"You may get cancer out of your body, but you will never get cancer out of your mind."
Those words were said to me by a friend at one of the very first cancer encouragement groups that we attended. Truer words have never been spoken.
Remembering this past year, I can scarcely remember doubting that I would beat cancer. However, the past week has been a constant battle, and I have been reminded that I am not just in a physical battle but also a spiritual and mental battle as well. We have received word of another person's diagnosis, two friends who are not doing well with their treatments and complications, and one friend losing his battle with cancer. Although I currently have no evidence of disease, cancer has seemingly been on an all-out attack every day, creating doubts and causing me to lose my focus.
In the middle of the beat down, my morning Bible reading took me to the story of Peter walking on the water with Jesus. Peter was doing fine until he noticed the wind, and then he began to sink. All of the news this past week caused me to notice the wind, and I took my focus off Jesus--the very One who has gotten me through the past year.
Jesus will never leave me nor forsake me. I am thankful that when I begin to sink, He is there to grab my hand, too.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Sunday, July 10, 2011
One More Hill
There are times when I ride that I try to see how fast I can go. There are other times that I decide to make it a test of endurance. I was getting tired of riding ten miles and so, this Saturday morning, I decided to test how far I had come by seeing how far I could go.
I have intentionally planned my routes so that there are places I can turn around and head back home, in case I am not feeling up to a long ride. This morning I found myself bypassing the turn offs and riding on roads that I have not ridden in a year. By the time I hit the nine-mile mark, I was committed. I was also out of gas. I stopped on a side street to drink some water and catch my breath. I was trying to decide whether I should call DeLayne to come get me. But I felt that if I gave up now, cancer would win one. I decided that if it took me all day to finish the ride, that's what I would do. Determined, I clipped my feet back on the pedals and continued my ride.
At mile fifteen, I had reached the next to last intersection on the home stretch. I had stopped for the red light and there staring at me, barely a half mile away, was one more hill to climb. I hate this hill! I have to climb this hill on every ride and it is always a struggle. I could hear it taunting me this morning - "You don't have the legs left today." The light turned green, and the first few pedal strokes felt like I was riding in wet concrete. Once I reached the start of the hill, I had to grit my teeth, and it took every bit of what I had left to get up and over, but before I knew it, I was coasting toward home.
As I rode up to our front walk, the odometer clicked to seventeen miles. Half of what I use to do on Saturdays but seven more than usual; I was happy with the effort and did a very sad, weak happy dance. I had once again proven to myself that I may have cancer, but cancer does not have me.
I have intentionally planned my routes so that there are places I can turn around and head back home, in case I am not feeling up to a long ride. This morning I found myself bypassing the turn offs and riding on roads that I have not ridden in a year. By the time I hit the nine-mile mark, I was committed. I was also out of gas. I stopped on a side street to drink some water and catch my breath. I was trying to decide whether I should call DeLayne to come get me. But I felt that if I gave up now, cancer would win one. I decided that if it took me all day to finish the ride, that's what I would do. Determined, I clipped my feet back on the pedals and continued my ride.
At mile fifteen, I had reached the next to last intersection on the home stretch. I had stopped for the red light and there staring at me, barely a half mile away, was one more hill to climb. I hate this hill! I have to climb this hill on every ride and it is always a struggle. I could hear it taunting me this morning - "You don't have the legs left today." The light turned green, and the first few pedal strokes felt like I was riding in wet concrete. Once I reached the start of the hill, I had to grit my teeth, and it took every bit of what I had left to get up and over, but before I knew it, I was coasting toward home.
As I rode up to our front walk, the odometer clicked to seventeen miles. Half of what I use to do on Saturdays but seven more than usual; I was happy with the effort and did a very sad, weak happy dance. I had once again proven to myself that I may have cancer, but cancer does not have me.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
The Wind At My Back
The weather has turned hot here in North Texas. We, once again, seemed to have jumped from winter directly into summer. With winds gusting out of the south, the temperatures are already hitting 100 degrees. These hot days have caused me to ride in the evening after dinner and early on Saturday morning to avoid riding in a convection oven.
This last Saturday morning, I could hear the wind blowing and see the tree tops swaying in the gust, as I got ready for my ride. Once I was out the door, I could feel the wind blowing against me as I headed out of the neighborhood. I was greeted with a strong gust of wind as I turned south and thought to myself, "This will not be a fun ride." The first half of the ride it seemed like I struggled up every little hill and fought the wind with each turn. I knew I had been struggling when I looked at my speedometer and it only read 12 mph; then I saw the arrow pointing up indicating that my average speed was increasing.
I finally made the turn to head back north, and I could feel the wind beginning to push me along. Picking up some speed, I reached for the shifter with my left hand and moved it to the right; the chain moved to the big ring and I began to pedal harder. Then suddenly, it was back. My legs and my breathing were in my pre-cancer rhythm. I started pushing the pedals harder as I shifted through the gears with my right hand. Picking up speed, I glanced at the speedometer, 20 mph, 22 mph.... How long and how hard could I push it?
Then I realized that this morning's ride was a perfect symbol for my last year. I had been riding against the wind and, at times, struggling to get over the hills. Now I am riding with the wind, pushing hard, and getting back into rhythm.
I looked back down just in time to see 25 mph. When I looked up, I realized that I was close to the intersection where I would make a right turn to head back home. I took a quick look to the left and saw no cars; as I pedaled through the turn, I looked down to see 23 mph displayed. With a smile on my face, I yelled at the cancer, "You will not win!"
After a drink of cool water, I began pushing the pedals toward home, and I laughed. It's good to feel the wind at my back.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Things Cancer Has Taught Me
I remember thinking when I was first diagnosed that I should not have lung cancer. Even one of the doctors said, "You should not have this, but you do." I have the memory of praying that God would use this as an opportunity for us to teach others about lung cancer and present us with those openings. If I could have lung cancer, then anyone could develop lung cancer. Little did I know at the time what cancer would teach me.
One thing that I have learned is to laugh every day, and when you think you are tired of laughing, laugh some more. There have been times that if I had not of laughed, I would have cried. The thing that has surprised me is how many openings the medical staffs give me for a joke. They just get use to saying things and just are not prepared for someone like me. For instance, at one of my blood specimen collections the tech said, "Today we need to get urine on you." To which I replied, "How about I put it in a cup?" Then there was the day I was being prepped for a CT scan. I lost count of the number of times I was asked if there was any metal in my body. One tech was being very serious in asking me questions and then asked, "Is there any metal in your body?" I replied, "Only if the aliens left something." She really tried to not laugh but finally gave up.
I have learned to cherish every moment of every day. Life has a different pace now. Gone is the rushing. I find myself taking time to look about and really see what is going on. Why do we race from place to place? Take time to enjoy where you are and who you are with. You will never have that moment in time again.
I have always believed in the Bible, but this experience has taught me that the Bible is more than just words on paper. The Bible is the very living, breathing word of God. I have seen the scriptures come alive daily.
One thing that has surprised me is the realization that everyone has a "cancer" in their life. Mine was physical, but others may be dealing with porn, gambling, alcohol, eating disorders, issues at work, financial issues, problems with a child or spouse. Everybody has something that, given time, will grow, and if left untreated, like cancer, will take your life. The great thing is that we have One who sits at the right hand of God ready to help us. I am thankful that He is there.
One thing that I have learned is to laugh every day, and when you think you are tired of laughing, laugh some more. There have been times that if I had not of laughed, I would have cried. The thing that has surprised me is how many openings the medical staffs give me for a joke. They just get use to saying things and just are not prepared for someone like me. For instance, at one of my blood specimen collections the tech said, "Today we need to get urine on you." To which I replied, "How about I put it in a cup?" Then there was the day I was being prepped for a CT scan. I lost count of the number of times I was asked if there was any metal in my body. One tech was being very serious in asking me questions and then asked, "Is there any metal in your body?" I replied, "Only if the aliens left something." She really tried to not laugh but finally gave up.
I have learned to cherish every moment of every day. Life has a different pace now. Gone is the rushing. I find myself taking time to look about and really see what is going on. Why do we race from place to place? Take time to enjoy where you are and who you are with. You will never have that moment in time again.
I have always believed in the Bible, but this experience has taught me that the Bible is more than just words on paper. The Bible is the very living, breathing word of God. I have seen the scriptures come alive daily.
One thing that has surprised me is the realization that everyone has a "cancer" in their life. Mine was physical, but others may be dealing with porn, gambling, alcohol, eating disorders, issues at work, financial issues, problems with a child or spouse. Everybody has something that, given time, will grow, and if left untreated, like cancer, will take your life. The great thing is that we have One who sits at the right hand of God ready to help us. I am thankful that He is there.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Limits
On Wednesday, May 18th, I came home from work, changed clothes and went out for my usual bike ride. I had done a couple of laps around the neighborhood when I realized that I was breathing easier that night. As I continued on, seemingly out of nowhere, I heard the same voice that had told me that I was in for a long hard battle say, "The tumor is gone." A week later, with those words echoing in my head, I once again slid into the machine for my CT scan.
The next morning we were again in the examining room waiting for my entourage to enter. Now that I am in the clinical trial, I have been seeing four people at each appointment: two research assistants, the physician's assistant, and the doctor. I have jokingly begun calling them my entourage. Finally, one of the research assistants came in to pick up my empty medicine bottles and research survey. He then handed us the reports from radiology for the x-ray and CT scan and left. They were waiting on the report for the MRI that I had done earlier that morning. He left, leaving DeLayne and me to read through the reports. As we read the reports, we noticed that they mentioned the fluid and scar tissue in my lung, but nowhere was there a mention of the lung tumor. These were the first reports that have not specifically mentioned the presence or the size of the mass in my lung. Could it really be gone?
Finally, three of the four people entered the examining room. We were still waiting on the doctor, but the physician's assistant told us that all of the reports looked great and that there was "No Evidence of Disease" (NED). She then asked if we had any questions. I asked if the absence of any mention of the tumor in the reports meant that it was gone. We were told that sometimes radiology does not mention the tumor, and that it all depends on which radiologist is reading the test results. She further explained that NED does not necessarily mean the dead tumor is gone; it just means there is no evidence of "active" cancer and that this is as good as it gets for lung cancer patients. The medical profession will never say a lung cancer patient is "cured." The three of them left, and, once again, we were alone to wait for the doctor.
After a few minutes, my doctor entered the exam room. He told us that the test results and the way I said I am feeling were all very encouraging. He asked what questions we had, and we repeated the question about the tumor. He then told us that due to the damage done to my lung from the radiation treatments and the cancer, it was very difficult to tell. This led us to ask if my lung would ever recover. He told us, "No," and that, "Performing radiation on any portion of the lung is essentially like removing that portion of the lung."
I will admit that those are not words that I expected to hear from the doctor. I still believe that I will be completely healed, and that includes my lung returning to a fully-functioning lung. After a few days to think about it, my interpretation of what the doctor said is that we have now determined the limits of what medicine can do for me. That means from here on, any improvements to my lung will be 100% God-given miracles.
The story of the man with the withered hand that Jesus healed in the synagogue has been on my mind (Mark 3:1-5). I am very thankful and blessed by what God has done for me this past year, but if He can heal a withered hand, He can do the same for my lung. We may have found the limits of medicine, but there is no limit to what God can do.
The next morning we were again in the examining room waiting for my entourage to enter. Now that I am in the clinical trial, I have been seeing four people at each appointment: two research assistants, the physician's assistant, and the doctor. I have jokingly begun calling them my entourage. Finally, one of the research assistants came in to pick up my empty medicine bottles and research survey. He then handed us the reports from radiology for the x-ray and CT scan and left. They were waiting on the report for the MRI that I had done earlier that morning. He left, leaving DeLayne and me to read through the reports. As we read the reports, we noticed that they mentioned the fluid and scar tissue in my lung, but nowhere was there a mention of the lung tumor. These were the first reports that have not specifically mentioned the presence or the size of the mass in my lung. Could it really be gone?
Finally, three of the four people entered the examining room. We were still waiting on the doctor, but the physician's assistant told us that all of the reports looked great and that there was "No Evidence of Disease" (NED). She then asked if we had any questions. I asked if the absence of any mention of the tumor in the reports meant that it was gone. We were told that sometimes radiology does not mention the tumor, and that it all depends on which radiologist is reading the test results. She further explained that NED does not necessarily mean the dead tumor is gone; it just means there is no evidence of "active" cancer and that this is as good as it gets for lung cancer patients. The medical profession will never say a lung cancer patient is "cured." The three of them left, and, once again, we were alone to wait for the doctor.
After a few minutes, my doctor entered the exam room. He told us that the test results and the way I said I am feeling were all very encouraging. He asked what questions we had, and we repeated the question about the tumor. He then told us that due to the damage done to my lung from the radiation treatments and the cancer, it was very difficult to tell. This led us to ask if my lung would ever recover. He told us, "No," and that, "Performing radiation on any portion of the lung is essentially like removing that portion of the lung."
I will admit that those are not words that I expected to hear from the doctor. I still believe that I will be completely healed, and that includes my lung returning to a fully-functioning lung. After a few days to think about it, my interpretation of what the doctor said is that we have now determined the limits of what medicine can do for me. That means from here on, any improvements to my lung will be 100% God-given miracles.
The story of the man with the withered hand that Jesus healed in the synagogue has been on my mind (Mark 3:1-5). I am very thankful and blessed by what God has done for me this past year, but if He can heal a withered hand, He can do the same for my lung. We may have found the limits of medicine, but there is no limit to what God can do.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Wet Feet
Thursday, May 26, will be my twelve-week check-up for the trial medicine. It is hard to believe that twelve weeks have passed already. I am somewhat excited about this visit because in the reports that I have read on the medicine, twelve weeks is when they have seen significant changes in tumors. Some patients have even seen their tumors completely disappear at this point. As is my habit, I have begun to prepare myself mentally and spiritually for my check-up next week.
The story of the Exodus has been on my mind the past few days. God had parted the Red Sea for them to escape Egypt and Pharaoh's army. God provided for their every need on their journey through the desert for forty years. However, they still had doubts and questioned God. I am sure they had to be asking, "How much longer could this go on? When will we be allowed to enter the Promised Land?"
Although it has not quite been a year since I was diagnosed, I have found myself comparing my journey to that of the Exodus. God has parted the waters countless times to give me safe passage through troubled waters. He has met my every need in ways that I have never imagined. However, I have been asking, "Will next week be the week that I enter into the promised land of complete healing?"
To finally enter the Promise Land, the Israelites had to cross the Jordan river. Only this time God required some action from the people. The priests were to carry the ark of the covenant into the Jordan. Once all of the priests had entered the river, the water would stop and the people would cross on dry land.
God has used the story of the Exodus and entering the Promised Land to teach me that He will lead you through the wilderness, but to get from where you are to where God desires you to be, you have to be willing to get your feet wet.
The story of the Exodus has been on my mind the past few days. God had parted the Red Sea for them to escape Egypt and Pharaoh's army. God provided for their every need on their journey through the desert for forty years. However, they still had doubts and questioned God. I am sure they had to be asking, "How much longer could this go on? When will we be allowed to enter the Promised Land?"
Although it has not quite been a year since I was diagnosed, I have found myself comparing my journey to that of the Exodus. God has parted the waters countless times to give me safe passage through troubled waters. He has met my every need in ways that I have never imagined. However, I have been asking, "Will next week be the week that I enter into the promised land of complete healing?"
To finally enter the Promise Land, the Israelites had to cross the Jordan river. Only this time God required some action from the people. The priests were to carry the ark of the covenant into the Jordan. Once all of the priests had entered the river, the water would stop and the people would cross on dry land.
God has used the story of the Exodus and entering the Promised Land to teach me that He will lead you through the wilderness, but to get from where you are to where God desires you to be, you have to be willing to get your feet wet.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Chasing Dreams
We parents have dreams for our children. We start building those dreams from the day they are born. They typically include doing well in school, going on to college, graduating, and starting a career. Somewhere along the way they will meet the right person and get married. Then one day, we realize that the dreams we have for our children are essentially the lives we have lived. There comes a day when our dreams and our children's dreams no longer travel the same road. Although we have worked to get them out of the nest, suddenly they have climbed out on the branch by themselves and are ready to spread their wings and take the leap on their own.
That is how it has been with Chad. He was doing pretty good living my dream and was within months of graduating from college with his Mechanical Engineering degree. A job was pretty much lined up, but he had other dreams to chase. One afternoon last October he called to tell me that there were a couple of bike teams that had shown an interest in him. They had been discussing things, and he had consulted with one of his teammates, and both teams looked like good opportunities. During the call, I sensed there was something he wanted to ask, but he never did.
As I laid in bed that night, I thought of what Chad had not asked. He wanted to know how I felt about him pursuing cycling after graduation. Honestly, I had mixed emotions about it all. I hated to see him walk away from a good job, but I also wanted to see him pursue something he has a passion for. When I woke up the next morning, I had the answer. I did not want Chad to ever have to wonder, "What if?"
Later that day I called him and told him that now was the time for him to go for it. I did not want him to grow up and find himself in the situation I found myself in: That being fifty years old with cancer and wondering, "Would I ever get to do the things I had put off for so long?" Cancer has taught me to chase the dreams while they are fresh.
Chad now lives in Ft. Collins, Colorado, and is living his dream. He is criss-crossing the country racing his bike while chasing his other dream of becoming a pro cyclist. I have no doubt that he will make it.
If you want to know more about the life of a cyclist, Chad has a blog at:
http://chadhaga.blogspot.com/
That is how it has been with Chad. He was doing pretty good living my dream and was within months of graduating from college with his Mechanical Engineering degree. A job was pretty much lined up, but he had other dreams to chase. One afternoon last October he called to tell me that there were a couple of bike teams that had shown an interest in him. They had been discussing things, and he had consulted with one of his teammates, and both teams looked like good opportunities. During the call, I sensed there was something he wanted to ask, but he never did.
As I laid in bed that night, I thought of what Chad had not asked. He wanted to know how I felt about him pursuing cycling after graduation. Honestly, I had mixed emotions about it all. I hated to see him walk away from a good job, but I also wanted to see him pursue something he has a passion for. When I woke up the next morning, I had the answer. I did not want Chad to ever have to wonder, "What if?"
Later that day I called him and told him that now was the time for him to go for it. I did not want him to grow up and find himself in the situation I found myself in: That being fifty years old with cancer and wondering, "Would I ever get to do the things I had put off for so long?" Cancer has taught me to chase the dreams while they are fresh.
Chad now lives in Ft. Collins, Colorado, and is living his dream. He is criss-crossing the country racing his bike while chasing his other dream of becoming a pro cyclist. I have no doubt that he will make it.
If you want to know more about the life of a cyclist, Chad has a blog at:
http://chadhaga.blogspot.com/
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