This past Monday I had my third CT scan, which assesses the effectiveness of my treatment. In short, the news was very good.

To put it in military terms, we have beaten the enemy back, but the war is not quite over yet. In fact, there may still be some battles and skirmishes left to fight.

What partly got me thinking in military terms recently is that Elizabeth and I watched the movie Hacksaw Ridge last week—the first time we’ve been able to go to a theater together since Pippa was born! The film was excellent in quality, incredibly gory (okay for me, but not for Elizabeth), and over all very inspiring, especially faith-wise, for those who face impossible situations.

Speaking of impossible situations, I want to share more about my medical results. The scan showed that things were as good as in August, and even slightly improved. Here are some highlights:

-No evidence of cancer in my bones. “They will appear abnormal on scans probably all your life, but there is no cancer there,” the doctor said.

-As to the tumor in my liver, which has been the source: “It has a noticeably dark and dead look,” my doctor said. “I have to think that it is well treated.” The spot has decreased in size since August, but it is hard to say whether the cancer is completely gone.

And that is why I am still wary to plant a victory flag. I think God alone will be the one who gives us confidence when we should do that, but that day is not yet today. There is no cancer currently showing up in my blood, but I don’t want this enemy to become like Saruman, who appears defeated in the second Lord of the Rings movie, but then gathers strength and attacks Middle Earth again with a vengeance in The Return of the King.

Which is why I still have some battles and skirmishes to fight. My hope and prayer is that we can vanquish this cancer completely.

Because they are not sure which of the three parts of my treatment is responsible for the success, I will have to continue with chemo. My heart sank when I first heard this news on Monday. So far I’ve lasted for 21 rounds of treatment, and I would like to have been done months ago, as every week it gets harder and harder with the side effects like fatigue and nausea. How much more must I endure?

At this point, I have no idea. I do know there is a ceiling to how much a person can tolerate—the toxicity builds up and starts poisoning the body. If you push beyond a certain level, you risk irreparable side effects. And so, I think one of two things will happen:

• I will have to stop because my body can no longer handle it
• God somehow tells me to stop, plant a victory flag.

The good news is what God had already done. As my doctor has said, “we are no longer operating out of the textbook here,” as there could have been no way to foresee the type of positive results that I am getting. It defies most medical explanation and I am thankful.

Let me not, even for a minute, suggest or imply that I am any of the reason that this treatment has been going as well as it has. God alone is doing it and will continue to do it, if it pleases him to do so. He is certainly using the Avera Cancer Center and He has kept me strong in mind and body. But the credit is ultimately His!

And for those of you who have continued to lift us up in prayer, I do know that God is hearing and responding to your prayers. Please keep interceding for us!

Please pray…

-That God would continue to give me the strength to endure more chemo, or make it very clear when I should stop

-That God would indeed completely vanquish and eradicate this cancer and that my health would return sooner than later!

-That He would keep me from permanent side effects

-That this miracle would continue, and that God would get the full glory and credit as the story unfolds.

I look forward to the day when we can wave the flag of victory. By faith, that day will soon be here. But not quite yet.

Not yet.

P.S. These verses, sent from a family friend this past Sunday, greatly encouraged our anxious hearts. “‘O man greatly loved, fear not, peace be with you; be strong and of good courage,’ And as he spoke to me, I was strengthened and said, “Let my lord speak, for you have strengthened me.” ~Daniel 10:19

 

For the past several months, Thursdays have been my least favorite day of the week—the day I get treatment.

I’ve been repeating this cycle since June. After my treatment day, then Friday, Saturday and at least part of Sunday are recovery days, as the lack of energy and nausea keep me lying flat a lot of that time. Then, Monday through Wednesday I feel good enough for normal life again. Having the “normal” days are great, but mixed. I feel as though I have to pack a week’s worth of work, errands and even social stuff in that timeline. The time slips away fast—too fast—and suddenly I’m back on Thursday treadmill again.

My facial expression wrinkles at the thought of chemo.

In fairness, I did get a week off from treatment during the week of my birthday, September 13. The two weeks without drinking the weed killer were glorious, to say the least! Elizabeth and Pippa and I stayed at my family’s cabin in Minnesota; being there proved a refreshing reprieve, to say the least.

On my birthday, Elizabeth and Pippa and climbed to the top of the Tulaby Lake Firetower. Atop the 110-foot tower, views of the maple trees beginning to change color were amazing. 

In reality, even when I’m back in the grind of treatment weeks, I have a lot to be thankful for. I am glad that the treatment is working. I am also grateful that I’ve felt well enough to keep working—at least part time. The productivity is good for my soul. Though my life is certainly not normal these days, at least I can still keep contributing to Lifelines and Cru ministries.

On another note, if you think of Elizabeth and I, please keep us in your prayers. My treatment is getting progressively harder every week (on Elizabeth, too)—which is not surprising. The body can only tolerate so much. A certain Scripture has been especially inspirational: Romans 12:12. “Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction and persistent in prayer (BSB translation).”

I think this is relevant for anyone, but especially for those battling circumstances like cancer or other ongoing problems. Join with me in this rally call to keep a firm grip on hope, be patient through the Spirit’s power and continually bringing requests to the Father!

I look forward to this Thursday passing quickly, so I can return to the better part of the week 🙂

 

The three of us, along with Elizabeth’s mom, visited Itasca State Park, including the headwaters of the Mississippi River. 

Saying goodbye to summer at the lake is always melancholy. This year, I helped my dad put away the main dock, by floating it toward the boat ramp, and then pulling onshore with a Bobcat. 

 

This past Sunday, Elizabeth and I rode a roller coaster in Spirit Lake, Iowa, called The Legend. Originally built in 1930, I used to ride the old wooden coaster when I was a kid. It seemed really old and rickety back then—more than 25 years ago—and it still makes a distinct clickety-clack clickety-clack as it passes each section of the track. While devoid of any loop-the-loops or other inverted thrills, the ride featured plenty of steep drops and climbs to keep it entertaining.

A roller coaster is a very apt illustration of how things have been for Elizabeth and I the past few weeks, both emotionally and especially as it has related to our hope during my health journey.

We have seen elements of our hope snuffed out, only to see it rebuilt again quickly and strongly.

I am continually reminded, that without hope, you are pretty much dead before you are actually dead. You die before you are dying. That may sound morbid, but when you are confronted with cancer, or really anything potentially life-threatening, it is wise to consider your own mortality, and just how important a thing like hope is in this process.

As the main character in the movie Shawshank Redemption says, “Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things.” The Apostle Paul says it is one of the three big things that remain in this transient life: faith, hope and love.

Some of you have wondered about the results of my scan, and I will get to that below. In short, the news is good. But I am definitely not out of the woods yet.

The scan on August 25 showed that my treatment is working, and that all areas of the cancer have shrunk or been eliminated—in my ribs, my back and even in the source, my liver. Cancer in bones is hard to track in a CT scan, but the scan showed signs of the bones healing (which they don’t do when cancer is present). The two spots on my liver appeared to be dead or dying, having been starved of blood and oxygen by the targeted genomic drug.

I can literally feel these results. I have felt quite good for several months, and have not taken any painkillers since June. My back pain from last spring has improved dramatically. Though I am feeling better, the chemo continues to decrease my energy each week bit by bit, which is to be expected.

So, the big picture is that we have good news. Then, why this talk about our hope taking a hit? When we met with my oncologist, he seemed curiously pessimistic about the results. A big reason is the nature of my cancer: incurable. Elizabeth and I were taken aback by his reaction. We thought the news of my scan was reason to celebrate, but the way he explained it, the news seemed mixed.

For a few days, we felt under a very dark cloud—that we had no hope and that it was meaningless to keep on fighting. The loss of hope felt like a decay in our bones and hearts. It was also perplexing because things have improved and I clearly feel better.

In the midst of our despair, I sensed the Lord told me to celebrate the news, as an act of obedience and declaring his goodness in the midst of things. And so we tried to by going out to my favorite Indian restaurant, but the celebration was certainly muted.

Yet as we continued to pray, I felt like a better outlook was coming. A few days later, we met with the treatment research team who gave a much different take on my results: “remarkable” is what they said. The markers of cancer in my blood decreased from 5% down to 0.2% and the readings of my liver that were once three times the normal limit have returned to normal. This is due, in large part, to the breakthrough immunotherapy treatment, not to mention the Cabo drug they have me on. My progress has been so good that they want me to appear in a video promoting the research center.

I can’t fully explain all of the medical details, but clearly significant things have been happening. And I feel good, other than treatment-caused fatigue. Praise God. Other than a full-blown miracle where the cancer instantaneously disappears, this is really good news.

And, so we press on in hope—that the Lord will keep seeing us through this journey. That the treatment will continue to work and I can get into a stable place. That we can return to Colorado. That the Lord will continue to use us where he has us—whether here or wherever.

Through this process, we have known we always have eternal hope in God. He is our absolute bedrock. “As for me, I will always have hope…” says Psalm 71. Along with that, it’s been a breath of fresh air to see the Lord provide some circumstantial and medical hope, too.

Thanks to all of those who have been praying for my family and me. It means a lot to us.

I could write for days about all of the things that have been in my heart the last few weeks, but it is overwhelming. I will leave it at this for now.

 

 

 

Note: the following is an entry from a devotional I have been working on. 

Warm up: Read Psalm 16

Every morning I would throw back the curtains from my hotel room and stare at the ocean, in hopes of good surf. Maybe today would be the day I’d see the glassy formations about head high, curling and gently peeling down the line. Even a mediocre surfer like myself could do something with waves that good!

I grew up about as far away from the ocean as one could get—South Dakota—which might help explain, in part, my fascination. Like most places on the planet, remnants of surf culture drifted into my hometown—skateboards, shirts with wave emblems and cool sayings like “stoked.”

I remember visiting Santa Barbara, Calif., when I was 14, and seeing a group of surfers clad in dark wetsuits with tanned faces and sun-bleached hair. They held an air of conquering, like gladiators fresh from the Coliseum. Eventually, I finally did learn to surf, but living in Colorado, I don’t get to go often, save for the occasional river break. But river waves are not ocean waves.

That’s why I lay in waiting each morning in my Florida hotel room, where I was attending a conference for several weeks. The beachbreaks of Daytona Beach weren’t exactly the Pipeline of Hawaii, but occasionally decent waves did come.

Each morning, I continued my ritual: looking out the window, checking the reports on my phone. Throughout the day, I often couldn’t help staring at the ocean. The possibility of good surf brought an excitement and anticipation to each day that is hard to describe, even beyond the dopamine or endorphins. It’s similar waiting for the powder to fall during ski season.

As I pondered it more, I wondered, do I often come to the Lord with the same anticipation? Do I look forward to spending time with him, or do I merely endure it like another menial task to get through? As it says in Psalm 16:

            “I said to the Lord, ‘You are my Lord; apart from you I have no good thing.’

             Lord you have assigned me my portion and my cup; you have made my lot secure. The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance. You have made known to me the path of life; You will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand.”

These are some great promises, especially experiencing “joy in (his) presence.”

Sadly, I don’t always expect these things when I seek God. I often wake up to read the Bible and pray and I approach it more like I’m punching the clock at a menial job. Other days, I’m distracted by my to do list, or even social media. Hey, I didn’t realize so-and-so went to the farmer’s market yesterday! Or that what’s-her-name is vacationing in Panama!

Even with the best of intentions the time slips away.

I know spending time with the Lord are is critical to develop my relationship with him and certainly a number of days my heart does show up, but why do I often approach him with so little anticipation? Therein lies the problem. Do we really believe what verse 2 says, that “apart from the Lord I have no good thing?” There may be many blessings in our lives (and most likely hard things, too) but do we believe they are blessings from God? Or do we subtly believe that we somehow arranged for them ourselves? How is that we miss that He is actually the highest blessing?

In verse 4, the Psalm sheds light on another reason our hearts might be so dry.

“The sorrows of those will increase who run after other gods. I will not pour out their libations of blood or take up their names on my lips. “

The term “libations of blood” refers to the worship of pagan deities. What other “gods” are we bowing down? These will easily kill our joy and stifle our longing for him.

This Psalm is a call to cast aside lesser idols and distractions, and go for the joy of his presence, which is like a thundering breaker, pristine and glassy, pulling us in the barrel of his love. A start would be to put down our to-do list, take our eyes away from our distractions and spend some time with the Lord—through reading his word, prayer and worship. I like it best early in the morning, when my heart is freshest.

Certainly there is a discipline aspect of seeking the Lord. Some days, when our mind and desires drifts, we need to ask the Lord for what he says in Jeremiah, “I will give them a heart to know me…(24:7a)” Clinging to such verses, we may soon find that this duty becomes a delight and once again we look forward to our times with the Lord—more than anything else.

He is a constant source of joy that we can always count on.

Not always so with waves. Surfing is a finicky sport. The waves seldom form as good as one would hope. The wind direction, types of swell and a great many other complex factors make it difficult for the waves to actually be good. Even the North Shore of Hawaii can go flat for weeks at a time. Florida is much, much lower on the surfing hierarchy—in fact, most surfers consider it a better fishing destination than for surfing.

When the waves do come, I look forward to enjoying them. After all, God is the one who created them in the first place. But I know there is a deeper joy I can anticipate each day that doesn’t depend upon swell.

“I waited patiently for the Lord;

he turned to me and heard my cry.

He lifted me out of the slimy pit,

out of the mud and mire;

he set my feet on a rock

and gave me a firm place to stand.

He put a new song in my mouth,

a hymn of praise to our God.

Many will see and fear the Lord

and put their trust in him.”

-Psalm 40:1-3 NIV

 

This Psalm has meant a lot to Elizabeth and me recently for many reasons.

As I write this, I am currently receiving a chemo infusion. I wanted to give a update on my health as of Thursday, July 21. Sometimes I don’t give it quite as straightforwardly as I’d like. So here it is…

How am I doing?

I would say I’m doing well, though I am very much still facing the mud and mire of treatment, meanwhile hoping for the Lord to bring me to a more solid place (Psalm 40:2). This week marks my ninth round of chemo. My treatment involves a three pronged approach: Cisplatin chemo, Keytruda immunotherapy along with the drug Cabozantin. I get chemo every week, Keytruda once every three weeks and I take the Cabo pill every day. I nickname the drug Cabo for short, but a lot of times people think of the destination Cabo San Lucas in Mexico—you know, the party place. But this drug is anything but a party.

What side effects am I experiencing from the treatment?

I’m getting normal side effects from chemo—fatigue and nausea, though they are usually rather predictable, lasting for about 3.5 days afterwards and managed well with medication. I have yet to miss a meal! The best news lately is that I am getting virtually no side effects from Cabo, other than a slight amount of additional fatigue. Doctors warned me that this drug would probably be the worst part of my treatment, with potential side effects including mouth sores, debilitating nausea and vomiting. But about five weeks into it, these simply have not happened. I know that lots of people have been praying for me—certainly the Lord is hearing these prayers. Thank you so much.

How am I feeling over all?

I’m feeling surprisingly well and have had a decent amount of energy. As a result, I have been able to start getting more work done (usually on Monday-Wednesday) which has done me well sanity-wise. Elizabeth and I also ordered cruiser bikes today. I found a killer deal online, and there’s a bike path that runs along the Sioux River just a block away from our house. I feel blessed to be doing as well as I am.

How is the treatment going?

I honestly don’t know. Some of my labs, including the numbers on my liver show that they have been improving, but nobody has really told me definitely where I’m at. I know the Lord is certainly able to heal me, however that will look. Whether he does or not is up to him—I just want to praise and believe in his goodness regardless.

What’s next?       

In about six weeks, my doctor will have me get some scans to see what kind of progress the treatment is making. I expect that the treatment will continue on after that, but for how long and to what extent, I have no idea.

 

Lately, I’ve been encouraged by a song from U2, one of my favorite bands of all time. The song is called 40, and is based on Psalm 40. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1XzHlySYR_Y We continue to look to God for our sure footing and to be the song in our mouth.

This week, we celebrated my daughter’s first birthday in style, holding a “Pippa’s Palisade Party” at the picturesque state park near Garretson on Tuesday night. Her actual birthday is today, though the 28th worked better schedulewise. There were 15 of us (all family) to celebrate at the cliff-side picnic locale, which overlooks an alley of granite pinnacles rising from Split Rock Creek.

My gift for Pippa was a yellow duck stuffed animal that can be used as a puppet. I think she liked it a lot! All in all, it was a great celebration.

The quintessential moment for me was watching Pippa smile and smirk as everyone sang her happy birthday while we handed her first birthday cake (which she soon destroyed). She seemed comfortable being in the limelight, like she comprehended the gathering was in her honor.

As I think about Pippa, I’ll always remember the summer of 2015—her first summer. She was supposed to be born on July 12, but that’s not what happened. At the time, Elizabeth and I were concerned with her birth being too close with July 3, which is the date we lost our son, Elliott, in 2014. How would the intermingling of such joy and pain play out? We anticipated that July 3 would be a difficult day.

Yet then Pippa surprised us by coming on June 30. We were overwhelmed with the joy we soon felt for her. When Elliott’s anniversary came a few days later, we were still awash in this joy, so much so that July 3 didn’t quite feel as dismal as we thought it would. We still thought of our Elliott, Pippa’s big brother, and wished for a different circumstance where we could all to be together. Yet the pain didn’t feel quite as acute, which I think is what the Lord had in mind.

It is so like him to take one of our darkest circumstances and cover it with joy. I thought of the verse, Isaiah 55:12. “You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace…”

Every year, we will experience the joy of the Lord through our daughter Pippa on June 30 before the coming of July 3. This joy will go ahead and cover of us and set the tone for what is ahead. And as I’ve thought of it, I believe this will be our experience from now on. We will grieve for Elliott, but now from the position of restored joy.

He has made things new for us through our little Pippa. Thank you Lord.

In other news, today I also finished my 6th round of chemo. Amazingly, I am still feeling pretty good. If you saw me, you probably wouldn’t think I am sick, because I certainly don’t look like it. I certainly do deal with a fair amount of fatigue, but over all the side effects have been manageable and I am thankful. Even in light of the new drug Cabozantinib, the only side effect thus far has been a little bit of extra fatigue. We call the drug “Cabo” for short. It can be anything like the Mexican beach party destination. The side effects can be very nasty though I thank God I haven’t had any yet.

 

 

Call me a fringe fan, but I love watching soccer…er football. I discovered, quite by accident, that the Copa America Tournament would be taking place this June, with every game on U.S. soil. The tournament, which is older than the World Cup, features 16 teams from South, Central and North America. I was in a doctor’s office waiting room, when I saw the cover of Sports Illustrated featuring Argentina’s Lionel Messi, arguably one of the best players in the world.

How the heck did I not hear about this tournament? I thought. But such is life in a country that doesn’t care much about soccer. The reason I love watching this sport comes down to several reasons, though the following is not an exhaustive list.

1. The action is continuous. There are no commercials once the game starts. Let that fact sink in a second. There is a break between halves, but an intense 45 minutes or so, I’m usually thankful for the reprieve. Sports like baseball and American football annoy me sometimes because it seems there is only action about 5-10 percent of the time.
2. Soccer players are incredibly fit. Make no mistake, the game is an endurance sport. Players run an average of 7.5 miles per game, with midfielders perhaps even running more than that. Back when I played on a team, I appreciated that aspect. Soccer is anything but lazy.
3. Sometimes the acting is comical. There certainly are plenty of plays and fouls where players have hard collisions. But inevitably it is a strategy for players to try and draw a free kick by feigning a foul. It’s amazing how a slight brush from another player can prompt a 180-pound male to fall over like a bag of bricks, writhing in pain. Sometimes the Oscar-worthy antics are funny, other times annoying. In the end, it’s all part of the sport.
4. Soccer doesn’t require a lot of equipment. A pair of shoes, shinguards. That’s about it, really. Which is why it is a very widespread sport, even in poor nations. It explains why a much smaller country can give the U.S. a run for its money.
5. Watching high level players is mesmerizing. It’s crazy to watch someone who can trap the ball like they have velcro on their feet, shoot with power and accuracy, or even one-time the ball off their chest and bicycle kick in the net.
6. The U.S. men’s team continues to get better (the women’s team is already top-notch). This year is the first time the U.S. Men’s Team has advanced in the Copa America since 1995. That’s a long time.
7. The fans and announcers are passionate. Anyone who has ever heard the announcers shout, “Gooooooooooooooal” have some understanding of this zeal. After all, soccer is the most watched sport around the world.

While the tournament didn’t start off so well for the U.S. Men’s Team (they lost 2-0 to Columbia), they have bounced back and won the last 3 games, and also their bracket, and are currently in the semi-finals game, essentially the Final Four of the tourney.

This has proved an excellent diversion for me the past few weeks. While I wish I was actually the one playing, I still am enjoying tuning into these games, and the action does still get the blood pumping a bit.

Though, it seems my game watching opportunities could be short-lived, considering the U.S. plays the number one FIFA ranked team, Argentina tonight at 8 p.m. People are not giving the U.S. much of a chance, especially because they will be missing several key players due to some controversial yellow and red cards. I would have to agree that the U.S. is really going to have to step things up if they want a chance.

Regardless, I’m thankful for the opportunity to watch some quality games from a quality sport this summer.

 

 

 

Like most Americans we had big plans for Memorial Day Weekend. Elizabeth and I and our daughter headed to my family’s lake cabin in Northern Minnesota, not too far from Itasca State Park. True to form, it did rain a bit during Saturday and Sunday–we always marvel how the weather is always somewhat rainy during this weekend each year, even if it was sunny all week.

As usual, it was great weekend with family (14 of us total) which included a lot of boating, game playing and hanging out. Curiously we did not watch any war movies.

The big hiccup for me happened on Monday, the actual holiday. We were due to head back to Sioux Falls and I started having some nasty pain that eventually resulted in me taking an ambulance ride once we returned home. My wife wrote a great post about this here. I highly recommend following her blog, too. She’s a great writer!

This misshap was quite unpredictable and I hope the story, which is still going, has a good ending. Time will tell.

I have been ruminating on the following phrase from the book of James the past several weeks: “Believers in humble circumstances ought to take pride in their high position (James 1:9b NIV).”

The phrase, in context, is speaking about Christians who were financially poor with very little material means. The author, James, calls this humble place a “high position,” or actually a place of blessing. In God’s economy, somehow being low meant that you were high—that possessing less was actually a place where a person possessed more—much more.

This elevation is not often how I think about humility.
Though the context of this passage points to financial means, Bible scholars also apply the same principles to people in other types of “humble circumstances.”

When I think about a low position, I think about my life being out of control and scary. Humility seems to be the place where order breaks down into chaos and we have to admit that we are not in control and that there are many unknowns in our life—that there re bigger things at play then just our desires.

Walking this cancer journey has been very much a humble path. It’s not that I feel I have unlocked some secret to this virtue, but rather this disease has literally put me in an inescapable position, hoping the Lord intervenes. There are a lot of things in my life that are now uncertain—namely my future. Within this broad category lie important subcategories like my physical health, career, relationships with family, my service to God—all of these have been affected and could be altered even more.

Take for example my physical health. Several months ago, I was in peak physical condition, including competing in several triathlons. I placed in the top three of my age group in each race, which friends said would be very difficult to do in Boulder County, considering the influx of fit people and pro athletes. At 36 years old, I seemed to be getting fitter instead of declining.

Then came cancer. This low position brought me into a complete reversal of my health. It has kept me from exercising regularly—something I enjoy that helps clear my mind as well as keep me healthy. Paradoxically, I have exercised the least amount of my life the past 6 months.

In addition, the disease has caused back pain, miserable muscle spasms, fatigue and many other symptoms. There have been several times where I’ve needed to ride in a wheelchair. But even worse for me was having to rely on my wife to carry things like our suitcases, infant car seat, etc. I have loved serving my wife tirelessly by carrying the bulk of heavy things and doing physical house chores. But not so much these days.

These setbacks have been somewhat minor individually, but when you add them up they are incredibly painful for me.

Yet, somehow James calls me blessed in this state. For one thing, health is nice, financial security is nice, but they aren’t always there when I want them. In fact, the more I ponder life, the more I know that my relationship with God is the greatest thing I have going for me.  This is greatly illustrated in the story of Abraham. Rather than riches or fighting men being his greatest good, God himself was his reward (Genesis 15:1 NIV).

Uncertainty and poverty help remind me that I am not in control. And while this might feel like the most terrifying place imaginable, to be held up by the “Everlasting Arms” should give me far more comfort and joy then I give it credit for. I soon find in God an ever present help, a fortress, a deliverer. I may not feel in control of my life, but I gain a closeness with God that is so much more than I ever lost.

I pray that I can remember these truths. They are often difficult to see from the misty barrenness of the low position I find myself in.

Lord, give me strength to remember that you are my “shield, (my) very great reward (Genesis 15:1b).” In this new life of living low, help me to find the greatest gain in you. I pray you wouldn’t just be a consolation prize in my life, but that you would be the prize. I pray for this in Jesus name, Amen. 

 

 

 

 

I finished my second round of chemotherapy this week.

Up until now, the thought of the c-word conjured images of drinking a nasty concoction akin to weed killer. How else would you explain the array of side effects? I mean, I might as well go buy some Miracle Grow and ingest that—at least I could drink the poison in my own time rather than go through the rigmarole at the hospital.

If it’s not clear, chemotherapy is the part of my cancer journey that I have least wanted to face. In reality, I have feared it. It seemed to make my cancer so “official.” Up until now, people have often told me, “Wow, you don’t look sick.” I liked that and wasn’t ready to give it up.

But, sooner or later I knew I would have to face chemo.

That’s how I found myself at the Avera Infusion Center on a Thursday afternoon. I pictured all of the patients organized in neat rows in a large room, like a bingo parlor. But here there are no prizes to win, though at Avera, each patient does get their own room, complete with a reclining chair and flat screen TV. I was thankful for the privacy and comfort.

Rather than having to drink chemo, they actually infuse it through an IV.

First they start with a liquid bag of anti nausea stuff, then saline, and finally the cisplatin (chemo.) Surprisingly, I could not taste or feel the solution. Yet after a few hours of the infusion, I began to feel bloated and uncomfortable. But not sick.

That came the next day. It started around noon. My stomach began feeling a bit unsettled and by dinnertime, I had absolutely no appetite and I felt like throwing up. Nausea is this heavy feeling that takes over your body, though directed through your stomach. You feel tired and unsettled and it can be accompanied by a bad taste in your mouth. The thought of food is revolting. The only way to feel better, other than for time to pass, is to lie down.

And once lying down, TV proved a nice distraction. Lucky for me there was a channel playing back-to-back James Bond movies. In between fitful naps, I watched parts of movies, including the The Spy Who Loved Me, where Bond skis through a beautiful Austrian powder field, only to be chased by several Soviet soldiers on skis.

There were plenty of other movies, too, including the classic, Goldfinger, whose villain is obsessed with all things gold. In my suffering slumber, sometimes it was difficult to differentiate between the movie and reality.

“Ah Mr. Lawrence, I too have a new toy,” says Goldfinger. “You are looking at an industrial laser. It can locate a spot on the moon, or at closer range, cut through solid metal.”

Tied to a chair, the laser began to inch its way toward my crotch, while I sat there sweating.

“Ok Goldfinger, you’ve made your point,” I say.

“Careful,” Goldfinger says. “Your next witty remark could be your last.”

Of course, I find a way to narrowly escape, and do away with Goldfinger. And thus goes the famous scene.

Unfortunately my nauseous haze continued for another day or two—long enough for me to catch more bits and pieces of Bond movies. In all, I watched saw four different actors playing the famous British agent— Roger Moore, Pierce Brosnan, Timothy Dalton and Sean Connery (my favorite). Though, by now I was getting rather bored of TV and kept hoping I’d feel better.
It turns out my sickness could have been avoided in part. I later found out I was taking too low a dose of Zofran, an anti nausea drug. I certainly paid a high price! The next week during my second round of chemo I got the Zofran dosage right and felt much better—good enough to even go watch one of my niece’s soccer games and go out for dinner.

And so maybe chemo is not quite as bad as I thought. If I stay on top of my meds, the nausea can be significantly reduced. And, as far as other side effects, my doctor said I probably won’t lose much hair (if any). I’m sure there could be other side effects, but none that I’ve noticed thus far.

Then again, we will see what happens when they add the other two parts of chemo, which includes immunotherapy.

Following my Double O Seven Binge, I took a break from TV for the next several days. Though, the movies did make an impression. I realized I was quoting a lot of lines, some obscure and some well known. When my wife asked me if I wanted some ice water to drink, I quipped: “Sure…but shaken, not stirred.”

Even without logging the view time I did, she easily caught the reference.