Today (10-15-14 ) I am five years cancer free after undergoing 35 days of radiation and 2 cycles of chemotherapy for stage 4 throat cancer in the fall of 2009.  I am so grateful to be here. Though today is extraordinary to me, in reality, every day and every hour always is. Eternally. Extraordinary.  My life.  My next breath. Extraordinary.    Gasping and grasping and stumbling through this.  My soul coming into existence. What a tender intimacy there seems to me between me and my God. Extraordinary.  And then, in a few more breaths, I will be home with Him.     The depths of this Union. Extraordinary.

Tomorrow, day 1824 cancer free turns to day 1825 cancer free since that last bombardment of radiation.  For a while, I thought the title of the book of my life was going to be, “MY CANCER,” subtitled “MY SPECIAL SUFFERING.” I thought everyone should be very interested in reading along with me; I think I might have become a bit of an insufferable bore for the first 2 years of this cancer recovery.  Now, “MY CANCER” is just one chapter in the volume of my life. Soon, perhaps, it will be a footnote. Soon after, I myself will be a footnote.  But the remarkable thing to me is the tenderness I feel toward this chapter.   A tiny stretch of highway on my little journey that I reflect on with tears and smiles.  Oddly, one that I now only rarely regret, but, rather, mostly embrace.  And, oh, how delighted and grateful I am to be here to write this.  Today, just tears of joy…tears of joy!

Four years in remission - Pausing to give thanks

I love the dark hours of my being.
My mind deepens into them.
There I can find, as in old letters,
the days of my life, already lived,
and held like a legend, and understood.

Then the knowing comes: I can open
to another life that's wide and timeless.

So I am sometimes like a tree
rustling over a grave site
and making real the dream
of the one its living roots
embrace:

a dream once lost
among sorrows and songs.

               Rainer Maria Rilke


Technically, my four year post treatment anniversary is not for another three weeks, but I had my four year check with my ENT doc today.  After the check, he said I was a "poster child" for stage four cancer recovery.   I pause to give thanks... to God, to family and friends who carried me through that ordeal.  

Every time I drive up to Omaha's Methodist Hospital (now down to once every six months) and walk through those doors, I am triggered/flooded with memories at a visceral level. I walk by the wheelchairs at the entrance to the oncology center and am reminded of the days I was too weak to walk from the car to the radiation room.   I walk past the restroom where I stood hunched over the toilet vomiting in weakness, nausea (and despair); I get on the elevator that carried me to the chemo induction room and I feel  the memory in my body.   My first glimpse of the ENT as he walks into the exam room where I am waiting brings me back to the day I went for my results of the PET scan after treatment and the words which were delivered like a blunt knife to the heart... "The scan showed there are still some cancer cells - we need to consider the options."  These words were NOT delivered directly to me, but overheard as the ENT left the door open (was it really an accident?)  in the exam room and walked next door to consult with his resident. By the time he came back to tell me essentially the same news in a watered-down way, I felt like I was dying right there in that room.   The heaviness of that moment will forever be carried in my being.   For the better part of those several months of treatment , it progressively felt like I was sinking deeper and deeper into an ocean of darkness, with momentary exhilarations of the Spirit in my being, feeling touched by God and the kindness of a few friends, family,  and strangers that I met in cyberspace through this blog.   I remember Diane, a cyber-friend who gave me so much encouragement, while she herself was fighting a losing battle with Leukemia - it is now three years since her passing.  Today I felt a pang of guilt for not sufficiently thanking her for faithfully commenting encouraging words on this blog and the other blog,  as I posted about my journey through treatment. 

So, about that poem above... it's perfect for what I am feeling today.  I am feeling that sense of being birthed from the graveyard of cancer to a wide and timeless place.   I am looking back on "the dark hours of my being" and thanks to Rilke, I am embracing those hours as the birthing pains of the life I now enjoy.  Oh, I am not some totally new being of joy and light, but I do have a deeper sense of joy and appreciation for everything residing in the depths.  I am still on a deepening spiritual journey, I am still discovering the longing I have to know God and the mystery of His working in my life, I am still trying to be a better husband to Kathy, and I am still working out all the insecurities and frailties of my fragile psyche.   But, I am writing with a smile deep inside my soul.  I think that's the truth. I really think that's the truth as my fingers dance across this keyboard. 

Thanks for reading!    

Living unreservedly…I shoulda gone for the three year subscription

I received a flyer in October 2009 for a subscription to New Yorker magazine - a magazine I had wanted to subscribe to for quite a long time. The rates were particularly attractive for the three year subscription option. At first, the bargain hunter in me was all over that little return card and postage paid envelope. I had some bills to mail as well, and took it with me when I was heading to run some errands. I never mailed that envelope; instead, I tossed it. The thought in my head was - Who knows if I’ll survive three years? In fact, even the two year, not-as-great-a-rate-but-still-a-pretty-good-deal check box was, I thought, too much of a stretch given my 15 days of survival post stage four cancer treatment. My dominant emotion in those days was fear; my dominant mood, dark and depressed. I was living tentatively, as if the next news broadcast on my life channel was certainly going to be bad… and it could come in the next few hours. Try as I might to put on an front of gratitude for surviving the treatment process, I felt physically, emotionally, and spiritually depleted.

Today (October 15, 2012), I am three years cancer free. Shoot…that label “cancer-free” is one I still sometimes have trouble with…the voice in my head still wants to say - “as far as I know” I am cancer free. However, today I can look three years further down the road and actually see myself still hanging around. It is remarkable to me that three years later, I often think of my cancer experience as one of the great blessings of my life. No…really, seriously…. not just cause it sounds right to say that. It’s like my own personal Beatitude…“Blessed are you, Steven, who has endured cancer, for you shall find a deeper reality.” It’s this feeling of being blessed, not just for surviving, but for the living in the whole of it as well. It was without a doubt the most frightening, painful, terrifying months (well, maybe more like a year) of my life. I have no doubt I had a year or so of PTSD and post cancer clinical depression. (After all, I am a psychologist, and I KNOW all the symptoms.) I am not sure exactly when the despair over cancer ended and my perception of being “blessed” began, but I think it has been present for several months now. I am really feeling like I am back now. I think for a while, I had doubts about being “back” that I didn’t want to acknowledge. But it is feeling genuine again. My life is back. I’ve never been a bubbly, “I freakin’ love life so let’s go celebrate” kind of person. But, generally speaking, I am in a pretty good place. I have days when my energy is poor, and my mojo just doesn’t feel right, but they are becoming less and less frequent.

 I still love October mornings and a big breakfast and a solitary walk. More than ever I appreciate these things. Three weeks ago, I found myself sharing a meal at a Benedictine monastery with a Monk and talking about God. How cool is that? I’ve traveled a long distance in my life . And this blog business… I’ve been touched and inspired by several people who have dealt honestly with their cancer journey and have dared write about it. I was brought face to face with the fragility of life when an internet “friend” and blogger Diane died of Leukemia exactly one year to the day after I finished treatment. It was through stumbling across her blog that led me to write about my own journey. Looking back, the writing about it was hands down the most therapeutic activity I engaged in. I think it saved my life, at least emotionally. Recently, I’ve been touched and inspired by a blog writer named Ellie, who also is a stage four throat cancer survivor and has just celebrated one year of being cancer free and is sharing her journey of recovery on her blog at www.onecraftymother.com. Such an inspiration to me… Reading her posts have been like reading back my own experiences, expressed in such a transparent and eloquent way.

 So, about that New Yorker subscription. I should have checked the three year box with reckless abandon. I would today. Was I afraid of dying, or afraid of living? I think both. There is no point in being tentative with one’s life. Fear is such a thief. One of my many favorite scripture passages is “Perfect love casts out fear” (1John 4:18) Yes, indeed, it does. It’s mysterious but I believe I experience God’s love indwelling in my spirit at the deepest core of my being. To be honest, there’s plenty ’o fear still ready to rear up, but a lot of it’s power has been broken.

This morning, I was doing 50 minutes (four miles) on the elliptical at my local gym. (There you go - how healthy am I - and I‘ve only gained back 20 of the 30 pounds I lost three years ago - I weigh a perfect (for me)150 pounds!) I was listening to a podcast from NPR (Krista Tippett’s “On Being” show). The guest was being interviewed about a film he made on the life of Dietrich Bonhoeffer. He stated this quote and I think it hit the nail on the head for how I am feeling today. Shortly before he was executed by the Nazis for his attempt to assassinate Hitler, Bonhoeffer wrote: “I discovered… and am still discovering… that it is only by living completely in this world that one learns to have faith. One must completely abandon any attempt to make something of oneself, whether it be a saint or a converted sinner…. By this worldliness, I mean living unreservedly in life’s duties, problems, successes and failures, experiences and perplexities. In so doing we throw ourselves completely into the arms of God, taking seriously, not our own suffering, but those of God in the world.” Thanks for reading this. I’ll be back again. In my own quiet way, I’ve come to freakin’ love my life!

Two years in remission

Today, October 15, 2011, I celebrate two years in remission from my stage four throat cancer. Yes, two years. My life is again full and busy and my energy is back. I taste food again, though perhaps a little less intensely. I've regained 15 of the 30 pounds I lost and I am now at a perfect weight for me. (All things considered, I'd have rather done weight watchers to lose that stubborn 15 pounds). I have a few lingering issues - I am hypothyroid (and on meds for that) and my salivary glands forgot to come back (I drink more water than my lawn). These are small things in the grand scheme of my life.

Here is what I want to say:

Cancer is such a hard journey. I have not the adjectives to describe the emotional, physical and spiritual difficulty of it. It leaves a hole in your body, your life. Rather, I should say, it left a hole in my body, my life. But looking back, I see that God was and is there...and in some mystical way, the ruins and ravages of cancer left more space for Him to fill and inhabit. I didn't always experience that filling in the moment... quite the contrary, in the moment of suffering, I was aware of little else but my pain and self-pity. I was so miserable (and, dare I say, cowardly) in my suffering. Nonetheless, I believe that it happened. I know it. And I believe I am on a journey home. If I am to linger here, I'm blessed. And if He makes a shortcut for me, I am blessed again. I may not always be so joyously positive; I know I was awfully depressed in the darkest days of radiation and chemotherapy... But this is where I am today.

There is much about suffering, there is much about gratitude, there is much about compassion that I have yet to understand, but I am still growing... there are vast oceans of growth yet to cross.

If anyone stumbles here and is on that hard journey, I am honored by your presence. If I can pray, encourage, listen... send me an e-mail: steveblum77@gmail.com. We are strengthened when we walk together. I am strengthened when I listen. And more than ever, I am learning to listen.

blessings!
steve

Just remember this One Thing

My journey continues - 1.5 years into remission!!!

A reminder:

In sickness, in brokenness, in wholeness, in health...in life and in death...and at all points in between...
please remember... you are loved. It can be a hard a thing to take hold of the hand of God... but it is not too hard a thing for Him to take hold of us!

I am the LORD, your God, who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you.

Isaiah 41:8

Posted by steve at 5:10 PM 0 comments
Tuesday, March 15, 2011

In memory

One of the "followers" of this blog was a Canadian woman named Daria...her link is on the list of followers... I periodically check blogs that I've visited in the past...sometimes only once every few months. I checked her blog today to find her husband had posted that Daria had lost her battle with cancer this weekend. She had faithfully blogged about her cancer journey for a number of years, and had hundreds following her journey... it struck me again that many, many daily lose this battle, and though I am blessed and fortunate to have to this point been a survivor, I am also saddened and grieved by every loss. I read. I hear. I pray. God have mercy and bring comfort to Daria's friends and family, and friends and families of all who succumb to cancer. I pray those who lose this mortal battle find themselves encircled by His everlasting arms of love in joyful reunion.

follow me here

Hey, it is kind of you to be here....I have moved on to another blog, but please, feel free to browse around HERE first...it's been a long journey through cancer diagnosis, treatment, and recovery and I am happy and honored that you might wish to share some of that journey with me. I am also honored to have received the award you see to the right, and amazed that wonderfully caring people took time to follow my ramblings through the trials and turmoil of stage four throat cancer treatment...the comments left carried me through the most difficult year of my life.

So, whatever day or time it is right now, know this:

I
thank
God
again
and
again.

If you care to find me now (and I am still mindful of my cancer recovery, but not obsessed with it to the degree that I was here...here is my new address... http://blumswhispers.blogspot.com/

Post 142 - Journey's end...but another begins!

I debated about using that video clip, but I wanted to end with a smile, and how can you not smile at Porky Pig? Look at that face...he really seems to have come to terms with himself and his limitations...he seems... well... happy, doesn't he? I dont think he's hiding behind a facade...Porky's just livin' in the moment!

The time has come to wrap up this one year journey/blog. I just re-read my first entry, posted on July 30, 2009, and here is some of what I wrote:

I am one day into my life with a diagnosed carcinoma...a metasticized, undifferentiated squamous cell carcinoma in my neck, to be more precise. I await the PET scan next week to give me a more specific diagnosis, prognosis, and treatment protocol.

I am not by any means at home with this awareness...but as the hours go by, so does the sinking in process.
I have another awareness, and that is an abiding sense of love...from God, from my family, from the few friends I've confided in.
I depend on scripture and poetry and calm morning walks to lift my spirit.
I seek to deepen the deep things of my life.

Wow, has it been a long and interesting year! I am amazed to be sitting here typing a year later, in such good spirits. I made it! And I fulfilled my mission with this blog. You know, this may sound like a cliche, but I only made it with the love and support of God, friends, famly and readers. I've been more transparent than I ever could have imagined a year ago. When I re-read the post from last July, I was writing that the diagnosis was "sinking in," but looking back, I know I was naive, minimizing, and still mostly in denial.

It seems that's how I always start "journeys." Had I really known what I was in for...it would have been more than I could have handled at that point. I am grateful that only God is all-knowing!

So here I sit, one year later, with a good prognosis and a clean CT scan. Those of you who have travelled with me through this know I've moped and whined through some of this past year, and rejoiced and sang through other parts of the year. Cancer is a bitch! I am not trying to be cute. I realize how fortunate I am to have come through stage 4 cancer as a survivor to this point...the title of this post could easily have been cut off after "Journey's end." But, by the grace of God, I get to start another journey. So I take a deep breath, give thanks, and pray that I take the deeper things and lessons I have learned on this journey with me. I pray I enter the next with more compassion for those who suffer, be it physically, emotionally or spiritually. Although I can't bear to imagine it, I know if the journey would have taken a different turn, God would have provided the grace to enable me to deal with that...as it happened, moment by moment. I am going forward with a lot of gratitude in my heart. How blessed I am! I am humbled by all I've received.

Here's an invitation. I am not ready to quit blogging. It's too much fun, and too good a way to procrastinate when I have paperwork I should be getting done at my office to just let go of. So I will start a new blog for another year.

There was no particular name that jumped out at me; I only knew I wanted "cancer" out of the name. I thought, since I am just rambling most often, "word salad" might fit...but that's not very original...then "whisper salad" popped into my head. Not real creative, but it's my idea...so I'll start off with that.

And, if you care to join me...here's the link:

http://blumswhispers.blogspot.com/

Thank you so very much for travelling with me. You just can't imagine how much it means to me!

God bless you, friend!

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.

CHECKING IN - SO HAPPY - Turning my wailing into dancing

The"tumor board" of 20 physicians reviewed my scan this morning, and results showed no evidence of tumor or cancer. My tonsils were assymetrical, with slight inflammation, but they said that was not a big concern at this point, and it could just be post-treatment inflammation or maybe I had a slight respiratory infection like a mild cold when I did the scan. But, NO TUMOR. Oh. thank you God. I am breathing again. I will follow up every 3 months, and maybe they'll do another scan in a year or so. WOW! WHAT GLORIOUS NEWS!!! I am between clients right now, so I need to keep this brief, but I plan to post again today or tomorrow.

Thank you so much for caring enough to read this, and helping carry me through this stormy trial. More on that later today...

Right now, I need to spend a few minutes on my knees thanking God.

-------- Psalm 30---------

1 I will exalt you, O LORD,
for you lifted me out of the depths
and did not let my enemies gloat over me.

2 O LORD my God, I called to you for help
and you healed me.

3 O LORD, you brought me up from the grave;
you spared me from going down into the pit.

4 Sing to the LORD, you saints of his;
praise his holy name.

5 For his anger lasts only a moment,
but his favor lasts a lifetime;
weeping may remain for a night,
but rejoicing comes in the morning.

6 When I felt secure, I said,
"I will never be shaken."

7 O LORD, when you favored me,
you made my mountain stand firm;
but when you hid your face,
I was dismayed.

8 To you, O LORD, I called;
to the Lord I cried for mercy:

9 "What gain is there in my destruction,
in my going down into the pit?
Will the dust praise you?
Will it proclaim your faithfulness?

10 Hear, O LORD, and be merciful to me;
O LORD, be my help."

11 You turned my wailing into dancing;
you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy,

12 that my heart may sing to you and not be silent.
O LORD my God, I will give you thanks forever.

checking in - part way there, good news thus far

Today I had my 9 months post-treatment CT scan...I've lost count of how many scans I have had, but I believe I carry enough radiation to power a mid-size city for a few weeks. I also had an exam by my oncologist and ENT (actually, my ENT's P.A., who seemed quite knowledgeable.)

Here's the good news...after being poked and prodded and had hands down my throat, the two physical exams both turned out great. NO signs of anything unusual, and my tonsils, throat, and neck seem to be all healing and happy and healthy. I have to wait on the CT scan results however, as the report wasn't yet done when I had the appointments with the docs. So I won't find out the scan results probably till Friday. I'm getting used to waiting, and I am not going to stress, but rather, just enjoy the positive comments I received regarding my recovery.

Here's the other thing about today. I really have come to appreciate human kindness and compassion in a new way. My oncologist has really been thoughtful and encouraging (and quite competent) every step of the way. While I've seen other competent doctors on this journey, they sometimes have lacked in the compassion/empathy/bedside manner that my oncologist has. It really makes an incredible difference. I told him how much I appreciate him today, because after my first PET scan came back with a "hot spot" in January, I kind of had a melt down in his office and told him I didn't think he was being straight with me when he was telling me not to worry. To his credit, he stayed calm, and again, re-assured me that he wouldn't tell me anything he didn't sincerely believe to be true. I love the guy!
Also, the woman who greets patients at the door of the cancer center of Methodist Hospital in Omaha and arranges valet parking for those too weak to make it from the parking lot to the entrance...Ethel is her name...just lit up when she saw me and gave me a big hug...I hadn't been up to the cancer center in three months, and she seemed genuinely happy to see me feeling well. She said she had a dream about me the other night. She greets hundreds of patients every day, but when she saw me she shouted "STEVE" and ran to embrace me. Then she gave me some more of her Ethel advice...(if you remember, I had a post during treatment about her telling me to "relax into this, hon" which for some reason really touched me.) This time, she told me that if I ever get sick again, to "make sure I don't let what's going on inside my body mess up what's goin on inside my head, cause if my head stays happy, my body's goin to get well much quicker." She's great.

I'm having a good day. And I am ready for more good news come Friday. (I'll even accept having to wait till Monday, just in case the phone doesn't ring on Friday.)

There's so much in the course of a day to thank God for...if I could only remember to just keep my head happy!

checking in -Trusting God, creeping anxiety

So, I go for a CT scan, my first in three months, on Tuesday. Please pray for a good outcome. Thanks. I know God is with me, regardless, but, of course, I also feel anxiety creeping in on the edges as Tuesday gets closer. If the scan is clear, that could be the last scan unless I begin having symptoms or the ENT detects something in a future physical. I so desire for that to be the case (a good outcome, that is).

I will be sure to post again on Tuesday evening. I'll keep this post brief, as I don't know what else to write. I've been feeling pretty good, and I feel I am getting my life back more and more each week that passes. Let's get this done.

Deeper things - morning magic

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Another sign that I am returning to my old self...I am again waking up every day quite early (around 5-5:30AM). I've heard that as people age, they require less sleep...well, for me, I must have begun that kind of aging around 21. I am, simply put, a morning person, and I have been for over 30 years. As an undergraduate I was able to sleep the morning away, generally after partying ridiculously late the night before. It was not unusual to grapple with the decision "breakfast or lunch?" as my roommate and I would regain consciousness after a night of insanity sometime around noon. After college, I lost the knack of sleeping late (or as they say in Nebraska..."sleeping in.") I have previously written about the roots of my insomnia around age 9 (an entry made in August 2009..."morning walk of agitation.") Here's the link should you care to empathize:

http://sblumsblog.blogspot.com/2009/08/checking-in-morning-walk-of-agitation.html

Add to that my father's distaste for my sleeping late as an adolescent...I would spend weekends and summers living with him, the times most kids get to sleep late...his bedroom door was across the hall from mine... generally whatever time he got up, he decided was time for me to get up...he would pound on my door like King Kong himself was standing outside wanting in. To sleep late was to be a "lazy bum". If my brain ever did have the notion that it was permissible to sleep late, my father took care of that!

And while I did not want to be "a lazy bum," I also did not want to risk not getting "enough" sleep...Even though waking early has been with me for decades, it has often been accompanied by worries... "will I be tired all day"..."will I not perform as well because I am not rested"...etc. What silly things to be hard on oneself for... guilt about sleeping late, and worry about waking early. How neurotic!

ENOUGH of that nonsense...

Waking early is a gift... There is magic in the morning that you late sleepers no nothing about. It really is wonderful to greet the sunrise by being out walking, and it is wonderful to wake up with the stillness and quiet that accompanies early morning. (No one's pounding on my door anymore). Having a leisurely cup of coffee with breakfast and the morning paper (or better yet, a quiet time for devotions) AND time to exercise before work is wonderful. Getting outside and beating the heat of the day in the summer is luxurious.

Here is a poem I think I have quoted previously...I love the idea of starting the day intentionally with gratitude, kindness and happiness in one's heart... How I start the day is a good barometer for where I am in life... God, if I am to wake up before dawn, let me wake up with a prayer of gratitude on my lips and joy in my heart.

I remember reading somewhere of some guy who would wake up and yell "I'M BACK" to the world first thing upon opening his eyes. I haven't tried that yet, and I am sure Kathy would be less than delighted with her day starting that way...(but, hey, maybe once in awhile wouldn't be so bad...what do you think, Dad?)

Why I Wake Early

Hello, sun in my face.
Hello, you who made the morning
and spread it over the fields
and into the faces of the tulips
and the nodding morning glories,
and into the windows of, even, the
miserable and the crotchety –

best preacher that ever was,
dear star, that just happens
to be where you are in the universe
to keep us from ever-darkness,
to ease us with warm touching,
to hold us in the great hands of light –
good morning, good morning, good morning.

Watch, now, how I start the day
in happiness, in kindness.

~ Mary Oliver ~

checking in - a walk around the lake

I woke up quite early this morning and drove out to a nearby lake and took what I considered a brisk paced walk around it's 2.5 mile circumference. It was one of those perfect mornings, around 70 degrees and very calm. Birds, ducks, frogs, water and trees. So nice. I say "a brisk pace" yet I was passed by several joggers and two women walking...I can't figure out how some people walk so fast. They weren't "power walking," they were simply walking and talking with no apparent effort and they passed me like I was standing still. As soon as they passed, I tried to match their pace by watching and walking in sync with their steps... it couldn't be done... It's a mystery to me how some humans can walk so fast and it seems so natural.

Here are two ideas that I am considering for the next twelve months:

1. Arrange a slow race ...called a "mindful mile." There will be no winner, the race is an un-race....the goal of which is to walk VERY slowly, silently and mindfully for one mile. Everyone who enters gets a very, very cool mindful mile T-shirt, and the entrance fees (after the cost of the T-shirts) go to charity (perhaps a children's cancer charity?). I'll have to find someone to design a very cool to die for t-shirt.

2. Celebrate 12 birthdays in the next year...just a thought...I was too miserable to celebrate my birthday last year in November, and who knows how many trips around the sun I have left. Why be stingy? Since my birthday is on the 5th of the month and since July marks one year since my diagnosis, I am thinking of beginning in July. On second thought... July 5th is already a holiday as the 4th falls on a Sunday. No point doubling up on a holiday. I will start in August. I will take the 5th of every month off from work, and plan some birthday adventure. How much fun is that??? Oh, I will love it. Give me one good reason why not? I will so look forward to my adventures. The only thing in common will be that each monthly birthday will include one large piece of cake (or pie) to celebrate. Some adventures might be alone (I am thinking one adventure would be to spend one full day from sunrise to sunset at a Monastery in silent reflection) some might be with Kathy, some might be with whoever cares to join in... mmm...another adventure could involve driving early morning to Kansas City for a great BBQ lunch/dinner, followed by a walk through some neat neighborhood and birthday cake at some KC bakery and driving back to Lincoln at night. And...I'd like to have a birthday adventure serving others in some meaningful capacity that is totally new for me. And a birthday adventure where I learn something completely new, like a private lesson by an expert in calligraphy or playing an Indian flute, or origami, and then spend the rest of the day practicing. This idea to plan a birthday adventure on the 5th of every month occurred to me around 11PM last evening and I had the most difficult time getting to sleep because I kept thinking about different adventures I could plan. Some were wild and crazy and dangerous, so I best slow down and reflect a little before commenting any more. Otherwise, I might regret my words...I can just see myself standing down at the railyard trying to hop a freight train and cursing myself for ever having this adventure idea...

And finally...a quote for the day...

"Sometimes the truth depends upon a walk around the lake."
Wallace Stevens

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...can't you see the sunrise on the water?

deeper things - wanting more

Even this far along in my recovery, I fight with a desire for "more." I want to enjoy food as much as I used to, I want the energy that I had a year ago, I want to live oblivious to my health. When I am in this "wanting more" mode, I forget all the progress I have made, and I measure myself by the yardstick of what I don't have. I read a poem today that captured it for me.

But the mind always
wants more than it has -
one more bright day of sun,
one more clear night in bed
with the moon; one more hour
to get the words right; one
more chance for the heart in hiding
to emerge from its thicket
in dried grasses - as if this quiet day
with its tentative light weren't enough,
as if joy weren't strewn all around.
- Holly Hughes
from Mind Wanting More

Well, one doesn't have to be a cancer survivor to live in a state of wanting more.

Here, though, is the amazing thing..."this quiet day with its tentative light" is absolutely and perfectly enough. And the poet is right...there is joy strewn all around. And all I have to do is change my perspective one half a turn and I realize I'm blessed with this ordinary Tuesday.

Isn't it something that joy makes itself available to us, even when we've neglected it for long periods of time!

Hey, here is my plan. I am going to take all the things that I don't have, along with all the things I want more of, and put them up on the top shelf in an old storage cabinet in my garage. There is some room right next to a large heap marked "painful memories I got tired of visiting." Since I already avoid that cabinet at all costs (rather than face the task of cleaning it out), I will almost never encounter the stuff that I don't have. It will simply collect dust. At some point in the future, I will realize I have no use for any of it anyway, and put everything from that shelf out at the curb on Monday morning for the garbage man to haul away. And I wont miss it at all!

deeper things - musical interlude -

Winding down...the last video I posted was a video from a "poetry slam." I am greatly impressed by the talent that writing and performing a poetry slam requires. Here is one of the best I have heard. It's a poem about Beethoven. If after hearing it (or instead of hearing it)...you care to listen to a snippet of Beethoven, I have also included a video of a recording of a movement from the 9th Symphony. If music is capable of eliciting powerful emotion, and we know that it is...I contend that there has never been a more powerful piece of music written than Beethoven's 9th symphony. Of course, as in my enjoyment of poetry, I have no real formal music background; I just love Beethoven's 9th. Ode to joy!!!! Can anything top that? Just listen to this guy's poem about Beethovan, and then listen to a performance of Beethoven himself. What magic, what music! Go ahead...listen...you can hear them both in about 10 minutes...there is nothing on TV right now anyway! Oh, listen... you can hear tears, you can hear laughter...I don't know anything, but the poem and the music inspire me...happy day...happy summer! To hear a good symphony orchestra play the complete 9th symphony, sitting with eyes closed and heart open...one feels transported to heaven!

Deeper things - GOD DOESN'T WASTE PAIN

The title of this post reflects one of the most profound statements I have encountered. I would like to claim it as my own original thought, but, truth be told, I heard it from a friend I met when I was consulting a few years ago at a local private college. Jackie, a senior at this college, had lost her boyfriend (fiance?), a fellow college student who died suddenly after collapsing during a pick-up basketball game with a couple of other students. He had an undiagnosed heart defect which led to his heart attack. The entire college was stunned with the loss of this gentle, loving, compassionate, godly and popular student, though, obviously, none more deeply than Jackie. When I recently heard Jackie say "God doesn't waste pain," it was as if God Himself were tapping me on the shoulder and saying, "...get it?"

God doesn't waste pain.

Oh, how that has helped me make sense out of Romans 8:28 ("...all things work together for good to those who love God and are called according to His purpose"). How that statement has helped me make sense of my own ordeal with cancer!

What amazing lessons God has taught me through this cancer journey. Sometimes, as I was walking through "the valley of the shadow of death" my vision was clouded by despair and pain. Sometimes it was clouded by fear. Sometimes it still is. But more strongly than ever, I can say, "thou art with me" and mean it.

Since, God willing, I am winding this blog down (July 31 will mark one year since I started this blog, and a fitting time to bring it to a close), I have been reflecting on a few of the entries that meant the most to me. The entry from August 2009, entitled "Six Amazing Words" was one of them. Of course, you faithful readers remember, but for the one or two who don't, the six amazing words were "Your love is better than life" from Psalm 63. The verse came to me loudly and clearly as I was driving to pick up some Chinese food a week after being diagnosed with cancer. At that time, the edge of anxiety and the thought about the possibility that my own life could succumb to cancer was just starting to make it's way into my brain. The verse from Psalm 63, one that I was not really aware that I had memorized, was a soothing balm.

So, here are four amazing words...not a verse from scripture, but I believe words that could have come from the very heart of God...

God doesn't waste pain.

In love, He uses it to bring forth something new and awesome...

Did not Jesus, Himself, for the joy set before Him, endure the cross...?

deeper things - poetry slam - wake up!

Gabrielle Bouliane died less than two months after this poetry slam performance (she died toward the end of January 2010). She was dying while I was reviving from my chemo and radiation which was completed in October 2009...it could just as easily have been the reverse. My time (and yours) will be here any day now... This is her heart. Wow... and I complain about not having saliva or being able to eat dry foods or having low energy? Take this and let it permeate your heart. So... remind me... what is it that is stopping us from doing what we need to do and saying what we need to say that will add meaning and value to our lives NOW? Give it some thought.

checking in - spaciousness and stillness

It's been awhile since I've given a progress report... So...here it is.

Energy - About 80% restored. I no longer nap during the day. I am working full time without any problem. In the past two days, I have walked the equivalent of 10 miles, and in the last five days, I have walked 21 miles. That's about equal to my pre-treatment activity. Most mornings, I am greeting the day with a two mile walk, (and often some chi gong exercises) and really enjoying it. I am much lighter and my muscular strength is probably half what it was...I'd like to start doing some light weight training soon. Sometimes at night, I feel myself crash when we sit down to watch a TV show...Sometimes, it is almost painful...but I wake up refreshed.

Taste. About 75 % restored. For the most part, I do not taste foods as strongly as I used to. Some foods, particularly sweets, are still a bit unpredictable, and at times, unpleasant. Milk often tastes a bit sour. I ate a few bananas this past week...bananas for some reason taste funny now. I used to love eggs...now, sometimes, I do not like the taste of eggs at all. If a food is spicy, it is difficult to describe how harshly it burns...it is virtually intolerable. I ate a bagel, cream cheese and lox for breakfast today (my traditional Saturday morning breakfast)...it wasn't bad, but it was a lot of work. Eating with minimal saliva is more of a chore and less enjoyable, but I have come a long way back. I just discovered ARBY's sells an apple turnover that tastes just delicious to me with a cup of coffee or tea. I pass an ARBY's on my way home from the office, and I fear I will become addicted to this treat. I am enjoying coffee a lot. I drink green tea, but tea now always leaves an unpleasant aftertaste. I drink gallons of water, but other than coffee or tea, most other drinks, such as fruit juices, taste weird.

Salivary function. About 25% restored. This is the worst of the lingering aftereffects. I do not know yet whether I will still improve here or just have to learn to live with this. I do have some saliva, but it is not "normal" and I frequently feel like I have to rinse my mouth. Unless I am eating something with sauce on it, or lots of moisture in it, like oranges or melons, I have to drink water to swallow. With meat, chicken, bread, crackers...if I don't have water, the food gets stuck in my throat. When I am outdoors or am doing a lot of talking, my mouth gets really dry really fast if I am not sipping water. Now that the weather is warmer, it's not as bad as it was in the cold.

Neuropathy. Another side effect of chemo that has not gone away. My fingers and toes often tingle. Sometimes my whole right arm is a bit painful. When I wake up in the morning, and am nice and warm, I barely notice it...it seems to get worse as the day goes on. But, it is very manageable, and does not impair walking or grasping or typing, etc. If it gets no worse, it's no real problem, just a bit annoying.

Some days I just feel lethargic and a bit nauseated and just not well. They seem to be isolated...I just go on with the day and invariably the next day I feel better. This is a new reality for me, having come from a place of almost unbelievable continuous health. I hardly knew what it meant to feel "under the weather." I never was an energy superstar, and my normal pace was first or second gear, but now, I am learning to adjust to having these days that just aren't so hot. Today, actually, I have felt as good as I have felt in almost a year. If I could forget about the saliva, I would say today I felt like my old self.

SPACIOUSNESS AND STILLNESS. I have a new longing...well, not new, but more pronounced. It is a longing for stillness and spaciousness. I have difficulty putting this into words...but when I am walking early morning, or practicing meditation, or just sitting quietly without any distractions, I feel myself move into a place of deeper peace and fulfillment, and it's like thirst-quenching is to a thirsty person. Today while I was walking I had this thought...life begins with tremendous spaciousness...then, as the years go by, we fill that space more and more until at some point, there is virtually no space between the barrage of stimulus at all...we just move from one hectic moment to the next hectic moment...then, as we approach old age, infirmity, and ultimately death...we begin to again have some spaciousness, depending on the speed of that process. Well, friends, let me tell you...I am reclaiming some of that back right now. I am certainly not yet old (isn't it something how "old" is a relative term, and moves a little further down the road than we presently are...) and God willing, have some healthy days ahead...and I never want to fill them up to overflowing with noise, activity or mind racing thinking again. NO SIR! Give me quiet walks, quiet times with God, quiet time to contemplate and meditate. SPACIOUSNESS AND STILLNESS....

While the longing for spaciousness and stillness seems to me a generally good and healthy pursuit...wouldn't you know, there is a bit of a dark side to this that harkens back to my past. My mother, who was a generally sunny, cheerful and wonderful woman, briefly entered a state of catatonic depression...she became a statue...and required shock treatment ...electroconvulsive therapy...back in 1964. After a few weeks of brain zapping with electricity, she snapped out of it, and was her cheery self again for about thirty years until a relapse of her depression sometime in the 1990's... This second bout with depression responded well to Lithium which I believe she stayed on for the rest of her life. She died when she was 84, and did not have another episode of depression during the last 8 or so years of her life. Around the same time that my mother had her initial episode of catatonia and depression in the 60's...(I was an adolescent) I began having some milder symptoms myself. No one noticed. NO ONE NOTICED! When I was a freshman in college, at the State University of New York at Albany, I lived in an old dorm that was a spillover dorm (if I remember correctly) from the old teachers college, and was located a few miles away from the campus. They put freshman in this dorm because all the modern campus dorms were full and they had to find another place to stick us. Since it was an old dorm, it was built like an old dorm...long dark hallways, etc. I went through a phase where I would stand as still as a statue in the window sill of a very large window at the end of a very long hall. I would particularly do this after the hall lights were turned out around midnight, and only the exit signs were lit, making for a very dark tunnel like effect. I do not remember how long I would stand this way, and I was often high on a variety of hallucinogens, being in college in New York in the late 60's. I was virtually invisible to people coming back to the dorm late, or getting up to use the bathroom down the hall...I was not noticed because, I think, no one expected to see a person standing absolutely still on the ledge of a large window at the end of the hall. When I was noticed, people would startle, and then say something to the effect of "what the hell are you doing standing on the window sill up there?" I would calmly reply something to the effect of "I am not doing anything" or else, " I am just standing here." Surprisingly, those explanations generally seemed to suffice, given it was the 60's and being weird was generally acceptable. Now... over the course of the last decade...there are times I find myself given to similar moments like this...I drive somewhere, turn off my car, but do not move...I stay completely still for a minute, maybe five.... for no particular reason...I "stop" for a bit of time, and then continue doing what I set out to do. This is quite interesting... to me. I am fully in control, and am... by no means... stuck. I don't do this often, but I have an appreciation of this stillness and this "stopping " that is, perhaps, a bit eccentric. I guess a little bit of eccentricity is OK, even (or especially) for a psychologist. What is odd to me is that I haven't encountered such a phenomena in others. Why always the press to "keep going." Try it...just completely stop...be really, really, really still...just for a minute or two...it wont hurt you, and you may even enjoy it...then resume your activity where you left off. Perhaps this eccentricity has nothing at all to do with my longing for a more meditative and spiritual stillness and quiet... ...perhaps...

While I was nearing the end of radiation treatment, I had such a moment of "stopping" on the radiation table, and I wrote a short, one paragraph post (Sept 28 '09) hinting at it in a bit more descriptive manner...I was, by then, taking narcotics, and not saying anything too concretely. Here is the link to copy and paste in your browser if you care to read it...or you can go to the 2009 posts in the blog archive to the right, and click on September and then the entry that's titled "hold a second absolutely still." I am not sure if this post or that one makes more sense...

http://sblumsblog.blogspot.com/2009/09/checking-in-hold-second-absolutely.html

A slightly different perspective on the same concept.

look out -- our new kitten coming soon

he worries...
will Simcha
look down from heaven
and hiss...
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Simcha, you are the alpha cat of my heart!