When they say "Life is Precious"...they aren't kidding

"Some people complain because roses have thorns...I am thankful that thorns have roses"
                                                                                                   Alphonse Karr



     I have come to understand, in a most profound way, the offset relationship between joy and wisdom and their role in the makeup of my being.  My joy is a deep form of happiness that flows, and is built upon, the wisdom my life has revealed to me.   It gives me "lightness" in life.  As my wonderful Godmother June would always (and still does) say "Ohhhh lighten up".  My joy allows me to laugh and smile, and to breathe deep all that the world around has to offer.  It operates in the  moment, which is always a good influence on me.  My joy assures me of the Love and attention my God has for me.
    Wisdom, on the other hand, is like a wealthy uncle.  I don't live with him, he rarely comes to my "house", but I see his presence because he "pays" for everything.  When he does come, it's always in a dark corner of my life. When my joy takes a "lunch break", wisdom slides into the booth alongside me, exposes a new perspective on something, pays the bill, and disappears.  When my joy returns, it's even more intense because of what I have learned.  I Love my uncle.
    Last Tuesday I went for my 6 week post operative Dr. appointment.  I'm sure it was clear, from my last post here, that my angst over this visit was quite high.  This is the point in this whole process where you find out if chemotherapy and/or radiation treatment will be necessary.  Once the prostate is removed, technically, there should be no detectable prostate specific antigens (psa) in your blood stream.  If there is a significant amount (more than 1 ng/ml of blood) of PSA, it probably means tiny, microscopic prostate tumors are present somewhere in your lymphatic or circulatory system.  At this point the effort is to hunt it down and kill it before it sets up shop in some other organ of the body.  It's easy to see why this step in the journey causes so much worry.  Especially in me.  I did a quick visit with the physical therapist to review my recovery successes and then after a short break I went to the Doctor's office to get the news of my blood test.  At this point, I could barely remember my name or birthday.  I was led to an exam room to wait.  The small battery powered clock on the wall sounded like Big Ben.  I could feel the quick steps of the nurses in the hall bouncing the floor up and down.  Twenty minutes later my door opened and in walked a nurse in purple scrubs.  "Dr. Stepan was hung up in surgery.  You can leave and get a bite to eat and come back in an hour or so.  We'll just fit you back in when you get here".  It felt good to exhale, but the thought of holding the next breath for as long as the last didn't thrill me.  "Okay" I said.  "Do you happen to have the results of my blood work".  It was worth a shot.  I really feel that the object of eating lunch is to actually swallow the food, and at that moment, it would have been impossible.  " Yes" she said,  your count shows less than 0.04, or an unmeasurable amount.  The test only measures to .04, and yours was less than that."  She had me at .04, she didn't have to add the 0.  "That's a good thing, right" I clarified.  She smiled at me for a quick second with kind, thoughtful eyes..."Yes it is".  They were the eyes of someone who had seen "not so good" numbers delivered before and they glowed with appreciation here.
    < 0.04.  That's how it appears on my lab report.  I don't think I will ever forget this figure.  Essentially it means zero psa.  As my doctor would later qualify that day, it means a low probability for my cancer returning.  By my cancer, I mean my prostate cancer. Not impossible, just not very likely at all.  None of this affects the possibility of other cancers.   My main weapon there is to create an immune system that will not allow any cancer to develop.  This is in the works, as we speak, (and will continue) for the rest of my life.  Virtually every study that's been done over the past thirty years or so (some longer) shows overwhelming evidence that correct nutrition can protect us from almost every known cancer there is.  It's fairly complex.  It requires big adjustments and a dedication to creating a clean "environment" for us to live in.  That's the path we are on...and it feels great.  I told someone the other day that I feel as good as I've felt in maybe ten or fifteen years.  I lost twenty pounds ( a year and a half ago), I had my knee repaired (one year ago), and with the diet changes we are making, I feel real good.
   Now the wisdom part propels me forward.  I have a greater appreciation for "all things, big and small". 

" We could never learn to be brave and patient if there were only joy in the world"  Helen Keller
  
    I was going to make this my last posting for this blog.  I have been convinced otherwise.  My JOY encourages me to continue, my LOVE for people requires it.  I want to express my, previously unfathomable, gratitude for everyone who has read and commented, prayed for and encouraged me regarding my blog.  It started out, and remains, a personal journal of my private thoughts and events as I deal with all this.  As well, it was also meant to soothe and allay some fears for others as they encounter any similar situations.  I have heard from several others, battling breast and cervical cancer,(as well as prostate) who expressed the same feelings and determination, and appreciated the support and insights they received here.  It's just good to know others are out there in the same struggle, praying and thinking about them.  This visit from my "rich uncle" is over, for now, and yes...he is still paying for things.  He is keeping me steeped in valuable perspective and appreciation for all I have...my family, my friends, MY GOD, and this feeds my JOY.   MERRY CHRISTMAS to ALL

Carrying A Dream

  "Life is too short for drama & petty things..
   So, kiss slowly, laugh insanely, love truly and forgive quickly, pray always

                                                                   Pope John XXIII


    I just can't get off the idea of my cancer being a "gift".  I believe that.  I say gifts, as in something that improves or enhances life, because I honestly, and humbly, feel that way.  They are the gifts of appreciation, gratitude, clarity of thought and perspective, family, love, and LIFE itself.  How can these things be anything but gifts to us ?  They are truly the basis for all happiness in life.  I personally think the objective, at least partially,  of religious faith is to highlight, enhance, and secure profound protection OF these gifts.  At least that is the intent "on paper" as they say.  A couple problems do come into play here, though, in my experience.  One is...real life. Work, parenting, bills, relationships, and thus, stress, heartache, disappointment, ailments...all components of daily life, and oh yeah, ego. They cloud our perspective of how things are really going for us.  They skew our view of the world around us. Our concerns become petty or "self" centered. And for good reason.  The "quality" of our life depends on our decisions.  Or...does it?
    I don't know that I would be so concerned about my next vacation, the condition of my car, or the paint job on my house if my health situation had (or may still have) taken a different turn.  A quick poll of any surviving family members, I feel, would bear this out.  I miss my parents, friends, and other family members that are no longer here, and I regret letting these life "issues" carve into the time I could have spent with them.  It's always about the future and seldom about the right now.  I do know this...if I could, I would trade any amount of expense, comfort, or personal gain to reclaim time with either loved ones lost or time with my children before they left home.  I would quickly ignore the distractions of work to spend more time with my wife.  I would learn, more intimately, what it means to "savor" moments. Moments that create and flavor the memories of "real life".
    Am I suggesting that we should ignore the value of paying attention to these "big" details of life.  Not at all.  Do I believe it's important to value our responsibilities?  Unquestionably.  Whatever the circumstances of our life, this is how we "journey" from beginning to end.  If we are blessed with wealth, we have certain responsibilities.  If we are blessed with children, we have certain responsibilities.  If our health is strong, we have to value and protect it.  All these things are critical.  The tipping point, for me, becomes the level of focus (on these things) I operate at.  When we narrow our view of life to just our own perspective, the world shrinks and suffers.  The common good becomes the "victim".  Stalemate, which benefits no one, wins by default.  I love the political process in this country.  The world loves our political system.  The breakdown comes when selfish attachment to a specific viewpoint becomes an immovable "mountain".  Enough of that.  I suggest only this ( as my friend Dave Weins says)..."if it doesn't work for everyone, it doesn't work".  My "new" perspective has shown me how blessed we are to have each other.  How do we honor this?
    My personal attachment to stress or worry has become my new challenge in life.  Or rather, the de-emphasis of them is my greatest objective.  I feel as if I have become an "addict" of these feelings.  I rationalize, as I have said before, this approach to life as being the symptom of a high level of concern I feel for the ways things are done.  Trust me...it's important, but not THAT important.
    This week (Dec.4th) is my post-operative appointment to determine if any of my cancer remains...and I don't know how to feel about it.  My "fight or flight" response has been slapping me around a lot the past few days or so.  My angst has been welling up all week...almost to the levels of my pre-surgical feelings.  It snuck up on me because I thought I was past this "weakness" to dread.  I sort of "knew" (this is a relative description) what the surgery would bring.  I think I approached surgery as the end of cancer for me, foolishly.  It was just the "task" in front of me.  Now...the "rubber meets the road".  The course for the next year will be set.  I truly am sorry if I have seemed uninterested,lately, in what is going on in my family's lives.  I just can't focus on anything else. I really do not want chemotherapy.  But who does?  We"ll see...
   The last paragraph may seem to contrast with my opening thoughts.  It's not so.  Most of my thoughts are overwhelmingly rooted in appreciation for life.  It just shows the "swings" I feel in dealing with all this.  I like things I can understand and some of this is both unknown and scary to me.  I was fooled into believing I had moved beyond fear.  I personally don't think I could ever "get over" the fear.  It's like lightening.  I can work to avoid it, but I can't make it go away.  One misstep and "ZAP". HaHa.  I can only "stay indoors" and ponder the benefits.  It's my way of containing thoughts that can become consuming.  Occasionally I ask myself , "So...how's that denial thing working for you"?
    So...we will drive to Grand Junction, again, and we will see the doctor, again (a shameless Forrest Gump reference).  And...we will deal with what comes.  My bride and me.  I don't think she thought this part (the sickness and health line) of our vows would be an issue, none of us does, but here we are.  And I am so grateful for her.  If my blood test is negative, I will probably do one more entry to let everyone know the news and to sign off.  I do have more subjects to explore but I will start a new blog to move on from this chapter of my life.  So...cross your rabbits foot, make a wish on a falling star, "hope to shout", all those silly things we do to favor good luck for some good news.  Oh yeah...prayers are still being accepted.  Remember to help those (around you) who need help, even those beyond our own worlds.  That's how we grow.  Much Love to ALL....MA

The Road Home-Part two

  
"We've been through...some things together.  With trunks of memories still to come.  We found things to do... in stormy weather. Long may you run"  Neil Young "Long May You Run"
  

    I'm pretty sure this song is about an old hearse Neil drove during his early days in Canada, but the lyrics just fit my mood these days.  I have lots of great memories of my life so far, but...there are "trunks of memories still to come".  I plan on filling those trunks.
    This Monday, Nov.12, marks four weeks post operative for me. I add this tag because, in my mind, the cancer process started Aug. 30th...D-Day.  The day my diagnosis was delivered was when my "process" began.  It isn't all about the physical effects of cancer. In fact, for me, most of the adjustments are emotional and spiritual.  We all die.  Some early in life and some in old age.  Sometimes death comes slowly.  Sometimes it happens abruptly.  But...we all die.  If it happened now, for me, I have some peace with things.  My focus has become the use of time I'm fortunate to have...now.  My diagnosis has caused me to ponder more.  It isn't just the imminent struggle or needs of the day.  It's more...what do I do with my gifts, my heart, my moments from here on.  Have I acheived what I was created to do.
    Each week has provided improvements. Physically I'm getting stronger and experiencing less fatigue.  I do enjoy my afternoon naps, but I am less dependent on them.  If my schedule doesn't allow for it, I don't have to rest to make it through the day.  I may go to bed early that night, but I don't "crash and burn" mid-day.  The daVinci method sort of creates a skewed expectation that less trauma has occurred during surgery. And, indeed, at the incision point it is much less invasive.  Internally, though, the same organs, vessels, and tissues are still removed and require considerable recuperation.  When they say recovery takes four to six weeks, they are pretty accurate.  I have been fairly active for a couple weeks, but no lifting.  I run errands, I drive back and forth to town, I do light duty house chores such as dishes and cooking, but no heavy work.  I can sense the damage it would cause if I did too much, and I definitely don't want to repeat this process.  I started doing some excercises... push ups, leg lifts, and stretching, after three weeks, but nothing more.  Oh yeah, Kegel Exercises as well.  They started before the surgery and resumed as soon as the catheter was removed.  They are VERY important, and necessary...if you are interested in not wetting your pants or wearing "diapers" the rest of your life.  Be very serious about these efforts and your quality of life will be measurably better.
    As for my emotional health,well...that has required a different approach.  First, as I have stated before,  I lean markedly on the side of anxiety.  I fret.  I worry.  I work hard to preempt events that I think are coming.  In other words, I stress over things that haven't happened yet. You can imagine how this trait of mine went into overdrive when I received my diagnosis.  As I moved deeper into the process I found two areas that can be labeled as "controllable".  One is the ability to rework my diet and exercise, and the other is the ability to focus on my "internal" or mental processes.  There is no way to eliminate cancer from my body...if in fact it was not fully removed through surgery.  Eliminated by me, I mean. Only time can reveal the truth here.  I can "train" myself to focus on the things I can control.  Things that really do matter.  I can improve my odds considerably by consuming the healthiest possible diet.  Modern science has a tremendous amount of data here that is proven to make a difference not only in the prevention of future disease but in curing the current ailments that we may have.  I can improve the fitness level I have and that not only improves the odds for good future health but greatly improves the quality of life I experience now.  Finally, and maybe most importantly, I can build hope on all the small victories I encounter along the way.  My surgery and subsequent pathology reports, my overall improved feelings from diet and exercise, the care, love, and support of family and friends.  All these "victories" as I call them give me a feeling of lightness.  I laugh a lot,  my mood is brighter, and I allow myself to ponder the future.  I am considering, after 35 years, of making a career change.   All things we all do when we feel hope.  Hope is the key, not just to cancer patients, but to all of life.  It is what gets us out of bed in the morning, it keeps us from giving up when life gets "dark", and it assists our amnesia when we need to forget a past event that would otherwise anchor us with sadness.  I don't speak here of avoiding loss.  I speak here of grieving and then moving forward.  Hope Saves Our Life and it is important to develop and safeguard the events that feed and nurture it.  Maybe the way each of us accomplishes this is different, maybe the sources of our encouragement and strength vary, but knowing the importance of protecting what is most valuable to us is the key.  The old you, the one that existed before cancer, is gone.  We are no longer  the person who "has not had cancer".  You are now the person battling through and beyond cancer, with a new way of seeing and approaching life.  Things are different now...for the most part,  profoundly better.
    Spiritually...where to begin.  Honestly I can not imagine navigating this process without the presence of God journeying with me.  I don't want to explore too much here for a couple of reasons.  One is because I respect the beliefs and efforts of each individual, and the other is the awareness that we all walk our own path and encounter our creation at different levels.  I don't want to inject my experience of faith, unless I am asked to specifically, so as not to deny or minimize the experiences of others.  Don't get me wrong, there is no other subject I enjoy more...just not here.  Have your people call my people and we'll "make it happen".  I only want to "highlight" the importance of staying connected to, and investing in, the source of our creation.  You need to know you are never alone.
    I look forward to the next few weeks.  That wonderful holiday of gratias is coming...and I have so much I am thankful for.  This year I will not just "give thanks"...I will celebrate it.  I will enjoy all my family and I will honor those who are not here anymore.  Honor them for their contribution to making me who I am.  When I thank God, this year, for my abundance of blessings, I will have a keen awareness of these gifts and what they mean to me.  And...I will use all this knowledge to reinforce my feelings of HOPE.  I am anxious to undergo my first PSA test Dec.4th.  I will probably be just as anxious to do the subsequent tests every 3 months thereafter, but this will not affect my life in between.  Please reach out to those you encounter in your life, who may need your gifts.  You never know when that person in need may be you... Love to All
   

The Road Home- Part One

    Where to start...There's so much to say right now I may have to break it up into a couple posts. I'm not in the mood to condense anything right now, and,  I want every thought and feeling to have a "platform". I apologize in advance if I ramble a bit.  I will work to avoid this, as I get irritated whenever I have to work too hard to follow a certain train of thought.  I lose interest.  I don't want that to happen here because, after all,  I want all this to help others...
    Beyond all things, I thank God.  Not for healing (for that is still to be determined), but for the LOVE and COMFORT shown to me through all my friends, and family, who call to see how I am doing, who visit me to cheer me up, who bring us food to lighten our load, who pray for me (constantly) to be healed, who send notes of love and encouragement ... all the ways LOVE reveals itself in our life.  It is humbling, it's overwhelming, it's essential for health.  When God promised to always be with us, this is what He meant.  The extent to which we care and provide for others reflects the level to which we open ourselves to the movements of HIS Holy Spirit...within us all.  So...Thank you.  For being God for me when I needed you most.
    So, the surgery.  On Monday, I went in for my MRI which, while possibly showing the cancer had "breached" the capsule, it looked fairly contained to the prostatic general area and was a fairly routine
"ectomy"(removal) case.  But,when it comes to cancer, I've found doctors and health care providers to be deliberately vague. They rarely use the word "cure", as a verb, it's always indirectly referred to.  Such as, they will never say " This or that treatment will cure you".  They will only say " This or that treatment provides the best option to achieve the highest possibility of cure to reach your potential life expectancy".  I don't blame them, I know why this is, but being on the patient side of things, the "grey cloud" in the room is the absence of language to assuage the fears you have about your disease.  All you want is a long healthy life and the path to achieve it.  If "A" then "B".  People I spoke with before the surgery kept saying "It will be good to get this behind you".  While I knew it would be good to get the surgery behind me, I also knew the "cure" was a different matter completely.  The cure, or more accurately, the confirmation of a cure, will only reveal itself after a lengthy period of time and many small steps in the process.  All cancer is stubborn, determined, and very difficult to predict in it's "next move".  I think that my urologist privately was expecting my follow-up care to include radiation or chemotherapy.  He expressed, in some very subtle ways, his intuition that the cancer had become systemic and would need to tract it down and attack it there.  The first "step" was to remove the organ.  I really do appreciate his consultation protocol, I have enough "anxiety" genes as it is, but I knew the realities.  Part of me wanted to just keep driving west when I got to Grand Junction, head to the Puget Sound, rent a boat and motor out to where we buried my dad, and consult with him.  What would his take be on all this? You can read all there is to read about cancer and the various treatments for it.  It won't matter.  Being on this side of the equation prevents you from being objective.
    So we wandered about the hospital for a while , waiting for the surgery check-in.  My brother and friend, Bob Cook, came over from Denver to be with Sheila and I, and we strolled around St. Mary's hospital... talking, drinking coffee (them, not me), and generally calming ourselves.  Around 11:15 or so,  they ushered me into the pre-op area and got the ball rolling.  Over the next 1 1/2hrs - 2 hrs, a couple different nurses, my urologist, and the anesthesiologist came by to talk about things.  My doctor, Caleb Stepan, explained the MRI results and what his final approach would be.  That's almost all I remember except rolling into the OR and getting a quick glimpse of the "robot" that would soon be delicately removing some of my original "factory equipment".  He was "resting" when I saw him, covered with little socks on his hands.  The next thing I knew it was almost 8 pm, my back was killing me, and I couldn't keep my eye lids open.  Thanks to a little morphine I got some decent rest that night and woke up early the next day.
    Tuesday was a so-so day. They removed a drainage tube in my abdomen around 7:30am.  My doctor came by around 8 and explained the procedure, what they found, the timeline for biopsy results,  and calmly expressed his optimism.  "In a few days we'll have the pathology report on the gland and lymph nodes and that will tell us a lot".  You have to look hard there, but hidden in his comments was a little more optimism.  So...Tuesday afternoon I was discharged to my hotel room.  Because we have a long drive home they wanted me close, in case a complication arose, and I opted for the hotel.  After picking up pain meds and something to eat, we retired to the hotel and settled in for the night.  Wednesday morning we got going around noon and started a slow but deliberate drive home, stopping a couple times to walk around. 
    Wednesday night and Thursday was a little rough .  Maybe I over did it, but for sure I didn't get in "front" of the pain, as they say, and I didn't sleep very well.  Most of the day was trying to manage the abdominal pain, gas mostly, and trying to nap. Thursday afternoon my doctor called with the results of the pathology tests.  I could sense the upbeat tone in his voice as we discussed how I was feeling and my need to pay closer attention to any pain I felt.  We also discussed some ideas about jump starting some bowel activity (no details here), and what to expect going forward.  Then he started with "I just got the pathology results" and I caught my breath for a brief second, "and it all looks good". Wait, what?  "The cancer WAS contained in the prostate, there was no evidence of cancer in any of the lymph nodes or seminal vesicles, so...there's a good probability the cancer will be treated with surgery alone".  He had me at "looks good".  This phone call was the one I awaited since surgery, but I wasn't completely sure I wanted to receive.  The last time I was in this situation, Aug. 30th, the news of my initial biopsy results was not so good.  It came up as a  "blocked" call and I instantly knew who it was.  I stared at the phone for a couple rings before I answered it.  So...slowly I am building some foundation of real hope.  I will have to wait until Dec. 4th to see if I have any PSA still in my body.  It should be 0%.  If there is some reading above that then it means some "micro" tumors exist and will have to be treated another way.
     Since Friday I have slowly weaned myself off of the pain meds and now only take them at night to sleep well.  Tomorrow I go to Grand Junction for a follow-up visit...and to have the catheter removed.  Thanks Be To GOD. 
    So...I have exhausted my storage of energy for today and need to close.  I am beginning to nod off over the computer.  Please know how much I  LOVE all of you back.  Pray for each other constantly, whether you think someone may need it or not.  You just don't know...

"Wondering Where the Lions Are"

"Sun's up..mmm----mmm, looks okay
And the world survives into another day.
And I'm thinking about eternity...
Some kind of ectasy has a hold..on..me.

Had another dream about lions at the door
But they weren't as frightening as they were before
And I'm thinkin' about eternity......"  Bruce Cockburn "Wondering Where the Lions Are

    I just recieved one more gift I had to share.  At 3:30 this morning I awoke with a wonderful awareness that in a book quote, certainly a bible verse, song lyric, a conversation with a friend, sun rise or down...as the Jesuits say "God Is In ALL Things".  It's how comfort and peace are distributed.  An intimate memory of someone, a smile at the right time, a compliment.  Even "bad" things that give us perspective, which is a wonderful (and valuable) thing.  Divine presence.  His Creation.
     I guess I've always known that His love was shown thru the efforts of His people...kindness, acts of charity, forgiveness...but the more subtle feelings of peace and comfort seemed to just appear.  Feelings of joy and a sense of beauty seemed to find their way into my mind, and heart, as "by-products". 
    This morning I realized they are gifts, just as friendship and family are gifts, and that...it's all very deliberate and to the point...when they are most needed.  Thankyou Lord for THIS day....   

"A Lifeline Please"

   ....Well, here we go. I wasn't going to write this one.  I was going to just fast forward to recovery and move on with things.  I mean that's where I want my energies to go, but...there's more going on here.  I wanted this blog to help others, so I have to write this issue.  When you approach an event like this so much, mentally, is going on.  It's unavoidable.  I have been putting in "overtime hours" trying to center myself...paint some perspective on this next step in the process.  And by and large, I have achieved this goal...possibly to the dismay of my family.  I'm just not all "here". My thoughts have gone somewhere else that prepares me for the surgery, recovery, and beyond...you know..the pain, the "side affects", the recovery, the CURE.  Especially the closer my surgery gets.  I tried to keep my thoughts from drifting in this "current", but I just couldn't.  I tried to "eddy out" and be completely present to my "life" but it just wasn't happening for me.  I just can't muster any desire to focus.  It's not all bad, but it's tough on the people in my life who need me to decide some things.  They'll just have to wait.  Sorry.
    I wouldn't say that fear is what I am feeling.  I am a bit of an "anxiety" freak.  I worry about my projects, I worry about my kids, my finances...you name it.  Even when there's nothing to fret over, I fret anyway.  I used to call it being "preemptive", but realistically...it's just worrying.  It's also not healthy.  I have always blamed it on caring too much about things, as if I cared more than everyone else.  Not true.  I'm a worry wart.  I know this surgery will come with some pain, but that will be managed by my doctors.  I know it's going to be expensive, but that too will be managed.  It always is.  I worry about work, but it always comes.  The rehab will be long, it will be inconvenient, and, I believe successful.  The worry comes in at the "cure".  Maybe ten years in the making.  But the reality is...the cure is HIS part in the process.  I can do my physical therapy, I can rework my diet, I can continue to fine tune my spirituality, I can do many things to help myself and the odds, but... the cure belongs to a higher "pay grade".  I know this, but still...I...worry.  Not as much as before, but it's still there.  Slowly I am letting go, but that process is ongoing.  What I AM doing is working hard not to miss my "lessons".  I feel like I am in graduate school and this learning has a whole new purpose to it.  The clarity has startled me at times.  I don't waste thought on petty things.  I don't want to hear or express needless words.  They use up time I want to preserve.  The future has been painted with a whole different pallet of colors, some I have never "seen" or experienced before.  As Forrest Gump would say, "That's a good thing".  I will speak more of these things later, but for now I am going to try and experience sleep.  It has not been easy to come by.  The past week has produced, maybe, three hours of fractured sleep a night.  I'm counting on alittle rest the next couple days...
    Before I settle in tonight I do want to share the two primary "lessons" I have come to know above and beyond all others...Love and a Grateful Heart. There are no words to express the feelings I have for all my family and friends, and the sweet Love they've shown me.  My beautiful family who have "rallied" around me , my incredible friends who have called, regularly, to check up on me, and all who have shown support on the internet and beyond.  Cards, letters, thoughts, and most importantly...prayers.  All these things and more give me just a "glimpse" of the love God has for us.  So tangible a love, I can "touch it".  And it feels "good".  Real "good".  Please know that nothing is lost in this process, I see it all, and I appreciate it all.  I believe the word I seek is Agape.  Thank you all for your help and strength.  See you in a couple days.  I Love You All... MA

The " Garden "

    I don't know how to start this entry.  I'm sure virtually everyone, without living parents, facing  surgery for cancer drifts toward that sad place of feeling an "absolute" disconnect from the very origin of their life. I have been visiting that place alot the last few weeks.   I want to talk with my parents.  I want them to say " it's going to be alright".  I want to hear my Mom's cute laughter as I tell her some funny story about my kids. She would have cried on the phone as we discussed things, quickly gathering herself, for my sake, and then share her beautiful "cackle" , as my oldest sister would say, as we clawed around for anything funny to make each other feel good. Every once in a while I hear my Dad "whistling" under his breath as he concentrates on a task at hand.  Sometimes I'm the one doing the whistling...  I know if he were alive he would have received the news of my illness with a pragmatic "schedule" of the events that lay ahead, a few anecdotes of his experience, and a couple jokes thrown in for "lightness", and an "I love you son" sprinkled at the end.  I also know that as soon as he hung up he would have bawled his eyes out.  He loved his son, you see.
    I have my memories, I even have some physical mementos...but my emotional umbilical cord has been cut.  My sweet mother died four years ago after suffering a series of strokes caused by a brain tumor, my Dad a year later (in his sleep) from heart failure.  I had gone to see my Mom a couple months before, visiting her in a nursing home in Sandpoint.  She no longer was able to move , speak, or care for herself in any way.  My sisters, both of whom lived nearby, kept a constant vigil with her from the time of her first stroke in December to her passing in May. Everyone should be so blessed to have two daughters such as this.  I can only guess about the level of comfort my Mom must have felt with their presence.  During my visit, I would look her in the eye and we would smile at each other. I really think she was looking at an ornery five year old wearing everyone out with his energy and mischief. I held her hand and played guitar for her, and I told her when I left that it was alright for her to let go...we would be okay.  I kissed her and told her "I love you so much".  My Dad was not so fortunate.  He was alone.  He was one of those people, about whom, it was easy to forget that he would die some day.  At his memorial, most people were unaware that he was almost eighty four... he looked ten years younger and acted like he was still in high school.  I had sent him a DVD of our childhood 8mm movies for Father's Day and when I called him he was watching it with a friend, I'm sure narrating it scene by scene.  My last words to him... forever... were "I love you".  The next day, about 1pm, he was found in bed after laying down for a nap.  I wasn't ready.  I didn't see my Mom very often.  She spent Thanksgiving with us a year or so before her illness, but visits had been way too scarce.  Just too many miles and too little money...  When I sat with her I could hear her struggle for each breath, aware of those in the room and her circumstances, but present to us.   She loved her kids so much.  And...just like that... both my parents were gone, and with them any link to the "genesis" of my life.  Now, as I reflect on my own mortality, I can't discuss it with the very people who gave me the "gift"...the one I now fight to save.
   This moment of isolation, almost a "Gethsemane" moment, is felt by many people.  When we approach the last third of our lives, a lot of us will lose our parents and...face health issues without them.  My moment in this realization was intense, it was lonely, and it was scary.  It was also brief.  I was quickly awakened to the awareness that many people around me... most importantly, people that love me, that hold me up... could give me strength to "square up" to this challenge.  My wife, my children, all my in-law family, my sisters, my friends.  The energy of their love, their prayers, "carry" me when I want to "sit down" and rest.  They know, when I don't, that to move forward you have to stay "up", you must look to the next step to avoid another pitfall.  They all know that THIS moment is the one that counts.  The ONLY one...that counts.
    So...five days to go. My diet is changing, my final preparations are beginning, and my thoughts are shifting to a post operative perspective.  It's time to adapt.  I'm sorry if I seem a bit on the dark side...it's just that "place in the journey".  More grey maybe, it's really not that dark for me, just reflective...internal.  Thank you for your prayers, loving thoughts, and support.