A long-overdue update for you folks. My apologies if you’ve been checking in on me unsuccessfully…
Here’s the latest (referring to my most recent surgery): having ditched my PICC line of penicillin (AKA The IV Line and Big Bag of Misery), I’m in week three of a four-week pill antibiotic cycle, which will be followed by four weeks of watching my crazy, crazy head to see if anything wants to grow back. Assuming all previous infections are all very dead, I’ll be going back in for surgery sometime in mid-July to install a specially-designed plastic plate (not the Mr. Potato Head plug-in port I’d been hoping for). I was glad to get back to my middle-school job for the final two weeks of the year, and re-establish relationships with coworkers and students, before we all scattered. There’ll be some upcoming MRI scans of the tumor site; I’ll keep you posted when these are coming up so you all can be praying for more no news.
In other news, I recently finished the last of my monthly chemo cycles! This had initially consisted of seven weeks of a low dosage of Temodar (a terrific anti-brain tumor drug that has definitely saved many lives in its short time on the market), followed by a once-a-month, five-day stretch of a doubled dose. Though I felt little to no reaction to the initial dosage, the heightened regiment knocked me down pretty good each time (definitely not to the scale of folks who do infusion chemo, where they plug it straight into your veins).
During a chemo week, here’s the daily pill diet: blue & white = Temodar; little yellow = anti-nausea pill (beautiful stuff, those); purple & white= daily anti-seizure meds (in case my brain didn’t like having all that scar tissue up there); little white = Vit. D supplement (really good stuff that everyone should be taking if they don’t live in a sunny climate); big brown = Omega-3 oils (huge cancer-preventing agent). Bon appetit!
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And, over the course of a week, that’s-a spicy meat-a-ball-a…
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So, after 174 pills, at $150 a pop (before insurance, thank God…), about $4000 out-of-pocket (not bad, considering it could have been almost $30K), more than a few no-questions-asked sick days (courtesy of some wonderful co-workers), a freezer full of Mom food (you know, not the rice and chicken I would be doing every night on my own otherwise) donated by an incredible network of family and friends, and a newly-established first-name relationship will all the staff at my local pharmacy, we come to you, my blue & white little friend…
June 10, 2009. Hopefully, if these expensive little buggers do their job, the last chemo pill I’ll ever have to swallow…
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My musings of this process that is chemotherapy are long and long-winded (and won’t be given justice here in a rambling blog post that I’m trying to crank out late a night, while feeling somewhat unreflective). However, the concept of beating your body up to get better is one that befuddles me. A friend described her past experience with brain tumor-related chemo (before the days of the relatively-tame Temodar) as one where they “take you inches from death, then bring you back.” Medical science is funny like that; the worst punishment is the best cure…
In theory, the mindset behind chemotherapy is similar to that behind Scorched Earth military policy: take everything out, good included, hoping that at least we’ll get the bad stuff in the process (think Jack Bauer always offering to rig himself with explosives before meeting with the terrorists, only to have some minor cast member do it while he screams, “NOOOO!!!”). So, after burning out portions of my brain and surrounding nerve tissue, we wait to see what’s still standing, and what’s going to get better (which hopefully includes my newfound inability to have prolonged eye contact and to focus on things in dark theaters, along with some unfortunate multitasking difficulty).
From an overly-reflective angle, this whole process kind of reminds me of the red lizard in C.S. Lewis’ The Great Divorce. In Chpt. XI of this very-bizarre but very-insightful book, we observe a man/ghost (they’re in Heaven, btw) carrying around a lizard on his shoulder. An angel with a big sword offers to free him, but only with the man’s permission; now, in this case, represents a bondage to lust, but the illustration can apply to other trappings as well. Only, the man is reluctant to let go, but finally does: “Damn and blast you! Go on can’t you? Get it over. Do what you like” (p.103).
I imagine his reaction would have been different had the attachment been a deadly disease (whole other discussion about lust to be had there, but for another day); however, the consequences of his OK were similar. The process of removal is grueling and painful, but eventually yields a transformed man whose greatest weakness (the lizard) has become his greatest strength (a beautiful stallion). One can only hope that, through chemo, they will become stronger in the end, but it doesn’t alwasy seem like that will happen, and doesn’t always work. So, why bother?
Well, in a nutshell, because we don’t have the power to make ourselves better, ever, in any area: medical science (or natural science, depending on the approach you take) may be able to eliminate cancerous growths from your body, and God can remove other cancers from you (be they guilt, shame, hurtful habits, or other pain from your past). It’s not always a lot of fun, and often outright painful, to be redeemed through Christ; but, as I’ve told my youth ministry kids in the past, God is always a 1/2 step away. He’ll respond when you give Him the go-ahead to “clean things up.”
20 You have sent many bitter troubles my way.
But you will give me new life.
Even if I’m almost in the grave,
you will bring me back.
21 You will honor me more and more.
You will comfort me once again.
22 My God, I will use the harp to praise you
because you are always faithful.
Holy One of Israel,
I will use the lyre to sing praise to you.
23 My lips will shout with joy
when I sing praise to you.
You have saved me
Let me make a final point: pain is not always a bad thing. “Suffering” (in whatever form that takes) does not necessarily lead us to a worse place. And, again from Lewis, “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains.” Though I sure didn’t like the stomach nausea, and would definitely like my $4K back, I’ve got no misgivings about this process, and have by far seen more goods than bads come out of it. I’m still praying for healing, of course, but am happy if that healing also comes in other forms in other people…
June 29, 2009 at 5:21 am
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