A lesson in thankfulness...

So, let’s just say I’ve had better weeks. I have fooled around with writing a blog ever since I got home from the hospital. I wrote a nine-page essay but then decided in the interest of decorum I took out all passages about catheters, farting, and pooping and then it was only about three sentences long. The intense pain I felt on Monday and Tuesday went away by Thursday morning.  But still, everything is either uncomfortable or painful.  Even coughing is bad.  

Worse still, I see myself having turned into one of those dreadful old whiners who can’t seem to muster any conversational topics beyond his health and bodily functions.  I’m sure I’ve been a scintillating companion for Samantha!  I have a countdown on my computer until “Cathy” and I part ways on Thursday.  It is down from ten days to three days and sixteen hours as I am typing this. Mostly it is boring, and isolating, and uncomfortable.  And yet, I have found myself feeling challenged by something I read in The Hiding Place many years ago and never forgotten. Corrie tenBoom's sister, Betsie, urged her to be thankful in ALL circumstances, even for their flea-ridden beds in the concentration camp. At first Corrie refused, but then Betsie gently reminded her that the fleas allowed the women to have Bible studies and sing and pray together—all which would have been forbidden by the guards who stayed away for fear of getting fleas. 

So I thought to myself, can I be thankful even for this cursed friend, “Cathy, the catheter?” First of all, I need to remind myself that I am not in a concentration camp and that my kids are all healthy and well. We have a roof over our heads and enough to eat.  What a great blessing that is when I stop to consider all of the suffering and misery in the world.  Then I thought to myself, this device is not the result of a sadistic doctor or anything like that. It is being used to help cure me of cancer and to keep me from getting a nasty infection.  Then I reminded myself that it is only for ten days.  What can’t I put up with for ten days?  

Then my mind went again to all of the kind friends who have done so, so much to stand by me, help me, lift me up in prayer and help me in other tangible ways. I thought of all of the encouraging, funny, warm and loving comments I get on facebook to keep me cheered up.  We have had some lovely meals sent in and two nights ago dear Janyce and Norm Smithley arrived with treats galore and also brought a precious card from a former student, one I had not even gotten to know all that well.  He is Vietnamese and I only had him in class one year.  His English was never strong but he had a sweet spirit and was very earnest and hardworking.  The note that Janyce brought was characteristic of his careful efforts at expressing himself in English.  He told me how sorry he was to hear about my health scare and that he was praying for me.  He said “I hope this little bit of money can help with your expenses,” and inside he tucked $200! I had tears pouring down my cheeks by the time I finished reading it.

My student, in his seventeen-year-old wisdom included this precious sentiment:

“God with you, Dr. Nick! We still have hope and Jesus. We are all pray for you. I know you and God already had a plan for you.  And this period is just a piece of sand on his desert. You can do it!”  

Out of the mouths of teenagers!  So yes, thank you Lord, I am thankful for the catheter and for my students and my friends and I am ever reminded of your unending love for me. 

HOME!

When I was growing up, anytime I had something to celebrate or needed cheering up, my mom would make my all-time favorite treat: Apple Dumplings.  This was a family recipe from my Grandma Nichols.  Warm chopped apples in flaky pastry baked in a cinnamon sugar sauce.  I don’t make them very often in my adult years; they seem almost too decadent. And obviously I had not had them since my sugar-free diet began.  But nonetheless they remain my ultimate comfort food.

So after my Saturday-Tuesday starvation ended with disappointing hospital cafeteria food today, imagine walking into the house to smell apple dumplings baking in the oven, made—believe it or not—by my two sons! They called Aunt Mindy and got coached through the process and had them ready and waiting, as good as the ones my mom made.  Nothing has EVER tasted that good!

I have the best kids on the planet.  Samantha had stayed up late the night before we left making a welcome home poster for me and then she came along for the two long hard days in Buffalo.  She rubbed my back on the nerve-wracking drive to the cancer hospital at 4am.  And then she say by my bedside all day yesterday while was zoned out on drugs. Kudos to Olga also who drove through a blinding snowstorm to get us there safely yesterday morning and has been looking out for me throughout this whole process. 

I am a blessed man indeed. I have six holes in my stomach where my little robotic friends went in for their cancer search and destroy mission.  I feel as though everything at Roswell went as smoothly and painlessly as possible under the circumstances.  Everyone there is so friendly and helpful.  Yesterday afternoon I felt like I had gotten run over by a fleet of cement trucks, but by today I am up, walking around (albeit like an octogenarian) eating apple dumplings and counting my blessings.  

Let nothing you dismay...

The Christmas season has been so full of fun, friends, family, and fellowship that I have hardly had any time to think/get nervous about my surgery tomorrow.  My pre-op appointment with its “possible complications include infection, stroke, and death” wasn’t exactly cheering. But many other gifts have been: Having Jan along on pre-op day to make jokes and buy donuts; having Anthony & Samantha home from college; lots of encouraging texts, messages, phone calls, and visits; New Year’s Eve with the LaCelle-Petersons.  Two years ago, I had a student, Anh, from Vietnam, who has always called me “dad” because he says I’ve been like a father to him.  He arrived for a surprise visit yesterday to wish me well. Pastor Wes called to pray with me.  Olga fixed my favorite meal for supper last night (since I won’t be able to have anything to eat again until Tuesday.) I had a fun visit by phone last night with my dear friend Amy from my Arkansas years.  One of my favorite encouraging messages of the whole ordeal came from another Arkansas friend, Marilyn, who lost her son to cancer this fall.  She sent me these words from the Anima Christi which I keep repeating to myself:

“Blood of Christ, fill all Tim’s veins; from the malignant enemy defend him.”  And she closed her email with a favorite phrase: “God rest you merry, Tim.  Let nothing you dismay.”

So today, I am kind of pacing around, anxious to get this over with.  I am doing a little light and cheery reading: Macbeth. (Which I am starting with my seniors when I go back later this month.) I see a number of repeat postings on facebook this morning of this axiom: “Light travels 18 million times faster than rain, so Jesus is there before your storm even starts.” Normally I’m not that into these pithy, religious memes, but somehow on the day before cancer surgery that message feels just right.

I’ll post again on the other side, once my merry little robot has relieved me of my prostate, and hopefully all of the cancer with it.

Not the typo experience I care to have again...

Yesterday found me back at Roswell for my pre-op procedures (instructions, blood test, meeting with the anesthesiologist, etc.) I also was having yet one more look at that worrisome spot on my rib that turned up on my original bone scan.  The doctors have continued to say "it is probably nothing....but let's have one more test." It has unnerved me since it never seems to quite be eliminated as a problem. I was injured there on a malfunctioning ride at Six Flags many, many years ago and they are guessing that is what is showing up.  So yesterday Roswell had ordered one more CT scan and looked at both my chest and abdomen again, still trying to assess whether the prostate cancer has spread.  (If indeed it is in my ribs, then it is probably elsewhere.) I had the CT scan in the morning, and then met with the Urology Dept. in the afternoon.  The doctor came in and said that the scan had turned up a lesion on my lung that looked as if it could be cancer.  He said it was actually unrelated to the rib question which had come back clear (finally.) He said he would go and meet with the radiologist because they may want to delay my surgery and biopsy this spot on my lung.  He told me it was only about a centimeter and possibly too small to biopsy so then he wasn't sure what they would decide to do.  So once again, I found myself, sitting in a doctor's office starting to mentally plan my funeral.  After what seemed like an eternity, he came back in and apologized saying the report had a typo, it was supposed to say "Lesion not indicative of cancer" but the NOT had been omitted.  What a difference one tiny word can make.  It was an unpleasant experience, and yet one more reminder of how much worse this all could be.

So now I am back on track for next week: I'll have the surgery on Monday and if all goes well, come home on Tuesday.  I probably won't blog again until I am on the other side of this.  So thanks in advance for your prayers.  Happy New Year and love to all...

Faithful friends who are dear to us gather near to us once more

I was already in a fantastic mood last Thursday: Samantha and JonDavid were in Syracuse visiting my niece and picking up Anthony at the train station; it was the next to the last day of school; the Christmas season was in full swing, we’d gotten a fresh snow; and by the time I went to bed that night, all three kids would be under my roof again.  Thursday also brought my favorite chapel of the year when the Academy students gather by language groups and sing “Silent Night” in their native tongues.  Our chaplain had asked me to play Santa again so I had to hustle in and out of a Santa suit, adding to the craziness and joy of the morning. 

The next period after chapel I was supposed to meet with my seniors but was feeling bad because I had not even had time to get an agenda ready.  I ran down to the auditorium and found it unusually full, when it was only supposed to the senior class and me in there.  When I saw my friend Janyce Smithley and the National Honor Society members on stage I realized she must be announcing the new members which had been selected that week.  I felt bad that JonDavid wasn’t there since I knew he was going to be inducted.  I didn’t have my cellphone with me—since the Santa suit has no pockets. I’d left it lying on my desk, so I ran back down to my room to get it and text JD.  On my way back, Vince (our headmaster) appeared in the hall and motioned me that I was wanted in the auditorium RIGHT AWAY! Amazingly I still didn’t suspect anything, except that probably Janyce was going to pull some kind of stunt about JonDavid being absent and call me up instead.

So it took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out that the whole assembly was for me! Even sitting up on stage, I still didn’t quite get it.  Janyce played a funny video about our Coke vs. Pepsi war (I decorate my room with Coca-Cola paraphernalia and the students love to joke about it and tease me about my aversion to Pepsi, usually with Janyce as the ringleader. I sat up there thinking to myself, “Did Janyce really somehow convince the school to have an assembly as a practical joke?!!” Then the video she was showing turned serious with the students wishing me well and telling me they were praying for me and having nice sentiments to share about me and it finally dawned on me that they were probably going to pray for me because I would have my surgery before we saw each other again.

So by the end of the video message, I was already choked up before they presented me with a great big cardboard check representing the $1411 they had raised by collecting money around the school for me.  The thought of all of those students and colleagues digging into their pockets to help me out is so precious to me.  Everyone left that day with matching blue bracelets that say “Pray for Dr. Nick.”  I was reminded anew that if I had to go through this cancer adventure, I am so glad it happened while I am at the Academy.  I’ve gotten notes of encouragement, little gifts, visits, offers for help, and lots and lots of prayers. They were all even prepared to take turns covering my classes and driving me for radiation treatments, if I’d needed that.

My heart is so full of gratitude.  My route to Houghton Academy was so circuitous and serendipitous (a last minute offer, to teach outside my discipline, at a place I wildly misunderstood and never had any interest in joining, all under very odd circumstances) I realize now that it had to have been a God-thing. He knew this was where I needed to be as I went through this ordeal.  I am deeply grateful to Him and to my Academy family.

The hopes and fears of all the years...

Last night brought a twinkling, sparkling drive home from Buffalo past a cascade of Christmas lights displays--ranging from simple to elaborate and from classy to tacky--but I loved seeing them all and appreciate everyone who makes the effort.  My earliest Christmas memories begin 50 years ago in Indiana.  I remember the Christmas of 1964 as the first one when I grasped the magic of the season.  I remember visiting downtown Fort Wayne with carols piped through the decorated streets, the animatronic window displays, and big snowflakes softly falling.  The song “Silver Bells” still takes me back to those days.  I also have a vivid memory of driving around in our old 1950 Pontiac (it had been Aunt Nell’s and Grandpa B gave it to us.) The interior height of those old models was high enough that I could stand in the back and watch out the windshield at the nighttime snow rushing at the headlights so that it looked like we were heading into hyperspace (about 13 years before we knew what hyperspace was.) We were going to a church Christmas dinner where there would be enormous piles of good food and Christmas cookies as well as toys and candy for the children.  All of a sudden Christmas became so unimaginably exciting and magical to me.  I’m sure my dad was complaining about driving in the snow at the time, but it didn’t dampen my spirit a bit.  Indeed my Christmas spirit has remained quite high and childlike for the five decade since. 

Our family also loved to drive around and look at Christmas lights in the City when I was a boy. It seems to me as I look back on it now that nearly every home in Fort Wayne decorated with exterior lights. During the energy crises of the 1970s, outdoor decorating for Christmas fell into disfavor and I believe was even banned at one point. And it seems as if it has taken a long time for it to come back into fashion.  True, I don’t especially love the giant inflatables, but I love the spirit that leads people out into their yards on cold December Saturdays to brighten up the bleak midwinter, no matter what their decorating tastes.

For some reason I am writing about a different and happier “C” this week:  Christmas instead of cancer. I think I need a little Christmas, right this very minute.  There is something about having had to stare death in the face for a few weeks this fall that has made this particular Christmas more special to me: the lights glow brighter, the carols ring happier, the memories and the friends grow sweeter.  And indeed that is the heart of the Christmas narrative that we celebrate with lights and song and gifts and cookies: the baby born in Bethlehem came to meet the hopes and fears of all the years.  The year ahead seems to have more hopes and fears than usual for us, but as usual, and the lights of Christmas will guide us on our way.  God bless us everyone.