SIT-REP 08-21-12 I have begun my second Chemo-Therapy session.
I haven't posted about my cancer since the first treatment, July 31st. There have been some developments.
FIRST, "Chemo week" begins on Monday with preparation pills. Tuesday is chemo day. Tuesday through Thursday is nausea pills fun time. Thursday through Monday I give myself subcutaneous injections for white blood cell production. So the chemical treatment lasts a whole week, Monday to Monday.
SECOND, Because my heart is unable to withstand the more aggressive schedule I have been changed to a every-three-weeks schedule. Since I'd been originally been told I'd need eight sessions, I expected to finish on Christmas week. However, my oncologist informed me that I'd only need six sessions on this particular medication schedule. That means I only have four more to go. I'll be done by the middle of November, giving us all something to be thankful for this year.
THIRD, My hair is GONE. Funny, I last had chemo three weeks ago, but the effect on my hair did not happen until two weeks afterward. Last Tuesday my hair began to fall like a bad case of dandruff. By Friday I put on a hat to hide the Agent Orange-style deforestation (gruesome picture to follow).
FOURTH, Following chemo on Tuesday I self-administer subcutaneous shots for five days--Thursday through Monday--to stimulate white blood cell production. This has the effect of putting my bone marrow into high gear. If feels a bit like a bad case of arthritis and was the worst part of chemo week as far as I was concerned. I'm only supposed to take Tylenol which I find useless. However, my oncologist approved Advil which I prefer. Since I'm performing a wedding in San Diego this weekend I'm praying I feel much better this time.
FIFTH, Since chemo is every three weeks, the two weeks between "chemo week" is like a vacation; I resumed many of my normal activities and swim laps for thirty minutes nearly every day. I'm hoping that the exercise--which I was not able to do between surgery and the first chemo--will mitigate pain this time around.
SIXTH, Fight's ON!
Showing posts with label cancer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cancer. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
MY CHEMICAL BROMANCE
As for friends; WOW. I am overwhelmed by the outpouring of concern, prayer and offers of help. My faith in God has strengthened me beyond expectation. Without belaboring the point, cancer is scary. And one person has gone out of his way to frighten me into compliance. I honestly don't know how anyone could go through this threat without the hope and peace that God provides.
Monday, June 11, 2012
THE BODY OF CHRIST
Yesterday, at the end of worship services, I made the official announcement to my congregation that I have cancer. After sharing the details I asked the Deacons to anoint me with oil and pray for healing according to the Scriptures ("Is anyone among you in trouble? Let them pray. Is anyone happy? Let them sing songs of praise. Is anyone among you sick? Let them call the elders of the church to pray over them and anoint them with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise them up."James 5:13-15)
We placed two chairs for Karen and I at the front and the Deacons did a wonderful thing. "Because the Body is One," Sherman said, "We should all come and pray for our pastor." the entire church body surrounded us and prayed for my bride and I. We were overwhelmed. People whom I'd never heard pray before lifted heart-felt prayers for us both.
Over the years I have not been impressed with my pastoral skills. I can preach, but I hate administrative chores. I am not a Sanguine, glad-handing, people-person. I am a timid, cold-call witness. I've often wondered if I would be missed. Yesterday, my church family humbled me to my core.
Afterward, I regretted the fact that we had no photograph of the event. But that is often how life is. When you are in the midst of the wonderful, who thinks to stop it all for something as mundane as a photo opportunity?
"Just as a body, though one, has many parts, but all its many parts form one body, so it is with Christ. For we were all baptized by one Spirit so as to form one body—whether Jews or Gentiles, slave or free —and we were all given the one Spirit to drink. Even so the body is not made up of one part but of many... If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it."
1 Corinthians 12:12-14, 26
We placed two chairs for Karen and I at the front and the Deacons did a wonderful thing. "Because the Body is One," Sherman said, "We should all come and pray for our pastor." the entire church body surrounded us and prayed for my bride and I. We were overwhelmed. People whom I'd never heard pray before lifted heart-felt prayers for us both.
Over the years I have not been impressed with my pastoral skills. I can preach, but I hate administrative chores. I am not a Sanguine, glad-handing, people-person. I am a timid, cold-call witness. I've often wondered if I would be missed. Yesterday, my church family humbled me to my core.
Afterward, I regretted the fact that we had no photograph of the event. But that is often how life is. When you are in the midst of the wonderful, who thinks to stop it all for something as mundane as a photo opportunity?
"Just as a body, though one, has many parts, but all its many parts form one body, so it is with Christ. For we were all baptized by one Spirit so as to form one body—whether Jews or Gentiles, slave or free —and we were all given the one Spirit to drink. Even so the body is not made up of one part but of many... If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it."
1 Corinthians 12:12-14, 26
Friday, June 8, 2012
THE BOGEYMAN
Most of my friends already know. I suppose I ought to announce it on my Blog as well. I found out this week I have cancer. ...Breast cancer. When I look in the mirror I don't say, "why me?" I say, "Only You."
It's like the Bogeyman out of nightmares, jumping up and down shouting "Booga, Booga, Booga! Scared you, huh?" With a stroke, my summer is GONE. Two weeks more of waiting, Three weeks of surgical recovery, weeks of chemo-therapy (FINALLY I'll be able to use my Tonto, "What we do next, Chemo Therapy?" line without guilt.) And I'll need a lot of physical therapy to restore the surgically removed muscle mass from under my arm. I'm not sure if we're talking three months, six months or a year. Funny thing is, I'm not scared. I fully expect to ride it out and emerge victorious.
It is operable. In fact its a completely normal "ductile" type breast cancer. I am scheduled for surgery on June 20th. The one scary thing is, though we caught it early, it is already in one of my lymph nodes. Apparently with men, who have less breast tissue, cancer makes its way quickly into the lymphatic system. The surgery will include a "dissection" of all the lymph nodes under my right arm. Hopefully that will stop the cancer from spreading.
I am facing this with optimism and hope, trusting in the Lord to carry me through. I have confidence in my surgeon and, as always with Kaiser, they move quick with the BIG things.
Karen is afraid I'll lose all my hair. She thinks I might look cool and tough as a cueball. I'm afraid my head is too lumpy to look cool. I'm old, fat, and diabetic: my hair is all I've got.
I've already had several opportunities to share my faith in Christ. When the doctor made the announcement--which he did with great gentleness--he was obviously prepared for fireworks because he had "backup" in the room with him, just in case. But Karen and I simply exchanged a glance, as if we both expected it, and began to ask questions... rational questions. I think this was a good testimony.
Yesterday, I Had lab work done. When I sat down I saw the young lab tech reading a phone text and crying. Wisely, I waited until AFTER she had drawn blood before speaking. I stood and said, "it does get better."
"What does?" she asked.
"Life."
..."if you say so." she sniffed.
I opened the door, turned back and said-- gently, I hope -- "I have cancer, I say so."
It's like the Bogeyman out of nightmares, jumping up and down shouting "Booga, Booga, Booga! Scared you, huh?" With a stroke, my summer is GONE. Two weeks more of waiting, Three weeks of surgical recovery, weeks of chemo-therapy (FINALLY I'll be able to use my Tonto, "What we do next, Chemo Therapy?" line without guilt.) And I'll need a lot of physical therapy to restore the surgically removed muscle mass from under my arm. I'm not sure if we're talking three months, six months or a year. Funny thing is, I'm not scared. I fully expect to ride it out and emerge victorious.
It is operable. In fact its a completely normal "ductile" type breast cancer. I am scheduled for surgery on June 20th. The one scary thing is, though we caught it early, it is already in one of my lymph nodes. Apparently with men, who have less breast tissue, cancer makes its way quickly into the lymphatic system. The surgery will include a "dissection" of all the lymph nodes under my right arm. Hopefully that will stop the cancer from spreading.
I am facing this with optimism and hope, trusting in the Lord to carry me through. I have confidence in my surgeon and, as always with Kaiser, they move quick with the BIG things.
Karen is afraid I'll lose all my hair. She thinks I might look cool and tough as a cueball. I'm afraid my head is too lumpy to look cool. I'm old, fat, and diabetic: my hair is all I've got.
I've already had several opportunities to share my faith in Christ. When the doctor made the announcement--which he did with great gentleness--he was obviously prepared for fireworks because he had "backup" in the room with him, just in case. But Karen and I simply exchanged a glance, as if we both expected it, and began to ask questions... rational questions. I think this was a good testimony.
Yesterday, I Had lab work done. When I sat down I saw the young lab tech reading a phone text and crying. Wisely, I waited until AFTER she had drawn blood before speaking. I stood and said, "it does get better."
"What does?" she asked.
"Life."
..."if you say so." she sniffed.
I opened the door, turned back and said-- gently, I hope -- "I have cancer, I say so."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)