Over the past 8-9 months, I have come to believe even more strongly that our primary purpose here on this Earth is to make love. I mean the words literally – not figuratively as they are typically used together.
Towards that person who, by virtue of our misunderstanding them, we come to dislike – make love.
For that family member who committed that seemingly unforgivable offense – make love.
Between us and the different-than-us other in our lives – make love.
Towards that neighbor or stranger whose lifestyle or views you find so disagreeable – make love.
The name of the game is the same since those lusty teenage years, only the players and desired outcomes have changed. In effect, we deliberately misunderstood what making love means. The colloquial meaning is much easier than the challenge that God lays out for us. Yes…I believe that God intends for us to make love in this world. What if we could each take every opportunity every day to make more love? The potential is available to all of us. I don't pretend to be there. Unfortunately, even life-threatening illnesses don't bring with them that kind of open heart instantly.
A Church friend asked me how my perspectives have changed as a result of my cancer. Without a doubt, the renewed primacy of relationships in my life is one great tangible benefit. I have always valued my friendships and regularly see friends I've had from third grade on. Those friends from my neighborhood, high school and college have remained an important part of my life - only more so. I am inclined to bridge the distance that exists in all of my contacts. Strangers…I now want to meet. Acquaintances are potential friends. I am no longer content to experience my longtime friends on a static level but am compelled to deepen that bond. I only wish that everyone felt the same.
When it comes to making love, all that limits us is our own issues and hang-ups. Some of us withhold it. Others wait for it to be earned. Still others, sadly, don't know how to do it. Realizing this, some turn to a therapist for help. For others, it is religion and God's call that allows them to open up their hearts. Ultimately, that is the goal of each. Most unfortunately – sometimes it is our steadfast clinging to various distractions and excuses that allows us to resist the help so readily available.
Often fear keeps us from connecting with those around us. We keep our vulnerabilities to ourselves rather than appear weak or different from those seemingly strong and together folks around us. Interestingly (but not surprisingly), I have found the opposite to be true - that sharing my cancer challenges has helped me to bond with others (i.e., so many of you). Why would that be?
God allows us to admit that we are fragile and broken. Consider that his "rules" – from the Golden Rule on – are primarily intended to regulate how we relate to each other. Incidentally, that is one of the chief benefits of religion in our lives. It is not predominantly about the adherence to a particular dogma or even the faith in a set of unknowns. Religion is, rather, the opportunity for community and positive change consistent with shared beliefs. If it ain't about the people, then it isn't very good religion in my book.
So get out there, leave your fears and shackles behind – connect deeply with all those you meet and make love in this world. Lord knows we need it.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Second Scan Surviving
I am most thrilled to report that my cancer-free status has been confirmed by a CAT scan! This is my second scan since my Whipple procedure in December and my first since the end of my adjuvant treatment. Thanks be to God. Yippee!
This is most wonderful news on the verge of our annual pilgrimage to Istria, Croatia. It will make our visit to 89-year-old Nona Ana's an even greater cause for celebration.
Several months ago I wondered what it meant to be a "cancer survivor". With the passing of time, the answer is becoming clearer to me.
As with so much related to cancer, it has to with the absence of something (bad) rather than the presence of something (good). This is awkward because it is the opposite of the way our lives are geared, in general. Cancer is that unwelcome guest that you are most happy with when he/she is gone.
I am beginning to understand that being a survivor is choosing not to be a victim. This is not to say that cancer might not get you in the end even if you choose to be "a survivor". But, for me, it seems that to choose to be other than a survivor would almost assure a bad end.
As I look around I see that we each face similar if sometimes less dramatic choices in our lives periodically. We can choose whether to be a victim or survivor after a bad breakup or divorce, when we lose our job, when we are hurt or disrespected by a loved one or face any of a number of injustices.
I believe that the circumstances are, ultimately, less important than the realization that there is a choice to be made and choosing the light. A life-threatening illness may be a bit unique in that there is not much time to emotionally adjust to the news before having to make the choice. Still, all you can do is all you can do – and that's always true.
There is no other choice but a full life for me. I thank God that life is choosing me back.
This is most wonderful news on the verge of our annual pilgrimage to Istria, Croatia. It will make our visit to 89-year-old Nona Ana's an even greater cause for celebration.
Several months ago I wondered what it meant to be a "cancer survivor". With the passing of time, the answer is becoming clearer to me.
As with so much related to cancer, it has to with the absence of something (bad) rather than the presence of something (good). This is awkward because it is the opposite of the way our lives are geared, in general. Cancer is that unwelcome guest that you are most happy with when he/she is gone.
I am beginning to understand that being a survivor is choosing not to be a victim. This is not to say that cancer might not get you in the end even if you choose to be "a survivor". But, for me, it seems that to choose to be other than a survivor would almost assure a bad end.
As I look around I see that we each face similar if sometimes less dramatic choices in our lives periodically. We can choose whether to be a victim or survivor after a bad breakup or divorce, when we lose our job, when we are hurt or disrespected by a loved one or face any of a number of injustices.
I believe that the circumstances are, ultimately, less important than the realization that there is a choice to be made and choosing the light. A life-threatening illness may be a bit unique in that there is not much time to emotionally adjust to the news before having to make the choice. Still, all you can do is all you can do – and that's always true.
There is no other choice but a full life for me. I thank God that life is choosing me back.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Revisiting Life and Death
My cancer diagnosis has made me see both life and death differently. I have revisited some long-neglected ideas and introduced very many new ones.
Since recovering from my Whipple procedure, I have been re-attracted to some Buddhist perspectives as well as greatly intensifying my interests in my Christian roots. The timing of all of this is, of course, not remotely coincidental. As I have said here many times before, I have felt God walking with me throughout my recovery. I know that he was with me even before, always. His presence has been more tangible, more easily recognizable though these days. Blessed are those who are able to see him all around them as a matter of course – in a child's sweet smile, in an anonymous kind act, in scoring a choice parking spot, in a thirsty buzzing bee, or a serendipitous phone call.
The appeal of the Buddhist philosophy for me now and throughout my life is in the letting go. (Not that this is absent in Christianity. It is the fundamental beauty of having faith and trusting in God. A challenge easier said than done.) In Buddhism, there is no follow-on to the acceptance – no further relationship with the divine. It is "easier" in a way; it doesn't ask any more (than that not insignificant thing) of you. My focus has been on how the day-to-day letting go would help me to have less stress in my life. It was meant to be just one life change contributing to my avoidance of the cancer returning. In general, my belief is that less stress equals a lower likelihood of a cancer replay.
The two life philosophies also have useful parallels for me when it comes to understanding/accepting death. A terrific Christian theologian, Marcus Borg, wrote – "Buddhist 'letting go' and Christian 'dying' are similar processes. Dying is the ultimate 'letting go' – of the world and one's self. The world as center of one's identify and security and the self as the center of one's preoccupation pass away. This 'letting go' is liberation from an old way of being and resurrection into a new way of being. There is thus a Buddhist 'born again' as well as a Christian 'liberation through enlightenment' experience." The parallel is further demonstrated in the words of these two great teachers. Jesus said (from Mark 8:35) "Those who want to save their life will lose it and those who lose their life for my sake will save it." Similarly, attributed to the Buddha is the following – "With the relinquishing of all thought and egotism, the enlightened one is liberated through not clinging."
Another input to which I have exposed myself that has helped me to fear death a little less has been a book called "Closer to the Light". In brief, my "learning from the near-death experience of children" has been that there is actually a body of anecdotal evidence that supports many of our beliefs about what happens to us upon our death. Leaving my family and loved ones prematurely would be indescribably sad – but I am feeling a little more solace considering the world of love that awaits us on the other side.
Although this comes as a bit of Christian blasphemy, I have mostly chosen not to let it matter to me what awaits us after death. If I am put in the ground and my body becomes food for insects – then so be it. It has never been the promise of heaven that has motivated me to "be good". I like the notion that Jesus died for our sins and offers us everlasting life – but even if it were not to be so, his life and teachings still offer us infinite wisdom and a supreme example. Ultimately, the belief in an ideal and compassionate morality may be more important than how close to the truth we are.
Once again, I've learned that life and death are just as we have been taught to believe – only even more so! Both are full of mystery. Sometimes we just need to get a little faith boost from somewhere to remind us of all that we already know.
Since recovering from my Whipple procedure, I have been re-attracted to some Buddhist perspectives as well as greatly intensifying my interests in my Christian roots. The timing of all of this is, of course, not remotely coincidental. As I have said here many times before, I have felt God walking with me throughout my recovery. I know that he was with me even before, always. His presence has been more tangible, more easily recognizable though these days. Blessed are those who are able to see him all around them as a matter of course – in a child's sweet smile, in an anonymous kind act, in scoring a choice parking spot, in a thirsty buzzing bee, or a serendipitous phone call.
The appeal of the Buddhist philosophy for me now and throughout my life is in the letting go. (Not that this is absent in Christianity. It is the fundamental beauty of having faith and trusting in God. A challenge easier said than done.) In Buddhism, there is no follow-on to the acceptance – no further relationship with the divine. It is "easier" in a way; it doesn't ask any more (than that not insignificant thing) of you. My focus has been on how the day-to-day letting go would help me to have less stress in my life. It was meant to be just one life change contributing to my avoidance of the cancer returning. In general, my belief is that less stress equals a lower likelihood of a cancer replay.
The two life philosophies also have useful parallels for me when it comes to understanding/accepting death. A terrific Christian theologian, Marcus Borg, wrote – "Buddhist 'letting go' and Christian 'dying' are similar processes. Dying is the ultimate 'letting go' – of the world and one's self. The world as center of one's identify and security and the self as the center of one's preoccupation pass away. This 'letting go' is liberation from an old way of being and resurrection into a new way of being. There is thus a Buddhist 'born again' as well as a Christian 'liberation through enlightenment' experience." The parallel is further demonstrated in the words of these two great teachers. Jesus said (from Mark 8:35) "Those who want to save their life will lose it and those who lose their life for my sake will save it." Similarly, attributed to the Buddha is the following – "With the relinquishing of all thought and egotism, the enlightened one is liberated through not clinging."
Another input to which I have exposed myself that has helped me to fear death a little less has been a book called "Closer to the Light". In brief, my "learning from the near-death experience of children" has been that there is actually a body of anecdotal evidence that supports many of our beliefs about what happens to us upon our death. Leaving my family and loved ones prematurely would be indescribably sad – but I am feeling a little more solace considering the world of love that awaits us on the other side.
Although this comes as a bit of Christian blasphemy, I have mostly chosen not to let it matter to me what awaits us after death. If I am put in the ground and my body becomes food for insects – then so be it. It has never been the promise of heaven that has motivated me to "be good". I like the notion that Jesus died for our sins and offers us everlasting life – but even if it were not to be so, his life and teachings still offer us infinite wisdom and a supreme example. Ultimately, the belief in an ideal and compassionate morality may be more important than how close to the truth we are.
Once again, I've learned that life and death are just as we have been taught to believe – only even more so! Both are full of mystery. Sometimes we just need to get a little faith boost from somewhere to remind us of all that we already know.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Getting back to "normal"
Going into my adjuvant therapy treatments - as with most everything else about this disease – it was the unknown that scared me the most. The blessing - as with most everything else about this disease – was that it played out like a best-case scenario. The last six months of treatments, whether chemo or radiation, was very tolerable for me. God and his church have been with me every step of the way. Thank you again for all of your prayers.
There was some congratulations and celebrating on and after July 2nd when I had my last dose of chemo. It is a certainly a cause for joy and celebration in terms of a milestone. Still, I've been struggling with what it means to be done with my adjuvant therapy. On its most basic level it means that "they" will not be putting poison into my body to make me better again anytime soon. I have been affected far more by the drug side effects than the disease itself thus far. I assume that I'll start feeling better once those side effects recede into the past. It is the absence of those negative effects that I look forward to. (Whether there are any positive outcomes of these treatments is, unfortunately, completely unknown.) That's why it's strangely a bit anti-climatic, I think. The practical effect of the end-of-treatment milestone is the absence of a negative…eventually.
Still, I am beginning to see the wonderful return to the healthy "normal" that I have prayed for. A state where pancreatic cancer is something that happened to me once upon a time. It is a something - as with most everything else about this disease – that changed my life for the good but I don't want to go back to.
I have also been appreciating that if I was part of the other half of the 6 billion people sharing God's good earth, I could very well be dead (if not very sick) right now. I am blessed to have been born in the very rich western world where we have come to expect the medical community to fix us up when things go wrong, even on a cellular level. I am blessed to have had my cancer detected, a superlative surgery performed and adjuvant therapies available to me. I can't complain about any minute of any of it – so long as I stop to consider the alternative.
So, I have been doing what I can do to get strong again. I walk a mile to and from the train station on most work days. I have been increasing my running mileage. I play softball occasionally and roller hockey on most Wednesday nights. I am fortifying the soil for maximum healthiness. I am a little too tired all of the time but less and less so. Now, I'll be getting stronger daily coming out of the chemo. As the poisoned and frozen ground thaws, seeds are poised to burst out into the warm spring sun of recovery. Getting back to max will be an epiphany prompting a celebration of my fantastic life yet again.
There was some congratulations and celebrating on and after July 2nd when I had my last dose of chemo. It is a certainly a cause for joy and celebration in terms of a milestone. Still, I've been struggling with what it means to be done with my adjuvant therapy. On its most basic level it means that "they" will not be putting poison into my body to make me better again anytime soon. I have been affected far more by the drug side effects than the disease itself thus far. I assume that I'll start feeling better once those side effects recede into the past. It is the absence of those negative effects that I look forward to. (Whether there are any positive outcomes of these treatments is, unfortunately, completely unknown.) That's why it's strangely a bit anti-climatic, I think. The practical effect of the end-of-treatment milestone is the absence of a negative…eventually.
Still, I am beginning to see the wonderful return to the healthy "normal" that I have prayed for. A state where pancreatic cancer is something that happened to me once upon a time. It is a something - as with most everything else about this disease – that changed my life for the good but I don't want to go back to.
I have also been appreciating that if I was part of the other half of the 6 billion people sharing God's good earth, I could very well be dead (if not very sick) right now. I am blessed to have been born in the very rich western world where we have come to expect the medical community to fix us up when things go wrong, even on a cellular level. I am blessed to have had my cancer detected, a superlative surgery performed and adjuvant therapies available to me. I can't complain about any minute of any of it – so long as I stop to consider the alternative.
So, I have been doing what I can do to get strong again. I walk a mile to and from the train station on most work days. I have been increasing my running mileage. I play softball occasionally and roller hockey on most Wednesday nights. I am fortifying the soil for maximum healthiness. I am a little too tired all of the time but less and less so. Now, I'll be getting stronger daily coming out of the chemo. As the poisoned and frozen ground thaws, seeds are poised to burst out into the warm spring sun of recovery. Getting back to max will be an epiphany prompting a celebration of my fantastic life yet again.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
We Are Family
This Thursday I will have my final dose of chemo. Yipee! This whole ordeal, which started almost exactly eight months ago, will then enter a new phase. In terms of my physical body, I will, in effect, be returning to my pre-cancer state of health. And for that I will be very glad. No more side effects of drugs and radiation treatments. No more fatigue. No more compromised immune system.
It's that last effect – manifested by a very low white blood cell count - that has necessitated nightly shots of Neupogen administered by my nurse Jacquelyn. The Neupogen, which stimulates my bone marrow to make more white blood cells, also causes me to feel very achy – like when you have a debilitating flu. Thankfully, acetaminophen takes care of that. One thing just leads to another once you enter the world of pharmaceuticals, it seems.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A couple of months ago, one of our pastors asked me to consider doing a testimonial at church. The spirit was willing but I was having trouble putting the words around it. I found myself all over the place with so many different things to say about the impact that the fantastic Reformed Church of Highland Park (RCHP) has had in my life over the last nearly three years.
In the meantime, a few folks have done their testimonials expressing what the Church has meant to them. It has been both very moving and a window into the role of religion and this particular church community in their lives. In reflecting on what my Church has meant to me recently, it has made me consider how religion can work in our lives and the spiritual power of this blog community too.
For us, finding RCHP was a bonus benefit of our move to Highland Park in July, 2006. We choose this town very deliberately and were thrilled by the house we landed. As far as a church…that was something that we'd work out. Little did we know what awaited us when the strong recommendation came in from our Jewish friends, no less! It just goes to show that you can plan and consider very carefully and yet God's grace is something bestowed upon us.
This Church has challenged us since the first time we walked in. We were embraced from the get-go, and challenged. It has felt completely comfortable and yet a little uncomfortable the whole time. It's the discomfort that comes from stretching and growing. I firmly believe that if you are very comfortable with where you are (Church-wise and life-wise), then you aren't challenging yourself enough.
And then most recently – this Church has meant more than I ever thought that a church could mean to me. Besides growth, it's meant love and family for me…for us.
The idea of a family has always meant a lot to me. It's been a very well-defined word, not used lightly. My birth and extended families have been my first consideration -almost to a fault some might say. Just ask any of my old girlfriends. J And, of course, there is nothing more important to me than Jacquelyn and my babies. But, my last few months have helped me to appreciate in the depths of my heart a wonderful broadening of the word family. My RCHP church family has been right next to me throughout my illness - with all of the presence and support that the word implies. They've been like the cloak of Jesus that I clutch for healing - embodying His teaching. I trust that they aren't going anywhere.
Further, my church family has loved me. After using my sleeves for too long, I've taken to bringing a handkerchief to church with me because of the many tears of sadness, warmth and joy that I find myself shedding nearly every week in those pews. The little Church on 2nd Ave offers me an incredible emotional haven, wrapping me in the safe and loving arms of God.
There are many parallels between the remarkable RCHP congregation that has been physically present for me and this online community. I acted somewhat out of character back in November in opening myself and my health challenges up to the world. Though this blog would certainly make you think differently, I was never one to broadcast my troubles or struggles. But, the return on that risk-taking has been the most tangible presence of God's love that I have ever felt pouring forth from all of you. I have felt an army of supporters travelling my road w/me - something that has literally saved my life.
It has been absolutely amazing for me to discover how much faith there is out there amongst the people that I know. Since taking my faith public, I have received strong responses from all corners of my life. In a Church community, you would expect that. But, I learned so much about the faith and doubts of friends and acquaintances. There is so much intentionality and praying going on – who knew?! To mix religious metaphors – it has been, for me, a validation of the law of spiritual karma. Namely, the more you put out there, the more you get back. It is a beautiful thing. (I've found that it works the same for love too.)
After all of these years, I just may have learned to let myself be loved. That may be one of the best outcomes for me from all of this. And for that, I thank God for the blessing of opening myself up to a bigger circle.
When I needed a boost of love and faith, my Church family and online community have come through beyond my every prayer, and for that I can never thank you enough.
It's that last effect – manifested by a very low white blood cell count - that has necessitated nightly shots of Neupogen administered by my nurse Jacquelyn. The Neupogen, which stimulates my bone marrow to make more white blood cells, also causes me to feel very achy – like when you have a debilitating flu. Thankfully, acetaminophen takes care of that. One thing just leads to another once you enter the world of pharmaceuticals, it seems.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A couple of months ago, one of our pastors asked me to consider doing a testimonial at church. The spirit was willing but I was having trouble putting the words around it. I found myself all over the place with so many different things to say about the impact that the fantastic Reformed Church of Highland Park (RCHP) has had in my life over the last nearly three years.
In the meantime, a few folks have done their testimonials expressing what the Church has meant to them. It has been both very moving and a window into the role of religion and this particular church community in their lives. In reflecting on what my Church has meant to me recently, it has made me consider how religion can work in our lives and the spiritual power of this blog community too.
For us, finding RCHP was a bonus benefit of our move to Highland Park in July, 2006. We choose this town very deliberately and were thrilled by the house we landed. As far as a church…that was something that we'd work out. Little did we know what awaited us when the strong recommendation came in from our Jewish friends, no less! It just goes to show that you can plan and consider very carefully and yet God's grace is something bestowed upon us.
This Church has challenged us since the first time we walked in. We were embraced from the get-go, and challenged. It has felt completely comfortable and yet a little uncomfortable the whole time. It's the discomfort that comes from stretching and growing. I firmly believe that if you are very comfortable with where you are (Church-wise and life-wise), then you aren't challenging yourself enough.
And then most recently – this Church has meant more than I ever thought that a church could mean to me. Besides growth, it's meant love and family for me…for us.
The idea of a family has always meant a lot to me. It's been a very well-defined word, not used lightly. My birth and extended families have been my first consideration -almost to a fault some might say. Just ask any of my old girlfriends. J And, of course, there is nothing more important to me than Jacquelyn and my babies. But, my last few months have helped me to appreciate in the depths of my heart a wonderful broadening of the word family. My RCHP church family has been right next to me throughout my illness - with all of the presence and support that the word implies. They've been like the cloak of Jesus that I clutch for healing - embodying His teaching. I trust that they aren't going anywhere.
Further, my church family has loved me. After using my sleeves for too long, I've taken to bringing a handkerchief to church with me because of the many tears of sadness, warmth and joy that I find myself shedding nearly every week in those pews. The little Church on 2nd Ave offers me an incredible emotional haven, wrapping me in the safe and loving arms of God.
There are many parallels between the remarkable RCHP congregation that has been physically present for me and this online community. I acted somewhat out of character back in November in opening myself and my health challenges up to the world. Though this blog would certainly make you think differently, I was never one to broadcast my troubles or struggles. But, the return on that risk-taking has been the most tangible presence of God's love that I have ever felt pouring forth from all of you. I have felt an army of supporters travelling my road w/me - something that has literally saved my life.
It has been absolutely amazing for me to discover how much faith there is out there amongst the people that I know. Since taking my faith public, I have received strong responses from all corners of my life. In a Church community, you would expect that. But, I learned so much about the faith and doubts of friends and acquaintances. There is so much intentionality and praying going on – who knew?! To mix religious metaphors – it has been, for me, a validation of the law of spiritual karma. Namely, the more you put out there, the more you get back. It is a beautiful thing. (I've found that it works the same for love too.)
After all of these years, I just may have learned to let myself be loved. That may be one of the best outcomes for me from all of this. And for that, I thank God for the blessing of opening myself up to a bigger circle.
When I needed a boost of love and faith, my Church family and online community have come through beyond my every prayer, and for that I can never thank you enough.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Circle of Life
A few weeks back I mentioned the foursome of baby robins that graced us for a time, nourished and protected by a doting mother. All four of us Juricics would conscientiously try not to disturb the new and fragile family. But it is a jungle out there, even in our backyard. One morning, 7-10 days after they'd busted into the world, they went from four to one. Not yet ready for flight – we feared the worst for them. The next morning the nest had been knocked to the ground and no little tweeters were left - most likely, unlucky victims of the necessary circle of life. It is only cruel or tragic because we choose to differentiate between the various expressions of God – favoring baby robins over, say, possums. All, ultimately, part of God's plan.
Not a day goes by that I am not reminded of God's plan and my own personal circle of life. That circle of life is my view of everything that is most important to me. It is my perspective on my past, present and future. As the song says – "It's the circle of life, and it moves us all, through despair and hope, through faith and love." It's my horizon, my fate. But instead of it getting smaller or tighter, the cancer has made my circle more intense, brighter and wider. If you can visualize it – my circle has gone from fuzzy to focused, from slow-burning to bursting. That's been the gift of my misbehaving pancreas to the rest of me.
I need to find a better way of saying this, but…if this cancer doesn't kill me; it'll be the best thing that ever happened to me (besides Jacquelyn and my babies). It certainly has been thus far.
Many people have expressed to me that they are sorry to have heard the "news" about me. Though these sentiments are certainly sincere, they are not ones that I share. As I've said, I wouldn't wish this upon anyone – but so far it hasn't been a bad thing that has happened to me, probably more good than bad until now. I haven't "lost" much of anything yet. I recognize that that could all change in a moment, that I could lose it all. And even if that is God's plan and the circle of life, I won't be okay with that. But til now, all it has cost me is a few sections of my digestive system. Other than that physical effect, all that I've lost is the false notion that I am invincible. It is an idea that most of us carry around with us, but a trait that we don't actually have. By losing that lie, I've gained a far more valuable truth.
Not a day goes by that I am not reminded of God's plan and my own personal circle of life. That circle of life is my view of everything that is most important to me. It is my perspective on my past, present and future. As the song says – "It's the circle of life, and it moves us all, through despair and hope, through faith and love." It's my horizon, my fate. But instead of it getting smaller or tighter, the cancer has made my circle more intense, brighter and wider. If you can visualize it – my circle has gone from fuzzy to focused, from slow-burning to bursting. That's been the gift of my misbehaving pancreas to the rest of me.
I need to find a better way of saying this, but…if this cancer doesn't kill me; it'll be the best thing that ever happened to me (besides Jacquelyn and my babies). It certainly has been thus far.
Many people have expressed to me that they are sorry to have heard the "news" about me. Though these sentiments are certainly sincere, they are not ones that I share. As I've said, I wouldn't wish this upon anyone – but so far it hasn't been a bad thing that has happened to me, probably more good than bad until now. I haven't "lost" much of anything yet. I recognize that that could all change in a moment, that I could lose it all. And even if that is God's plan and the circle of life, I won't be okay with that. But til now, all it has cost me is a few sections of my digestive system. Other than that physical effect, all that I've lost is the false notion that I am invincible. It is an idea that most of us carry around with us, but a trait that we don't actually have. By losing that lie, I've gained a far more valuable truth.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Embracing Acceptance
"I can't believe I forgot to pick up this week's farm share this morning!"
"I just don't know what to do with you sometimes Noah/Ana. You just don't listen."
"The train delay this morning made me 45 minutes late for work."
These statements (or something similar) have been heard around our house recently. Those nagging things that go wrong or other than we'd planned in our lives, causing us anger and/or stress. We all have them, regularly. There's no avoiding them – but it is up to us how we react to life's little trials.
Back in January, as I was recovering from my surgery, I started thinking about how I could live a healthier lifestyle to minimize the chance of a recurrence. I've been striving for a stricter diet of less white flour, sugar, processed food and industrial meats intended to make my body less hospitable to the cancer. I decided that a reintroduction of a daily practice of meditation to complement my discipline of prayer could do much for my mind. Beyond the chemo and radiation treatments, I want to be doing all that I can to help myself.
So…I just got back from a meditation retreat in Massachusetts. It was three wonderful days of contemplation, hard work and relaxation. Three days of basic and delicious vegetarian meals, wake-ups at 4 am and total silence. Three days of being totally cut off from the outside world – no cell phones and no leaving the grounds – to meditate for about 10 hours a day. The technique is called Vipassana and it stresses observing the reality of oneself by observing the sensations within the body. I had taken a 10-day course back in 1996 and this 3-day refresher seems like a great way to jump start my practice.
A key aspect of Vipassana practice is to couple the awareness of our body's sensations with equanimity. What that means is to be conscious of everything that happens within, and at the same time not to react to it, understanding that it will change. Put another way – in more colloquial terms – is don't sweat the small (or any particular size) stuff.
Interestingly, my cancer diagnosis has taught me to be equanimous too. It gave me a new perspective on what is important in my life. There were few things that got me very upset before and fewer now. If anything, it was the small stuff that did disproportionately get to me; being too hard on me and those around me about the little things. So much of that is gone now. I am attached to far less in terms of particular outcomes and have fewer expectations. I understand that there is little else but to roll with the punches. Trains are sometimes late, to-dos will sometimes slip our minds and kids will (should) act like 3-year-olds. All of which is much easier with the conviction that it is all part of God's plan and that he walks the path with me.
Another funny thing happened to me on the way through this cancer challenge…
I had always viewed time as a precious resource, to be maximized and never wasted. I prided myself on being very efficient. Multi-tasking was seemingly second-nature to me. I have always liked to have a plan. I wasn't neurotic about it, but good planning implied anticipation and a sense of control for me.
The diagnosis of this most deadly of cancers threatens to take away my remaining time and shatters my sense of control. You would think that every minute would become even more precious to me. And although it is, in the sense that I appreciate every morning more, I am running around much less. I welcome spontaneous upsets to my best-laid plans. I derive much more pleasure from a slow and simple meal or one sip of a delicious wine than ever before. It is actually my relationships that have usurped time as the most precious commodity in my life. Strange considering that a "premature" death threatens me with less time on this earth. Family and friends have always been very important to me but never as much as now. Maybe it is exactly the recognition that time here was never ours but merely granted to us by God – whereas, our relationships are, ultimately, all that we have and all that we make and all that we take.
"I just don't know what to do with you sometimes Noah/Ana. You just don't listen."
"The train delay this morning made me 45 minutes late for work."
These statements (or something similar) have been heard around our house recently. Those nagging things that go wrong or other than we'd planned in our lives, causing us anger and/or stress. We all have them, regularly. There's no avoiding them – but it is up to us how we react to life's little trials.
Back in January, as I was recovering from my surgery, I started thinking about how I could live a healthier lifestyle to minimize the chance of a recurrence. I've been striving for a stricter diet of less white flour, sugar, processed food and industrial meats intended to make my body less hospitable to the cancer. I decided that a reintroduction of a daily practice of meditation to complement my discipline of prayer could do much for my mind. Beyond the chemo and radiation treatments, I want to be doing all that I can to help myself.
So…I just got back from a meditation retreat in Massachusetts. It was three wonderful days of contemplation, hard work and relaxation. Three days of basic and delicious vegetarian meals, wake-ups at 4 am and total silence. Three days of being totally cut off from the outside world – no cell phones and no leaving the grounds – to meditate for about 10 hours a day. The technique is called Vipassana and it stresses observing the reality of oneself by observing the sensations within the body. I had taken a 10-day course back in 1996 and this 3-day refresher seems like a great way to jump start my practice.
A key aspect of Vipassana practice is to couple the awareness of our body's sensations with equanimity. What that means is to be conscious of everything that happens within, and at the same time not to react to it, understanding that it will change. Put another way – in more colloquial terms – is don't sweat the small (or any particular size) stuff.
Interestingly, my cancer diagnosis has taught me to be equanimous too. It gave me a new perspective on what is important in my life. There were few things that got me very upset before and fewer now. If anything, it was the small stuff that did disproportionately get to me; being too hard on me and those around me about the little things. So much of that is gone now. I am attached to far less in terms of particular outcomes and have fewer expectations. I understand that there is little else but to roll with the punches. Trains are sometimes late, to-dos will sometimes slip our minds and kids will (should) act like 3-year-olds. All of which is much easier with the conviction that it is all part of God's plan and that he walks the path with me.
Another funny thing happened to me on the way through this cancer challenge…
I had always viewed time as a precious resource, to be maximized and never wasted. I prided myself on being very efficient. Multi-tasking was seemingly second-nature to me. I have always liked to have a plan. I wasn't neurotic about it, but good planning implied anticipation and a sense of control for me.
The diagnosis of this most deadly of cancers threatens to take away my remaining time and shatters my sense of control. You would think that every minute would become even more precious to me. And although it is, in the sense that I appreciate every morning more, I am running around much less. I welcome spontaneous upsets to my best-laid plans. I derive much more pleasure from a slow and simple meal or one sip of a delicious wine than ever before. It is actually my relationships that have usurped time as the most precious commodity in my life. Strange considering that a "premature" death threatens me with less time on this earth. Family and friends have always been very important to me but never as much as now. Maybe it is exactly the recognition that time here was never ours but merely granted to us by God – whereas, our relationships are, ultimately, all that we have and all that we make and all that we take.
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