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.
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?")
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.
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!
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.
This is me leaving hospital on Friday. Apparently the wheel chair was compulsory, though I'd offered to walk and help push.
I'm not actually home yet. Staying with my dad, because we have a confirmed COVID case in the family and it's good for me not to be close by. This morning another daughter confirmed positive, so it doesn't look like I'll be back home for at least a week. In this tag-team COVID-catching time, this process could extend.
In the meantime, want to join me at church? I'm preaching tomorrow on 1 Thessalonians 2. It will be the best sermon you have heard on 1 Thessalonians 2 for many days, and it is an insight into the power of the gospel of God to transform lives in the face of adversity and with great glory to him. You can join us live, or later, by clicking through: https://www.stbarneys.org.au/this-sunday-live-stream/
Also a better version of this song, I am waiting to hear. I know that my Redeemer lives:
This is me, exercising by walking around the hospital ward with the other COVID-isolated inmates. No not really, but I shall be released tomorrow--not to go home, because I will be staying with my dad, given that our family is in COVID isolation with one daughter having caught COVID for the second time.
Art of the Day: Van Gogh, Prisoners Exercising (after Doré), February 1890. Oil on canvas, 80 x 64 cm. Pushkin Museum, Moscow.
All appears to be well, no sign of infection and doctors happy. I'll be preaching at church this Sunday, God willing, on 1 Thessalonians 2. But unlikely to see the rest of the family in person until Tuesday next week.
The next chemo cycle is 2-3 weeks away, yet to be determined and somewhat dependent on how well I recover from the current surgery. Like the men in Van Gogh's prison yard, just keep moving.
Meanwhile, sing with me and Bob. "I shall be released"
or listen to one of my favourite versions, Bob Dylan, The Band, and friends.
I work at CMS (Church Missionary Society) as an editor, and the International Director there is Peter Rodgers. I've been so thankful that during this time of illness I've just been able to keep on working from home or even from hospital, as the case may be. CMS as employers have been incredibly fair and supportive in finding ways for this to continue.
I mention this as background to something completely different, which is how Jesus responded to news of his friend Lazarus' imminent death. Here is just a little of the story, from John 11, that sets up the scene:
After saying these things, he said to them, “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I go to awaken him.” The disciples said to him, “Lord, if he has fallen asleep, he will recover.” Now Jesus had spoken of his death, but they thought that he meant taking rest in sleep. Then Jesus told them plainly, “Lazarus has died, and for your sake I am glad that I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him.”
It's well worth reading the whole chapter, in which Jesus is implicitly rebuked for his slowness in coming to his friend's side. Surely he could have prevented the experience of death that he now witnesses firsthand? But he hasn't come in time (or so it seems), therefore he weeps.
The afore-mentioned Peter Rodgers wrote a brief piece about how Jesus responds to his friend Lazarus' death. It is a response that by clear implication shows us something of how we, too, can face the reality of the deaths of those around, or even our own.
In his short article Peter asks this key question: Why did Jesus weep?
Weeping is
normal at the death of a loved one. In some cultures, weeping is done almost in
private, and expressions of grief are muted. In other cultures, a public
display of weeping is important, even to the extent of employing professional
mourners.
In John 11, when people hear the unexpected news of Lazarus’ death there are
natural expressions of grief.
“When Jesus saw her (Mary)
weeping, and the Jews who
had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and
troubled.“Where have you laid him?” he
asked. “Come and see, Lord,” they replied.Jesus wept.
The expressions of grief from Mary and Martha and the others with them are
expected.
But why does Jesus weep?
Jesus already knew that Lazarus had died and what he would do for the sake of
God’s glory (verses 4,14,15). So, if Jesus knew he would raise Lazarus
from the tomb, why does he weep?
There are some lessons we can learn.
Jesus is not indifferent to suffering. He loved Lazarus (verse 5). We see here
the great heart of Jesus: the Son of God, God himself—weeping, sobbing—at
the death of his friend, and the grief it has caused his other friends. This is
the normal and right response to death – even for Christians. For whilst we do
not grieve like the rest of the world, we still grieve. Here we see that
weeping is a right response to death. And the Son of God has so entirely
entered into humanity that this includes entering the depths of sorrow. Jesus
wept.
But Jesus does not weep out of despair as we might. In verses 25-26 he has
already declared these magnificent words.
“I am the
resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even
though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never
die.”
Unlike us, Jesus is not powerless. Jesus proves the truth of these words by
calling Lazarus out of the tomb!
It may seem odd to us that someone who has the power to raise people from the
dead should weep. Odd that Jesus can be all powerful and yet burst into tears.
This is the mystery of the person of Jesus – who is man and God. We don’t need
to spiritualise away his tears and anger. We need to accept he is God, but
still fully a man. He trembles in anger, weeps in sorrow and then raises the
dead with a shout.
Eight chapters later the Jews will be shouting for Jesus’ death.
Of course, Lazarus grew old and died again. His resurrection, as amazing as it
was, is just a shadow, a glimpse of what happened just over a week later when
Jesus was crucified and his dead and mutilated body laid in a tomb. And three
days later he rose from the dead, once forever, never to die again. Jesus is
literally “the
resurrection and the life”. These were not empty words spoken just
to comfort people in their grief. These are life giving words spoken by the
only person in all history to have defeated death and now live forever.
At a basic level, Jesus' tears should encourage us to weep with those who weep.
We should allow grieving people to feel right anger at death and suffering. In
fact, death and suffering should make us indignant wherever we see it. We need
to become better carers of those who suffer. Christians who know that we have a
God who has wept at death should never be indifferent to death.
But more so, although in the face of death we are powerless, we can point
grieving people to Jesus, who not only grieves with them, but is himself the
resurrection and the life.
The Christian response to death and dying is not stoic acceptance. Nor is it a triumphalistic lack of awareness, nor even a resigned despair. It is exactly and precisely the response Jesus gave: to weep over its horror, and to trust to the power of God to completely reverse and upend and defeat its power over us.
As I'm writing this blog post on a Sunday, how about you join me in singing this hymn? Or scroll down to the video and let the Welsh do it for you.
1. Guide me, O Thou great Jehovah, Pilgrim through this barren land. I am weak, but Thou art mighty; Hold me with Thy powerful hand. Bread of heaven, Feed me now and evermore; Bread of heaven, Feed me now and evermore.
2. Open now the crystal fountain, Whence the healing waters flow; Let the fire and cloudy pillar Lead me all my journey through. Strong Deliverer, Be Thou still my Strength and Shield. Strong Deliverer, Be Thou still my Strength and Shield.
3. When I tread the verge of Jordan, Bid my anxious fears subside; Death of death, and hell's destruction, Land me safe on Canaan's side. Songs of praises, I will ever give to Thee; Songs of praises, I will ever give to Thee.
Yes, visiting here in hospital has been highly restricted but possible. Only one visitor per day. And of course phone calls.
I’m not entirely unhappy about the visitor restrictions. The medical people here are terrific but the environment itself is incredibly noisy.
That doesn’t bother me, as sleeping anywhere, anytime is one gift that I feel God has given me to offer the church—or indeed any context that I find myself placed in.
But to add troops of visitors into the mix? Heavens to Betsy! My own visitors I could handle. When everyone in the public ward gets visitors, that is a lot of people. And so many people here seem to appreciate shouting and being shouted at, including amongst the hospital staff. I know this because in the absence of many visitors, people ring their relatives in hospital and shout at them. Not angry shouting. Just shouting. This I am not understanding. It does however seem to bring some measure of comfort and cheer to those being shouted at.
Perhaps in these COVID restricted times it could be a ministry some churches could become involved in: offering to ring up sick people in hospital and shouting at them.
“I was hungry and you fed me. Naked and you clothed me. In hospital and you rang me up and shouted at me.”
Think about it. In these COVID times, this idea has legs.
Here is the red sheep, here is the blue sheep. Here is the bath sheep, and here is the bed sheep. But where is the green sheep?
Oh wait. Different book, different story. I meant to talk about pills not sheep.
The first cycle of chemotherapy hit pretty hard, as friends in the know predicted. Lots of sleeping, some nausea, a return to hospital after a temperature spike, and a brain that functioned in grooves or not very well. If I could hunt down a thought I could follow it through but sometimes lacked the energy to do a task I'd set for myself that day, then ran out of puff and did a lot more sleeping.
The visit to hospital was good (I'm out now) and took pressure off the family, and I want to find ways to keep helping them as they help me. Sometimes that will mean occasional visits to stay at my dad, sometimes other things. Fiona has been wonderful and continues to be so.
What I'm currently finding entertaining and informative is the number of pills that I've been loaded up with for the treatment of various side-effects (tiredness, nausea, constipation, not-constipation, possible infection, inflammation, pain) on top of the full range of possible chemotherapy options and injections of unnamed substances.
It is very confusing, especially initially, because some of the treatments and subsequent treatments for side-effects have opposite effects and, in any case, require you to have at least a sense of what's going on.
Example, the steroids (to damp down inflammation) also can produce wakefulness and fast-paced thoughts, which can occasionally overcome the tiredness induced by chemotherapy. That's fine, and sometimes useful if you've been sleeping all day but suddenly get a burst of brain activity that allows you to work away for a few hours at night. The ideas flow freely, even manically and if it is for work-related writing that is good at the stage where you're drafting ideas. Then some sleep and as the steroid effect wears off, the brain slows down to a level where it is able to edit the incomprehensible brilliance you've produced into a form that a reasonable third party could begin to understand.
If you can understand that cancelling or opposing set of pill-effects as it relates to the thought processes, then you can use your imagination to extend the metaphor to other and lower bodily functions. The red pill is going to help you with side-effect X brought on by the painkillers. But before you had side effect X, you were suffering from symptom Y, which is actually the opposite of side effect X, so that's good right? Well sort of, except you weren't expecting side effect X, so you did what was advised and took the blue pill to help with symptom Y.
So you're sitting there, having been discharged from hospital, with the red pill and the blue pill. Each is potentially useful, even necessary. But they cancel each other out and you're not quite sure which one to take.
My solution just at the moment is to dump all the pills in one bag, and pick the one that I personally prefer at any given point, allowing for actual instructions and warnings about not taking too much. A lot of the time the actual instructions say something like 'take as needed and not if not'. So even though my approach sounds random, it fits within the best current medical advice available to me. Maybe it's a bit like with those night-and-day cold and flu tablets, where I figure that if you've got a very runny (non-COVID) nose, you just take one of each and the hype-up effects of one will be cancelled by the hype-down effects of the other.
This has turned into quite a long post, relative to the others. Looks like the brain-hyping steroid I took a few hours ago is doing its thing. Hyping leads to typing. Please respond in the comments therefore if you think this post needs a bit of subdued editing or at least the addition of subheadings. I find that if enough people comment, the advice cancels itself out and just like the pills, I can pick and choose out of what's there. So have at it!
"Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee." (Isaiah 26:3, KJV)
Today, more antibiotics and more blood tests. If everything's clear, then back home from hospital.
Meanwhile here's Orlando Gibbon's version of Psalm 47, O clap your hands (with no clapping. As great as the British choral tradition is, they weren't going to go that far).
O clap your hands together, all ye people, O sing unto God with a voice
of melody.
For the Lord is high, and to be feared, he is the great King of all the earth.
He shall subdue the people under us, and the nations under our feet.
He shall choose out an heritage for us, ev'n the worship of Jacob, whom
he loved.
God is gone up with a merry noise, and the Lord with the sound of the trumpet.
O sing praises, sing praises unto our God, O sing praises, sing praises unto
the Lord our King.
For God is the King of all the earth, sing ye praises with understanding.
God reigneth over the heathen, God sitteth upon his holy seat.
For God, which is highly exalted, doth defend the earth, as it were with
a shield.
Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost,
As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end.
Amen
Words from Psalm 47
Update: I’m home, with another little bag of pills. Today’s featured drug is Endone. I like this one!
A brain foggy day in which I had every intention of getting some work projects done, but haven’t found the focus.
Then Fiona came home with a new thermometer and my temperature is 38.5 degrees C.
Written doctor’s instructions say anything above 38 is cause for concern, so call the hospital oncologist straight away. Done that, waiting for call back.
I decided to keep the most important medications, as opposed to the ones I use just for fun, in a most important medication place. It’s taken about 24 hours to remember where that location was, but I found it now. Maybe I should stay safe by putting them all together in the same plastic bag and pulling out the one that best fits the side-effect of the day.
Today’s featured drug of the day: Apo-metoclopramide.
Update: off to RNSH emergency. Blood count and likely antibiotics. Admitted for one night.
Wednesday Update: no infection detected, keeping me in hospital one more night plus giving a precautionary five day course of antibiotics.
Portacath works like a dream. Chemo works like a scheme. By which I mean, it's started going in even as I type and we'll just have to see what happens next.
So far no discernible side-effects, except for an increase in hovering medical personnel. One member of the treatment team came in and gave me a bunch of helpful suggestions and a showbag including a booklet called Chemotherapy with Ramsay Cancer Care. I asked her if she'd read Victor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning but she hadn't, so I guess we exchanged reading recommendations.
Victor Frankl was a Viennese psychiatrist who survived Auschwitz concentration camp during World War II. He wanted to know why, of those who weren't executed, some otherwise relatively healthy people died whilst a number who you might have assumed were in much worse condition lived. His book is his answer to his queston. Click on that previous link to see the blurb.
It is a bit weird being in a hospital with no visitors and I'm glad it's only until Friday. At least I can chat to the family on the phone any time. Thanks for those who are making contact; I'm usually not answering calls but plenty of time for text-based communication just at the moment. Please know that I read everything even if I'm not able to respond, this blog still seems to be the best way to give up-to-date information for those who want it. Most importantly you may occasionally find jokes.
Speaking of which, my current favourite comedian Norm McDonald (who died of bowel cancer late last year), may well have been a believer in the Lord Jesus. Here are a couple of serious interactions on the subject.
2.45 pm update
Oh! After just half an hour into the third lot of chemo drugs I am getting the warned-of side effects of pins and needles in my fingers. Not painful, but just a hint of what else might be going on. You can actually develop neuropathy over time, so this is one of the many things the doctors are going to need to monitor carefully. It doesn't seem like it would be great for piano playing or typing. But you never know. If Alkan can compose music for one-handed pianists, some clever composer can probably figure out music for those who can't use their fingers. Is that right?
Oncologist SC visited, thought I was doing well but also warned that they were hitting me with the highest level of medication possible because they really want to stop progress quickly, therefore to expect lots more in the way of nausea etc, especially about day five or six after commencement of the cycle.
If the doctor, and not COVID, had had his way, I would have been straight into hospital for the first cycle of chemo last Thursday, including the installation of the fabled portacath. But that would have kept me in hospital and would meant that I'd have missed church.
As it is, the visit to hospital is happening tomorrow (Tuesday), and will mean that I'm in for the first cycle of chemo until Friday.
But that postponement meant that I could also fit in the planned preaching for yesterday. The passage was Psalm 13, and you can catch the reading and the sermon at 22:00 in this video. It's a bit rambly, could have done with a sympathetic editor, sorry about that, but what a great Psalm.
Here's Psalm 13, a Psalm of lament:
Psalm 13
English Standard Version Anglicised
To the choirmaster. A Psalm of David.
13 1 How long, O Lord? Will you forget me for ever? How long will you hide your face from me? 2 2 How long must I take counsel in my soul and have sorrow in my heart all the day? How long shall my enemy be exalted over me? 3 3 Consider and answer me, O Lord my God; light up my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death, 4 4 lest my enemy say, “I have prevailed over him”, lest my foes rejoice because I am shaken. 5 5 But I have trusted in your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice in your salvation. 6 6 I will sing to the Lord, because he has dealt bountifully with me.
Yesterday Fiona and I got our #3 COVID shot; I wanted to get mine out of the way before chemo started and now that's done. Need a PCR test tomorrow afternoon as well.
Let me tell you though about our fabulous pharmacist Kev, a friend from Christ Church Gladesville years ago. He became a Christian there and in his spare time learnt Hebrew, just because he wanted to read the Old Testament a bit better. He knows of my cancer diagnosis and wanted to hear the latest. Being a typically efficient pharmacist he was able to do that whilst simultaneously giving both Fi and me a COVID booster each (Moderna), explaining that research showed that most negative vaccine effects had occurred amongst young men who had had their shots too close together, reassuring us about side-effects and giving us his family news as well.
The unexpected and blessed element was that after our COVID shots he offered to pray for us, and he did pray for us, asking for God's care and healing and entrusting us into the hands of our heavenly Father. He is a busy man, running a pharmacy and—as are so many health professionals—over-run by COVID matters, yet he took the time to do this.
We have many lovely Christian medical friends and we have seen some professionally over many years. Prayer has never been a part of the expected service, but on this occasion we accepted with gratitude and thankfulness this encouragement from a brother in Christ. And really, if Jesus is our great healer—as Isaiah 53:5 teaches us—then what could be more fitting than such a humble prayer, acknowledging in the act the limitations of human medicine?
From Handel's Messiah, here is Isaiah 53:5 set to music.
I was wrong. Today’s appointment was, I thought, to get a portacath inserted. Not so; that has to happen and soon but first a bit of jaw-jaw with oncologist SC and a briefing session about what to except during the chemo treatment cycle.
But also, I was right! I’ve had the feeling that the cancer has been developing pretty rapidly—new symptoms like a persistent dry cough, an ache developing in the liver. Old symptoms, mainly fatigue, increasing. Ignorable nausea becoming unignorable nausea (‘oh no! I always have seconds but now I’m going to have to wait a few hours! What, I can only manage one Frosty Fruit for dessert?')
So this morning the doc wanted to book me into a hospital ward at RNSH and get me hooked up to chemo straight away. Couldn’t happen. Ward shut due to COVID in there.
Earliest possible is Tuesday. At least this means I can preach on Sunday. And, although we’ve run out of Frosty Fruits, I rediscovered my stash of mango Weis bars. They were in the freezer all along! I'd been looking everywhere.
Quite tricky finding a place for a COVID booster but got Friday appointments for me and Fi.
Here are a few thoughts jotted down in the process:
Looks like the doc is busy. Been waiting on phone for an hour, listening to a looping music tape with a voice that repeats ‘still queued announcement comfort message’.
I’m sure it’s unintentional but I can’t think of any better substitute message they could have come up with.
Edit: At the sixty minute mark, a voice came on and said ‘no-one is available to take your call. Please leave a message’. 😧
No great loss. Watched tennis and updated Facebook. Thought about the schedule for this evening and tomorrow morning (phone waiting does muck up the work routine a bit. Fiddles and juggles).
Thankfully when the med practice dumped me from the system after an hour, I phoned the chemist next door and took just five minutes to get two appointments. Pharmacists save the day!
This Sunday morning I was interviewed briefly at church about the latest. Starts at about 13:00. There may be a little gap in the video—the bit where I explained that I had to leave home rather suddenly due to daughter Ruby receiving a text notification about a positive COVID test. I went to stay with my dad.
Thankfully Ruby has now had a couple of negative RATs so I have just returned home today. Hooray and praise God!
I did have a planned PET scan on Friday. Nothing to report as yet. They don’t design those above-ground submarine-like structures to radiate comfort and assurance do they? They shoot you full of radioactive dye, your tumours start glowing in the dark and the machine zaps you with positrons, which sounds like it could be positive but I can’t really say. That supplies some images that doctors can use to refine treatment.
I suppose if I wanted to feel a bit more comfy I could have sought out homeopathy.
This would be maybe a good time to give a disclaimer about my medical expertise: ‘I don’t know much about medicine, but I know what I like.’
In any case, our Lord Jesus is the great physician and he will decide how matters unfold.
Met with oncologist (Dr Stephen Clarke) this afternoon. Diagnosis further confirmed, yes it’s still cancer. Through testing for certain genetic markers they have excluded any immunotherapy at this time.
However the chemotherapy is all systems go. Before that certain steps need to happen.:
1. Some more tests to rule out or open up specific treatment options.
2. Insert a porta-catheter, in about a week, to facilitate safe and effective chemotherapy delivery. Information about that is here.
3. Ideally get a third COVID booster before chemo begins, as this should happen when the immune system is strong. Chemo weakens the immune system so best to get this done now.
Because of these steps in the process, plus the Australia Day holiday, actual chemo (which is a day procedure) most likely will start the following week.
The other advice was to keep working (if I want, which I do), keep exercising, and don’t lose weight. That includes no major dietary changes.
The chemo is highly unlikely to remove or cure the cancer. But the idea is to shrink any tumours down to improve the possibility for successful surgery.
Dr Clarke by all accounts is a master of his craft. He is also a nice guy with a genuine concern to know the person as well as the problem. We have a number of people we know in common, including an oncologist on his team.
As a family we are concerned, wanting to get chemo going, and convinced that God is king.
Oh and happy 37th anniversary Fi! After all these years we still love each other.
Managed a little work including some church planning. The ache in my liver is increasing daily and today it was restricting my breathing. I know nothing but my intuition tells me that whatever is happening, it is happening fast.
We shall see. Oncologist tomorrow afternoon, Wednesday, at 2.20.
