September 10, 2005
After all this time, you probably think I have something amazingly profound to say, but I don't. All I can think to say to end what my husband created is that cancer really is a jerk and I want to punch it in the face. But even more than that, I want him back. Right now, I can't imagine going through life without him. Fall, Halloween, birthdays, playing with Roxy, watching the first Sunday of the NFL season, eating freshly-made chocolate chip cookies: none of these things will be the same without him. Some widows I know (older, of course) say it will get better. I don't guess they're lying, but they also weren't married to Dan Champion. It probably sounds corny, but I feel honored to have been his wife. As one of our friends shared during his funeral, he was one of the only people in the world who could tell you the truth about yourself. He could do this because he cared. And he always seemed to know what was important. He knew that life wasn't about getting to appointments on time (though he usually was) or wearing the right clothes (though he "looked pretty snazzy", according to my niece), or even being correct (though he always was). He knew that life was about relationships: with each other, with ourselves, with God. I think that's what helped him through his experiences with cancer. He knew that earthly things didn't matter in the end. All that mattered was love. And so, he loved. And he did it well.
Posted by Dan at 12:07 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
August 21, 2005
Here's A Little Something
The mothers and I just got back home from NY this evening, so I still don't have enough sense to post something real. In the meantime, here's Roxy, who somehow never made it onto the site before, despite being LOVED by her dad.
And while you're here, why don't you enjoy this quotation from Thomas Merton (a fave of Dan's) that I included in his service last week?
“Yesterday, in Louisville, at the corner of 4th and Walnut, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all these people, that they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers. It was like waking from a dream of separateness, of spurious self-isolation in a special world, the world of renunciation and supposed holiness. The whole illusion of a separate holy existence is a dream. Not that I question the reality of my vocation, or of my monastic life: but the conception of "separation from the world" that we have in the monastery too easily presents itself as a complete illusion . . . I have the immense joy of being man, a member of a race in which God Himself became incarnate. As if the sorrows and stupidities of the human condition could overwhelm me, now I realize what we all are. And if only everybody could realize this! But it cannot be explained. There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around shining like the sun.”
Posted by Dan at 11:38 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
August 13, 2005
Services for Dan
Calling hours will be Monday from 5 pm to 8 pm at Lane Funeral Home in Austintown, Ohio. A service will be held in Dan's honor on Tuesday at 11 am at West Side Baptist Church in Youngstown, Ohio. There will also be calling hours before the service at 10 am.
During the service on Tuesday, there will be a time for people to share a memory of or reflection on Dan. After reading some of the previous entries on this weblog, I think I might have someone read some of them during this time. So feel free to post your thoughts and feelings about Dan. He obviously affected many people and I want his funeral to reflect this fact.
Posted by Dan at 05:01 PM | Comments (8) | TrackBack
August 12, 2005
I am sad to report that your fair host and friend is no longer with us.
The doctors told us today that even if Dan did survive the pneumonia and associated problems he would not be strong enough to receive more chemotherapy for a while. The pulmonologist also said that the fluid in his lungs was probably almost gone, but the tumors were probably what was causing problems in his chest (in addition to the pneumonia). Considering that it's already been over a month since he had chemo, he decided that it was time to end his struggle. After receiving enough drugs to make him sleep and become unaware of what was going on, he was taken off the ventilator. Less than an hour later, he took his last breath. He did not struggle or have any pain. I am thankful that he was able to call the shots the entire time. It ensured that all measures taken were what he wanted, and it took a huge burden off of me. All I had to do was make sure he was asleep before the tube came out.
Dan was a blessing to many people and I would not be the person I am without him. If I could do it all over again, I would not hesitate to love him and be married to him again, even if I had to lose him again.
I will post information about his services for those of you who live around here or are just curious.
And just so you know, he received a big stack of Send-A-Smiles at the hospital today and most of them were from you guys. Thank you for your love and support.
Posted by Dan at 10:40 PM | Comments (11) | TrackBack
August 11, 2005
No real news, but read this anyway because my husband has cancer and I said so.
There's not much to update except that Dan's blood cell counts are a little low so he might get another blood transfusion tonight.
When we went to visit tonight, he was watching pre-season NFL starring the fabulous Green Bay Packers.
Also, if you go to www.hmpartners.org and click on send a smile at the right, you can send Dan a message. I thought I remembered that they didn't deliver messages to the intensive care units, but the web page doesn't say that, so give it a try. His location is St. Elizabeth Health Center. He would love to hear from all of you!
Posted by Dan at 10:36 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
A Little More Good News
The endoscopy today showed no blockage so Dan got the feeding tube put in today with no problem. His red blood cell count was low last night so he got a blood transfusion. Also last night he had some trouble breathing for a minute and ended up coughing up quite a bit of phglem. Then he was OK. The pulmonologist said his right lung looked better in the x-ray this morning. He said that when he came in Tuesday night, Dan's lung was infected about 75% pneumonia and now it's less than 50%.
His nurse asked this morning if Dan would want his face shaved. When I asked him, he said (in writing)no because it would take too much out of him right now and because there were some "hot chicks" on the floor and he thought they were into the rugged look. I reminded him that he is married.
So, more good news. The pneumonia is still a problem, but we'll take a little good news each day. I am still waiting to hear about the cancer. The oncologist might be in this afternoon, so I may know something later today.
Thank you all again for your prayers! God must be listening to at least one of us, so don't anybody stop in case it's you!
Posted by Dan at 02:53 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
August 10, 2005
More News
Well, since I probably scared everyone earlier, I'm glad to report some good news. The x-ray Dan had this morning was better than the one he had in the ER last night. Since he is on a ventilator, they will take an x-ray every morning so we will be able to check his progress fairly well.
The drug he is on for his blood pressure has been decreased slightly over the day and his blood pressure has stayed fairly level.
They have the vent set up to give him 12 breaths every minute. While I was in the room this evening, he was taking anywhere from 17 to 26 total breaths, meaning that some of them were on his own.
He is still very aware of what is going on, and I make sure he understands everything that happens. He started to use sign language to tell me something tonight. I guess I will check the internet tonight for an ASL guide. I also gave him a sheet of paper and a pen so he could write out a reminder to me to pay the bills.
While this is good news, he is still in trouble and needs lots of prayer. The pneumonia in the right lung is still bad, even though it did get a little better.
Also, when they tried to place the feeding tube today, they couldn't get it in. They are going to do an endoscopy in the morning to see what the problem is.
Our mothers arrived safely and we are all looking forward to some sleep.
Thank you for your continued prayers and support.
Posted by Dan at 07:13 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
Comments Seem To Be Working!
Isn't that something?
Posted by Dan at 12:41 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Update on Your Host
This is the Mrs. I am pretty tired right now, so I'm just going to post what I e-mailed to friends and family a few minutes ago. I wish comments were working. I know that many of you would have nice things to say. I'll try to work on that some time.
I'm not one for real-life cliff-hangers, so I'll tell you up front that Dan is alive.
Now, here's the rest.
Here are the facts. Dan did not go for the x-ray Tuesday evening because he felt like he just couldn't get up and walk out of the house. As the evening progressed (between 8 pm and 10 pm), his breathing became worse and his blood pressure was very, very high, even after taking his blood pressure medication. At around 10:15, he asked me to call for an ambulance. He was taken to the ER where he was given lots of drugs, oxygen, etc. The machine he was placed on for oxygen forced air into his lungs. His pulmonologist came to review everything while he was in the ER. An x-ray showed that his pneumonia was worse in addition to the fluid around his left lung.
He said the pneumonia was very bad. He told me that he did not think Dan would make it through this episode. Dan was admitted to the Coronary Care Unit about 45 minutes later. Soon after arriving at his room, his vital signs were stable. After being on the oxygen machine (I can't remember the name of the machine), he requested to be intubated because it was becoming too difficult for him to breathe on his own. He was intubated successfully and his vital signs returned to normal. The "life-saving measures" he is currently on are the ventilator and a drug to keep his heart beating. The doctor said this morning that he was doing better than when he was in the ER last night. When I spoke to the nurse and doctors around 10:30 am today, they told me that they were in the process of weaning him off the heart drug and he was breathing, for the most part, on his own. When I asked the doctor what was actually threatening his life, he said it was the pneumonia. I'm not sure what's going on with the cancer because the oncologist has to get involved in that. However, the pulmonologist feels strongly that the cancer and fluid around the left lung are secondary to the pneumonia. He is on two antibiotics for this. Through the time I left at around 11:00 am, Dan was aware of everything going on, able to comprehend, and able to make decisions. Until this changes, he will be making decisions about his care.
Here are the things the doctors and nurses cannot tell us. It is not up to any of us whether or not Dan lives or dies. He knows that and I know that. I want him to live, but I have told him that if he feels like this is it, he needs to do what he thinks is right. He has always had a very good sense for these things, and I have no doubt that this will remain true. He has not given up, but all I can say is that what he has experienced with God transcends, I believe, what we haphazardly call "faith" and "trust" in God to know when he is being called to do something.
Please pray for Dan that his body will strengthen and the pneumonia will go away so that he can fight the horrible disease that has brought these problems on him.
Please pray for me that if a time comes to make decisions about supporting my husband's life, I will have the courage to do what I know he wants.
Please pray for those who are lovingly caring for my husband right now. They have all been wonderful. Even the housekeepers I used to work with who joined hands with my friends and I this morning to pray in the waiting room.
Please pray for my mother and Dan's mother who just landed at Cleveland-Hopkins Airport and are driving to my house.
Please pray for all of the people who love Dan as much as I do that they will be comforted that he is not in pain, is alert, and knows how to live and how to die.
I hope this doesn't sound like we have given up. We have not. But we have given in to God's grace and mercy because he has gifted us both with lots of love and happiness which we hope will continue for many, many years.
Thank you all for your prayers. You have all been sent this e-mail because you are special to Dan and to me and are a part of our lives and always will be.
Posted by Dan at 12:33 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
August 08, 2005
CT
Dan will not be getting a CT today because you have to lie down for five minutes and he can't lie down for five seconds without breathing problems. The doctor's office will call this afternoon with some kind of next step, which will hopefully involve clearing the fluid around his left lung so he can breathe.
Posted by Dan at 10:43 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
August 07, 2005
Popping Culture News Flash
Dan is sleeping downstairs tonight because he's tired of messing with the stairs and he found a comfortable position in his chair that helps his breathing. So he asked me to check in and let you all know he'll be back soon.
Also, it looks like comments are not working again, so we'll have to check that out.
Also, here's a word from Francis the cat.
g hjongfuxd5trnpblwzfr m mjp
More news tomorrow.
Posted by Dan at 11:10 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
August 04, 2005
Popping Cancer Update.
Consider no news good news this time.
I'm stone tired. A full day of breathing has me wiped out and I'm off to sleep.
Just enough strength to load the normal sleepy-time graphic.
Posted by Dan at 10:33 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
August 02, 2005
Popping Cancer Update.
Saw the cancer doctor today. He said no chemotherapy for another two weeks, to give me time to get my lungs straight. I'm breathing a little easier, which indicates the pneumonia is going away, but I still can't climb the stairs without fits or even walk to the bathroom without needing to rest and catch my breath.
So the schedule from the last update remains the same so far. That's pretty much it: it was a relatively uneventful visit.
Posted by Dan at 11:55 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
July 31, 2005
Popping Cancer Update: The world the way I see it.
The current schedule looks like this:
Tuesday - Visit with cancer doctor. Not much he can do until we confirm that pneumonia is gone.
Next Monday (the 8th) - CATscan to confirm that pneumonia is gone, if, you know, the pneumonia is gone.
16th - Appointment with pulmonologist, to confirm that pneumonia is gone and arrange to drain the fluid (or whatever it is) surrounding my left lung.
WHAT MIGHT REALLY HAPPEN:
I have decided that the left lung is the one causing me the actual discomfort (inability to breathe, coughing, weakness). This is confirmed in my mind by the last x-ray which showed stuff all over that particular lung.
Both doctors want me to re-start chemotherapy as soon as the pneumonia in the right lung is gone.
The issue is that life is hell right now. I can't walk across a room or sit leaning back without losing my breath. I am weak as a kitten. Mrs. Popping Culture is now babysitting me all day every day, as if I was her 99-year-old grandfather just waiting to die.
What I think will happen is that I'll somehow scuffle out this next week and take the CATscan on the 8th, then call the pulmonologist for results the next day. If the pneumonia is gone, as it should be by then, I will ask him to arrange a procedure to clear up my left lung. If he declines and wants me to wait another full week until the 16th to visit him and THEN arrange the procedure, it is very very likely that my breathing will suddenly get worse in my own mind and I'll go to the emergency room. Once I'm in the hospital, complaining of being unable to breathe and looking as weak and awful as I do now, they'll fix my left lung.
Either way, I don't think I can survive chemotherapy with my left lung now completely down. I can't climb a flight of stairs and they want to poison me? C'mon.
So that is my plan.
Any comments, congratulations or rebuttals?
Posted by Dan at 10:53 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
July 28, 2005
Popping Cancer Reflection: Why It's Hard To Talk About
I'm not dying and I don't plan to die any time soon. Still, I'm sick enough that this passage resonates with me.
From Patient Encounters: The Experience of Disease by James Buchanan:
"This whole business of dying is so completely misunderstood by the living. The assorted visitors, well-wishers, bereaved family members, curious doctors, distracted nurses, angry attendants, that one receives throughout the day are like travelers in a foreign country. They enter the court and kingdom of the patient but only on official business of import and export; they tarry not, nor do they adopt the local customs of the country within which they find themselves. Indeed there is an arrogance, even an insolence to these tourists which is the insulation by which they protect themselves against the contamination of death. After all, what do they know of pain, sweat and incontinence, putrefaction of rotting flesh and the sheer humiliation of not being about to control your own bladder and bowels? They measure your fever but they do not suffer it. They study your blood but they do not bleed it. They palpate your liver, your spleen, your guts; but they do not feel them. They hear your heart and yet cannot feel its weakened beat; they measure your blood pressure and yet cannot feel its intensity; they peer with curious abandon into the various interstices, holes, canyons, craters of your body and yet are never part of the great cavern you have become. They are guests, not residents, of this house of death which you inhabit. How then could they possibly understand?"
Maybe this is why these reflections have gotten more and more rare. I'm at the stage now where I just have to suffer until it's over and cured. As much as I write about how hard chemotherapy days are, or how frustrating it is not to be able to use either of my lungs right now, or how walking across the room leaves me gasping for air, I still can't communicate really and truly how it FEELS.
In a way I'm glad for it. I don't honestly want you to have to understand what it feels like. At the same time, it makes me feel like I'm not only sick, but on an island.
Cancer is a jerk and I hate it.
Posted by Dan at 10:11 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
July 25, 2005
Popping Cancer Update: More of the same.
The pneumonia is better, it's just not better. I saw it on an x-ray compared to the x-ray from last time and the area of my right lung hit by pneumonia is much smaller, but not gone.
That means 10 more days of antibiotics. I'm not sure how long I'm comfortable going without chemotherapy, but I am sure doing chemotherapy while unable to breathe would kill me good.
So... I remain in the chair, memorizing the television schedule and attached to oxygen, for another two weeks or so.
Posted by Dan at 10:13 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
July 24, 2005
No Update Needed.
Nothing is too different from the last update.
I should have some piping hot news for you tonight, though - I'm meeting with the pulmonologist this afternoon. Should be x-rays, pneumonia talk and scheduling to free my left lung of stuff, presuming the pneumonia is cleared up.
Posted by Dan at 11:06 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
July 21, 2005
Popping Cancer Update: How things will go if they go my way.
Monday I will meet with the pulmonologist. He will tell me the pneumonia is cleared up. We will set up a date to clear up the fluid/whatever it is around my left lung. One minor surgery and a few days to heal later and I'll be ready to resume chemotherapy at full strength.
Also there will be chocolate.
Posted by Dan at 12:22 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
July 19, 2005
Popping Cancer Update: It's what we thought it was, only different.
Turns out the spot in my right lung IS pneumonia after all. The test that came back negative from the five-day cultures was apparently for a really bad kind of pneumonia, and the nurse just told us it wasn't pneumonia at all.
So, to update: left lung still surrounded by fluid and unusable, pneumonia in the right lung still being treated by antibiotics, laying flat still untenable (I sleep at the computer desk with a pillow on top, slumped over - if my chest isn't upright I collapse in a coughing fit which frankly isn't very attractive). Oh, yeah, I also have cancer... gotta try and remember that little tidbit.
Posted by Dan at 11:54 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack
July 18, 2005
Popping Cancer Update: This might not be good news.
We got word today that the item in my right lung is not pneumonia. The five day cultures didn't show any growth, according to the doctor.
This means there is something in my right lung that is keeping me from breathing. I don't like having unknown things in my body, because they've never turned out to be good, or even benign. Either way, we have to do something relatively quickly before my breath stops completely.
I should hear from the pulmonologist tomorrow. I have to gear up for a trip for bloodwork to the oncologist Wednesday, which right now seems an impossible task since just walking across a room leaves me gasping for air.
Posted by Dan at 10:13 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
Popping Cancer Update
I have taken 7 of 14 antibiotics for the pneumonia. This morning I'll take number 8. If I don't start to feel better soon, I'm taking a hostage.
Posted by Dan at 06:24 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
July 15, 2005
Popping Cancer Reflection
Dude, I'm tired.
I'd like to write another long, romantically-written reflection on what I'm going through, but all I can think about is how tired I am.
When breathing is hard, just being awake all day is exhausting.
Posted by Dan at 11:14 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
I feel sexy.
It's now 2:32 a.m.
A moment ago, I was sleeping fitfully in a chair with my head down on a desk, because if I lay flat or even lean back, I can't breathe. The pneumonia in my right lung coughed me awake, which is fortunate, because the oxygen tube I'm breathing through had started a nosebleed. My feet are swollen large enough that I couldn't fit my slippers on when I walked roughly 10 feet to the bathroom, a trip that left me gasping for air.
Step on up, ladies! Big Dan is feelin' like a hottie tonight!
Posted by Dan at 02:32 AM | Comments (8) | TrackBack
July 13, 2005
Popping Cancer Update
Just trying to breathe and rest, waiting for antibiotics to work. Until then, understandably light blogging.
Posted by Dan at 10:49 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
July 12, 2005
Popping Cancer Update.
It's pretty bad right now.
I'm not breathing well at all, although the oxygen helps, as you might imagine. I'm not eating, either. I don't know if I'm supposed to force myself to eat or what, but I just have no real desire to eat. Finally, sleep is a remote idea. I'm sleeping at clips of about 1/2 hour at a time when I can sleep.
The good news is that I don't have a fever. Perhaps they caught the pneumonia early enough that the antibiotics can jump all over it. Also, our mothers happened to be in town, so Mrs. Popping Culture has some helpers and doesn't have to go through what is no doubt a difficult time by herself.
I continue to search for creative ways to sleep, since I can't really lay down without launching into a coughing fit, and I've never been able to sleep in a chair. My main idea now is exhaustion: stay up until I collapse. Fortunately, exhaustion is never far away when both of your favorite lungs are out of commission. More updates as events warrant.
Posted by Dan at 06:10 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
July 11, 2005
Popping Cancer Update: "You have pneumonia in your good lung."
That's a quote from today's pulmonologist visit.
It's small, but it's in my right lung (the good lung) and it explains why my breathing has gotten worse over the weekend. I start oxygen and antibiotics tonight.
Thought you'd want to know.
ADDENDUM: The left lung seems the same. The x-ray showed either fluid or something around the left lung still, but to go after it would require another procedure in the hospital, which the pulmonologist doesn't want to try until this new stuff gets cleared up. In any case, no chemotherapy until I can get my breathe on.
Posted by Dan at 05:11 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
Popping Cancer Update: First goal, breathe.
Later this afternoon, I'm off to see the pulmonologist who has to fix my left lung. I've been unable to sleep and even the short trip up or down the stairs leaves me gasping like a fish out of water for a good 2 or 3 minutes.
I feel like I have strength and the ability to fight the cancer now, but it's all hidden by my inability to breathe. I can't lay down without coughing, so I've been improvising a bed by laying my pillow on the computer desk, which at least keeps my lung upright and keeps me from coughing.
The pulmonologist MUST FIX my lung. This and my recent stays in the hospital make me wonder how many people die of cancer compared to how many die of complications of cancer. I'm not sure I want to know.
In any case, enough depression. Don't forget that cancer is a fun thing! Be sure to send your prayers, good intentions, kind thoughts, positive mojo and whatall else you have to me (or the doctor) this afternoon. I could use a good night's sleep again.
Posted by Dan at 01:16 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
July 09, 2005
Popping Cancer Update for Sunday
I anticipate very light blogging on Sunday for a few reasons.
First of all, the joint pain shot should be kicking in and I might be in the bed most of the day. Secondly, my breathing today (Saturday) has been horrible, and if it continues it should also keep me away.
Because I might not be blogging until later in the day, I have provided you with a Sunday Ponderable and a Sunday Distraction below. Enjoy, and think of me in the bed.
Posted by Dan at 09:34 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
July 07, 2005
Popping Cancer Update
This, in a nutshell, is where I stand right now.
Today I started the two days of steroids which are traditional in the second week of treatment. I should breathe a little better and feel a little stronger for another day or so thanks to the little pills.
Today I also got the shot that boosts my white blood cell count but also causes horrible joint pain. That pain traditionally starts with creaky joints tomorrow evening and culminates with me in bed whimpering softly to myself all day Sunday.
Still no breath sounds from the good old left lung. I see a pulmonologist on Monday. The funny thing is, I think I've been feeling better overall lately, it's just been hidden by this inability to breathe.
No change either way in tumor size.
Any questions?
Posted by Dan at 10:36 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack
July 06, 2005
Scary moment of the day.
Add this to the list of things you don't want to hear your cancer doctor say right before chemotherapy:
"I didn't hear any breath sounds coming from your left lung."
NOTE: Fortunately, it turns out that I am one of the lucky ones who was born with an entirely other lung over on the right. I'll be using that one for the next couple days until I can get with the pulmonologist.
Posted by Dan at 11:30 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
July 04, 2005
Popping Cancer Reflection: On Confronting Your Fears
Unless you discover it really late in the game, cancer is mostly a grind. Week after week of brutal treatment, followed by long afternoons where you try to stay active, try to rest, try to heal.
Cancer comes down, for me, to an effort of the will. Either I want to live and am willing to put in the effort that it takes mentally, physically and spiritually to do so, or I'm ready to die.
One of the hardest parts of the spiritual fight with cancer is naming my fears. Of course I can say "I'm scared to die," but that doesn't really tell me anything. I don't know what that means.
So what am I scared of?
Well, I'm scared that I'll live the rest of my life feeling weak and going through horrible chemotherapy treatments and never have another day where I feel GOOD before I die.
I'm scared that I will leave this earth without ever having made a difference.
I'm scared that bad things will happen to my family after I'm dead, and I won't be there to help.
Of course, there are probably lots of other things I'm scared of, too, but that's a good enough start. See, when you can name your fears, you can begin the work it takes to heal them, or overcome them. I found out that I'm not scared of death itself. I think I'm absolutely prepared for whatever comes.
I hate to bring in a cheesy example here, but I remember when Luke Skywalker had to go in that scary tree in The Empire Strikes Back at Yoda's command. The darkness showed him his greatest fear and forced him to begin confronting it.
By taking time to search out my own dark places in this battle with cancer, I can name my fears and begin to confront them. This is what it means to beat cancer, whether you live or die.
As always, somebody else said it better than I can. In The Joseph Campbell Companion: Reflections on the Art of Living, Joseph Campbell is quoted as saying:
It is only by going down into the abyss
that we recover the treasures of life.
Where you stumble,
there lies your treasure.
The very cave you are afraid to enter
turns out to be the source of
what you were looking for.
Campbell also shared:
A bit of advice
given to a young Native American
at the time of his initiation:
"As you go the way of life,
you will see a great chasm.
Jump.
It is not as wide as you think."
Posted by Dan at 07:25 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
June 29, 2005
more news from the hospital
The pathology report showed there's nothing bad in the fluid they took from Dan's chest. The ultrasound he had yesterday showed no more fluid, so that's all taken care of for now. It is possible that it may collect again so the doctor will keep an eye on it. His blood cell counts will be checked again in the morning and he should be discharged at that time.
Posted by Dan at 07:40 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack
June 28, 2005
Update on Dan
One of the doctors saw Dan this morning and told him that he will probably stay a couple more days so they can keep an eye on his blood cell counts. He had an ultrasound this morning so we're waiting now to see when the pulmonologist wants to try the thoracentesis again.
Posted by Dan at 03:11 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
June 27, 2005
News
Dan was admitted to the hospital this afternoon. A pulmonologist tried to remove most of the fluid from around his left lung, but not much of it came out. He's going to try again Tuesday after conducting an ultrasound to find a better spot to insert the needle.
Posted by Dan at 07:54 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
June 25, 2005
Some more news
Dan is still feeling yucky, but his temp has stayed just under the red zone pretty much all day. Thanks for the prayers and well-wishes.
Here's something to keep you occupied until he returns.
A chickpea is neither a chick nor a pea. Discuss.
Posted by Dan at 11:28 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
June 24, 2005
Update
This is the Mrs. letting you know that Dan is not feeling too good right now. After his chemotherapy yesterday, he continues to have trouble breathing and now has a fever. We'll continue to monitor it and call the doctor if it doesn't go down.
Posted by Dan at 07:47 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
Popping Cancer Reflection: On Grinding.
For a while there, you will remember, I was regularly posting long reflections on my experience with cancer. For some reason, in the last month or so, that has dropped off.
I think at least part of it is because I'm in the grinding phase. At first, cancer is all excitement and worry and information learned bit-by-bit. It's new.
Now, it is clear that I'm not going to die or be cured in the next month or even three months. There's nothing really to do but grind it out. Rest, chemotherapy, rest. Stay alive. There aren't any lofty goals or motivations beyond just making it through today.
Grinding, in other words. The trick now is to have enough stamina to be able to grind it out no matter how long it takes. I sure am tired of having cancer.
Posted by Dan at 12:16 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
June 22, 2005
Meow! CATscan results are in!
The tumors in my chest are once again the same size. No shrinking, but no growth either. My doctor insists this is a good thing, since cancer will always grow if left alone, so the treatment is doing something. I would much prefer shrinking tumors, but I'll take what I can get.
Also, the fluid in my left lung is increased, which explains my crappy breathing and sleeplessness. I'm taking lasix daily now. If that doesn't work, the doctor is going to cram a needle in my lung and get the fluid out that way. It doesn't sound fun at all.
Posted by Dan at 04:04 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
June 21, 2005
Popping Cancer Update: quick hit.
Chemotherapy and CATscan results tomorrow. The party, it seems, is over.
Posted by Dan at 09:04 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
June 06, 2005
Popping Cancer Update: The waiting is the hardest part.
Yesterday was the worst of this last treatment. "Joint pain day" is mostly over, except for a bit of leftover fatigue and stiffness. Now I have two weeks off and a fun vacation before any more treatment.
Still, I've let myself forget how important these next tests are.
The first type of chemotherapy was not only brutal, but didn't do the job. It kept the main tumor in check near my lungs, but let two more grow to the size that they suddenly appeared in CATscans.
This new chemotherapy, you'll remember from our last scans, checked the growth of all three of the main tumors (a Petscan in January showed lots of potential tumors, but if we beat the big ones, the little ones will fall too, and the little ones don't show on CATscans). That is to say, the form of chemotherapy I'm doing now kept the tumors from growing but didn't shrink them. Still, this was good news because cancer, if left alone, always grows, so the thought is that the chemo was doing SOMETHING.
Now I have another CATscan on Thursday. We leave for vacation on Friday. I would prefer not to get rotten news while on this much-needed vacation.
If we get bad news, it's really bad news, because the specialist in Cleveland indicated that there aren't really any other good treatment options for sarcomas. It may be that if this type of treatment fails, the game is over. In short, we really need this CATscan to indicate some success.
I don't know what will happen if the tumors are identical in size again. If so, I may ask for another Petscan despite the cost, because I have read that sometimes chemotherapy can kill tumors and leave dead cells. Since the CATscans only identify masses, some or all of a tumor can be dead but still show up in scans. Petscans identify living cancer cells.
The point of all this? During the six weeks of treatment all I worry about is surviving the treatment itself. It's easy to lose sight of the big picture.
Now that it's getting closer to scan time again, I'm getting nervous. After all, the big picture is more than just a course of treatment: it's my life.
Scans Thursday. I'll try to post results from vacation when I can.
Posted by Dan at 10:55 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
June 04, 2005
Popping Cancer Update
Important CATscans Thursday. Last scans showed the cancer had stopped growing, but had not started shrinking.
These scans should give us a clue whether or not the type of chemotherapy I've been doing lately will do the job or not.
Scans Thursday, so I'll be getting results while on the road for my much-needed vacation, but I'll try to post results as soon as I can from an internet access site at the beach.
Posted by Dan at 07:13 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
May 30, 2005
Popping Culture Reflection: His strength made perfect in my weakness.
2 Cor 12:9-10
9 And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.
10 Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong.
As a pastor, my goal, first and foremost was to serve as a "midwife of Grace" to those in my congregation. They would trust me enough to let me enter their most private lives, traumas, crises and conflicts and I would hope to serve as a sort of touchable representative of God.
In many ways, even the most dedicated pastor is in danger of seeing himself as a kind of empowered emissary of God who can rely solely on his own ability. I learned to identify certain danger signs in the life of a church or in the lives of individuals, and found myself therefore in danger of losing the perception of that "still, small voice." I became able to solve many administrative problems creatively, and found myself in danger of losing sight of what God had in mind for the church. As a writer, I found myself in danger of writing pretty sermons that sounded great and got wonderful feedback, yet fell short of the mark of delivering the message that needed to get across.
Most dangerously, as a professional "midwife of Grace," I lost, or nearly lost, the ability to see the workings of Grace in my own life. After all, I tell my congregation that I am just another human on the journey like they are. I tell them that, and on the surface I believe it, but after serving in enough hospital rooms, living rooms, conference rooms and pulpits, it's easy to elevate yourself. To think that since you deliver Grace and point people to it, that you don't need it yourself.
And then you get sick. Really sick.
Now who needs Grace, tough guy?
I found these words written by Reverend William Chidester, also from Ohio, who had liver disease:
"During my hospital stay I cannot begin to tell you what kind of support I received from my friends. What has been impressed upon me in ways that I will never forget is this - as a minister I spend much of my time caring for and about others. I am affirmed in the process of doing this. So here I am working to earn people's love, trust and admiration by being the best possible minister I can. Yet I was never able to do enough. Then I find something I can't do, function with my own liver, and it is out of my weakness that the grace of God is revealed. Because of what I can't do, I have been affirmed in these people's support and love beyond anything I thought possible."
If I had never been sick, I would never have felt Grace in a way that didn't need to feel earned, somehow. The people of my church, my friends, have stepped up and forced me into a new perspective, and for that I am grateful. Because of their constant cards, calls, meals, gifts and other support, I am able finally to feel and see Grace, not just deliver it to others.
Posted by Dan at 08:06 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
May 29, 2005
Popping Cancer Updates: could it be a bug?
My temperature is back down near normal. At least part of what was going on was dehydration caused by too much Lasix and not enough complementary liquid. This is my own diagnosis.
I felt feverish, weak, headachey, and my blood pressure (usually on the high side) stayed low: all symptoms of dehydration. Once I went on a drinking binge yesterday I started to feel better.
Until the evening when I started coughing. I have a wicked cough now and decreased appetite. My temperature and blood pressure (the two things I can monitor at home) are normal. I guess they'll check my blood Wednesday before chemo, but I'd like to be on my feet before then. If I still feel bad Sunday, I'll call first thing Monday for blood work.
I feel like I've been in bed since Wednesday, but that's just because I've been in bed since Wednesday. Still, the whole pushing fluids thing helped out, so that's good news.
It's the details that kill you with cancer. It's the treatment that gets you, or the little things that crop up once they start knocking down your defensive systems.
Cancer is a jerk.
Posted by Dan at 02:39 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
May 28, 2005
Popping Cancer Update: Saturday temperatures
7:50 a.m.: 99.1
This is a good sign. Anything over 100.5 is a problem. Normally every night at around 6 or 7 p.m. I get a fever, so that might have made my temperature spike higher before bed last night. I'll be posting more here later, so stay tuned.
Noon: 99.7
Creeping up there, but I don't care as long as we don't get over 100.5. I had been sleeping under a heavy comforter so that might have raised the temp. It also occurs to me that I may be dehydrated. I've been taking Lasix to get the fluid out of my lungs and maybe I should be replacing liquids better. I had some koolaid and now I'm going back to bed.
Posted by Dan at 08:16 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
May 27, 2005
Popping Culture Update: Your host takes a turn.
Well, we know why I've felt so bad the last couple days. Tonight, my temperature got as high as 101.2. If it's still that high tomorrow morning, I have to go back to the hospital.
I don't like the hospital.
Time to start again with the prayers, happy thoughts, good mojo, joyous voodoo, power crystal alignment, or whatever you can send my way. If I go in the hospital now, there's a chance that the vacation is in danger. That's a negative in my book. Although, to be honest, at this point I'd drag myself to a week off if I looked like Anakin when Obi Wan left him on the Lava Planet (alert! geek reference!).
Help me out here. For my part, I'm taking several adult doses of Nyquil and going to bed.
Posted by Dan at 10:13 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
May 19, 2005
Popping Cancer reflection: On self image.
Long-term cancer is a constant battle with self-image and worth.
Recently I've been suffering from fears that I don't exist. That is to say, I sit in the same chair in front of the television or computer all day and feel miserable, simply because there's nothing else for me to do, and many days there's nothing else I CAN do.
I used to be the spiritual caretaker of a church. I would attend to my marriage, do the shopping since my schedule was more flexible, walk the dog three times a day, go to school four hours away, plan for the future, pay the bills and manage our household finances. Now, I sit and ask Mrs. Popping Culture for help with things like pouring a glass of milk or turning up the thermostat.
It's easy to get depressed, to feel less like a being of worth than a huge sucking need in that same chair every day. It's easier still when you consider the guilt I feel at watching Mrs. Popping Culture have to do all those things I used to do, as well as live her own life. It's frustrating and stupid and it makes me angry. Cancer makes me angry.
I don't think there is any real answer other than endurance. On the few days I feel well enough to get out and do, I try to get out and do. Days like this last week, where my only possible goal each morning is just to survive the day or at least endure it, all I can do is try to accept the fact that I am where I am right now. One day I'll get my life back, but for now this is how it has to be.
It's hard and unfair on Mrs. Popping Culture and it's hard and unfair on me, but isn't that a reflection on life itself? Unless you are Paris Hilton, you have things you have to do that you'd rather not. Life isn't fair and nobody, not even God in the Bible, promised life would be fair. Bad things happen and sometimes after all the prayer and charity and good will, all there is left is just to find a way to deal with it. To survive. To endure.
So today I'm going to sit in my chair and keep surviving. Today I'm not a pastor. I won't be walking the dog or running to the store or doing any homework. Today my work is to get through the day alive, to keep breathing even though my lungs are full of fluid, to keep being angry at cancer, and to try to hang on to the dreams of who I was and who I will be once again after this thing is beaten.
You can lose to cancer by dying, of course, but you can also give up your dreams. You can become a professional cancer patient (and that will last far beyond your cure from the disease itself) and you can give up your self-image and let cancer take you over body and soul. As a chaplain I learned that cancer ends the lives of more people than it kills, if you get the concept.
I've decided: not me. I still have dreams and plans for the future. Maybe today I'll feel well enough to work on them, or maybe today I'll be too sick and pained to do more than just get through the day. I have faith to believe that however it ends up, I will be in the hands of a loving God when it's over. I have strength to get through today if getting through today is the only goal life offers. I have courage to do what I can to hang on to who I am on those days when I have enough strength to choose between fighting for my life or sitting depressed in that same chair.
I can beat cancer, live or die, by simply claiming and keeping possession of that Dan Champion who is waiting to be a pastor again, to walk to dog again, to buy the groceries again. Waiting as long as it takes to endure the work I have to do right now.
Posted by Dan at 07:11 AM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
May 18, 2005
Popping Cancer Update: new drugs!
I saw the doctor today because of my trouble breathing, my chest cold and my difficulty sleeping.
This is what he came up with:
-Lasix daily. This is a water pill, which means I should be running to the bathroom fairly often, but also means that the fluid in my lungs might finally go away.
-Ambien nightly. This is a pill to help me sleep.
I have no chemotherapy until Wednesday, so the hope is that all these issues sort themselves out by then. As I've been telling folks, other than being unable to breathe, I feel fine.
Posted by Dan at 08:10 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
May 16, 2005
Popping Cancer Update: The Bad Day
Forgive me for not showing up today. Today was the bad day.
I have fluid in my left lung. This makes it hard for me to sleep and I sound like a vacuum cleaner when I try to breathe while in the bed. This in turn makes me tired from not sleeping, which of course makes me more sick, and on and on. I took a pill yesterday that was supposed to help, but the furnace kicked off last night so the cold air did me more harm than good. I'm not fond of the idea of a needle in my lungs to drain fluid.
Add to that the miracle of joint pain. The drugs they gave me Wednesday are apparently working overtime because everything hurts. I want to lay in bed and moan, but again with the breathing. So I've alternated 45 minute spurts of sleep/rest with hobbling to my chair in pain for as long as I can stand to sit there.
I could use a good night's sleep. Whatever you can do to help with that would be greatly appreciated - prayer, power crystals, good mojo, fine intentions, passing thoughts - I'll take what I can get.
Mostly, I just wanted to let you know I'm here, I'm just suffering right now, which I guess is part and parcel of having cancer sometimes. It is the work I must do, and there's not enough Advil in the world to get the job done.
Posted by Dan at 07:18 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
May 13, 2005
Popping Cancer Reflection: On coming back to life.
Paul Simon said "Half of the time we're gone, but we don't know where."
After about six months of cancer, I've noticed in the past couple days that I'm starting to return to Dan Champion.
That is, for six months, I've let cancer guide me. I've let my life be about cancer.
I guess I'm lucky. The first time it took me about six years to figure out that cancer can be a part of my life without being my life and my schedule-maker. I can still be Dan Champion.
There are signs now that I'm coming back to myself. I want to see the ocean. I want to buy movies on DVD, even if I don't live long enough to see them enough times to make it worth the cost. I am willing to plan for a time after cancer. I'm willing to tell my doctor that I'm taking a week off after the next round of treatment to go on vacation with my wife, even if he is against it.
I'm not talking about being cured. I don't know if I'm going to live or die, and the last test results weren't any help with that. I'm talking about the act of being who you are, being alive whether you live or die.
I'm Dan Champion. I have cancer, but it doesn't have me. It might beat my body, but, you know, I'm ok with that, too.
And it only took six months this time.
Posted by Dan at 09:47 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack
May 12, 2005
As if you needed to hear another thing I hate about cancer.
I LOVED being a pastor. I miss it. It is who I was. There were several chaplain-related reasons for this that you have heard about here ad infinitum, but another joy of the pastorate was that it gave me an outlet for my writing.
I stumbled across this child dedication service I wrote for a Christmas Eve service in 2003 and I thought you might be interested. I put it in a jump so it wouldn't fill up the screen too far, so go on and click. CAUTION: don't praise it too highly or I might be tempted to start putting up sermons.
Leader: Naked into the world we came, naked of mind and spirit and body, waving our tiny arms in the bright confusion of this strange world and this strange life.
Helpless we come, without food or clothing, without maps or knowledge, without language to ask our way to whatever Unknown destination may lie before us.
With no armor, with no guilt, in innocence, unknowing, we trustfully set forth.
Who will take our hands and lead us? Who will make sandals for our tender feet? Who will draw forth our smiles with a smile?
Who will teach us to love with their love? Who will teach us to speak with the words of their mouth? Who will teach us right by their rightness? Who will show us the truth through their truthfulness? Who will lead us to do justly through their justice?
Congregation: We will.
Leader: To you parents is given the awesome privilege to be the givers and shapers of a growing person. And to this congregation is given the privilege and responsibility to share the concern for his/her growth and religious nurture. Before us is the challenge of a questioning mind, the unfolding wonder of selfhood and the response to the world and other persons. Can we respond to that challenge with the best that is in us, seeking not to make our children like us, but rather to help them find themselves and their own ways?
Parents: We can.
Leader: We can.
Congregation: We can.
Leader: From the beginning of time, men and women have brought their children to the houses of worship for dedication. In the presence of the congregation, the child is given a name, and the parents declare their responsibility for their child. Nicholas and John leave here with not only their given names, but now their Christian names as well.
We come to a house of worship out of reverence for the mystery of life that we have seen in the miracle of reproduction and birth. We acknowledge the mystery of the power that is in us and works through us, and we are humble before that mystery.
Parents: In this act we declare that the (Nicholas/John) is an individual, a unique and separate person with a dignity and life of his own. Our children come from us, but they are not ours. They are themselves, individuals. In giving this child a name we declare that we will respect him as himself and give him the freedom to grow. We perform this ceremony publicly to declare that we as parents, and all of us as representatives of this society, are responsible for the care and development of all children.
Congregation: It is our task to give them a world of peace and justice in which to grow. It is our task to share with them our ideals and our hopes.
Leader: By presenting your child here, today, you the parents, acknowledge that the child is more than a private possession, but is a new being in which we all have a responsibility, and whom we all welcome to the community.
And so the children come. And so they have been coming. Always in the same way they come - Born of the seed of man and woman. No angels herald their beginnings. No prophets predict their future courses; no wise men see a star to point their way to find the babe that may save humankind.
Yet each night a child is born is a holy night. Fathers and mothers - sitting beside their children's cribs - feel glory in the wondrous sight of a life beginning. They ask: "When or how will this new life end? Or will it ever end?" Each night a child is born is a holy night.
Do you, the congregation of West Side Baptist Church, dedicate yourselves to the Christian care and nurture of these children?
Congregation: We do.
Leader: Do you, Steve and Angie and Amanda, dedicate yourselves to the Christian care and nurture love of Nicholas Paynter for as long as God shall entrust him to your care?
Steve, Angie, Amanda: We do.
Leader: Do you, John and Jessica, dedicate yourselves to the Christian care and nurture and love of John Logan Chandler for as long as God shall entrust him to your care?
John, Jessica: We do.
Pastoral Dedication
Prayer of Dedication
Posted by Dan at 10:14 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
May 09, 2005
Cancer can make beautiful things stupid.
I guess if the first anniversary is the paper anniversary, and number 50 is the gold anniversary, then number nine is the intravenous poison anniversary.
That's right, friends, Wednesday will be the ninth anniversary of the day Mrs. Popping Culture agreed to be my wife. I intend to celebrate the occasion with nausea, cramping and a side effect to be named later.
Does it get any better than chemotherapy on your wedding anniversary? Maybe if I could be tortured on Christmas.
In all sincerity, this is another dangerous quality of cancer: if you let it, it can demoralize you not just by taking things away from you, but by twisting the things you get to keep.
Still and all, it has been the best nine years of my life. Nothing chemotherapy or even death can do about that. No matter what comes of all this cancer mess, I can look back knowing that in the end I was given more than I gave, I was loved more than I loved in return and I was the luckiest man on earth for at least nine years.
You can't beat that, even with cancer.
Posted by Dan at 10:00 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
May 08, 2005
Popping Cancer Update: The Grind
I haven't really posted an update in a while, with good reason: nothing's really happening.
I have another chemotherapy treatment Wednesday, the second this cycle, then a week off, then the three week cycle repeats. I'm sure I'll feel horrible on Wednesday. So what else is new?
Eventually, cancer just becomes a grind, especially when tests show slow progress. The newness and fear wear off. People stop bringing you meals and sending money and cards and you just settle into a rhythm of feeling horrible and recovering. The firey passion to survive, to fight back, to beat cancer, sort of eases into the daily grind.
The enemy now is boredom. Afternoons are long - very long. It sounds funny to say to those of you who are active participants in a productive life, but video games and blogging and television and reading can only fill so many hours each day. As boredom grows, the will to fight shrinks. With each progressive three-week course of treatment, the baseline of available strength gets lower and lower.
It's easy to start to feel like a prisoner. I feel trapped in this house, yet I don't have the strength or motivation to go anywhere else. Worse, you start to wonder if you really exist - if your personality matters or if you're just a black hole of neediness to your family as you sit in the same chair day after day.
I know the days of chemotheraputic torture are coming; they are part of the rhythm now. I've been doing chemotherapy twice every three weeks since what? January? It's hardly news to tell you I'm going to feel sick on Wednesday, is it?
So the challenge - and by challenge, I mean the real-life battle for survival - becomes staying active, staying alive, making my life still mean something. If you fall into that rhythm of just existing and dragging through the afternoons, you're one step away from giving in and giving up.
So my strength goes down, but my need to be active and alive goes up. THIS is the real battle with long-term cancer. Staying active when a walk to the mailbox leaves you breathless and coughing up God-knows-what.
So what is the Popping Cancer Update for today? I'm still fighting. I'm still grinding it out. I'm bored of this place and this schedule of nothingness with the occasional torture day, but I'm still alive. I'm still angry. I still want to live.
That will have to do.
Posted by Dan at 03:08 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack
May 04, 2005
The very bad news.
Cancer has one trick, but it plays it over and over. I have personally fallen for it in my lifetime at least a dozen times. I know that sounds like an exaggeration, but feel free to let me know and I'll probably be able to list 15 times off the top of my head. The point is, I can't believe I fell for it again. The trick? Cancer dangles hope, then snatches it away.
Elwood the cat was breathing hard by last night. Today, after I got home from getting my own poison from the chemotherapy doctor, Mrs. Popping Culture returned Elwood to the veterinarian. A bone marrow test showed that his leukemia was active. The doctor said he would live between one and three days and that he was suffering. We had the doctor end his life so that he wouldn't suffer any more.
One of the worst parts was that I wasn't able to be there with him. While he was dying, I was in bed fighting off the umpteenth wave of nausea. While Mrs. Popping Culture and a friend buried him, I was twisting in bed from a severe series of abdomen and leg cramps. (PS prayer request: somewhere in the cramps I twisted my knee wrong and can hardly walk on it. Seems a bit trivial, all things considered.) There are very few things I wouldn't have given to be there with him and Mrs. Popping Culture. Please keep her in your thoughts.
Chemotherapy is a jerk.
Cancer is a jerk.
I miss Elwood the cat.
Posted by Dan at 09:51 PM | Comments (11) | TrackBack
Special Mid-chemo Popping Cancer Update: scan results.
The other thing about cancer is, expect to be surprised.
I've been fretting for a couple weeks about the options concerning this CATscan. What if the tumors are bigger? What if they are smaller?
Well, the truth is a third option: everything is the same. The two smaller tumors in my left lung are exactly the same, while the larger one is less than a tenth of a centimeter longer.
This is what we in the cancer business call "mild good news." Cancer, if left alone, ALWAYS grows, and usually quickly. It never rests or reaches a size it is happy with. Remember the two new tumors in my left lung grew up suddenly out of nowhere over the course of one chemotherapy session. Therefore, this new chemo is probably making a difference, just not shrinking it yet.
So we do another two three-week cycles of the same chemotherapy, starting today. In fact, I have just gotten home from getting the drugs and I expect to start feeling it in about half an hour. I thought I'd just pop in before the fireworks begin to let you know what's going on.
Posted by Dan at 10:54 AM | Comments (8) | TrackBack
May 03, 2005
Popping Cancer update.
One of two things is happening, if you're reading this on Wednesday morning:
1) The CATscan results were good and I'm doing chemotherapy since the fight against cancer is progressing.
2) The CATscan results were not good and we have to go back to Cleveland to see the specialist in case he learned how to beat cancer with magic because we're pretty much out of other options.
FOR REFLECTION: How bad off do you have to be when a day of chemotherapy means things are going well?
Posted by Dan at 09:16 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
I found this. It sounds sappy, unless you have cancer.
Cancer is so limited.....
It cannot cripple love.
It cannot shatter hope.
It cannot corrode faith.
It cannot eat away peace.
It cannot destroy confidence.
It cannot kill friendship.
It cannot shut out memories.
It cannot silence courage.
It cannot invade the soul.
It cannot reduce eternal life.
It cannot quench the spirit.
It cannot lessen the power of the resurrection.
-anonymous
Posted by Dan at 04:56 PM | Comments (1) |