Deeper things - surrender

Today, sorta rough...nausea and stomach pain...the oncologist said, I'd likely sail through the first round of chemo and the first few weeks of radiation. If this is sailing...I am prone to sea sickness! Yuch.

But I was thinking as I was lying in bed about the concept of surrender...in many contexts...there's of course, the ultimate surrender of one's life and will to God, and there is also the daily surrender (thank you 3rd step) and there is a daily decision in this process for me to surrender to despair or some type of deeper, and more meaningful and dignified surrender to whatever suffering is handed to me.

And this poem... the most difficult I have posted....I have been pondering for several years after it was given to me by a student at a local private university where I consulted at the Student Counseling Office...it was her favorite poem...when I was 19, my favorite poem was a Dylan song...not something so complex...but here we go...

There is surrendering in one's "captivity" in suffering, that is liberating.

What Are Years?

What is our innocence,
what is our guilt? All are
naked, none is safe. And whence
is courage: the unanswered question,
the resolute doubt, -
dumbly calling, deafly listening-that
in misfortune, even death,
encourage others
and in it's defeat, stirs

the soul to be strong? He
sees deep and is glad, who
accedes to mortality
and in his imprisonment rises
upon himself as
the sea in a chasm, struggling to be
free and unable to be,
in its surrendering
finds its continuing.

So he who strongly feels,
behaves. The very bird,
grown taller as he sings, steels
his form straight up. Though he is captive,
his mighty singing
says, satisfaction is a lowly
thing, how pure a thing is joy.
This is mortality,
this is eternity.


Marianne Moore

Deeper things- can you be happy and miserable?

For me, as yet, no. Last evening I felt miserable, as miserable as yet I've known...generally bad from head to toe, with certain stopping points in between expressing their displeasure with more strength of conviction. But, today, after a good night sleep, I feel a little less miserable, and I was worried that this would be the day chemo would really do its delayed number. So...here's my lesson for today: One doesn't need to feel well to feel happy, one just needs to feel less miserable to let some happiness flow back in. In my life I have generally felt well throughout years 1-57, so, I have only limited knowledge of this kind of happiness. Another good day, is just, well, another good day in a string of so many. It is no big cause to celebrate...but today...I feel weak, but not nauseated and not in any stomach pain...the antibiotic may be helping in that regard... today, I will enjoy living life here, and maybe even let a little happiness seep in....here's my celebration poem!!!! ENJOY!!!! (Another Naomi Shihab Nye masterpiece)

So Much Happiness

It is difficult to know what to do with so much happiness.
With sadness there is something to rub against,
A wound to tend with lotion and cloth.
When the world falls in around you, you have pieces to pick up,
Something to hold in your hands, like ticket stubs or change.

But happiness floats.
It doesn’t need you to hold it down.
It doesn’t need anything.
Happiness lands on the roof of the next house, singing,
And disappears when it wants to.
You are happy either way.
Even the fact that you once lived in a peaceful tree house
And now live over a quarry of noise and dust
Cannot make you unhappy.
Everything has a life of its own,
It too could wake up filled with possibilities
Of coffee cake and ripe peaches,
And love even the floor which needs to be swept,
The soiled linens and scratched records….

Since there is no place large enough
To contain so much happiness,
You shrug, you raise your hands, and it flows out of you
Into everything you touch. You are not responsible.
You take no credit, as the night sky takes no credit
For the moon, but continues to hold it, and to share it,
And in that way, be known.

~ Naomi Shihab Nye ~

deeper things - He knows, He knows

Today was day 3 radiation, and NO chemo...and a brief meeting with Dr. Ward (remember, Eddie Haskell, but nicer...) about the feeding tube infection.

Well, just as I finally began to look forward to my once nightly time with Psalm 23, and blogged about that, God has rewarded me with a second flushing each day as a result of the infection...and a double dose of antibiotics...The second flushing will allow for a double dose of the Psalms, as well. I have decided to peruse the whole book of Psalms (1-150 straight through) before this journey is over. I'll still kept the beloved Psalm 23 for my daily second "flush," but the first one will go one by one or two by two depending on the time I have each day. I sense the Lord is saying...stay with Me in Psalms...they'll be time for the rest of the OT and NT at other times and other places in this journey. But here's where we will meet and dwell together for the time being...

I am needing the nausea meds already, and I am going to see four clients this afternoon... we will see how that goes...then the weekend off to rest up for the journey next week. Hey, after next week it's a 3 day weekend, and only a 4 day radiation week to follow (we all so need rest from our labor).

checking in - same as it ever was

Day two was essentially a rerun of day one... radiation for the appetizer and chemotherapy for the main dish...with just a little spice added with the apparent infection from the feeding tube...I see that Doc tomorrow after radiation. A variety of nausea pills for dessert. Enough, of the details, man, just another long day.

Here's the thing...in two days...it seems like I've lived this day over and over my whole life...why does that not happen when one is on a vacation to a pleasant village or coast or continent...then...one says this after the week vacation is coming to an end..."I finally feel like I am just starting to unwind, and we have to go home tomorrow." Let me tell you, it only takes 2 days of this to feel like I've been on this visit here for years.

Through a variety of e-mails and posts...the correct statement from yesterday's post was "I was "lying" on a metal table...not "laying" on a metal table...apparently most everyone above the third grade in this country knew that but me. And the feedback was 100 percent consistent in this correction. By the way...one of the anti-nausea meds is a steroid...so we were told that irritability and sleep problems for the next few days can be expected...there...I finally have a good excuse. Our cat is hiding under the bed for the time being. And if I wind up at a Gym pumping iron at 3:00AM...move over Barry Bonds!

Here's an amazing thing....I am looking forward to my evening visit with Psalm 23...it's just an hour or so away...I will linger in that green pasture as long as I need for some real refreshment...and the short detour of irrigating that nasty feeding tube wont hardly be noticed! I'm sure this is something I will need to remind myself three weeks from now, when I might be relying on that tube for most of my nutrition, but today...I will live here...and let myself soak it all in.

2 treatment days down...33 treatment days to go.

checking in & a deeper thing

Checking in -

Day one of radiation, and day one of chemo is over. 34 days of radiation and 3 or 5 chemo days left. ( 5 if my overall condition, blood counts, etc. can handle the last two chemo days during week 7; three chemo days left if my physical state can't tolerate it).

It was a long day... It took me till about 2:30 AM to fall asleep last night, in spite of an ambian/lorazepam cocktail at 10. For the first time, thoughts of "tomorrow" crept a little too forcefully into my going-to-sleep-wandering-thoughts, and let me know that no sleeping pill was as powerful as they. Anyway, we were out the door at 6:45AM and to Omaha by 8:00. First radiation, not a big problem, but my head is encased in a mask that is so tight I can't open or shut my eyelids once it's on and screwed into the metal table I was laying on. (could any reader give me a definitive answer here...was I laying on the table or lying on the table...?). OK, so...you know when you are in the dentist chair, and have been shot up with Novacain..and you have cotton rolls between your teeth and your gums, and the dentist has perhaps one or two dental instruments working in your mouth, and the little suction tube digging into the sensitve flesh under your tongue...and then asks you a question...SO, HOW HAS YOUR SUMMER BEEN...DID YOU TAKE A VACATION? And you, like an idiot, try to respond...prtttttgdddwhaavntgnnywhrerrryet.....well, I have my head screwed into this table, and it feels like it's being flattened into a two dimensional plane...and the assistant asks me how much rain did we have to drive through and one or two other questions....my answer to each question sounded like this...gggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggwwwwwwwwwwww.

OK...after removing the mask, my head has pretty much returned to its relatively normal three dimensional space. And, of course, after the first day...no symptoms and no ill will on my part toward that evil instrument of terror.

Then, a blood draw, a brief meeting with the oncologsit, and up the elevator for my day of chemo. One bit of mildly disappointing news from the oncologist...given the tenderness of the stomach PEG and the feel of the flesh around it, he suspects a slight infection ...can anything at this stage really be considered "slight?" which he informs me will be knocked out, no problemo, with a week of antibiotics.

So, chemo was generally OK...one little surprise I was not prepared for...in addition to the cancer drug (Cisplatin...sp?) they gave me a nice pouch full of lasix (my first encounter with that powerfully effective drug)...to flush all the liquid out of my system...and then proceeded to add somewhere between a gallon and a bathtub full of saline solution along with the cancer drug...now...they will have to deal with the worn carpet path between the recliner chair I was sitting in and the restroom. I would get to the restroom, wheeling that IV pole just like I've seen done in the movies...then...AHHHHHHHH. Then, I would return to the recliner, try to get comfy...ask Kathy to get that blanket around me...(I'm sure they also were used the chemo room as a meat locker just behind some screens we couldn't see past)...and just as the blanket and I were arranged in the recliner...I'd flip that chair back to it's fully locked and upright position, and off I'd be again, wheeling my chemo behind me....and on and on like that most of the five hours. They also added some antinausea meds, and sent me home with prescriptions for a variety of other antinausea meds...so far so good! OK...we got home around 6PM.

Overall, I am quite relieved to have this first day behind me...and just a little worn out from the day...so I'll combine the post with a quick "deeper things" entry which renewed me like spinach to Popeye when he's been run over and flattened by a steam roller...


Deeper things - NIGHT THREE ... PSALM 23 RITUAL


The last thing I felt like doing after being infused with about a hot-tubs worth of liquid was to come home and shoot another 60ml into my stomach...but I did...and as I now practice...I recited the 23 Psalm...each day, I notice I am slowing down the process of recitation...good for me...

and then...the verse "He restoreth my soul" LIT UP...and I experienced a sense of soul re-inflation...I dont know if I can describe it better than that.
A definite "deeper thing" to top my day off...and somehow tonight....."it is well with my soul." Thanks, God!!!

Oh, and another thing...I feel you praying for me...and I ride on those prayers like a surfer riding a beautiful wave...thank you all so much!!!!!!

GOD BLESS YOU!

checking in - the day before...

The day before cancer treatment begins

It rains, the sun comes out, it rains again.
The day doesn’t know what to make of itself.
There’s a holding of breath,
a stillness.
A muffled voice down the road
beckons, "come forth..."
then, "flee the scene!"
I spend the day
waiting
for tomorrow.

deeper things - rescued by a psalm

Last evening, I didn’t get home until 8:30 from my office. At once, it was time for that dreaded task...60 ml. of water, shot right into my stomach, forget the mouth. Easily done...The dread, again, was in what it communicated...no... what it shouted... "your life is about to get all out of whack, drinking water this way...next stop, you will be on fire...” And then, as I was shooting that H2O ...this popped into my mind... “my cup runneth over.” At first, it seemed a silly thought, but before I could think... "I really hate doing this" ...I had this other thought...."He leadeth me beside still waters.” Not exactly the still waters that I had ever put together with that psalm, but then... but then, the words to that Psalm were flooding me, pouring over, through and into me, filling me...of course...THIS IS GOING TO BE HOW I WILL DO THIS... I will lie down, prepare this “table,” I will have to drink this way...but even in this valley of the shadow of death... "thou art with me.” I KNEW, oh my, I at once knew that I would NEVER lie down with that feeding tube again without hearing the 23rd Psalm in my mind. How can I convey this awareness...these are just letters and words, but I tell you, the hand that slowly pushes that water through that syringe is itself being gently held by the hand that is lovingly leading me through this path. And it is not cancer that is following me...it is goodness and mercy...all the days of my life!

Days until radiation...1 day ........ Days until chemotherapy...1 day

Psalm 23

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:
he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul:
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: for thou art with me;
thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:
thou anointest my head with oil;
my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:
and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.

checking in - a hard slap in the face

I started thinking this morning, "what good poem would people like to read today." Then, I slapped myself hard in the face. What am I thinking? If I make this blog about "entertainment" or writing for the benefit of readers, then it's value to me will be lost. It will become just one more in a string of behaviors designed to win others' approval. Oh, I remember keeping a diary around age 13, and trying to be witty, in case anyone found it. I very much need to forget an audience here, as this journey may, indeed, get difficult, and, as I have already discovered, this blog may be a lifeline of sorts.

So...will I succeed at forgetting the audience? Guaranteed, I will fail again and again and again. If you scroll down to the bottom of this page, you will see how many "visits" this blog has achieved since August 15, when I installed that bit of wizardry. At least, I am keeping that number public, so that it will not become a secret little obsession for me to check every hour...we all can see it...nothing hidden. (and my own visits don't count, thank goodness, or I'd be tempted to log in over and over to get past the next milestone... sheesh) Truthfully, if I didn't want an audience, I could have just as easily downloaded some "journal" software, or there might even be that template already on the computer I use. OK, so I am a bit of a hypocrite. Truth is, I want people to keep reading...somehow it feels like support for the tough times to come. And, it does make me feel cared for. In some unusual way, it has made all this so much more bearable. So...I just have to not let that become the primary driver here. Already, there are times I feel letting on when things are difficult will disappoint you. I will SLAP MYSELF HARD for that thought. (And don't say..."don't be so hard on yourself!") I started writing this thing to process my feelings and maybe go a little beyond that.

Then, the realization that my writing will soon enough begin to bore people hit me. After all, how much..."poor me, I hurt" will people really choose to put up with? So I had this thought...what if I did this for a whole week, and nobody showed up? How embarrassing!! Then, for a third time I slapped myself. I am doing this for ME!!!
When will I fully get that? Maybe later...enough of this.

Here's what I want to get to if I can stop rambling. Each day for the last three days, I have had to "inject" myself via the stomach tube feeder with 60ML of water,(probably about a half a cup) just to keep the thing flowing, or clean, or whatever. After a little apprehension the first night, I found it is easy to do, and painless. But what I wasn't prepared for, was the wave of despair that followed that act. I hate it. I hate feeling that this is what has become of me. Last night, I wanted to disappear. I want to stop this whole thing, and I am still two days away from my first day of radiation and chemo. I want to be traded to a different team. How about the team that has hay fever. I'll even take the team that is allergic to milk products, and has to play in a hot climate. Just get me off of this thing... I want it to stop and I haven't even started.

It has come like a bad wave, and it briefly washes all the deeper things out to sea. I just feel so damn sad! And then, it passes...last night, as I was in the midst of that, I reached over to my night table by the bed, where I always have a stack of books and magazines on the verge of toppling, and I picked up a book of poems by Naomi Shihab Nye...who always lifts my spirits. She is amazing. Here is the poem I read, and it lifted me out of my funk...I'll tell you why, before you read it...the poet admits to her own failure to live by the lofty ideas expressed earlier in the poem. It made me smile. (me...I write this blog without a care or thought of the reader...HA!) And one smile was enough to pull me out from that undertow that was pulling me into a sea of sadness. One real smile. Once again, I thought, it's going to be OK. That first line is great. It doesn't take much to save my life...just one really good phrase.

Here's the poem:

The Problem of Muchness

One thing does not lead to another,
it leads to everything.

Days as pennies, grasses, tidal swells of speckled distraction,
and how could you waste time, really?
What did it mean to waste time?

If you stared at a soft beam of light crossing a floor,
was that looking wasted?

The concept of "catching-up"
felt troublesome, too.
Catch up with what?
The yellow Post-it notes strewn across the desk?

I tried never to rush, never to think of more than one thing
at any given moment.
Ha.
While brushing hair I remembered unsent letters.
While feeding the cat I saw weeds wagging their tongues.

----------Naomi Shihab Nye-----------

Deeper things - my story so far

For those of you who have just recently started reading this blog, I thought I'd catch you up on my story...

Apparently, at some point in time, I had left a door or a window in my life open just long enough for three strangers to slip in. Wolves with cute names, these...they noisily announced their presence:
“I’m CT”
“I’m Biopsy”
“Call me PET”

Just as quickly as these uninvited guests slipped in, out the back door scurried three good ol’boys that I thought were going to keep me company for years to come. These “friends” went by the names:
"Health"
"Invincibility"
"Delusions of Immortality"

Wasting no time at all, my new house guests invited a few of their pals...these went by more ominous names:

Metastasized (“call me Met”)
Tumor (“call me Tumie”)
Carcinoma (“call me...Johnny”)

Some of these had already brought in their bags and were settling in and getting all cozy in a room called “Tonsil;” others, deciding it was too crowded in there, took a room down the hall called “lymph node.”

As soon as they were good and settled in, almost in unison, a loud cry rang out through the house... "IT’S PARTY TIME.” Guests and more guests arrived by the score...faster and faster they came.

When a nice crowd had gathered, there was some grumbling...no one brought any supplies. Finally, a few volunteers came forward...

“I’ll bring the chemo” exclaimed one.
“I’ll bring radiation” piped in another.
“And I’ll poke this tap through his stomach and we’ll get this gig rolling”, a third playfully announced .

Hiding under my desk, in the back of the house, I frantically looked out the window for any signs of my old friends...a glimpse here...a shadow there...alas, they must have all gone home and left me here to face these new guests alone. Discouraged and resigned to this fate, I slowly turned back around. To my utter surprise, I spotted a few other arrivals I hadn’t even noticed, sitting by the computer...had they been there all along?

“I’m patience”
“I’m love”
“I’m compassionate friends and family”
“and I’m your faithful God”...said the one surrounded in Light.

Oh, how my heart lept at their presence!!! We sat together in silence, we prayed, we shared an embrace...and then....called all the house guests in for an announcement:

“For now, we will share this house together; there’s surprising space in here for us all. Let’s open the curtains, let in the light of morning, and greet each day as it comes. We will call this place... HOME."

and so it goes....

checking in - more about yesterday

I am not yet ready to go back to writing of deeper things, though it's where I want always to live; I can't seem to find my way there today, so, I am checking in again...

One observation about yesterday, and then a revealing interview...when I arrived to check in to the hospital, I was informed Dr. Ward would be doing the surgery. As I lay waiting on the hospital bed after the IV was inserted, antibiotic and saline solution flowing within, I had this image...I was Beaver Cleaver, and I was waiting for Ward Cleaver to come and make everything OK...soon Wally would walk in and rustle my hair and exclaim...gee beave, you really did it this time! There was some comfort in thinking Dr. Ward would be this kindly father figure. Then, I was brought to another room to wait for the arrival of the Dr...45 minutes late, (but who's counting?)...no big deal, and the nurse was kind enough to tell me his previous surgery was running over due to unanticipated complications. Oh, thank you for sharing... well, in walks Dr. Ward...and I'll be... if he is not the spitting image of a grown up Eddie Haskell. Hey, who cares...thank you Dr. Ward, for taking such good care of me.

Now, on to the interview...

INTERVIEWER: Can you tell us, Steve, how much bland food (chicken a la king, over mashed potatoes, not biscuits, thank you Kathy, it was delicious!) one should eat following the insertion earlier in the day of a garden hose into your stomach?

STEVE: Excellent question! Yes, in fact, I can tell you precisely...one should eat exactly one-half of the amount I snarfed down last evening.

INTERVIEWER: So, Steve, what happens when you eat twice as much as you should following stomach surgery?

STEVE: Again, a good question...I am happy to answer, with a simple demonstration. Observe...I am holding in my hand one regulation U.S. Army Combat Boot. Now, I am putting it on my foot. Now would you please step back two steps so I can implant this in your gut?

INTERVIEWER: I understand... let's move on to another question... Dr. Blum, I have heard that Sigmund Freud, dying of cancer of the jaw, forewent any pain medication because he felt so dedicated to his work that he did not want to chance dulling his concentration or have anything interfere with his writing of his insights and theory. Have you had similar thoughts regarding your work?

STEVE: (checking his watch) hmmmm 30 minutes early...(but who's counting?) Excuse me, could you pass me that cup of water? Now, what was that question?

INTERVIEWER: It is well known you have suffered since early childhood with periodic insomnia...(thank you Tim Tyler, wherever you roam). Have your meds allowed you to get past the discomfort of that Home Depot deluxe, triple-ply beauty, and get any rest last night?

STEVE: You must understand, Bill...we who journey to the land of Versed, and travel home down the path of Oxycodone, Ambien, Lorazepam, all the while liberally snacking on extra strength Tylenol live in a region known as the Twilight Zone; we are neither asleep nor awake...did I just mention the Twilight Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz?

INTERVIEWER: It's Chad...Dr. Blum, I see you have scheduled yourself to see six clients today. Don't you find that irresponsible, or at least a little questionable, given your present Mental Status?

STEVE: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzyouseemdisappointedandhurt, Bob.....zzzzzzzzzzzzzz,

INTERVIEWER: My name is Chad

STEVE: Right....please, continue Rob, you were discusszzzzzzzzzzzzzzzing your feelings?

INTERVIEWER: Thank you Dr. Blum, you've been quite informative, but I am afraid we are out of time........ Do you have any final thoughts to share with our readers?

STEVE: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

checking in - all is well

Alright...no fear, no anxiety, and I floated through this on  your prayers...now I can tell you what it feels like to be shot in the stomach...actually, rather,  I can tell you what it feels like to be shot in the stomach after being heavily medicated...actually, not exactly, as I have no memory whatsoever of what it feels like to be shot in the stomach because I was in the Twilight Zone.  And now, I can tell you what it feels like behind the walls of your shower...with about 12 feet of PVC pipe running every which way...actually, it is not quite PVC pipe and it is not quite 12 feet...actually I am trying to get this typed before this OXYCODONE takes me back into the Twilight Zone...I think I hear Rod Serling beckoning me forward.  Look...up ahead...at the next signpost....

Hey, I love you all....while I am still a little loopy,  and about to get a little loopier...I just want to tell you...I really love you all...and, to my God, well, where does my heart end and Yours begin...it's getting blurier and blurier.  

checking in - nothing but clear liquids after midnight

What magic is there in these words that so stimulates the appetite?  Why suddenly does a bowl of Cheerios swimming contentedly amongst a large handful of fresh blueberries in a pool of milk, next to a couple of slices of whole wheat toast and butter (maybe a pinch of jam), sound so impossibly delicious?

The birds on Rexford are once again sleeping in, but the choir on Shenandoah Drive was up early and gloriously welcoming the day...so I joined with them in my morning song:

Refusing to look back

and joyful with infinite gratitude

never fear to rise to meet the dawn

Praising

Blessing

And Singing:

Christ your Lord.

Thanks, my winged choir of Shenandoah Drive, for the accompaniment.

DAYS TILL STOMACH PEG.......O.......(3 hours)

and, as another song says....."JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL"

deeper things - Maddie

There are two disturbing things to me about blogging, that I am sure others have grappled with.

1. This can be extremely self absorbing … it’s as if I am standing on my life’s balcony with the lights on and the drapes pulled back shouting at every passerby…come…take a good look…aren’t I something!!!

2. I do not want to be the Dead Sea… i.e, water flows in, nothing flows out….as I mentioned before , I am overwhelmed by all the compassion and love I feel flowing in since this cancer diagnosis…if I can not find a way to make myself a conduit from here on out, and let that love and compassion flow through me and beyond me…than I am most pitiful. I have some ideas…but I’ll share those later… I may need your help….

I am taking a break today from my self-fascination to write about Maddie…a 7 year old angel who has endured Cerebral Palsy and Epilepsy since birth. Maddie was adopted as an infant by my colleague and friend Ty, the Facility Operating Officer at a Psychiatric Hospital here in Nebraska. Ty and her husband have nurtured and cared for many, many children over the years…as well as many many pets of many many species. Her boundless energy seems limitless. When I first heard Ty mention Maddie a few years ago, I felt an instant love for this little girl and tug on my heart. Ty described the struggles Maddie was having with multiple daily seizures, her CP, other medical issues, frequent hospitalizations, etc. My dreaded stomach feeding tube which may be used for a month or two of my life, has been a daily reality for Maddie since she was three; she graciously takes this in stride, adorning it with charms (belly rings...she still gets to taste and eat pumpkin pie and ice cream.) Maddie is a bundle of joy and full of the love of life; she seems to bring joy to everyone who knows her. Her life itself is a miracle and a gift, as the medical consensus was that she would not survive even the first year of her life. And, as you see from the pictures above Maddie is still joyfully proving them wrong.
There is an organization…Locks of Love. Locks of Love is a public non-profit organization that provides hairpieces to financially disadvantaged children in the United States and Canada under age 18 suffering from long-term medical hair loss from any diagnosis. To date, Maddie has contributed around 30 inches of beautiful golden hair…I believe a record in the area for her age group. She grows her golden hair all year and around her birthday, makes her gift…Such an angel!

If those traveling this journey with me would add Maddie to your prayers, you would make me very happy…thanks, Ty, and thanks, Maddie, for allowing me to share your story.

deeper things - how God heals

just watch…I am not saying I will be healed in the sense of my cancer (though I am sure hoping and praying for it!) but I am talking about a deeper healing. When I am weak…He is strong! And, knowing myself like I do…He will have LOTS of opportunity to be strong in my life in the coming weeks. And let me tell you something you may already know, but I am just learning...He brings fresh and new ways of healing daily into my life. I may fail in my strength and my faith and my courage; He will not! And, thankfully, after all, it is His strength I’ll be leaning on. We’ll watch and pay attention…if you want to share this journey with me, we will all watch together.

I just know.

So about yesterday’s checking in post…surely one of my weak moments…I didn’t have an 8 AM client so I posted around 8AM from my home…and then went to my office…and waiting for me there was an e-mail from a friend, Karma Larsen; not just a friend, but a gifted poet… she had written this poem (below) after receiving an e-mail from me a week or so ago, informing her that I had been diagnosed with cancer. I read this poem having just posted myself … (yes, I often feel like I am posting “myself“)… of the roots of a childhood fear, born around a mythical campfire circa 1960.

And here is my thought…one day I bring to the table a memory…the story of a campfire out of control which burned fear into my childhood heart. Truthfully, I had never been so afraid, nor have I since. Night after night, the frame of my bed shook with me. And what do I receive in return? Here is Karma’s poem, written ahead of my recollection…and around this campfire…is how God heals me for today.... small coincidence? Stretching a bit to get there? Perhaps…

but around this campfire…we are encircled in love, by Love.

just watch….



gathering at campfires

the email comes
cancer / stage four / treatment
shattered, i gather supplies
courage, remembrance, love
bring them to the campfire.

in my sister’s note the women gather
one by one they tell their stories
AIDs palpable there beside them, within them
how, as the new one sobbed
their chairs moved closer and closer
tears on every face
as they encircled her.

i imagine this from high above
the people gathering their bundles
sorrow, sin, remorse
moving toward each other
how, as evening deepened,
the circles would expand and touch
dispelling the darkness.


Karma Larsen

checking in - morning walk of agitation

This morning's walk...I didn't notice the birds, the crickets, the breeze, the cool late August air. I was counting, crunching numbers. My own maladaptive coping response. I am a few days from having the stomach "PEG" inserted, and this, I think, was weighing on me. I can tell you that September will mark 30 years of working as a Psychologist, that if I am able to keep working, we will be able to pay off the mortgage in 84 months...three months before the magic age of 65. I can tell you that I was 29 years and one month old when I got my Ph.D. and it will be take about 5 more months for me to be able to say I was a "Doctor" exactly the same length of time that I was NOT a Doctor in my life.

This morning, I was on the last turn of the walk, and I realized I hadn't noticed a whole stretch of houses that usually catches my attention. This morning, I was working the numbers.

This stomach feeding tube, which may only be briefly necessary for a few weeks at the worst of the treatment process, has all of a sudden got me unnerved. I'm not thinking about radiation or chemo...I'm bummed about this tube. I dont want to look that way, and I don't want to squeeze liquid through a tube into my stomach, like inflating a flat tire with some canned gel from the glove box. I know it will not be visible when dressed, but, I am going to be walking around with this thing attached to me.

When I get agitated, when I get scared, I use numbers to bring some crazy sense of restoration to my buzzing brain. I remember taking an aptitude test and I was told I should think about becoming an accountant...Oh, thank God, I passed on that junior high bit of prognostication.

I can tell you about where the numbers thing began...it began with a crazed ax murderer roaming the Catskill mountains... near, of all places, camp Kewanee, a refuge of about 150 suburban Jewish kids whose parents wanted them to escape the confines of the suburbs or the city for the great outdoors, and give them (the parents) an 8 week break...I was age 8 or 9. I was always thinking I had the ability to figure things out; I needed to keep this super ability under wraps, or the edge it gave me would be lost. As probably every camper who ever spent a night in a tent or cabin with a handful of boys and adult supervision has heard...a few years back there was a group of campers, boy scouts, hikers, _________ (fill in the blank to match whatever state of affairs your 8 year old life finds you in.) And these boys were careless about a campfire, which got out of hand, which spread to a nearby farmhouse, cabin, primitive dwelling,etc. where the reclusive Tim Tyler lived with his wife (that was the name of my particular ax murderer). Their dwelling burned down, killing Tim Tyler's wife. Tim went totally insane with grief, and has been roaming the woods with an ax, looking for boys to hack to pieces ever since. Well, this story was NEWS to me!!! AND MY BED WAS THE LAST IN THE CABIN, JUST BELOW THE BACK WINDOW WHICH HAD A SCREEN THAT WAS HELD ON WITH ABOUT THREE THUMBTACKS...TIM TYLER COULD RIP THAT OUT WITHOUT EVEN HAVING TO SET DOWN HIS AX. HE COULD REACH THROUGH THAT WINDOW AND PLUCK ME OUT OF THAT BED LIKE HE WAS REACHING FOR A CHICKEN WING IN A BUCKET OF FRIED CHICKEN.

Well, on night one after learning about this crazed killer, I was not about to go to sleep...I'm no fool. I kept my eye on that screen and one leg half out of the bed so I could bolt as soon as that hand came through the screen. On night two, my counselor, walking to the back of the cabin to use the bathroom at about 3 AM, seeing me still wide awake, asked me why I wasn't sleeping. My reply..."I heard someone rustling around in the woods!" The next day, realizing the situation, the counselor attempted to "debrief" me...told me the story was made up, and THERE WAS NO TIM TYLER. Here's where my super ability kicked in...that is exactly what I would have told a scared kid if I were the counselor...as I said, I am no fool...I will not fall for that attempt at damage control. If everyone knew about Tim Tyler, there wouldn't be any kids at all at this camp; what parent would send their child away to be axed to death by a crazy man. They HAVE to tell you it's just a made up story. I saw right through that counselor's scheme to keep the truth under wraps.

Appearing on day three on the wall by my bed...I taped a hand drawn calendar. Below it was this notation..."DAYS TILL END OF CAMP ______. " These were the number of days I had to survive the clutches of Tim Tyler in order to be able to return home alive and in one piece. I faithfully counted and marked that calendar every morning....I didn't just change the number "24 days" to the number "23 days"...after all, I could have made a mistake...and this was a matter of life and death. NO, I had to carefully COUNT the remaining days on my calendar. Nothing less would suffice. Truth be told, it was not just the roots of my OCD like coping skill, but the birth of my insomnia... From lights out until the tinny recording of the bugle woke us up over the camp P.A. system every morning, I watched that screen...watched through the long hours of the night...

DAYS TILL STOMACH PEG...3 days.

deeper things - the swan

I don't want to say too much about this poem by Mary Oliver, because I don't want to narrow what this poem might open up in each of you...but I italicized the last three lines, because, I am beginning to catch a deeper glimpse into figuring out what beauty there is and what beauty is for and...more importantly, allowing it to change my life. How? It seems He has taken that small part of me that has dwelt among the deeper things and expanded it in all directions. It feels as if my life itself is deepening and all I have to do is trust and rest in Him and accept and allow it to happen. When one's heart is opened...it permeates everything, everywhere...

can't you feel it?



The Swan

Did you too see it, drifting, all night, on the black river?
Did you see it in the morning, rising into the silvery air -
An armful of white blossoms,
A perfect commotion of silk and linen as it leaned
into the bondage of its wings; a snowbank, a bank of lilies,
Biting the air with its black beak?
Did you hear it, fluting and whistling
A shrill dark music - like the rain pelting the trees - like a waterfall
Knifing down the black ledges?
And did you see it, finally, just under the clouds -
A white cross Streaming across the sky, its feet
Like black leaves, its wings Like the stretching light of the river?
And did you feel it, in your heart, how it pertained to everything?
And have you too finally figured out what beauty is for?
And have you changed your life?

deeper things - patience & compassion

the wait of a tumor... the weight of a touch

deeper things - my soft morning walk

Today, August 13, will now and hereafter be known to me as “The Day of my Soft Walk." I am now naming my days. I will honor this one walk with its own day.

Everything was soft about this morning’s 5:45AM walk. The breeze was soft, the birds, deciding to sleep in today, left room for the soft sounds of distant crickets, not the loud harsh variety, but the soft cricket serenade that seems to drift in and out on the breeze. I walked even more slowly than my usual slow pace; at times I am not sure I was walking at all. (confession…I carry a pedometer…my pace…1.38 miles in 41 minutes) I walked through a gauntlet of misty sprinklers on either side of the sidewalk…soft cool mist coating my arms. The sunrise was soft…sneaking up behind the clouds so as not to announce too startlingly its arrival. If I walk slowly enough and softly enough, I thought, I could close my eyes. I did. (I seem to need an alignment…I kept pulling to my left). The muted sleepy owl off in some muted sleepy tree warned me…wwwhhhooo…I think for a moment I drifted away. . No…I don’t think I drifted away. I did drift away. The drifting sealed it…it is now and forever…The Day of my Soft Walk.

deeper things - Steve's top ten Miracle list for today

10. I scheduled a routine annual physical three months ahead of my normal October trek for a physical.

9. My G.P. felt a lump in my neck that I had not myself noticed.

8. My brother in law, Tim, internationally noted ENT at the University of Wisconsin happened to be in Lincoln that very week, (caring for his own sister, Susan, who was herself fighting a brave, but ultimately losing battle with ovarian cancer), and was able to help walk me through the CT scan, biopsy results, etc. and explain what was being discovered in a language I could understand.

7. That said brother-in-law has graciously continued to help coordinate care and treatment.

6. That 3 months before diagnosis, I stumbled upon a blog quite totally randomly ( here is the link...check it out...)

http://hoperenewing.blogspot.com

and I was touched by the courage, honesty, and humor of Diane as she battled with acute myeloid leukemia (AML) and I had the thought, "if I ever have to deal with cancer, I will remember to make every effort to do it as graciously, and a blog might be one way, in fact, to help process such a journey.

5. That a year or so ago, I went to the local hospital to hear former poet laureate of the US, Ted Kooser, give a talk "how poetry saved my life" and discuss his journey with oral cancer. That talk stuck in my head...as is evident from the direction of some of the previous posts...who knows, maybe someday I will post one of my own poems...if I can talk about my underwear trauma at age 5, I might yet get the courage to post a poem.

4. That I have family and so many more friends than I realized, who care and are praying for me and offering their care and support.

3. That my cancer is treatable, and prognosis good.

2. Kathy...my strong and loving and brave wife, who is at my side through this journey.

1. GOD...who, in His mercy, should even be mindful of this little worm, and in His infinite love and compassion, has made it abundantly clear to me that He will walk beside me in whatever moments or days of darkness lie ahead.

checking in - my day with oncologists

I will be brief here because I really want to get to a "deeper things" entry today. But I met with the oncology med doctor and oncology radiation doctor today. Here's how it goes...it's actually a stage 4A tonsil cancer which has spread to a lymph node, but not the nightmare that stage 4 usually implies. Prognosis for cure is quite good in my case. I will have a feeding tube "installed" in my stomach next week, as there may come a time in this process that even drinking water may be quite painful. Unfortuantely, the oncologist said I could not eat Pizza through a feeding tube. Hmmm...after this is all over, when the time comes...I am going to get a New York (Rays) Pizza flown in to Nebraska. Or better yet, maybe we'll fly to New York for a seven week daily dose of Rays. Sometime around week four of radiation, from the description I received, I will become aware that the lining of my throat has been burned away by radiation. Two to three rounds of chemo, each being admisnisterd over a course of two days, during week one, week four, and possibly week seven. I have a feeling pain meds and nausea meds will become my two best friends. I got fitted for a cool mask, which I will wear during radiation sessions that will allow the IMRT radiation to be targeted precisely. The process of fitting that mask did, once again, make me feel like I was in some sci.fi/horror flick. This should all be over by Halloween, so that I might wear that mask in another context (forget that...I probably will want to burn it.

that's the essentials...feeding tube placed next week, and then I wait around 5 days to begin this seven week journey.

deeper things - Simcha

How can the love of a cat run so deep? What is it about those moments of connection that make this so powerful? I've owned dogs, and loved them, and been blessed by their happy demeanor, but there is mystery with a cat. I awoke this morning with Simcha,(Hebrew for "joy") asleep on top of me. She also made it a point to jump on top of me for 5 minutes of goodnight affection when the lights went out last night, before contentedly jumping off the bed. She is not a "lap cat" though the evening ritual is not all that unusual. I defy anyone to say pets are not sensitive to deeper things. In fact, she is always up for meditating together...she enjoys bird watching, toy mice (even better, real mice), eating bugs, drinking only from her own plastic cup on the counter (no stinkin pet bowl) chasing leaves, staring contests, walking toward one another in slow motion, competing with the morning paper for attention, sitting in high places, squeezing in cramped quarters, laying in bags and boxes, and nightly walking around in the dark with a green foam ball in her mouth, whilst simultaneously making a sound somewhere between a cry and a howl.

Here is a poem...I think it was written about Simcha...I don't know the poet, nor do I know how I came across it, but it has been in my "poetry" file for awhile

Landlocked in Fur

I was meditating with my cat the other day and all of a sudden she shouted,
“What happened?”
I knew exactly what she meant, but encouraged her to say more—
feeling that if she got it all out on the table she would sleep better that night.
So I responded, “Tell me more, dear,” and she soulfully meowed,
“Well, I was mingled with the sky. I was comets whizzing here and there.
I was suns in heat, hell—I was galaxies. But now look—I am landlocked in fur.”
To this I said, “I know exactly what you mean.”
What to say about conversation between mystics?

deeper things...receiving love

I am undone by the kind and supportive words, cards, and gestures of love I have been receiving. Undone. I really want to pull away from it and say, no, really, I am fine, I am well, and everything is going great. Because, in fact, I am fine, I am well, and everything is going great. What have I done here? Let’s see…I’ve laid on a table with a warm blanket that gently moved me through this cylindrical machine; I’ve had a little poke like a bee sting in my neck, and a few medical conversations that were slightly over my head. Wait a minute…what’s all this fuss I have stirred up…have I played the sympathy/pity card here a little too melodramatically? Let’s everyone take a step back and reconsider for a moment. I may really need this love and support sometime down the road…listen…I’m just mulling things over in my head, being the introspective introvert I am, but instead of mulling this over in my head, (which is my M.O.) I’ve mulled it over here, and made a big show of inviting you all to this party (which is certainly not my typical M.O.). I am undone. I feel like I’ve told a whopper tale and now I’ve got to come up with the goods to justify all this attention…

OK…look….when I was in Kindergarten…I raised my hand during a sing-a-long to go to the bathroom…the teacher ignored me…the sing-a-long kept going…my raised hand turned to frantic waving…she still ignored me…the singing continued…oh, why didn’t I just get up and walk out of that room down the hall to the boys room? But this wasn’t yet the 60’s, and if you read on, you’ll have a clue as to why I had authority issues. Finally, when I could stand it (er…hold it) no longer…I peed my pants…and then Mrs. Bacon seemed to notice me and promptly sent me to the nurses office. The nurse had an extra pair of boys pants, slightly used, and way too long (I wonder…what boy before me lost them, and what was his sad tale?) but, horror of horrors, she only had a pair of girlie underwear for me to change into. Now, why couldn’t she just have sent me home that day sans underwear? No, she sent me off to go home at the end of the day with pink girlie underpants. My father, an attorney, repeated that story to every known acquaintance I ever had, every known acquaintance he ever had, all the judges he tried cases before, the entire bar association of the Great State of New York, and anyone else who cared to listen to the tale of my total and complete humiliation…told it again and again, until I was about 24...I swear that’s the truth. And he didn’t just tell the story…he told it as “the story of his sissy son.”

Picture the scene…it’s 10 years later; dad takes the family out for Sunday lunch at the local eatery, the Wantagh Diner. In walks my dad’s colleague and Lions Club cohort Myron…

MYRON, beaming proudly… “Hey Lowell, did you hear my son Pete was named starting quarterback of the Wantagh Warriors varsity team?”

LOWELL, smirking… “That’s great Myron; have I ever told you the story about my sissy son?”

Now, that’s something to feel bad about. Really…I don’t think I made eye contact with anyone from about age 5 until sometime during my fourth year of graduate school. Sister Joan…if you are reading this…will you verify the facts of this sad., but true, case? (Sister Ann, you were too young to remember)

I will accept sympathy as duly warranted and duly earned in this regard. I paid dearly for that tragic lack of bladder control back in 1956. What momentary sadistic impulse overcame the otherwise kindly, matronly Mrs. Bacon that day? And what was that nurse thinking? And, my father…where do I even begin????

(In case there are any amateur Sigmund Freuds reading …know this…it’s been nothing but Hanes, BVDs and Fruit of the Loom MENS briefs since that one miserable day. No bedwetting, no fire starting, no cruelty to animals.)

Here’s the thing though…a light bulb lit up in my head yesterday. With all this love I’ve been receiving…how can I hold any anger? There’s just no room left in my heart for anything else but love. Now I get it…another message travels from the head to the heart. This tumor seems to have opened up that passageway. All this love, all this love, so difficult to receive, and me, wanting to say to you…back up…save this for later…I’ll need it then.

Mrs. Bacon, I forgive you…school nurse, I forgive you.

…and Dad…oh, Dad……………..I forgive you…rest in peace, Dad.


(DISCLAIMOR: the author, while standing by the veracity of the essential facts of the above, wishes to acknowledge that certain literary liberties were taken with a bit of hyperbole…for instance…my father did not tell this story to every Judge he appeared before, and, truth be told, the author was making lots of eye contact as early as the end of his Kindergarten year with a certain young girl named Veronica, his first (OK…second…well, maybe third) real crush. And Myron's son Pete...kicked off the team before the first game for drinking beer on school grounds during 4th period geometry.

“God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him. In this way, love is made complete among us …We love because He first loved us.” 1John 4:16,17,19.

checking in - too much cancer talk

As I prepare to shrink my practice down to allow treatment, transportation (100 miles roundtrip every morning) and maybe the need to back away from work completely for some weeks (3-4-5?) toward the end of radiation/chemo for self-care, I am having the same discussion with each client I see...providing a few names for backup while I'm gone, reduced time slots open for appointments etc. It seems like everyone has a cancer story in their family to tell me. Some are horrifying, some are encouraging. EVERYONE seems to have one. Everyone wants to tell me about someone they know who had 5000 doses of radiation and 25 years of continuos chemo. It seems I am having one continuos cancer discussion. And yet, still no symptoms...still I am able to cushion the hard face of this with intellectual musings. Here are some personal truths:

1)Pain frightens me...no...I mean pain really frightens me.
2)I fear my clients will slowly start leaving me... I see myself back where I was 20 years ago with a meager practice and a lot of self-doubt.
3)This blog is making me aware of the chasm between me as the appreciator of deeper things...and me as the frightened child with abandonment issues.
4)this blog is also leaving me feeling self indulgent, self inflated, self exposed, self conscious. I have spent a lifetime in hiding...and have achieved a certain expertise in that endeavor. It is not just cancer that seems poised to leak out all over my life here.

deeper things...a prayer

Today, just a prayer...the life profession of the Taize community in southern France...may these words be an early rising companion to me in the weeks ahead...let the birds recognize me as their neighbor with a morning song of my own...


Refusing to look back
and joyful with infinite gratitude
never fear to rise to meet the dawn
Praising
Blessing
And Singing:
Christ your Lord

deeper things...a poem

I awoke this morning with a variety of feelings. I couldn't wait to take my walk...and I was out the door around 5AM...and I realized for the first time that birds dont just wake up early and noisily, but I swear they wake up happy. They were absolutely delighted with this morning. I also had the thought that these birds are not just birds, they are neighbors. They live in the 'hood. They are the same birds I will hear tomorrow...and they wake up and introduce themselves every day...I am going to pay attention...is that loud one (see how well I know my birds by their calls!!) going to be on that corner tomorrow, and the one with the soft sweet song up the block going to tell me "I'm here" again as well? These birds...

I was also aware of some painful feelings... what of the one who somewhere heard different news yesterday? who heard...I'm sorry...there's nothing we can do...what of the friend who has already been through so much treatment and decides to take matters into her own hands and forge ahead on a different path. It filled me with fear, and then with anger...God...does it have to be this way?

I seem to read poems the day before they make sense to me....so...I don't say "aha! I can relate"...but rather..."what will this poem bring me tomorrow..."

and here are a few verses from a poem I read last night ...and the variety of feelings they brought me this morning are difficult to express.


"I thought
this is the good day
you could
meet your love,

this is the black day
someone close
to you could die.

This is the day
you realize
how easily the thread
is broken
between this world
and the next."

and this

"This is the temple
of my adult aloneness
and I belong
to that aloneness
as I belong to my life."





Here is the whole poem...written by David Whyte



THE HOUSE OF BELONGING

I awoke
this morning
in the gold light
turning this way
and that

thinking for
a moment
it was one
day
like any other.

But
the veil had gone
from my
darkened heart
and
I thought

it must have been the quiet
candlelight
that filled my room,

it must have been
the first
easy rhythm
with which I breathed
myself to sleep,

it must have been
the prayer I said
speaking to the otherness
of the night.

And
I thought
this is the good day
you could
meet your love,

this is the black day
someone close
to you could die.

This is the day
you realize
how easily the thread
is broken
between this world
and the next

and I found myself
sitting up
in the quiet pathway
of light,

the tawny
close grained cedar
burning round
me like fire
and all the angels of this housely
heaven ascending
through the first
roof of light
the sun has made.

This is the bright home
in which I live,
this is where
I ask
my friends
to come,
this is where I want
to love all the things
it has taken me so long
to learn to love.

This is the temple
of my adult aloneness
and I belong
to that aloneness
as I belong to my life.

There is no house
like the house of belonging.

Checking In...Diagnosis

Every day is a journey,
and the journey itself is home.
BASHO


Today was a journey...IV with radioactive glucose...wait an hour....CAT Scan...nice...peaceful...another of my fears put to rest (I was always fearful of being buried alive by a deranged kidnapper with a 10 foot straw to breathe through..then...like in the movies...he gets shot, and I never get found...now....the CAT scan was rather a pleasant cacoon...the fear...not so much) hours more waiting...then they bring us into smaller room to wait some more........that last waiting was like doing hard time...watching and waiting for the doorknob to turn...I felt like I was going to vomit.

Then in he walks...I inhale....the news...I have tonsil cancer that has spread to a lymph node...stage 3 cancer...I exhale.

OK, Steven...breathe in...I think this is going to be OK...breathe out, thank you God...breathe in... OH, NO...STAGE 3 sounds bad...breathe out...it could be so much worse...breathe in... NO OTHER CANCER ANYWHERE IN MY BODY...breathe out...thank you God, again. Breathe in...he wants me to go to an oncology dentist to yank any weak teeth before radiation starts...WHAT? breathe out...He'll get me in today...Breathe in...radiation may burn out some salivary glands, maybe permanent dry mouth...Breathe out...I'll just need to drink lots of water...Breathe in...maybe some swallowing issues...maybe some changes in voice tone....breathe out...but I have every reason to be hopeful for a good outcome and cure...breathe out...thank you God...breathe in..breathe out...THIS IS NOW HOME.... I can live here if need be.

The ENT recommended 7 weeks of radiation & 3 cycles of chemo...or surgery and radiation, though the surgery would be complex do to the size of the lymph node, and may need some reconstruction surgery of the palate and a temporary tracheotomy, and complications could spell long term swallowing difficulties and voice changes and some other nasty stuff. He said the radiation and chemo without surgery will have just as high a cure rate (65-85%) as the surgery and radiation option.

I've decided with the help of my brother in law, TIm, an ENT, and a godsend, in Wisconsin, I'll skip over the surgery, thank you very much, and go straight to the 7 weeks of daily loving medical attention, without passing go. He said I'd sail through the first 3-4 weeks, but then this will start to feel like the worst sunburn I ever had on the inside of my mouth, and a sore throat from hell.

I am grateful, I am grateful, I am grateful...the prayers of many...including those reading this...have lifted my spirit and have been answered...

I am ready...I am home...I am ready...I am ready....I am so thankful for so much...I am so thankful.

Deeper Things...The Daily Office

I have recently developed an appreciation of the importance and beauty of ritual...I've had a number of teachers. Through the practice of meditation, the simple ritual of awareness on breathing in and breathing out, has brought me closer to a calm and quiet awareness of this present moment. My attempt at a daily sunrise two mile walk has been such a pleasant day starting ritual. My cat, Simcha, has quite a repertoire of rituals...and I see her take such joy in her daily "tasks" ...we have certain games we repeat, certain routines at bedtime and mealtime, and morning time. And I have been gradually getting better at reading/praying the evening prayer from the Book of Common Prayer (with the help of this website): http://dailyoffice.wordpress.com The liturgy of the Anglican (Episcopal) church has become more and more meaningful, the Eucharist, the singing of the psalms...rituals down through the centuries and across the world that have enriched lives.

Of course...my OCD tendencies may play a role in my gravitating toward ritual, so I can see the downside (daily checking stock prices, retirement accounts, counting the number of clients I have seen each month, even ritualizing my breakfast (eating Oatmeal from Thanksgiving to Easter...cold cereal from Easter to Thanksgiving...and a bagel every Saturday (and sometimes Sunday)... Rituals have been distracting and silly, as well, in my life, and have robbed me of some of the joy of living in this moment, and seeing the newness and freshness of each day.

I heard Ted Kooser give a talk..."How poetry saved my life" He talked about being diagnosed and treated for cancer, I believe of the larynx or somewhere in his throat area, and during the chaos of his treatment, he developed a ritual of a morning walk followed by writing one poem about something he observed on his walk. By bringing order to one small area of his life, he gradually brought order out of chaos in the rest of his life. This stuck with me.

I will strive to keep a sense of healthy ritual alive in the days and weeks ahead.

Tomorrow morning....my PET scan...

deeper things...six amazing words

"...your love is better than life" Psalm 63:3

I grew up on the south shore of Long Island, a few miles from the Atlantic Ocean. As a kid, my mother would take us to the beach...we would get to wade in the water until it was about four inches deep...all holding hands and huddling together...before retreating to the shore for a sandwich and a peach.

At some point though, I got old enough to venture out into deeper water...(with friends, and not my mother) and it was an enlightening experience to have my first wave break on top of me. The realization that, at least for the moment, I had no power of my own to come to my feet as the wave knocked me down and rolled me like a pair of dice...I was completely at the mercy of a power I had not previously encountered. For a moment, up or down didn't really make much difference...then, mercifully, the wave, having had its way with me, dissipated, and I, sputtering sandy, salty water, weakly stood up, speechless at the terror of that experience.

So...how is it, I ask myself...that I come to know the truth of these six amazing words?...it is not derived from the highest achievement of my intellectual abilities, nor from the benefit of my 'higher' education, nor, for that matter, anything "taught" to me in a Bible study. It is closer, I think, to that wave...it broke on top of me, had its way with me, and left me to get back on my feet, speechless, awed by the power of that wave, and with a whole new awareness of the ocean.

The notation for Psalm 63 states the psalm was written by David when he was in the desert of Judah...this verse came to me a few hours after my biopsy results were given to me...came to me as I was driving my Suburu to pick up some Chinese food...not exactly a desert...but nonetheless...I was a bit emotionally parched...

and these 6 amazing words washed over me...or, more accurately, broke over me, like a wave. Knocked me down, had their way, and left me...awed by His love...

When you've been knocked down by a wave, there are no more questions to ask about the power of the ocean...you know...

I just know...

checking in, checking out

I am in this waiting phase...48 hours away from a definitive (hopefully) diagnosis via a PET Scan...the source of my cancer should light up...I talk with clients and for the moment I am distracted, their cares, their concerns, their pain become my focus. And when they leave...if I don't keep my thoughts active they drift toward this tumor...this fear...and then I focus on the immense love of God...and the fear recedes...for awhile...and then back again it comes...and so goes my day...

So I feel like my awareness of myself, my mortality, my fear, the trials that lie ahead comes and goes in waves as my awareness of others, God, and deeper things comes to the foreground. Can I hold one without letting the other go...not yet...

deeper things...compassionate friends

I received such gifts today...flowers from a client whose appointment I had to cancel in order to schedule my PET scan this week...a virtual hug from a woman who's own trials with leukemia eclipse any I've had to experience, and so many well wishes and prayers...I am so touched by these...kindness runs deeper than cancer...

one of my favorite poems...

Kindness
By Naomi Shihab Nye


Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness, you must travel where the
Indian in a white poncho lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans and the simple breath that kept
him alive.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside, you must know sorrow
as the other deepest thing. You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day
to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.

Deeper things...a poem

Tree

It is foolish
to let a young redwood
grow next to a house.
Even in this
one lifetime,
you will have to choose.
That great calm being,
this clutter of soup pots and books—

Already the first branch-tips brush at the window.
Softly, calmly, immensity taps at your life.

Jane Hirshfield


This calm immensity...when I first read the poem a few weeks before I was diagnosed, I took it for me to mean that I was not leaving enough room in my life for the important things. Now...I am wondering...is this immensity ...God...cancer...death...love...or are there a number of "redwoods" growing up around my house...asking me to choose,to notice to live with while the noticing and the choices still remain.