MEDICAL UPDATE

Sunday July 27, 2104

It’s been a mixed month with some good days and some bad days.     Fatigue is something I have faced pretty much every day which is hard for a pedal to the metal kind of guy like me but it is just something you can’t do anything about.    Life is like that and you either roll with the punches or drive yourself crazy.    Most days I’m good from about 7am - 3pm and then take a bit of a rest.
 

I have not had Chemotherapy since July 4.     We were able to schedule a break so that Wendy and I could take a couple of weeks vacation.    We were able to get away to the East Coast for an enjoyable trip though there were some rough days and on a couple of occasions we considered aborting the trip.
 

Once we returned to Toronto I had a very helpful Doctors appointment at Princes Margaret Hospital on Tuesday July 22.       Dr. Natalie Cook is very thorough and helpful in answering questions and helping us understand what is happening with my body.     She was able to give us the report from the Bone Scan I had and it is confirmed that the cancer has spread to my hip and one of my vertebra.     That, of course, was not good news.     Apparently it is very rare with this type of cancer for it to spread to the bone.    Of course I always have to do things the hard way.    I also found out that it is very rare with this kind of cancer to lose your hair but I’ve managed to do that too.     At first I really found myself being self-conscious about being bald and kept my cap on most of the time.    But you know, life will throw you curves and you can’t do one thing about it.     There are things in life, like getting cancer and going bald, that you can’t do anything about.    So rather than fight it I decided to embrace the baldness and sport Kojak look.      It’s happening whether I like it or not.      As I always said to my kids, "It’s not what happens to you but what happens in you that makes the difference."      Attitude is everything.
 

Each time they have measured the Cancer Markers in my body they have been down which means the cancer is decreasing in its activity but none the less still active.    Dr. Cook, however, seemed to be pleased that the markers were down and indicated that it would be months before we would have to worry about the effects of the disease having significant impact.     That does not mean, however, there are not complications as my body fights the disease and the chemotherapy.

 

Fatigue will be an increasing problem as will the pain from the bone cancer.    I’m not big on taking pain killers but have been taking Tylenol on some days to ease the pain a bit.     One of the main problems I’ve had has been a hacking cough that leaves me short of breath and which is often accompanied by a fever.     Once my temperature reaches 101ºf I am to go to Hospital Emergency in case there is an infection somewhere.    Dr. Cook has determined that there is an infection that has to be aggressively dealt with so the Chemo for this past Friday was cancelled so that the this infection could be treated with Steroids and Antibiotics.

 

Like I said, there are good days and bad days and I am thankful that God seems to give me special strength on Sundays so that I can continue to have the joy of preaching God’s Word to our congregation.     When you see me in public you may be fooled by my appearance because I seek to carry myself well and not whine too much or draw attention to myself. However, this disease continues to rage through my body and a Divine healing from God is the only thing that will keep me in this world so we covet your fervent and constant prayers.    

 

Our family continues to trust God with a rock solid faith knowing that He is good and though we certainly hope for a miracle know that failing that God has given us the incredible promise of Heaven and seeing Him face to face.     May I encourage you, that in whatever circumstance you find yourself, trust in God’s faithfulness to see you through and His incredible promises of eternity with Him.

 

Pastor Rick

Photo By Bethany Jo Mikelait

The Place Where Nobody Else Can Go

It was a beautiful sunny day as we exited through the revolving doors of the hospital where I had just had a Bone Scan.    The scan was probably the easiest, non-invasive test I had ever had.     The air was warm, the Sun was bright, it was a good day.    But as we walked along the sidewalk my emotions were very near the surface.    I was doing everything possible to keep them from overflowing right there in public.    Wendy could sense it so she said not a word.    She has become very good at judging when I just need time to process things.    We crossed the street and took the elevator to level 6 of the parking garage.     I unlocked the door to the car and held her door open then entered on the drivers side.     Sitting there, the silence was broken, "I just need 3-4 minutes" I said.

In this "Unexpected Journey" I have learned that there is a Place Where Nobody Else Can Go.    This hit me powerfully one day in the waiting room of the chemotherapy clinic as I watched an elderly gentleman whom I see there each week.    He stands out because his bald head is covered with crusty open sores caused by the chemo.     I watched him one day as he chatted with whom I presume to be his daughter.     He was gentle and kind but I could tell that he was not fully engaged.

 

In a moment or two I looked back.     He was sitting there just looking straight ahead, his hands folded in front of him.     I watched him for a moment and then realized that he was in that Place Where Nobody Else Can Go.      It’s different for everyone but I’m sure there are similarities.     It can be a lonely place where no one can go with you, no one can say "I know what you’re feeling" or "I know exactly what you’re going through."     Everyone has a unique personality, a unique set of emotions, and unique set of circumstances and therefore what they are experiencing is unique to them.

As I watched him I empathized with him.    There are things happening to him over which he has absolutely no control.     He cannot control the fact that his own body has turned against itself.     He cannot control the impact chemotherapy is having on his body.     The scars on his head are constant reminders that things are not under his control.      In this Place Where Nobody Else Can Go there is resignation, resignation to the fact that you are in a place that no one else can quite understand.     Resignation to the fact that death is likely just around the corner and you can’t stop it.     Resignation to the fact that things are happening to you that you don’t like, there are treatments and tests that you detest, that rob you of your dignity.

 

As I watched him I thought, friend, I know that place.     Friends and family give wonderful support and encouragement but in the end this is a Place Where Nobody Else Can Go.    You go there alone.     In can be a quiet place and you may hardly think at all.     You don’t analyse the situation, you’re not fighting it.     You are just there and nobody can fully understand what you are thinking or feeling because it is such a unique combination of you and your circumstances.

Being a football fan I can liken it to standing naked on the 50 yard line of a football field and there are 50,000 people in the stands.    You cannot move, you are stuck in that place.    The fans seem to hardly notice but you feel your nakedness.     You feel exposed and vulnerable and alone.      You wish somehow you could escape but you can’t.     You wish someone would come down out of the stands and take you to the dressing room.   But, nobody moves.

 

The wind begins to pick up and blows in your face.    Then the rain starts and the fans begin to leave the stands leaving you alone in the middle of the field.     You want to go too but you can’t move.     You are in that Place Where Nobody Else Can Go and you cannot escape.      The rain is harder now and the wind blows it against your face.     It’s lonely and its cold.     Then, without warning, the lights go out in the stadium, and you are completely alone in the dark.    It is eerie, it seems so deftly silent, yet it is strangely peaceful.     There is nobody there as the wind and the rain pelt you body.     Only you know what its like at that moment and even you can’t understand it.

 

The Bone Scan that morning was a relatively simple affair.     An easy non-invasive test.    In fact as I laid on the cot I fell asleep.    The emotion I was feeling as we sat in the car made no sense.    Nothing more was said but for those 3-4 moments as I just sobbed.     I don’t want to be here.    I don’t want all these tests, I don’t what to have to be going through chemo.     I don’t want this happening in my life.    But there I was, naked in the middle of the field in that Place Where Nobody Else Can Go.

After 3-4 minutes. I wiped my eyes and we drove home, laughing and telling each other jokes and being reminded of wonderful things we have experienced together under the good hand of God.     And perhaps most important of all, we talked about what Heaven would be like and we reminded each other of God’s faithful promise to His children that someday all us, every follower of Jesus,  would  arrive Home safe.