SPEED.

Posted: March 6, 2019 in Postcards from Cancerland.

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I’ve never been fast, but right now I really miss the limited speed I had.
Growing up I have possessed ridiculously small legs, think of a chubby corgi wearing toughskins jeans.
Nobody has ever looked at me and assumed that   I was fast.
I have never exhibited any real athletic ability other than I can watch hours of football and NASCAR.
I have always been almost as fast as cold apple butter.
I miss that now.

Right now, I find myself a slow motion version of myself.

I’m really weak.
Turtles make fun of me.
Chemo drugs have made me loopy.

I’ve learned a big lesson – we should appreciate whatever speed we’ve been given in life.

I’ve spent a lifetime taking things for granted…
I could walk, run, skip like a gerbil, dance like an excited toddler.
If we aren’t the greatest, we run the danger of taking for granted.
What can you do?
Do it.
Run your race and don’t compare.

I can’t trust my brain this week.

It tells me crazy things.
Weird things.
I forget things.
This week my brain is sluggish and just downright wonky.
I can’t trust it.
Luckily I’ve surrounded myself with people I can trust.
I’m going to listen to them.

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A while back, we discovered that our fight wasn’t over.

The sniveling belly bully is still around.
A new plan was devised.
We are going to punch him harder this time.
The plan kept getting put off because of weird random medical stuff.
But…the time has come!!
We punched the belly bully in the face.
We had treatment this last week, I’ve had a needle in my chest for seven days.
That’s always awesome.

Do you remember atomic fire balls? Those super hot cinnamon candies that lit up your mouth?
My face has totally looked  like one of those!
During the last week, I’ve been back on a cocktail of chemo, steroids, fluids, and anti nausea meds.
I haven’t got much sleep, okay…I haven’t really gotten any sleep.
A delightful combo platter of pain and potty has kept me up.
I go to the bathroom every forty three minutes (seriously! I counted!)
After a two month hiatus, the chemo brain is back. That means that I’m a special kind of clueless. I’m extremely loopy today, to the point that the biggest decision I’m able to make is “what socks should I wear?”
I’m seeing things that aren’t there.
If I stare at the bathroom floor it starts to rotate and sparkle…once again, I’m not making this up.
I have the uninspiring dexterity of an intoxicated walrus. I’m tempted to wrap myself in bubble wrap so that I don’t cause harm to myself or anyone else.
Today, there was an ornery, elderly lady in the chair next to me at the infusion suite. She is eighty three years old and despite a fifty year age difference, she has a fairly obvious crush on our nurse.
That’s because he’s kind…and he’s built like a Viking.
It was a good day for her.
She was doing good until she went to the bathroom.
Everything changed.
She suddenly had problems breathing and communicating.
The Doctor came in and EMS was called.
She was taken to the emergency room.
We hurt for her.
She is someone’s mom, grandma, great grandma.
Cancer is stupid.
So tomorrow I go in and get a super shot that is supposed to boost my white blood count up. I will also get to take some tests (blood count and pee in a sippy cup).
This all leads me to the conclusion that it’s time to pull up my pirate pants, batten the hatches and again declare no quarter.
ARGHHH!

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“Why are there so many
Songs about rainbows
And what’s on the other side”
Rainbow Connection is one of my favorite songs ever.
The song was written by one of my all time favorite song writers, Paul Williams.  He is a musical genius who is about my size. I love the fact that he could give me his hand-me-downs as I admire his art. He was also in Smokey and the Bandit!
It was originally sung by one of my favorite frogs in a swamp. That makes it forever magical. I love Kermit.
AND, one of my favorite people, Adam Wilson, once taught me the opening notes on my banjo. That’s not all that Adam has taught me…
even though Adam is much younger than me, He has been one of my mentors for quite a while.
AND, the song asks one of my favorite questions…
What IS it about rainbows and what’s on the other side?
Rainbows are constructed of pure promise. (Oh, it’s true…read Genesis 9:9-17).
They are organic hope.
Maybe that’s why they catch our attention every time and we can’t take our eyes off the beauty.
It seems that God doesn’t make drab promises.
He likes color.
Rainbows only show up after the storm. We have to walk through the thunder to see the tints.
Rainbows are amazing, they keep us star gazing.
What’s on the other side gives us great hope for what we encounter on this side. We have viewed and experienced breathtaking beauty and diversity on this side but it pales in comparison to what waits over the rainbow.
As I write this, it is beginning to sprinkle outside.
We’ve gotten a lot of rain lately…
Literally and figuratively.
We’ve seen some storms.
I look up…
Because I know that the rainbow is on the way.
“Someday we’ll find it
The Rainbow Connection
The lovers, the dreamers and me”

Brand New.

Posted: February 27, 2019 in Postcards from Cancerland.

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There is a salvage yard across from my oncology clinic.

That’s kind of ironic, there is a body shop next to a body shop.
It’s also kind of ironic because I started salvage therapy this morning.
That simply means that we are doing something more aggressive because standard therapy didn’t work on me.
So we start salvage therapy.
I’m looking at the salvage yard as I sit in the BIG magic chair and get a bag of clear fluid attached to my chest.
My counts are good including the hemoglobin that put me in the emergency room this week.

The whoopee cushion that is attached to my my tummy is making some wild and offensive noises. The room is very still and quiet and in the chair next to me is a very prim and proper older lady who has perfectly coiffed hair and a sweater vest. Every time that the bonus butt makes a bonus butt belch, she looks at me like I just kicked a puppy.
I just give her an apologetic smile.
Other than my out of control whoopee cushion, the infusion suite is very mellow. It’s almost like kindergarten nap time for grown ups. Except we don’t get to lay on the floor with blankies and we all have needles in our bodies.
As I awkwardly recline in the chair, the faux blue vinyl makes my skin sweat. It’s almost like wearing a crunchy coat. I’m glad I’m wearing a coat or I would stick to the chair like cheap Velcro.
I learned a new word from a Star Wars book today: gastropod. It refers to a space slug or snail in the book. For some reason it is a good word to describe my digestive system today. I feel all space sluggy.
I got through day one of this new round. I’m ready to get home and get a little rest. The big side effects so far are that my head feels like it weighs as much as a 1963 Volkswagen Beetle, I have a strong desire to listen to Hanson music, and the whole sluggishness thing.
As we drive off I look again towards the salvage yard and I ponder…
I AM a salvage project…
I have been wrecked, broken, and crashed…
by disease…
by a broken world.
But…
I AM being made new again…
by the calloused and caring hands of the Master Mechanic.
I AM His restoration project…
So are you.
He made us…
Now He is making us new.
Brand new.

Hey…WAIT!!!

Posted: February 26, 2019 in Postcards from Cancerland.

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“Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
Turn and face the strange
Ch-ch-changes
Ooh, look out you rock ‘n’ rollers
Ch-ch-ch-ch-cha”
-David Bowie

Hey kids!!!
Life is constant change.
Here’s our latest change…
We are going home from the hospital!
We start chemo tomorrow!
Things change, including the Doctor’s mind!!
We are glad!!

Things can change in an afternoon and you can  leave your hospital gown behind.

Phone Home.

Posted: February 26, 2019 in Postcards from Cancerland.

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We showed up at Oncology clinic on time yesterday,

It was time to start the next round of chemo.

I have felt very weak for a few days.
I was blaming that on the fact that I have a diet of a toothless hamster.
Evidently I also had the pigment of a naked peep.
I walked in the office and my doctor and nurses were shocked and stupefied by my pasty white face.
They did some blood tests. My hemoglobin was dangerously low. So I was sent to the emergency room where I got to wait with a mask on my face in a small room.
After awhile I was put in a room. They took lots of blood and ran lots of tests. I had X-rays and CAT scans. Not only was my hemoglobin low but my lactic acid was very high. I had a temperature at one time.
So I was back in a lovely green gown.
I was admitted back into the hospital.
This time in the ICU. Not because I needed to be in Intensive Care, but because the hospital was full.
Intensive Care seems different from the rest of the hospital. Instead of doors, there are curtains. There are different sounds.
 I did throw up four times. How come vomiting can’t ever be a private moment?
At least for me, puking is always public.
There were five people in the room.
I’m bleeding in places that I’m not supposed to.
That’s never a happy thing.
I’ve had assorted wires and cords, electrodes and needles all over my body. Including a glowing red  fingertip that makes me want to call home.
In the middle of the night I got a flu swab test, that involved a q-tip the size of my arm being put up my nose. I’m pretty sure that it scraped my brain.
I received three units of blood.
I was brought up in a house where my dad gave blood every chance he could. I remember him bringing home the little straight lapel pin with the plastic drop of blood. I wonder how many lives my dad saved in the course of his life.
Random observation: hospitals need more pictures of puppies, easily accessible seventies rock music, and ceiling fans.
It has become like a merit badge to be able to tell the different medical professionals that I have been accepted into Duke’s Stem Cell Transplant program.
It’s almost like I’ve been picked for their basketball team.
We really wanted to get dismissed in time for treatment today, but we just found out that we will be staying at least another night for “observation”.
yippee!
So I tighten up my lovely green gown.
There’s nothing predictable going on here.

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Back to the Future is one of my favorite film series.

GREAT SCOTT! It’s a fun story.
True story: Back to the Future Part II was the first movie that Diana and me saw together.
It has great characters, adventure, humor, and some amazing music by Huey Lewis!
There is also time travel!!!

Wouldn’t it be nice to have a time machine?
You could travel through history in your DeLorean.

You could erase regret and arrange your future.
I’ve been looking for the keys to the DeLorean lately.
Can I be honest?
There are times when I would love to travel back in time to when I didn’t hurt and I got to hold my granddaughter for hours.
I would also like to travel a year into the future and see how our current situation will work out.
Instead I live in the moment, I learn from the pain, and I trust like I never have in my life.
We met with the Surgeon for a follow up to the random crazy surgery.
Everything seems to be healing up the way it is supposed to.
I’m going to have another epic scar that might keep me from ever rocking a leopard print speedo again.
We are already talking about a colonoscopy reversal.
We have other stuff to work on first…hello belly bully.
But, once he is gone and my blood counts are up, we can lose the bonus butt.
That’s like traveling back in time to a simpler time…right?
Okay, not really.
Maybe it’s the Power of Love that keeps us from seeing the future?
“Three things will last forever—faith, hope, and love—and the greatest of these is love.” – 1 Corinthians 13:13
A time machine could short circuit faith, hope, and love faster than a bad flux capacitor.
If I travel into the future and have all the answers, I would be refusing to walk by faith.
If I go back and try to fix things, I’m manufacturing my own hope.
I need to trust a love that is powerful enough to take care of my past, present, and future.
“And with a little help from above
You feel the power of love.”