Deeper things - Bless you, bless you - moving on down the information highway

I've been thinking about this blog in light of the good news I had from yesterday's CT scan results. It has been such an incredible journey! When I wrote my first post, which was just about one year ago (7/31/09), there were several things I had no idea about...

1. Just how difficult, painful, and traumatic the "treatment" process for my stage four cancer would be...yes, the radiologist tech warned me that 35 days of radiation to the throat was about the worst place to be zapped, and the ENT told me it wasn't going to be easy and I'd be pretty beaten up before it was over, and my oncologist told me I might be too physically weak to handle the third round of chemo (and thank God for my weakness...I was too weak and was spared round three)...but I had nothing in life to compare that to. My oncologist promised me I'd survive this cancer, but, initially, the thought of NOT surviving never even crossed my mind. How could a young, healthy guy like me die from a little tumor? Further, I was resistant to getting a "feeding tube;" thank God he talked me into it. In my ignorance I thought I would be tough enough (though I also knew I was a coward when it comes to pain) to eat and drink with a "sore throat." HA! Little could I imagine that at the height of my misery, there were days when even pouring a cup of water into the feeding tube was too much for me to think about. Swallowing? No, way! The lining of my throat was completely burned off, my saliva turned into rubber cement, and eventually turned off altogether, taste buds completely shut off, and infections in my mouth and stomach along with chemotherapy nausea and days upon days of sleeplessness left me a shell of a being...I don't recall writing this, but deep inside, I started thinking I was not going to survive the ordeal...I became too weak to walk from the hospital parking lot to the radiation and chemotherapy torture chambers...so for a period of time I was wheeled in a wheelchair from car to radiation room, strapped to a table, head immobilized in a plastic mask that was secured to the table, zapped, and wheeled back. My chore was then to survive the 50 mile car ride home, nodding on and off and trying not to be sick in the car. Let me tell you, if you have never been in such a state...it very much becomes an altered state of being...almost a trance like reality when who one was before this, or who one will be after this ceases to exist, and time sort of gets suspended in a foggy, jellylike state of discomfort, pain, and dysphoria that seems to have no beginning and no end. I put acorns on my windowsill to symbolize each day's passing for the 35 days of radiation, and pine cones for the chemotherapy days. It sounded like a good idea at first, like I was going on some hiking safari and would count the days away from clocks and watches in the "wilderness" with each new adventure gazing at the acorns and marveling. Well...I kept at it, and ended with 35 acorns and 4 pine cones on that windowsill, but, truth be told, in some ways, I really HATED those acorns...those acorns are in a jar hidden away, and I still haven't been able to look at them since treatment ended. Maybe someday the symbolic element that I hoped for with those acorns will inspire me. We'll see. They are just still too much a reminder of the ordeal right now.

2. Kathy - I promised Kathy at the onset that I would keep the blog about me... after all, if I wanted to make my private life public, it was my business, but it was NOT my right to make anyone else's life public. So I have kept references to Kathy and our marriage to a minimum. But I have occasionally lapsed (like right here). I had no idea how strong Kathy could be. When I needed her strength, she was a rock. I could only pray that I would be half as loving and strong and compassionate if, God forbid, she should ever have such an unfortunate need.

3. My twists and turns with Jesus - I can honestly say I had moments when I never felt closer to God... and I had moments when I never felt more distant and alone. At it's best, I felt His love in a way that is difficult to explain. Just as I was getting ready to begin treatment, I had the very real experience of hearing a voice in my head reciting a verse from a Psalm..."your love is better than life." It filled me with such peace and comfort that I knew it was going to be OK...His love would never abandon me, in life, or in death; and that was all I ever needed. And to be honest, at it's very worst...I had doubts about whether God even existed, let alone was mindful of this little speck of a being. I had moments of fear that somehow I was being punished for a lifetime of sin and falling short of His expectations, or that He just never really did care about me after all, or He just simply did not exist. But, then, I'd get some encouragement, sometimes from a blog post I'd write, or a comment I'd receive, sometimes from a Psalm I'd read, sometimes from a hymn I'd hear either on-line or in my head, sometimes from having a prayer time, sometimes from scripture that would invade my thoughts out of "nowhere" (ummm...thank you Holy Spirit). It all only confirms for me that God was with me throughout. In spite of my wanderings, rebellions, spiritual journeys and adventures and eccentricities... in my heart of hearts, I know...I know I was made for God. I don't know how else to say it. And my life doesn't make any sense at all without Him. Believe me, I know that to be true. I was made for God. I can't escape that reality any more than I can stop breathing. Oh, I can hold my breath for awhile, but hey, at the end of that, I'm breathing again. I can wish it weren't true, I can wish I could forget all about Him, I can try to think of Him as some projection of my own neediness, but ultimately, when I come to the end of myself, He is there. Without beginning, without end. In all His majestic glory. As it should be. He's there. I can't escape Him. And I just know it. And I love Jesus. I can't escape that either (nor can I even imagine ever wanting to, but I suppose...if Peter could deny Him, certainly I could as well). I just love Him. And His love completes and compels me. I have no good explanation, outside of His amazing grace, that He should be mindful of this undeserving little Jewish kid from Long Island, but it is my highest desire to know Him and conform my life to His. And His love is...well, I'll just say it...His love is deeper than cancer.

4. This blog - OK, I hope I can say this right. At first I thought it would be therapeutic for me to journal my experience with cancer treatment. I had often thought of journaling, but never, as an adult, took the plunge. Until now. Then I thought, "wouldn't it be neat for me, such a low-tech person, to figure out how to blog." I had stumbled on a blog written by a woman who had leukemia (who, by the way, has become a friend). I thought..."I'll just write my journal in the form of a blog. Others do it, so can I." I was amazed when I actually got it figured out and wrote my first post. I had no idea anyone would actually find it and read it. So... imagine my surprise when I got my first "comment." To date there have been roughly 9,000 visits to the blog. And 33 people signed up as followers... (to be honest...I have no idea what that means). I am not so grandiose to believe that this is any kind of big deal. There must be a gazillion blogs, and I know a lot of those 9,000 visits are repeat visitors. There are probably blogs written by dogs and cats that have more "visits" and followers. Who cares. But let me tell you...it IS a big deal to me. I score very high on every measure of introversion. I am not one to reach out or ask for help. This blog has been a lifeline when I have been withdrawing from the world. I have had friends, family, and COMPLETE strangers reading and posting comments. There have been people who visit regularly from states I have never been to nor did I know anyone within their borders. I've had visitors from about a dozen countries across several continents. Some probably came to the blog via a typo on an address line. Who cares. I have been touched, encouraged and deeply moved by anonymous comments, along with comments from friends and families. There were days when I really wanted to give up, crawl in some hole and die, when I read a comment that completely lifted my spirit. I believe God's hand was in this blog as well. Maybe yes, maybe no, but that's my hunch. And I have been so deeply moved and uplifted by the kindness and compassion all of you have shown me. For taking the time to read. Or comment. Or thinking of me or maybe lifting up a prayer on my behalf.

From the deepest part of my heart... God bless you, friends. I love you.