No cancer news is good news, until.

Greetings all and after huge public demand, welcome to a cancer update!

Family and some friends will be aware that in the last couple of weeks, as mentioned on my Facebook page, that I've had some recent cancer news. Here it is, as up-to-date as it can be as of 5 June 2026.

About six weeks ago now I noticed what looked and felt like an infected lymph node at the top of my right jawbone. Naturally I self-medicated with some old antibiotics I found in a drawer somewhere [warning and disclaimer: this is not wise and you shouldn't try this at home]. It sort of worked, and then I went to the doctor who agreed with my likely self-diagnosis and got me onto some broader spectrum antibiotics that got rid of the infection. 

However the lump at the top of the jawbone remained, and I thought that this might prove to be a job for Dr Pimple Popper. [warning, not for the fainthearted. The name should tell you enough]

Having got past the stage of self medication, wiser people than me called for an ultrasound and a biopsy. And yes, it was actually serious. This is a recurrence of the same Stage IV bowel cancer that was diagnosed back in January 2022, and has been to this point quite successfully kept under control, as you can see in earlier blog posts. And yes, the right side at the top of the jawbone is a very unusual place for it to appear. In fact my oncologist, who is close to retirement age, said he'd never seen anything like it and asked me to "stop doing unusual things".

Anyway, yada yada yada and I've seen a radiation oncologist who is now lining me up for some radiotherapy treatments in the next couple of weeks.

Since letting people know, many people have been kind enough to phone or send messages, and have been assuring me of their prayers. Thank you very much!

Several have asked for more specific information regarding how this appointment and others have gone since, so here you go:

The appointments so far

The appointments have gone well, explaining options and resulting in some decisions. The main options are radiotherapy, surgery, or possibly both over time. So I opted for radiotherapy, because there's less risk to my parotid gland and the facial nerve on the right side of my head. Facial nerve damage from surgery can end up looking like Bell's palsy.

I will get a 'Hannibal Lecter' style mask made up today in order to hold my head still while they zap the tumour. I asked if I got to keep the mask and they said yes, which means I also get the opportunity to wear it out on public transport and at church. Fun times. Don't worry niece and nephew it's your friendly Uncle Gordon. (Sorry parents)   

Then there will be five short sessions of radiotherapy spaced out over the next week or two, which will hopefully burn the worst of the tumour and leave open the possibility for some clinical trials that they would like to move me onto.

I'm mercifully free of side-effects, apart from fatigue and a bit of nausea occasionally over the last four-and-a-half years since Stage IV diagnosis, and hoping that will continue. My capacity to work has diminished, but thankfully the amount of paid work I need to do has also diminished. The lymph nodes on the right side of my head consistently feel a bit achy but hoping that will improve with treatment. Still avoiding painkillers.

I have less capacity for thinking and writing, and more capacity for sleeping on demand. Swings and roundabouts hey? Learning contentment with the limitations that God has given, and praying for the good works God has prepared in advance for me to do. (See Ephesians 2:10)

*****

Also remembering a very good friend, Andrew Donohoo, who yesterday passed to glory some six months after his initial cancer diagnosis. We saw some memorable Bob together, and God willing we will do so again.

https://youtu.be/XSYzDDlI3WA?si=MyGVwxzyHNBnZQxB

I checked out

 I checked out from a Harris Farm vege place a few years ago. 

The friendly older lady on the checkout responded to some observation I made about some stock being missing (can't quite remember). 

Oh yes, she said, we've got a few Jews working here--implication being that theft was a problem associated with them. 

I was shocked and to my shame I said nothing. I even knew one of these Jewish people who worked there. Gutless response by me. Caused me to rethink how I respond and now I try to do things differently, starting with "I have good Jewish friends."

Steroids

 Hey don't hate on steroids. They prompted me to make an update:

After about three years of target treatment for Stage IV bowel cancer the treatment's been adjusted, as was probably inevitable, to more standard chemotherapy. A bigger cocktail of chemicals and I just did #2 treatment yesterday--they go fortnightly.

As part of it, they dosed me up with steroids again. A sleepless night with a racing brain, involving some video watching, some cleaning, some lifting things and moving them somewhere, no not much praying and Bible reading so sorry everyone who is into that.

I find these symptoms interesting and continue to watch and observe at a superficial level. It propels me into busyness and hey, if you're a busy person good for you but I thank God that we don't have to be. (Look up 'Sabbath', all you who view busyness as virtue).

That said, a reasonably busy day ahead and let's hope my God-given gift of being able to sleep anywhere, anytime, does not return until sunset. He has also given me the gift of liturgical dance yet despite numerous hints to many in my church, no one ever asks me to do that either privately or publicly. (As Kamahl used to say: "Why are people so unkind?")

Latest surgery--a good one, with a bad dream, and a Bible reading

 

My latest surgery--a stoma reversal--went for a  few hours on Frlday 12 July, 2024. There was a lot of scar tissue that was moved away, that had resulted from the cancer (diagnosed stage four bowel cancer, 6 January 2022). Had great care from hospital but as far as food goes, only fluids since Friday. That may change today, we shall see. The colo-rectal specialist, Dr Salama, says that so far the results are very good.

 I will probably go back home on the weekend. Thankful as always for the kindness and support of friends and family!

Meanwhile I have been having this recurring dream that I am upset or concerned about some matter, and so I go to seek a friend or call to them in the next room, maybe even phone them. We start talking, they are friendly enough, then I notice that after I've kept speaking for a while, the phone has gone dead. At which I wake up, notice that the phone contains no record of the call I just made, so I phone someone else, and they do the same thing and end the call. Or did I only think I phoned them??

After which I wake up and decide to phone my Bible study co-leader Noddy. I am quite sure that I've written three Bible studies with my co-leader Noddy by this point--1 John 5, 2 John, and 3 John. Weird. and recursive. Oh well, at least I got a few good Bible studies about it.

I need to break this cycle so please don't phone me!

But they are great passages from John's three letters. Here is 2 John for your reading pleasure and edification, with a key verse highlighted that tells you why I don't update this blog more regularly:

2 John

English Standard Version Anglicised

The elder to the elect lady and her children, whom I love in truth, and not only I, but also all who know the truth, because of the truth that abides in us and will be with us for ever:

Grace, mercy, and peace will be with us, from God the Father and from Jesus Christ the Father's Son, in truth and love.

I rejoiced greatly to find some of your children walking in the truth, just as we were commanded by the Father. And now I ask you, dear lady—not as though I were writing you a new commandment, but the one we have had from the beginning—that we love one another. And this is love, that we walk according to his commandments; this is the commandment, just as you have heard from the beginning, so that you should walk in it. For many deceivers have gone out into the world, those who do not confess the coming of Jesus Christ in the flesh. Such a one is the deceiver and the antichrist. Watch yourselves, so that you may not lose what we have worked for, but may win a full reward. Everyone who goes on ahead and does not abide in the teaching of Christ, does not have God. Whoever abides in the teaching has both the Father and the Son. If anyone comes to you and does not bring this teaching, do not receive him into your house or give him any greeting, for whoever greets him takes part in his wicked works.

Though I have much to write to you, I would rather not use paper and ink. Instead I hope to come to you and talk face to face, so that our joy may be complete.

The children of your elect sister greet you.

Day surgery

 Greetings all.

For the sake of completeness, let me record that I had (apparently successful) eye surgery today.

If you are not interested in the details, scroll on down, ignore most of this post, and see a sermon I preached about a week ago.

Had some eye surgery today. Seems to have gone well. Let's see! Done under local anaesthetic. Advantages: It's pain-free. It's not general anaesthetic. You can't see anything.

Now if you're squeamish, don't read on. Stop now, scroll by. Nothing to see here.

If you are not squeamish, and have a list of things you don't want to overhear while in surgery, maybe add them in the comments. Bad eye puns also welcome.

It has to be said that while the procedure was and is pain-free, you can still feel it going on. Most of the time it feels like pressure on your forehead or nose from the surgeon's hand. It also feels like tugging, or in some cases, pulling out eyelashes. In a pain-free way.

I've never done that, but it is what I imagine pain-free pulling out of eyelashes might feel like to someone who was having their eyelashes pulled out in a pain-free way.

You also get to hear the whole conversation going on above your head, while you keep saying to yourself: "Don't move. Don't flinch. Don't sneeze. Don't cough. Don't twitch. Take a nice slow deep breath. Oh and did I mention: Don't cough. Relax. That went on for about two hours and forty-five minutes.

Meanwhile, I now have a collection of things that you don't want to hear surgeons and anaesthetists and nurses saying as the procedure proceeds. The humming and soft singing to herself of the nurse is fine. The nurses counting together the surgical accoutrements is faintly reassuring, except that they're not counting sheep, they're counting something that seems like they could be cotton buds and available sutures.

That said, here is a list of words and sounds I thought I heard over nearly three hours. The list will be inaccurate because it was supplemented by my imagination, and I was unable to take notes for obvious reasons.

Oh also, I had my left eye shut because quite early on as I was wheeled in, I realised I could see myself reflected in the casing over the lights, and then in the lenses of the equipment some short distance above my head, and realised I didn't want to see anything at all for the next three hours. When I finally opened my eye I realised that they had placed a veil over my face. I felt pretty sure they had, but I didn't want to check and I didn't want to ask because when your mouth moves, your face moves, and sudden movements are not called for.

OK OK the list, I hear you ask.

1. Chats about friends of the doctors' colleagues who had gone to live in France for a gap year, partly to engage in a medical fellowship and partly to consolidate their children's French. Mention of another colleague who lived on the shores of Lake Geneva in Switzerland and it seemed to be working out well.

2. A sudden end to the conversation which appeared to signal that the procedure was under way. Nurses humming, singing softly and counting in the background. Specific instructions, of which I'm only going to give you the ones that lodged in my brain or that I imagined but felt real. But feel free to contribute your own experiences in the comments.

3. "Clamps."

4. "Could you just dry this out please?"

5. "Could you wash this out please."

6. "OK I'm going to bisect."

7. "How many [cotton] buds do we have left?"

8. "I need [piece of equipment]. Have we got [piece of equipment]? No don't worry about getting it from elsewhere, we'll make do with what we've got."

9. "Could you set up the long needle please."

10. "How many [something else] do we have left? We will need more."

11. Nurses counting together: "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15."

12. Specialised pieces of equipment named after famous people. "Diesendorfer". "Speer. I need the Speer." Or was it "Spear"? Couldn't tell, just one thing requested and requested twice.

13. The 15 degree cutter please.

14. "Increase the pressure please." "How much?" "Right up to the maximum, no not 3000, 10 000. Straight away."

15. High pitched whining noises that suddenly go up in frequency, possibly accompanied by request for the Speer. Bit blurry on this.

16. "Andrew I'm going to need your help here. There's a lot of blood."

17. "Increase the pressure please. No, right up."

18. "This bit's really tricky Andrew, watch this closely. I remember one lady with a condition and she had had at least a couple of trebuchets [?] which.... "[exact detail fails me--GC]

19. "Cut me a length of thread for the suture... yes that's fine"

20. "How can we have run out of thread? OK just give me that."

21. "Get me the forceps. No not those forceps, the maximum grip forceps. Actually give me both."

22. "Scissors."

23. Snip. Snip. Snip. Very soft snips, quite close to my face.

24. And so on and so forth. Deep breaths were taken. 

  And here's the sermon: Quails and plague, from Numbers 11-12.

https://www.stbarneys.org.au/2024/05/numbers-11-12-quails-and-plague-gordon-cheng-12-05-2024/

 Did an interview on facing death as a Christian, and other matters.

How are you?

When I first got diagnosed with stage IV bowel cancer I was quite surprised that medical receptionists would routinely say to me, as I walked in to my appointment, “Hi, how are you?”

I was tempted to respond “Well given that you’ve got my diagnosis open on the screen in front of you, and given that you’ve probably seen a heap of patients in my situation, maybe you should tell me?”

Or even, "What do you mean? I'm dying. And how are you?"

But despite the testimony of my wife, I'm not quite that unkind.

Current situation: God is kind, I am well, no evidence of tumour growth for quite a while now. Treatment projected to be lifelong, side effects have been minimal. Anyway. How are you?

(Oh, and it's good to be kind to receptionists. The correct answer is "Good thanks. How are you?")

Happy Christmas. There weren't three kings.

Happy Christmas to all. There weren't three kings. Here's a sermon I preached on that yesterday on Christmas Day, from about the 40 minute mark. 

But really, happy Christmas. May God bless you and keep you. 

Cancer remission, radioactivity, and hope

 Greetings all. 

Yes, I am in remission as mentioned in the previous post. This is the truth, and God is good!

But. as also mentioned, that doesn't mean a complete cure (something doctors are a bit wary of declaring).

Remission as I understand it can be either partial or complete. Complete remission is being cured. Partial remission is what I'm in, which is still most excellent. Technically it means that the original tumours are undetectable and have remained so after a period of thirty days.

However, new cancer activity is not unusual.The radiation oncologist tells me that it is like when you have a nest of rats in your house that you eliminate by poisoning all of them. One or two survive, and if they survive, they may re-establish a new colony. So the best thing to do is find another way to kill them as well.

This seems to me a fairly non-technical explanation but it does make sense, yes?

In my case, radiation doc tells me that this means five short sharp blasts of radiation, of which my first happened yesterday, my second happens tomorrow, my third happens on Friday, then we go Monday and Wednesday of next week.

I wanted to ask to hire the radiation gun and then just see if I couldn't treat myself at home.

Anyway that is what we're up to, the previous good news remains great news and we continue.

Meanwhile here's a sermon I preached on Sunday on the topic 'Anxiety and depression'. Pick it up at about the 44 minute mark. Some stop-start glitchiness but it does work.

Remission

I had some good news this week. My oncologist, having considered the PET scans from the previous Friday, was ready to say for the first time that my cancer is "in remission".

This doesn't mean it's gone, but it does mean that it's going. In fact, there's nothing of the original cancer tumours that remain at any detectable level. There is a small lesion--new activity--in the liver, that I'm seeing a radiotherapist about today to decide on the next best step. 

But the current big picture is that I was diagnosed with Stage IV bowel cancer on 6 January this year, and now there's almost nothing to be found. Family are pretty happy, as am I. Who knows what will happen next? God does, and this is his plan for our good and his glory.

In the meantime, Christmas approaches. If you care to sing carols with our church on 18 December, then come along. God is good!

And, a Bible verse:

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose. (Romans 8:28)

This is not about us (none of it, at any time). It is about our great God and Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ.

Will I make it to the end? A sermon from Hebrews 7

Last Sunday I preached on Hebrews 7, 'Will I make it to the end?' You could also call it 'International Man of Mystery'. Key verse:

Consequently, [Jesus] is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them. (Hebrews 7:25)

 

A carrot, a stick, and entering God's rest

 I preached a sermon recently about entering into God's rest, wuth carrot and stick. You can hear it from about the 23 minute mark.

A podcast interview: cancer and mission

 I recently did an interview with a good friend, Mark Peterson, about cancer and mission. 

Mark Peterson is the director of the Church Missionary Society in South Australia and the Northern Territory and he wanted to ask me about both topics.

About half an hour of listening; you can find the podcast here.

In it I refer to these Bible verses, 2 Corinthians 4:17-19:

So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. 17 For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, 18 as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.

And hey, if you've got the mood for listening to more, then the slightly longer--and much more marvellous than me--St Matthew's Passion is here:

Or if you can only spare 60 seconds, my favourite section is this repeated theme. (Beloved Jesus, what has thou done wrong That they have pronounced so hard a sentence? What is thy guilt, into what sort of misdeeds Hast thou fallen?)

Oh and cancer treatment continues very well. Stamina increasing. No news is good news. Oncologist (whom I saw today) remains very happy.

I preached a meaningless sermon.

I preached a meaningless sermon on Ecclesiastes 6-10.

You can see it here from about the 33 minute mark.

Oh and the cancer treatment is still working fine, as far as me and my oncologist can work out.

God loves a cheerful oncologist (20 July)

Actually the saying is that 'God loves a cheerful giver' (2 Corinthians 9:7)

But in my case a cheerful oncologist is the next best thing. Last catch-up we had was last week. He asked about nausea, skin rashes, general plumbing functioning, fatigue, and made an appointment for mid-August. Told me everything was going well, just keep taking the medication and getting the treatment and we would see how things continued to progress. Not even the need for a scan.

So that's all good and if you've only just logged on to discover the latest...that's pretty much it!

But let me not pass up the opportunity to link to my sermon on Ecclesiastes 2 from a couple of weeks ago; I appear at about 24 minutes and 30 seconds.

Or, for those who prefer melancholy and pain to cheeriness, here is a marvellous Johnny Cash version of 'Hurt':

Another meaningless sermon (not a cancer update)

 I preached another meaningless sermon. Why meaningless? Listen from about 25 minutes, here:

https://youtu.be/oFf8QZDFPIQ

Prayer, miracles and medicine (cancer update 30 June)

 The news from my oncologist continues to be good. He is pleased with the progress of my cancer treatment, which he says is in the top 1% of positive responses. I've not had any bad nausea or side-effects and that's great. At the moment it's just keep going with taking tablets and getting a fortnightly infusion of medication, previously weekly. So our family continues to thank God and I continue to avoid crowds (COVID and flu are never good companions at the best of times).

As anyone who's had contact with cancer knows, good news can turn into bad news quite suddenly, so we here in the house of Cheng are not being complacent about what the future may hold. It is a matter of daily trusting in God's goodness, whatever happens.

Is this a miracle? It feels like it. Yet I hesitate to use such language. Partially at least this is because any improvement comes in clear response to the latest medical treatment, and the extraordinary privilege of having such treatment close to hand and significantly subsidised by the Australian government and administered by amazingly gifted and hardworking medical professionals.

Mainly I would want to insist, along with anyone who reads their Bible carefully and trusts what it says, that God is in control of the smallest detail of life. That includes the efficacy of any medical treatment, and the response of the body he has created to that treatment. To suggest that some good response to cancer treatment is not a miracle is in no way to detract from the power, sovereignty and goodness of God. Rather the opposite. The fact that he controls both the extraordinary and the mundane, the eternal and the quotidian, the miraculous and the daily detail of life--all of this is to credit greater power and authority to his name. He does not merely control the freakish event, and leave the rest of his creation to roll on largely disregarded. Matthew 10 says this:

 Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. 30 But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. 31 Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows. 32 So everyone who acknowledges me before men, I also will acknowledge before my Father who is in heaven, 33 but whoever denies me before men, I also will deny before my Father who is in heaven. (Matthew 10:29-33)

Indeed the extent of God's power and authority over our lives gives us grounds for an even greater (and right and proper) fear of what he is able to do. That same passage says, in the previous verse "And do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell." (Matthew 10:28)

He is a good God, and a loving God who would gladly give his own Son to death on a cross to reconcile us to his eternal grace. Yet alongside this he is a holy God with the power to cause or cure cancer, and use all events for our good and his glory. One day we will face him as judge. May we also cling to him as our Saviour; whether from cancer or a far worse fate. And may we joyfully rejoice that he is inclined to save us not only from cancer but from our sin.

****

 Ja sorry about font and background colour madness. I'm having trouble figuring it out. Here for your consolation is a sermon I preached on Sunday, the best sermon (from me) on Ecclesiastes 1 you will ever hear, unless you heard the one I preached before that on the same passage or maybe someone else's sermon. There's a Bible reading from about the 35 minute mark followed by talk.

Short memory...must have a short memory (not a cancer update, 2 June)

 Not a cancer update but too good a story not to record here. (Oh, the cancer treatment seems to be progressing well although in the last two days I've had a return of nausea). 

Yesterday I'd organised to borrow my dad's car to get to my cancer treatment. Went to get it out of the carport--gone! After discussion with my dad he reported it as stolen. But who steals a keyless entry boring white suburban Mazda sedan with a scrape mark on its side? A complete mystery, and he asked the neighbours for help to no avail.

Today the same neighbour that he first asked said they'd found the car in the local Woolworth's carpark. Now I swear I have no memory of this even as I describe it, but apparently I drove down to the shops to buy some food for dinner, got the food, forgot that I'd driven the car and walked back to my dad's.

Thank God for good neighbours eh. Who knows how long the car could have stayed in the Woolies carpark otherwise.

This is now the third time in my life I've 'lost' a car in similar circumstances. In 2009 I lost a car in Top Ryde carpark and a nice security man picked me up and drove me around until we found it. I once went to a choir rehearsal, came back to where the car was, found it was missing and reported it stolen. Only to find it about 200 metres from where I thought I'd parked it.

I remember hearing, of all people, Brian Houston (ex-Hillsong) speaking of driving to a supermarket, not finding his car, reporting it stolen, collecting insurance etc. Six months later he returns to the same supermarket, looks over to the car parked next to his, and realises that it's the car he reported stolen six months earlier.

The incident recounted by Brian is one I heard in 2007. But I still have no memory of driving to the shops on Monday. Short-term memory loss anyone? I will tell my oncologist and he can tell me if it is a side-effect of treatment, in which case I guess this is a cancer update. But somehow I am doubting that.

Anyway here is another song I recall from a long time ago that somehow seems to relate:

In the meantime, move along folks. Nothing to see here. At least as far as I can recall.

I have good news and a broken bone (Cancer update 18 May)

I have good news and a broken bone. The two are not unrelated.

The good news, in fact great news, is that I had a PET scan yesterday with results delivered at 9 am this morning. The scan was to find out the latest with my various tumours, mainly the multiple metastases in the liver but not isolated to that organ. The report says in part:

There has been a dramatic response [to treatment] in the liver with near complete resolutions of most sites of disease. The previously evident large abnormality in segment 8 superiorly has almost completely resolved and there is mild persistence of activity at this site with SUVmax of 4.1 previously 10.3.

The report's conclusion reads in part:

 There has been a good response to treatment with resolution of almost all sites of disease.

Not bad, eh what? I don't think the language of 'miracle' is exactly fitting to this result, but Prof Clarke my oncologist was happy to agree with me that this result was right up the end of the bell curve. "The right end", he said, which is pretty hard to dispute really. Can we at least say that this is the work of God? I think so.

It is great news and, God willing, means I am well on the road to recovery. Or not; I don't think it's wise or prudent to make quick claims about what the future holds. Yet clearly it is an answer to the prayers of many. It is further evidence that our heavenly Father hears and answers such prayers and works according to his plans and purposes. I'm not yet healed, and treatment continues. But it is an extraordinary result and I hope that you will join me in continuing to pray and thanking God that he is daily at work in both good and evil circumstances.

OK, what about the broken bone, I hear you ask? The other day, actually six weeks ago I did a little jump whilst playing with some kids at church—so little (both the kids and the jump) that I don't think they noticed the jump or even that I was playing. But enough that there would be an 'ouch' moment that I wrote off as almost nothing. Six weeks later I thought hmm not getting better. So what went on?

Here is the answer, it's a part of what the PET scan revealed incidentally whilst the tumours were being checked out. The image below is not really the scan. It's a picture I found that looks similar to my scan, but in mirror image. The red bit in my scan, in mirror image, is the bit that was broken.

Yep, that old inferior pubic ramus up to its typical tricks. My small and scarcely noticeable jump resulted in a break, not unlike what happened to my friend years ago who broke his arm on the golf course executing a mildly average fairway drive. How does that even happen?

I can't speak for my friend's arm, except that there was some underlying weakness in the armbone that led to it snapping like a twig when he teed off. 

In my case, the likely cause of the break seems to have been an absence of cancer. Somehow, a tumour had begun to grow in this area, the right inferior pubic ramus, and eat away at the bone itself. Then, the cancer treatment had begun to do its thing, so destroying the cancer and leaving behind itself a weakened bone structure. Then when I jumped into the air (six weeks ago), that is the exact moment at which some might say 'That's one small step for a man...one giant leap for a man with a weakened inferior pubic ramus, leading to a break that will ultimately cure itself with a bit of care and rest.' Such a saying lacks poetry but it does get across the essential details of what is going on.

So that's where we're up to. Please join me in praising God for working in this way to this point. Please ask that healing would continue. And please be assured of the truth of those wonderful Bible verses, 1 Peter 5:6-7, which read 

Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you.  

In the meantime, here is a recent performance of another fabulous Ralph Vaughan Williams anthem, 'Come Down O Love Divine', all about the Holy Spirit's power in our lives. Pray it with me! And enjoy the other music, as led by Ross Cobb.

 

I preached on the Holy Spirit

 You can hear the sermon here from the 25 minute mark:

Three points: 

1. The Holy Spirit is our Helper.

2. The Holy Spirit is a teacher of Truth

3. The Holy Spirit gives us peace.

The passage is John 14:15-31.

Would you join a club that wanted you for a member? (Cancer update 12 May)

 In continued good news I am still putting on weight. Given the possibility of sudden weight loss I wouldn't mind getting a bit over my ideal. So long as it doesn't affect my sporting involvements.

I've been accepted in an Australian based bowel cancer support group on Facebook, a private group where people share their experiences and advice. To be honest I have mixed feelings about it. While my treatment is going well and my weight gain and stamina are improving (I'm having an experiment half day today at the CMS office—just avoiding peak hour public transport and making sure I stay within my energy limitations) I tend not to think too much about anything except the usual day-to-day obigations, family, work deadlines, preaching and congregational relationships.

But logging onto this cancer support group reminds me of some of the uncertainty of the situation I'm in. Just a couple of random quotes (it's a private group, so no names):

My cancer is back in my Liver, I had surgery last August on my liver and February this year on my bowel. We thought we had got it all, but it’s back.

or again

Hi All. I have asked my sister to post this on my behalf.

It is with great sadness to advise you I have passed. I have been taken way too soon and the dreaded disease has done this. However I can say I fought, I’m unique to many in the medical world and defied all expected odds to have a beautiful extra months/years with the man I love, much loved family and friends.   

Mark I love you …

Mum and Dad thank you for been the parents you were and are. I was lucky to have had you

Thank you to everyone who shared a special place in my world.. till we meet again

So sad. Some have good news, some don't. Some have surprising news of success, others don't. Discussions of reincarnation come up, effectiveness of particular treatments, side effects, the personalities of oncologists, messages of hope and despair. Perhaps at some stage I'll move beyond lurks and likes as I read these posts, at the moment it's just coming to terms with what the future may or may not look like.

Here are a couple of Bible verses that I carry with me most days (in my mind), and that help as I consider what lies ahead. Jesus said:

“Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble." (Matthew 6:34)

and

2 Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, 3 for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. 4 And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. (James 1:2-4)

Those latter verses from James are good because they tell me that the bad things I might be going through, alongside my family (who are going through it just as much as I am, only in a different way) are nevertheless under God meant to be counted 'as joy'. What the word 'counted' suggests to me is a deliberate battle to reckon something as joy that really wouldn't normally be. But it can be counted as joy for a reason; that though it is experienced as suffering, yet under God it has a direct purpose and that is for our steadfastness until the day of perfection and completeness in Christ. Like labour pains, then, it won't feel happy or joyful but the end result will be both joy and happiness.

Speaking of Bible, I am preaching this Sunday at St Barnabas East Roseville. I'm preaching on the second half of John 14, which includes these marvellous verses:

18"I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you. 19 Yet a little while and the world will see me no more, but you will see me. Because I live, you also will live. (John 14:18-19)

You can watch a livestream of the sermon at 11.00 this Sunday, here:

https://www.stbarneys.org.au/this-sunday-live-stream/

Or, if you are not committed at another church, come along at 9, 11 or 4.15 to the corner of William and Macquarie St, East Roseville—and make sure you say hello!

The passage is a great passage which reminds us that the Lord Jesus will never abandon us, no matter how great our extremity.

Meanwhile, Ralph Vaughan Williams' The Lark Ascending.

I’m putting on weight! That’s good news. (Cancer update 4 May)

 You work out what’s news by looking at the headlines. ‘Dog bites man’ is not news, ‘Man bites dog’ is. Actually when you think about it that’s wrong, but nevertheless…

So the headline is, ‘Cancer patient puts on weight’. Canadian comic Norm McDonald, who died of bowel cancer, talks with lack of enthusiasm about the book title ‘Lose weight without dieting or exercise!’ As he said, "doesn’t that just leave disease?"

Well yes and I got down to 71k, having lost 4k in the week leading up to that measurement. Now I’m piling the weight back on and I’m up to 76.9 as of today, about six weeks on. How’s that? My ambition is to get as big as those guys who are confined to bed and can’t even get out of their room until the guys with the chainsaws arrive to come through the external wall and broaden the exit path out of the house and into the special crane-equipped ambulance. Let’s see how we go.

So the doctor’s happy, I’m happy, and I will soon book in a PET/CAT head to toe scan to see if my fingernails or any other body parts are starting to grow their own tumours, but the vibe is that it’s all good so far.

Meanwhile, has it occurred to you that the antidote to despondency, over time, is thankfulness to God? Not an immediate cure, that's true, but today I am thanking God for putting on weight. Here is a song about feeling happy in such times.

Here's a particularly good version of the same:

Reasons to be cheerful, part three

I said to Fiona (my first wife) that if people hadn’t heard from me, no news was good news. She reminded me that it could also mean that I was either dead or close to death. Yup ok. So due to overwhelming popular public demand, here is some news.

The cancer treatment is working very well, thank you. It’s not chemotherapy, which is good, because chemotherapy really means poisoning everything and hoping that the poison hits cancer harder than it hits teeth, hair, fingernails and parts of you that actually matter. The treatment is targeted therapy (BRAFTOVI) and as a result and after initial severe nausea, I’m stronger and healthier. I’m walking with a limp, because I tried to jump while playing with some kids at church. They are safe, their parents are safe, my leg hurts.

Despondency

When the likely possibility of death advances by 10-20 years, the initial response is ‘oh well’. Then, in my case, you start to think of what is and what might have been.

At the age of 20 and if you have worked out that you are good at things, you have the world open in front of you and even the parts that you’ve chosen not to explore will wait. You are great (you actually are), your achievements lie ahead of you, you can choose and whatever path you choose will reveal greatness. You will not win Wimbledon but hey, you chose not to at age 8 and your regret is long past.

At age 60 you think hm, I now have a lot of regrets that are long past, and some of them were quite important, and now due to a diagnosis I could be gone in six months. The ‘so what’ response at age 20 has vanished into the concrete of ‘uh oh. This could be it’.

Christ

My answer to my own despondency has been, so far, to feel despondent. But also to look to Christ. He is our great king. Every failure of ours is a victory for him (and therefore, for us), because as we trust in him and in his kindness, mercy, and grace, he wipes out our failure for eternity. And he reminds us that we, his little children, are doing exactly the things that he would want us to be doing, and that we are created for.

I am also reminded daily of the grace and kindness of friends. In your grace I see and experience the work of Christ himself. You did not need to ask after our family and our wellbeing. You did not need to pray or offer kindness in so many ways. And yet you have.

Other matters.

More to say, but let me immediately say that at this time: no news is actually good news. Treatment progresses. I am stronger and here is some proof, just a bit of Q and A after yesterday's sermon. Sorry about the collar malfunction, the rest of it I stand by.

And here is a song. Reasons to be cheerful, part three.

It is well with my soul. Is it well with yours?

 This is what prevents me from worry.

"Even so, it is well with my soul."

Thankful as always for the kindness of friends (2 April)

 All sorts of people have phoned or sent messages, some expected friends, some unexpected friends, some with memories from long ago. Here is a song for you, an old song that you may have heard before and I hope will hear again.

I'm feeling a lot better. The nausea has been whipped into shape and is now wishing its mother had never met its father. The BRAFTOVI treatment is working, as in, I have physical evidence that tumours are shrinking. Saw my oncologist Prof Clarke and he was pleased with progress, or in the case of tumours, regress. During the week of nausea I lost four kilos, I've put three back on and am eating lots. This weekend or soon after Matilda our eldest moves out to a room (that is larger than two of ours back here in our house) in the inner city; two other daughters have scored part-time jobs, and our dogs are happy thanks for asking. I walked up the steps at Meadowbank station two at a time and made it to the train, the hamstrings remain intact today. So many good things, or new things, or both.

Here are some thoughts that friends have shared, not necessarily with me in mind. 

The first friend was considering COVID isolation and how, as many know say, it is not as bad as being a refugee from Ukraine or a flood victim in Lismore. Truth! But, said the friend, we are not necessarily helped by comparing suffering of one with another, and it is not how the Bible teaches us to think. Your stubbed toe is not as bad as Freda's amputation, but in the moment of pain and even after we are not competing with each other to see who is worse off. 

And what if (as said friend said) the specific suffering we are going through is actually the means of God's blessing?

William Cowper wrote: 

Ye fearful saints fresh courage take, The clouds you so much dread,
Are big with mercy, and shall break, With blessings on your head.

In other news, it's coming up to Easter, so here is a song about Easter. 

The crucifixion itself was the lowest moment of all, yet through it the Lord Jesus' glory was revealed. 

[as we learn in Acts 4:24-28] 

And when they heard it, they lifted their voices together to God and said, “Sovereign Lord, who made the heaven and the earth and the sea and everything in them, who through the mouth of our father David, your servant, said by the Holy Spirit,

“‘Why did the Gentiles rage,
    and the peoples plot in vain?
The kings of the earth set themselves,
    and the rulers were gathered together,
    against the Lord and against his Anointed’—

for truly in this city there were gathered together against your holy servant Jesus, whom you anointed, both Herod and Pontius Pilate, along with the Gentiles and the peoples of Israel, to do whatever your hand and your plan had predestined to take place.

With apologies to all pregnant women at all times and in every place, 21 March update.

 I'm not sure if I've ever said anything particularly rude or inconsiderate about pregnant women in the past, in fact I'm going to boldly assert that I haven't. But it may be (I'm really not sure) that in my mind I'd dismissed the idea of morning sickness and nausea as relatively trivial in the grand scheme of things, and for that I am now truly sorry to all women who have or will experience such a thing.

A hospital holiday

I spent last week in hospital (RNSH private) slowly recovering from severe nausea most likely induced by the targeted BRAFTOVI treatment I've been getting for my cancer. If the intestinal perforation I had a few weeks back was the worst pain I've ever experienced in my life, the nausea was the worst experience of sickness, especially sitting in emergency for several hours waiting for something, anything, to fix the feeling. Awful for Fiona to be with me and have to watch helplessly, too.

Nausea saps everything and puts a sick grey-green olive complexion on life, an overlay of not-quite-pain and disgusting negativity. Strength and concentration disappear, any happy thought of the future is underscored by an irrational notion that even the very best and brightest hope is somehow going to fail and be tainted by who knows what? This awful sick feeling that colours even sunlight with a sense that it will fade into darkness.

The hospital emergency nurses are hardcore—they have their clear instructions on what they are able to give in the way of drug treatment, and quite rightly they follow them. So if there is some temporary relief that they are able to provide, and that relief starts to fade, then it will be (say) two hours before any further drug help can be given. In the meantime they will be reasonably sympathetic whilst suggesting that you stop moaning and relax into it, as this will probably last all night and the best way to avoid the worst symptoms is to sleep. Let me tell you that the advice hurts almost as much as the nausea, and the suggestion to maybe not moan quite as much during the worst moments.

Really, nothing at all against emergency nurses but to get admitted into the actual ward is to experience the joy and relief of the oncology team saying 'you can have as much nausea relief as you want, whenever you want it, and if it's not enough, just ask!'

Nausea shoots great holes in the strength to do the most routine things in life and removes the ability to think all but the most basic thoughts. You can lie for hours doing nothing and imagining nothing, planning nothing and hoping vaguely that the situation might improve in a few hours or days. Pregnant women everywhere, I salute your strength.

Today? Feeling OK

By Friday of last week I felt pretty good and had almost started to enjoy my hospital holiday. Although I did lose about four kilos in the course of a week, and that's not great, hey. The oncologist apologised for making me sick with his treatment—hardly his fault really. My dad picked me up (Fiona was not feeling the best) and took me back to his place. In a desperate desire for carbs that were not also hospital food and involved some activity on my part, I made spaghetti carbonara for both of us. Missed a wedding on Saturday. Made it to church on Sunday. Now it's Monday and brain and body seem to be operational enough to make it to a morning Bible study and get on with my editing work at CMS. Let us see.

In the meantime I am deeply aware of the goodness of God in providing medical people who are able to navigate this path alongside me, and the ongoing kindness of family, friends, and church family. Some people phone, some leave comments on my Facebook page, many provide support in ways small and large.

To experience this is to experience a direct epiphany of the grace of God who works all things for the good of those who love him and are called according to his purpose (Romans 8:28). Sometimes—often—I can't respond to these kindnesses shown by so many and in so many ways. If you're someone who has called, prayed, offered help, then please know that your kindness is known and felt deeply even when not responded to in any way that you may be aware of. Such grace reminds me that even in the face of the worst nausea or pain, there is a true solidity and basis to this instruction God gives to all who trust him: 

Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, 3 for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. 4 And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. (James 1:2-4)

The daily experience of the grace and kindness of friends is just one dimension of the joy that comes to all God cares for. 

Oh yes and I'm back today on my targeted BRAFTOVI cancer treatment, at a lower dose and bolstered by lots of anti-nausea options. Let's see what happens!

Sleeping on steroids, a new treatment (March 12)

 Due to overwhelming popular demand, another cancer update!

I am home with Fi and the girls now and have been for about a week, following a time with my dad, following a time at RNSH hospital, following emergency surgery after the cancer perforated my bowel, which is every bit as painful as it sounds. But I woke up feeling a lot better and after ten days in hospital my dad took me not home, but to his place, whilst two daughters tag-teamed COVID and the family spent time in isolation, while I isolated from them.

My dad took great care of me and I spent a good deal of time sleeping, or vaguely watching a survival series called 'Alone', where intrepid individuals doing their own camera work are dropped into some serious wilderness and left to fend for themselves in cold, wet, and frequently miserable conditions along with wolves, bears, and cougars. A bit like me, really, except without the predators, and I had hospital care, and with my dad then looking after me and providing lobster, prawns, steak, pork fillet, stir fry and whatever else he decided to cook up for the night. But hey, Sydney has been cold and wet hasn't it? And I was alone in my room, so I did sympathise with those poor survivalists.

Alone... o ja ...

OK it wasn't so lonely as all that, but I was surprised (after doing pretty well in hospital, including being able to walk around and keep working) that I was so worn out for so long. Yes it was major surgery, and I now have a scar to compare to Fiona's caesarean scar, along with other accoutrements of the procedure (colostomy bags, anyone?) and a collection of drugs that just keeps accumulating, despite my best efforts to consume them. 

A new treatment

And now I'm home, propped up by sleep and steroids and the loving care of Fiona and daughters. That's nice! I even managed to preach at church about two weeks ago, want to see? Here's the link, go to 33min 30sec for the reading, followed by me preaching on 1 Thessalonians 2.

It's about warm family relationships, amongst other more important questions. And it gets a bit rambly. But hopefully in a fun and helpful way.

Back to the new treatment. They can't give me chemotherapy straight away, if they do it not only attacks the remaining cancer but (to a lesser extent) the rest of the body, which is not so good for healing of surgery-induced wounds. But in the providence of God, a therapy targeted specifically towards the sub-type (actually mutation, look up BRAF) of colorectal cancer that I have has come available. This therapy was, until January this year, extremely expensive, c. $6000 a month. Now, courtesy of the Australian Pharmaceutical Benefits Scheme, it comes at no cost to me, and is potentially a better way of tackling the cancer than chemotherapy. If you want to get the medical and nerdy details of this therapy, it's called BRAFTOVI, and here it all is (or at least, a good starting point).

Yes there are side-effects, especially I've had a fair bit of nausea. And I'm still very tired and run out of energy easily. Steroids help with nausea and as a nice side-effect, they kick-start my brain into the action needed to do a bit of work. But there is a fair bit of time spent walking extremely slowly, sitting slumped and sleepy, or just lying down. 

Update March 13: Oh boy, did I get sick yesterday! Painful nausea from the BRAFTOVI therapy (I think that's what was going on) and straight into RNSH hospital where I remain. Not sure what happens now, but it was not a fun night.