tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67058714259531538092024-02-18T20:58:56.372-06:00Greg's PlaceUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger369125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705871425953153809.post-42428833261748102062011-02-09T19:56:00.003-06:002011-02-09T20:04:38.486-06:00Greg's Last Sermon<p><em>This is Greg Hewlett's last sermon. He preached from John 1:1-14.</em></p><p> </p><p><strong>Word became FLESH</strong></p><p> </p><p><em>And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory.</em></p><p><em>And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory</em></p><p> </p><p>This is perhaps one of the most mysterious statements ever written.</p><p> </p><p>And the Word became flesh.</p><p> </p><p>Put simply, the God of the universe, He who created all things – trees, monkeys, blades of grass, you, me, galaxies, helium, and oxygen, carbon, life – all things. The God of all creation became flesh. </p><p> </p><p>This is what we call “the incarnation”. Incarnate – “become flesh”. Scandalous. Preposterous. Laughable. Paradoxical. Impossible. The Word became flesh.</p><a name='more'></a><p>I would like make some observations about this mysterious statement in the passage of John that Pastor Saji just read to us. I do so not as your pastor, but hopefully in a manner that in some small way does justice to the Apostle John’s words.</p><p> </p><p>I hopefully will serve as a compliment to what Saji has taught us recently about the incarnation – about how Jesus came as a fulfilled promise into a lineage of broken promises, and about how Jesus came to break the seemingly endless cycle of strength and violence and power by coming in meekness as a whole new kind of peace.</p><p> </p><p>First let us consider this word flesh. The word became flesh. Flesh is not just the material side of a human. It is not just matter. It is in the OT sense, all of the human person in creaturely existence as distinct from God.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>Joel 2 – “And it shall come to pass afterward,<br />that I will pour out my Spirit on all flesh;<br />your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,<br />your old men shall dream dreams,<br />and your young men shall see visions.</blockquote> <p></p><p>So here flesh is referring to all of the human creaturely person. So, Christ is not merely God wrapped with skin and muscles. He is the word becoming a human person.</p><p> </p><p>Now we know from other passages in Scripture that when the Word became flesh – became human – this does not include becoming sinful. In other words Jesus did nothing to displease the Father. He was not disobedient to the law of God nor did he <em>inherit</em> what we call original sin. But still, in every other sense, the Word became flesh. </p><p> </p><p>Now here where I think this gets very interesting. This means that Christ – the second person of the Trinity - took on human weakness. Human frailty. He took on human dependence. And – get this – as one theologian, Hermann Ridderbos- puts it – Jesus took on human “perishability”. Jesus was perishable. He – like you and I – had as a human <em>death</em> to look forward to. </p><p> </p><p>Jesus could and would, in his body, feel pain. He could and he would suffer. And He could and indeed would experience death. </p><p> </p><p><strong>Perishability</strong></p><p>Let us think about this idea of perishability. One could easily make the claim that persihability is one of the most central things to being human. A key thing that binds us together with all other people on the planet and in history is that we all stare death in the eyes. And, in fact, one of the unique qualities of being human, is the fact that we are aware of and consider our perishability. Animals avoid death, but we humans are able to contemplate death. </p><p> </p><p>The idea of perishability is at the center of nearly all great stories in literature. “…all our yesterdays have lighted fools; The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!</p><p> </p><p>Life's but a walking shadow.” In philosophy, too, we find persihability at the center. Albert Camus wrote that the most important question in the history of philosophy is the question of suicide – in other words, is life worth living in light of the fact that we all die anyway. Jaques Derrida, in his “politics of friendship” places death in the middle of something as innocent as friendship – and writes that at the bottom of every friendship – whether we admit it or not – is the idea that one will die and the other will survive. This all gets quite personal for me here. As one with cancer, I have in me a constant reminder nibbling at the back of my mind at every moment – you are going to die. You are perishable, Greg. But my condition is no different than any of yours – we will all die. We are all perishable. And Christ himself – the word become flesh – took on perishability.</p><p> </p><p>Now in the past 7 years, since being diagnosed with cancer, I have become rather consumed with learning what I can about death. I have read theology – across many traditions – that deals with suffering and death. I have become attracted to literature that delves deeply into suffering and death – from Weisel’s Night to Solzhenitsyn’s A Day in the Life of Ivan Desonovich. From theater to film wrestling with perishability to memoirs of those who have come eye to eye death, I have tried to learn about this mysterious thing.</p><p> </p><p>I have been simply doing what we can do with just about every other complex concept we come across. Life, or being, or time, or history. We can read up on the topic. We can do experimental tests, or do thought experiments, we can read books by people who have experienced the topic. </p><p> </p><p>With other topics, this process seems to work. You can learn about anything you want. </p><p> </p><p>But you know what I have concluded about perishability – about death – that we really don’t know anything about it. It is a mystery. And ultimately this is because there is no one with whom we can consult that has experienced it. </p><p> </p><p>I have never been to Haiti, and probably never will. But I can read books about it, I can look at images taken by photo-journalists. I can talk to people who have traveled there. I can email my friend Ben who lives right there now and can ask him whatever I want about Haiti and he can probably shed some light on it. </p><p> </p><p>But death is utterly different from every other idea we come across. It is so dark and unknowable. It is utterly mysterious.</p><p><strong> </strong></p><p><strong>Modern approaches to Perishability</strong></p><p>So what do we do with this topic of death? Of perishability? As modern people, let me propose that there are two things we do with it. The first one is rather simple - we avoid thinking about it. We celebrate youth – the human state where we are far from death. We fill our lives with as many distractions as possible that would in no way remind us about our death. We sanitize hospitals and funeral homes and put people approaching death away in nursing homes or somewhere. To be honest with you, I don’t know what we do with death, but we’ve done such a good job of avoiding it that aside from having cancer, and having my grandparents die, I haven’t really noticed it.</p><p> </p><p>Now the second thing we as moderns do – if we get so far as to admit our perishability - is that we “reconcile” ourselves to it. Wisdom, you will hear, is “coming to terms” with you own death. It is natural, we convince ourselves. Part of the cycle of life. </p><p> </p><p>Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in her 1969 book, On Death and Dying, writes famously of five stages that we go through as we grieve about our perishability. And everyone, it seems, recognizes that this is the proper steps that we take – or that we help others take – in this process. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally – what <> acceptance. That last stage – and ultimately the best attitude we can have towards death is to accept it. That is the best we can do. These stages were satirized in an episode of the Simpsons – as homer concluded in the fifth stage, “Well, we all gotta die sometime.” Since we’re not at Crosspointe where we can show the video, I’ll put up the Youtube clip up on our Facebook page. Anyway, this idea of “accepting” death, of “reconciling to death”, is actually a modern-era idea. It’s the best we have come up with except of course avoiding it.</p><p> </p><p>I find interesting that modern age criticisms of Christianity, such as those of Marx and Freud, like to say that Christianity – and religion in general – is an opiate is a psychological attempt to reconciling ourselves with the necessity of death. That religion allows us to sort of skip over death and look forward to this made up concept of an afterlife. One way in which these criticisms miss the mark is that classic Christianity, and even ancient religions in general – look no further than the OT, do not focus on heaven or an afterlife, and does not find comfort in an afterlife. Ancient religions for the most part have a murky view of the afterlife and are focused on the reality and enemy nature of death. And Christianity focuses not on heaven, it focuses not on coming to terms with death that is somehow ok, but on the conquering of death as an enemy at the resurrection of Jesus.</p><p> </p><p>Christianity does not teach us to “come to terms with” our death. Death is not a natural thing to be reconciled with. Death is the enemy. Death must be conquered. </p><p> </p><p>David Bentley Hart, a favorite writer of both Pastor Saji and mine, puts it this way. “The horizon of human consciousness is an openness to an indefinite future. We aim naturally into the future. We have projects, plan, expectations, ambitions, ideas, grand desires, imagination about the future.” Therefore, he continues, “Every death is an abrupt conclusion to the story whose potential was not necessarily limited except by accidental physical limitations we find that come up against us.” Death, then, is a great enemy of all that there is to being human.</p><p> </p><p>This is implied in our passage here when we read that “in Him” – that is in the Word-become-Flesh – “In Him was life and the life was the light of men.” Or as Jesus put it later in the Gospel of John, “I am the way the truth and the Life.” The theologian Alexander Schmemann puts it this way, “Only if Christ is Life is <em>death</em> what Christianity proclaims it to be, namely the enemy to be destroyed and not a ‘mystery’ to be explained.” (Schemann, FTLOTW, 99-100)</p><p> </p><p>Or as the apostle Paul wrote, “the last enemy to be destroyed is death.”</p><p> </p><p><strong>Been there, done that – and conquered</strong></p><p>So death is a great mystery. And beyond that, it is our great enemy. And we have no tools as moderns to deal with it, except to avoid it, or “come to terms with it.”</p><p> </p><p>This is where this all important phrase before us comes into play - The Word became flesh. God became man. And because Jesus was human – because he was weak and could and did suffer - because he could and did die -and most importantly, because God raised him again from the dead, we now have someone who has indeed been there and done that. Because God became flesh – because the Word became perishable - <em>death is no longer a mystery</em>. Jesus himself experienced it. And God raised him from the dead. If you want to know what you need to about death, consult Jesus, if you will. Jesus went there. And he survived the experience. He could explain the mystery of death and indeed he did so to his followers and they in turn have borne witness to us in the pages of the New Testament. </p><p> </p><p>But Jesus wasn’t just someone who experienced death and can tell us about it. He isn’t just a super-spiritual Neil Armstrong who was a pioneer who can report back what he learned about the unknowable. No he is far more than that. <em>Jesus actually conquered death. </em> Death is no longer the enemy of mankind. Not only is death now a knowable mystery, but it is a conquered enemy. It is defeated.</p><p> </p><p>As the Apostle Paul puts it in his first letter to the Corinthian church, “death is swallowed up in victory.” And then, almost mockingly as a sort of cosmic trash talk, he writes “O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” </p><p> </p><p><strong> </strong></p><p><strong>So what</strong></p><p>So what do we have so far? The Word became flesh, became human, became perishable. And in this, death is no longer a mystery and is conquered as an enemy. </p><p> </p><p>So I will conclude my observations here by considering the question “so where does that leave us?” What is our response to this good news. What is our response to the incarnation? Allow me this morning to commend to you two good responses, surely among many, but at least two responses that I believe Scripture urges you should consider making.</p><p> </p><p>The first has to do with your personal response to this word-become-flesh. In our passage, we read that<strong> </strong>He was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not know him. <strong> </strong>He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him. <strong> </strong>But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God.</p><p> </p><p>In short, this passage calls us to receive Jesus and to believe in his name. Some people of the world will recognize the word-become-flesh and some will not. Some will receive and believe him, Some will follow him, and some will not. You have the witness here before you of one human in history who has been there and done that. You have one person who has conquered death. I would recommend that you listen to this person, and that you follow him. Or as John here puts it, that you “receive him” and “believe in his name,” even while there may be many who do not.</p><p> </p><p>A second good response to this passage is that we as a church, should bear witness to the persihability of the Word-become-flesh. We should bear witness to the death – and to the resurrection of – the word-become-flesh. And this is what we try to do in our worship here at St. Thomas the Doubter Church. </p><p> </p><p>For one example, you will notice that at St. Thomas, we always respond to the reading and preaching of the Word by confessing together the Nicene Creed. A Christian creed is not so much a set of doctrinal beliefs or ideas as it is a witness to an account of an amazing thing that happened. The gospel itself is not so much a philosophy or even a formula for being saved, as it is a declaration about history, as Paul wrote “that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures, <strong> </strong>that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the Scriptures, <strong> </strong>and that he appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve”, and so on” Or, as the Apostle’s Creed puts it, that Jesus “was conceived by the Holy Ghost, Born of the Virgin Mary, Suffered under Pontius Pilate, Was crucified, dead, and buried: He descended into hell; The third day he rose again from the dead; He ascended into heaven, ” and so on. In our creed we are declaring that the word became flesh. That in Jesus the world has beheld the glory of God. And that we identifying ourselves as those who have received him and believed in his name.</p><p> </p><p>Also, the Lord’s Table, which we observe every Sunday, is a declaration of the truth that Jesus became incarnate – that he became flesh. Pastor Saji always quotes this passage from the NT – “For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord's death until he comes.” You will notice also that Pastor Saji physically declares this by breaking the bread and pouring out the wine. This is Jesus in his perishability, experiencing the ultimate in being human – dying. And as a feast that we share together, we are celebrating the resurrection. This feast is a picture of that time when we will all be resurrected enjoying together nothing less than a victory feast – the victory over the last enemy - death.</p><p><strong> </strong></p><p>The Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory.</p><script type="text/javascript"> var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-2825072-2']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })();</script>Rollinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03148286337452078849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705871425953153809.post-47098254896161703342011-01-31T14:04:00.003-06:002011-01-31T14:19:14.000-06:00Tribute to GregFor those who have not seen it, or would like to see it again, here is the tribute video of Greg put together for the memorial service.<br /><br /><object style="height: 390px; width: 640px;"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/k09mJgBJDZU?version=3"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/k09mJgBJDZU?version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="640" height="390"></embed></object><br /><br /><script type="text/javascript">var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-2825072-2']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })();</script>Rollinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02989673526659224196noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705871425953153809.post-74946838024231569132011-01-19T09:14:00.003-06:002011-01-20T14:42:07.710-06:00Thoughts on GregPlease feel free to share your thoughts on Greg's life, and his impact on your life, in the comments section of this post. We will gather them and make them available to the family later this week.<script type="text/javascript">var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-2825072-2']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })();</script>Rollinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02989673526659224196noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705871425953153809.post-88345843028722956822011-01-19T09:00:00.005-06:002011-01-21T09:44:25.188-06:00Memorial Funds for Greg HewlettThe following memorial funds have been set up for donations in memory of Greg, for anyone wishing to contribute:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.childrensartproject.org/">MD Anderson Children's Art Project</a> - You can donate by calling 800-231-1580, or o<span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:10pt;color:black;" ></span>nline using <a href="https://www.childrensartproject.org/forms.php?ourdata=forms_donate&ourdataext=php">this form</a>, including Greg's name in the field titled "Donation in Memory Of". More ways to donate are listed <a href="http://www.childrensart.org/default.php?ourdata=donations">here</a>, and you can specify that it is in memory of Greg when you call, fax, or mail. For more information on memorial funds, call 713-792-3450 or 1-800-525-5841.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.worldvision.org/">World Vision</a> - Donations can be made by calling 1-888-511-6443. Please be sure to mention that your donation is in memory of Greg Hewlett or give them Source Code "105429402".<br /><script type="text/javascript">var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-2825072-2']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })();</script>Rollinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02989673526659224196noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705871425953153809.post-63248985013049265822011-01-17T08:23:00.004-06:002011-01-19T09:17:40.152-06:00Greg has gone to be with his LordIt is with sadness that I report that Greg passed away about 6:15 am on Monday, January 17, 2011. His mother was at his side, and his last hours were peaceful and he did not appear to be suffering. More details will be posted here soon.<br /><br />I apologize to people who normally receive the email updates from this site, I do not have the ability to send an update at this time. Feel free to spread the word to those you know who knew Greg.<br /><script type="text/javascript">var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-2825072-2']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })();</script>Rollinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03148286337452078849noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705871425953153809.post-78479734010679606442010-11-29T21:56:00.019-06:002010-12-01T16:05:56.739-06:00Chemo tomorrow amidst some new evidence of cancer progression<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjDN-5jzpQrVmHWY2u5O5ef5x85xTKflE6kWI2z_2iRred1nFZDrRCFI_1ZgZ1wthcAxRKX0c4Ya6KMxW_Ccvl0MOIrul-V_sO2_NeXr-fM0BtZYvtfxQecjBAon5UlyEG38qaSydRXcf4/s1600/OnTheWayToRadiation.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjDN-5jzpQrVmHWY2u5O5ef5x85xTKflE6kWI2z_2iRred1nFZDrRCFI_1ZgZ1wthcAxRKX0c4Ya6KMxW_Ccvl0MOIrul-V_sO2_NeXr-fM0BtZYvtfxQecjBAon5UlyEG38qaSydRXcf4/s200/OnTheWayToRadiation.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>When I consider my situation, I find it interesting to have such a sizable collection of friends who care about my situation. On one hand, I am bewildered, and on the other hand feel simply fortunate. I'd love to be able to deliver some encouraging words, but all I seem to have recently is disheartening news about which I can simply make observations.<script type="text/javascript">
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</div><div>This week, I had a full-torso CT scan. The purpose for this was to serve as the baseline against which we will measure the effectiveness of the upcoming chemotherapy. Dr. Modi called me in to discuss a problematic new finding on the scan - a small pocket of loose air in my chest - evidence of a hole in my lung ("pneumo-thorax"). That turned out to be only part of the story, as he really wanted to meet with me face-to-face to discuss the other things revealed by the scan. He's a kind guy. The disease is progressing, as we knew, but in places we had not known. I now know about two tumors in my spleen and one on my front right belly. I can feel the latter with my finger, now that he pointed it out to me. Yuck. This is the first time the abdomen scan has shown any cancer since the large tumors were removed surgically in 2003. Also, there is a new nodule in my left lung, as well as some fluid build-up around my lung - "Probably malignant fluid," he said. These places we add to the other evidence of disease from last month - multiple right lung nodules, an elbow tumor, and a suspicious bump on the back of my head. I haven't had any chemo since the spring, so the cancer has been enjoying itself. </div><div><br />
</div><div>It turns out that the plan remains the same - to begin chemotherapy. Only there is all the more confidence this is the right plan. I will be taking a combination of chemotherapy drugs called "XELOX + Avastin". It is the most toxic combination of the various chemo regimens I have had, and is nearly the same as what I took for twelve rounds in 2005. The hope is that this regimen still has some oomph left in it. We'll do three rounds over ten weeks then see how it's working. This will be my 95th through 97th round of chemo since 2003, but who's counting. </div><div><br />
</div><div>With the various cancer-related issues brewing, the two wildcards are the fluid around the heart, which landed me in the hospital last month, and the new lung hole. The heart fluid, remarkably, is nearly gone. The lung hole needs to be corrected, and may do so on its own. One theory for how it got there is that some lung tissue was weakened by this summer's radiation and then I "coughed a hole" in it last week. If it heals on its own, that would be wonderful. If it needs some sort of corrective procedure, it will cause big delays in treating the cancer.</div><div><br />
</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZT3trDS52nfDmrJhn4SeDLHrvc4bt6GrzByeyg79Br2D0tfQ_5z3AdR81ulGUtNT6VyUIxLMTuPihiWSwtF8pTcO4KQdZmDO3WaN2Fq_wBNEXSxpLAv2F_SkVNBDjy3hSSweoiR0wEn9/s1600/Kids+and+Star.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZT3trDS52nfDmrJhn4SeDLHrvc4bt6GrzByeyg79Br2D0tfQ_5z3AdR81ulGUtNT6VyUIxLMTuPihiWSwtF8pTcO4KQdZmDO3WaN2Fq_wBNEXSxpLAv2F_SkVNBDjy3hSSweoiR0wEn9/s200/Kids+and+Star.jpg" width="133" /></a>Yesterday, I invited my church, <a href="http://www.thomasthedoubter.com/">St. Thomas the Doubter</a>, over to my apartment to celebrate our first five members - of which one is me. Don't get any grand party images here - it is a baby church, with a two to three dozen people attending. So basically, I had a party to honor myself. I also had them rearrange my furniture to be sick-with-chemo friendly, and set up my tree, too. This is the kind of thing you get away with when you have cancer. In the pic, you'll see I hung a Moravian star on the balcony. This brings back memories of living in Philadelphia, where it is popular. Also memories of putting one up with my sister's family on their porch in St. Louis. <br />
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All of these medical developments leave me feeling quite empty. Joys in life are absurd mixed with CT scans and chemotherapy. But I'm ok with that. What else is there to do but simply press and enjoy each day - each gift. Love and live as much as I can. Not much has not really changed in my strategy over the past seven years. And, I think, should not change should I live for another seven days or seven years.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Yes, I'm in some pain, but it's not too bad with my pills. My breathing is short, but not alarmingly. Tomorrow morning is the IV infusion of part of the chemotherapy. Then fourteen days of pills. Here we go. </div><div><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705871425953153809.post-53140092780916957442010-11-11T23:50:00.003-06:002010-11-11T23:53:21.851-06:00Fluid nearly gone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8H4z8iLsg8tABvSLpwMjrCc5ou8efoxrszydsx8wXdWablNOfqbE31IP7xL4zy_ffcTIMrf7qUaAQBF6TlbpUVXrQ-t2vqPHDCXVfdkq9EnqnksmD7TdMTGk4Mw51s9QLgcF7CqlFdZuN/s1600/GoingToRadiation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8H4z8iLsg8tABvSLpwMjrCc5ou8efoxrszydsx8wXdWablNOfqbE31IP7xL4zy_ffcTIMrf7qUaAQBF6TlbpUVXrQ-t2vqPHDCXVfdkq9EnqnksmD7TdMTGk4Mw51s9QLgcF7CqlFdZuN/s200/GoingToRadiation.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Went to my cardiologist, Dr. Jain, today. An echo-cardiogram showed that the fluid around heart that landed me in the hospital is "nearly gone." Really? No reasons, explanations, how it got there or why it's gone. Just be glad, I guess. She is going to have me taper off the steroids now. And she does want me back next week for a "nuclear stress test" due to some continued chest pains I get now and again. "That's it, then? You fixed it?" "We'll keep an eye on it," she replied.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>Tuesday is the big strategy meeting with my oncologist, Dr. Modi. We'll set up the plan with decisions about what's next, what chemotherapy to take, whether to pursue the head growth, whether to do trials, here or Houston, etc.</div><div><br />
</div><div>As for the elbow radiation - 7 treatments down, 6 to go. No effects yet. Hand still numb and weak. Oh how I'd love to play that guitar hanging on the wall.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705871425953153809.post-86360914698631091912010-11-03T23:21:00.014-05:002010-11-04T09:32:17.664-05:00Weather update<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghksn6N0ZpNk9PDiN9_RWB1msfMpuCIRtuk37tDOyZiq1lZjyzMTf2Pobeq5vC6hJALz4wk1jO3nFcUZP7GxyjUEWA7baTla1yzNcDj_4ai7iWQiJz1zQSgnQAPRe-1fPO89t5H3rdakSw/s1600/withmurrays2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghksn6N0ZpNk9PDiN9_RWB1msfMpuCIRtuk37tDOyZiq1lZjyzMTf2Pobeq5vC6hJALz4wk1jO3nFcUZP7GxyjUEWA7baTla1yzNcDj_4ai7iWQiJz1zQSgnQAPRe-1fPO89t5H3rdakSw/s200/withmurrays2.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>I've been taking cover a bit, trying to weather the tempest of symptoms and facts and experts and results and thoughts and emotions. Thunderstorms usually present themselves more violently than they turn out. The rain is coming down now, but I feel I can collect my thoughts enough to attempt to update everyone on what has been happening.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>I'll try to approach this anatomically, by part of the body, rather than chronologically or philosophically or for entertainment value.</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit3du7XhwzUH8UARg2UclzOdu-a5Y5ecsmyWJRcvw23GxVcrTOot2eJiiG_CHiSdWdo1tVnkhazNi8P6bD_CnO-i-uAu-at99U5gSEzlZZqY_D7fgXgb33L_QwMlx5b7mJiPKHP_ky-Btk/s1600/chestafter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"><b><i>Lung function.</i></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"> My left lung was completely shut off by a lymph node tumor this summer. This tumor was part of the targeted area of radiation I had in June. Over the past few weeks, I am thankfully experiencing an amazing surprise - a development one pulmonologist gave me no hope for - the lung has opened up. This was followed by non-stop sometimes violent coughing for a few weeks, and now the coughing has reduced close to none. I continue to use supplemental oxygen when I sleep. It is available, too, to me upon exertion, but I rarely need it.</span></i></b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhFig0UcHI8HUpTT3SQPCW5q7cRyEId3cvnIVx9MXJSdGHeCayn_cZKXucWOMXaaAdINFJ1EhpW89w_zNvk_zP0LtPPshwvsphSsx27of604IKgd-9T3KheShhS-g6dBv8SBY8uFX1EM8f/s1600/chestafter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhFig0UcHI8HUpTT3SQPCW5q7cRyEId3cvnIVx9MXJSdGHeCayn_cZKXucWOMXaaAdINFJ1EhpW89w_zNvk_zP0LtPPshwvsphSsx27of604IKgd-9T3KheShhS-g6dBv8SBY8uFX1EM8f/s200/chestafter.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTIJUcl_025L6Ert2kGoDzgJbvho80Oz2tXjsIwNx_XtHkGJZOgZDgSk4DySFhMhmgPhDl2h9DgnzOgytwKGE9jbxWnCNOduOfuRQV_7KUffxrJyYYNoZwI8V-vh9p_zuWhvLk8GtUKHIu/s1600/chestbefore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTIJUcl_025L6Ert2kGoDzgJbvho80Oz2tXjsIwNx_XtHkGJZOgZDgSk4DySFhMhmgPhDl2h9DgnzOgytwKGE9jbxWnCNOduOfuRQV_7KUffxrJyYYNoZwI8V-vh9p_zuWhvLk8GtUKHIu/s200/chestbefore.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"><br />
</span></i></b><br />
<b><i>Heart problems</i></b>. The protective sac around my heart has fluid in it that is not supposed to be there. ("pericardial effusion", they call it) It was causing some alarming symptoms that landed me in the hospital for close observation for three nights. It seemed likely they would have to do some sort of surgical procedure to relieve the pressure, but the situation has stabilized with steroids and they sent me home. I have to take it easy and go in regularly to see the cardiologist and get an echo-cardiogram. Other than some little pangs now and then, the symptoms have not returned in the ten days since getting out. This fluid could be side effects of the radiation, in which case it may not worsen, or it could be something cancer-related, in which case it could worsen.</div><div><br />
</div><div><b><i>Lung tumors.</i></b> When they did a scan of the heart, they unfortunately discovered "multiple" new lung nodules in the area that was <i>not </i>radiated this summer. Big bummer. On the grand scale, this news outweighs all this other stuff. This necessitates some sort of systemic treatment (chemotherapy) rather than locally targeted therapy (radiation or surgery). The bag of tricks is nearly empty for this. I will likely begin such treatment in a few weeks. More on this below.</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA72qvPxF5SQlmNbkzHi1hNmGFRvm2Yqci1k5jBSyD3oNZTF3qPZoZwTOcwFTGn2DTUWfNQLtEyEbj3Ro0utMz4An_fDdLUk6d30I-jfBu9bUi65-mMW5LriUO1QX8eUrTXmsTd8DgqQQJ/s1600/radiation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA72qvPxF5SQlmNbkzHi1hNmGFRvm2Yqci1k5jBSyD3oNZTF3qPZoZwTOcwFTGn2DTUWfNQLtEyEbj3Ro0utMz4An_fDdLUk6d30I-jfBu9bUi65-mMW5LriUO1QX8eUrTXmsTd8DgqQQJ/s200/radiation.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><div><b><i>Elbow mass.</i></b> A tumor has developed adjacent to my ulner nerve (the "funny bone"). This has been growing in pain and size. From an annoyance a few months ago, to loss of strength and feeling in my hand, to throbbing pain. It threatens me daily. Ever so slowly but surely. This problem was deemed the most immediate by my doctors and straightforward in treating. I began radiation on it today. For thirteen straight weekdays, I go in for the treatment. It is like getting an xray, but for a couple minutes rather than a split second. I don't feel it, and it is supposed to cause only minimal side effects. The pain could get better in days, the hand strength in weeks (including guitar playing, which is necessary for me to endure everything else), and full healing months.</div><div><br />
</div><div><b><i>Head bump.</i></b> A tiny bump on my head has grown into a painful mass over an inch wide in just a few weeks. I was imagining the worst, so was delighted yesterday to find out the CT scan report that the problem is indeed tiny - too small, even to biopsy. There is just swelling around it. More importantly, it is entirely outside the skull and has not affected the bone at all. My precious brain remains cozy and safe. Like the elbow mass, this could be killed with radiation if it proves cancerous. But for now, I can table the issue, take some pain pills, and concentrate on other things. </div><div><br />
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<div>While that is a long list, if you ask me how I am today, I'd say good. I am in little distress and am on a plan to get the elbow pain eliminated and my hand function back. Radiation is easy stuff, so this is like another three-week break. The worse thing about it is having to deal with Central Expressway daily. My friends and family have been loving me well, and, I hope, I them. Life is becoming so precious that I don't even like to sleep anymore, lest I let any more of it slip away. </div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisVJ9iaMeBZ7Bl-zCjxXzPPdYPRkn-maKP5cUPy9-ohosAJbJtjm8OWuf5GW504LrDzjnPF4z6NBQunNrtpfj9wgFyfBO3KmPG-OCRAoH7HH_UMT64I0l2VPti02fsGCIbU6wftYKsY5Kj/s1600/sarabethgreg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisVJ9iaMeBZ7Bl-zCjxXzPPdYPRkn-maKP5cUPy9-ohosAJbJtjm8OWuf5GW504LrDzjnPF4z6NBQunNrtpfj9wgFyfBO3KmPG-OCRAoH7HH_UMT64I0l2VPti02fsGCIbU6wftYKsY5Kj/s320/sarabethgreg.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div>My in-laws, the Murrays, happened to come visit me from their home in Switzerland the week I ended up in the hospital. Christine was possibly going to come that same week, but again her circumstances kept her stuck in her own painful condition. With my hospitalization, my plans with the Murrays for the week had to be adjusted, to say the least. But the time together was more special, and dare I say, fun. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Finally, another surprise development is that my senior college roommate, Joe Martins, reconnected with me after some twenty years out of touch. We had a great time as roommates. While we drifted apart, reconnecting was one of those natural time-travel sort of deals, transporting us right back to the days wasting time in our since-demolished dorm room. Joe, it turns out, ended up an oncologist and has been helping me tremendously as I sort through all the decisions and tests between my Presbyterian-Dallas and MD Anderson-Houston medical care. He came over one evening, scoured through old medical records, and may have discovered a chemo protocol I took in '05 that may not be "used up" on me yet. Although it is the nastiest of all the treatments I've had, it provides an alternative to the purely experimental last option I had. Final decisions have not been made yet as to what chemo I will take in a few weeks, but I am thankful for my friend and this timing.<br />
<br />
A final thought comes from a <a href="http://www.amazon.com/End-Suffering-Finding-Purpose-Pain/dp/1557255636/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1288845416&sr=8-1">book</a> I recently read on suffering by poet Scott Cairns. <br />
<blockquote>The very notion of the Holy Trinity (in whose image we are made) should lead us to suspect that personhood requires relationship, that genuine personhood depends upon it... My hope for healing, therefore, lies more in my becoming more of a person, and more intimately connected to others. To succeed as we are all called to succeed, we must all come to share this hope.</blockquote></div><div><br />
</div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705871425953153809.post-70843719603171287582010-10-20T09:47:00.001-05:002010-10-20T09:47:21.595-05:00A lot of bad news to swallowDr. Modi came by at the end of his day to meet with me personally in<br>my room.  "The cancer is progressing."<p>The CT they took of my chest looking for blood clots and source of<br>chest pain revealed something we weren't looking for.  "Multiple<br>pulmonary nodules" throughout right lung.  (That's my good one.)<p>Also, the elblow biopsy results show the same cancer has spread to my<br>arm.  Very rare site for this to happen.<br>These things make them suspect the fluid around the heart is<br>cancer-related.  They won't know that for sure until surgery, which is<br>looking more likely.<br>The focus now is on relieving the heart.  I will stay here in a cardio<br>room, under monitor, waiting to see if drugs can fix the fluid.<br>Tomorrow they make the call as to whether and what kind of surgery is<br>necessary to get rid of that fluid.<p>That's all I feel like writing now.<br>I love you my friends walking with me on this path.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com47tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705871425953153809.post-10362086634430707802010-09-01T10:57:00.006-05:002010-09-01T11:15:06.153-05:00Breathing easy for a while<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I am back in Dallas resting and recovering with no treatment of any kind - the first such break in I don't know how many years.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The radiation seems to have done good work - the largest lymph node tumor, for example, reduced since the last scan from 4.4x2.5cm to 3.3x2.5cm. (My own guess based on airways symptoms is that it had actually grown bigger since the first scan before it got smaller). The question remains just how dead they are. Size is not everything. Some of you may remember a couple years ago, when these nodes were called "stable" as their size remained unchanged, but a biopsy then revealed they were 99.9% dead. ("nearly dead" - name the movie) So at this point, time will tell how dead they are.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">As for my breathing, it has improved as the left lung has indeed opened back up. This is remarkable. My pulmonologist had all but told me that it was not going to open again ever. And that is how it felt. My internal, instinctual approach to life is quite skeptical, even cynical. But I have a hard time not using the word miraculous here. I decided to take a simple step of faith to follow a procedure - I guess you could call it that - in the Bible where you go to the elders of the church for prayer when you are sick. I did that and it seemed my breathing improved almost immediately. Must be placebo or something psychological, I thought, even as I disallowed my mind to go that way. But the improved breathing continued and now has been confirmed by the tests. My lung is back in business. With breathing exercises, it is supposed to improve even more. I'm not joining any gym, but if you saw me creeping around with that cane and gasping for air, you know how much better things are now. God gave me a break this time around, and I'm going to give him thanks. I know there are no promises for health indefinitely, at least this side of heaven, but I'm going to take this one as a gift.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1825350107"><br />
</a> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dVpkiuAcWbg" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCvCPw0d5M6slrkq1D2FV3ezyX7xpblHxsoKj_Lu5TDhWKvQ0jGVKMh91XJ9OvOgudixsLwKqg0PsU4pnL6-VMREw_k09S9akFo3qE7U9-8gGExCveacRE2EGd4KF1WF9O4sUc7fr288gu/s320/CheeriosGuy.PNG" /></a></div>So both lungs are working, albeit not at full capacity as I've had surgery in the past on both of them and the radiation damaged them somewhat, as expected. (that's the trade-off with radiation) One of the tests I took at MD Anderson was a brisk six-minute walk back and forth down a hall while they watched the oxygen level in my blood. The percentage saturation hung on in the mid-90's until the final minute when it sank to 82%. This means if I exert myself, my body does not get the oxygen it needs for muscles, brain, everything. So they put me on home supplemental oxygen for use at night while I sleep. Also, I have a portable pack I may use when I feel I need it upon exertion during the day. This oxygen has helped a great deal in overall vigor. Oxygen is amazing. It's better than the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dVpkiuAcWbg" target="_blank">Cheerios in that commercial</a> that is in my head when I reach for the oxygen.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">One issue in the bigger story here is that now having used the nuclear option of radiation, I have officially used up all the FDA approved treatments for this cancer. The weapons cache is empty. If the cancer starts growing again, I'm looking at clinical trials for new chemotherapy. They have a big clinic for that at MD Anderson. Trials are just that - unproven.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Meanwhile, what do you do if you have six free weeks, with about six hours of energy a day, if you do not know if that's all the energy you'll ever be given? The first thing I'll do is pray that this will be a very long break and that the tumors will stay very dead for much longer than six weeks. Beyond that, I think it's actually a nice problem for the soul to have and good thing to consider.</div><script type="text/javascript">
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</script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705871425953153809.post-18932174383288490902010-08-15T21:01:00.006-05:002010-08-26T09:47:51.405-05:00Upcoming week of lung tests at MDACC<script type="text/javascript"> var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-2825072-2']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })();</script>My breathing has shown notable improvement. Perhaps around 25% better, by a few self-test-at-home measures. I am cautiously optimistic about what that means. Is the left lung functioning again? Maybe somewhat? We will find out soon.<div><br /></div><div>I have a big week coming at MD Anderson. With the help of a physician's assistant there, I have scheduled a slew of tests and consultations. I will meet with a fatigue clinic doctor, my oncologist, a phase-one clinic chemotherapy doctor, and a pulmonologist. I'll have x-rays, CT scans and lung function tests. Depending upon the direction of treatment - for either the cancer and/or the lung problems - I may also see a pulmonary surgeon and have a bronchoscopy and stent procedure.</div><div><br /></div><div>There are so many directions this could go. I am learning (or possibly resorting) to simply take one more step forward, pursue whatever due diligence possible, pray, and not get caught up in too many "if"'s. It's not a courage thing, or some big spiritual thing. Frankly, it's just too mentally exhausting for me right now to speculate. In the sermon on the mount, Jesus said some remarkably pragmatic words, "...tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble." I'm enjoying taking that path right now.</div><div><br /></div><div>---</div><div><br /></div><div>My cousin and her family are heavy on my heart. Her husband was in a near-fatal car accident and may be severely paralyzed. When suffering rears its ugly face, sometimes it is so painfully swift and sometimes so painfully slow. May the Lord have mercy on us all as we cry out heavenward in our frail humanity. </div><div><br /></div><div>---</div><div><br /></div><div>For those who follow twitter, I am planning on <a href="http://twitter.com/greghewlett">tweeting</a> my way through the week at MDACC. Twitter may be a fitting technology for this sort of thing, so I'm going to give her a spin.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705871425953153809.post-46154392574711019172010-07-31T13:00:00.005-05:002010-07-31T13:39:22.562-05:00A little more on the lung problem<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM2aO2zm55aQStSNXlX13Q2apjXB_mHALGW3-j9H_wJ_GPq6y5DMnkoqm2vI-dlEDyequUocNyuZaOsKda6H5uvnCPCUehHqHLTHPYzyyP5FE1dMaoQ0CX7kdXk0do_I_FBL8Uk39X23C3/s1600/Radiation+Target.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 113px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM2aO2zm55aQStSNXlX13Q2apjXB_mHALGW3-j9H_wJ_GPq6y5DMnkoqm2vI-dlEDyequUocNyuZaOsKda6H5uvnCPCUehHqHLTHPYzyyP5FE1dMaoQ0CX7kdXk0do_I_FBL8Uk39X23C3/s320/Radiation+Target.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500134642222708562" /></a>I continue to feel about the same. Happy, not sick, not in much pain, but very short on air. I bought one of those pulse oximeters to watch my oxygen level in the blood. It's hanging out in the low 90's, for those of you who know about such things. If it hangs out lower than 88, that warrants the full time lug-around-an-oxygen-tank deal. Most folks are around 98-99. Before the last couple months, mine was around 96-97, even with the two lung surgeries.<div><br /></div><div>Since my last blog article, I have had one doctor at MD Anderson and a physician's assistant both tell me in email correspondence that there may actually be something they <i>can </i>do in case this airway does not open up. I may be a candidate for a pulmonary stent, not too unlike the kind of thing they do for coronary disease. Only it goes in an airway, not an artery. The person to decide such a thing would need to be a pulmonologist or thoracic surgeon, and they would need a recent CT scan from which to make the decision. So this is speculation now. I have a CT scheduled at MDACC in a couple weeks on Aug 17 and am going to see if I can get an appointment with my thoracic surgeon that week.</div><div><br /></div><div>But in the meantime, I am hoping, praying, and -yes- expecting that the airway will open up as the radiation finishes off its work here in the next week or so. If that happens, there will be no need to even think about a stent.</div><div><br /></div><div>The picture to the right was taken about a month ago. It shows the markings for aligning the radiation machine. The radiation was focussed mostly in the center of my chest.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705871425953153809.post-26959645055021244862010-07-29T08:45:00.007-05:002010-07-31T13:18:37.954-05:00Atelectasis<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbWT4ObTPAJuJov7fMjpeWYDbI3eKe6lwHm1729f3K_i0s6UiX5sKcm8FFl1wFhTVOrG6WeHHAKXZ9SP8Cn9WxUzfGuVhn6i5p_R0hcJRHV_MAOEnlJJdmfDMqig7uhEC9Cjpk49v8L1cr/s1600/Atelectasia.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 123px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbWT4ObTPAJuJov7fMjpeWYDbI3eKe6lwHm1729f3K_i0s6UiX5sKcm8FFl1wFhTVOrG6WeHHAKXZ9SP8Cn9WxUzfGuVhn6i5p_R0hcJRHV_MAOEnlJJdmfDMqig7uhEC9Cjpk49v8L1cr/s320/Atelectasia.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499324229815837314" /></a>Turns out the reason I feel like I'm not getting any air is that, indeed, one of my lungs is not getting any air. The pulmonoligist called me yesterday afternoon after I got a chest x-ray and told me I have "atelectasis" of the left lung. My left lung is not functioning. He suspects the lymph node tumor has completed pinched off the left airway. The picture on the right is from wikipedia (it's not me), but shows atelectasis. The xray report reads "total opacification of the left hemithorax."<div><br /></div><div>My CT scan 6/24/2010 showed that at the time, my left airway was beginning to get squeezed. That was one of the big reasons for the radiation - to kill that tumor and give me breathing space. The one ray of hopeful news is that radiation has delayed effectiveness. I still have a couple weeks for the radiation to beat down that tumor and reopen the airway. But the bad news is that if it does not open up in a week or two, he thinks it never will. In that case, we find out that the cancer had too much of a head start on the radiation.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am not without hope that the airway could indeed open. There have been a few other small signs that the radiation is indeed working. And the doctors at MD Anderson did say that we needed to wait about a month after the radiation before scanning to see how it did. It has been two weeks. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's like yesterday I was a manager looking in on an employee (the radiation) before a deadline to see how the job is coming along. Not well at all. "But," he replies, "its not yet the deadline." Well he better get working.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, my praying friends, I have a specific and urgent request to you for prayer. That the Lord might open my airway here in the next week. For "in his hand is the life of every living thing and the breath of all mankind." (Job 12:10)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705871425953153809.post-79905621414873610322010-07-22T14:48:00.011-05:002010-07-26T23:49:55.447-05:00Radiation complete, hoping for better breathingI chose to go forward with the radiation, and have now completed it. I went to Houston for a little over five weeks to undergo the daily treatments at MD Anderson. The doctors remained optimistic that this radiation could kill most, or even all, of the cancer in the center of my chest, where they radiated. The esophogeal pain was not too bad and is already gone. The fatigue and wear on my lungs, however, is another story.<div><br /></div><div><div>Between the two lung surgeries in 2007 and the maximized radiation to my lung area, my breathing is in pretty bad shape. I expect it to improve, but it has been slow going. It is painful to breath deeply, or to regain my breath after just walking a bit. I'm going to see a pulmonologist at Presbyterian Hospital in Dallas tomorrow to check out why I'm still having such a hard time. I have to admit I cannot help wondering if I will ever be able to breathe freely and not constantly fear physical activity lest I cannot find air.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Air is a very good thing. I need more.</div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705871425953153809.post-72815858382934028162010-05-26T13:45:00.004-05:002010-05-26T14:43:50.257-05:00A hopeful radiation plan<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsNKczM-oDtbZYtV2IDYWZ3iItEw25dn4aMoW7DVlnuQmCMhwbG3hw2e_X79tLB1AsYJfQ723t_bvalhdj5T1SWWgPNrYux0UX9y-UekI3dCa4mnUxPbXoVlnkmq92Te0d-ndjjTNipp50/s1600/Crane.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475662879396326002" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 114px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 173px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsNKczM-oDtbZYtV2IDYWZ3iItEw25dn4aMoW7DVlnuQmCMhwbG3hw2e_X79tLB1AsYJfQ723t_bvalhdj5T1SWWgPNrYux0UX9y-UekI3dCa4mnUxPbXoVlnkmq92Te0d-ndjjTNipp50/s320/Crane.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I met with <a href="http://faculty.mdanderson.org/Christopher_Crane/">Dr. Crane</a> today. He is the radiation oncologist who will lead my ratiaion therapy. He looks like he could be playing first base for the Astros. But I suppose the academian in him chose to radiate tumors instead.</div><br /><div>He gave me a better impression than I left the hospital with yeterday. He believes he can afford to be very aggressive with the radiation. He will go after every tumor that they can see. I had thought they were just going after the immediate problem areas, where there is pressure on the airways. Due to my good response from radiation in 2005 (wow, was that five years ago?), and the fact it did not do any extraordinary damage, he believes he can give me a lot of radiation. There is increased risk with this dose I may get a third new cancer (I've had two so far in my life), but the real problem is the cancer in me <em>now</em>.</div><div></div><br /><div>He believes this will almost certainly relieve my breathing and coughing symptoms. And he thinks that while it is likely there may very well be a bit of cancer left somewhere in the areas that they treat, he is aiming to get everything they can see now. His goal is to "control" my cancer such that the next problem would be "somewhere else". This could buy me even a couple years. No promises, of course.</div><br /><div>His assistant showed me the CT in detail today. It is amazing how the airway seems only the slightest bit restricted, and only on one side. Yet sometimes lately I feel like I'm drowning. The whole system is so sensitive. It is difficult to believe that zapping all over the place with radiation could actually be a <em>good</em> thing. </div><br /><div>I have a couple more appointments tomorrow. Then back to Dallas for the weekend before beginning radiation in Houston on Wednesday. Treatment will be daily for about five weeks. The side-effects are expected to be quite difficult. The esophogus gets hammered in this process, making it difficult and painful to swallow for a period of about four weeks beginning a couple weeks into the radiation. I spoke to another patient who has had similar radiation and it sounded tough. A month of pain for a couple years of life seems like a pretty good deal. Gird up thy loins, self. Have mercy, O Lord.</div><br /><div></div>By the way, while I was in the hospital last week, we got an offer on our house, which we accepted. Closing and moving the remaining furniture and junk will be tricky while I'm in and out of Houston, but it will be good to get that behind us. Albeit bittersweet. <div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705871425953153809.post-29877631797608738312010-05-25T20:38:00.003-05:002010-05-25T20:57:17.170-05:00Radiation plannedThe lymph node tumors in my chest are still growing at about the same rate. For example, one went from 3cm to 3.5cm. But of greater concern to Dr. Eng is my increasing shortness of breath. And with the post-nasal drip from my cold last week, the coughing has been very bad, even scary. The nodes are constricting my airways. Not good. She wants to radiate the lymph nodes and thinks that will likely improve my breathing significantly. It will be 3-5 weeks of radiation, then three weeks of recovery, then probably back to the trial chemo drug plan. I meet with the radiation oncologist at MD Anderson tomorrow to find out the details.<div><br /></div><div>The coughing has subsided a bit, probably as I get over the cold. My WBC counts are still far too low - as low as they were when I was admitted into the hospital last week at Presby-Dallas. (Incidentally, I did get out after two days - didn't update the blog) MD Anderson is reluctant to put me in the hospital now, especially given I have no fever. I agree.<br /> <div>Right now, it's hard for me to think about anything other than catching my breath back, so the radiation plan sounds good to me. </div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705871425953153809.post-28251447986843660682010-05-19T10:29:00.003-05:002010-05-19T10:32:16.425-05:00Admitted into hospitalQuick update. I had a good time in Bethany with Christine and Mark. But the last day, developed fever. It came and went and I was able to make it back to Dallas. Yesterday, I was scheduled for chemo, but delayed it a day due to the fever, which continued to come and go. Today, I went in for chemo and instead of giving it to me, they are admitting me into the hospital because of my low white blood cell count. My doctor says I am "on the edge" and could get very sick very quickly and he wants to avoid that. I'll be a t Presby-Dallas. Hopefully, this will be short.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705871425953153809.post-41254739024410945972010-05-10T23:59:00.004-05:002010-05-11T00:26:34.825-05:00Trips coming upThis week is exciting because I will be travelling to Delaware to see Christine. My brother-in-law Mark is helping out, flying to meet me in Baltimore for the three-hour drive out to Bethany Beach, where Christine's folks live. It will be good to see her. Both of our health situations has us so frustratingly stuck.<div><br /></div><div>Upon returning after a few days, I will go down to Houston for a checkup trip (already? yes.) Dr. Eng only wanted to wait six weeks to keep on top of things. I really hope things are stable. My cancer blood marker was down to the 6's after slowly climbing this year from under 4 to the 7's. On the other hand, I've had a couple of discouraging signs - I seem to feel some pressure, tightness, dull pain, in my chest. Either my mind's playing tricks or something is up with the cancer. Could just be from coughing a lot. </div><div><br /></div><div>Also, I've coughed up blood several times in the past couple weeks. It was not the first time. I've done so maybe once a month for many months. At that frequency, it didn't mean much to the doctors. We'll see if this is significant now that it is more often. I must say it hits you deep. To cough and cough and then have that taste in your mouth. You know, that bloody lip taste. Only it is not a cut, but the cough. Then there's this quick, heightened, mental montage - knowing, hoping not, probably is, not again, then looking. Red. Such a let down. In the movies, it's always the first sign of a bad health storm approaching. Does it have to be? </div><div><br /></div><div>Funny thing - this is really the first physical sign I have ever had of the cancer. All my physical problems over the past seven years have been from the <i>treatment</i>, not the cancer itself. Not much I can do, so I just keep pressing on, praying, enjoying, and hoping perhaps for some good news.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705871425953153809.post-35088199192816676192010-04-09T03:01:00.004-05:002010-04-09T03:19:18.812-05:00Erbitux not very effectiveToday I met with Dr. Eng. She was as surprised as I was disappointed. The cancerous lymph nodes in my chest grew slightly, as did the lung nodule. It was a small amount - like about 10%. But the hope and expectation was that there would be a great reduction. Every chemotherapy drug I have taken - both for colon cancer since 2003 and for bone cancer when I was young - has had immediate remarkable response. Erbitux was the first to not.<br /><br />Dr. Eng said this leaves us on the fence between continuing it or moving on to an experimental chemo. Since my CEA blood level, which marks the level of cancer activity, was down 4.9 to 3.5, she decided I should continue on this chemo, but I should be tested after six weeks instead of twelve. She has seen a few cases of delayed response, giving some hope the Erbitux can have some good effect yet. But never has she seen tumor shrinkage after initial response of growth. So we are hoping and praying for a stable result at the end of May.<br /><br />Meanwhile, I continue taking this poison. Chemotherapy is really beginning to take a toll on me after seven years of the stuff. ("It's about time!"). My body is feeling quite beat down these days and my intestines are constantly irritated. I also visited the fatigue doctor this week and she increased my anti-fatigue medication. We'll see how that fares.<br /><br />My thoughts are identical to those I had three months ago: <i>Ecclesiastes says, "No man has power over the wind to contain it ; so no one has power over the day of his death." I'm not going to get anywhere worrying or trying to change the way things are. Nor trying to speculate what this means for the future - there is no way I could have seen the things I have been given since 2003. I'm going to continue living as I have with hope and cherishing and using each day as best I can. I've had lots of ups and downs. This is one of those downs.</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705871425953153809.post-15916829751665597612010-04-03T13:16:00.003-05:002010-04-03T13:22:53.526-05:00Check-up coming. Lots going on.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1vj5FzP6WMm57izFpFbLNcroCfWlRoWZzL8-5BFs-buX4XG1wY0LC843XjZNE2qVfPJeF1ORyfaHhkGzexJyKTXJuOsLeYEM2WdbgIqUfa7bypt9HLuCdQowuYLNdFYQZiPweWlfYX-DI/s1600/dad_greg.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 256px; height: 165px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1vj5FzP6WMm57izFpFbLNcroCfWlRoWZzL8-5BFs-buX4XG1wY0LC843XjZNE2qVfPJeF1ORyfaHhkGzexJyKTXJuOsLeYEM2WdbgIqUfa7bypt9HLuCdQowuYLNdFYQZiPweWlfYX-DI/s320/dad_greg.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455977510812621602" /></a>Hi everyone. Long time no write.<br /><br />I have been busy for a guy who has no energy. And thus not catching up on emails and updating the blog as I'd like.<br /><br />Christine and I decided to sell our house. This was not an emotionally enjoyable decision, but I think a good one. It is part of an overall strategy to simplify life to the essentials and prioritize the best things in life. I just have so little energy with the continued treatment that little chores around the house can dominate a day. Also, I wanted to do everything necessary to sell while I am feeling relatively well in case my health gets worse. The house has been on the market about a month now. Lots of showings, but not offers. We got close on one buyer, but nothing pending right now. I am living at a new place - the Venue Apartments, by the Eisemann Center on Central in Richardson. I am not strong enough to be bouncing in and out when the house shows, so I risked going ahead and moving. Christine is back in Delaware with her parents (they spent a couple months in Florida). Her migraines have been very bad and she is requiring continual care from them.<br /><br />The chemo has been rough, although different than the FOLFIRI of last year. The Erbitux really messes with the skin. I got bad acne for a while and now it seems to be going through a stage of extreme dryness. The skin problems cause discomfort and make sleeping difficult. I take it with Irinotecan, which was part of FOLFIRI, but in this scheme, I take more of the irinotecan at a time. That's the drug that causes intestinal and immune problems. Every seven days I take Erbitux and every 21 days Irinotecan. So one week out of three I get bad intestinal problems and have mouth sores (I finding those correlate with low white blood count).<br /><br />Sorry I missed the NCAA tournament for those of you who enjoyed the bracket challenge in years past. I think we had done it every year of my cancer blog (since 2003!).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2MKgNHSjiotnhpo1a7Oj0mE6NbD4Toh24ibiTDmpTDqjp5gjRUTQGnoDYs8z3nyKFS81Bvj4hcFpbGXG2OgZcSf6dFyI0VAdpwiAhDpnz1y-HHUmc6AwdqIgRDXsutSle031H3W45BocN/s1600/Thomas+Jesus+Hand+013+white+background+183x164.png"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 86px; height: 79px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2MKgNHSjiotnhpo1a7Oj0mE6NbD4Toh24ibiTDmpTDqjp5gjRUTQGnoDYs8z3nyKFS81Bvj4hcFpbGXG2OgZcSf6dFyI0VAdpwiAhDpnz1y-HHUmc6AwdqIgRDXsutSle031H3W45BocN/s200/Thomas+Jesus+Hand+013+white+background+183x164.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455977021556748002" /></a>I have been enjoying close fellowship with friends here in Dallas involved in a new church, <a href="http://thomasthedoubter.com/">St. Thomas the Doubter</a>. My long time pastor, Saji George, is the one leading the new church. This is something to which I can contribute on my sporadic schedule and from my computer through writing and reading, which are two things I can do.<br /><br />Next week it is already time for the check-up at MD Anderson to see if the new chemo is effective. If so, they'll keep me on it with another three month ticket-for-life. If not, I'm not sure what approach will be next. I'll head to Houston Monday, probably returning Friday. I hope to make Sarah Hazel's <a href="http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=103407793033087&ref=mf">art show</a> Thurs night, so maybe I'll see some of you Houston friends there.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705871425953153809.post-1344948582277140022010-02-01T07:11:00.001-06:002010-02-17T14:25:14.313-06:00FOLFIRI losing it's oomphLast week I went to MD Anderson for my three-month tests and assessment.<br /><br />Looks like the run of stable scans has ended for the current chemo ("FOLFIRI"). There was about 15-25% growth in the three tumors (one lung, two lymph nodes).<br /><br />Dr. Eng says its time to move to the next chemo recipe ("Erbitux + Irinotecan"). This is the last FDA-approved chemo available for me. The last trick in the bag of tricks would be chest radiation, which causes a lot of damage, but can stunt the cancer for significant time (like a year or two). So the Erbitux is recommended next.<br /><br />BTW, Erbitux is the drug, of which the original FDA rejection was known by Martha Stewart who dumped her stock and ended up in jail.<br /><br />The bummer about this chemo is that it has a rough side-effect. One I've never had before. It causes a bad rash, much like acne. Pretty ugly and painful. The rash continues as long as I'm on it. Plus it has much of the other bad effects digestive, fatigue, etc.<br /><br />Also it causes fingernail and fingertip problems, even losing fingernails in some cases. I asked, "What about playing guitar?". "Probably shouldn't", she said. ugh. That was something I was not prepared for.<br /><br />It is disappointing to move to this last chemo. The one I've been on has worked as I've taken it off and on for six years - way longer than just about anybody they've treated. Me and FOLFIRI had a very long love-hate relationship, but its over. Certainly a bummer.<br /><br />Please pray the Erbitux will have as long and succesful of a run as the FOLFIRI. Dr. Eng says one man has been on it for four years. Also, my prayer is that there would be new chemos. There is one that just closed (ugh-missed the window) in phase 1 trial. Perhaps it will work well and be available when I'm through with Erbitux.<br /><br />There is a DNA test you can take to see if your cancer is likely to respond well (shrink) to Erbitux. They don't bother giving it if this test predicts it will not. I took the test about a year ago. My cancer is predicted to respond. It is good I am even in this group at all.<br /><br />Dr. Eng wants a break from chemo first. She recommends two weeks off chemo altogether. I begin Erbitux Feb 16. So I get a bit of a health-building break.<br /><br />Ecclesiastes says, "No man has power over the wind to contain it ; so no one has power over the day of his death." I'm not going to get anywhere worrying or trying to change the way things are. Nor trying to speculate what this means for the future - there is no way I could have seen the things I have been given since 2003. I'm going to continue living as I have with hope and cherishing and using each day as best I can. I've had lots of ups and downs. This is one of those downs.<br /><br /><br /><b>Dolce</b><br />On top of all this, Dolce died on Jan 30. She was a wonderful dog to me and Christine for 18 years - and we got her grown. So she was about 19 years old. She stayed snuggly with her luxurious coat until the end. She was such a wonderful companion to Christine all these years of laying in pain. She was one of a kind. Here's a couple posts with her pics - <a href="http://www.hewletts.org/2004/02/fallen-snow.html">here</a> and <a href="http://www.hewletts.org/2007/10/new-c-leg-approved.html">here</a>.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705871425953153809.post-58064425966103526012009-10-29T13:33:00.001-05:002010-02-17T14:04:25.882-06:00A Very Good Day(from phone) cancer completely stable! feeling better. still some fever. blood doc gave ok to go back 2 dallas. he will call every day through weekend. i thgnk he just wants 2 talk blood on hal'ween<br/><br/>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705871425953153809.post-37058525767987144772009-10-28T12:08:00.001-05:002010-02-17T14:04:25.884-06:00A Miserable DayYesterday, I had a very bad day. The previous day I had felt quite well, enjoying a mind-cleaning drive down to Houston for my round of tests and meetings at MD Anderson. But when I awoke, I was achy, shivering, and increadibly fatigued. It is not a trivial matter changing an appointment at MDA Anderson. You just go. So I went over to the hospital anyway for my appointment with Dr. Manzullo of the fatigue clinic.<br/><br/>When they realized my temperature was over 102, and my blood work showed that I was "neutropenic" (low white blood cells), I became high prority. Turns out that neutropenia is not uncommon for chemo cancer patients. Nor is fever. I've had plenty of both. But when you have both, it can be dangerous. Without enough white blood cells, you cannot hold off whatever is causing the fever. Since I was already lying down in one of her waiting rooms, the doctor let me stay and worked the phones with my different doctors so I could avoid the standard response - send patient to the MDACC ER. "Bless you," I said to her. "Take however long you must, just don't send me there."<br/><br/>They decided to put me on the MDACC protocol for neutropenic fever, which is a 7-day outpatient deal. The standard treatment for this in most hospitals in America, one doctor told me, is to admit you in the hospital for treatment. But since they have great outpatient infrastruture and resources, because the various doctors are in close communication about your case here, and because over 90% of cases end up not being dangerous, they have designed an outpatient protocol that works well.<br/><br/>My day was not over. The next step was to go to the blood center and get more taken. Then to the pharmacy for antibiotics. Shuffling around the campus, wrapped in blankets, and shivering, I proceeded step by step, minute by minute. I finally made it home, took a nap, only to return a few hours later for the 5-hour CT Scan/barium enima test. Since cancer doesn't take breaks, neither does MD Anderson. So what if you've got a fever and feel miserable. You still need those pictures.<br/><br/>I am so thankful that my friends Belle and Peter have a place for me to stay only about 5 minutes from the hospital. That will make this outpatient process so much easier.<br/><br/>Today I went in for day two of the protocol. They took more blood and examined me. I also saw the blood doctor - I'm not sure what to call him - he's an internist who specializes in this stuff. (it seems appropriate I will be seeing a blood doctor over the Halloween weekend!) No conclusions yet. He said they'll probably know which direction things are going tomorrow - it takes three samples to establish a trend, right?<br/><br/>All this fever stuff is just a bump in the road. The big reason I'm here was and remains to figure out if the cancer is stable or advancing. I still find that out with an appointment with Dr. Eng tomorrow.<br/><br/>Meanwhile, they tell me lots of rest and drink liquids. I guess that's instead of the solids I usually drink.<br/><br/><br/>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705871425953153809.post-27441648727788509252009-10-05T13:30:00.000-05:002010-02-17T14:04:25.886-06:00Fever goneAfter nearly a month of infection with fever, I think I'm out of the woods. Four days straight now of no fever. Part of my mind was questioning whether I would ever feel well again. It was a dark hole and I'm so glad to be crawling out of it. Next round of chemo is Wednesday.<br/><br/>Christine finished her initial meetings and tests at the Chiari Institute and the medical team there believes surgery on her neck will significant help her pain and various nervous-system symptoms. They diagnosed her as indeed having Chiari malformation - it has to do with the bone and nerve structure where the brain channels into the spinal column (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arnold-Chiari_malformation">more info on Chiari malformation</a>). It sounds like a major surgery ordeal with hospital stay and months of rehab. She will stay for now with her parents in Delaware and is working out the logistics including when is the right time to do it.<br/><br/>Here's a fun pic that my mom unearthed cleaning out some old stuff. I'd say it is around 1975 - Uncle Ron's tractor in the Ozarks, a stone's throw from Table Rock Lake. I'm with my sisters (in his lap), cousins and aunts.<br/><br/><a href="http://files.hewletts.org/archives/Tractor Gang.jpg"><img alt="Tractor Gang.jpg" src="http://files.hewletts.org/archives/Tractor Gang-thumb.jpg" width="300" height="205" border="0" /></a> click to enlarge<br/><br/><br/>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705871425953153809.post-47360654062168233872009-09-28T07:34:00.000-05:002010-02-17T14:04:25.888-06:00Denver trip, continued infection, Christine progress<a href="http://files.hewletts.org/archives/Denv_2009_Greg_Char.jpg"><img alt="Denv_2009_Greg_Char.jpg" src="http://files.hewletts.org/archives/Denv_2009_Greg_Char-thumb.jpg" width="178" height="230" border="0" /></a><a href="http://files.hewletts.org/archives/Denv_2009_Jul_Nat.jpg"><img alt="Denv_2009_Jul_Nat.jpg" src="http://files.hewletts.org/archives/Denv_2009_Jul_Nat-thumb.jpg" width="172" height="230" border="0" /></a><a href="http://files.hewletts.org/archives/Denv_2009_Mike_Char.jpg"><img alt="Denv_2009_Mike_Char.jpg" src="http://files.hewletts.org/archives/Denv_2009_Mike_Char-thumb.jpg" width="164" height="230" border="0" /></a><br/><br/>I took an extra week off chemo, which I am allowed to do periodically, to visit my sister in Denver. That was back on the tenth of September. We had some good time together and it was great to see them. But soon after I arrived, I came down with a fever - something viral the doc thinks. Unfortunately, I spent most of my time in Denver in bed.<br/><br/>Quick story - I did manage to get out of bed to watch the famous Charles Burck play (very) little league soccer. To be fair to everyone, it was his turn to play defense and he dutifully stayed back and did everything he could to defend the goal. His team was down 2-0 at half. He raised his hand and halftime. "Yes, Charles." "Can I pleeeease play offense." The coach agreed. Charles scored three times in the second half as they won 3-2.<br/><br/>After returning to Dallas, I remained sick and I still have not completely escaped the fever - even through last night, when I still had a mild fever. During the worst stretch, I had significant fever almost every day for a stretch of about 10 days.<br/><br/>At first, my doctor put off chemo another week, saying that it would be too risky since chemo often drops white blood cells, which I need to get rid of the infection. But another week went by and this past week he decided to go ahead and give the chemo anyway. He didn't want to give the cancer any more break. Bottom line - I got the double hit of chemotherapy while already sick.<br/><br/><a href="http://files.hewletts.org/archives/Bill_Ord.jpg"><img alt="Bill_Ord.jpg" src="http://files.hewletts.org/archives/Bill_Ord-thumb.jpg" width="120" height="70" border="0" align="right" /></a>So I have been pretty miserable for some time now. If you've been wondering where I am or why I haven't returned emails or kept up with something - well, that's why. Today is the first day I actually feel a little better, and I'm really hoping and expecting to pull out of this hole eventually. I was able to get out of the house yesterday to enjoy attending my friend Bill's ordination as a pastor in the Presbyterian church.<br/><br/><b><i>Christine Update</i></b><br/>Last week, Christine successfully completed a large set of tests at the <a href="http://www.chiariinstitute.com/">Chiari Institute</a> near NYC to test if the underlying cause for much of her continued pain and headache problems is something called Chiari Malformation. Today she goes back to meet with the doctor/surgeon to go over test results. Her parents are caring for her and they are all staying with her sister in NJ during the trip.<br/><br/><br/>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7