Wednesday, January 30, 2008
We are heading up to Tahoe for the weekend (leaving tomorrow - Thursday) and then I start my new project with Jamba Juice on Monday, so just wanted to let you know that you likely won't hear from me again for awhile. The only exception is if the weather is too cold in Tahoe for me to be outside much (I am still really sensitive to cold) in which case I'll be staying indoors with lots of time on my hands to do lots of writing. But hopefully that won't be the case...
Thursday, January 24, 2008
My New "No Regrets" Diet
Many people have asked me how my diet has changed since being diagnosed with colon cancer. I don't want to bore you with the details of what I used to eat, but I can tell you that my diet has changed a lot over this past year. Here are the highlights of what my new "no regrets" diet looks like these days:
1) My #1 goal every day is to eat a variety of whole foods that come from the Earth. Most days I do a pretty good job.
2) Which means that I rarely eat processed foods anymore -- the exceptions to this rule being that I still eat healthy breakfast cereals fairly often (like Total, Grape Nuts or Shredded Wheat) since there is no getting around the fact that they are convenient. And occasionally I still indulge in some processed snacks (like a handful of Goldfish crackers or a Zone bar) -- again, mostly because they are so darn convenient and yummy.
3) I also rarely eat meat, but have not given it up all together. I eat some sort of meat (e.g., turkey sandwich for lunch, chicken or salmon for dinner, etc) maybe 2-3 times a week in a "heavy" week and I treat the meat serving more as a side dish than the main entry. I also try to limit how much I eat of other animal products such as butter, eggs, dairy milk. So for example, instead of dairy milk I have switched to rice milk, almond milk and soy milk and I eat eggs about once a month rather than a few times a week like I used to.
4) I eat loads more veggies and fruits now than I used to.
5) I eat lots of whole grains, such as breads, wild rice, whole wheat pasta, steel-cut oatmeal, etc. that contain minimal ingredients and are completely unprocessed. So, for example, the very yummy bread that we eat daily contains a total of only six super-healthy, completely - pronounceable, from-the-Earth ingredients: freshly stone ground whole wheat berries, water, unbleached wheat flour, honey, yeast, sea salt, and nothing else!
6) I choose organic options whenever possible.
7) I rarely eat sugar anymore and when I do I try to eat only foods that are sweetened with cane sugar rather than refined sugar. This is probably the single biggest change in my diet, since I used to eat some form of sugar every day, at almost every meal. Now, instead of cookies or other sweets for dessert, I try to eat things like dried fruit, nuts, applesauce, etc.
8) And lastly, I never really worry about carbs versus fats versus proteins. I really don't. I think that Atkins (and South Beach and other such diets) are a complete crock. Humans have been eating carbohydrates and fats and protein for centuries; it's just that we have been eating these macro-nutrients in the form of real foods from the Earth, rather than processed foods from manufacturing plants. I figure that as long as I am doing the other six things on my list well, these macro-nutrients will work themselves out.
A friend recently forwarded me a New York Times article written by Michael Pollan (author of The Omnivore's Dilemma) called "Unhappy Meals" in which he describes my new diet perfectly. The article also paints a pretty vivid picture of why this is my diet.
I really, really urge you to read it. At first glance, it looks lengthy but it won't take you long (I read it in about an hour with numerous distractions from both boys) and, as far as I am concerned, it's probably the most important article you can read about food. And if, after you have read it, you want even more information, check out Michael Pollan's new book, In Defense of Food, which further elaborates on the details of the article.
Click here for the article. And for easier reading, click on the "Print" option just to the right of the article and it will open up a new window with the article in printable format.
1) My #1 goal every day is to eat a variety of whole foods that come from the Earth. Most days I do a pretty good job.
2) Which means that I rarely eat processed foods anymore -- the exceptions to this rule being that I still eat healthy breakfast cereals fairly often (like Total, Grape Nuts or Shredded Wheat) since there is no getting around the fact that they are convenient. And occasionally I still indulge in some processed snacks (like a handful of Goldfish crackers or a Zone bar) -- again, mostly because they are so darn convenient and yummy.
3) I also rarely eat meat, but have not given it up all together. I eat some sort of meat (e.g., turkey sandwich for lunch, chicken or salmon for dinner, etc) maybe 2-3 times a week in a "heavy" week and I treat the meat serving more as a side dish than the main entry. I also try to limit how much I eat of other animal products such as butter, eggs, dairy milk. So for example, instead of dairy milk I have switched to rice milk, almond milk and soy milk and I eat eggs about once a month rather than a few times a week like I used to.
4) I eat loads more veggies and fruits now than I used to.
5) I eat lots of whole grains, such as breads, wild rice, whole wheat pasta, steel-cut oatmeal, etc. that contain minimal ingredients and are completely unprocessed. So, for example, the very yummy bread that we eat daily contains a total of only six super-healthy, completely - pronounceable, from-the-Earth ingredients: freshly stone ground whole wheat berries, water, unbleached wheat flour, honey, yeast, sea salt, and nothing else!
6) I choose organic options whenever possible.
7) I rarely eat sugar anymore and when I do I try to eat only foods that are sweetened with cane sugar rather than refined sugar. This is probably the single biggest change in my diet, since I used to eat some form of sugar every day, at almost every meal. Now, instead of cookies or other sweets for dessert, I try to eat things like dried fruit, nuts, applesauce, etc.
8) And lastly, I never really worry about carbs versus fats versus proteins. I really don't. I think that Atkins (and South Beach and other such diets) are a complete crock. Humans have been eating carbohydrates and fats and protein for centuries; it's just that we have been eating these macro-nutrients in the form of real foods from the Earth, rather than processed foods from manufacturing plants. I figure that as long as I am doing the other six things on my list well, these macro-nutrients will work themselves out.
A friend recently forwarded me a New York Times article written by Michael Pollan (author of The Omnivore's Dilemma) called "Unhappy Meals" in which he describes my new diet perfectly. The article also paints a pretty vivid picture of why this is my diet.
I really, really urge you to read it. At first glance, it looks lengthy but it won't take you long (I read it in about an hour with numerous distractions from both boys) and, as far as I am concerned, it's probably the most important article you can read about food. And if, after you have read it, you want even more information, check out Michael Pollan's new book, In Defense of Food, which further elaborates on the details of the article.
Click here for the article. And for easier reading, click on the "Print" option just to the right of the article and it will open up a new window with the article in printable format.
The View From The Summit
My carabiner was successfully removed yesterday. Ironically, the procedure ended exactly at 10am, as I predicted. I was a bit groggy from the sedation, but I remember my doctor saying, "Well, it's 10-o-clock and we are done...not bad for a morning's work."
So that's it; I am done. I have reached the top of my mountain. There are no more treatments or procedures that I need, no more weekly doctor's visits, no more thinking about killing "the Bitch." The only thing left to do at this point is to allow my body and mind to heal. My God, I have wished for this day for so, soooo long. And as with anything that you wish for with all your might, it's always a bit surreal when the wish finally comes true.
I don't have enough fingers on both hands to count the number of times in the past year that I felt so overwhelmed and so certain that I could never possibly make it to the top. Anyone who has followed my blog from the beginning knows that going through cancer treatment like I had is ridiculously difficult. In fact, I just spent the past couple hours re-reading many of my blog entries and was reminded again at how formidable this climb has been -- chemo, radiation, surgery, more chemo, more surgery. And those were just the physical challenges! The emotional challenges were equally gargantuan -- the uncertainty about whether the cancer had metastasized, the fear about what my future held in store, the terror in my heart that I might not have a "future", the annoyance at having my life put "on hold", the frustration with feeling like my body had "given out." Reliving all these painful, vivid memories again brought me to tears.
And yet, here I am ... I am "Bitch-free"... I am alive and healing ... My climb is over.
I never really stopped along the way to think about how I would feel once I reached the summit. I guess I just assumed that I would feel extremely happy and that's about it. Of course I am thrilled, but the reality is that I also feel so much more. I feel an enormous sense of relief. Relief to know that there is nothing left to be done at this point but heal. Relief to know that I am no longer standing on the edge of a precipice wondering whether I will fall down to the valley floor below before I can gather the strength to climb to the top. Relief to know that my life will soon begin to ease back to normal (or at least a new sense of normal.) And I feel extremely grateful. Grateful that the human body is so capable of surviving incredible abuse and is able to heal from it and reach a new equilibrium. Grateful that I was born with enough fiestiness and determination to achieve whatever I set my mind out to achieve. Grateful for the handful of friends and family who taught me how to tackle life's challenges with grace. Grateful that I am surrounded by so many wonderful friends and family who cared enough about me to cheer me on every step of this journey. And I feel humbled. Humbled to know that life is too precious to ever take for granted. Humbled to know that life's lessons sometimes need to be learned the hard way in order to really sink in. And, lastly, I feel enlightened. Enlightened to the fact that life is not a dress-rehearsal and that if I don't start living the life that I want today, I might never get another chance. Enlightened to the fact that blessings surround us every day, but that it often takes challenges such as cancer to open our eyes and see them. And enlightened (and thrilled!) to recognize that a new chapter of my life begins today and that the future I wish for is mine to create.
So with all of these emotions swirling crazily through my head -- relief, gratefulness, humbleness, enlightenment, happiness -- I stand here now, at the top of my mountain, and scream "Thank you, Lord!" at the top of my lungs. And I look around with tears in my eyes at the beauty, and wonder and mystery of life and I savor the fact that I am here to enjoy it for (hopefully) many more years to come.
I wish that I were able to hug and thank each and every person who has read my blog and who has cheered me on these past 12 months, but since many of you live many miles away (and since I don't even know some of you!), I realize that this is not possible. Therefore, in lieu of me hugging you on this very special day, perhaps you could do me a favor: Please take a minute out of your day and hug someone else -- your spouse, your children, your friend, your neighbor. Really, really HUG them! And let them know how much you love them and how important they are in your life. And feel grateful to be alive and to be able to share your love, since, in the end, that is all any of us really want or can hope for: to feel beloved on this earth.
So that's it; I am done. I have reached the top of my mountain. There are no more treatments or procedures that I need, no more weekly doctor's visits, no more thinking about killing "the Bitch." The only thing left to do at this point is to allow my body and mind to heal. My God, I have wished for this day for so, soooo long. And as with anything that you wish for with all your might, it's always a bit surreal when the wish finally comes true.
I don't have enough fingers on both hands to count the number of times in the past year that I felt so overwhelmed and so certain that I could never possibly make it to the top. Anyone who has followed my blog from the beginning knows that going through cancer treatment like I had is ridiculously difficult. In fact, I just spent the past couple hours re-reading many of my blog entries and was reminded again at how formidable this climb has been -- chemo, radiation, surgery, more chemo, more surgery. And those were just the physical challenges! The emotional challenges were equally gargantuan -- the uncertainty about whether the cancer had metastasized, the fear about what my future held in store, the terror in my heart that I might not have a "future", the annoyance at having my life put "on hold", the frustration with feeling like my body had "given out." Reliving all these painful, vivid memories again brought me to tears.
And yet, here I am ... I am "Bitch-free"... I am alive and healing ... My climb is over.
I never really stopped along the way to think about how I would feel once I reached the summit. I guess I just assumed that I would feel extremely happy and that's about it. Of course I am thrilled, but the reality is that I also feel so much more. I feel an enormous sense of relief. Relief to know that there is nothing left to be done at this point but heal. Relief to know that I am no longer standing on the edge of a precipice wondering whether I will fall down to the valley floor below before I can gather the strength to climb to the top. Relief to know that my life will soon begin to ease back to normal (or at least a new sense of normal.) And I feel extremely grateful. Grateful that the human body is so capable of surviving incredible abuse and is able to heal from it and reach a new equilibrium. Grateful that I was born with enough fiestiness and determination to achieve whatever I set my mind out to achieve. Grateful for the handful of friends and family who taught me how to tackle life's challenges with grace. Grateful that I am surrounded by so many wonderful friends and family who cared enough about me to cheer me on every step of this journey. And I feel humbled. Humbled to know that life is too precious to ever take for granted. Humbled to know that life's lessons sometimes need to be learned the hard way in order to really sink in. And, lastly, I feel enlightened. Enlightened to the fact that life is not a dress-rehearsal and that if I don't start living the life that I want today, I might never get another chance. Enlightened to the fact that blessings surround us every day, but that it often takes challenges such as cancer to open our eyes and see them. And enlightened (and thrilled!) to recognize that a new chapter of my life begins today and that the future I wish for is mine to create.
So with all of these emotions swirling crazily through my head -- relief, gratefulness, humbleness, enlightenment, happiness -- I stand here now, at the top of my mountain, and scream "Thank you, Lord!" at the top of my lungs. And I look around with tears in my eyes at the beauty, and wonder and mystery of life and I savor the fact that I am here to enjoy it for (hopefully) many more years to come.
I wish that I were able to hug and thank each and every person who has read my blog and who has cheered me on these past 12 months, but since many of you live many miles away (and since I don't even know some of you!), I realize that this is not possible. Therefore, in lieu of me hugging you on this very special day, perhaps you could do me a favor: Please take a minute out of your day and hug someone else -- your spouse, your children, your friend, your neighbor. Really, really HUG them! And let them know how much you love them and how important they are in your life. And feel grateful to be alive and to be able to share your love, since, in the end, that is all any of us really want or can hope for: to feel beloved on this earth.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Climbing!!
I found this picture recently when I was going through some old photos in our basement...it's a picture of me climbing Camelback Mountain in Phoenix many years ago with my husband, Pete, and my good friend, Peter Craig.That's Peter's head that you see in the foreground -- he was sitting at the top of the mountain yelling instructions and encouragement down to me as I climbed, just as he has done for me this past year (he's an emergency room doctor now and so was a valuable resource on the medical front early on.) And my hubby, Pete, is outside of the picture holding the other end of my rope. He had me on belay that day, ensuring that I didn't go crashing to the ground below, just as he has so successfully, patiently and lovingly done this whole past year as well.
The Summit Is In Sight
Well, this is it....I am rapidly approaching the very last section of my mountain. The summit is in sight: At 9am tomorrow morning I will be in the hospital having my port-a-cath removed and I think that it will be one of the happiest days of my entire life. If you remember, I used to call the port-a-cath my "carabiner." I remember being so freaked out to learn that I needed to have it implanted and the only way I could get my head around the idea was to envision the port-a-cath as a critical piece of equipment that I needed in order to successfully climb. And so, when I go into surgery tomorrow, I now get to envision handing it back over to the surgeon; my climb will be done and so I can start stripping off my climbing gear, and my carabiner is the first thing to go!
It is so hard for me to believe that I am truly almost done. A whole year has passed since I was originally diagnosed (February 8, 2007) and I am thrilled to say that it went by incredibly fast. It feels like only yesterday that I was being sent from one test to another to figure out whether I had cancer and, if so, what stage it was. When I think back on the months that I was left wondering whether the spot on my liver was cancer or just a freckle and the sheer panic that I felt at times, it seems almost surreal. I have a hard time reconciling in my own mind that that was my life less than a year ago. I feel so good now and have such a sense of well-being and peace in my heart that it's hard at times to remember how terrified I felt. Life is crazy in that way, I guess.
Speaking of feeling well, I had an appointment with Dr Gullion today. He said that I look fabulous and that no one will ever be able to tell what I just went through. All my blood counts are great and the only lingering symptom that I have from everything is numbness in my toes (oh, and a digestive tract that is still a bit wacky, but getting better every day!) He told me that it could take a year for the numbness to go away but he prescribed some medication that will hopefully help speed things along. He also told me that there are some doctors who don't use FOLFOX because of this side effect, but that he still prefers to prescribe it because it has been proven so successful at treating colon cancer. I told him that I'd choose tingly toes over colon cancer any day, hands down!!
Anyway, if you think of me tomorrow morning know that about 10am (PST) I will have reached the top of my crazy, crazy mountain. Picture me standing at the summit with my arms outstretched, yelling thanks and praise to God for giving me the strength to reach the top, and singing with pure joy a the top of my lungs. I think that tomorrow will be one of the best days of my entire life. In fact, I am sure of this!
It is so hard for me to believe that I am truly almost done. A whole year has passed since I was originally diagnosed (February 8, 2007) and I am thrilled to say that it went by incredibly fast. It feels like only yesterday that I was being sent from one test to another to figure out whether I had cancer and, if so, what stage it was. When I think back on the months that I was left wondering whether the spot on my liver was cancer or just a freckle and the sheer panic that I felt at times, it seems almost surreal. I have a hard time reconciling in my own mind that that was my life less than a year ago. I feel so good now and have such a sense of well-being and peace in my heart that it's hard at times to remember how terrified I felt. Life is crazy in that way, I guess.
Speaking of feeling well, I had an appointment with Dr Gullion today. He said that I look fabulous and that no one will ever be able to tell what I just went through. All my blood counts are great and the only lingering symptom that I have from everything is numbness in my toes (oh, and a digestive tract that is still a bit wacky, but getting better every day!) He told me that it could take a year for the numbness to go away but he prescribed some medication that will hopefully help speed things along. He also told me that there are some doctors who don't use FOLFOX because of this side effect, but that he still prefers to prescribe it because it has been proven so successful at treating colon cancer. I told him that I'd choose tingly toes over colon cancer any day, hands down!!
Anyway, if you think of me tomorrow morning know that about 10am (PST) I will have reached the top of my crazy, crazy mountain. Picture me standing at the summit with my arms outstretched, yelling thanks and praise to God for giving me the strength to reach the top, and singing with pure joy a the top of my lungs. I think that tomorrow will be one of the best days of my entire life. In fact, I am sure of this!
Thursday, January 17, 2008
The Interview With God
Wow -- this is really, really beautiful!
Click on this link and then click on the "View Presentation" button on the right: http://www.theinterviewwithgod.com/
It takes a minute for the movie and the music to load, but it's worth the wait.
Click on this link and then click on the "View Presentation" button on the right: http://www.theinterviewwithgod.com/
It takes a minute for the movie and the music to load, but it's worth the wait.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Hilarious Video
Okay, this video really has nothing at all to do with my cancer treatment but I HAVE to post it because it is so freaking hilarious! Enjoy: http://youtube.com/watch?v=rw2nkoGLhrE
My Little Healers
When I was in the hospital last week, our nanny brought Kyle in to visit me one day while Luke was in school. They stayed for a couple hours and when the time came for them to leave, I offered to walk with them to the elevator (which Kyle very humorously refers to as "the alligator" - ha, ha!)
As we exited my room, I glanced down the hallway and noticed that there was another older gentleman (who was clearly a patient as well) walking gingerly toward us. At this point, Kyle insisted on pushing his stroller himself (and if you've ever seen a 2-year-old pushing a stroller you'll know that they don't tend to walk in a very straight line) and so I was nervous that Kyle would crash right into this man as we passed. And since the man was obviously walking slowly to avoid pain, I wasn't sure whether he would be upset or nervous as well at having a 2-year-old freewheeling down the corridor towards him.
Luckily as we got within talking distance, however, the man looked down at Kyle with amusement and joked, "Hello there, little fella. Are you a patient here as well?" Kyle pressed on oblivious to the comment, but without skipping a beat, our nanny answered, "No, he's actually a healer."
I love that!! It's so true!! Kyle (and Luke) are my little healers. They need only to lay their little hands across my body or wrap their miniature arms around my neck or plant a tiny little kiss on my lips or start laughing their adorable, infectious laugh and I feel miraculously better. If only I could figure out a way to bottle their healing powers so that I could share it with all the other patients who don't have children in their lives, I am pretty confident that we could help cure many more cancers or at least make the treatment infinitely more bearable...
As we exited my room, I glanced down the hallway and noticed that there was another older gentleman (who was clearly a patient as well) walking gingerly toward us. At this point, Kyle insisted on pushing his stroller himself (and if you've ever seen a 2-year-old pushing a stroller you'll know that they don't tend to walk in a very straight line) and so I was nervous that Kyle would crash right into this man as we passed. And since the man was obviously walking slowly to avoid pain, I wasn't sure whether he would be upset or nervous as well at having a 2-year-old freewheeling down the corridor towards him.
Luckily as we got within talking distance, however, the man looked down at Kyle with amusement and joked, "Hello there, little fella. Are you a patient here as well?" Kyle pressed on oblivious to the comment, but without skipping a beat, our nanny answered, "No, he's actually a healer."
I love that!! It's so true!! Kyle (and Luke) are my little healers. They need only to lay their little hands across my body or wrap their miniature arms around my neck or plant a tiny little kiss on my lips or start laughing their adorable, infectious laugh and I feel miraculously better. If only I could figure out a way to bottle their healing powers so that I could share it with all the other patients who don't have children in their lives, I am pretty confident that we could help cure many more cancers or at least make the treatment infinitely more bearable...
Friday, January 11, 2008
A Not-So-Quick Update
Well, I've been home from the hospital for 3 days now and am happy to report that I am feeling better. In fact, I actually left my house today and was able to run a couple easy errands for the first time, which is about 3 weeks sooner than with my last surgery. Like I said, this surgery was much less painful than the last and so hopefully I'll continue to heal quickly and be back to my old self in no time.
The biggest challenge is that I now have to "relearn" my digestive system (again!!), and it's definitely been a bit more challenging than I thought it would be. I basically get about a 3 second warning before I need to go to the bathroom and, since I have been home, I have been going 20+ times a day. (Note: This is perhaps more info than you wanted or needed, but I have been pretty straight-forward about everything else I have endured so far, so why stop now, right?) But my doctor assures me that this will all get much better with time as my body heals and I should be back to "normal" within a few months. So in the meantime, I'm just sticking close to a bathroom and taking loads of Immodium AD. As far as I am concerned, life could be much worse.
Pete's parents head home tomorrow and so we are having a small celebratory dinner tonight with my parents, my in-laws and the kids. This has been such an incredibly long, crazy year and it's still a bit surreal for me to believe that the end is so near. The last thing that I need to have done is to remove the chemo port. Hopefully the removal will truly be a "non-event" this time (or at least more of a non-event than the implantation ever was!) and I am hoping to have this done sometime in January. Once I have this procedure, then I will truly be at the very top of my mountain and so the sooner the better as far as I am concerned! But since my in-laws will not be back for this last step -- and since the worst of what I must go through is truly behind me -- we are celebrating tonight.
I have thought a lot about what to do with my blog after everything is done. Many people have urged me to continue writing; to continue sharing information that I learn about our environment or about our health or just about my personal perspectives on life after cancer and I have definitely toyed with the idea. I have really enjoyed writing this blog; it has been incredibly therapeutic for me at times and I know that I will be forever grateful that I made the effort to write regularly so that I can always reflect back on this crazy life experience. I am also grateful that my children will someday be able read about this year and to fully understand and appreciate how many people and how much love it truly takes to "cure" cancer and how we were all completely surrounded by this love non-stop this whole year. And I hope that my writing will also help to inspire others who receive the unfortunate diagnosis of cancer to "fight the Bitch" rather than simply resigning themselves to the diagnosis and giving up.
And so for all these reasons, I have been tempted to continue writing. But the truth is I am ready for a change. I miss the intellectually challenges of marketing and of being involved in business and I am ready to earn a paycheck again (fun as it would be, continuing to write my blog does not show signs of being a terribly lucrative endeavor!) And so I have decided that I will stop writing regularly in my blog shortly (with the exceptional of occasional updates regarding scan results, etc.) That said, I still have a few more entries that I want to add -- ideas that I have been tossing around for months or things that friends have asked me to write about. After that, I am going to try to transform my blog into a book (using Pete's company's software, of course! If you are unfamiliar with Pete's company, check out blurb.com). And I'll definitely post info here as soon as it's in book form in case you are interested in buying a copy. But after that, I am off to my next adventure, which, as it turns out, is a consulting project with Jamba Juice.
I wrote a few months ago that I was beginning to get anxious about what the next chapter of my life held in store, but then one day at church I was reminded to just be patient and that the right opportunity would reveal itself to me. Well, that is exactly what happened!! A few weeks later, I got a call from an old client of mine who had accepted a job as head of marketing at Jamba Juice (a chain of blended juice fast-food restaurants with about 600 locations nationwide.) He is working with Jamba's CEO to reposition the brand as "healthy fast-food," and in fact, their new positioning statement reads "to inspire and simplify healthy living." Toward this end, Paul (who also heads up product development for the brand) is working to remove all added sugar from their products (he has already removed all trans fats and high fructose corn syrup). And his ultimate goal is that every Jamba product be made of all-organic, natural ingredients with zero added sugar, preservatives or artificial anything. Basically, a place where someone like me can go and know that everything on the menu is completely healthy and good for me. And get this...Michael Pollan (the author of The Omnivore's Dilemma) has been consulting with Jamba regarding ways to modify and shape their new menu!! How great is that!?! So needless to say, when he asked me to come help them with their marketing and was willing to accommodate my schedule so that I could go through surgery and finish healing, I just knew that it was the opportunity that I had been waiting for. The type of work I will be doing is right up my alley and the brand could not be better aligned with my new personal focus on healthy living. I start in February and so I have a few more weeks to relax and heal before my next life chapter begins.
Anyway, that's the not-so-quick update about my life. I am happy, healing, and heading into the final stretch of my climb. Stay tuned just a little bit longer and if you have any thoughts for last minute blog entries, get your requests in soon... :)
The biggest challenge is that I now have to "relearn" my digestive system (again!!), and it's definitely been a bit more challenging than I thought it would be. I basically get about a 3 second warning before I need to go to the bathroom and, since I have been home, I have been going 20+ times a day. (Note: This is perhaps more info than you wanted or needed, but I have been pretty straight-forward about everything else I have endured so far, so why stop now, right?) But my doctor assures me that this will all get much better with time as my body heals and I should be back to "normal" within a few months. So in the meantime, I'm just sticking close to a bathroom and taking loads of Immodium AD. As far as I am concerned, life could be much worse.
Pete's parents head home tomorrow and so we are having a small celebratory dinner tonight with my parents, my in-laws and the kids. This has been such an incredibly long, crazy year and it's still a bit surreal for me to believe that the end is so near. The last thing that I need to have done is to remove the chemo port. Hopefully the removal will truly be a "non-event" this time (or at least more of a non-event than the implantation ever was!) and I am hoping to have this done sometime in January. Once I have this procedure, then I will truly be at the very top of my mountain and so the sooner the better as far as I am concerned! But since my in-laws will not be back for this last step -- and since the worst of what I must go through is truly behind me -- we are celebrating tonight.
I have thought a lot about what to do with my blog after everything is done. Many people have urged me to continue writing; to continue sharing information that I learn about our environment or about our health or just about my personal perspectives on life after cancer and I have definitely toyed with the idea. I have really enjoyed writing this blog; it has been incredibly therapeutic for me at times and I know that I will be forever grateful that I made the effort to write regularly so that I can always reflect back on this crazy life experience. I am also grateful that my children will someday be able read about this year and to fully understand and appreciate how many people and how much love it truly takes to "cure" cancer and how we were all completely surrounded by this love non-stop this whole year. And I hope that my writing will also help to inspire others who receive the unfortunate diagnosis of cancer to "fight the Bitch" rather than simply resigning themselves to the diagnosis and giving up.
And so for all these reasons, I have been tempted to continue writing. But the truth is I am ready for a change. I miss the intellectually challenges of marketing and of being involved in business and I am ready to earn a paycheck again (fun as it would be, continuing to write my blog does not show signs of being a terribly lucrative endeavor!) And so I have decided that I will stop writing regularly in my blog shortly (with the exceptional of occasional updates regarding scan results, etc.) That said, I still have a few more entries that I want to add -- ideas that I have been tossing around for months or things that friends have asked me to write about. After that, I am going to try to transform my blog into a book (using Pete's company's software, of course! If you are unfamiliar with Pete's company, check out blurb.com). And I'll definitely post info here as soon as it's in book form in case you are interested in buying a copy. But after that, I am off to my next adventure, which, as it turns out, is a consulting project with Jamba Juice.
I wrote a few months ago that I was beginning to get anxious about what the next chapter of my life held in store, but then one day at church I was reminded to just be patient and that the right opportunity would reveal itself to me. Well, that is exactly what happened!! A few weeks later, I got a call from an old client of mine who had accepted a job as head of marketing at Jamba Juice (a chain of blended juice fast-food restaurants with about 600 locations nationwide.) He is working with Jamba's CEO to reposition the brand as "healthy fast-food," and in fact, their new positioning statement reads "to inspire and simplify healthy living." Toward this end, Paul (who also heads up product development for the brand) is working to remove all added sugar from their products (he has already removed all trans fats and high fructose corn syrup). And his ultimate goal is that every Jamba product be made of all-organic, natural ingredients with zero added sugar, preservatives or artificial anything. Basically, a place where someone like me can go and know that everything on the menu is completely healthy and good for me. And get this...Michael Pollan (the author of The Omnivore's Dilemma) has been consulting with Jamba regarding ways to modify and shape their new menu!! How great is that!?! So needless to say, when he asked me to come help them with their marketing and was willing to accommodate my schedule so that I could go through surgery and finish healing, I just knew that it was the opportunity that I had been waiting for. The type of work I will be doing is right up my alley and the brand could not be better aligned with my new personal focus on healthy living. I start in February and so I have a few more weeks to relax and heal before my next life chapter begins.
Anyway, that's the not-so-quick update about my life. I am happy, healing, and heading into the final stretch of my climb. Stay tuned just a little bit longer and if you have any thoughts for last minute blog entries, get your requests in soon... :)
Feeling God's Presence
On Christmas Eve evening, Pete, the boys and I met my parents and my grandmother at church for the children's Christmas Eve mass. First we watched the special children's reinactment of Jesus in the manger and then Father Tarantino delivered his Christmas homily. He ended his homily by saying the following:
"Before we all depart and head back to our respective homes to celebrate Christmas with our families, I would like for everyone to close their eyes for just a moment...."
And so the congregation (including me) dutifully closed our eyes.
A split second later, I hear Kyle (who was sitting on my lap facing me) say, "No Mama! NO! Open your eyes." I opened my eyes and said, "Shhhh, Kyle, we need to listen. It's Father Tarantino's turn to talk." and I gently closed my eyes again.
"...I want everyone to take a moment, with your eyes closed, and just feel the presence of the Lord. During the craziness of the holiday season it's important to remember the true meaning of Christmas and this might be the only chance that you get to truly feel God's presence and..."
WACK!!! At the very moment that Father Tarantino mentions "feeling God's presence," I suddenly felt a sharp slap across my face. My eyes flew open and I found Kyle staring intently at me wagging his little 2-year-old finger back-and-forth. "No, Mama, NO!! No eyes closed! Open your eyes!"
PHEW - Nothing like feeling the "presence of the Lord" in real time!
Okay, God, I got your message loud and clear: You are present all around me; I can find you within all of the beautiful things that I love and cherish that surround me every day. I just need to keep my eyes open in order to "see."
"Before we all depart and head back to our respective homes to celebrate Christmas with our families, I would like for everyone to close their eyes for just a moment...."
And so the congregation (including me) dutifully closed our eyes.
A split second later, I hear Kyle (who was sitting on my lap facing me) say, "No Mama! NO! Open your eyes." I opened my eyes and said, "Shhhh, Kyle, we need to listen. It's Father Tarantino's turn to talk." and I gently closed my eyes again.
"...I want everyone to take a moment, with your eyes closed, and just feel the presence of the Lord. During the craziness of the holiday season it's important to remember the true meaning of Christmas and this might be the only chance that you get to truly feel God's presence and..."
WACK!!! At the very moment that Father Tarantino mentions "feeling God's presence," I suddenly felt a sharp slap across my face. My eyes flew open and I found Kyle staring intently at me wagging his little 2-year-old finger back-and-forth. "No, Mama, NO!! No eyes closed! Open your eyes!"
PHEW - Nothing like feeling the "presence of the Lord" in real time!
Okay, God, I got your message loud and clear: You are present all around me; I can find you within all of the beautiful things that I love and cherish that surround me every day. I just need to keep my eyes open in order to "see."
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Home At Last
Ahhhhh...home sweet home!!
My doctor gave approval for me to be discharged this morning and so my parents came and picked me up and delivered me home about an hour ago. I am off to bed right now to take a nap, but will write more in the next day or so. Thank you for all your prayers and emails over the past few days -- they made my hospital stay more bearable!!
My doctor gave approval for me to be discharged this morning and so my parents came and picked me up and delivered me home about an hour ago. I am off to bed right now to take a nap, but will write more in the next day or so. Thank you for all your prayers and emails over the past few days -- they made my hospital stay more bearable!!
Sunday, January 6, 2008
It's Me Again!!
Hi -- It's me again! I'm alive! YIPPEE!!!
As Pete wrote, my surgery went really well. It's been far less painful than the first surgery (Thank God!) and so I am already up and walking around. The biggest issue this time is that I am completely bloated -- my stomach, arms, legs and face are about to burst! This happened because my blood pressure was dangerously low (75/40) and so the doctors kept ordering more and more IV fluids to re-hydrate me. I think that the nurses changed the IV bags about every hour . My blood pressure eventually went back up, but unfortunately, I am now about to burst -- ugh!! But once this resolves and I am able to start eating solid foods again (hopefully tomorrow) I'll be that much closer to going home. Yippee!
Ironically, being at the hospital has actually turned out to be a really "good" thing...Not sure if you have followed the weather reports, but the San Francisco area (and Mill Valley in particular) got hit by pretty nasty storms on Friday which threw the power out at our house for the past couple days. Add to that the fact that Luke came home from a playdate yesterday with a stomach virus. After throwing up at his friend's house (Sorry about that, Amy! I'll call you once I get out of the hospital to see if there is anything we can pay to have dry cleaned!) he continued to vomit and have runs for the rest of the night. Needless to say, I'm not too sad to have missed the barf-fest (and I don't feel guilty saying that because I know that he is getting very good care from his grandparents right now!)
So anyway, I am focused on healing as fast as I can. Unlike last time, I am much more coherent right now and so rapidly getting bored out of my mind being stuck here. I am ready to go home and resume my life (or at least take a shower!!) I wonder if my doctor would notice if I just stuck a large pin in my stomach and let some of the water out?? It's got to be faster than this "wait and see" method he is proposing....
As Pete wrote, my surgery went really well. It's been far less painful than the first surgery (Thank God!) and so I am already up and walking around. The biggest issue this time is that I am completely bloated -- my stomach, arms, legs and face are about to burst! This happened because my blood pressure was dangerously low (75/40) and so the doctors kept ordering more and more IV fluids to re-hydrate me. I think that the nurses changed the IV bags about every hour . My blood pressure eventually went back up, but unfortunately, I am now about to burst -- ugh!! But once this resolves and I am able to start eating solid foods again (hopefully tomorrow) I'll be that much closer to going home. Yippee!
Ironically, being at the hospital has actually turned out to be a really "good" thing...Not sure if you have followed the weather reports, but the San Francisco area (and Mill Valley in particular) got hit by pretty nasty storms on Friday which threw the power out at our house for the past couple days. Add to that the fact that Luke came home from a playdate yesterday with a stomach virus. After throwing up at his friend's house (Sorry about that, Amy! I'll call you once I get out of the hospital to see if there is anything we can pay to have dry cleaned!) he continued to vomit and have runs for the rest of the night. Needless to say, I'm not too sad to have missed the barf-fest (and I don't feel guilty saying that because I know that he is getting very good care from his grandparents right now!)
So anyway, I am focused on healing as fast as I can. Unlike last time, I am much more coherent right now and so rapidly getting bored out of my mind being stuck here. I am ready to go home and resume my life (or at least take a shower!!) I wonder if my doctor would notice if I just stuck a large pin in my stomach and let some of the water out?? It's got to be faster than this "wait and see" method he is proposing....
Friday, January 4, 2008
Surgery Update (from Pete)
Well, it was deja vu all over again as we had the "team dinner" last night (me, Julie, her parents and my parents), and then set in motion the same plan as we had 7 months ago for Julie's first surgery.
We woke up at the crack of dawn this morning and headed with Julie's parents to UCSF for surgery day, while my parents looked after Shadow and the kids. Today also happened to be the front end of what might well be the "storm of the year" here in San Fran -- 60 mph winds, heavy rain, flooding, closed bridges, power outages and assorted storm-related issues.
Despite the storm raging outside, everything was smooth and "as planned" inside the hospital. After a bunch of waiting around and about 45 minutes of pre-op (which basically consists of a parade of nurses and doctors coming in to ask the same questions over and over again), they whisked Julie away for surgery around 8:00 AM. Dr Julio Garcia-Aguilar -- our trusted surgical guru -- was at the helm, and, as he always does, gave us great confidence that we were in truly expert hands (literally!).
About two hours later, the doctors came out and reported that everything went very smoothly, and that "Colon 2.0" (though I am indeed a tech geek, it was actually Julie who came up with this term!) was in place. The surgeons did a thorough exam of the area on which they had previously operated, and everything looked exactly as they'd hoped/expected. So, the uneventful surgery -- combined with the clean CT/PET scans earlier this week - is the exact outcome that we'd hoped for and expected. Phew.
Julie then spent a couple more hours in post-op recovery, and is now resting comfortably back up on the 5th floor, just a few doors down from where we spent the week after her first surgery back in June. She is still heavily drugged up and groggy, but her preliminary assessment is that she is in a lot less pain than she was right after the previous surgery....so that's good news. Nonetheless, the doctors estimate that she'll be in the hospital 4-6 days as she recovers.
Since I've hijacked Julie's account for the moment, I just wanted to say thanks again to all the many friends and family who have sent their prayers and well-wishes over the last few days leading up to the surgery. And, as Julie has mentioned many times before, we can't possibly thank our respective parents enough for all their help and support throughout this whole journey. We simply could not have come through it all the way we have without them.
Summit is in sight....climbing on!
We woke up at the crack of dawn this morning and headed with Julie's parents to UCSF for surgery day, while my parents looked after Shadow and the kids. Today also happened to be the front end of what might well be the "storm of the year" here in San Fran -- 60 mph winds, heavy rain, flooding, closed bridges, power outages and assorted storm-related issues.
Despite the storm raging outside, everything was smooth and "as planned" inside the hospital. After a bunch of waiting around and about 45 minutes of pre-op (which basically consists of a parade of nurses and doctors coming in to ask the same questions over and over again), they whisked Julie away for surgery around 8:00 AM. Dr Julio Garcia-Aguilar -- our trusted surgical guru -- was at the helm, and, as he always does, gave us great confidence that we were in truly expert hands (literally!).
About two hours later, the doctors came out and reported that everything went very smoothly, and that "Colon 2.0" (though I am indeed a tech geek, it was actually Julie who came up with this term!) was in place. The surgeons did a thorough exam of the area on which they had previously operated, and everything looked exactly as they'd hoped/expected. So, the uneventful surgery -- combined with the clean CT/PET scans earlier this week - is the exact outcome that we'd hoped for and expected. Phew.
Julie then spent a couple more hours in post-op recovery, and is now resting comfortably back up on the 5th floor, just a few doors down from where we spent the week after her first surgery back in June. She is still heavily drugged up and groggy, but her preliminary assessment is that she is in a lot less pain than she was right after the previous surgery....so that's good news. Nonetheless, the doctors estimate that she'll be in the hospital 4-6 days as she recovers.
Since I've hijacked Julie's account for the moment, I just wanted to say thanks again to all the many friends and family who have sent their prayers and well-wishes over the last few days leading up to the surgery. And, as Julie has mentioned many times before, we can't possibly thank our respective parents enough for all their help and support throughout this whole journey. We simply could not have come through it all the way we have without them.
Summit is in sight....climbing on!
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Where to Find Me
Lots of people have been asking for the details of where I will be having surgery so I'll just post it here. I can't guarantee that I'll answer the phone -- I might be out walking the halls like a caterpillar again -- but you can always try.
Patient Services Desk/Information Desk
1600 Divisadero St.
San Francisco, CA
Phone: (415) 885-7437
Well, I am off to bed now so that I can wake up at 5am to head to the hospital. Next time you hear from me I'll hopefully be within a stone's throw of the top of this crazy, crazy mountain! I am looking forward to hugging each and every one of you once I get there! :)
Patient Services Desk/Information Desk
1600 Divisadero St.
San Francisco, CA
Phone: (415) 885-7437
Well, I am off to bed now so that I can wake up at 5am to head to the hospital. Next time you hear from me I'll hopefully be within a stone's throw of the top of this crazy, crazy mountain! I am looking forward to hugging each and every one of you once I get there! :)
I Am Normal!!!
YIPPEE! YIPPEE!! YIIIIIPPPPPEEEEE!! Dr Gullion called this afternoon to tell me that I am totally normal! WOO HOOOOOO!!! My dad, of course, set the record straight by informing me that I might be "cancer free" but I am definitely not normal. Ha!
In all seriousness, Dr Gullion reported that my CT/PET scan showed absolutely no signs of cancer anywhere. The radiologist was still able to see the spot of my liver, but again it did not "light up" on the PET scan and so it has been officially classified as a hemangeoma (e.g., cluster of blood vessels.) And the radiologist also specified that there are absolutely no signs of anything abnormal in my colon, kidneys, liver, lungs, gall bladder, or in the area of my abdomen where tissue was resected. Phew!
I told Dr Gullion that I just knew everything was going to be normal, but it sure is nice to hear it from him all the same.
In all seriousness, Dr Gullion reported that my CT/PET scan showed absolutely no signs of cancer anywhere. The radiologist was still able to see the spot of my liver, but again it did not "light up" on the PET scan and so it has been officially classified as a hemangeoma (e.g., cluster of blood vessels.) And the radiologist also specified that there are absolutely no signs of anything abnormal in my colon, kidneys, liver, lungs, gall bladder, or in the area of my abdomen where tissue was resected. Phew!
I told Dr Gullion that I just knew everything was going to be normal, but it sure is nice to hear it from him all the same.
Update from Yesterday
Well, my CT/PET scan is done. I don't have the results back yet, but should hopefully hear some time today. I also had a really yucky, but very necessary, barium enema test yesterday (I'll let you Google that one yourself if you really want the details of what a barium enema test entails!) which showed that everything has healed the way that it was suppose to. The only "wrinkle" was that the barium enema test was excrutiatingly painful. So for now, I am still scheduled to be at the hospital at 6am tomorrow morning for surgery at 7:30am, but my doctor said that before he begins the main surgery he is going to do a bit of exploring to see if he can figure out why I was in so much pain. Hopefully it will be crystal clear to him and he can make any necessary adjustments while I am pleasantly knocked out since I dread the thought of him reconnecting the portion of my colon that has been dormant for the past 7 months if it means having that much pain every time something needs to pass through. Anyway, this is why I am so happy to have an incredibly skilled surgeon -- I am basically turning my body over to him (yet again) tomorrow and have to trust that he can make everything okay again. I remember my friend, Michael, telling me very early on that the skill of the surgeon can make or break whether I survive this cancer or not. That's a hell of a lot of trust to place in someone! As Pete humorous stated before my last surgery, I hope that Dr Garcia-Aguilar has exactly the right amount of sleep and caffeine that he needs tomorrow morning.
As I was sitting in the various waiting rooms yesterday, the weight of everything I have gone through this past year and everything that I still have to go through definitely came crashing back. It's amazing how quickly and easily I was able to tuck all of the memories and stress of the past year into the recesses of my mind over the holidays. This is not to say that I forgot everything all-together (any good psychologist would tell you that this is not possible anyway), but I definitely found myself relaxing more and thinking excitedly about future plans. I think that it's the mind's natural way of coping -- thinking non-stop about treatment and wacky symptoms and the fear of death and all the other stuff that goes along with a cancer diagnosis is really, really hard and incredibly exhausting. And so it was wonderful for me to have this two month break to regroup and enjoy life for awhile.
By the end of the day yesterday, however, I was completely and utterly spent and on the verge of tears. I contemplated canceling my surgery a number of times and I think that Pete and my mom and dad must have given me about 10 pep talks over the course of the day to keep my spirits up. I feel better today (it's amazing what a good night sleep can do!) and decided that today is just going to be my day of relaxation and meditation. So I am off to find a yoga class and then hopefully book myself for a massage. My children are in complete heaven right now -- Betsy and John arrived yesterday and so they now have four doting grandparents to play with rather than the usual two -- and so I have nothing to do today other than prepare myself mentally for the climb ahead.
As I was sitting in the various waiting rooms yesterday, the weight of everything I have gone through this past year and everything that I still have to go through definitely came crashing back. It's amazing how quickly and easily I was able to tuck all of the memories and stress of the past year into the recesses of my mind over the holidays. This is not to say that I forgot everything all-together (any good psychologist would tell you that this is not possible anyway), but I definitely found myself relaxing more and thinking excitedly about future plans. I think that it's the mind's natural way of coping -- thinking non-stop about treatment and wacky symptoms and the fear of death and all the other stuff that goes along with a cancer diagnosis is really, really hard and incredibly exhausting. And so it was wonderful for me to have this two month break to regroup and enjoy life for awhile.
By the end of the day yesterday, however, I was completely and utterly spent and on the verge of tears. I contemplated canceling my surgery a number of times and I think that Pete and my mom and dad must have given me about 10 pep talks over the course of the day to keep my spirits up. I feel better today (it's amazing what a good night sleep can do!) and decided that today is just going to be my day of relaxation and meditation. So I am off to find a yoga class and then hopefully book myself for a massage. My children are in complete heaven right now -- Betsy and John arrived yesterday and so they now have four doting grandparents to play with rather than the usual two -- and so I have nothing to do today other than prepare myself mentally for the climb ahead.
I just read this very beautiful essay and wanted to share it...
My Cancer Was A Gift
I stood by the hospital bed of a friend who was dying of cancer. He wanted to know why he was sick, why he must die, why he must leave his children and grandchildren. As his rabbi, I was armed with few answers. I could tell him that it was part of God's plan or I could confess to him that I did not know. Neither seemed like the right response.
So, instead, we exchanged stories about chemotherapy. My hair was just beginning to grow back after a bout with lymphoma; his, wispy to start, was gone from the drugs that had targeted all the fast-growing cells in his body. They had done a thorough job on his hair but not on his cancer.
Faith is connected to hope and hope means believing in spite of the evidence and then watching the evidence change.
We talked about the strange gratitude we felt for the medicinal poison as it coursed through our veins. There was a moment of solidarity, then sadness returned. Battle stories are not nostalgic when they end in death.
"But at least you understand," he said. It reminded me anew that my cancer was a gift; as a rabbi, it validated my compassion. People knew that I really did understand, that my family and I were not unscathed. Needles seemed forever to be dangling from my arm and I was always being shoved into metal tubes for scans and pictures and tests. Enduring the elaborate technology of survival creates a kind of tribal solidarity.
"So," he asked, "why did it happen to you?"
Did I get cancer for a reason? Four years before my lymphoma I had undergone surgery for a brain tumor, thankfully benign. Five years before that, after the birth of our daughter, my wife had cancer and surgery that left her unable to bear more children. After each experience, people would ask what it meant. Now someone was asking not out of curiosity or even spiritual hunger, but spiritual urgency.
We looked at each other for a long time. I know what it does not mean, I told him. It was not a punishment. The calculus of reward and punishment in this world is surely more complex than sin equals cancer. One thing is clear: the cancer is not only about you. Those who care for you suffer as well. The ripples do not end.
Facing our own mortality, the traditional roles had melted away. We were no longer rabbi and layperson, younger man and older man. I recalled how in the first verse of the Book of Kings, King David was no longer referred to by his title when he neared death: "Now the days of David drew near that he should die." When we approach death we no longer can hide behind titles and status. The man and I were two people who had undergone similar ailments. One of us, for now, was in remission, and one of us would die before the other. And neither knew why.
He told me that it was not his own life he feared for, but what would happen to his family. How would his loss hurt them? I remembered how, as I was first wheeled into surgery, I was surprised at how little I feared death; I feared instead the consequences of my death. I feared not for myself but for my wife and daughter.
Did he believe in another world? He was not sure, but he hoped. I ventured that everything a human being was — the hopes and dreams, the love and gifts — could not completely disappear. The old analogy had it right: There is a birth into this world that we never could have imagined. Might there be a new birth, another world, equally beyond the reach of human imagination? Life, as writer Vladimir Nabokov once said, was such a remarkable surprise, why should death be less of a surprise?
He smiled and we shared a moment of hope. Maybe all the therapy, the scans and shots, had only postponed the consummation of an unimaginable life to be.
But we soon returned to the moment. To die is to lose everything we know, all the wonders of this world and the people in it. To die is to leave so many stories unfinished and to miss the next act of the stories of others, those whom we know and whom we love.
I did have one thought that might offer him a glimmer of comfort. When I was sick it became clear to me how carefully others watched my reaction — would my faith help me at all, they wondered? Does a professional practice of Judaism offer some strength? Feeling their eyes on me helped me realize that in sickness we are not powerless — we still have the ability to teach.
I told this man, my friend, my fellow human, that his children and grandchildren were watching him. Here was a chance to teach his greatest lesson. They would remember much about him to be sure, but they would never forget how he died. His acceptance, his dignity, even his hope, could change their lives.
Each week, I told him, I studied Torah with a man who just turned 90. He had often recounted what his mother said to him as she was dying: "My child, do not be afraid. It is only death, and it has happened to everyone who ever lived."
The two of us in the hospital room held hands, and agreed that if we could, we would pass from this life with words of love and hope for awakenings to come. Shortly afterwards, he passed away. His children speak of him with reverence for his life and for the way in which he faced death. As with all meetings of the spirit there was not one who gave and one who took; there were two who stood with each other and before God, and even in their sadness, felt blessed.
My Cancer Was A Gift
I stood by the hospital bed of a friend who was dying of cancer. He wanted to know why he was sick, why he must die, why he must leave his children and grandchildren. As his rabbi, I was armed with few answers. I could tell him that it was part of God's plan or I could confess to him that I did not know. Neither seemed like the right response.
So, instead, we exchanged stories about chemotherapy. My hair was just beginning to grow back after a bout with lymphoma; his, wispy to start, was gone from the drugs that had targeted all the fast-growing cells in his body. They had done a thorough job on his hair but not on his cancer.
Faith is connected to hope and hope means believing in spite of the evidence and then watching the evidence change.
We talked about the strange gratitude we felt for the medicinal poison as it coursed through our veins. There was a moment of solidarity, then sadness returned. Battle stories are not nostalgic when they end in death.
"But at least you understand," he said. It reminded me anew that my cancer was a gift; as a rabbi, it validated my compassion. People knew that I really did understand, that my family and I were not unscathed. Needles seemed forever to be dangling from my arm and I was always being shoved into metal tubes for scans and pictures and tests. Enduring the elaborate technology of survival creates a kind of tribal solidarity.
"So," he asked, "why did it happen to you?"
Did I get cancer for a reason? Four years before my lymphoma I had undergone surgery for a brain tumor, thankfully benign. Five years before that, after the birth of our daughter, my wife had cancer and surgery that left her unable to bear more children. After each experience, people would ask what it meant. Now someone was asking not out of curiosity or even spiritual hunger, but spiritual urgency.
We looked at each other for a long time. I know what it does not mean, I told him. It was not a punishment. The calculus of reward and punishment in this world is surely more complex than sin equals cancer. One thing is clear: the cancer is not only about you. Those who care for you suffer as well. The ripples do not end.
Facing our own mortality, the traditional roles had melted away. We were no longer rabbi and layperson, younger man and older man. I recalled how in the first verse of the Book of Kings, King David was no longer referred to by his title when he neared death: "Now the days of David drew near that he should die." When we approach death we no longer can hide behind titles and status. The man and I were two people who had undergone similar ailments. One of us, for now, was in remission, and one of us would die before the other. And neither knew why.
He told me that it was not his own life he feared for, but what would happen to his family. How would his loss hurt them? I remembered how, as I was first wheeled into surgery, I was surprised at how little I feared death; I feared instead the consequences of my death. I feared not for myself but for my wife and daughter.
Did he believe in another world? He was not sure, but he hoped. I ventured that everything a human being was — the hopes and dreams, the love and gifts — could not completely disappear. The old analogy had it right: There is a birth into this world that we never could have imagined. Might there be a new birth, another world, equally beyond the reach of human imagination? Life, as writer Vladimir Nabokov once said, was such a remarkable surprise, why should death be less of a surprise?
He smiled and we shared a moment of hope. Maybe all the therapy, the scans and shots, had only postponed the consummation of an unimaginable life to be.
But we soon returned to the moment. To die is to lose everything we know, all the wonders of this world and the people in it. To die is to leave so many stories unfinished and to miss the next act of the stories of others, those whom we know and whom we love.
I did have one thought that might offer him a glimmer of comfort. When I was sick it became clear to me how carefully others watched my reaction — would my faith help me at all, they wondered? Does a professional practice of Judaism offer some strength? Feeling their eyes on me helped me realize that in sickness we are not powerless — we still have the ability to teach.
I told this man, my friend, my fellow human, that his children and grandchildren were watching him. Here was a chance to teach his greatest lesson. They would remember much about him to be sure, but they would never forget how he died. His acceptance, his dignity, even his hope, could change their lives.
Each week, I told him, I studied Torah with a man who just turned 90. He had often recounted what his mother said to him as she was dying: "My child, do not be afraid. It is only death, and it has happened to everyone who ever lived."
The two of us in the hospital room held hands, and agreed that if we could, we would pass from this life with words of love and hope for awakenings to come. Shortly afterwards, he passed away. His children speak of him with reverence for his life and for the way in which he faced death. As with all meetings of the spirit there was not one who gave and one who took; there were two who stood with each other and before God, and even in their sadness, felt blessed.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
The Final Stage
Well, this is it. The final phase of my crazy climb begins tomorrow. My last chemo treatment was 9 weeks ago, the holidays have come and gone, and now it's time for me to forge forward and reach the top of my mountain.
My CT/PET scan is scheduled for 8am tomorrow morning. The point of this scan is to see whether there is any sign of cancer anywhere in my body. This will be my first scan since last June when they did one just prior to my surgery. At that time, the doctors could see that the tumor had shrunk significantly (to the point of being almost gone) but it still showed up slightly. Now, however, there is no reason for the scans to be anything but normal since my surgeon removed any remaining tumor tissue during that surgery, plus some extra tissue surrounding the tumor so that I had clear margins. As far as I am concerned, the Bitch is long gone and I am feeling really well and so I cannot believe that I will get anything but good news from the doctors tomorrow.
And then, assuming that there are no surprises on the scans, I will have my Colon-Part II surgery this Friday. My doctor told me that I'll likely be in the hospital for 4-5 days, so hopefully home by next Tuesday. My friend asked me today if I am nervous about my upcoming surgery. I guess I am a bit nervous, which I suppose is normal. But more than anything else, I am just annoyed. I have had a small taste of normalcy these past 9 weeks and I am dreading having to take a few steps backwards in order to finally be done. I just want to keep moving forward and enjoy life again. I don't want to be back in the hospital smelling the stinky bleachy-smelling linens and not being home with my family. I don't want to be in debilitating pain again for the next few weeks. I don't want to go through the process again of relearning how my digestive tract works. I just want to live life and be done with this climb. But alas, I have no choice. And so off I go...
I will write an update as soon as I get my scan results and, like last time, Pete will write an update on Friday afternoon once I get out of surgery, so stay tuned.
My CT/PET scan is scheduled for 8am tomorrow morning. The point of this scan is to see whether there is any sign of cancer anywhere in my body. This will be my first scan since last June when they did one just prior to my surgery. At that time, the doctors could see that the tumor had shrunk significantly (to the point of being almost gone) but it still showed up slightly. Now, however, there is no reason for the scans to be anything but normal since my surgeon removed any remaining tumor tissue during that surgery, plus some extra tissue surrounding the tumor so that I had clear margins. As far as I am concerned, the Bitch is long gone and I am feeling really well and so I cannot believe that I will get anything but good news from the doctors tomorrow.
And then, assuming that there are no surprises on the scans, I will have my Colon-Part II surgery this Friday. My doctor told me that I'll likely be in the hospital for 4-5 days, so hopefully home by next Tuesday. My friend asked me today if I am nervous about my upcoming surgery. I guess I am a bit nervous, which I suppose is normal. But more than anything else, I am just annoyed. I have had a small taste of normalcy these past 9 weeks and I am dreading having to take a few steps backwards in order to finally be done. I just want to keep moving forward and enjoy life again. I don't want to be back in the hospital smelling the stinky bleachy-smelling linens and not being home with my family. I don't want to be in debilitating pain again for the next few weeks. I don't want to go through the process again of relearning how my digestive tract works. I just want to live life and be done with this climb. But alas, I have no choice. And so off I go...
I will write an update as soon as I get my scan results and, like last time, Pete will write an update on Friday afternoon once I get out of surgery, so stay tuned.
Beginning The New Year
I hope that everyone reading my blog had a wonderful holiday season and a safe and happy New Year's Eve. Santa was very good to Pete and I and the boys this year and I have to say that everything we went through in 2007 definitely made both Pete and I stop and appreciate the magic of the season a bit more.
And now all I have to say is Yippee!! It's 2008!
I am sooooo ready for a new year and a fresh start to life. Here's to a healthier, happier year! Cheers!
And now all I have to say is Yippee!! It's 2008!
I am sooooo ready for a new year and a fresh start to life. Here's to a healthier, happier year! Cheers!
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