Smile!

[Originally written on January 10, 2015]

One of the problems of being confined to a chair all day with my leg elevated, and not being under the influence of narcotic based painkillers (I’m restricted to nothing stronger than extra strength Tylenol since I left the hospital because they were interfering with my oxygen processing capacity) is that my brain is in better condition than my body. (At least it’s far more active right now.) Only those unfortunate souls who know me well enough to have observed the poor functioning capacity of my brain, even at its best, will be able to more fully appreciate the now helpless condition of this old body.

Selah

(This lovely Hebrew word is often translated in the Psalms as Interlude and aptly describes the state of mind which I’ve resolved to adopt for this hopefully brief period of time. So this Selah is inserted here to allow you to get up and go to the bathroom, get a drink, take a pill or press the “Delete” key if you don’t want to read the rest of this rather wonky update on my health.)

Still here? (I knew you couldn’t resist.) Okay… I want to make sure you know how very grateful I am for the folks at the BC Cancer Agency and for the prompt and personal attention and excellent service they’ve afforded me over the past number of weeks. Even over the Christmas holiday time when many doctors’ offices were closed, those folks were setting up appointments for me and scheduling surgery and other rather nasty procedures (for my good, of course). We have been very impressed with them. I’ve had about seven different specialists see me over the past six weeks and have spent tens of thousands of dollars of taxpayers’ money on my health care. Thank you for your contribution to this noble cause, even though it may have been involuntary.

So last week I received this lovely letter, (not) personally signed, from the Head of Some-Department-or-Other at the BC Cancer Agency. It was graciously worded but kind of a “welcome letter.” (In truth, it included lots of very helpful information about how delighted they would be to do anything to help me through this whole process. I’ve actually wondered whether or not, when and if I have to get chemotherapy and I lose the rest of my hair, if they might be able to fit me with a nice wig. Can you picture that? They did that for a friend of ours when she had chemotherapy a number of years ago.)

My first reading of this letter left me with the distinct impression that I was now part of an elite club—the Cancer Survivors’ Club. Nice. I feel special somehow. Membership in the Cancer Survivors’ Club, at least for now. “I plan to live forever. So far, so good.” I think it was Yogi Berra who said that. Before he died. I can understand that sort of logic. That’s how I think. It doesn’t need to be complex.

On another note, I mentioned in a previous update that a part of my abdomen was now attached to the lower part of my left leg because of some necessary skin grafting after they dug out the rest of the tumor from my leg. That may have brought interesting images to mind, including recognizing that every time I stand up straight my left leg would have to be crossed over on top of the other. Hmmm.

Or take my friend Mike, an avid golfer and a far better player than I am, and one whose golf tips I pay close attention to and try hard to put into practice. He said he was having difficulty with this whole image. “But at least,” he said, “it will help you keep your head down when you swing [always sound advice for any golfer].” Marvelous!

See? Always a bright side. Always a silver cloud behind every lining! Now that’s what my “Crazy Aunt” used to say. (Crazy in a nice way, you know, with lots of love.) And she insisted it was supposed be in that order—silver cloud behind the lining, which may well be different than what you’re used to hearing.

If you’ve heard me tell stories about my Crazy Aunt, then yes, it’s the same person. A devout spinster until the day she died, so I doubt that’s going to change now. She lived all her adult life with her devout Bachelor Brother. He was the quiet type, understandably. Most likely a little hard of hearing too. That would have helped a lot.

She’s the one who shouted at the Canada Census worker that appeared at her front door one day and asked about her marital status. “I don’t have a marital status! I’m not married!” Another “Hmmm.”

And she’s the one who, while looking after us kids while my parents were away at a convention, when I was about seven, fed us sour milk every day for two weeks. Her reasoning? We couldn’t waste good milk. There was no refrigerator so she thought the best place to store the fresh milk that was bought each day would be on the window sill. So for two weeks we drank yesterday’s fresh milk that had turned sour by today. I kind of lost my taste for milk. And sour cream.

Crazy Aunt, but happy. The kind of crazy that brings joy and laughter into people’s lives. And that’s a wonderful thing. She died a number of years ago and we buried her on a rainy November morning. In a cemetery. In Fort Langley, right next to her devout Bachelor Brother. He had died before her.

Oops! I almost forgot to update you on my health. Which reminds me of my six year old grandson at supper a couple days ago. We were sitting at the table, I had said grace, thanking God for my family and the food we were going to enjoy. After my “Amen,” Isaac said, with eyes still closed (an unusual thing except when he’s sleeping), “And please help Grampa to get better soon!” And then he observed, “You forgot about yourself, Grampa. You shouldn’t forget about yourself.” I guess that’s good advice—to not forget about oneself.

I’m very grateful for having far less pain than I had expected following the surgery, excavation and skin grafting. (I knew all that scary reading I had been doing would pay off.) The pain is quite manageable, actually. I can’t put any weight at all on my left leg yet, so my limited movement around the house is accomplished by hopping along behind a four-wheeled walker, or crawling on all fours. I can manage stairs by crawling, but haven’t yet figured out how to carry the walker up and down them.

Today I learned a new word: dowie. I’ve had bouts of feeling like that this week, but overall I’m doing quite well. The lingering uncertainty of whether or not the cancer has spread to other parts of my body can take a toll. And not just on me but also on my family. We’re not sure when we’ll know the answers to all these questions.

At this point I have an appointment with the plastic surgeon on Monday, January 12^th to check up on the damage she did to my leg and abdomen (and perhaps to detach them?). Also, there will be a PET scan and CAT scan coming up within the next week or so. That should provide some answers. 

We have a lot of confidence in the expertise of the folks that are looking after me. And beyond all that, God is in control and provides a level of peace and joy in me that is usually beyond my comprehension, and always beyond what I deserve. Amazing grace!

I’m so grateful for Sharyn’s constant and loving care for me. Without her this would be impossible. It’s also humbling and mind-boggling to realize that there are people from one end of the world to the other that are praying for me. Thank you for your very vital part in this.