jitsu kata: “the joy of the Lord is your strength.” (Nehemiah 8:10)
Our joy jiu jitsu kata reminds us that we have an unseen strength. Even when we face impossibly big problems we can let joy be our leverage.
JOY is not a feeling or happy little buzz, it’s a deep knowing that life may not always be fun or easy, but it’s always a gift so I will treat it as such. It’s a inner peace that everything is gonna be alright that causes you to rejoice regardless of outward circumstances.
Happiness and Joy are usually two completely different things. Happiness often is based on circumstances. If everything is going your way…if you are healthy and getting what you want…you are happy.
Joy is not about what is happening TO you, it’s about what happened IN you.
Joy is never out of reach, even in the darkest times, you can get ambushed by joy.
Joy is based on the unsinkable fact that God loves you and you can trust Him.
It’s all about remembering what you need to know and rehearsing in your mind where you need to be.
We have the hope of a God, whose love is stronger than whatever opponent is staring us down.
Leverage…
I can beat this because I have hope…
I can beat this because I am loved…
I have joy because I can beat this.
Joy is born of hope.
It is a superpower.
I fight with joy.
(Photograph is a Samurai in 1866 by Felice Beato)

A Walk with Dad in the Woods.

Posted: August 14, 2018 in Postcards from Cancerland., Uncategorized
0

Spring forest in fog. Beautiful natural landscape. Vintage style

I tend to wander…
And sometimes I find myself in the woods,
Surrounded by the beautiful unknown.
I walk on the unbeaten path, brown leaves crunching under my feet.
There are thistles and trees all around me, I scrape up my arms and legs trying to get through.
I’m just trying to find my way through the forest.
But, I am lost, I don’t know the way out.
I’m cold and confused.
Then it gets worse…
I hear noises…was that a wolf?
I’m pretty sure that it was a wolf!
It is probably out looking for lunch.
I probably look pretty tasty.
My heart begins to race.
I try to make my way through the twisted terrain.
I can’t…
Then…
I hear a voice.
I hear a warm, welcoming voice: “C’mon boy, let’s explore a bit”.
It’s my Dad. He’s been close all along.
Suddenly, I am overcome by feelings of safe.
He embraces me there in the woods and wipes away my tears.
And so…
I take my Dad’s hand.
It is strong.
We are walking and wandering through the woods together.
As long as I follow Him, I’m not lost.
I’m safe.
He knows where to go, his perspective is better than mine.
It is bigger.
He sees the other side of the woods.
He speaks to me as we wander…
“There will be thorns and rocky roads, you will fall down, there will be wolves, but don’t be afraid, I will be there to pick you up. There are things to see in the woods that you can’t see anywhere else. There are discoveries in the dark that are essential to your journey”
I tighten my grip on His hand and I walk with my Dad through the woods.

The Second Round.

Posted: August 13, 2018 in Postcards from Cancerland., Uncategorized
0

4B4E6F23-5262-4796-AC3B-082BB3F38957

The chunky bald fighter pulls up his trunks and spits in the metal can, he mentally prepares to enter the ring again. He takes a deep breath and climbs through the ropes. He is careful because he has gotten tangled up in the ropes before. The fighter has discovered new things about himself.  For starters, he has realized that he is a fighter. He has spent much of his life avoiding confrontation. He likes happy, peaceful situations. But, he has realized that sometimes you have to put the gloves on and beat the hell out of the opponent. He listens to his trainer, he takes a deep swig of water and he moves to the center of the ring…

I take my seat in the infusion room.
It’s crazy that this has become familiar.
I recognize the sounds and smells.
I know what to do, where to sit, when to lift my shirt. I have my favorite chairs.
The IV machine clicks and occasionally beeps in a most familiar fashion. It pumps a fluid that looks like milk into my veins.
The room is full of people of all ages.
We all fight. Many of them have become familiar faces. We swap greetings and stories.
I kill time by reading a Star Wars novel.
It is a fun, familiar distraction.
Sometimes that is completely necessary.
The awesome staff is familiar to us now. We are on a first name basis.  A few weeks ago, we didn’t know them, now they are friends who join in the fight.
The building has become familiar to me.  There are three bathrooms. I’ve used them all about two hundred times. Even as I start this round, I have to go every eleven minutes. This requires getting out of the vinyl recliner, unplugging the rolling IV machine and awkwardly dragging it with me.
My movements remind me of my granddaughter. She has been learning to walk the last month. It started out herky jerky, it’s becoming more familiar to her.
She is getting good at it.
We can’t keep up.
I’m learning to walk again.
It’s different, but it’s becoming more familiar.
I’m more familiar with my opponent too.
He is a bully that has hurt far too many families.
He is very uncreative.
He throws the same old familiar punches again and again.
All he knows is hate and hurt.
He is predictable.
He’s going down.
My trainer is more about freedom than familiar.
The only thing predictable thing about Him is His nature…He will always be good, He will always be trustworthy.
Other than that, He is wildly creative.
He infuses me with fresh life.
My trainer makes me strong.
He gives me fresh comfort every day.
He gives me courage.
He gives me creativity.
I refuse to let familiarity numb the fight, I won’t let it lull me into a strange comfortability.
I can’t let my guard down just because I know my way around the ring a little more.
That could result in a sucker punch.
I’m back on the bag.
I’m sent home with the juice box.
The European man bag holding the pumps is once again my constant companion. It will send three separate chemo drugs into my body for the next twenty one hours. It’s like a really messed up sleepover.
I’m sitting here listening to it’s now familiar “kush…kush” noise.
And, just as my brain was getting a little less chemically crazed, I’m on the steroids again.
I’m not sure if that will ever really become familiar.
The second round is here.
I know it’s not here to stay.
So, I loudly shout my battlecry in a very undignified manner…
“HIS joy is my strength!!”
And I rear back my fist…

Inspiration from Perspiration?

Posted: August 5, 2018 in Postcards from Cancerland., Uncategorized
0

Last night I encountered the MOTHER OF ALL NIGHT-SWEATS! (I used all CAPS to make it seem really dramatic, kind of like a campy old horror movie.)

It’s a wonderful thing to wake up wet and clammy.
It’s been happening quite a bit lately.
My shirt was soaked this morning.
It’s a little embarrassing, but true.
Night-sweats sounds like an old Bob Seger song.
I lay in bed thinking about perspiration.
I couldn’t help it.
sweat…
I come from a long line of sweaters, Dad was a sweater, Mom was a windbreaker.
I’ve sweat a lot in my life.
If there was a frequent sweater card, I would be carrying it!
It doesn’t take much to make me glisten.
I’ve sweat from hard work.
I’ve also sweat from doing nothing at all.
I’ve sweat from standing outside in the sun, being in a cramped space, or eating a spicy burrito.
I’ve had butt sweat on a swampy summer day.
I’ve had the Meat-sweats after a night at a Brazilian steak house with some good friends.
I have occasionally sweat the small stuff.
I have also sweat about some big stuff.
Sweating is embarrassing.
We work hard to never let people see us sweat. We fret over sweat marks, we worry about our soggy armpits showing through our shirt. (interesting random perspiration fact: horses have armpits and sweat like we do, yet they don’t seem embarrassed in the least!)
Sweat stinks.
No really, it literally stinks!
It causes some noxious odors to invade our space.
It can make our pits smell like onions and our scalps smell like old goat cheese.
Not cool!
But, sweat happens.
Last night I encountered the MOTHER OF ALL NIGHT-SWEATS!
There’s an invisible battle going on inside me.
I’m left singing “hello night-sweats, my old friend.”
Why sweat?!
Maybe they’re just leaving my pillow moist.
(Moist is a word that annoys a lot of people)
But maybe the sweat is purging toxic things out of me…
Things that I can’t see.
I’ve been fighting fever and infection this weekend.
Maybe the sweat is doing something good that I can’t see.
If that’s true, I’m okay with the stink.
There have been times when I’ve had to purge my life of unhealthy habits, attitudes, thinking. Things that were toxic and stinky and embarrassing. But, things that were necessary to sweat out of my life.
Sweat happens.
Sometimes that’s good.

HIGH FIVE!!

Posted: August 2, 2018 in Postcards from Cancerland., Uncategorized
1

70ECBAA1-D33F-4E94-B816-02729A32A517.jpeg

I must say that our granddaughter, the Moonpie, is, suddenly, pretty much an expert on HIGH FIVES.
She is really good at them.
Every time I see her, she will throw her pudgy little hand up and slap my hand with serious enthusiasm!
Her HIGH FIVES are medicine for my mind, body, and spirit.
They are like happy little joy bombs!
I love HIGH FIVES.
I think that one well crafted HIGH FIVE can change your day.
A HIGH FIVE says “I see you!”
It’s not a good feeling when you go in for a HIGH FIVE and somebody leaves you hanging.
That says “I don’t see you…”
not cool.
But, a properly given and received HIGH FIVE is a beautiful thing.
It’s magic.
Along with a greeting, HIGH FIVES are also celebratory contact.
It’s the most basic form of party.
It cost nothing.
It’s not a terribly complicated skill. I have limited motor skills, and I’ve been able to give HIGH FIVES for most of my life.
We have had some celebration this week.
There has been cause for HIGH FIVES.
We have gotten some good reports! The Doctor is pleased with what he has seen so far.
HIGH FIVE!
At one point, Diana and me HIGH FIVED each other in a Lab because part of a urine test that came back good.
We wanted to HIGH FIVE the nurse, but he was wearing rubber gloves and that made things awkward.
Ain’t no party like a pee party!
We have also had or witnessed some challenges this week.
There have  been times when instead of HIGH FIVES, we have stretched our hand towards ON HIGH.
That says “do you see me?” or “do you see my friend?”
We’ve had a few challenges this week.
Some new pain, and infection, and deficiency.
So, we lift our hand…
ON HIGH.
We also have friends, new and old, and family who have faced and fought some stuff.
So, we lift our hand…
 ON HIGH.
Maybe we need a combo platter of the two? Maybe, as we lift our hand ON HIGH, we can also be engaged in the art of the HIGH FIVE with our neighbor.
I think that says: “I see you, and I stand with you.”
Maybe…
we should start the celebration before we even know the reason to party.
I like that!
HIGH FIVES are free, and unlimited, and sometimes they are medicine.
Let’s give them out like crazy!
Let’s give them out, without any discretion, to friends, strangers, enemies, and most of all to children.
One of my favorite Kid President Quotes says: “Give people HIGH FIVES just for getting out of bed…being a person is hard sometimes.”
I see you!
I’m coming in…
don’t leave me hanging…
HIGH FIVE!!

OH! THE TASTES YOU’LL TASTE!

Posted: August 1, 2018 in Postcards from Cancerland., Uncategorized
0
(with well seasoned apologies to Dr. Seuss!)

People told me that this would happen,

that my tastebuds would encounter a fright.
But I thought, I’m a chunky little dude,
I’ve always had a very healthy appetite.
I like food, I always have. It’s really no secret.
But, MAN! chemo-tongue is really, truly a thing,
that is  right now, keeping me from enjoying
my delicious cheeseburger with an onion ring.
OH!
THE TASTES YOU’LL TASTE!
Your food will taste like metal.
they told me, and sadly, that is true.
But it’s more than that! It’s biting into
an ugly unpleasantness I never knew.
Lunch meat tastes like a old Chevrolet bumper.
And fresh fruit tastes like the license plate,
Not that a rusty Chevy license plate is
actually something that I’ve ever ate.
Water tastes weird, coffee like sludge.
And grilled chicken? Don’t get me started!
It tastes like the pungent smell of when
a 47 pound geriatric goat has farted!
Eggs taste like nothing, it’s just not right.
And brother! It seems like such a crime,
when my dearly beloved tacos
taste like crunchy metallic slime.
You can salt and season
But, no matter what you do,
The flavor on your plastic spoon
will cause you to say EWWWWW!
I should eat something I’ve never tried.
Maybe, I should try tofu or kale.
Then if it’s different, I wouldn’t know,
It might just taste kind of stale.
I hunger for the day
When my senses are back in sync,
And I can devour scrambled eggs,
and a well done sausage link.
OH!
THE TASTES YOU’LL TASTE!

The Mysterious Place.

Posted: July 31, 2018 in Postcards from Cancerland., Uncategorized
0
“It looks like I’m going to have to let go of what I expected and enter a mystery.” – Eugene Peterson
There seems to come a time, when you have things figured out.
You have your ducks in a row.
You have your 5 year plan.
You know what to expect out of life.
You know who you are.
Then something happens to the best laid plans, they get turned upside down.
The expected crashes to the ground and bursts like a bright red water balloon.
You find yourself in a most mysterious place.
We like easily solved mysteries.
We prefer stories that wrap up in 24 minutes when a group of meddling kids and their dog reveal that the zombie swamp monster is actually Old Man McGafferty in a mask. Then they ride off into the sunset in the Mystery Machine accompanied by a suspicious cloud of smoke.
Roll the credits.
Play the theme song.
Real mystery doesn’t work that way.
It seldom seems to be easy or controllable.
THAT is what makes it mystery.
It is foggy.
You have to step into it to start to see.
Things happen in the mystery that can’t happen anywhere else.
We are changed.
Mystery turns perspective right side up.
When we enter a mystery it might just redefine us.
We might have to leave behind WHO we have been.

We will encounter seasons when WHOSE we are is so much more important than WHO we are.

Mystery opens the door to wonder.
But, first, often there is wilderness.
Wilderness looks different for all of us.
I’ve been alive long enough to realize that wilderness is never a one time deal.
In the course of the journey we will encounter wilderness more than once.
But the goal of wilderness is always the same…
Let go of the expected and trust.
Wilderness isn’t a choice, but entering into the mystery is.
“Sometimes the smallest step in the right direction ends up being the biggest step of your life. Tip toe if you must, but take the step.”
Walk on through the fog, enter the mystery to see what wonders await…

Nightlight.

Posted: July 30, 2018 in Postcards from Cancerland., Uncategorized
0

C2228A87-15B9-4E0A-884B-A4062A0AA6C8

I have a confession to make…

I’m now sleeping with a nightlight.
It’s true.
I’m not ashamed.
Ever since this whole crazy journey started, we have a nightlight plugged in all the time.
I’m getting up a lot in the night.
I do the restless rhumba.
I go to the restroom 38 times.
I get up a lot.
So we have a nightlight.
It’s not that I’m not familiar with our bedroom.
I know my way around…
It’s just that SOMETIMES there are unexpected things in the dark.
You might step on a lego, you might trip over the box that you didn’t realize was there.
You might even step in a late night gift from the dog…EEEWWW!!
There are unexpected things there  in the night.
So, I sleep with a nightlight.
Because, I’m really not sure what’s out there.
And it seems that lately the really scary things come out at night…
the clammy-whammies…
the creeping-hurts…
the raging-brain-bombs.
Just like when I was eight years old, the monsters come out from under my bed.
Bullies love the dark.
It makes them seem bigger and scarier.
THAT is why we ALL need a nightlight.
Here’s the cool thing…
Even in the darkest night, the light shines through.
Light is always stronger than dark.
Light literally swallows up the darkness.
It illuminates the bullies and shows them for who they really are…
Temporary shadows in the night.
Sometimes life is a walk in the dark
Light helps me get a grip.
I sleep with a nightlight.

Let’s Spin!

Posted: July 28, 2018 in Postcards from Cancerland.
0

F6146054-4C04-4F3A-B06A-9EEC5DCFFB16

Some of my favorite music of all time is an amazingly innovative album from 1988 by the Swirling Eddies called “Let’s Spin!”. It’s incredible, fun, under appreciated art.
Interestingly enough, let’s spin is also a really good description of my feeble attempts at sleep last night.
It seems that the combo platter of the steroids and a new chemo drug did some weird and wacky things to my brain.
I didn’t sleep much at all, but the few minutes when I did, it felt like my mind was the paint spinner machine at Wal-Mart. You know what I’m talking about, when you buy custom paint and they put it in the shaking contraction for a few minutes to blend all the colors together.
That’s what was happening to my brain.
Let’s spin!
There were…
words…thoughts…colors…images…ideas…
spinning around inside my brain.
Faster and fasTER and FASTER.
spinning…
SPINning…
SPINNING!
They spun into blurs, then blended into one bloppy monochromatic hue…
then they would suddenly come to a jerky stop.
When everything stopped spinning, I knew it was time to get up and go to the bathroom.
That was my night.
Weird, huh?
You want weird?
At one point I swear I saw the Wicked Witch of the West riding her bicycle frantically chasing a screaming Krispy Kreme Doughnut!
Then, they both got sucked into the big bloppy monochromatic hue.
It was weird.
It was unsettling.
It was a spin storm.
After a long night, the sun came in and things settled.
I’m glad.
I’m just tired.
Here’s something I’m learning: You make room for rest, because sometimes it doesn’t show up when it’s supposed to.
That’s true for EVERYbody.
Things spin.
Sometimes our lives spin out of control.
Sometimes life is a spin storm.
Grab an anchor.
Cling to hope, joy, truth.
Find some rest.
Healing requires rest.
Get some.
Let’s rest.
That’s what I’m going to do.
Older Entries
Newer Entries