I have had an amazing stretch for the past few weeks.
I stepped into November, Pancreatic Cancer Awareness Month, by marking the milestone of 5 years since my diagnosis on Halloween, 2008. Given that the 5-year survival rate for pancreatic cancer is a paltry 6%, I feel incredibly blessed. Thank you God!
Next up was my 47th birthday. A time for celebration anytime but especially so with the full appreciation of what a gift each and every day is – much less the completion of another 365 day cycle.
The very next day I was able to run the NYC Marathon. It was a terrific celebration of my 5-year survival with my hometown city of New York. Running it with my old friend Michael was a special treat and my time of 4:09 was 15 minutes better than my last time. This dog is getting younger!
The next Sunday was the big NJ Purple Stride Walk/Run for the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network. Leading up to that there was an article in the local paper (included below), a couple of radio interviews and an NBC-TV news spot. All of which culminated in my speaking as a survivor to nearly 2,000 people who were at the event.
November has been a reaffirmation of how unbelievably blessed I am. With all of that attention, I felt incredibly loved and supported.
When I thought about it, I decided that what was most wonderful was how very special I felt. You know how there are some people that offer you such considerate attention and appreciation that every encounter is a pick-me-up pleasure? I was feeling a lot of that.
What better expression of love could there be than making someone feel uniquely and unconditionally special? I want to be that walking thanksgiving affirmation for each one of God’s children. May it be so.
Here the article from the Home News Tribune on Nov 3rd. It is a really good article even if not all of it came out just right.
HIGHLAND PARK — In mid-October five years ago, Franco Juricic was in training for the New York City Marathon. On the surface, everything seemed to be going well, but Juricic thought something wasn’t right.
“My diet was good, everything was good, but I was very in tune with my body,” said Juricic, who was 42 then. “I noticed my urine was dark. That was weird. I thought maybe I was overdoing the running. But I went to the doctor.”
Juricic’s physician did seven to 10 days worth of tests, ruling out one thing after another until Juricic realized that what was left was not good.
“I did an Internet search,” the borough resident said. “Pancreatic cancer came up. Sure enough I had a tumor blocking my bile ducts.”
Juricic faced a different kind of marathon that year — one to save his life. After the diagnosis on Halloween and his 43rd birthday in early November, Juricic underwent a Whipple procedure on Dec. 1, 2008.
The Whipple procedure, or a pancreaticoduodenectomy, is a major operation involving the pancreas, duodenum and other organs. Most commonly, it involves the removal of a segment of the stomach, the first and second portions of the duodenum, the head of the pancreas, the common bile duct and the gallbladder.
“It is a very invasive procedure, but my wife and I agreed that we will do whatever we have to do,” Juricic said. “My twins were just 2½ years old. I was lucky. It was caught early enough that it hadn’t spread and the tumor was at the head of the pancreas, which is the best place for it to be for the surgery.”
A year after his diagnosis, Juricic ran the New York City Marathon.
“I had my purple shirt on that had a sign that said ‘Happy Birthday to me’ on one side and ‘Pancreatic Cancer Survivor’ on the other,’ ” he said. “People were cheering me on and wishing me well the whole day. Runners would pat me on the shoulder or my back. I was running in tears. It was an amazing moment.”
Now reaching his five-year mark as a pancreatic cancer survivor, Juricic is taking his milestone on the road once again. He is among the tens of thousands of participants in today’s marathon.
(Page 2 of 4)
Story gets better
Years ago when Juricic ran his first marathon, he thought it would be a lark and something to tell his grandchildren. Now, the story for future generations is even better. During today’s marathon, he again will don his purple “Pancreatic Cancer Survivor” shirt and as his 48th birthday was the day before, his “Happy Birthday” sign also is in tow.
“2009 was going to be my last marathon, but I’ve been applying in secret and got in this year,” said Juricic, whose will be running in his sixth marathon. “It’s a big time commitment, and I kept thinking ‘Do I have it in me?’ But, then I thought to do it every five years for ... forever. That could be my goal.”
“I run because I did before. I run now because, against all odds, I still can,” he added. “This marathon is a celebration of that blessing.”
Most who have pancreatic cancer never see a fifth anniversary. The survival rate is only 6 percent to reach five years or more, said Todd Cohen, 36, of Edison.
The media representative and co-founder of the Northern New Jersey affiliate of the Pancreatic Center Action Network, Cohen knows all too well the statistics of pancreatic cancer. His father, Richard Cohen, died at age 59 in 2002 after a one-year battle with the disease.
“My father’s story is very much the same as many others,” Cohen said. “He had some back pain, abdominal pain. He was relatively healthy. He went for a regular checkup. Then he was diagnosed and I was telling him we would beat this. He was an anatomy and physiology professor. He knew. It was so devastating to see.”
The statistics also include Juricic’s father, Bruno Juricic, who after a diagnosis just after Father’s Day 2012, died seven weeks later in August at age 76.
“While I had the best scenario for the disease,” Juricic said, “he had the worst. And unfortunately, that’s the more typical.”
Juricic said this run will be different than the last. His father, who Juricic said was his “biggest fan and supporter” will not be there as he was in 2009. Juricic’s wife, Jacquelyn, and two children, Ana and Noah, 7, plan to trek from preselected spots in Brooklyn and Manhattan to the finish line in Central Park.
(Page 3 of 4)
“My dad was always at those spots,” he said. “I know he totally will be there.”
Raising awareness
Juricic’s celebratory 26.2 miles comes one week after the NNJ PANCAN’s PurpleLight ceremony on Oct. 27 in Edison and one week before the annual PurpleStride fundraiser on Nov. 10 at the Mack Cali Business Campus in Parsippany. Juricic participates in those events as well.
“We had a very good turnout at the PurpleLight ceremony,” said Juricic, who is registration coordinator for PurpleStride. “For me, I love to see all the volunteers and people that make it happen. I get to catch up on everyone’s stories. There are survivors there and, it is always good to see them. It is very affirming and hopeful. On the flip side, we read the names of those who passed away. It is a way for all of us to come together for a very nice remembrance. I am there for me and also for my dad. We share our sadness but also move that sadness into something else — something that can improve people’s lives.”
While pancreatic cancer was never something Cohen or Juricic would wish for themselves or those they love, they said their involvement has become a blessing.
“It gave me purpose and perspective on life,” Juricic said. “It has become one of the best things to ever happen to me. I wake up every day — 365 days a year — and I feel most blessed. Before my feet touch the ground, before I splash water on my face, I think ‘I get to be alive.’ I am thankful for every day.”
“It’s a whole different life. I knew I had to do something,” Cohen said. “We are part of a fraternity we never wanted to be part of. But, it is all for a good purpose.”
Juricic said his thankfulness for his own life is anchored by what goes on “in the bigger picture of pancreatic cancer.”
“I think to myself ‘six out of 10 people like you don’t get to be here,’ ” he said. “‘You get to be here.’ This five-year mark is what I have been going for. If I do the marathon every five years, that would be a super way to celebrate. I’m surviving. I am lucky. People with pancreatic cancer who did not survive, they didn’t do anything different. For whatever reason, I am alive.”
(Page 4 of 4)
Juricic reflected that he may be the only runner in today’s race who has gone the distance with pancreatic cancer.
“There are 35,000 people running, but when you pair it with surviving cancer, then surviving pancreatic cancer for five years, the Venn diagram shows there is a fair bet, it could be just a couple of people,” he said. “Maybe I’m the only.”
As Juricic runs, he feels it is good to be out there. He hopes his survival serves as hope to others connected to cancer.
“I know that my situation does make for a good story for others,” he said. “It’s not just about surviving, but thriving no matter where they are at.”
For Juricic, after three years of no ill effects, he has had recent bouts of pancreatitis and a surgery may be needed in the future to take care of stones in the pancreatic duct. But, he remains positive about the impact of the pancreatitis. Followup CAT scans for the cancer are now scheduled further and further apart. First they were every three months, then six months and soon, he hopes, they will be annually.
“That is scary for me,” Juricic said. “Most people have a reoccurrence of cancer in the first year. Now, I am officially five years. Five years is definitely a milestone — a marker.”
Story gets better
Years ago when Juricic ran his first marathon, he thought it would be a lark and something to tell his grandchildren. Now, the story for future generations is even better. During today’s marathon, he again will don his purple “Pancreatic Cancer Survivor” shirt and as his 48th birthday was the day before, his “Happy Birthday” sign also is in tow.
“2009 was going to be my last marathon, but I’ve been applying in secret and got in this year,” said Juricic, whose will be running in his sixth marathon. “It’s a big time commitment, and I kept thinking ‘Do I have it in me?’ But, then I thought to do it every five years for ... forever. That could be my goal.”
“I run because I did before. I run now because, against all odds, I still can,” he added. “This marathon is a celebration of that blessing.”
Most who have pancreatic cancer never see a fifth anniversary. The survival rate is only 6 percent to reach five years or more, said Todd Cohen, 36, of Edison.
The media representative and co-founder of the Northern New Jersey affiliate of the Pancreatic Center Action Network, Cohen knows all too well the statistics of pancreatic cancer. His father, Richard Cohen, died at age 59 in 2002 after a one-year battle with the disease.
“My father’s story is very much the same as many others,” Cohen said. “He had some back pain, abdominal pain. He was relatively healthy. He went for a regular checkup. Then he was diagnosed and I was telling him we would beat this. He was an anatomy and physiology professor. He knew. It was so devastating to see.”
The statistics also include Juricic’s father, Bruno Juricic, who after a diagnosis just after Father’s Day 2012, died seven weeks later in August at age 76.
“While I had the best scenario for the disease,” Juricic said, “he had the worst. And unfortunately, that’s the more typical.”
Juricic said this run will be different than the last. His father, who Juricic said was his “biggest fan and supporter” will not be there as he was in 2009. Juricic’s wife, Jacquelyn, and two children, Ana and Noah, 7, plan to trek from preselected spots in Brooklyn and Manhattan to the finish line in Central Park.
“My dad was always at those spots,” he said. “I know he totally will be there.”
Raising awareness
Juricic’s celebratory 26.2 miles comes one week after the NNJ PANCAN’s PurpleLight ceremony on Oct. 27 in Edison and one week before the annual PurpleStride fundraiser on Nov. 10 at the Mack Cali Business Campus in Parsippany. Juricic participates in those events as well.
“We had a very good turnout at the PurpleLight ceremony,” said Juricic, who is registration coordinator for PurpleStride. “For me, I love to see all the volunteers and people that make it happen. I get to catch up on everyone’s stories. There are survivors there and, it is always good to see them. It is very affirming and hopeful. On the flip side, we read the names of those who passed away. It is a way for all of us to come together for a very nice remembrance. I am there for me and also for my dad. We share our sadness but also move that sadness into something else — something that can improve people’s lives.”
While pancreatic cancer was never something Cohen or Juricic would wish for themselves or those they love, they said their involvement has become a blessing.
“It gave me purpose and perspective on life,” Juricic said. “It has become one of the best things to ever happen to me. I wake up every day — 365 days a year — and I feel most blessed. Before my feet touch the ground, before I splash water on my face, I think ‘I get to be alive.’ I am thankful for every day.”
“It’s a whole different life. I knew I had to do something,” Cohen said. “We are part of a fraternity we never wanted to be part of. But, it is all for a good purpose.”
Juricic said his thankfulness for his own life is anchored by what goes on “in the bigger picture of pancreatic cancer.”
“I think to myself ‘six out of 10 people like you don’t get to be here,’ ” he said. “‘You get to be here.’ This five-year mark is what I have been going for. If I do the marathon every five years, that would be a super way to celebrate. I’m surviving. I am lucky. People with pancreatic cancer who did not survive, they didn’t do anything different. For whatever reason, I am alive.”
Juricic reflected that he may be the only runner in today’s race who has gone the distance with pancreatic cancer.
“There are 35,000 people running, but when you pair it with surviving cancer, then surviving pancreatic cancer for five years, the Venn diagram shows there is a fair bet, it could be just a couple of people,” he said. “Maybe I’m the only.”
As Juricic runs, he feels it is good to be out there. He hopes his survival serves as hope to others connected to cancer.
“I know that my situation does make for a good story for others,” he said. “It’s not just about surviving, but thriving no matter where they are at.”
For Juricic, after three years of no ill effects, he has had recent bouts of pancreatitis and a surgery may be needed in the future to take care of stones in the pancreatic duct. But, he remains positive about the impact of the pancreatitis. Followup CAT scans for the cancer are now scheduled further and further apart. First they were every three months, then six months and soon, he hopes, they will be annually.
“That is scary for me,” Juricic said. “Most people have a reoccurrence of cancer in the first year. Now, I am officially five years. Five years is definitely a milestone — a marker.”
Monday, November 25, 2013
Sunday, September 22, 2013
God Interrupted
We tell ourselves stories of who we are. We are fathers and Christians and husbands and cancer survivors and employees and friends and Istrians and brothers and runners and Jaspers and…. The narrative threads are laid out like a jangle of highways around the hub of an existence.
We need those stories – they help to define us, to ourselves if not others. We crave their simplicity. Because of the stories, we like to think that we know what happens next – because that’s what “ought to” happen to me, the health conscious exerciser for instance. But unlike in the movies or great page-turners, we don’t much appreciate plot twists.
We maintain those stories, carefully tending and defending them against all aberrations. They are our comfort. Even when the evidence might say otherwise, we resist edits or rewrites. “I didn’t neglect the relationship. He walked out on me.” If an unfavorable fact or upsetting threat to the narrative plotline arises, we prefer to toss it aside.
Sometimes we willingly shift our stories – maybe by love and marriage or the all-consuming joy of parenthood. Other times life intrudes and we get slammed – like a cancer diagnosis or the death of a much loved one. Those are the blind injustices in life that leave your story tattered. Those times when God interrupts and rudely grabs our attention.
The major alterations to my story – those I’ve chosen as well as those forced upon me - have turned out well in the end. Which is either a testament to the adaptability (and/or self-deception) of the human spirit or a lesson to put more trust in God. Even the slams, I’ve found, offer a stunning confusion followed by a new clarity. My cancer diagnosis obviously changed my perspective on life with the recognition that I could easily not be around someday soon. Every day is precious. Relationships - our connections - are virtually all that matters in the end. It’s all about the love for me now. As best as I can.
I am adjusting to another rewrite to my story. Apparently my pancreas is much less tolerant of fatty foods and alcohol than I previously knew. I have a couple of stones in my pancreatic ducts and spent an overnight in the hospital via the ER a few weeks ago. Not a big deal but necessitating an adjustment to my story. I have to eliminate from my diet the fatty foods and alcohol that inflame my pancreas. Pizza and beer is not worth the damage that they do. The change is not just in diet but in lifestyle and, so, identity. I can still meet my friends out after work, but I won’t be the one having “a drink”. I can no longer justify my plentiful appetite as something I’ve earned by my exercise. Food and drink have gone from being sources of joy in my life to near-adversaries that I need to respect (if not fear). The alcohol will be gone and my food choices more deliberate.
I had planned on not drinking and doing more meditating from the day we returned from our Istria vacation until the NYC marathon in November. I delayed because of a knee injury which kept me from running (so why bother?). Then God interrupted by insisting on the very thing that I sought out for my well-being anyway.
One by one my self-indulgences are being stripped away. The idea of being all good all of the time – although admittedly a positive/good thing – is a rewrite for me. I’ve had to get more responsible in nearly all things as I’ve aged. The older me is updating my story all the time.
As a related aside:
In America today, we have two narratives competing for our allegiance. The one is of a nation of rugged individuals pulling themselves up in the land of opportunity where everything we do is the best in the world. The other story is a land where freedoms come with responsibility for each other and the current situation is unfair to many and there is lots of room for improvement.
As a nation, 9/11 was that kind of slam to our self-story. The financial crisis of 2008 and since has challenged our identity too. Finally, the Sandy Hook tragedy last December shattered our innocence (again). I see each of these as significant incidents where God interrupted. God tried to get our attention. In each case the response of this “Christian nation” has been far from it. We started two wars against people that had done nothing to us on 9/11. We tolerate increasing income inequality and a further erosion of the safety net for those least fortunate. We defend the rights of gun owners over the right to live for tens of thousands of innocent victims of gun violence every year. The knock at the door has come repeatedly and yet we still stubbornly stick to our story.i>
We need those stories – they help to define us, to ourselves if not others. We crave their simplicity. Because of the stories, we like to think that we know what happens next – because that’s what “ought to” happen to me, the health conscious exerciser for instance. But unlike in the movies or great page-turners, we don’t much appreciate plot twists.
We maintain those stories, carefully tending and defending them against all aberrations. They are our comfort. Even when the evidence might say otherwise, we resist edits or rewrites. “I didn’t neglect the relationship. He walked out on me.” If an unfavorable fact or upsetting threat to the narrative plotline arises, we prefer to toss it aside.
Sometimes we willingly shift our stories – maybe by love and marriage or the all-consuming joy of parenthood. Other times life intrudes and we get slammed – like a cancer diagnosis or the death of a much loved one. Those are the blind injustices in life that leave your story tattered. Those times when God interrupts and rudely grabs our attention.
The major alterations to my story – those I’ve chosen as well as those forced upon me - have turned out well in the end. Which is either a testament to the adaptability (and/or self-deception) of the human spirit or a lesson to put more trust in God. Even the slams, I’ve found, offer a stunning confusion followed by a new clarity. My cancer diagnosis obviously changed my perspective on life with the recognition that I could easily not be around someday soon. Every day is precious. Relationships - our connections - are virtually all that matters in the end. It’s all about the love for me now. As best as I can.
I am adjusting to another rewrite to my story. Apparently my pancreas is much less tolerant of fatty foods and alcohol than I previously knew. I have a couple of stones in my pancreatic ducts and spent an overnight in the hospital via the ER a few weeks ago. Not a big deal but necessitating an adjustment to my story. I have to eliminate from my diet the fatty foods and alcohol that inflame my pancreas. Pizza and beer is not worth the damage that they do. The change is not just in diet but in lifestyle and, so, identity. I can still meet my friends out after work, but I won’t be the one having “a drink”. I can no longer justify my plentiful appetite as something I’ve earned by my exercise. Food and drink have gone from being sources of joy in my life to near-adversaries that I need to respect (if not fear). The alcohol will be gone and my food choices more deliberate.
I had planned on not drinking and doing more meditating from the day we returned from our Istria vacation until the NYC marathon in November. I delayed because of a knee injury which kept me from running (so why bother?). Then God interrupted by insisting on the very thing that I sought out for my well-being anyway.
One by one my self-indulgences are being stripped away. The idea of being all good all of the time – although admittedly a positive/good thing – is a rewrite for me. I’ve had to get more responsible in nearly all things as I’ve aged. The older me is updating my story all the time.
As a related aside:
In America today, we have two narratives competing for our allegiance. The one is of a nation of rugged individuals pulling themselves up in the land of opportunity where everything we do is the best in the world. The other story is a land where freedoms come with responsibility for each other and the current situation is unfair to many and there is lots of room for improvement.
As a nation, 9/11 was that kind of slam to our self-story. The financial crisis of 2008 and since has challenged our identity too. Finally, the Sandy Hook tragedy last December shattered our innocence (again). I see each of these as significant incidents where God interrupted. God tried to get our attention. In each case the response of this “Christian nation” has been far from it. We started two wars against people that had done nothing to us on 9/11. We tolerate increasing income inequality and a further erosion of the safety net for those least fortunate. We defend the rights of gun owners over the right to live for tens of thousands of innocent victims of gun violence every year. The knock at the door has come repeatedly and yet we still stubbornly stick to our story.i>
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
On a Pilgrimage
You can go back in place, if not in time. I took a fantastic pilgrimage last weekend back to a couple of my lifelong homes. For a few hours, I stepped out of my wonderful present to reach back into my ever-present yesterdays.
I slipped out of the house solo just after dawn on a Saturday morning. I drove into Manhattan for a long run doing the downtown loop that I have done so many times before. New York City, in general, is a geography that I love and associate with the very best times of my life. The space was simultaneously the same as it ever was, and profoundly different. The same could describe me, of course.
I began by running north up to about 57th St. That’s where the running path (as it was) used to end in my day. All along the waters’ edge, there was lots of beautiful parkland where there had once been empty piers. The cracked concrete coastline had given way to skate parks, tennis courts and boat launches. I then came back down and around the southern tip of Manhattan. The Freedom Tower now stands like the center of the world at the top of Fulton Street. The towers are still missing. Not replaced – there are different good things there now. Swept up in the buzz of my always home, I could not help but cross the Brooklyn Bridge too. I finished up in my old neighborhood of Tribeca. The cheese and the knish guys are still selling their treats at the Farmers Market. The office building where I earned my first post-college paycheck is now a swanky condo. There’s progress all around and it’s enough just to keep up. I am trying to grow in more ways than just getting older.
I hopped back in my timeless Civic and breezed eastward into Queens. I went to see my Papa’s tombstone, set in place, for the very first time. It was a pre-culmination. It’s been weeks of remembering what it was like a year ago today (every day) as he began his cancer spiral. In early July, I remembered the bittersweet treat of Skyping him from Virginia to see how he was doing. Throughout July we went to the oncologist with him to help understand his options and just be present. In mid-month, we decided to go out to Shelter Island one weekend, buoyed by liver enzyme numbers that were finally decreasing – the positive news that we had been hoping for. We visited him on that Friday night to watch the Olympics – just a dad and his two sons. With so many things to talk about but not wanting to believe that there wouldn’t be many more Friday nights left - things went unsaid. It turned out to be our last Friday together.
I’ve been reluctant to “go there” sometimes. My journal from this time last year has been like a travelogue of emotions that I jump into and back out of like a frigid ocean. There are so many flimsy reasons not to “go there”, like ruining my mood ahead of a day with the kids (or whatever) - if I did. On some level, I feared a debilitating sadness – not being able to get back from “there”. That’s why physical places matter so much. Going there, to that hilltop in St. Mary’s Cemetery, all by myself, allowed me to go there. The tombstone made it realer than ever, for me. My dad’s death was no longer deniable – etched in stone as it is. As I sat on the grass, utterly spent, it sent me over a good edge. It was the best cry that I’ve had in a while.
Trying, sweating, avoiding, crying and sometimes getting there.
I slipped out of the house solo just after dawn on a Saturday morning. I drove into Manhattan for a long run doing the downtown loop that I have done so many times before. New York City, in general, is a geography that I love and associate with the very best times of my life. The space was simultaneously the same as it ever was, and profoundly different. The same could describe me, of course.
I began by running north up to about 57th St. That’s where the running path (as it was) used to end in my day. All along the waters’ edge, there was lots of beautiful parkland where there had once been empty piers. The cracked concrete coastline had given way to skate parks, tennis courts and boat launches. I then came back down and around the southern tip of Manhattan. The Freedom Tower now stands like the center of the world at the top of Fulton Street. The towers are still missing. Not replaced – there are different good things there now. Swept up in the buzz of my always home, I could not help but cross the Brooklyn Bridge too. I finished up in my old neighborhood of Tribeca. The cheese and the knish guys are still selling their treats at the Farmers Market. The office building where I earned my first post-college paycheck is now a swanky condo. There’s progress all around and it’s enough just to keep up. I am trying to grow in more ways than just getting older.
I hopped back in my timeless Civic and breezed eastward into Queens. I went to see my Papa’s tombstone, set in place, for the very first time. It was a pre-culmination. It’s been weeks of remembering what it was like a year ago today (every day) as he began his cancer spiral. In early July, I remembered the bittersweet treat of Skyping him from Virginia to see how he was doing. Throughout July we went to the oncologist with him to help understand his options and just be present. In mid-month, we decided to go out to Shelter Island one weekend, buoyed by liver enzyme numbers that were finally decreasing – the positive news that we had been hoping for. We visited him on that Friday night to watch the Olympics – just a dad and his two sons. With so many things to talk about but not wanting to believe that there wouldn’t be many more Friday nights left - things went unsaid. It turned out to be our last Friday together.
I’ve been reluctant to “go there” sometimes. My journal from this time last year has been like a travelogue of emotions that I jump into and back out of like a frigid ocean. There are so many flimsy reasons not to “go there”, like ruining my mood ahead of a day with the kids (or whatever) - if I did. On some level, I feared a debilitating sadness – not being able to get back from “there”. That’s why physical places matter so much. Going there, to that hilltop in St. Mary’s Cemetery, all by myself, allowed me to go there. The tombstone made it realer than ever, for me. My dad’s death was no longer deniable – etched in stone as it is. As I sat on the grass, utterly spent, it sent me over a good edge. It was the best cry that I’ve had in a while.
Trying, sweating, avoiding, crying and sometimes getting there.
Friday, June 28, 2013
Cancer, Lies and Priorities
We make hundreds of choices every day. In the aggregate these choices constitute our priorities in life. Opting to stay late to finish up something at work instead of catching your kids recital becomes a pattern when repeated. Over a period of time and through a series of decisions, priorities are determined.
As difficult as these choices are to us as individuals, prioritizing becomes overwhelming in the public sphere. With so many competing interests, arriving at a consistent theme among all of the available options is daunting. Some goals get neglected and some outcomes become muted amidst the cacophony of competing interests. We see this most clearly now when we look at the inept management of our federal budget.
I confronted this challenge head-on in the collective when I visited DC last week for Pancreatic Cancer Advocacy Day. Having finally gotten a bill passed that would increase research funding for the most recalcitrant cancers (i.e., pancreatic and lung) earlier this year, budgets for these efforts are actually being decreased because of sequestration. This represents the ultimate abdication of decision-making responsibility – just cut everything indiscriminately.
One mischaracterization of the issue is that we (the U.S.) don’t have the money for life-saving research. In an annual budget of approximately $3.80 trillion, it is disingenuous of our leaders to say that we can’t afford to allocate a couple of extra tens of millions to decrease the number of cancer deaths. (The National Cancer Institute budget is a mere $5 billion.) To my elected leaders I say - you have opted to spend lots of money to bring about much less collective good based on the advice of countless corporate lobbyists. (I bumped into the Halliburton crew at The Capital last week.) When you tell us that we can’t afford something, I would like to remind you that we will spend $673 billion on our military this year, as much as the next ten nations combined. The money is being spent. It is for us to decide what we spend it on. You allow billions of corporate taxes to go uncollected from the likes of Apple and GE - money that could be used to help the afflicted. If the Bible is true when it says in Matthew, “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” – what do our resource decisions say about us?
I understand that it’s tough for you to tell a cancer survivor or someone who has lost a loved one that you would rather not allocate resources to help them. To say that you can’t is a cowardly lie. It makes me angry to be lied to so blatantly. Let’s at least be honest about the choices that you are making on our behalf.
Whether on the national or personal level, insisting that there are no (other) options belies either a lack of imagination or integrity. It is an admission that one is not willing to make the effort on a difficult choice. In our own lives, resisting inertia or challenging long-held sacred cow assumptions is not easy. It is easier, albeit disingenuous, to say that something can’t be done rather than admit that I choose not to.
I believe that our responsibility to each other as members of an interdependent community – whether it is a family, team, church or nation – is to keep each other honest. To allow our lies and self-deceptions to go unchallenged is to condone a deliberate falling short of our ideals. It is allowing us to achieve less than our potential, less than the individuals and society that God empowered us to be. I’d like to see doing the very best that we can for each other and ourselves be the priority every time.
As difficult as these choices are to us as individuals, prioritizing becomes overwhelming in the public sphere. With so many competing interests, arriving at a consistent theme among all of the available options is daunting. Some goals get neglected and some outcomes become muted amidst the cacophony of competing interests. We see this most clearly now when we look at the inept management of our federal budget.
I confronted this challenge head-on in the collective when I visited DC last week for Pancreatic Cancer Advocacy Day. Having finally gotten a bill passed that would increase research funding for the most recalcitrant cancers (i.e., pancreatic and lung) earlier this year, budgets for these efforts are actually being decreased because of sequestration. This represents the ultimate abdication of decision-making responsibility – just cut everything indiscriminately.
One mischaracterization of the issue is that we (the U.S.) don’t have the money for life-saving research. In an annual budget of approximately $3.80 trillion, it is disingenuous of our leaders to say that we can’t afford to allocate a couple of extra tens of millions to decrease the number of cancer deaths. (The National Cancer Institute budget is a mere $5 billion.) To my elected leaders I say - you have opted to spend lots of money to bring about much less collective good based on the advice of countless corporate lobbyists. (I bumped into the Halliburton crew at The Capital last week.) When you tell us that we can’t afford something, I would like to remind you that we will spend $673 billion on our military this year, as much as the next ten nations combined. The money is being spent. It is for us to decide what we spend it on. You allow billions of corporate taxes to go uncollected from the likes of Apple and GE - money that could be used to help the afflicted. If the Bible is true when it says in Matthew, “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” – what do our resource decisions say about us?
I understand that it’s tough for you to tell a cancer survivor or someone who has lost a loved one that you would rather not allocate resources to help them. To say that you can’t is a cowardly lie. It makes me angry to be lied to so blatantly. Let’s at least be honest about the choices that you are making on our behalf.
Whether on the national or personal level, insisting that there are no (other) options belies either a lack of imagination or integrity. It is an admission that one is not willing to make the effort on a difficult choice. In our own lives, resisting inertia or challenging long-held sacred cow assumptions is not easy. It is easier, albeit disingenuous, to say that something can’t be done rather than admit that I choose not to.
I believe that our responsibility to each other as members of an interdependent community – whether it is a family, team, church or nation – is to keep each other honest. To allow our lies and self-deceptions to go unchallenged is to condone a deliberate falling short of our ideals. It is allowing us to achieve less than our potential, less than the individuals and society that God empowered us to be. I’d like to see doing the very best that we can for each other and ourselves be the priority every time.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Flying Blind
A loss of five lbs. is, for most Americans, a cause for celebration. Even though I am probably on the too high side of the body mass index scale (per whoever decides such things), weight loss is not an automatic good thing for me. It could be the sign of something brewing. When this seemingly sudden drop happened to me a few weeks ago, I was much less worried than I might have been. Thanks be to God, I had just received clean CAT scan results only days before.
In my second to last annual CAT scan – the most telling check that I have available to me – there are no tumors, stones or other abnormalities that those most knowledgeable doctors could see. Yippee!!!
Because these scans – laden with radiation doses as they are – bring with them their own risks, the recommendation is for me to have just one more. (In fact, protocols are changing so quickly that I have already been scanned more than the latest approaches would recommend.) After next year’s scan I’ll be flying blind, just as we all typically do. No longer will I have that opportunity for assurance that was, each time, first nerve-wracking and then (thankfully) comforting.
So, now I wonder where I will find that calming reassurance. I will miss the illusion that all is well. Because, ultimately, that’s what it is. We like to think that we “know” things. Knowns like - that our partners love and will never leave us; that we’ll come home at the end of the day; that we’ll pay off that mortgage someday; that global warming is a hoax perpetuated by the liberal media. Certainty, even if an illusion is much more comforting than worrying that any of it could be suddenly otherwise.
I’ve had another shift from the known to the unknown column with the specter of one more series of “separations” at work. It felt better “knowing” that if I did a good job, I’d keep getting a paycheck. As too many have learned, that maxim is no longer true in this world where we’ve allowed profits to trump the interests of people at every turn.
There is a stability that comes with knowing. We make plans based on the things that we think that we know. Those many plans become a tragedy once they are ruined and their illusion is revealed.
The absence of the stability of knowing is stressful. How exhausting it is to wonder how the basics of food, shelter, and safety will be met for your family. Too many Americans face that dilemma every day. To have uncertainty around your health, your relationships and your job is traumatic and draining.
Could it be that some prospects might be better left unknown? In some cases, the possibilities that uncertainty allows might be preferable to the security of knowing. I was thinking about how awful it must have been for my Papa as hope kept fading that he would ever pull out of the death spiral his diagnosis brought. Some knowns are terrible. So much so that we’d rather not admit them. (That is a very heavy question…maybe for next time.) It makes flying blind look like a treat in comparison.
In my second to last annual CAT scan – the most telling check that I have available to me – there are no tumors, stones or other abnormalities that those most knowledgeable doctors could see. Yippee!!!
Because these scans – laden with radiation doses as they are – bring with them their own risks, the recommendation is for me to have just one more. (In fact, protocols are changing so quickly that I have already been scanned more than the latest approaches would recommend.) After next year’s scan I’ll be flying blind, just as we all typically do. No longer will I have that opportunity for assurance that was, each time, first nerve-wracking and then (thankfully) comforting.
So, now I wonder where I will find that calming reassurance. I will miss the illusion that all is well. Because, ultimately, that’s what it is. We like to think that we “know” things. Knowns like - that our partners love and will never leave us; that we’ll come home at the end of the day; that we’ll pay off that mortgage someday; that global warming is a hoax perpetuated by the liberal media. Certainty, even if an illusion is much more comforting than worrying that any of it could be suddenly otherwise.
I’ve had another shift from the known to the unknown column with the specter of one more series of “separations” at work. It felt better “knowing” that if I did a good job, I’d keep getting a paycheck. As too many have learned, that maxim is no longer true in this world where we’ve allowed profits to trump the interests of people at every turn.
There is a stability that comes with knowing. We make plans based on the things that we think that we know. Those many plans become a tragedy once they are ruined and their illusion is revealed.
The absence of the stability of knowing is stressful. How exhausting it is to wonder how the basics of food, shelter, and safety will be met for your family. Too many Americans face that dilemma every day. To have uncertainty around your health, your relationships and your job is traumatic and draining.
Could it be that some prospects might be better left unknown? In some cases, the possibilities that uncertainty allows might be preferable to the security of knowing. I was thinking about how awful it must have been for my Papa as hope kept fading that he would ever pull out of the death spiral his diagnosis brought. Some knowns are terrible. So much so that we’d rather not admit them. (That is a very heavy question…maybe for next time.) It makes flying blind look like a treat in comparison.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Inspiration and Easter
The cover of the Home News Tribune (a local NJ paper) on Saturday 3/23/13 featured my story of surviving pancreatic cancer. (I don’t know how long this link will work but here it is – (http://www.mycentraljersey.com/article/20130322/NJCARING/303220031/The-Pancreatic-Cancer-Action-Network-aims-beat-odds)
During the interview, before and since, the suggestion that I am some sort of inspiration (or worse yet, hero) came up. The idea is that because I am a survivor of this dreadful disease, that I provide some hope to others. I understand that perspective and very reluctantly accept that role. It makes me uncomfortable because I didn’t do anything. I am merely the conduit of God’s grace and the beneficiary of some amazing medical work. In that sense, I don’t deserve any credit for this glorious outcome, for having been spared. Still, I am glad to be an instrument of hope. (Obviously, I need to better understand and embrace my role.)
In the same way that cancer “shouldn’t happen” to people (like my Papa), anyone with a pancreatic cancer diagnosis “shouldn’t” (statistically) be alive 5 years later. Cancer is the coin – tragedy and opportunity are its’ two sides.
Then, this past week, there was Easter – the celebration of Jesus’ bodily resurrection after death. Among, many things, it represents the potential to which we can rise – the new best selves that God calls us to become. The creator God fills each of us with hope and potential.
Too often we choose to squander it – frittering it away and then justifying why that is okay. Instead of the Icarus that flies to close to the sun, we are sometimes the ones that fly too low and crash that way.
Over and over again throughout the Bible and throughout Jesus’ life and teachings, we are called to live into our truest selves, the image of God into which we were created.
Those two ideas – survivorship as inspiration and hope in the resurrection - connect in a very real way post-diagnosis for me. Both revolve around opportunity and potential.
I am re-born, resurrected as it were. I have defeated death for the time being, thankfully. I am starting over. I am being allowed to live up to my fullest potential.
All of it is now up to me.
Both events are a gift from God; a reprise growing out of God’s grace. In being “new” myself and in Jesus’ rising again, the most beautiful outcome imaginable is unrecognizable from what came before.
Every breath takes on a new, fresh urgency.
Our whole lives stretch out before us every morning.
During the interview, before and since, the suggestion that I am some sort of inspiration (or worse yet, hero) came up. The idea is that because I am a survivor of this dreadful disease, that I provide some hope to others. I understand that perspective and very reluctantly accept that role. It makes me uncomfortable because I didn’t do anything. I am merely the conduit of God’s grace and the beneficiary of some amazing medical work. In that sense, I don’t deserve any credit for this glorious outcome, for having been spared. Still, I am glad to be an instrument of hope. (Obviously, I need to better understand and embrace my role.)
In the same way that cancer “shouldn’t happen” to people (like my Papa), anyone with a pancreatic cancer diagnosis “shouldn’t” (statistically) be alive 5 years later. Cancer is the coin – tragedy and opportunity are its’ two sides.
Then, this past week, there was Easter – the celebration of Jesus’ bodily resurrection after death. Among, many things, it represents the potential to which we can rise – the new best selves that God calls us to become. The creator God fills each of us with hope and potential.
Too often we choose to squander it – frittering it away and then justifying why that is okay. Instead of the Icarus that flies to close to the sun, we are sometimes the ones that fly too low and crash that way.
Over and over again throughout the Bible and throughout Jesus’ life and teachings, we are called to live into our truest selves, the image of God into which we were created.
Those two ideas – survivorship as inspiration and hope in the resurrection - connect in a very real way post-diagnosis for me. Both revolve around opportunity and potential.
I am re-born, resurrected as it were. I have defeated death for the time being, thankfully. I am starting over. I am being allowed to live up to my fullest potential.
All of it is now up to me.
Both events are a gift from God; a reprise growing out of God’s grace. In being “new” myself and in Jesus’ rising again, the most beautiful outcome imaginable is unrecognizable from what came before.
Every breath takes on a new, fresh urgency.
Our whole lives stretch out before us every morning.
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Can’t Help (myself)?
I have a friend whose brother has a problem with alcohol. He goes on massive binges. Not surprisingly, these are very self-destructive – causing significant damage to his relationships, his career, his health, etc. Watching this is, of course, heart-wrenching to the man’s siblings, to his mother, to anyone who knows the wonderful person that he is.
It is awful to see a loved one in pain. For many of us, the inclination is to help in any way that we can. You want the suffering to end and the loved ones life to be better. For my children or immediate family, I’d do just about anything to avoid the anguish, soothe them if it does happen, or take it on myself instead. The saddest fact is that, as often as not, there’s nothing that I can do to help. Or it feels like that anyway.
In last month’s blog I wondered about the challenging question – “who is my neighbor?” A more eternal and poignant question for me in my life has been - how to best care, not for a neighbor or stranger-that-I-have-yet-to-meet, but those closest to me, that I already know and love?
A major aspect of love is to provide for someone’s need. In the end, as we all know, you can’t help someone who is not inclined to help themselves. Still being familiar with the circumstances or seeing a pattern repeated time and time again, begs for input. I’ve been trying hard my whole life to gently and diplomatically point something out or make a suggestion. In that instance, what if my love is rejected? It’s distressing to watch someone you love make (what appear to be) bad decisions. What do I do when I see a need that my suffering loved one refuses to admit? Still, my best intentions have been, more than once, misunderstood. I second-guess myself when my suggestions and attempts are seen as self-righteous judgments.
I recognize that making a suggestion implies to that loved one that you know better. I like to think that my meddling comes from a place of empathy and not smugness. It’s not about having the answers or trying to tell someone else how to live their lives. It’s not about being superior. Sometimes an outside perspective does allow for greater clarity. It comes from love. It comes from a place of sadness. It’s borne of caring too much to just stand on the sidelines and watch another train wreck in slow motion. The dynamics are often such that those struggling keep those most inclined and able to help at a safe distance (for them).
I have a couple of metaphorical alcoholics in my life. Yes, I struggle mightily with detaching myself from their struggles. I can’t turn and walk away. Sometimes I think that I am learning to. I am not always sure that I want to. I struggle with what the Christian thing to do is. I believe that our greatest task in life is to be our truest selves and achieve our fullest potential. Further that our relationships are key to that fulfillment.
We all have blind spots. We can choose to have friends and family that point them out and challenge us to be our best selves. Or not. The former is wonderful, the latter a damn shame.
It is awful to see a loved one in pain. For many of us, the inclination is to help in any way that we can. You want the suffering to end and the loved ones life to be better. For my children or immediate family, I’d do just about anything to avoid the anguish, soothe them if it does happen, or take it on myself instead. The saddest fact is that, as often as not, there’s nothing that I can do to help. Or it feels like that anyway.
In last month’s blog I wondered about the challenging question – “who is my neighbor?” A more eternal and poignant question for me in my life has been - how to best care, not for a neighbor or stranger-that-I-have-yet-to-meet, but those closest to me, that I already know and love?
A major aspect of love is to provide for someone’s need. In the end, as we all know, you can’t help someone who is not inclined to help themselves. Still being familiar with the circumstances or seeing a pattern repeated time and time again, begs for input. I’ve been trying hard my whole life to gently and diplomatically point something out or make a suggestion. In that instance, what if my love is rejected? It’s distressing to watch someone you love make (what appear to be) bad decisions. What do I do when I see a need that my suffering loved one refuses to admit? Still, my best intentions have been, more than once, misunderstood. I second-guess myself when my suggestions and attempts are seen as self-righteous judgments.
I recognize that making a suggestion implies to that loved one that you know better. I like to think that my meddling comes from a place of empathy and not smugness. It’s not about having the answers or trying to tell someone else how to live their lives. It’s not about being superior. Sometimes an outside perspective does allow for greater clarity. It comes from love. It comes from a place of sadness. It’s borne of caring too much to just stand on the sidelines and watch another train wreck in slow motion. The dynamics are often such that those struggling keep those most inclined and able to help at a safe distance (for them).
I have a couple of metaphorical alcoholics in my life. Yes, I struggle mightily with detaching myself from their struggles. I can’t turn and walk away. Sometimes I think that I am learning to. I am not always sure that I want to. I struggle with what the Christian thing to do is. I believe that our greatest task in life is to be our truest selves and achieve our fullest potential. Further that our relationships are key to that fulfillment.
We all have blind spots. We can choose to have friends and family that point them out and challenge us to be our best selves. Or not. The former is wonderful, the latter a damn shame.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Who is My Neighbor?
Like so many of us, I was sad to the point of spontaneous tears in the days that followed the school shootings at Newtown CT. I was so angry that I would diatribe to whoever was kind or trapped enough to listen. Leaving aside the specifics of the gun debate, I wonder what it is we do with these feelings. We feel, we express and…what then? I wonder what our responsibility is as citizens, as parents, as people that believe in God, a greater good, and love. What is our responsibility for and to each other?
I am amazed at how readily we tolerate inaction when we can’t agree on the exact cause of a problem – as if denial is a valid solution. We do it as a society all the time. Some of our leaders ignore the overwhelming evidence of global warming that threaten the lives of our grandchildren and the very world we’ve been given. The most blessed and powerful nation on Earth allows so many of its’ citizens to get sick or die by refusing to provide them adequate and available health care. Children in certain neighborhoods are denied the education necessary to succeed in our society. Drug laws and oppressive economic policies seem to deliberately target certain segments of the population. Our economic system requires a low wage worker to work 2 jobs just to survive, thus denying that worker’s child the parental guidance so critical for success. We just had a presidential election that engrossed us but directed almost zero attention to these issues. Denial.
Destructive weather patterns, inconsistent or non-existent health care, and an oppressive criminal justice and economic policies affect millions of Americans. Who is responsible to do something about it if not every one of us as citizens, parents and believers?
With the Newtown tragedy, like many, I had to turn off the TV coverage sometimes. It was just too much, too sad. It was debilitating in the short-term. Self-preservation begs for a break and that’s okay. Less okay is to walk away from that raw reality in the long-term - for that ensures that more lives will be shattered. Just as they are in poorer and more violent neighborhoods throughout this country every day.
Are we relieved of responsibility when it is happening over there, to someone else? The residents of Newtown were shocked because such devastation doesn’t happen in their (kind of) town. Thankfully this scale of tragedy only happens anywhere very rarely. Still, kids get hurt or killed by guns every day in some neighborhoods. And now, weeks later we are barely recognizing the pain of those parents as we identify the problem and offer tempered solutions.
We are all reacting after Newtown, after Sandy, and after the economic crisis because it is these truths that we deliberately ignored that have come to our gates. That could have been our children, our homes, and our jobs and savings.
Aren’t we fooling ourselves (ultimately to our tragic detriment) when we don’t see those wrongs before they get to our gate, while they are ravaging our neighbors? Jacquelyn happens to be President of the Board of a non-profit in our town that asks the biblical question, “Who is My Neighbor?” It’s a challenging and an uncomfortable query. Isn’t it time we buck up, recognize some obvious truths, and advocate for the neighbors just beyond our gates.
After all, the gates are illusory and we are, in fact, all neighbors.
I am amazed at how readily we tolerate inaction when we can’t agree on the exact cause of a problem – as if denial is a valid solution. We do it as a society all the time. Some of our leaders ignore the overwhelming evidence of global warming that threaten the lives of our grandchildren and the very world we’ve been given. The most blessed and powerful nation on Earth allows so many of its’ citizens to get sick or die by refusing to provide them adequate and available health care. Children in certain neighborhoods are denied the education necessary to succeed in our society. Drug laws and oppressive economic policies seem to deliberately target certain segments of the population. Our economic system requires a low wage worker to work 2 jobs just to survive, thus denying that worker’s child the parental guidance so critical for success. We just had a presidential election that engrossed us but directed almost zero attention to these issues. Denial.
Destructive weather patterns, inconsistent or non-existent health care, and an oppressive criminal justice and economic policies affect millions of Americans. Who is responsible to do something about it if not every one of us as citizens, parents and believers?
With the Newtown tragedy, like many, I had to turn off the TV coverage sometimes. It was just too much, too sad. It was debilitating in the short-term. Self-preservation begs for a break and that’s okay. Less okay is to walk away from that raw reality in the long-term - for that ensures that more lives will be shattered. Just as they are in poorer and more violent neighborhoods throughout this country every day.
Are we relieved of responsibility when it is happening over there, to someone else? The residents of Newtown were shocked because such devastation doesn’t happen in their (kind of) town. Thankfully this scale of tragedy only happens anywhere very rarely. Still, kids get hurt or killed by guns every day in some neighborhoods. And now, weeks later we are barely recognizing the pain of those parents as we identify the problem and offer tempered solutions.
We are all reacting after Newtown, after Sandy, and after the economic crisis because it is these truths that we deliberately ignored that have come to our gates. That could have been our children, our homes, and our jobs and savings.
Aren’t we fooling ourselves (ultimately to our tragic detriment) when we don’t see those wrongs before they get to our gate, while they are ravaging our neighbors? Jacquelyn happens to be President of the Board of a non-profit in our town that asks the biblical question, “Who is My Neighbor?” It’s a challenging and an uncomfortable query. Isn’t it time we buck up, recognize some obvious truths, and advocate for the neighbors just beyond our gates.
After all, the gates are illusory and we are, in fact, all neighbors.
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