Happy Birthday Babe!

Today is Phil's birthday, he would have been 50.  His dying young is a tragedy in itself but it hurts more today to know that he didn't even make 50.  Phil always acted and looked younger than his age and people were usually shocked to find out that he was as "old" as he was.  We tended to run with a younger crowd and as the oldest of our friends he actually took pride in being one of the most physically fit ~ although being Phil, he never flaunted it or rubbed anyone's face in it.  It is just who Phil was.  When we met in 1994 he had just moved from Park City, UT to Durham, NC for PA school and had been doing a lot of high altitude trail running.  He'd spent hours at a time running the ski trails for fun... a total nut job I tell you!  When he met his classmate  David Huish, a fellow trail running madman from Farmington, Maine, it was Kismet (a Turkish word meaning fate or destiny).  They immediately sized one another up and ran each other to their limits, getting lost on their first run together in the Duke forest and running further than they probably intended too ~ loving every minute and forging a friendship that would carry them through the challenges of PA school, young married life, their careers, starting families, and the crucible of cancer.


When he was diagnosed with Type I Diabetes several years ago (an autoimmune adult onset type) Phil became even more zealous about his fitness and controlling his blood sugar became extremely important to him.  His HGB A1C (hemoglobin A1C - a measure of blood sugar control) was always excellent and below what was desirable for him.  He exceeded expectations and went the extra mile, making sure that his health came first.  He was always on time for check ups, always reading about his disease, and always running, biking and exercising.  


So it was shocking when he of all people got sick.  It was not supposed to happen to Phil.  He took such good care of himself.  He looked younger than he was.  He was strong. He didn't deserve it.  But that's the thing with cancer.  No one deserves it.  And that's the thing with getting sick.  No one sees it coming and no one is immune.  It just happens and it happens to good, strong people who you love.


All week I've been anticipating feeling sad and having a difficult time with today.  But then this morning I heard a story on NPR that helped me feel better.  A husband and wife were talking about their 18 or 20 yr old son who had died of mononucleosis and the wife's tremendous grief for 5 years after.  She said that one day her husband asked her if she'd known ahead of time that this would happen to them, would she have traded the short time they had with their son?  Without missing a beat she said "No, I wouldn't trade having loved him for a second."  


That's what I needed to hear this morning.  I wouldn't have traded a minute loving and knowing Phil either.  Today is about celebrating that Phil lived, not that he died.  He lived life fully and fought hard to continue living.  I miss him because he left such a huge impression on my life and that of my kids, family and friends.  Join me in celebrating a life well lived and cut short too soon.     

The Veil is Thin

I'm finding it challenging to know where to start, what to write, what exactly it is I want to say today.  So much has happened and, in true Libra fashion, I fluctuate between wanting to write it all down so I don't forget a moment of this strange state of being I find myself in, and wanting to just let it be ~ to continue as I've done over the last few days and lose touch with the passage of time and let it ride.  


I'm laying on the bed in the back room with my sister Anita, and she is helping me sort out what is important for you to know about Phil and our family time. Hospice is in place, which means he sleeps a bit more comfortably in a hospital bed in our room, and I feel supported by an amazing team of caregivers. Every twelve hours is a new place in this journey. Phil is comfortable, not in pain, able to smile and comprehend the nuances of conversation, but is slow to respond and fading quietly. 


Our living room is Ground Zero for us most of the day, with visitors and family coming in and out. I am trying to balance Phil's needs and my own, with those of my children and his loved ones who need to see and be with him. It is exhausting and we haven't quite gotten it right every day. I don't know how long we will be in this disrupted space but I do feel that God is holding us. I don't understand how people do this without Him.  New mercies are needed every morning.


Last night I was reading about what it means to "die a good death." Throughout this illness, Phil has never complained, railed against God, or asked "why me?" How many of us could say that? I want to do whatever it takes to accompany him to his good death. Please pray that I can be faithful in the middle of the night when he needs me. And when I need patience and grace to lovingly sort out the kids' grief and emotional pain. 


This is a sacred privilege for me to honor my husband as he leads us all to the Cross. We are catching glimpses of Jesus in these precarious days of uncertainty but we know for certain that all shall be well.  Phil is surely dying but we know that this is ultimately his resurrection story.


  

Update on Phil

Phil is growing ever more weak and fatigued and sleeping more hours of the day, a blessing in itself. We had a weekend of family and friends visiting and he was able to participate in that. It was incredibly taxing, however.

Yesterday with Dr. Kossman we learned his platelets (at 10K) are dangerously low and put him at risk for a spontaneous bleed so he decided to receive one last transfusion. This was no small decision since it meant spending the better part of the day in the hospital being admitted, typed and crossed then transfused only to go home and sleep for the rest of the day with little interaction. We also decided to begin hospice services. It is a huge relief for me to know that I will no longer be solely responsible for the decisions in the middle of the night and that I will have more help walking my children through this painful transition. As for Phil, his desire to die at home with us can now be made that much more comfortable and achievable. I can see in his entire body since making this decision, that he has begun to relax and let go of the fight. I am relieved for him.

Your comments, prayers and scriptures have been nothing short of manna for our weary souls. Thank you for continuing your vigil with us and for describing to us your love and experiences of and with Phil. My children especially will need to reflect on these stories and comments in the days, weeks and years to come.

Again with the effusion?

We're back in the office again, seeing Dr. Steven Kossman this time around since his old man Charles is on photo safari in Botswana. (I just gotta say I totally dig Chuck's choice of vacation spot, by the way.) Anyway, Phil is due to start another round of chemotherapy today but he's been feeling really crappy this week. His energy has been poor and he continues to have left sided chest discomfort and a weak cough.

A chest xray was done last week which showed a small infiltrate (a haziness) in his left lung but NOT an effusion so he was started on an antibiotic to treat a possible infection. So here we are and he still feels fairly rough around the edges though he's had no fever or sweats, no chills or other signs of worsening infection. According to Phil, this deal in his chest feels just like the other two effusions he's had prior to this, one on his right side and one on his left side. As of about a month ago, his PET/CT scans and bone marrow biopsy were really good so we are a bit confused as to what might be causing this again, if indeed it is another effusion.

His blood counts and lung field exams today were mostly normal. There was some dullness on the left but not enough to stop him from receiving his treatment. The plan was to get the chemotherapy this morning then go over to the hospital for an ultrasound of the lung and tap it if it is an effusion. Otherwise, it's full steam ahead. Keep on beating on this sucker with chemo until it's fully gone.

Phil's ultrasound showed he definitely had a large left-sided pleural effusion. The radiology techs drained off more than 1 liter of fluid and Phil is much more comfortable. The fluid will be sent off again for all the usual studies, including ruling out further lymphoma involvement/advancement. It is a "paranoid" time per Phil. To be on the brink of the BMT and to have this spring up again is very frustrating and disheartening. Especially because it was the tap of his left lung that came back positive for recurrence before. Phil said today that he realizes this is a bit like a "wrestling match" and that no sooner does he get one thing pinned down then he's got another situation popping up somewhere else. There is always a new opponent it seems.

He is scheduled to fly to Atlanta late next week to spend time with his best friends and his hopeful prayer is that he is well enough to do that. Of course, wisdom and discernment about the best choice for his ultimate health is our ultimate prayer request. With the BMT option on the horizon, each decision from here on out bears very thoughtful scrutiny.

Phil is very physically tired from the successive and cumulative toll of 3 (and now a 4th round) of chemotherapy. He is run down emotionally and psychologically after more than a year of chemo/surgery and complications and now, from confronting the daunting list of things that will be required of him for the BMT. Your faithfulness, your cards, wall posts, emails and prayers are keeping us all afloat as we walk through this most difficult of journeys. We continue to rely on you more than you will adequately know. You, the unseen team we look to for strength and determination when we feel depleted. I personally have felt revitalized this week and covet the prayers said in my stead. Thanks Team~

Together Again

I've returned from Washington and am ready for whatever comes next.


It never ceases to amaze me what a healing effect time spent with people who truly know me has on my well being.  My peeps in Washington have walked so many miles with me - they literally prayed our kids into existence with me, saw me through painful, ugly times and then celebrated and partied with me like it was 1999 when those times passed.  It was balm for this gal's weary soul just to BE with them.  It didn't matter what we eventually ended up doing because it was the being with them that mattered.  Of course it didn't hurt that we went shopping and bought new shoes and outfits, went boating and drank cocktails at the lake, took my kids inner-tubing and wake boarding, explored my girlfriend's garden and saw all the plants I'd given her flourishing under her care and just sat around going deep in conversation. It didn't hurt that I walked right into their closets and pantries like no time had passed, borrowed what I needed, our daughter's swapped clothes daily, and life picked up right were it left off.  I stepped into my old life from my current life which up until now hadn't felt like much of one.


It's funny though, I was tired A LOT while I was there and remarked to myself that the pace we were running at wasn't that fast, in fact it was a normal pace for the "old" me.  It's just that down in San Diego, we don't do that much socially and I was out of shape and practice.  It was informative and telling.  By the time we left I realized that the kids and I were ready to return to our quieter lifestyle.  The life we live here is slower and less social due to the constraints of Phil's cancer and the limitations it puts on all of us.  Still, Phil and I have purposefully hunkered down and drawn close together, choosing to spend our energy on our Conrad quartet, creating memories and influencing the kids' character for the long run.


While in Washington, I overheard someone remark about how much I'd changed since the last time she'd seen me.  Being a woman I wondered if she thought I looked tired.  Older and run down?  Or was it because on that particular occasion I'd only paid a little attention to my hair and make up when in the old days I'd have been totally put together?  In the end it didn't really matter because it was all true.  I am tired and I am older and I am run down.  I don't spend much time on my hair and make up and in fact, I cut my hair short in Washington so I don't have to style it all the time.  At first I felt really sad at this remark, and that feeling does come and go from time to time but then I remind myself of what I truly care about - my kids, the memories we're creating and their character.  I don't want them caring about what my hair looks like or whether my make up is totally put together or not.  I'm more interested in the moment and in the healing effect of just being together.  We seem to have found that in the slower pace of our quartet for now.  Going back to my old life showed me that.  How strange and how refreshing that was to learn.

A Way to Live

We're at the end of a long week of chemotherapy now, having awoken bright and early every other morning to get to the hospital for morning rounds (7 a.m.) for the medication we're pinning our hopes on.  At first I kinda liked this new way of doing chemotherapy.  I falsely thought it would end up being a lot easier on me.  Trick!!  


On the face of it, it sounded pretty good- no more 4 day stays in the hospital for Phil with the horrible food, the long absences away from the kids, the long stints of my single parenting.  I really don't know what the heck I was thinking.  I mean, the man is doing chemotherapy still and is a hurting unit.  And this business of getting up at o' dark thirty to be at the hospital by 7 a.m., driving there in morning traffic?  I am a Lehmann for God's sake.  We don't DO o' dark thirty, at least not well, and certainly not arrhythmically every other day for crying out loud.  That is a one way ticket to a migraine or at least, major connective tissue pain.  My sibs ~ Anita, Terry, Cherie, Peter and Stephen ~ can I get an Amen?  You may not have to be a Lehmann to be shanked by this schedule but I can testify that it sucks big time.  I do think it is better than having Phil inpatient for 4 days for sure, but on my end, it has been pretty ugly.  Just ask my kids - they'll set you real straight.  I haven't been the Mommy I want them to remember when they look back.


Perhaps it's the mild heat wave, perhaps it's that I'm still unpacking and trying to find a place for everything and I don't like the level of chaos around me.  Perhaps it's that our house is a bit of a jalopy and keeps presenting me with opportunities to breathe deeply.  Perhaps it's that Phil and I are coming up on our 16th wedding anniversary a mere week prior to the one year anniversary of his diagnosis and both feel so deeply depleted that celebrating isn't precisely on our radar.  One things for dang sure, I am losing my ability to let things roll off my back.  Nope, things have been piling right up.  


And then, Saturday night a compassionate group of loving, generous friends and childhood neighbors, led by the amazing Kathi Taymans McShane, came together in Pittsburgh for an auction and raised nearly $10,000 on our behalf - because of Phil and who he is to them, who he was as a kid in Edgewood.  Because of cancer and the scourge it is and the way it has touched and hurt many.  Yet again, as I reflected on how sick and tired I was of being sick and tired, someone in the body of Christ came alongside to do what I could not.  Kathi showed me when I could not see or recall it to mind that God is at work through His people, surrounding us with many shoulders to carry this burden - prayerfully and financially.  Through people to love on my kids when I'm not Mommy of the year and friends who call or drop me a note to remind me I'm not living in isolation.   


Phil is in the recovery phase of his chemotherapy now.  Tired, tired, tired.  And me?  I am in crisis stage again, I just didn't recognize it for what it was until now.  I am tired, tired, tired.  I do not know what will happen for my husband or for my family.  I'll hope to know more in about three weeks.  Then there will be another decision tree and yet another path on this road.  This really isn't any way to live.  But hey, it really is. 

Inward Bound

Sitting around with friends in college I heard legendary stories about this "life changing" program called Outward Bound.  Many were the students who told of a cold night spent huddled under a bush or make-shift shelter, testing the limits of their physical and mental endurance in order to make it through their solo experience (24 hours spent alone in nature).  It sounded both awesome and intimidating.  I'm certain that if given the opportunity to experience Outward Bound back then, I wouldn't have chosen the journey.  The idea of being completely by myself for 24 hours, let alone in the middle of nowhere, did not sound remotely appealing.  A physical education major, I think I'd have been alright with the physical demands of the program.  However, my inside world, although very familiar to me, was not a very stable nor well organized place at that time.  I had a good idea of what I'd find if I had to go plumbing there for strength and resilience on a dark cold night during my solo experience and it wasn't comforting.  The mental and spiritual test was what I feared and I didn't want to be pushed to see what I was made of - I already had an inclining and it wasn't pretty.


I haven't thought about Outward Bound for years now and I outgrew the fear of how I'd perform long ago.  Having experienced life's vicissitudes, I've built abundant inner resources, gleaned from the passage of time, the wisdom that comes from deep introspection and the benefit of psychotherapy.  I no longer have an unstable, unorganized or un-examined inner life.  Although there probably was a point in time where I might have loved the challenge of Outward Bound, it has long since passed and I don't feel that I've missed anything by not having gone on that journey.  In point of fact, my inner life IS my life and now in this refining fire of Phil's cancer Inward Bound is the only journey I'm truly interested in.


Speaking of Phil's journey, there is news to share.  He is recently home from his latest chemotherapy regimen and did very well with it; the best round so far in some ways.  He tolerated the triple medication cocktail so well that he ate heartily and rarely had any nausea.  He enjoyed visitors and walked the halls daily, keeping up his strength and maintaining his popularity with the staff.  Prior to admission however he was noting some soreness in his left rib cage and fluctuating shoulder pain.  During the hospital stay Dr. Kossman ordered a chest xray which showed Phil had another pleural effusion and there was a questionable area in the center of his chest.  This could have been artifact from the pleural effusion but he needed a CT scan to find out what it really was.  An Interventional Radiologist was on hand for the CT and drew 1 Liter of fluid off of Phil's lungs (that's a lot!) and a quick read showed a lymph node in the middle of his chest.


Now, it's never a good thing when Dr. Kossman calls me first thing in the morning and says he needs to talk to me about "what's going on with your husband".  I'm all too familiar with this drill.  This happened the morning after the CT scan before I went in to see Phil.  He reminded me again about the liter of fluid and the lymph node in Phil's chest.  But he went on to say that the fluid was all lymphocytes meaning that Phil's lymphoma was recurring and the lymph node in his chest measured 5 cm.  Ah shit.  Not good.  Not what we were prepared for and yet, I think, we both knew deep inside that pleural effusions don't just keep recurring for NO reason, and certainly not effusions of that size.  Later as Phil and I cried and talked about it together, we realized that the lymph node had grown since his last chemo treatment 9 weeks ago when he had developed the right sided effusion and had his last CT scan.  In other words, it grew quickly and right on the heels of very aggressive chemotherapy.  Ah double shit.  Not good at all.


Well, that was a week ago and we've since celebrated my father's 80th birthday with my five siblings, and Father's Day as well with both he and Phil.  It was a crusher of a weekend, celebrating my awesome dad and the life he's lived, the family he's raised and the lives he's touched.  He played a huge role in raising my sister Terry's sons and seeing that documented in picture after picture was very special and yet full of conflicting emotions of grief, hope, awe, wonder, thanksgiving and also plenty of prayerful petition that Phil will live to see his kids grow up.  While we do not know where God will take us from here we do know that He has laid a path in front of us and has walked with us every step of the way.  To question the wisdom of His ways now would be folly.   


Phil is in recovery from his current chemotherapy and will hopefully not need any transfusions over this weekend.  So far so good.  We will meet with Dr. Kossman Monday to recheck his counts and again on Friday (while we move into our new house by the way).  He is going to be followed closely and Kossman will be culling through the literature to see where we go from here for the best treatment strategy.  When we know something we will share it with you.  Until then, please continue to cover Phil and our family in your generous prayers.


As for Phil, he says Inward Bound is where the real journey is, the journey to the center of who God made us.  We're going deeper still.


Proverbs 19:21  
Many are the plans in a man's heart, but it is the Lord's purpose that prevails.

Lymphoma's Hall of Fame

Mr. T - from The "A" Team, known for his catchphrase "pity the fool"


Junior Wells - Chicago blues harmonica player, famous for playing with Muddy Waters, Buddy Guy, Bonnie Raitt, The Rolling Stones and Van Morrison


Jim Ryan - most notable accomplishment as Illinois Attorney General was his $9.1 billion settlement from tobacco companies


Joey Ramone - lead singer of the punkrock band The Ramones and a counterculture icon


Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis - wife of the 35th President (JFK)  and First Lady of the United States.  Book editor, art contributor and fashion icon. Forever a symbol of her husband's assassination, even after marrying shipping magnate Aristotle Onassis


Gene Wilder - stage and screen actor, writer, director and author.  Famously known for roles in Willy Wonka, Young Frankenstein, Stir Crazy, Blazing Saddles, and The Woman in Red.  Married to Gilda Radner of SNL fame


Charles Lindbergh - flew first solo non-stop flight from Long Island to Paris in 1927.


King Hussein of Jordan - remembered as one who helped forge peace with Israel 


Paul Allen - multi-billionaire who co-founded Microsoft with friend Bill Gates


Paul Azinger - PGA golfer and occasional on air analyst, PGA Championship Winner 1993


Ed Bradley - American journalist best known for 26 years of award-winning work on CBS News program 60 Minutes


Gabriel Garcia Marquez - Columbian Nobel prize winning novelist and author of One Thousand Years of Solitude and Love in the Time of Cholera


Mario Lemieux - former Canadian NHL forward who played 17 seasons as a forward with the Pittsburgh Penguins, widely regarded as one of the best players of all time


Roger Maris - an American MLB right fielder who, during the 1961 season, hit 61 home runs for the New York Yankees, breaking Babe Ruth's single-season record (set in 1927). Maris' record would stand for 37 years


Sidney Lumet - American director, producer and screenwriter who was nominated for Academy Awards for 12 Angry men, Dog Day Afternoon, Network and The Verdict


Golda Meir - the 4th Prime Minister of the State of Israel, the "Iron Lady" of Israeli Politics


Andres Galarraga - Venezuelan former MLB first baseman for the Montreal Expos


Rowdy Roddy Piper - of World Wrestling Entertainment fame


Fred Thompson - actor, former U.S. Senator, 2008 Presidential candidate, columnist and talk show radio host

Recognizing Cancer

I've been spending time lately surfing the web, checking out other cancer and lymphoma blogs.  I've found many, many excellent writers, be they family members, significant others, or most inspiring and enlightening to me, the cancer patients themselves.  Wow. There are so many people writing about cancer.  And yet these are just a few of the thousands with cancer who choose to blog about it.  They are the minority - most folks are going through their treatment and staying out of the public eye so to speak.  Despite the traditional and stereotypical effects of chemotherapy not everyone looses hair, looses weight or looks emaciated; we might walk right by them and not even know they have cancer.  Besides, what does a typical cancer patient look like?  There are some generalities yes, but believe me, everyone I've met and seen is different and our trip hasn't been at all to specifications.  

One thing I've learned for sure is that I (we) never saw it coming.  And by IT, I mean the end of our life as we knew it.  It makes me wonder, will you see it when it comes your way or the way of someone you love?  I'm not suggesting that Phil and I, more than anyone else, should have necessarily recognized cancer in the medical sense when it landed on our doorstep.  (Heaven knows we worked this baby up as best we could before he was finally diagnosed).  No, I'm talking recognize in the way our lives changed radically and forever in an instant kind of way.  Will you recognize that your road is forking and there is no stopping it?  See that you are turning in a new direction, are at a cusp, a crossroads, a zero hour where-after you and yours will never be the same.  And know that how you handle it from there will make all the difference in the rest of your lives and the lives of those around you?  And it is going to happen to some of you.  Statistically, probably many of you.  And I'm sorry.

For me, one gift in all of this load of crapola is sharing myself and my struggles, my insights and my aspirations ~ what I am learning through it all.  Perhaps so that you will not be caught unaware.  So you will not be (too) unprepared.  Every journey is personal and not one is the same but there are similar Truths in the human experience.  Everyone suffers, everyone bleeds and everyone requires a lot of grace, love and compassion along the way.  I have the privilege of living in relationship with some pretty wonderful friends and family and between Facebook, letters and the blog I feel connected despite the miles and the separation.  This has been an intense and lonely road for me.  For all of us.  But God has continued to show up and so have you.  Thank you, each one, for reading along and for praying, for commenting and for seeing us through.  For being with us in our zero hour and our new life.  

     "If you can find a path with no obstacles, it probably doesn't lead anywhere."  

          Frank A. Clark

A Time To Be Silent and A Time To Speak

When I was in grade school my report cards frequently came back to my parents with little comments like "talking in class is a problem", or "quite the social butterfly".  And I remember my parents always telling the story of our family going camping and me wandering off to the nearby campsites "making friends" while they looked around trying to find where I'd gone.  In fact, being in a family of six children, I'd say I grew up with A LOT of talking.  I distinctly remember a lot of talking at the dinner table and loud board games and even louder pool parties.  Seems there was always something to say and someone to say it.  


Now, I crave my quiet time.  My son woke up the other night, disturbed in his sleep by the incessant singing of a mockingbird right outside his window at 3 a.m. He was so exhausted and miserable that he sought refuge in our bed far from "the noise".  For me, it was so much quieter than the noise of details and anxiety vying for attention in my head that I found it soothing and beautiful and it quickly had me back to sleep (in our cramped quarters no less).    


I do find it interesting now, as the spouse of someone with cancer, as someone who spends a lot of time in the hospital, how quiet I have become.  I realize how quiet I've become when I haven't blogged for awhile.  It seems deafening, the quiet.  I haven't totally figured it out yet - why I stay silent, sitting on the newest of information about Phil.  My little book of notes is just sitting on my bedside table, waiting to be turned into a post.  I am fully aware that I am the conduit, the gatekeeper of sorts for the friends and loved ones waiting to hear about Phil's latest turn of events.  I am fully aware but remain silent.  It's strange how at times, when he is in crisis, I can't blog fast enough - sometimes posting every day.  At other times, a week or more will go by.  Clearly there is some anxiety management underway.  


For starters, I think staying quiet is both a way to stop the process from moving forward for a while (so to speak).  To keep it on the page, closed up in my book of notes.  It is a very primitive form of control.  OK, I've heard the latest, taken that bite and chewed it up.  Now I just close the book on it, literally and wait until the next appointment and THEN I'll open up the book again ~ as if nothing can happen as long as I don't open up that book, or speak about it.  Very wishful, magical thinking.  Well, on with the latest in reality then....


Phil's pleural effusion was tapped (drained) last week and 550cc was removed.  That's half of a liter, as in half of a huge Coke bottle worth of fluid.  A LOT!  It was mostly old blood and WBCs and the overall results were Good but Confusing.  When Phil was neutropenic (had no WBCs) something in his pleural space caused a lot of inflammation/irritation.  He was also thrombocytopenic (low platelets) and couldn't clot off bleeding from the irritation hence the blood in his pleural space.  When he was given Neulasta to stimulate WBCs he made a lot of them and they rushed to his pleural space too.  They also gave him lots of IV antibiotics to cover the possibility of infection.


There were no signs of bacteria, fungus, Mucor, malignant cells, or lymphoma in his effusion and the cultures are not growing anything either.  There is nothing that looks like an active infection.  The confusing part is what caused the effusion in the first place.  He could have had an infection that cleared with the IV antibiotics in the hospital and since there still isn't anything growing in the cultures, we may never know.  So, he sits tight and waits to see how he recovers.  There is no treatment prescribed and he waits on some longer term tests like TB, and fungal cultures.  Fortunately, he is feeling better every day.


NOW THE BIG QUESTION?  WHEN TO TREAT WITH MORE CHEMOTHERAPY?
Practically, Dr. Kossman would like to treat Phil in 3 weeks.
Philosophically, not knowing what is going on in his lungs, whether that is a resolving infectious process or what, he doesn't want to just bottom Phil out again right away.  Plus, as he said to him last time, "I've almost killed you now three or four times".  He wants to give Phil time to recover just enough to take him (and whatever residual lymphoma may be there) back down hard.  For now, Kossman will wait until Phil returns from his father's memorial service in early June to start the next round, #5 of a probable 6-8.


And that brings me to the most interesting part of our discussion.  Do you know why Phil gets more chemo, even though his bone marrow is "normal", his chest mass is "gone" and he is in "remission"?  Here's how Dr. Kossman explained it.
     
     CHEMOTHERAPY 101
Say you have a 1 cm mass, like a lymph node.  That = 1 Billion cancer cells.
Take enough chemotherapy to kill all of the cancer cells but the size of a pencil dot or the period at the end of this sentence.
That would leave you with 1% of 1 billion cells which would = 10 MILLION CANCER CELLS left.


That is why cancer is a fucker if you don't mind my saying so.  Not going to stay silent on that one.  

Second Verse, Same as the First

Well that didn't take long. We're back in the big house again, Alvarado, that is. They even saved our corner room for us! My super star husband is digging deep once again to deal with more crapola. Like I say, "Shit happens, carry a big shovel!"

Last night Phil really started hurting from the pleurisy and struggled to find a comfortable position just to be in. Earlier in the day he'd noticed a rash on his arms and legs and we thought he had developed a reaction to one of the antibiotics from his hospital stay. Yee-ha! Something else to add to his list of miseries. Benadryl was taken, promptly turning him into a zombie which the kids found amusing at dinnertime. When he finally turned in for the night it took at least 3 minutes for him to walk from our family room to our bedroom ~ scary slow. And this morning he got short of breath taking a shower. This is Phil Conrad I'm writing about here ~ runner of high altitude trails, skier of double black diamond runs, climber of Olympic Peaks, ultimate frisbee player, cyclist, tennis player, swimmer. This was hard to watch, and more so because he was in agonizing pain. He couldn't take a full breath and his chest and left shoulder hurt with most movements, especially when leaning forward. He had to sleep sitting up yet even that was uncomfortable.

By the morning he had a fever of 101.2 and his blood sugar was elevated. It was time to call Kossman. We had a follow up appointment at 10:15 but it seemed likely he'd want to see Phil sooner. Unfortunately the good doctor was so slammed that all he could do was have us come half an hour early to get started on labs. Fortunately, at the rate Phil was moving, we'd just make it on time! Once there, it was obvious he'd be going back to the hospital. He was still febrile so blood cultures were drawn and his hospital chart was called for along with his previous cultures from microbiology. Kossman did a thorough exam and found Phil's lung capacity was diminished. At the least Phil was septic, neutropenic (he has a WBC count of 200 total), had a pleural effusion (fluid in his lung bases), and probably had a viral exanthem (rash). So back to the hospital he goes for IV antibiotics, antifungals, pain meds, fluids, blood products, a chest X-ray, EKG, more labs, and a couple of consults.

Once here the action was fast and furious. Within 1 hour of admission he'd had his port accessed, labs drawn, EKG done, chest X-ray taken and admission intake put into the computer. Amazing. Oh, and he'd had a delicious (right) lunch delivered to his room as well. So, now we wait to hear the results and let the nurses hang their bags of IV fluids and antibiotics and pain meds.

Hopefully the news will come quickly. If there is an effusion Kossman will have to decide whether or not to "tap" the lung. With few WBCs there is definitely risk involved in tapping the lung to remove fluid. But there are therapeutic and diagnostic benefits to doing it as well. We shall see. In the mean time, my family and I will see about getting Phil some more humane meals while he has to be here. They have excellent patient care but their menu falls far short.

Home Again

It's Saturday now and Phil came home earlier today.  All his studies were normal, his nausea has subsided, he ate a good breakfast and his pain is much much better. Whew.  Thank you God that he is through that crucible.


Bennett and I stopped in after an early baseball game (in which Bennett hit a triple and drove in 2 runs by the way) and found Phil freshly showered, packed up to go and listening to music on his computer.  To say he was ready to make his exit would be putting it lightly.  He's spent a lot of hard time in these corner rooms of Alvarado hospital over the last 7 months. Of course there is more hard time to come; but that's not today.  


Today is about going home to his comfortable bed, really good food, to being loved on by me, the kids and Trenna and Rene's family.  Today is for celebrating Bennett's enthusiasm about hitting a triple and winning his first game of the season.  It's about cuddling with Olivia and listening to her read from her journal and all her favorite books.  It's about watching NCAA Basketball games and hanging out in his sweats -- not a hospital gown, pulling an IV pole around.  Today is about whatever he says it's about.  It's not about cancer, at least for awhile. 

What's the Word

The way things are worded can make a huge difference.  In my Facebook post at the beginning of this week I said, 

" It's official! Chemo is working - Phil was transfused last night with RBC's. He's feeling a bit low but kicking butt and taking names! "

By posting the words "It's Official! Chemo is working", at least 30 people had read words they "liked" and the post earned over 10 comments regarding Phil's continued battle with cancer.  Reading the comments showed me that our friends were still engaged in this drama in a big way and I was frankly shocked by the number of responses. I quickly realized they were just happy to be hearing good news.    


When I posted, I was merely trying to convey the start of another session of chemotherapy.   I wasn't expecting to garner that much attention.  After all, my blog hasn't generated many comments lately.   Being in the middle of this heroic journey, I am a bit fatigued and numbed to a lot of things.  For instance, in posting that chemotherapy was working, I failed to anticipate the response of joy and happiness on your part.  I don't experience the highs of joyousness so much because I am usually on guard for the inevitable lows and have grown accustomed to the roller coaster, having seen it up close and personal.  You don't live it intensely and intimately day in and day out and so of course are counting on the updates and are checking in for the newest details.  I wrongly assume you have grown tired of hearing the repeating details like we have grown tired of living them.  Sorry that I forget these things and again, have been too long in keeping you up to date on Phil's progress, good, bad or ugly.


Now, concerning the inevitable...   Last night Phil ran a temp of 100.7 which has to be dealt with when you're on chemotherapy.  His head hurts, he feels nauseated and his appetite is down.  So today brings urine and blood cultures, a chest x-ray and the loud banging in the MRI to check out his sinuses and brain once again.  There is no obvious explanation for his fever so they'll look everywhere.  His phone rang just awhile ago and it seems even Dr. Mansfield would like to seem him today.  So, at 4:00 p.m. we'll wheelchair across to his office so the good doctor can take a look in Phil's sinus.  Poor guys going to have a rough one today.  He's really feeling up to it at that, don't cha know.  Just yesterday he was thinking he might be going home today too.  Sorry Charlie, you just bought yourself at least a weekend stay in Club Med.  All food and drinks are on-the-house you lucky son-of-a-gun!


While my initial intent was to alert you to Phil beginning chemotherapy again, perhaps this responsiveness to Phil's chemo status will serve a greater purpose.  Once again, we each have an invitation, an opportunity.  For some it's to join in with us who stand shoulder to shoulder, as we carry the burden and lift up our brother and friend in prayer as he fights one more time with the intruder.   For others it's to deepen the commitment of prayer and friendship and connection.  


For me it's to remember that I have a life and that I am not alone in it. I have incredible friends even if they feel far away at times, or my life is off the normal tracks and I don't have time or energy to see the ones who are near.  Lastly and importantly, it's also to remember that I have a say in what my perspective on my life will be.  

Embracing REAL

When I turned 40 a few years ago, a switch flipped inside of me and I suddenly stopped caring so much what people thought of me.  Oh, I'm still concerned with making a good impression and I enjoy being liked as much as the next gal, don't be fooled.  But I am blessedly free from the anxieties and pressures that motivated my actions and shaped my opinions of myself for much of my youth.  God knows I wasted a helluva lot of time giving a shit what other people thought of me, doing what all women do, "comparing my insides to other people's outsides".  Maybe I was just slow on the uptake but it took me what seems like an inordinate amount of time to realize that the only approvals I needed were mine and God's.  Since He spoke the earth into motion and made me, in His image, with my mind, my emotions AND my Teutonic psyche there must be something that He made that way on purpose.

With that in the back of my mind I've been thinking about how transparent my life has become.  One of the sequelae of living a life alongside someone with cancer is that I find it hard to make small talk.  I used to be really good at it.  "Establishing rapport" is what we call it in medicine and having spent 8 years working in family practice I got quite good at it, this art of medicine.  It came to me fairly naturally by personality and for me the way in to a person's REAL stuff was always through their small talk.   During a medical visit small talk makes transition easier for people - it is small after all and let's one build up to the BIG of what's real and serious or delicate or vulnerable or you fill in the blank.  What's difficult. Or painful.  Or taboo.  Or just plain hard.  But now, small talk just seems like what it is, small.  It no longer feels appropriate when I speak about my life.  Questions have REAL answers after all.

What this looks like then is the following: I find myself at the check-out counter and the cashier asks me what my plans are for "this beautiful day", without missing a beat I'll tell her I'm taking lunch to my husband in the hospital because the food sucks there.  Or when my uber-chippy Starbucks barista asks me how my day's going, I usually pause too long before saying something REAL like, "I'm wiped out actually".  What almost always ensues is a dynamic and intimate conversation about cancer, lymphoma, chemotherapy, the tragedy that is having a young husband dealing with all the above.  And almost always, a brief testimonial to God's grace and mercy throughout it all comes about, inevitably because they bring it up.  Nope, no small talk for me, just the unvarnished truth of what's going on in my moment.  

 I was truly glad when I turned 40.  Not, mind you, because I got to start feeling achy and aware of my diminishing returns year after year but because I was finally at home with the REAL on so many levels.  Now this cancer journey has given me new opportunities to embrace the REAL in my life and I am blessed and encouraged by each encounter, whether serious, delicate, vulnerable, difficult, painful, taboo, or just plain hard.  I'd say sorry world, it sucks to be you when you cross my path on an especially tough day and ask how I'm doing, but really, I think the world is fortunate.  Not because of me and what I'm putting out there particularly, but because the world needs authenticity, more REAL and less small.  I find it refreshing and judging from the number and depth of my encounters I'd say the world is clamoring for it.

Chill Pill

With all the prescriptions and medications Phil has been given, this may be the hardest pill he's had to swallow.  Waiting.   


He's been asked to wait at least 3 weeks to start his next round of chemotherapy.  He was supposed to start today in fact, but his sinuses just aren't ready for this regimen's portion of chemo, methotrexate and ARA-C.  Dr. Mansfield examined Phil last week and found too much swelling and infectious residue to sign off on treatment at this point and asked him and Dr. Kossman to wait at least 2 weeks.  The 3 week point was chosen because Mansfield won't be back in town until then and we all want him around in case anything goes south during treatment.  Having been around this block a few times we've learned it's a good thing to have the best people in place, just in case.  So, 3 weeks it will be.


Now you might think that Phil would be singularly happy about having 3 weeks to take a break and have a breather.  I would have thought so too.  To be perfectly transparent, since it means that I get a break as well, I am totally fine with it, but he's not thrilled.  But before I go questioning him I have to remember that I'm not the one with cancer in my body - in my bones and in my blood.  He's got the ever present reminder within him and despite his fatigue and the rigors, wounds and inconveniences of battle, most days he just wants to get on with it and see it to the finish.  His lives a dichotomous life right now, desperately needing to rest and replenish in order to live, yet wanting to take the fight to the disease (within himself) which knows no rest.  


So, is there really ever any rest for him?  For his mind or his spirit?  Maybe for the body there is when he's laid up or recovering from surgery.  But what about his mind?  What happens when one let's up in there, or in one's spirit?  I don't really know, having never fought for my life.  I do know that Phil, despite recovering a herculean amount of strength and stamina, is still often profoundly fatigued and the reason isn't always clear.


Today we have his brother Jamie and family coming to visit and "the buddy's" from high school, Brad Bruckman, Tim Spence, Jim Kramer and Jon McCauley are coming in another week.  God doesn't makes mistakes and since His timing is perfect I can't wait to see what will happen for Phil during this time.  It makes perfect sense for him to relax and really enjoy this time with them.  The sinuses will heal, I don't have any concerns about that.  But we all need a breather, all of us.  Whether we know how to handle it or whether we welcome it, it's here.  I for one have so much to do and get caught up on that having friends and family here could streamline that.  I'm looking forward to fresh faces around, to stories and laughter.  I can't wait for the inevitable falling in love that my kids do with Dad's friends and vice-versa.   And I really look forward to Phil forgetting for a while that he's sick.  That's what this waiting could be all about and that would be just fine.

Far from Perfect

Thank you for the comments, your texts and to those of you who called since the last post.  For the rest of you, I am feeling better today.  Although there are moments when I am completely spent and want no more part of this entire business, they are only moments and once I have expressed the pent up frustrations and emotions then I do indeed feel better for awhile.  My emotional silo becomes full and, like a pressure valve on high, needs to be purged in order for the rest of me to function properly.  Regularly bleeding off steam just has to happen and it can come in the form of acupuncture, exercise, spa treatments, crying jags or the tried and true pity party.  This last one seemed to take life down a notch, for now, and that's all I can ask for. 


I try to deal with my emotional life as it comes but it sure gets hard to name every feeling, process it in real time and find a place inside to hold it.  See, I've got this Teutonic (read German) brain and that means I am blessed/plagued with a mind that must have order dammit and must have precision dammit in order to feel at ease in the world and within myself (I know, get on the couch...been there!).  Without this essential scaffolding in place, there is room for that sneakiest of sneaks to creep in, anxiety.  If you can claim any genes from this vast Anglo-Saxon pool to which I refer then you might recognize these tendencies in yourself. I'm grossly generalizing I know, but I personally thank the marauding Germanic hordes for my psychological OCD -- you may have some indigenous lowland cow herd or metalsmith to pay homage to.  Gesundheit!


No, you say?  Perhaps you're more of a nurture vs nature person.  No matter, there's evidence of dysfunction all around.  Walk into any Barnes and Noble and you'll find an extensive self-help section on the subject.  If books aren't your thing I'm sure there's an app for it for your smart phone or iPad.  My point is that I'm far from perfect.  What I knew from experience as I threw my little pity party was that after the party was over I'd still be dealing with my hard wired issues.  So, now I'm back at it, shoulder to the wheel to learn new ways of being, responding, receiving my life, albeit amidst a bit of a maelstrom at times.  This emotional OCD business doesn't work for me, it never has, in fact it beats the crap outta me.  Life doesn't fit neatly into a box because life isn't neat -- at least mine isn't.  And I hate to point out the obvious, but future neatness doesn't look promising either.  


As Phil heads into part 2B of chemo again next week, right on the heels of surgery and all the crap complications from chemo 2A, I know he'd love to hear that all is right in my world but hey, I distinctly remember part of our marriage vows saying something about promising to disappoint each other.  I'm claiming that one right here and now and taking it all the way to the bank.  But I also vowed to be there in sickness.  It is true, we are both depleted, and none more profoundly and completely than Phil.  This is hard territory -- trying to have our needs met while finding that balance between being the spouse, raising children and seeing to the self without losing compassion, grace and identity.  A tall order which requires everything of us.  There are children watching.  There are characters being formed.  There are lives at stake.  

Welcome to My World

SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Reading the following post may give you the distinct impression that I'm throwing myself a pity party.


It's about time for one though, isn't it, really?  I rarely look back and read what I've written but boy when I do, I think to myself, who writes this crap?  Well, actually that's just on my bad days.  I mean come on now, aren't we all our own worst critics?  In my attempts to keep you abreast of what's going on here at Chez Conrad I feel it's my duty to keep it real while attempting to keep The Blog I Don't Write from creeping in too much.  Hence the always upbeat and what appears to me to be slightly milk toast/smarmy endings I default to in order not to loose my sanity and my ability to fight on yet one more day.  Can I get a witness!!


Let me interrupt myself here before I get too far into my soliloquy and say that this blog comes to you this morning from the tail end of 3-4 days of contending with yet another migraine (#4729 I believe, but who's counting) and at least that many days of piss-poor sleep quality.  Considering that migraines are seizure variants and mess with you something fierce -- this isn't likely to be my garden variety post.  Lo siento, mea culpa, one thousand apologies and all that and hey, just press on and try to keep up. 


Last Sunday my pastor gave a sermon about being real with people and letting them in to your story etc.  I thought of this blog and all the accolades I get from folks about how great it is to hear about our story yadda yadda.  But I felt convicted all the same because there IS The Blog I Don't Write which is something I constantly struggle with.  What you'd find in that blog are all the personal struggles and agonies that I save for my most intimate of confidantes and sometimes, not even for them.  But in between The Blog I Don't Write and Conrad Family Chronicles to date there are things to write about this cancer journey that can't be tied up with a pep rally ending.  When I am in the throes of a migraine-sleep-deprived state, those are the things that are unfortunately at the forefront of my altered negativistic mind.


For instance, this is our medicine cabinet.  Correction, this is Phil's medicine cabinet.
  

Aside from the Lysol, Kotex, and maybe, just maybe, the Phillips Milk of Magnesia, I would wager there isn't anything in here you'd find in your cabinet or under your sink.  Don't even get me started on how many Ben Franklin's we've got tied up in here.  A visiting friend told us we could make some serious cash on the side with our pain killer stash.  Might have to look into that if things really get tight...  Opening the medicine cabinet, which is located ever so inconveniently over the toilet is inviting disaster.  Not only could anything and everything fall into the commode, but the same genius who put the meds over the toilet saw fit to stack the towels above the medicines so taking a shower is also always dicey.


And this is how Phil spends quite a lot of time when he is recovering from chemotherapy or surgery - sleeping, resting, dozing, shutting out the world, trying to find his happy place, generally feeling like crap.

Notice our beautiful home decor in the background.  Those beautiful red vases?  You too can get your own at any hospital or medical supply store.  I can honestly say they will give your abode that "home health" look you've always been wanting.  We just can't get enough.  In fact we've got them in the bathroom too!  It's every woman's dream, let me tell you.  Oh, and the IV pole in the background?  When not in use it doubles as a hanger in the closet - functional and beautiful.  Whoot Whoot!


Just a few words on the subject of sleep.  If Phil doesn't sleep then the bottom falls out of everything.  He doesn't eat well, he doesn't have energy to heal, he just doesn't function.    Well, if Sally doesn't sleep, she gets cranky, migrainous and down right hurts all over because she is getting O-L-D-E-R and she hasn't exercised regularly in over 7 months.  But, things being what they are, tough shinola.  Sleep is the cornerstone.  Actually that's true for all of us but when you've got cancer then your sleep trumps everyone else's.  Them's the beans.


Case in point, (and here comes the pity party) last night after going to bed I woke up at midnight because my shoulders were clunking every time I rolled over.  Seems the old gray mare just ain't what she used to be.  Dammit.  By 2:30 a.m. I was sweltering from the heat running at 70 degrees despite being turned down to 60.  Got up to turn that off.  Just after dozing off again I was reawakened by Phil's snoring which, despite having extensive sinus surgery, has become more pronounced than ever.  Unfortunately, there would be no poking him in the ribs to roll over.  He can't sleep on his left side or he'll get headaches and numbness from the surgery so I've got to take it or go sleep with the kids.  There are just some things that make no sense and that is one of them.  I grit my teeth and did my best.  I fell back to sleep and after 2 hours guess what?  My son needed help to go back to sleep after a nightmare.  It was now 4:30 a.m., still dark and there was no waking Phil up to deal with it because, oh yeah - he took sleeping meds and there was no way he'd wake up if I tried!!  


The Emperor of Maladies describes cancer as "malignant growth and normal growth entwined", and "the most significant scientific challenge of our society".  That's exactly my world, the malignant entwined with the normal, the bad threatening every day to take over more and more of the good.  Seems every time I turn around there is some new way that cancer has found to infiltrate my little corner of life here.  Cancer has given me an opportunity for growth and reflection and to see things from a new perspective yes, but I'm just about all full up thanks.  


Like cancer itself, my good days and bad days are entwined and I experience progress and set backs alike.  The most significant challenge to society has landed on my doorstep and just getting by this week has proven difficult.

It is What It Is

We're home now, having been discharged on Wednesday after receiving Dr. Mansfield's blessing that Phil had been given a sufficient amount of IV antibiotics and Dr. Kossman felt his blood counts were returning to normal levels.  He left on oral antibiotics and a host of other medications to tame the sinus infection while his immune system comes back online and finally conquers it once and for all (knocking on wood would be appropriate right now if you are at all superstitious). 

Normally, coming home would mean a wonderful rest from the hustle and bustle of hospital life where someone or another is always coming into Phil's room to measure, administer, deliver, or clean something.  But no.  Cancer, being the tenacious SOB that it is, has continued to flex it's muscle and is alternately pissing Phil off or exhausting him with profound nausea.  In addition to these bouts he has also been taken to the mat with sleeplessness and a ferocious fatigue that compounds with each passing day.  There has truly been no rest for the weary.  And by weary I mean: chemotherapy for 4 days followed by 9 days of the bottom totally dropping out followed by admission for pancytopenia and sepsis including sinus surgery and a 6 day stay at "Club Med".   Makes most anything I am dealing with alongside of him much more tolerable.  Not easy, but tolerable.  

I just began reading The Emperor of all Maladies: a Biography of Cancer.  It is absolutely fascinating so far and I know I will be riveted by it.  I know because it is the story of a "relentless and insidious enemy" and because it is the story I am living every day.  You might wonder why I would choose to read such a book right now.  You might wonder if I'll find it too depressing, or too difficult to handle.  On the contrary.  In taking a hard look in the mirror of reality I find nothing more affirming than seeing things exactly as they are and leaning into them.  It is what it is - and yes it SUCKS!, yes it is a RIP OFF! of epic proportions that my husband, my children's father has this most aggressive and "relentless and insidious enemy", cancer.  But to pretend otherwise or to distance myself from this process or reality would be to deny Phil and myself the opportunity and privilege of growing in intimacy with each other, our children and with God in this most heinous, desperate and yet profound situation.


Through relationships with the doctors, my close friends and family and mostly with Phil and my kids I am reaping many harvests of joy amidst this trial.  I definitely have to keep my eyes open for them sometimes but they are there.  People and relationships are an endless wellspring of love and discovery.  And when all that cancer is serving up is nausea, hair loss, fatigue and sleeplessness, well, give me the wellspring, thank you very much!   (Take me to the river, drop me in the water...)  So even though there is suffering and that is what it is a lot of the time lately, that's OK.  We signed up for the package deal with each other, with our friendships, and with God.

People travel to wonder at the height of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motion of the stars; and they pass by themselves without wondering. -- St. Augustine

Light in the Darkness

This is the quietest this blog has been since it's inception.  There isn't much new to report regarding Phil.  Don't get me wrong, the way the man continues to amaze has become routine and almost blase.  He's building strength and improving every day.  Just this morning he got up before the kids, emptied the dishwasher, loaded it again, and then got them up and helped them get ready for school.  


I don't know about you, but in our household, this is no small feat.  Waking our children in the wee hours of the morning is a risky proposition and not for the faint of heart or for the energy-challenged.  Personally, I usually have a cuppa joe prior just to steel myself for the task.  But Phil?  Not him.  He just marched in cold turkey and did the deed.  He took no prisoners and made it happen.  Yeah, he's coming back online for sure. What's most amazing (and actually challenged my pride a bit, I gotta confess) is that there was no whining. The alpha male is back in action.  Praise Jesus and all He stands for.  I think my pride will survive.


The main reason there's been no communique from moi has everything to do with moi.  I believe I've said it before but it bears repeating.  When Phil does better, I tend to do worse.  Or at least for a while I do worse.  This last week was a crucible and a gauntlet that had to be gone through but like all crucibles and gauntlets, it hurt like hell but I am the better for it having come out the other side.


For all you migraineurs out there all I have to do is mention the word migraine and I have your complete understanding of what I went through last week.  (Non-migraineurs just imagine having the worst headache of your life on one side of your head, right behind your eye, with some degree of nausea and a complete lack of energy, apathy really, for about 6 days).  Combine that with ineffective medication, sleep deprivation secondary to dealing with my children's night terrors and grief reactions and you have the essence of the fog I found myself in.  Unfortunately it didn't stop there.  What migraineurs also know is that there is often a depressive element that comes from being so incapacitated by pain and from living in such an altered state for that length of time.  It was a dark, long and lonely week.  


The hardest part about it all?  Continuing to be chief cook and bottle washer.  Being mom, wife, nurse, chauffeur, cleaner, cook, laundress, teacher, disciplinarian, comforter.  Did I leave anything out?  Oh yeah, being me!  I had a feeling I didn't have much reserve in me but after this past week, I now know in no uncertain terms that I have no reserve.  It's not an indictment of anyone or a judgment.  It just is what it is, a sad statement of fact about the ravages of cancer on the family and the care givers.  So, not only wasn't I capable of writing the blog, but I was also taking a few days rest.  Besides, what was there to write about at that point?


Well, then came Sunday.  I asked Phil to come to church with me and we headed to Newbreak, a church I feel fed by and Bennett enjoys for the kids worship.  Lately the kids will say "I don't want to go to church" but then they have a great time.  This Sunday was no exception.  I told them I needed to go to feed my soul and feel the light of God and I was happy they and Daddy were coming with me.


The sermon was called "Avoiding the Beat Down" and was basically about how to avoid becoming beat down by the battle with the evils in this world.  It was a Halloween theme but I could see all the ways God was talking to my soul - about not being beat down by migraines, being chief cook and bottle washer, by my responsibilities to Phil and my kids, not being beat down by cancer.

After the service I asked Phil if he'd like to receive prayer up front from the prayer team and he agreed.  A bit of a surprise since he's been on a bit of a spiritual journey of late and I didn't know what he'd say.  We went up front and talked with Mike, the pastor who called over an elder, anointed Phil with oil, prayed and quoted James 5:14 , "Is any of you sick? He should call the elders of the church to pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord." It was a powerful prayer time and both of us were blessed by it.

When it came time to pick up Bennett from kids worship, he handed me a certificate, very nonchalantly.  When I asked him what it was, he said, "I gave my heart to Jesus today".  It was a Certificate of Salvation they gave out to commemorate the day.  His teacher came over to me and said how excited he was for Bennett and how choked up he always gets for the kids when their names are written in The Book of Life.  Bennett came over and whispered to me that the teachers wanted all the kids to say a prayer together but he couldn't wait and said his silently in his heart while they were all waiting.  So typical!!  I love that boy even with all his impatience.

I had just been talking with my sister Anita about this very thing - what God is up to behind the scenes that we can't see.  What He will do with all this suffering, with Phil's cancer battle, with the story of Phil's amazing recovery from this horrible infection.  How will God use these experiences to further His kingdom and to bring glory to his name?  Because God doesn't waste anything.

As we were walking out on our way to the car I started crying.  I was so happy!  My son came into the Kingdom of God and has started a relationship with the God of the universe.  Right now, while he is so vulnerable, he has Jesus in his heart.  He asked me why I was crying and I told him how happy I was that we'd be seeing each other in heaven.  And that I knew it was well with his soul.  He smiled at me and gave me a big hug and said "It's gonna be OK Mom."  God fed my soul and then some yesterday and claimed victory over the darkness once again.