One month after chemotherapy and... ... I have begun to grow "peach fuzz" on my head. It is like fine baby hair that is standing up on end - and it is WHITE (uh oh). Really hoping my dark hair will wake up soon and make an appearance. (Pete keeps asking me why I am concerned about this - "What's wrong with white hair?"he wants to know). Perhaps a few of you ladies could explain it to him. ...I have developed neuropathy in my hands and feet. This is nerve damage from the chemotherapy, and it is like a constant tingling/burning sensation. My feet in particular are affected, and quite sensitive and painful if I am on them too much. I am not able to go stocking foot, and have to have a good pair of running shoes on all the time, to give my feet support. There is no treatment for this, just painkillers to make life a bit easier. I am told this will fade over time as my nerves begin to regenerate themselves, but there is no set timetable for this healing, either. So a bit of patience is required on my part. In the meantime, I move slowly and hobble around like an old woman sometimes, but it does feel good to begin to MOVE again even if my feet are sore. ...my energy is coming back, and I can be more active. It's so great to not be chained to the chair in the living room anymore. (Sam disagrees with this, of course.) It will take time before I can say I am back to full speed, as the fatigue is hard to shake off. But it's getting better, and that is wonderful. ...I begin radiation therapy shortly - as in this week! Radiation involves 4 weeks of daily 30 minute hospital visits. Side effects involve increasing levels of fatigue, and perhaps a bit of sore skin. Folks who have undergone this therapy tell me it is much easier to manage than chemo, which is good news indeed. Pete and I continue to be blessed and humbled by the continuing love and support of family, friends and our church community. The hardships and challenges of this journey have been softened by the outpouring of encouragement, prayers and visits. This has made our experience with cancer richer, and a reminder that we do not walk this difficult pathway alone. Thank you so much for joining us and supporting us. The result, as you can see, is that we can still experience joy and laughter in the midst of the mess (as the picture demonstrates).

As we head into the next phase of treatment, both Pete and I can agree with the psalmist when he declares the following: Praise be to the Lord, for he has heard my cry for mercy. The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and he helps me. My heart leaps for joy, and with my song I praise him. (Psalm 28:6-7)

Well, here we are: Dec. 27, almost two weeks since my last chemo treatment. I have been fielding one question a lot: "Are you feeling better?" The answer to that is yes and no. I can't describe to you the enormous relief I feel at finishing the chemo regimen. What a fantastic Christmas gift! That in itself is a huge boost. Physically, though, I still have a long road to recovery. The chemicals should be out of my system completely by mid-January. But the reality is that each treatment left behind a lot of damage. So my body still needs time to recuperate after 4 months of constant attack. Right now, I am still dealing with symptoms from the last chemo treatment - tingling in my hands and feet, and some numbness. I have a bit of bone pain, and there is still some infection in my mouth. (Although this is improving slowly). And the fatigue slows me down on most days. I am told that full recovery from cancer treatment takes anywhere from 6 - 12 months after one is finished treatment. Barring any complications, I will complete radiation therapy in February, and then take a few months to get back on my feet fully. In the midst of all this, I can't help but be grateful for the love and support of family and friends... We have had a great Christmas - one of the best because this year has truly been about cherishing people and time spent together. I celebrate the idea of "Emmanuel" - God with us - because each of us face challenges in life, and some of them do not disappear over the holidays. But even so, isn't it wonderful to consider that God is among us in all that messiness, sharing our struggles, and working in our midst in spite of them? That is my great celebration this holiday season. The road ahead to recovery may be long and have a few bumps along the way. But I am not walking it alone: "Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord." And, as always, I have my faithful sidekick, Sam, who tags along each day. (Looks like he is quite stressed by this whole thing, doesn't it?!)

Toughest road yet but ...

As we move slowly towards the end of the chemicals in Cindi's body (and apparently towards the end of the world or the Mayan Calendar) this has been the toughest road yet but there is a huge shining light at the end of it. Cindi has been extremely tired this last round and going through deep soreness and pain. The "TAXOL" has gone deep into her body and accumulated over the last 8 weeks so this is what she is pressing through...with courage and endurance. The high of the last treatment is now over and the race is not quite done. They say that it is the last few kilometres of the marathons that are the hardest - that the first 20 or 30 kilometres were simply a warmup to the final legs of the journey. This appears true for Cindi's race. She still has her viral infection in her mouth and will continue to take her meds for that, hoping that it will clear up and go away. Mushy food is still the name of the game for now and perhaps we will puree the turkey.

We have celebrated good times with our family and last Saturday did some family photos for Grandma with the grandkids and great grandkids. Fun with those and then a hearty few bowls of early winter chili - perfect. Today is day 4 after the chemo. Christmas will be day 10. New Years will be day 17 and by then we hope for some normal days again and better feelings physically. All in His hands. Was asked a few days ago to think about what my sweet spot is at work. What an interesting question. Considering that question has left me realizing how tired and done this journey has left me. Maybe it will require some time holding Cindi's hand and walking the trails with her and the dogs before any clear answers appear. She is my priority and my sweet spot right now and it has been somewhat bittersweet watching her press through it all. However, this too shall pass and i am so proud of her.

This is the final post before the end of the world. :) Should we make it to the 22nd - we'll continue to share along the way and perhaps will have some bright and cheery stories. May each of you have an amazing Christmas and a wonderful celebration of His birthday. May you each be moved deeply and have a sense of how much you and I are loved. Here is a story we used last week in Sunday School to point to the essence of Christmas at a heart level. ENJOY!

It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so. 

It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas--oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it: overspending; the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma; the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't think of anything else. 

Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way. 

Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended; and shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church. These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes. As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler's ears. 

It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat. 

Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I wish just one of them could have won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them." 

Mike loved kids-- all kids-- and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse. That's when the idea for his present came. 

That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition-- one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on. 

The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents. As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. 

The story doesn't end there. 

You see, we lost Mike last year due to sickness. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more. 

Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelope. 

Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us.

 


Here we are...

Well, here we are at the end of the first and worst part of this journey. Cindi graduated today with a certificate and everything. As we were finished dinner and cleaning up, she looked at her graduation certificate from the chemo centre and said that this was probably the most significant grad document she had ever received. It was a mixture of emotions today. I was happy and yet stressed. I wanted everything to go well and I was spending the day at work getting everything done so I could take the next 2 weeks and simply be with Cindi through the final healing from her sessions. Late in the day she sent me this photo and I knew that we had passed a milestone of sorts.

I texted her and told her how beautiful she was and that she was my hero. Family and friends...you have been amazing throughout this journey and we know it has not been easy on you. What is next? Well... a time of rest and healing from the cure (the chemo). Cindi is still dealing with the virus that evolved during this process and continues on those meds. There is danger of that spreading and it is still serious. Yet we look forward to a new year, a quiet January and then radiation for 4 weeks.

Time to breathe now and hope that the worst is over and it is a new day. So yes, here we are...grateful, happy, hopeful and holding each others hand. Psalm 91:4 says this, "He will cover you with his feathers. He will shelter you with his wings. His faithful promises are your armor and protection." That is my prayer for my wife as we journey ahead. Peace and grace to you all.

"stretcher or carrier"

We are on the home stretch for this opening foray of cancer eradication. Hard hit, Cindi is pressing through this in amazing ways and with a perseverance and calm that amaze me all the time. I simply do the dishes, pick up, spend time praying and worrying over her and generally feel fairly useless in this big picture. I have had to learn the value of these little tasks around the house that need doing (loving sweeping, vacuuming, dish doing, lunch prepping and water boiling to name a few) and being aware of how my beautiful wife is doing.

Chatting with a friend the other day he made a cool statement that made a lot of sense to me and helped both of us along in this journey. He said, "You know we all want to be the stretcher carriers but sometimes we need to be the ones in the stretchers." In a culture where we highly value the ones who help or "carry the stretchers" it is so hard to be the ones being carried. We all ask, "Where is the worth in that?" Slowly and painfully Cindi and I are beginning to comprehend the extreme beauty in receiving, the blessing in having others step into the gap and the frightening grace to be found in submission. We have found there is a wonderful peace in submission to God's plan and the expressed love of others. It wipes away the strange values we place on our own actions and leaves us simply cared for by others - valued not by our own actions but by others. Strangely this has not been an easy place to get to. Like in the story 2000 years ago where a bunch of friends break into the roof of a house and lower their friend to Jesus for healing, Cindi and I want to be the roof guys...but today, we are being lowered in so many ways.

Following Jesus is hard. Accepting grace and the offered hand of others is hard. Walking in these strange counter cultural valleys is hard. But...we have come to discover it is beautiful. May you each have the opportunity to journey into the hard places and experience difficult grace. May those opportunities grow and expand your love for Him and for others. May you find yourself on the stretcher at times - being carried and cared for. May grace be sufficient for you and may you find the precious freedom that is there.

Six down, two to go.

The last 2 weeks have been full of ups and downs. On the up side, I have been enrolled in a fitness program designed for cancer patients undergoing treatment. It feels good to move, to stretch, to just get up off the couch and get out into the outside world again. I am also far less nauseous with this particular chemo drug, which is a plus! On the down side, the fatigue seems to be harder to shake off. There is also more physical pain involved in this chemo regimen than in the first half of my treatment. I am managing, but those days when it hurts to move certainly take more energy from my sparse reserves. Although there are only 2 more treatments to go, I must admit that I have had moments when I wonder where I will find the stamina to get through them. Today I went to the doctor for the usual check up on blood work. Tomorrow was supposed to be chemo #7. Second last dose. However, I have had a small set back: I have been fighting off a virus this week, and what should have been a simple cold sore has turned into a bit of a monster.

I have a series of blisters on my upper lip, under my nose, and on the roof of my mouth, running down the back of my throat. It is very unpleasant to put it mildly. At first, I thought this was a reaction to the chemo, as mouth sores are a common side effect. Inwardly, I was struggling with the idea that I might have to endure this particular problem for another month. When I went to the doctor today, though, she had some good news for me: this is not a side effect, just a viral infection that has gotten out of control because of the strain on my immune system. There just was nothing left for my body to use in fighting this, so it blew up almost overnight. The end result is that I am on painkillers and an antiviral for the next 7 days. If the blisters subside enough in the next 48 hours, then I will be able to proceed with chemo #7 on Friday. (Please keep this in your prayer, as the chemo will be delayed until my mouth is sufficiently healed.)

It is clear to me that the strength to finish this journey is not to be found within myself. Instead, I am drawing comfort from prayer, and the support of family and friends who have sent me encouraging notes and emails at just the right moment. I have to rely on the knowledge that even in the midst of this adversity, I am not alone. One of the things I am learning about is the power of thankfulness: it can always be worse than it is. Today, for example, I sat beside a woman who explained that she was on chemo treatment #28. She had completed her first round of chemo, relapsed, and is now undergoing another treatment plan. The man seated beside her responded with "Thirty-seven." (Gulp). These folks put my single digit count into perspective. When I struggle, I recall something my grandmother used to always say:"This too shall pass."

As I wait (sometimes impatiently) to get through the treatment regimen, I have tried to list the many things for which I can be thankful. I am thankful for the crowd of people who surround me and uplift me in prayer. The many emails, notes and phone calls lift my spirits and help me keep my eyes on the finish line. My family is a constant source of love and encouragement. My relationship with Jesus is the bedrock of each day, good or bad. Without these things, I would not be able to continue. With your continued prayers, encouragement and love, I am able to keep moving toward the finish line. Above all, I am thankful that "the Lord is good; his steadfast love endures forever, and his faithfulness to all generations." (Psalm 100:4)

...an ask for prayer...

Last night and today have been rough for Cindi and we're not done yet. Cindi is struggling through deep pain in her bones and muscles, incredibly sore knees and joints and her mouth is breaking down with sores and rawness. It is hard to eat, it is hard to find respit from the pain, it is hard. I would ask you if you would simply bow your heads for a moment and ask for some help and a break from the hardness of these days. Thank you good friends and family. It is so hard to be beside her as she journeys. May His peace find my beautiful wife today and may it find you. Pete