Gratitude and Impatience

Since gratitude and patience are thought to be two virtues/positive attributes, it may seem strange to have gratitude and impatience together in a post title. Still, in this continuation of "what's changed in the last 7 months," these are two qualities I have cultivated in these months. I can't say that these additional thoughts came to me while washing dishes, but here they are.

Impatience first. While patience is the recognized virtue, impatience in the face of injustice or wrongdoing is a also an important virtue. Since my diagnosis, I just don't feel all that patient with nonsense, with cruelty, wrongheaded thinking, people treating each other badly.

So, this is where I get political. A year ago, I would have held my tongue in a "public" forum unless asked to speak, but now I don't have time or patience to suffer injustice. Tuesday, the Massachusetts legislature, sitting in Constitutional Convention, voted to put marriage equality on the ballot in 2008. I wept when I read of their actions, because Patty and I have been "married in Massachusetts" since June, 2004. I am deeply angered that anyone would want to take away from us (or would have denied it in the first place) the right to legal recognition of our relationship, and the benefits that society and the government have chosen to bestow on those in a legally recognized relationship. Their action doesn't finally put this proposed constitutional amendment on the ballot, as it must be passed by another session of the legislature. So, in the last day, I have contemplated personally visiting each of the 62 legislators who voted to move this proposed constitutional amendment on, and ask them to vote differently next time. And, if you aren't already familiar with this issue, and think that people should always have a right to vote on proposed constitutional amendments, ask yourself whether or not you think constitutional amendments should be used to take away the rights of any minority group. In addition, there's a reason why the legislature votes first. I'm going to ask those representatives to represent me and my family in their vote. I'm not naive, and I do realize that this is a hotly contested issue across the country, but right now, I want to say that this affects me, my life, my spouse, my children, and it hurts us.

As you can see, I feel impatient. I don't have 20-30 years, it seems, for society to get this right...

A postscript to this is that I am still working on my patience as a parent. That's a tough attribute to develop and maintain in parenting, I think.

Gratitude is a quality I've worked to develop all of my life. I try to remember to thank and appreciate those who have reached out to me, who have gifted me in some way. And, I keep working to do a still-better job of expressing my gratitude, to people in my life, and to God. I have felt immense gratitude for the gift of life in these past 7 months. I am grateful to God for my existence, and grateful to my parents for the gift of life made manifest. And I am grateful to all those souls I have met during my life, my fellow journeyers and teachers

I remember that when Patty and I first got together, 16 1/2 years ago, we developed a habit of sitting in silent grace before sharing a meal. After weeks of doing this, I realized that I felt immense gratitude for my job, my work, my profession. This may seem like an "of course" sort of moment, but I hadn't realized the depth of my gratitude until then. I certainly hadn't found the words to give thanks for a job I love.

As I was working on this post, I found an email from my friend Sandy, who shared this thought from her November calendar: Gratitude. More aware of what you have than what you don't. Recognizing the treasure in the simple - a child's hug, fertile soil, a golden sunset. Relishing in the comfort of the common - a warm bed, a hot meal, a clean shirt - Max Lucado

Those concrete, body comfort moments are an important piece of feeling gratitude, I think. Max Lucado has it right; the warm, familiar bed, comforting surroundings, loving presence, creature comforts attended to. More aware of what you have than what you don't. That's where I aim to be.

Guardedly Optimistic

First, the good news. There is no sign of new cancer in my abdomen (and this time the radiologist got a good look at the site of the surgery and my cancerous bile duct).

Next, the not-so-clear news. The spot in my abdomen has grown. I could see it on the CT scans that I spent hours looking at over the weekend. The radiologist didn't even notice it (it's not "in" my abdomen, but just under the skin by my incision scar, which is why I can feel it so readily). The new oncologist, Dr. J, said that it could be a "granuloma. . . . (something)" and not an "escaped" cancer cell from the surgery that's been growing. I don't have a good feeling about it, and I want it out!

The good news about the "spot." Dr. M, the surgeon, has agreed to cut it out, and left an email message for Dr. J to that effect. I haven't talked to him about how soon we can schedule it, but I'm hoping it will be within a few weeks.

The not-great news about my tumor marker. It's gone up. However, it hasn't gone up much; from 70 to about 134 since September. Folks who get really sick from gallbladder cancer have numbers in the thousands. The oncologist wasn't particularly worried, and said that it is "indicative," but not "diagnostic." The best possible scenario would be that the "spot" is removed, is escaped cancer cells that have been growing, and my tumor marker goes down afterwards.

The bad news. I still have gallbladder cancer. Bad news, indeed, but not "new" news.

The good news. It's almost six months since my diagnosis, and I am still alive. I continue to feel good, and to enjoy my life, and very much to appreciate the gift of life.

The really good news. I am feeling good, feeling grateful, feeling loving as I look forward to celebrating Thanksgiving tomorrow and this weekend with family and friends. And I know that I haven't waited until this one day in a year to express my love and gratitude to those in my life who love, support, and care for me. Happy Thanksgiving!

What to do while waiting . . .

What is there to do while waiting to take a test, and then wait for the test results, when the test isn't even one I can study for in order to ensure a better outcome? My CT scan is tomorrow, and, while I've made it through the week pretty well, with only low level anxiety, today has been harder.

I stayed home from work today, because I spent most of last night in the bathroom, having "gastrointestinal disturbance." I woke still feeling sick, and tired from not getting enough sleep, to actually go to work. So, this morning, I caught more sleep and slowly began to feel a little better. But then, I found myself restless, worried but trying not to worry, about tomorrow's scan. So, what to do?

Sharpen all of the pencils in the house. In a house with two school-age kids, pencils are hard to find, and even harder to find with a point. Tracking them down, sharpening them, and returning them to their various resting places was a totally engaging and satisfying activity for about half an hour.

Water all of the house plants. I'm always meaning to do this, but too busy, or it's evening (when it's not a good idea to water them), and sometimes too much time goes by between watering. Good for another half an hour (yes,I do have a few house plants!)

Go through all unopened junk mail (with a few bills and interesting pieces thrown in). I tossed out a lot of unopened envelopes from charities looking for donations (amazing how much mail you get when you make some charitable donations, and everyone wants your money), and from various sources. I also found a few unpaid bills that I need to attend to before I go for tomorrow for my CT scan.

Download all "updates" on my computer. Also time consuming, but not attention consuming. Will the new update for Windows Explorer actually fix the problems the last one had? I have no idea!

Contemplate making a new "scrapbooked" page for the front of Patty's daily calendar. She gets a calendar book that's 8 1/2 x 11" with a window on the first page. I personalize it for her with some pictures of the family in a scrapbooked page. I haven't done one yet this fall, and need to get busy! Perhaps that will be a weekend activity, because so far I've just thought about it.

So, those are a few of the lowkey things I've done to keep myself occupied today. And, I do actually have some good news about the delay between tomorrow's scan and seeing the oncologist (6 days, but who's counting?). I talked with my surgeon, Dr. M, from last summer, and he will read the scan online, and call me with his assessment, no later than Saturday morning. He also told me (Thanks, Woody, for the information about getting your scans on a CD) that I can get the visual images also, since they are part of my hospital record. He doesn't know if I can get the pictures the same day, but I can definitely get them. I'll find out more tomorrow.

As Thanksgiving approaches, I realize that I am immensely grateful for Dr. M, who is one medical person who actually gets it about the anxiety of waiting for test results. When I explained my concern, he offered to call me before I could ask. He said that with folks in remission, he frequently tells them to anticipate, with a six month test interval, five months and 29 days of relative peace of mind, and then a day of major anxiety. So, he'll call me Friday if he has a long enough break from his surgical schedule, or Saturday morning if he gets tied up.

Updates to follow as I find more things to do while waiting . . .

Who Knew?

Five months ago tomorrow, I was diagnosed with gallbladder cancer, and I was told that typically, folks live two to six months following diagnosis. Who knew that five months later I would be working, feeling good, still recovering from surgery, but showing no signs (to date) of the cancer spreading? Who knew?

At the time, I took on my mortality as fully as we can while alive and feeling essentially healthy. That's why one of the first questions I asked when I began this blog was "If you had just six months or a year to live, would you want to know?" And if you would want to know, how would that knowledge impact your life, day to day?

Taking on my mortality, and what seemed to be impending death, I wondered if I'd be alive to see the "06 midterm election" results, now two weeks away. I wondered where in the house my hospice bed should go. I wondered how I could possibly explain to my children that this illness had come on so unexpectedly, and that I was about to leave them with so little notice, so little time to say good-bye, to hug and kiss and love enough for the future time to be missed. And, more mundanely, I thought about some of my favorite television shows, and wondered how the plot would evolve in the fall, and then in the winter, and spring. Less mundanely, I thought I would not be able to teach again, and I grieved the thought of not teaching the new freshman class I had been prepping for months (and that I took to see the "Body Worlds" exhibit I wrote about a few weeks ago).

I no longer take my life, my continuing life, for granted, and I realize that tomorrow the proverbial bus could strike me, and then I would have died within that six month window. I do not assume that the good news of no evidence of cancer will continue forever, or even as long as I want it to.

And, I am grateful for the experiences these last five months have brought; the opportunities to love deeply; to laugh uproariously; to meditate intentionally and converse with those life threatening cancer cells; to stand with my students and explore new territory, new information, new ideas; to allow others to love me well and to express their care and concern in words and deeds.

I feel sadness with the changing season, watching the dying, browning leaves spreading over the yard, tree branches baring for winter. And I also feel gratitude to be here to see the season change. It was early summer when I was diagnosed five months ago. I have lived a summer and most of a fall since then, and I am grateful. And I wish for many, many more seasons to change during the span of my life.

But, five months ago, who knew?

Living, Not Dying, with Cancer

When I first received the diagnosis of terminal cancer, I was puzzled about how to live. Somehow, "taking to my bed" (as some folks used to do) until the cancer "took me" didn't seem to be an option. But, I was recovering from surgery, my body was weak and my energy low, so I wondered whether or not I would ever feel "normal" again. Two months later, I feel good, my energy is amazingly strong, and I have moved on from the initial shock of the diagnosis. But still, I wonder, how do you live, knowing, really knowing, that your days are numbered?

As a spiritual person, this question has felt especially important. I attend a Christian church, and I am part of a Christian community, and I also read spiritual material from many traditions, so I have been reading a lot. What is life? What is the purpose of our lives? Are we born to this life in order to learn certain lessons? Do we die when those lessons are learned? (I think the answer to that questions is no, but the question was in my mind.) I mention in my first posting that I haven't had good conversations about dying with those I have known who knew that their death was approaching, and I regret that. Why don't those who are dying, or who have a terminal diagnosis and are anticipating death, talk about it more? What are we afraid of? Are we afraid of death? The process of dying? I am determined to break the silence, for me and my diagnosis, at least, but I feel that I am stepping into a land with no map, a land where I know others have been, but have left too few clues., and no map to help me navigate.

On a practical note, one site that I found that would have been very helpful to me in the first weeks after my terminal diagnosis is one part of the hospice website. The hospice site includes an article by a doctor dying of cancer who provides practical personal and planning suggestions. But, he is not really talking about the spiritual aspects, the soul aspects of a terminal diagnosis.

Another place that I have found much insight and support and laughter and tears is the NPR website called My Cancer, by Leroy Sievers. Leroy's stories of his struggle with cancer, and the many responses from those with cancer, and those who love them, and those who are moved by his story, have enriched me immensely. Reading his blog and the comments has become a high point of each day. In his July 10 blog, Leroy talked about his fears, everyone's fears, and asks if we are afraid of dying, but he doesn't really talk about the spiritual aspects of a terminal diagnosis, either.

I believe in reincarnation (not really a Christian belief, I'm afraid, but . . . ), so I do believe that my soul, the essence of who I am really, not just my personality, will continue after my death. But I like this life, my family, my friends, my work, and I don't really want this life to end. So, how can I face death while still living fully?

One thing I am doing is feeling my gratitude, right here, right now, at being alive. I wake up each morning, and I am so happy to still be here, to be feeling good, today, to feel love for others and love from others. This EE Cummings poem has really been speaking to me:

i thank you God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

Each morning, I feel that I have died and I am alive again, and I am grateful.