New Hope

This is the second time in seven years we've been told that Jim is cancer free. The first time was after his surgery in 2002 when Dr. Rios told us that he was very pleased with the results of his post surgery scans which were clear of cancer. "This," he said, "is the beginning of a cure."

I didn't know enough about cancer at that time to recognize that news for the miracle it was. I didn't know how few people are able to have the surgery that puts them in that position. So many lung cancer patients are told, "It's inoperable."

I was unwilling to claim it as a miracle because I didn't want to appear naive. I had read that BAC was incurable and I believed it. I spent the next six years waiting for the other shoe to fall--and it did.

Now seven years later, we heard those magic words again. This time I am reaching out, claiming it as a miracle. Fewer than one percent of patients with stage 4 lung cancer survive for five years. Jim has had Stage 4 cancer for seven years. To be cancer free at this point means as Dr. Rios said 7 years ago: "This is the beginning of a cure." This time, I say why not? God can do anything.

"So call me a cockeyed optimist and say i'm incurably green but I'm stuck like a dope with this thing called hope and I can't get it out of my heart."

Yes, the cancer might come back, but--it might not. We have been given renewed hope and that in itself is a miracle.

A Miracle

I know I haven't posted much lately. I have been swamped between getting my book ready for the publisher and taking care of Jim during this last round of chemo. But I had to share this good news with you who have been such faithful prayer warriors. Jim was diagnosed with Stage 3B lung cancer in November of 2002. We were told at the time that fewer than 10% with that diagnosis survive for 5 years.

After some grueling treatment and radiation, the lung cancer laid low but he was diagnosed in 2005 with prostate cancer. Surgery took care of that. Then in 2008 he had a recurrence of the lung cancer near the spine. In March of this year another recurrence to the bone and the pleural lining of the lung. More chemo.

That brings us up to last week when he went to Houston for scans following his eighth chemo treatment. This is what happened.


When Dr. rios came in he peeked around the door and said,"Where
is my champion?" Jim either didn't hear him or simply didn't get the
significance of his the question.

He entered the room smiling and said,"There are some things that
medicine can't explain. My friend George Foreman said that education is
the beginning of moving away from God. But I think that as we learn
more we realize that we don't know very much." He turned to Jim. "God is working through
you."

"I have no explanation for what has occurred but Dr. Stenoine and I
have gone over the scan results and there is NO cancer."

Jim and I sat there staring dumbly at him trying to absorb the news he
gave us. Finally Jim said,"do you mean it's completely gone?"

He started to cry and Dr. Rios left the room to give us time to enjoy
the moment.

When he came back in, I asked him,"So are you calling this a bona fide
miracle?"

" Depends on your definition , but according to mine, yes. I don't know
of any lung cancer patients who are cancer free after 7 years with
stage four disease and 2 recurrences. "

"What did you really expect to find today?" I asked.

"Well I would have expected further reduction in the tumor in the bone
but probably not in the lung."

Jim says he never expected to hear the words "cancer free" in this
lifetime. It truly is a miracle and evidence of God's healing power.

What a mighty God we serve. He is still in the miracle business.

same old tune

This post is out of order. I actuall wrote it before our trip to Houston. It should go before "A Miracle" that I just posted.

I sound like a broken record playing a tune that even I am sick of. I have nothing new to write about "scanxiety." I would think that after almost seven years of countless scans and waiting rooms, I would have mastered the art of waiting patiently.



I'm a terrible hypocrite. After glibly offering advice to hundreds of caregivers on how to cope with uncertainty and fear, the "under toad" sucks me down like a novice swimmer who who overestimated her ability to stay afloat.



Here we are five days from a trip to Houston--at least number thirty--and I've just figured out why I am anxious. There is a MONSTER clutching at my ankles doing his best to pull me down into the murky depths of depression. The surprising part is that he hasn't given up--and even more surprising that I haven't given in. But I am as sick of writing about it as you are undoubtedly sick of reading about it.

Courage

Almost always the obituary of a cancer patient refers to his "courageous battle with cancer."

Makes me wonder--are all cancer patients courageous?

Courage requires action in the face of danger. It does not require absence of fear but rather action in spite of fear.

When I had a cold a few weeks ago, each morning I woke up expecting to feel better. I wasn't terribly sick just tired and lacking energy. I hated wasting time not feeling well, not accomplishing anything.

Then I realized: This is how Jim feels every day. His major side effect from the chemo is fatigue. Every day he gets up as tired as when he went to bed. Yet, he has the courage to keep taking the very drugs that keep him in a state of exhaustion. This perseverance in the face of unremitting pain and suffering is heroic. How much easier it would be to say, "I quit. I give up. I can't take it."

Are all cancer patients courageous? Maybe not. But all that I've met are.

I have tremendous sympathy for caregivers who are sick or for couples who both have cancer. The year following Jim's first surgery and treatment, I prayed that I would stay well and I didn't have so much as a sniffle! I must say that in the ensuing six years I have been in overall good health. I don't take that for granted.

This week has been a reminder of how blessed I've been. I started with a headache and sore throat on Tuesday, plied myself with Zicam and VitaminC (which probably does no good), and tried to convince myself that I wasn't sick. On Wed night I brought out the big gun, my favorite beddy-bye elixir--NYQUIL. I don't know whether it made me better but at least I slept.

By Friday night I succumbed and admitted that I must have a sinus infection with a cough. I could hardly wait to get to bed last night with my Vicks Vapo-rub, 12 hour nasal spray, a box of Kleenex, and my shot of Nyquil.

The bad news is that Jim has the cough, too.

He wanted to take something for his cough at bedtime. "Should I take prescription cough medicine (someone elses)?" he asked, having learned to depend on my expert medical advice, "Or should I take Nyquil?"

I was so concerned with getting some relief myself that I couldn't think straight. I tried to focus. What ingredients might be contraindicated with the multitude of super drugs he is taking? I should look it up on the computer. If I weren't dying I probably would. "Take Nyquil," I finally tell him as I head off for a hot bath.

Unfortunately I can't shirk my responsibility so easily. I spent the night listening for his breathing to be sure I hadn't killed him. Thank God, he seems fine this morning--but I'm still sick.

The caregiver's caregiver (not)

Never let my husband take care of me if I am wounded or ill!

I love Jim. He is a man of many talents but God knew what He was doing when he made Jim the patient and me the caregiver. If the tables had been turned I would have been dead years ago.

Tonight when we came home from dinner, I was drawn to the yard like a mosquito to a plump babies leg. The July evening is so beautiful, unusually cool and pleasant, and the rain-soaked dirt beckoned me to pull weeds while the pickin' was easy. I didn't even bother to make my usual preparations: mosquito repellent, garden gloves, crocs, and work clothes. Impulsively, attempting to beat the setting sun, I flew in still dressed in crisp white bermudas, a linen blouse, jewelry and my Stuart Weitzman sandals. Bad decision or lack of .

The bed in front of our house was filled with a twenty-five year growth of man-eating ivy, strawberry vines, violets, leaves, baby trees, and various and sundry weeds. I decided several weeks ago to remove the mess and paid Corbin to do the work. He did as much as he could and left the remainder to die off.

Tonight while the ground was wet, I figured the time was right to pull up the remaining vines. I pulled viorously with both arms flying fogetting that I did not have the protection of gloves. As I grabbed a large clump of dried roots, I felt a piercing pain in my thumb. Of course, I couldn't see exactly what had happened (I didn't have on my glasses), but I could make out a piece of root nearly 2 inches long. impaling my right thumb. Granted it was a shard of root, more like a large splinter, stuck through the side of my thumb, protruding near the lower nail bed cuticle.

I rushed to the door of the screened in porch (locked from the inside) and called for Jim who was watching--what else? the Cardinals' game.

"I need your help," I yelled, trying not to alarm him. Fat chance.
He ambled to the door, looks at the branch stuck through my hand and wiggles it. Trying not to faint, I scream, "You are going to have to cut one side off before you try to pull it through."

Now this is the priceless part. We move into the kitchenwith me holding up my throbbing hand. The kitchen is rather dark (sundown). He doesn't bother to turn on the light. The next thing I know he approaches me with the pruners. This is the absolute truth. I tried to follow his reasoning: a garden injury requires a garden tool?
The object to be removed is a plant? Or maybe a hand injury calls for hand pruners?

When I realized he was serious, I stopped him in his tracks. "Are you nuts? You can't cut it with those. You need scissors."

Nonplussed he looks at the implement and says, "Hmmm. Maybe."

He finally got the job done, after I suggested he stop the bleeding, apply some alcohol, and a bandage--none of which he would have thought of on his own.

Thank God I wasn't knocked unconscious. I think I should get one of those "I've fallen and I can't get up" thingies and take my chances with the fire department.

This just in: Jim came in from pool house: "How's your finger?" (At least he asked. I never said he's not thoughtful. "It's throbbing," I said not turning away from the computer. "I just told everyone how you took care of me." He says, (really and truly, I have to laugh) "Well, it's my chance to be the caregiver to you."

Poor, poor, thing. He really is clueless. Wait til he reads the post!

The Good and Humble Samaritan

I have been reading Thomas R. Hargrove's book Dragons Live Forever about his experience in Vietnam. He is an extremely good writer with a story to tell. He did not offer much about himself in our conversation at the airport--it was I who introduced the topic of writing after which he talked about his books. He didn't mention that he has a doctorate and is an expert inthe area of rice agriculture for third world countries or that he and his wife Susan offer support to families of victims kidnapped in foreign countries. His second book The Long Road to Freedom is the true story of his captivity by NARC in Columbia. There is a movie based on the story starring Meg Ryan. All in all, a very interesting and accomplished fellow. I wish I'd had more time to talk with him.