chemocation.

Posted: July 23, 2018 in Postcards from Cancerland.
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This is the first day of our vacation.
We have been planning it for a while.
We are supposed to be at Myrtle Beach.
I had gotten a brand new leopard print speedo.
I’ve been working on my farmer’s tan.
We’ve gone to the beach during this same week for a few years.
It’s a tradition.
We get sand in every crack and crevice as we sit on the beach and soak up the sun. We eat overpriced seafood. We do all the touristy stuff, especially anything piratical!
But, instead of sitting in a beach chair with a Bahama Mama, I will be sitting in a cushy plastic chair with life giving poison coursing through my veins.
I will be wearing my new speedo.
It would be a shame for it to go to waste!
It’s our vacation and we find ourselves restricted.
We find ourselves on chemocation.
We have hit a detour.
But we have found that God is in the detours.
As a lifelong daydreamer, my natural inclination when hit with detours is to take the exit ramp to the nation of imagine.
That is what I choose to do now.
My imagination is wild and free and untouched by disease.
In my imagination I’m unrestricted.
I imagine myself sitting in the white sand next to my bride, surrounded by palm trees, there’s a cool breeze on our faces and colorful beverages with paper umbrellas in our hands. Someone is playing steel drums in the distance. We talk like pirates and laugh like children.
It is good here in the nation of imagine.
God is here.

A Technicolor Photo Essay of my day.

Posted: July 20, 2018 in Uncategorized
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The waiting room at my Oncologist. The surf pictures are very soothing! I got another round of fluids and steroids. The big concern the next few days is tumor lysis, which happens when the tumors react to the treatment by dumping their contents into the blood system. This could result in acute liver damage. You ever notice there is nothing cute about the word acute? We are battling this with extra fluids and raging steroids this weekend.

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Echocardiogram! The only thing we learned so far is that I do have a heart. I do have ultrasound goop on my chullet!
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My view for a little while today.
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My amazing reading material today. It fed and stretched my soul.
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And finally, I got to see this sweet and sassy Moonpie (and her supercool mother).

My Chauffeur.

Posted: July 20, 2018 in Uncategorized
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Diana has been my constant companion on this unexpected road trip. She has been my cheerleader, coach, and chauffeur.

Technically she has been my driver for 27 years now.
If you’ve caught us riding dirty together you’ve probably noticed that she was driving.
Some people have assumed that I don’t drive, probably because of my height or predisposition to distraction.
But, Let me set the record straight…I DO drive!!
Diana just drives better.
I recognize that.
I celebrate that.
I enjoy the ride.
I learned to drive in a cow pasture, that’s a whole different set of traffic rules…”watch out for Bessie!”
I took out 25 feet of barbed wire fence right after I got my permit.
I flunked my drivers license test 2 times, I only passed it the 3rd time because the state appointed tester was sick of seeing my face and he liked my dad.
I have no depth perception so I am always too close or too far away.
My driving literally makes Diana physically ill.
So Diana is my beautiful forever chauffeur, especially in days like these when we are bopping around between doctor’s offices and hospitals.
I appreciate it so much.
Some people have actually asked me don’t I realize that the man is supposed to drive?
That’s stupid.
27 years ago, when I told Diana to get out of my dreams and into my car, I gladly scooted over.
On days like this, I’m so glad I did.

Infusion

Posted: July 19, 2018 in Postcards from Cancerland., Uncategorized
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Today  was my first trip to the infusion room.

I’m a total Sci-Fi nerd, so the words “infusion room” invoke a strangely romantic image in my mind. The infusion room sounds like it could be the place where you gather for a briefing or a report on the mission. It’s the place where you are becoming a part of the fight.
And maybe that’s exactly what it is.
Infusion is defined as the introduction of a new element or quality into something.
This is all brand new to me.
The nurse, who I will refer to as “The Infuser”, only because that sounds pretty badass, is about two and a half feet taller than me, and he has kind eyes.
The Infuser would be a pretty cool name for a science fiction movie,
I asked him if I should wear special clothes on treatment days to provide easy access to the port. I suggested that I could wear a variety of stretchy tube tops.
He said a t- shirt would be totally fine.
He put a needle into my chest.
The clear liquid starts.
Infusion.
I’m sitting here in a brand new room with my amazing wife by my side.
She is such an incredible source of strength and support. That doesn’t surprise me. She is a very good woman, I’m so very glad that I was infused into her life twenty seven years ago…
for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health…
Infusion
The freshly painted walls are a soothing shade of blue and there are beautiful paintings of waves hanging all around.
We got here early and we were the only ones in the room at first.
But the chairs are slowly filling up.
There is community here.
We share a common challenge.
We look at each other with kind eyes that know and recognize.
We are all at different places on the same hard road.
Infusion
The Infuser checks on me and adds new bags of clear liquid as needed. I get a little drowsy and hungry.
It’s like an awkward dance with my rolling IV machine every time I’ve had to go to the bathroom (and that’s been a lot!)
At one time a bunch of us were trying to go to the bathroom at the same time, it looked like a overmedicated middle school dance floor.
Other patients come and go.
The clear liquid flows.
Infusion
After about five and a half hours, I’m unplugged and released. Everything seemed to go good.
I’m pretty tired.
As we travel home, I can’t help but feel that my life has been infused with prayer while I travel this road.
The blood of Jesus has infused with mine.
There is power and life there.

Kyrie

Posted: July 19, 2018 in Postcards from Cancerland., Uncategorized
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“The wind blows hard against this mountain side, across the sea into my soul.
It reaches into where I cannot hide, setting my feet upon the road.
My heart is old, it holds my memories, my body burns a gemlike flame
Somewhere between the soul and soft machine, is where I find myself again.
Kyrie eleison, down the road that I must travel
Kyrie eleison, through the darkness of the night
Kyrie eleison, where I’m going will you follow
Kyrie eleison, on a highway in the light.”
I have always loved this song by Mr. Mister!
I remember driving around town in my Toyota Tercel with the radio blaring. I didn’t realize what I was singing. I thought it was just a peppy love song about a girl named Kyrie.
But, that’s not the case.
The lyrics were written by John Lang. I don’t think we are related, but it would be very cool if we were!
Most people who sing along loudly with it  don’t realize that the song is a prayer. For instance, my wife has always thought that the words were “carry a laser down the road that I must travel”. That’s very cool from a Sci-Fi point of view.
But, that’s not the case…
“Kyrie Eleison” is Greek for “Lord, have mercy.” It is used as a prayer in both Roman Catholic and Greek Orthodox services.
John Lang got inspiration for the song from singing it as a kid in a Episcopal church in Phoenix.
What a cool prayer…
Lord have mercy, down the road that I must travel.
Lord have mercy, through the darkness of the night.
We heard the song as we drove to my oncologist.
I sang along at the top of my lungs…
Because I know what it means.

Port City.

Posted: July 18, 2018 in Postcards from Cancerland., Uncategorized
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I woke up with the Ramones song “I wanna be sedated” blasting in my brain, which can only mean one thing…

It’s port day!
I guess the official name is “port insertion day”, but that’s a little long for the greeting cards.
The plan was to put a cute little triangle that looks almost like a tiny computer mouse attached to a plastic tube into my chest. It will serve as a enter/exit ramp for everything that needs to come in or come out.
We checked in, the receptionist asked me the standard questions…
“What’s your birthday?”
“Previous surgeries?”
“Any allergies?” (Only Cilantro, but evidently that doesn’t qualify as a health risk!?)
“Religious preference?” (ummmm…I’m just crazy in love with Jesus.)
And then she dropped a little bomb…
“Do you have a living will?”
“HUH?!”
What? Why? Do you know something?!
I tried not to read anything into that.
the waiting room was full and there was one lady who was just being really rude to the receptionist, why do people have to do that??
I got taken to the first room. Diana got to go with me, that was cool!! I was told to get naked above the waist and put on a lovely green gown. I seriously almost strangled myself putting on the hospital gown. It’s a good thing that Diana and the nurse were there to help me.
As we got blood taken and vitals taken, we made some friends on the nursing staff, that’s always our goal.
It was a very cool all girl group that did the procedure. So I was a bit self conscious about everyone seeing my man boobs. Speaking of my ample chest, they had to shave it!! That made me feel pretty manly.
They tucked the chullet into a sterile beard hammock. I appreciate the care that was taken for my chin mullet. We talked about some of my tattoos.
I WAS sedated, but I don’t really remember it.
SO they dug in and made a one inch cut in my fleshy flesh, through which they  inserted the port. They run a wire through another cut to a big vein and they guided the plastic tube there. Despite the sedation and local numbing stuff I could feel some of that happening.(that was an …umm…interesting sensation).
So now I’m locked and loaded.
It’s weirdly ironic for a pirate to have a port in his chest.
It’s been a few hours since I got inserted and I have some kaleidoscopic multi-colored bruises. I also have a little pain. It is starting to feel like a husky eleven year old boy punched me in the chest for about forty three minutes straight. I probably ought to take some ibuprofen.
I’m in awe of modern medicine. It absolutely blows my mind! I’m so thankful for the brilliant minds that dreamed, designed, and developed machines that can see inside my body and magical plastic tubes that can save my veins.
By the way…
The port is totally under my skin, you can’t see it, so don’t even ask!! Besides that would require the unveiling of my man boobs!
#SoliDeoGloria
#carbonatedjoy

Dragonslayer.

Posted: July 16, 2018 in Postcards from Cancerland., Uncategorized
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Once upon a time…

My Grandma told me stories that began with the words “once upon a time”.
They were stories of faraway lands and bold adventures, there were castles, and fair damsels.
And there were dragons.
That wasn’t news to me, I had always suspected that there were dragons.
I had seen their eyes glowing green in the dark.
I had felt their putrid breath on the back of my neck as I tried to sleep.
There were dragons…ferocious, fire breathing, fearful dragons.
But…wait…fear not!
There was also always a champion who rode into the village on a gallant steed.
Through acts of sheer sacrifice and raw courage, the champion would defeat the dragon…
again and again.
And so “they lived happily ever after”.
Grandma was an amazing storyteller.
Once upon a time, she told me bold, beautiful stories…
It took me a while to realize that the stories were never about the dragons…
The stories served to remind again and again that the dragons can be defeated.
Thank you Grandma.

Strong Medicine.

Posted: July 14, 2018 in Postcards from Cancerland., Uncategorized
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The belly bully was pretty angry last night.

I think he knows that his days are numbered so he made some noise. 

I had a PET Scan this morning, which as it turns out, has nothing to do with our beagle. I think she was pretty relieved that she didn’t have to get tested. She was ready to take one for the team though. 

In the last few weeks every part of me has been scanned and studied. I’ve seen my lungs and my kidneys. One report said that my spleen was unremarkable. 

That was a little hurtful. 

I always thought that, surely, I must have a special or even extraordinary spleen. But, nope…it’s unremarkable. 

Anyhow, we showed up at the hospital bright and early, can I just say that my wife is amazing. She has already spent way too much time in waiting rooms. 

I got called back by a man in scrubs, I think EVERYONE should wear scrubs, they seem like a pretty comfortable fashion choice. 

I got poked and they put a splurt of radioactive sugar water into my veins. It is basically nuclear Kool-Aid (which would be a great name for a punk band!) that lights up the bad stuff. It exposes the junk. I became a big glow stick. After getting the magic glow juice, I waited for an hour in a sterile orange vinyl chair and watched the morning news. It takes a while for the sweet radiation to kick in. Once it did, the tech took me into the back of a semi truck trailer. This is where the PET scanner is. I like getting treated in the back of a truck, it kind of makes it seem apocalyptic in a fun way.

I dropped my pants…AGAIN, laid down on a thing that looked like a modified ironing board and went back and forth though a big tube. The machine was very quiet, I just laid there listening to a local station playing Ariana Grande songs. (I wonder what size drink Ariana Grande gets at Starbucks?)

And then, just like that it was over, another notch off the medical to do list. This test will show us exactly where the belly bully is hanging out and if he has any buddies. 

His days are numbered. 

During this process, I’ve encountered some truly lovely health professionals from doctors and nurses to receptionists, technicians, and physicians assistants. They have been compassionate, real, human and hospitable. I appreciate them so much. It reminds me how completely therapeutic the simple act of kindness is. 

It has made a huge difference.

I’ve learned that kindness glows in the dark more than radioactive sugar water. 

It is strong medicine and you don’t need a prescription or a pair of scrubs to administer it.

The man on the mat.

Posted: July 13, 2018 in Uncategorized
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I remembered an incredible story this morning…

It’s a story of a man being carried by his friends to Jesus.
He is broken, he is helpless.
So his four friends pick him up, put him on a mat, and literally carry him to Jesus, where he finds wholeness.
It’s a beautiful story of courageous friendship and bold belief.
Today, I find that I am the man on the mat.
I find myself being carried to wholeness.
I peek over the edge of the mat and I see so many beautiful and bold friends who have grabbed part of the mat.
I’ve never felt safer in my life because of the amount of people holding me up.
I also notice that it’s a big mat! If you are hurting or facing your own fight, there’s room for you.
To my family and friends…
Thank you for carrying the mat.

We are off to the races! I took my first med today, it would have been easier if it looked like a Flintstones vitamin.

Posted: July 13, 2018 in Uncategorized
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