A couple of months ago, I very nearly called off the prayers on my behalf. I felt that I had moved beyond the most urgently critical period of my cancer and recovery - into a (God-willing) steady state mode. I thought that the prayer energy could be directed elsewhere – towards others, where there might be a more pressing need.
I believe that the prayers of so many was/is an extremely powerful resource. I was also looking at it as finite. I saw prayer and the love that it expressed as a fixed pie that was not helping elsewhere if I was hogging it up. Now I see how wrong that is.
God's love is infinite. Our petitions for it need not be rationed. In being truly Christian, we are, in effect, creating love in the world. Prayer is one of the chief disciplines of that love creation.
Prayer is pure positivity. Prayer brings us closer to God and each other. "To pray is to change. Prayer is the central avenue that God uses to transform us." We pray because there is an inherent trust that God can intervene to make things/us better. There is so much that is wonderful in this world, but until it is truly "all good", there will be room for prayer.
The more that we pray – for each other, ourselves, in thanks, praise and hope – the more light and love we create in the world. There is nothing but the upside potential and there is no limit.
For me personally, I recognize that the more I am praying at random moments throughout the day, the closer God is to me. It is a virtuous cycle; when I pray I remember that he is with me, and the more I keep him next to me the more I pray.
I saw God this morning in the three teal robin's eggs nestled in the sparse little pine tree just off of our deck. Mother robin flew away startled as I rushed by on my way out to work. I prayed that my curious little "chicks" wouldn't interfere too much with her work tending to hers. But...I digress (only a little).
I have seen - and felt, literally - the power of prayer and all that it can achieve.
Thanks for all of the love. Keep spreading it. There is just no reason to stop. Ever.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
A Shock to the System
Last November, I was very suddenly forced to reconsider everything that I value. All that I believe in came into both question and clarity for me. My cancer made me face fate, fairness and the future.
Interestingly, America is collectively facing a similar crisis in confidence. The current state of financial affairs has us doubting our beliefs, reevaluating our guiding principles and reassessing our ways. I see many parallels between my having to look at my own mortality – my personal transformation – and the grave circumstances that our country and world face.
We are all reappraising what is really important these days. I wouldn't say that I was focused on money or material gain, but much of that is even less of a factor in my decision-making these days. All of my blessings became even more precious. For many Americans, a home and a job are unexpectedly something for which to feel fortunate these days.
I had always assumed that I would enjoy the same long life that my grandparents have. That future is suddenly, obviously, very much in doubt for me. Americans also presumed that tomorrow would always be better than today, that the GDP would always grow and that our kids would be better off than we are. Doubt about the future is very unsettling – scary really.
I always considered myself young and healthy. I had never spent a day in the hospital. I was gearing up to run my sixth marathon and was feeling quite fit for a 42-year old when things began to unravel. Silly me, I thought that I was in control. Claiming to be invulnerable might be a stretch, but I was certainly very confident in my body and mind. America too has been strutting its' stuff for the entire second half of the last century. But the last few months have undermined that exceptionalism. It turns out that we are vulnerable after all. And as individuals, it certainly feels like we have little control over the layoffs, foreclosures, market losses, etc. happening to us.
The last parallel embodies a longer timeline and reflects the relationship between the fear-hope continuum and religion in my life. Religion wasn't exceedingly important to me throughout the 90s. God was there and I attended Church occasionally, but I wasn't actively interacting with either. Somehow, the despair and helplessness I felt after the disputed Presidential election of 2000 brought me back to religion. The 9-11 tragedy and our response to it furthered my longing for something that I could trust and believe in. Eight long years of fear-based living were terribly distressing for me. The hope of the last few months, even in the face of tremendous challenges – that I and we have felt - is far preferable. The parallels continue.
So…with an entire value system in question, a future in doubt, control and invulnerability undermined – me and you and all of us are understandably rattled. But thankfully, hope has replaced fear. And though I would never claim that he is on our side as a nation (implying that he is not for another), I do know that God is there for me personally. He has blessed me thus far. I thank him every day for the treatments that are helping to keep me healthy. I trust in his grace.
I am into my third week of radiation - somewhere between a third and halfway done and feeling very well so far. I can only hope and pray that my body will continue to respond as well over the next few weeks and months.
I apologize for the long lapses between entries (darn work!) and will try to do better moving forward.
Thanks as always for all of your prayers.
Happy spring! – a wonderful season of renewal and hope.
Interestingly, America is collectively facing a similar crisis in confidence. The current state of financial affairs has us doubting our beliefs, reevaluating our guiding principles and reassessing our ways. I see many parallels between my having to look at my own mortality – my personal transformation – and the grave circumstances that our country and world face.
We are all reappraising what is really important these days. I wouldn't say that I was focused on money or material gain, but much of that is even less of a factor in my decision-making these days. All of my blessings became even more precious. For many Americans, a home and a job are unexpectedly something for which to feel fortunate these days.
I had always assumed that I would enjoy the same long life that my grandparents have. That future is suddenly, obviously, very much in doubt for me. Americans also presumed that tomorrow would always be better than today, that the GDP would always grow and that our kids would be better off than we are. Doubt about the future is very unsettling – scary really.
I always considered myself young and healthy. I had never spent a day in the hospital. I was gearing up to run my sixth marathon and was feeling quite fit for a 42-year old when things began to unravel. Silly me, I thought that I was in control. Claiming to be invulnerable might be a stretch, but I was certainly very confident in my body and mind. America too has been strutting its' stuff for the entire second half of the last century. But the last few months have undermined that exceptionalism. It turns out that we are vulnerable after all. And as individuals, it certainly feels like we have little control over the layoffs, foreclosures, market losses, etc. happening to us.
The last parallel embodies a longer timeline and reflects the relationship between the fear-hope continuum and religion in my life. Religion wasn't exceedingly important to me throughout the 90s. God was there and I attended Church occasionally, but I wasn't actively interacting with either. Somehow, the despair and helplessness I felt after the disputed Presidential election of 2000 brought me back to religion. The 9-11 tragedy and our response to it furthered my longing for something that I could trust and believe in. Eight long years of fear-based living were terribly distressing for me. The hope of the last few months, even in the face of tremendous challenges – that I and we have felt - is far preferable. The parallels continue.
So…with an entire value system in question, a future in doubt, control and invulnerability undermined – me and you and all of us are understandably rattled. But thankfully, hope has replaced fear. And though I would never claim that he is on our side as a nation (implying that he is not for another), I do know that God is there for me personally. He has blessed me thus far. I thank him every day for the treatments that are helping to keep me healthy. I trust in his grace.
I am into my third week of radiation - somewhere between a third and halfway done and feeling very well so far. I can only hope and pray that my body will continue to respond as well over the next few weeks and months.
I apologize for the long lapses between entries (darn work!) and will try to do better moving forward.
Thanks as always for all of your prayers.
Happy spring! – a wonderful season of renewal and hope.
Monday, April 6, 2009
A Cancer Survivor
I took a photo with about 50 pancreatic cancer survivors on Saturday (4/4). The photo was at a symposium put on by the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network. Jacquelyn and I went down to Philly for the day – in the middle of her birthday weekend.
Appropriately enough, on the eve of Holy Week – and mirroring so much of this journey - it was a day of contrasting emotions for me. I was reminded of the dark statistics of my disease. It's a reality I recognize but try not to dwell on. Seeing and hearing the survival numbers always scares and sobers me. I have always, and still, believe that I am that 20% that will, by God's grace, survive. The prayers of my angels have been wonderfully supportive for me throughout. Thank you all.
On the other end of the spectrum, it was heartening to see so many people, of all ages and walks of life, surviving and thriving. It was uplifting to hear their stories; to see other vibrant patients; to learn instances of tumors that have been disappeared by neo-adjuvant chemotherapy; to gain exposure to the recent advances in treatment and hope for the future. To appreciate that there is an entire community living through an experience similar to ours. There is lots of hope and lots to do.
I received a terrific vote of confidence on Saturday. I had my first post-operative CAT scan this past Wednesday. It indicates that I am still cancer-free! What an incredible relief. I have been feeling super, but you never know. I reached another milestone this week in completing my third month/cycle of chemo. I am scheduled to start 5-6 weeks of radiation (in conjunction with a different chemo drug as a sensitizer) on Monday the 13th. I have been feeling particularly good lately. This is a second chemo-less week for me as my system clears out and gears up
I don't really understand what it means to be a "survivor". I appreciate that it could all change at any moment. All I know is that I am still here. I plan on being here for another 42 years. Whether or not I am is mostly up to God. I'll do my best to give him every reason to keep me around. Still…it's his plan. I thank God that we've been seeing his plan from the same angle lately. Every day is a blessing. (This weekend we celebrated Jacquelyn's 40th birthday. How blessed am I that I get to start every day with her!?! Add Ana and Noah and, in our house, every morning is truly a celebration.)
Speaking of thanks and blessings…because of the kindness of so many of you, my friends and family, my buzzed head has garnered over $3,000 for St. Baldricks. After some matching gifts, I am hoping that we will have raised $4,000 in support of children's cancer research. Thanks all. I appreciate it.
Peace and love.
Appropriately enough, on the eve of Holy Week – and mirroring so much of this journey - it was a day of contrasting emotions for me. I was reminded of the dark statistics of my disease. It's a reality I recognize but try not to dwell on. Seeing and hearing the survival numbers always scares and sobers me. I have always, and still, believe that I am that 20% that will, by God's grace, survive. The prayers of my angels have been wonderfully supportive for me throughout. Thank you all.
On the other end of the spectrum, it was heartening to see so many people, of all ages and walks of life, surviving and thriving. It was uplifting to hear their stories; to see other vibrant patients; to learn instances of tumors that have been disappeared by neo-adjuvant chemotherapy; to gain exposure to the recent advances in treatment and hope for the future. To appreciate that there is an entire community living through an experience similar to ours. There is lots of hope and lots to do.
I received a terrific vote of confidence on Saturday. I had my first post-operative CAT scan this past Wednesday. It indicates that I am still cancer-free! What an incredible relief. I have been feeling super, but you never know. I reached another milestone this week in completing my third month/cycle of chemo. I am scheduled to start 5-6 weeks of radiation (in conjunction with a different chemo drug as a sensitizer) on Monday the 13th. I have been feeling particularly good lately. This is a second chemo-less week for me as my system clears out and gears up
I don't really understand what it means to be a "survivor". I appreciate that it could all change at any moment. All I know is that I am still here. I plan on being here for another 42 years. Whether or not I am is mostly up to God. I'll do my best to give him every reason to keep me around. Still…it's his plan. I thank God that we've been seeing his plan from the same angle lately. Every day is a blessing. (This weekend we celebrated Jacquelyn's 40th birthday. How blessed am I that I get to start every day with her!?! Add Ana and Noah and, in our house, every morning is truly a celebration.)
Speaking of thanks and blessings…because of the kindness of so many of you, my friends and family, my buzzed head has garnered over $3,000 for St. Baldricks. After some matching gifts, I am hoping that we will have raised $4,000 in support of children's cancer research. Thanks all. I appreciate it.
Peace and love.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Where is the anger?
Ever since (shortly after) this all started, I have been wondering where my anger associated with this "tragedy" has been. I don't mean to say that anger is not among the emotions that this experience elicits. It is just not amongst the primary feelings that I am left with. At times, I've wondered whether I am suppressing it - or some of my negative feelings, in general.
I have asked "why me?" - but I haven't spent that much time wondering or feeling singled out. Because of how my body and my God and my doctors have responded to it, I am in a good place with my cancer right now. In a much different boat than, say, Patrick Swayze (in the recent Barbara Walters interview). He knows his time is limited and is angry about it. That's not me. I am not face-to-face with a pre-mature end. The merely getting sick part is not, in and of itself, angry-worthy. It seems to me that the level of anger is proportional to the imminence of death – the closer to it, the greater the anger.
So, in considering my situation, I think that my minimal anger stems from my belief that I am not going anywhere anytime soon.
Whatever anger I might have is directed thus:
Towards the cancer. Appropriately enough, it is the cancer itself – this invader of my body – that bears the brunt of my anger. I am occasionally angry towards the cancer for picking me. It seems unfair that I would have been selected from the crowd. I am angry at it for knocking the trajectory of my life off track. I am angry at it for threatening me. I am angry at it for not agreeing to go, to leave me now that it got my attention.
Towards my medical professionals. I was incredibly thankful to all of the doctors, nurses and others that contributed to addressing all of my medical needs so wonderfully. Unfortunately, I am a little less complimentary now. It may be, sadly, that the distance from a life or death situation has increased my expectations. First there was the absence of a proven adjuvant therapy for my pancreatic cancer. Basically, I have already received the most effective treatment available to me. On the one hand, that is a very good thing. Nonetheless, it does scare me that there is no demonstrably effective response that they can offer me should the cancer return. That fear leaves me angry.
Then, recently, my total number of chemo treatments has been increased from four cycles (sandwiched around radiation) to six. My doctor passed this change off as a misunderstanding between us. As if I could misunderstand something so important to me. I will, of course, do what I have to do. Still, I am angry about this seemingly arbitrary repositioning of the goal posts.
Towards my God. Anger very often springs from fear. God has stood very tangibly beside me throughout this ordeal, dispelling my fear. Because of this, I am not angry at God. There may also be a reluctance to be angry at a God who has blessed me so bountifully. If the evil were to return, I don't know just what I would do. After being set up with a near ideal life, being torn away from it and everyone I love would piss me off. I imagine that the injustice of it would leave me livid. I hope to never find out.
All in all, except for the (more tangible) threat of death, this hasn't been a particularly negative experience for me. It has been difficult and challenging – but not all bad. As I start my third month/cycle of chemo, I am doing very well. Just fatigue so far. I do recognize that this trajectory could take an ugly turn for the worse at any moment.
Ultimately, if I don't die "early" due to pancreatic cancer, I've got little to be angry about and rather lots to be thankful for.
So, between the cancer itself, the people who treat it and the God who allowed it – I am most angry at the cancer. I find that the best antidote to anger is action. I'd like to ask you to help me get over my anger at cancer. {Roll the promo music.}
Unbelievably (to me), it has been two years since I last had a good head shaving. It's St. Baldrick's time again!
On March 22nd, I'll be shaving my head in solidarity with children who have cancer and typically lose their hair during treatment, while raising critical funds for childhood cancer research! The thought of innocent children being afflicted with this dreadful disease is heartbreaking.
In the US, more children die of childhood cancer than any other disease. Please make a donation on my behalf to support childhood cancer research so that all children diagnosed with cancer will have a better chance for a cure.
Jacquelyn and I have felt the incredible support from all of you for the past several months. Thank you. Now I ask you for a little more - to bring some hope to angelic children and their parents. I couldn't imagine.
To make a donation, go to the following link – http://www.stbaldricks.org/participants/#
click on "Donate Online" or "Donate by mail or phone." And, if your employer matches your donations – please don't forget to take the next step to double your donation. (For fellow Merck employees you can do that at - https://www.easymatch.com/merckp4g)
I appreciate your thoughtfulness and generosity.
Thanks again.
Peace and love.
Franco
I have asked "why me?" - but I haven't spent that much time wondering or feeling singled out. Because of how my body and my God and my doctors have responded to it, I am in a good place with my cancer right now. In a much different boat than, say, Patrick Swayze (in the recent Barbara Walters interview). He knows his time is limited and is angry about it. That's not me. I am not face-to-face with a pre-mature end. The merely getting sick part is not, in and of itself, angry-worthy. It seems to me that the level of anger is proportional to the imminence of death – the closer to it, the greater the anger.
So, in considering my situation, I think that my minimal anger stems from my belief that I am not going anywhere anytime soon.
Whatever anger I might have is directed thus:
Towards the cancer. Appropriately enough, it is the cancer itself – this invader of my body – that bears the brunt of my anger. I am occasionally angry towards the cancer for picking me. It seems unfair that I would have been selected from the crowd. I am angry at it for knocking the trajectory of my life off track. I am angry at it for threatening me. I am angry at it for not agreeing to go, to leave me now that it got my attention.
Towards my medical professionals. I was incredibly thankful to all of the doctors, nurses and others that contributed to addressing all of my medical needs so wonderfully. Unfortunately, I am a little less complimentary now. It may be, sadly, that the distance from a life or death situation has increased my expectations. First there was the absence of a proven adjuvant therapy for my pancreatic cancer. Basically, I have already received the most effective treatment available to me. On the one hand, that is a very good thing. Nonetheless, it does scare me that there is no demonstrably effective response that they can offer me should the cancer return. That fear leaves me angry.
Then, recently, my total number of chemo treatments has been increased from four cycles (sandwiched around radiation) to six. My doctor passed this change off as a misunderstanding between us. As if I could misunderstand something so important to me. I will, of course, do what I have to do. Still, I am angry about this seemingly arbitrary repositioning of the goal posts.
Towards my God. Anger very often springs from fear. God has stood very tangibly beside me throughout this ordeal, dispelling my fear. Because of this, I am not angry at God. There may also be a reluctance to be angry at a God who has blessed me so bountifully. If the evil were to return, I don't know just what I would do. After being set up with a near ideal life, being torn away from it and everyone I love would piss me off. I imagine that the injustice of it would leave me livid. I hope to never find out.
All in all, except for the (more tangible) threat of death, this hasn't been a particularly negative experience for me. It has been difficult and challenging – but not all bad. As I start my third month/cycle of chemo, I am doing very well. Just fatigue so far. I do recognize that this trajectory could take an ugly turn for the worse at any moment.
Ultimately, if I don't die "early" due to pancreatic cancer, I've got little to be angry about and rather lots to be thankful for.
So, between the cancer itself, the people who treat it and the God who allowed it – I am most angry at the cancer. I find that the best antidote to anger is action. I'd like to ask you to help me get over my anger at cancer. {Roll the promo music.}
Unbelievably (to me), it has been two years since I last had a good head shaving. It's St. Baldrick's time again!
On March 22nd, I'll be shaving my head in solidarity with children who have cancer and typically lose their hair during treatment, while raising critical funds for childhood cancer research! The thought of innocent children being afflicted with this dreadful disease is heartbreaking.
In the US, more children die of childhood cancer than any other disease. Please make a donation on my behalf to support childhood cancer research so that all children diagnosed with cancer will have a better chance for a cure.
Jacquelyn and I have felt the incredible support from all of you for the past several months. Thank you. Now I ask you for a little more - to bring some hope to angelic children and their parents. I couldn't imagine.
To make a donation, go to the following link – http://www.stbaldricks.org/participants/#
click on "Donate Online" or "Donate by mail or phone." And, if your employer matches your donations – please don't forget to take the next step to double your donation. (For fellow Merck employees you can do that at - https://www.easymatch.com/merckp4g)
I appreciate your thoughtfulness and generosity.
Thanks again.
Peace and love.
Franco
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Tangling With Time
Time. We all struggle with it. I've always treated it as precious – along the lines of a resource, not to be wasted. A silver lining of my December surgery and recovery time was that it forced me to wipe my schedule clean. For a few weeks, I was free to repopulate my time/life with only those things that were most important to me. That consisted mostly of time with my sweet babies, loving friends, long-neglected books and my deepest thoughts. For the past few weeks, I have been in the process of wading back into the stream of my life. While I am at nearly the same point on the riverbank, the flow is vastly different in so many of the details. What that river dumps into is much more critical to me than ever before. Throughout my recovery, the elephant in the sanctuary has always been time- the future and how much of it I have.
The question of a time horizon is like a second set of glasses through which I see my world. Recently, my cousin in Croatia was urging me to follow my gut and take a shorter-term view (i.e., live for today) on a financial question in my life. That decision is a microcosm of how I might live in my new reality. Do I live more for today or keep planning for my retirement at 65? Coming out of that exchange, I realized that I am in a position not unlike most of the people I know. These are questions we all ask ourselves and answer on an ongoing basis. None of us know what tomorrow might bring. The main difference is that I cannot deny that fact anymore. I can't live as if my remaining days are countless as I did before - as many of us do.
I know that God has given me many blessings, and they all exist in this moment. The future and past are beyond my grasp. Yesterday and tomorrow are just distractions.
As Matthew writes - " Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. ".
I do have a greater focus on the short-term, but that has less to do with the possibility that I might die of my cancer anytime soon. (I don't believe that to be true.) The renewed urgency comes because life is truly short – even the 'nother 42 years of it I am counting on enjoying.
I believe that God put each of us here for a reason. He gave us gifts to use. He gave us a whole world to enjoy. I know what those gifts are and I am trying to figure out what my reason for being is (beyond raising my kids to make this world a better place.) I've been praying for God to send me a big arrow to direct me. In the meantime, time keeps ticking.
The question of a time horizon is like a second set of glasses through which I see my world. Recently, my cousin in Croatia was urging me to follow my gut and take a shorter-term view (i.e., live for today) on a financial question in my life. That decision is a microcosm of how I might live in my new reality. Do I live more for today or keep planning for my retirement at 65? Coming out of that exchange, I realized that I am in a position not unlike most of the people I know. These are questions we all ask ourselves and answer on an ongoing basis. None of us know what tomorrow might bring. The main difference is that I cannot deny that fact anymore. I can't live as if my remaining days are countless as I did before - as many of us do.
I know that God has given me many blessings, and they all exist in this moment. The future and past are beyond my grasp. Yesterday and tomorrow are just distractions.
As Matthew writes - " Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. ".
I do have a greater focus on the short-term, but that has less to do with the possibility that I might die of my cancer anytime soon. (I don't believe that to be true.) The renewed urgency comes because life is truly short – even the 'nother 42 years of it I am counting on enjoying.
I believe that God put each of us here for a reason. He gave us gifts to use. He gave us a whole world to enjoy. I know what those gifts are and I am trying to figure out what my reason for being is (beyond raising my kids to make this world a better place.) I've been praying for God to send me a big arrow to direct me. In the meantime, time keeps ticking.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Capturing the Lightening
In late November, just prior to my Whipple procedure, several of my closest friends from (Manhattan) College surprised me by joining us at Sunday worship service at our most excellent Church. It was a testament to how precious a good friend is and reinforced how merely being present during a challenging time can be incredibly empowering. During the impromptu brunch at our house afterwards, our resident funny-man sage, Jimmy, and I were discussing how difficult it can be to capture and keep the lightening that a life-changing event can bring to one's life. How easy it is - once the dust settles and the electricity dissipates – to just return to my life as if my world hadn't just been rocked nearly off its' hinges (to mix numerous metaphors).
I am experiencing that a bit now as I return to my "normal" life. Re-engaging full-time in my 9 to 5 professional life once again occupies the majority of my time. The competition of that commitment with the longing to spend a maximum of quality time with Noah and Ana (and Jacquelyn) is rekindled. Besides juggling those two balls, I signed up for a class on Pastoral Care and Counseling that meets on Monday nights. Then there's my adjuvant therapy (chemo, so far) and its' side effects. All of these are rewarding and/or necessary aspects of my life. All jostle for my attention and I wonder sometimes where the life-changing lightening went. I do recognize, of course, that there is a potential "buzz" for me within each of these. With all of the wonder and pain in this world, time is a cherished commodity for me once again – doubly so now. I find myself, even in this revamped life of mine, struggling to carve out the tens of minutes a day I would need to maintain a practice of daily meditation that I am convinced would be a huge benefit to my well being. (Besides continued good health) Maintaining a balance, making the time, prioritizing well – these are the things I pray to God for these days.
In this sense, Jacquelyn may have inadvertently misrepresented things a bit in her last post. In many ways I am not a different person than the Franco that I have been historically, let's say. But…in transitioning from my recovery from a serious abdominal surgery to battling cancer, I have made some changes that I think/hope will stick. I have taken what I thought was a healthy lifestyle (look what that's gotten me) and kicked it up a notch - by choice (as opposed to being medically necessary). I've cut down on a few vices, ranging from French fries on up. During my recovery, I had the time to reconsider and re-learn my approach to so many aspects of my life. Ultimately, I am trying to tend to myself holistically – not just my disease via the medical profession, but my physical well-being through diet and exercise, and my mind/heart/spirit through prayer and meditation and relationships.
At times it feels like I am trying to balance the profound and the mundane. Or maybe it is just that there is nothing mundane left. Maybe there never was. Maybe that's the lesson.
I am experiencing that a bit now as I return to my "normal" life. Re-engaging full-time in my 9 to 5 professional life once again occupies the majority of my time. The competition of that commitment with the longing to spend a maximum of quality time with Noah and Ana (and Jacquelyn) is rekindled. Besides juggling those two balls, I signed up for a class on Pastoral Care and Counseling that meets on Monday nights. Then there's my adjuvant therapy (chemo, so far) and its' side effects. All of these are rewarding and/or necessary aspects of my life. All jostle for my attention and I wonder sometimes where the life-changing lightening went. I do recognize, of course, that there is a potential "buzz" for me within each of these. With all of the wonder and pain in this world, time is a cherished commodity for me once again – doubly so now. I find myself, even in this revamped life of mine, struggling to carve out the tens of minutes a day I would need to maintain a practice of daily meditation that I am convinced would be a huge benefit to my well being. (Besides continued good health) Maintaining a balance, making the time, prioritizing well – these are the things I pray to God for these days.
In this sense, Jacquelyn may have inadvertently misrepresented things a bit in her last post. In many ways I am not a different person than the Franco that I have been historically, let's say. But…in transitioning from my recovery from a serious abdominal surgery to battling cancer, I have made some changes that I think/hope will stick. I have taken what I thought was a healthy lifestyle (look what that's gotten me) and kicked it up a notch - by choice (as opposed to being medically necessary). I've cut down on a few vices, ranging from French fries on up. During my recovery, I had the time to reconsider and re-learn my approach to so many aspects of my life. Ultimately, I am trying to tend to myself holistically – not just my disease via the medical profession, but my physical well-being through diet and exercise, and my mind/heart/spirit through prayer and meditation and relationships.
At times it feels like I am trying to balance the profound and the mundane. Or maybe it is just that there is nothing mundane left. Maybe there never was. Maybe that's the lesson.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Day By Day
Hi all--it's me, Jacquelyn. I realize that it might be confusing as to who is authoring each blog note since they are all "posted by Jacquelyn". But that is because I initially set up the page. Most of the quite elegant writing has been done by my poetic husband.
Today is the first day of Franco starting back at work full time. We had mixed emotions about it--while I/he/Ana and Noah have loved having him home over the past 2 months, it is such a blessing that he is well enough to return. Franco has just finished his first cycle of chemotherapy (3 doses, one per week)--and as he reported a few weeks ago, the only real side effect that he has experienced thus far is fatigue for a day or two after his dose. He has been given a very potent anti-nausea medication prior to each dose, which seems to be very effective in his case. He has this week off from chemo and then will start another cycle of 3 doses beginning next week. His blood levels (i.e. white blood cells, platelets, etc.) are good and if that continues, he will probably have a 3rd cycle of chemotherapy alone before he switches to a combination of radiation and chemotherapy.
If you've been keeping up with the blog, you know how amazingly positive and strong Franco's words are--and I just want to confirm that his actions and way of life match those words. For those of you that know Franco fairly well--you know that this experience hasn't caused Franco to become a different person. I find myself in awe sometimes at how in touch he is with his inner self and how in tune he is with his body. But he has become a little more focused and driven to take care of himself, so that he in turn can take care of his family and all those that he loves.
For me, I have been managing (as I titled this note) day by day. Because I honestly feel that there is no better way. I've read and researched to be informed, but I do believe that ultimately our lives are in God's hands. That which I have control over I try to take care of, and the rest is faith in God that He will enable the best possible outcome. I do admit that I treasure each day more--based on a tougher lesson than I expected to have to live through. But really, I already should have been doing that because who knows what tomorrow will bring...
Each night before we go to sleep, Franco and I take a few moments to thank God for how blessed our lives are. There are so many thoughtful and loving people around us that make it so--thanks to all of you for your continued prayers, support and love. One place that has been especially warm for us during these cold days is in the arms of our church family. They continue to be a light in our journey. We couldn't be happier to have found such a wonderful place to "see Thee more clearly, love Thee more dearly, follow Thee more nearly, day by day".
Love to you all,
Jacquelyn
Today is the first day of Franco starting back at work full time. We had mixed emotions about it--while I/he/Ana and Noah have loved having him home over the past 2 months, it is such a blessing that he is well enough to return. Franco has just finished his first cycle of chemotherapy (3 doses, one per week)--and as he reported a few weeks ago, the only real side effect that he has experienced thus far is fatigue for a day or two after his dose. He has been given a very potent anti-nausea medication prior to each dose, which seems to be very effective in his case. He has this week off from chemo and then will start another cycle of 3 doses beginning next week. His blood levels (i.e. white blood cells, platelets, etc.) are good and if that continues, he will probably have a 3rd cycle of chemotherapy alone before he switches to a combination of radiation and chemotherapy.
If you've been keeping up with the blog, you know how amazingly positive and strong Franco's words are--and I just want to confirm that his actions and way of life match those words. For those of you that know Franco fairly well--you know that this experience hasn't caused Franco to become a different person. I find myself in awe sometimes at how in touch he is with his inner self and how in tune he is with his body. But he has become a little more focused and driven to take care of himself, so that he in turn can take care of his family and all those that he loves.
For me, I have been managing (as I titled this note) day by day. Because I honestly feel that there is no better way. I've read and researched to be informed, but I do believe that ultimately our lives are in God's hands. That which I have control over I try to take care of, and the rest is faith in God that He will enable the best possible outcome. I do admit that I treasure each day more--based on a tougher lesson than I expected to have to live through. But really, I already should have been doing that because who knows what tomorrow will bring...
Each night before we go to sleep, Franco and I take a few moments to thank God for how blessed our lives are. There are so many thoughtful and loving people around us that make it so--thanks to all of you for your continued prayers, support and love. One place that has been especially warm for us during these cold days is in the arms of our church family. They continue to be a light in our journey. We couldn't be happier to have found such a wonderful place to "see Thee more clearly, love Thee more dearly, follow Thee more nearly, day by day".
Love to you all,
Jacquelyn
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