Standing tall

I just got home a couple of minutes ago from my latest PET scan, and I can give people this advice. If you're ever going to have one, go sleepy. If you're lucky, like I was today, you'll be able to doze off during the scan and that makes it go much faster. Before I dozed off, I mused about the similarities between the scanner tube and the beginning of the Space Mountain ride. If you've never ridden space mountain, the roller coaster begins by ascending up the tracks through a tube illuminated by lights that circle the circumference of the tube. It's supposed to make you feel like you are being warped into space and it is frankly quite fun. So too does the scanner have a tube and spinning lights...but if you look into the light of the laser it will burn your retina, so that is highly not recommended. In other words, if you have a choice between the two, choose Space Mountain.

I titled the blog "Standing Tall," because my urge was to really name it "Fetal Position." My natural human inclination would be to curl up in a fetal position out of fear of my scan results. I know that there are better odds that it is going to be ok, but I am scared. I am trying not to panic. I just kept praying the whole time I was laying there waiting for my scan as the radioactive sugar ran through my veins. It's done though. Afterward I broke my fast at Panera, looking like a refugee. I was basically wearing PJ's and a skull cap, and it drew a little attention from the retired breakfasters that inhabit Panera at 9AM. The stares sometimes bother me, but to tell the truth I felt like a refugee. I felt like a refugee of the cancer war....bruised, scarred, but not broken. Walking through the restaurant, it's hard to relate to the people nonchalantly eating their bagels while I am erstwhile wondering whether the test I just took will tell us that I am cancerous or cancer free. It's one of those moments when I feel very isolated.

It probably didn't help that I stayed up last night and watched an episode of "Private Practice," in which one of the main story lines was about a girl who was dying of non-hodgkins lymphoma. I kept telling myself, that has nothing to do with you. You have hodgkin's lymphoma. You have good odds. You are going to survive this thing. But still, I would be a liar if I didn't say I was afraid.

Life is often about choices, and so today I will choose not to curl up in a fetal position, but instead will stand tall and live my life as if everything is going to be fine. I've got things to do, and a life to lead. While I don't know, I will assume the best. And that's all I have to say about that.

Resolve

As Lent began today on Ash Wednesday, which just happened to also be Justin's birthday I found myself contemplating my life. It's understandable, what with blood work tomorrow and PET scan on Friday. But after doing our devotional today, I decided that much of the time I've been spending lately on introspection and worry has been in many ways hindering my relationship with God. Don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against one being self-aware but there can come a point when it simply becomes indulgent. You can contemplate and fret and worry about your life and it's meaning and your hopes and fears to some extent, but at some point it becomes idolatry. It becomes a distraction from turning one's eyes, heart and mind to God. So I am giving it up. I am turning all of this over to God's hands, (in my human arrogance I sometimes forget that it was already there), and am turning my brain off.

I hate to announce my instinct with this whole thing, mostly because I hate looking the fool. My instinct, my gut feeling, is that this scan will be clear. But, if I say that out loud and I turn out to be wrong, I look like an idiot. But again, in the spirit of the Lenten season, which moves towards renewal and resurrection, I am casting off my pride and fear of foolishness. I think that I am going to be ok. There. I said it. And I suppose that one way or another I will be.

So, again, I will simply solicit your prayers. I will be in the scanner around 9 AM Pacific time (11 central), so if you've got some time on Friday, pray for me.

Crunch time

I have been contemplating the ramifications of exposing myself on my blog and on websites such as facebook. Yes, I do have a facebook account against all my better inclinations. Recently, Justin and I were looking up some old friends, and it's amazing how easy it is to find people with a simple google. Of course, I am not arrogant enough to think that people google me on any frequent basis, and I suppose it should not matter if they do. Yet the lack of anonymity one could once enjoy has gone out the window. Fortunately I have found, upon self examination, that there is nothing on any of my sites that would cause me any chagrin, even the the examiner was, say, a future employer. So I will continue to tread carefully.

I haven't blogged much lately because there is little to blog so far. I would appear to be a poster child for recovery from stem cell transplant. However, more interesting days a comin', in the form of a new PET scan. I have blood work on Thursday and the scan on Friday. Then there is a doctor's office coming later on the 5th. Since my Dad's birthday is on the 7th (as well as Justin's dad's b-day on the 6th) I am sincerely hoping to deliver good news. I hesitate to say this....because I do not want to instill false confidence...but I just feel like this is going to be okay. I honestly don't know what i would do if it wasn't. However, I am determined not to have a panic attack as the days draw nearer. To tell the truth, I'll really be crazy come next Wednesday. That would be about the time when Dr. Black will be getting the report. Every time I go and see the doctor, my blood pressure goes through the roof. I have a bad case of "white coat syndrome". If you check my blood pressure at any other point, it is well into the healthy range.

I know that I haven't really given much of an update about my dad. He's going to have to do radiation, and he's not thrilled about it. The radiation, however, will probably guarantee that the cancer won't come back, so that is really good news.


I know I use the phrase "I hope" a lot, but I hope that I am clean...healthy. But I'll never be normal....how I was before. But I think I might be better.

Little sprouts

Sometimes you know what you know, but you don't know it, you know?

I knew my hair would eventually grow back, but I've been sporting the peach fuzz with no sprouts. I began to think to myself, what if it never grows back? What if I'm bald forever. Pro: no more shaving my legs. Con: Little children staring at me when I'm in public. Pro: Low maintenance. Con: Poor temperature regulation. I decided within myself that I would take the hairless state rather than a cancerous one.

However, my fears were not founded because I have discovered little bumps on my head. I am sprouting new fair. Right now, it is just potential, but it is potential nonetheless.

It may not seems like much, but sometimes not much is quite something. Depending on where you are.

Resisting the urge

I can feel my psyche leaning towards anxiety and fear; yet I am resisting the urge to give into. I scheduled my first follow up pet scan today for later this month (it's sad when the guy recognizes you when you call), and even thought it is 3 months away I find it difficult not to fixate on it. It's amazing how hyper-aware you become of your body after this kind of ordeal. Every twitch, every ache makes you wonder and can send a little shiver of terror down your spine. Whereas two years ago I had managed to ignore a whole year of back pain without thinking cancer. Diligently I work at the little daily tasks I am responsible for, reminding myself to enjoy now rather than worry about tomorrow. As for my health, I have more energy than ever. I feel great, I exercise, I can do almost anything that I want to do.

As for my dad, he seems to be doing well. He is feeling much better and is waiting for his appointment with the radiological oncologist. Since his lymph nodes were clear, I am really hopeful that the surgeon managed to get the entire tumor out, and that the cancer was contained. It looks relatively good so far, but my family has learned how not to count their chickens before they are hatched. In general, I try to be a realist tinged with optimism.

Speaking of being a realist tinged with optimism, I am hoping that I will be able to make it to my cousin's wedding in March. However, we are waiting for my next doctor's appointment to make that decision. We kind of got burned on buying plane tickets too early when we were unable to use our tickets to go home over Christmas.
I would really like to get to go.
And that reminds me, my uncle has been working really hard on a new website for their business. My dad finally relented and agreed that they probably ought to be out there in cyberspace. You should really check it out. mcclungconstruction.net It's a really good site, chock full of really interesting information. Anyways, feel free to peruse it.

An update

As they say, nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition...and so we don't. Unfortunately, contrary to the surgeons first assumptions, my dad's biopsy turned out to be malignant. It is cancer. Fortunately, it's a very rare but very slow growing cancer and we are hopeful both that the surgeon managed to get it all and that it hasn't metastasized. The lymph nodes were clear which leads us to be hopeful. Of course, this wasn't the news that we were looking for. I actually have permission to blog this from dad himself, although he did make the request that I don't solicit people to bug him like last time. I told him that I would consider the request.

Truth be told, this news made me tired. Tired of sickness and sadness. However, I suppose it's prudent to always look on the bright side of life. (No, there wasn't a Monty Python marathon on BBC America this weekend. Sometimes it just creeps into the vernacular... I'm a lumberjack and all that jazz.) I am resolved to keep going, hoping, praying, and trusting that all of this will work out according to God's plans.

On a lighter and happier note, I have made contact with the National Marrow Donor Program, and hope to be soon working with them to help with recruitment drives. The guy even suggested that there might be speaking opportunities for someone like me, especially to churches, which is right up my alley. I am really hopeful that I can spend some of my down time helping recruit more donors. The recovery for bone marrow transplant recipients is really long and tough, and it just seems to me that they have enough to get on with in recovering without having to deal with great stress and anxiety waiting for a donor. And so I recruit. The guy I talked to was a non-hodgkins lymphoma survivor who had a transplant 8 years ago. I guess that once you go through something like this, it's hard not to want to help others get through it.

And so ends this blog. There could be better news...but there could be worse. So I think I'll be grateful for what we have.