Random Thoughts on a Friday

I know that bad things happen to good people, that tragedy strikes. Tragedies have happened to many people I've known over the years: freak accidents, car accidents, violent crimes, diseases both swift and protracted, children born with incurable illnesses, lives cut short too soon -- not to mention the cruel lottery of where you're born and the resources you have (or not). But I never saw cancer as something that was likely to happen to me. I did everything right. I have good Dutch family genes. I check few of the boxes on those family health history forms. I never get sick, even when everyone else around me does. I've commented that I think being a lifelong runner plus my parents' and grandparents' super longevity (87 to 99 years--my dad and a couple of aunts are still going strong well into their 90s) gave me a false sense of invincibility. How does a 49-year-old, healthy, fit, non-smoker get lung cancer?! It doesn't make sense. As I've learned from a couple of Facebook lung cancer support groups that I've joined, anyone with lungs can get lung cancer. On my bike ride this morning I recalled that we didn't get to attend an Ash Wednesday service this year. If we had, I would have heard the words, "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return."

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In one of the lung cancer support groups, I noticed that a member and I have several mutual friends. I sent her a message to introduce myself. Not only does she live in State College, but we also see the same doctor and she goes to Pitt for cancer treatment. We are going to meet up when I return home. It's helpful to connect with people who are walking the road of cancer treatment and can provide support and inspiration. This woman's former doctor told her there was no chance she would live to see her daughter graduate from college in 2021. She did, and she's still here. 

Several friends have also reached out to tell me that they had various kinds of cancer. I had no idea. I commented to Leland that we have no idea the shit that people are walking around with. I suppose clergy and therapists know this because they hear people express their grief. We are all the walking wounded.

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I am collecting pieces of writing that resonate with me - things that I've encountered or that people have sent me. 

"You will survive this, you are strong and amazing and you are connected to others who love and support you. There is a battle ahead, we are here to fight with you, and you need your army. Not only do we want to help, it’s OK to need us. Wendell Berry can help us here: 'Healing is impossible in loneliness; it is the opposite of loneliness. Conviviality is healing. To be healed we must come with all the other creatures to the feast of Creation.'"

“There is no pit so deep, that God’s love is not deeper still” (Ten Boom sisters). Your Creator is holding you in Their arms, protecting you from the bottom of the pit. 

Prayer by St. Francis de Sales: "Have no fear for what tomorrow may bring. The same loving God who cares for you today will take care of you tomorrow and every day. God will either shield you from suffering or give you unfailing strength to bear it. Be at peace, then, and put aside all anxious thoughts and imaginations."

Psalm 121:

I lift up my eyes to the hills-- where does my help come from?

My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot slip-- he who watches over you will not slumber;

indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.

The LORD watches over you-- the LORD is your shade at your right hand;

the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night.

The LORD will keep you from all harm-- he will watch over your life;

the LORD will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.

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I'm so grateful for the phenomenal care I've received at the LungenClinic with Prof. Rabe and Dr. Groth. They are unquestionably among the best doctors I've encountered, not only in terms of their professional expertise, but also their compassion and regard for me as a whole person. This is one of the main reasons we decided to begin treatment in Germany. One of my mental health providers commented that if the radiologist who interpreted the CT scan hadn't suspected TB, I never would have been sent to the LungenClinic. Instead, they might have referred me for follow up at  UKE (Hamburg's main hospital, where this person works; he characterized it as a huge, "industrial" kind of hospital). He also observed that if I weren't a runner, it could have been months before I noticed anything was wrong. I didn't start feeling out of breath while climbing steps and hills until well into April or May of this year. Nonetheless, I am still incredulous and angry that my GP and the pulmonologist I saw never ordered a chest x-ray when I first consulted them about my shortness of breath. 

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The work-up my doctor did in January-February involved a stress test on a bike, among other things. The results showed that I was "average." I remember feeling kind of insulted and disappointed: I've always been a top 10% runner/athlete, not average! Of course, now I know that I had lung cancer when I did this test. So the fact that I was still scoring as average is probably saying a lot.

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Roz Chast is my favorite cartoonist. After getting the good news about my brain MRI, I thought of this cartoon, which I've had on my office door for years:

My addition would read: "As of now, I don't have cancer in my brain!" 

We celebrate everything we can. We take every win.