The week of July 11 & 18

A HEALTH UPDATE

Monday, July 10, I began my final days of radiation and chemo.
       
Despite multiple attempts to schedule the final infusion, I never received a call from scheduling until late Friday morning.  Of course, by that point the only available time at the Brighton clinic was 7:30 am.   (Evidently, University Hospital has out-sourced infusion scheduling and even the doctors & nurses are exasperated.)

Fortunately, my driver was able to accommodate the early schedule and we arrived at the clinic early enough to be the first in the waiting room.  I was called back only to be told there was no order for my blood to be drawn, but the phlebotomist accessed my port and drew a couple of vials of blood, just in case.  Both vials were thrown away later.

Then I went across the hall to Infusion.  After a short wait, I was called back only to have to wait 90 minutes for the chemo to come from pharmacy.  When the drug arrived, it took 5 minutes to attach it the port and tape it down.  The 90 minute wait was not a total waste of time, I pulled up Office of Readings and Morning Prayer on my phone and prayed both as I waited.

From Infusion, I went to Radiation and checked in.  True to their word, as they had promised on Friday, they worked me into their schedule.  By 9:15, I was radiated and ready to leave.

I thanked them profusely for working me in and I was back in Goodrich a little after 10 am.  (Had things gone a bit smoother, I would have been back in time for Mass!)

Now it’s down to the final days and hours.  After a video appointment with my U of M oncologist, it is clear that my health will continue to be monitored, they deem me cancer free for the time being.

Saturday, at 8:30 AM, I finished the last of 120 hours.  Unfortunately, the mouth & throat sores made their appearance before I was finished with the chemo.  As so often happens the second time around, it comes with a real vengeance.  I was prepared.  I have three over the counter medications and two prescription medications.  They ease the pain, rather than eliminate the sores.  That will just take time.

The next part of my journey will begin Thursday.  I get a heart monitor for a week.  Unfortunately, my appointment with the electro-physiologist, which was scheduled for July 31 was moved to September 25!  After a couple of phone calls, I was able to get an appointment for August 30 in AA.  So now it’s wait and see if the next step includes a pacemaker.

On my last day of radiation, I received a Certificate of Completion signed by the staff!
I passed!


A REFLECTION

Despite the fact that I have five different medicines in preparation for the “Return of the Mouth Sores”, it only really deals with the pain. Although true to the scout motto, I am now prepared, now I have to wait for the effects of chemo to slowly resolve themselves.  So, I continue to drink my protein shakes and loose weight.  The good news is that all those clothes in the back of the closet and dresser will now fit once more!  It’s not the diet I would recommend, but at least there is some benefit to it.

I have also begun to look at life beyond cancer treatments.  Despite the latest assault of side effects from the chemo & radiation, all that will be done as of Monday, July 17.  My energy level continues to improve, so by the end of July, I hope life will be back to normal.  Wednesday, I will again meet the “old priests” in the area for lunch and I hope to return to Genesys as “Father Tuesday” – the priest who visits the Catholic patients on Tuesdays by the start of August. 

My January vacation was cancelled because I started chemo the day I was supposed to leave for warmer weather.  My travel buddy, Fr. Jim MacDougall, booked a cruise down the Mississippi for this month, in hopes I would be better.  I am, but the last radiation treatment was the same day the boat left the dock!  So, a second time, he sailed without me. 

I am not complaining as I heard the temps will be above 100 degrees in the south!   I don’t need to add heat stroke to the list of ailments I have experienced! 

He and I will travel again, in cooler and healthier times.   When I retired in 2019, several people gave me “money to travel” as a retirement gift.  Since the pandemic and cancer have limited my ability to use it much, I intend to make up for lost time.

A Happy Ending

So, my journey will now change.  I trust that I have learned a couple of things along the way that will prove useful to me and perhaps others as we journey together.  My journaling will come to an end now, and I will use my regular bulletin column for short updates on the heart issues.

I only hope that some of what I have written has been helpful to others (and that I didn’t come off as too much of a whiner!)  My intent was to keep you informed (saving myself the need to answer the same questions over & over) and do some reflecting for myself.  I believe that every twist and turn of life offers us new insights into life and deepens our knowledge of the world, of ourselves and of our God – if only we take the time to reflect on events and their meaning.  While my written reflections will end here, I will continue to look back and hopefully learn from all that has happened.

Words are truly a feeble way to express my thanks to all of you for your prayers and words of encouragement.  I remember back years ago, before I was ordained, my mom expressed her genuine concern that choosing to become a priest would be choosing loneliness.  I think of all the ways so many have touched my life through this journey: the prayers and words of encouragement; the emails, the cards & notes (two large baskets full!); the food, the many offers of help.  It has been both incredible and humbling.  The promise of Jesus has come true for me!  Didn’t he promise that those who gave up spouse and family for his sake and the sake of the kingdom would receive so much more?  In fact, Jesus promised a hundred times more – in my case, he exceeded everything he promised.  A million thanks to you all!

The week of July 4

A HEALTH UPDATE

This week I begin the last 10 radiation treatments.  The good news is that even though there are still some sores in my mouth I am eating again, so that should end my weight loss.  The other good news is that radiation is quite patriotic, I guess, since it will take off on the 4^th.  Perhaps radiation has chosen not to compete with other fireworks? Who knows?

In any case, I still need a full 20 days of radiation, so I will have four treatments this week, five the following week and the 20^th treatment will be on Monday, June 17.

Perhaps the strange thing about this past week is my attempt to prepare for next week.  A week ago when I finished my first round of chemo, I developed Thrush, which is a mouth filled with canker sores.  They make it difficult to eat, drink, talk, smile and laugh.  I can do it, but it will hurt.  When it first started I called the “on call” doctor who really didn’t offer much help.  I remembered my older sister having a similar problem during her journey with cancer and she used a special mouth rinse.  The on call doc only suggested using salt water and baking soda water as a rinse.  Not much help.

So as the week went by I drank protein drinks and lost weight.  When I saw the radiologist and his resident at the end of the week, he was concerned and prescribed a special mouth rinse.  It is a simple mixture of three ingredients, but my local chain pharmacy doesn’t make medicines, they only dispense them.  When the prescription was passed on to a “compound pharmacy” in Grand Blanc, it turned out they didn’t have one of the important ingredients.  Actually, it seems there is a national shortage of the drug I needed. 

Eventually, I was given a pharmacy down in Dexter which actually makes the drug.  After a little bit of phone tag, I was told that they would indeed make it and ship it to me!  However (there’s always a however) it would have to come from their Saline store who does shipping…they will call later this afternoon!

Do I need the medicine now?  No, the mouth sores have cleared up and I am back to eating.  However, I am scheduled for the same chemo beginning next Monday and I want to be prepared.

A REFLECTION

I have become reasonably adept at using the portal for contact with my medical providers.  I have memorized the password and access its information rather readily.  Despite that, I still need to contact the doctor’s offices and I am on a first name basis with all their nurses.  Getting appointments set up and clarifying instructions proves to be a challenge.  Even getting a common remedy for mouth sores proves problematic.  It’s easy to see how some folks just give up.


The week of June 27

A HEALTH UPDATE

Last Monday, I began both a new chemo and radiation.  After getting my blood drawn I started two kinds of chemo.  One was injected by the nurse over 15 minutes, using three large syringes.  Then a different chemo was begun.  It was in a small oval bulb.  Over the next 120 hours it would slowly enter my body.  The bulb was placed in a pouch I wore around my waist and remained my constant companion until the 120 hours were complete on Saturday, June 24.

Last Monday, I also began 20 days of radiation.  Both the chemo and the radiation are intended to be preventative, since the tumor was removed in April.  While I have had chemo in 8 different treatments over 4 months, I had few problems beyond fatigue and low blood counts.

Radiation and the new chemo require a shorter period of time, but I am finding it has more side effects.  Because the bladder is near the bowels, the radiation has caused a few bouts of diarrhea.  It can also cause a burning sensation in the anus.  Fortunately, most of the side effects have been minimal and treatable.

Fatigue has been the most consistent side effect through all of this and it continues through radiation.  I had the chemo removed last Saturday.  Beginning on Sunday, I began to experience chemo’s side effect: mouth sores.  They come with constant pain in the mouth that can be felt when I eat or drink, when I talk and even when I smile.  It’s all livable pain but it makes life uncomfortable. 

Although my doctor is not terribly pleased, the good news is I have lost all of the weight I gained over the last six months.  Much of it was fluid that built up in my body.  Thanks to more frequent trips to the restroom due to a new medication from my cardiologist, I have lost the fluid.  Over this past week, the mouth sores have limited my diet to one that is primarily protein drinks and other liquids.  Over the last week, I have lost 11 pounds.  (Not exactly the best way to diet, it’s sort of a side effect to the side effect!)


A REFLECTION

This whole journey with cancer has been a journey into the unknown.  Certainly, for the most part it has gone very well.  Every time I see the doctor, one of the first questions I am asked is what is my pain level?  Except for the pain that took me to the hospital last October when the cancer was first detected, I have not had any pain.  Even the other side effects I have experienced have been minimal, especially in comparison to many other cancer patients I have known over the years.

Over the past week, I have experienced the same kind of mouth sores that plagued my older sister as she struggled with cancer.  Even now as they seem to disappear, I seem to remember she suffered from them much longer.  As much as I don’t like the discomfort they cause, I have also been grateful to share some of what she went through.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not happy to have the mouth sores.  I don’t feel I need or deserve them, but as I recall, they came unexpectedly and without any welcome; and I will be more than happy to see them go.  But I have greater empathy for all that she suffered along the way.

I also plan to be better prepared if they return when I have the next round of chemo over the last week of radiation.


The week of June 20

A HEALTH UPDATE

On Friday, I met with a new cardiologist to see if there is anything that can be done to improve my heart.  Evidently, I have been in a-fib for years and unlike some folks who have no difficulty from that, I do.  As a consequence, my heart has weakened and operates at less than 35%. 

While once it may have been the case that there is nothing medicine can do, that is no longer true.  Already my heart medication has changed and there have been times when both the upper and lower chambers of my heart are in sync.  But that is not the case most of the time.

So I begin a journey to find out what can be done to improve my heart.

Friday morning I met with a new cardiologist from University Hospital at the Brighton Clinic.  During our 40 minute meeting he commented that he had reviewed my file and it was obvious I had been through a lot over the last several months.  It was his opinion that I wouldn’t benefit from a cardio-conversion or an ablation.  My heart is operating at a low level.  The best way to treat the problem of a-fib is to implant a pacemaker. 

So, he made a couple of changes to my medication and will refer me to an electro-physiologist.  I should hear from his office in the near future, but unfortunately, it will be several weeks before I will have an appointment.

From Brighton, we made our way down to Ann Arbor for an education session at the cancer center.  (They don’t offer that service at Brighton.)

As it turned out, the nurse practioner I met with did not normally handle educational sessions.  Most of the time was spent with her listing all the possible side effects and problems that could arise over the course of treatment (all of which was listed on papers she gave me).  She was unable to answer most of my questions but offered to call me later with some of the answers.  That didn’t happen.

Last week, 20 drivers and 20 alternate drivers signed up to drive me for radiation.  By the end of the week, the schedule for Monday changed.  Instead of a 1:15 arrival time, I now needed to be at the clinic for blood work and chemo before having radiation.

Fortunately, my driver was able to accommodate the change.

On Monday, I began chemo and radiation and the answers I didn’t get at Friday’s educational session. 

First, I had blood drawn through my new port.  Then the access line was left in for chemo.  There were quite a number of people waiting to have their blood drawn.  Despite the wait, mine was tested and my chemo approved quickly enough to begin my infusion right on time.

The nurse hooked me up to saline solution for hydration and we waited for the chemo drugs to arrive.  The first drug was a sapphire blue liquid in three large syringes.  These were slowly injected through the port over 15 minutes and the port was flushed again.

Then I was hooked up to my chemo pump to begin a 120 hour infusion.  The pump is carried in a fanny pack I wear around my waist.  On Saturday, I will return to the clinic to have the pump removed.  I also found out that I will have two 120 hour doses of the chemo; one now and the other during the last week of radiation.

After the radiation and chemo are complete, there will be some sort of testing to see how effective these treatments were.  Usually they are very effective, but there is an outside possibility that a second series of radiation & chemo might be needed.

While that is not a very exciting possibility, it’s something I will deal with if it becomes necessary.

A REFLECTION

Over the last 10 months, my life has changed a great deal.  I think of the words Jesus said to Peter at the end of John’s Gospel (chapter 21): “When you were a young man, you fastened your belt and went wherever you pleased.  But when you are older you will stretch out your hands and another will take you where you do not want to go.”  Over the last 10 month I have “gone” places I would never have chosen, but it is not uncommon for us as we grow older.

I can’t tell you when I started to pray about it, but it was long before I ever received the diagnosis of cancer.  About the time I retired, every so often I have prayed that I grow old gracefully.  In my mind that means recognizing my limitations as they arise and adjusting my life to accommodate them.  Basically, I want to do what I can and accept whatever I can’t and to do that while keeping a positive attitude.

Looking back over these last 10 months, I think I have done that fairly well.  There have been times of frustration and uncertainty, but most of the time I have been able to weave my way through those times and stay positive.

But this last patch has stretched my patience.  Perhaps because after I met with the radiologist and his team, I thought I was seeing the beginning of the end, the light at the end of the tunnel.  This past Friday, it became “not so fast bucko!” and the light got dim as the tunnel possibly got much longer.  Up until now changes to what was going to happen and when or where it would happen were no big deal.  Everything was spread out and I was able to work around most of it while meeting at least some of my commitments to St. Mark.

That has changed.  I decided to accept help from others who have offered to drive me for treatments.  While most of the schedule won’t change or change by much, I don’t have any way to tell those who signed up how their schedule may also have to change to accommodate changes to my schedule.  Hopefully, I will learn soon enough to give folks ample notice,

How often I will receive the chemo is still unclear and whether or not radiation & chemo will need to be repeated in the future is also uncertain.  I just hope more answers will be provided soon.  I can adjust to the dark, I just don’t like to lead others there.

MONDAY:  Most of my questions were answered today as I mentioned above.  What was a bit surprising was the fact that at the end of chemo, I was presented with a “gift bag”.  It included instructions for what to do if, somehow, the chemo pump gets disconnected.  Evidently, the chemical being injected into my artery is quite toxic.  I now have a special protective gown and gloves to wear if I need to handle a leaking pump and all clothing that may come into contact with it will need to be washed twice.  There were other things in the bag – all of which I hope I won’t need at any time through the process.  In any case, the simple solution is to call the clinic and wait for their instructions.

The more important thing is that the chemo nurse was able to answer many of my questions, so I have a better picture of what lies ahead.  I will begin the second round of chemo on July 10, so I will need to be at the clinic an hour before radiation to be hooked up.  Then at the Wednesday radiation, I was given a new schedule which adjusted my time for radiation by a few minutes, which will be easy to accommodate.

OK, things seem to be clearer.  The fog seems to be lifting and I can see an end further ahead.  I even have an appointment with the electro-physiologist by the end of July!


The week of June 13

A HEALTH UPDATE

On Friday, I went to the U of M - Brighton Clinic for a scan of my bladder to begin the radiation.  I met with the scheduler whom I knew from my days as pastor at St. Mary Magdalen.  Once more the saying, “it’s not what you know but who you know” proved true!

Once we were back in an examination room, she asked what time would be convenient for me!  (I have to tell you, in all the years I have scheduled medical appointments, I have only rarely – very rarely – been asked that!)  I told her I would like to be able to continue the two morning Liturgies and be available for funerals, if needed, so how about the afternoon?  In answer to her question when, I said 1:30 would give me plenty of time to do whatever would be needed at St. Mark and make it in time to Brighton.  As it turned out, she had already given it some thought and put together a possible schedule – the time she had chosen was amazingly: 1:30!

She handed me a schedule of appointments beginning with Monday, June 19.  There would be 20 weekday appointments, with July 4 off, ending on July 17. 

After viewing an educational video, explaining the radiation, I met with a nurse who showed me how to check in for the treatments, where to change and the waiting room. 

Then a technician came and took me back for a scan that was needed to set the perimeters for the radiation.  With my schedule in hand, I left and headed back to Goodrich. 

The process was pretty much as I expected.  I will show up by 1:20, check in, change and have the treatment at 1:30.  Afterward, I will change back into my clothes and be on the road to Goodrich by 2 pm.  The longest part of the process will be the drive to and from Brighton. 

Monday, June 19, I will need to come a half an hour earlier to be “marked” for the treatments.  (They use a magic marker to guide the technicians as they aim the radiation.)  Each Friday’s appointment will be a little longer as I will also have an appointment with the doctor afterward to monitor my progress and deal with any difficulties.

What’s unknown at this point is how I will be getting the low dose chemo that will accompany the radiation. 

The Ann Arbor oncologist mentioned a home health care nurse coming to see me, but the staff at the clinic thought I would be meeting with a nurse at the clinic.  Again, that may change the times of when I have to be at the clinic or how long I have to stay some days.  (There is a good reason why we are called patients…)
Wednesday:  As I suspected, it did change and I am not even sure to what degree.  I got the call on Tuesday to schedule the educational session and the chemo—which is supposed to start days from now. 

On Friday I have an appointment with a new cardiologist at the Brighton Clinic.  “We can do the educational session after that…in Ann Arbor.”  So when I finish with the doctor early Friday morning, I need to continue down to AA for the next part, which they don’t do in Brighton.  (I said to the scheduler, that’s why we’re called patients, right?)

In any case, it won’t just change Friday’s schedule, it will also change Monday’s schedule and I don’t know how many others.  Because on Monday, I now have a 90 minute infusion of chemo beginning at 10:30, then blood work and finally radiation at 1:30.  I won’t know how many other days will be similarly affected, but I am presuming they will finally tell me on Friday.

It is a bit frustrating, especially since it will also affect the schedules of those who have signed up to drive me.  I suspect many will be able to handle the change of schedule, it just means I will need to contact them to ask if their schedule will be able to accommodate the change.


A REFLECTION

Time is a very interesting phenomenon.  Over the years it seems to go faster and faster until this past year.  When my health changed, so did time.  Many of the past months seemed to go by so slowly.  I had so little energy and things that used to occupy my time before had little appeal or I just had little interest in those activities.

I had no energy to exercise.  So often it seemed to be hard to concentrate to read; not just serious things, but even simple things.  I have some movies and other videos, but no interest in them.  There were moments when I spent several minutes debating with myself whether or not I wanted to get up and go into a different room.

Most of that lethargy has gone now, but I am amazed at the experience.  It’s nothing I have experienced before, nor is it anything I want to revisit.  Time slowed down, days were longer and emptier.  As has happened at other times in my life, I prayed but it felt like the prayer went nowhere or had any other purpose than to fulfill an obligation.

While it was tempting not to bother praying in those moments, something in my head told me to continue even if it felt useless.  The daily formal prayer centered around what is called the Liturgy of the Hours or the Breviary.  Most of which is composed of Psalms and hymns found in the Bible.  These are arranged in a cycle of 28 days and include short readings from the other parts of the Bible and other prayers.

At different times in my life, many of those Psalms and hymns have inspired or spoken to me.  Sometimes, I simply recite them without any sense of being connected with God.  Those days I fulfill an obligation more than I pray.  It’s the Prayer of the Church and it’s important that I was a part of it even if I “felt no benefit.”  These days the important part of the prayer comes near the end.

That part is the time I pray for others who do need my prayer.  Each day, twice a day, as I get near the end of praying Morning Prayer and Evening Prayer I run through a list of names.  I call it my daily litany.  Some are relatives and former co-workers, some are people who have asked for my prayer and some are people I figure could use a prayer.  At the end, I always list the people of the parishes where I have served.

Perhaps the biggest change that has occurred over this past year is that with more time on my hands, I take the time to pray for others.  Perhaps it is because so many people are praying for me or maybe it’s just that I have more time or recognize the importance.  In the past I might mention a name or two and then include a bunch of people under the phrase: “for those who have asked for my prayer and those for whom I have promised to pray”.  Now I take the time to list everyone I can remember.  I write it down “my litany” and keep it on the desk so that I make sure I mention all of them to the Lord.

I find it interesting to ponder how often my prayer has changed over the years.  Different circumstances have led me to pray differently over the years.  I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that my present circumstances have led me to pray differently.  Perhaps the biggest surprise would come from the idea that I kept doing the same thing even though life had changed.



The week of June 6
 
A HEALTH UPDATE
 
On Friday, I met my radiologist at the Brighton Clinic.  Despite the huge traffic jam at 23 & 96, we made it just a few minutes after the appointed time.  As so often happens, the doctors kept us waiting longer.
 
First we met with the resident who informed me that there wouldn’t be 45 days of radiation, only 20 were called for in my case.  That’s the normal protocol when radiation is used as a preventative treatment after the tumor has been removed!!  To say the least, that was good news. 
 
One of my friends who came with me, waited until the doctor had left the room to complement me on my negotiating skills, which provoked a good laugh from the three of us.
 
The radiologist came in and pretty much confirmed all the resident had said, repeating many of the cautions regarding the possible side effect of the treatment.  The only extra thing was he asked me if I was a Catholic priest, to which I responded yes.  It turns out his scheduler is a member of the Brighton parish where I had served and recognized my name on his schedule.  I remembered the person when he named her, so I found out I have a friend in his office!
 
This week I return to Brighton for another scan to make sure the radiation is on target.  I am hoping his scheduler – my friend -- will call so that I can begin the treatments.
 
The unknown, of course, is whether the number of days of low dose chemo will be the same as the radiation.  That I won’t know until I am contacted by the nurse who is supposed to hook me up to the pump.  I am really hoping it will be the same: 20 days of radiation and 20 days of chemo.
 
I saw my Flint oncologist on Tuesday and she explained that the chemo & radiation are meant to work in tandem with each other, so she expected both chemo and radiation will be the same length.
 
On the home front, my stamina and energy continue to increase.  For the first time since early April, Rusty and I walked the parking lot, up the drive to Gale Road and back down Burpee Road.  It wasn’t fast, (Rusty likes to sniff his way along), but I didn’t care.  It was the closest to normal I’ve experienced in a while.
 
I am easily pleased by small victories these days…20 days, all the way “around the block”!  It’s all good!
 
 
 
A REFLECTION
 
On one hand, there are the small victories I mentioned above.  I am very grateful for them and pleased to see the constant movement toward “my old self”. 
 
On the other hand, I still am in the “fog of unknowing” I wrote about last week.  As I get one question answered, there are more that arise.  People keep asking me how can they help and all I can say is, I don’t know yet…I am still waiting to find out when the next set of treatments will begin.
 
But it’s far less frustrating than it has been.  By early July, the cancer treatments should be done.  Next week, I see a U of M cardiologist at the Brighton clinic and hopefully, I will be on track to improve my heart function, which is as much of a detriment to my energy and stamina as the after effects of the chemo & hospital stay.
 
I have been ensured in the past, that the heart problems are fixable.  I just need a doctor who is able to do the fixing….



The week of May 30

A HEALTH UPDATE

On Friday, I was at University Hospital in Ann Arbor again.  This time to have a port placed in my right upper chest.  I had to prepare for the procedure by fasting for 8 hours beforehand.  Actually, that was kind of easy since I don’t have much of an appetite these days, the more important thing was remembering.  So at the morning Liturgy I had a very, very small piece of the Body and just enough of the cup to say I received the Blood of Christ.  (It was the same very tiny piece I am usually allowed to give to hospital patients who are NPO.  Though I will confess I didn’t mention it at the hospital before the procedure.)

Earlier in the morning I sipped hot water and the only other thing that went down my throat were my morning pills.

My driver got us to AA early, so the wait in the Radiology Reception Area was longer than for other procedures.  They also seemed quite busy for a Friday afternoon before a holiday.

When I finally went back to the Pre-Op, all I had to remove was my shirt and put on a lovely hospital gown which has become a routine part of my wardrobe. 

The major part of the preparation was inserting an IV.  It’s been a routine part of the last six months.  It’s been a part of each session of chemo, CT Scans and other procedures.  That means I have had an IV inserted two, three or even four times in the course of a month.  Sometimes, it is a very smooth and easy process; but more often that was not what happened.  It almost seemed ironic that Friday’s procedure proved to be the most difficult of all the attempts. 

More times than not, the nurse often has to try two or three times to place the IV.  Sometimes after a few attempts, a second nurse has done the job.  A few times, it has taken three nurses and twice that many jabs to place the IV.  Occasionally, they have used an Ultrasound to detect a suitable vein.  Friday, it took four nurses and seven attempts before an IV was inserted!  The only fortunate thing is that none of them hurt much, so I kept assuring very distressed nurses that it was ok, I was fine!  The great irony in the whole thing was this was the last time I would need an IV.  Once the port is in place blood draws and infusions will all be through the port!

For obvious reasons, the process of preparing me for the procedure took longer than the procedure itself.  Two nurses, a resident and a Physician’s Assistant did the procedure.  I was hooked up to a monitor and wore a blood pressure cuff and an oxygen monitor.  Some calming meds were given intravenously and then local anesthetics were given by injection into the area where the port would be placed.

I dozed through most of the short process and remember having them ask me to turn my head to the left a bit more along the way.  In less than an hour after the procedure, we were back on the road, heading north in the holiday and workday traffic.

Next Friday, I meet with the radiologist. I doubt that I will know more about Treatment Plan 3.0 until then.  The new plan will include 45 days of radiation and a constant infusion of low dose chemo over the 45 days.  The radiation will take place at the Brighton U of M Clinic, the rest is still unknown.

A REFLECTION

The placement of the IV proved to be a challenge for the staff in the Radiology section of the hospital.  It was obvious each of the nurses are usually successful in their first or second attempt to place the IV.  Even though I was being poked multiple times, I felt sorry for them as they apologized for failing.  It was obvious that each of the nurses took pride in their skills and were not pleased to be defeated by my veins.  As I mentioned above, I tried to encourage them despite their lack of success.  (I really wasn’t trying to be difficult.)

The radiation is supposed to be at the Brighton Clinic.  At this point, I am planning on asking for drivers.  But I won’t be putting out any sign up for that until I know more about the scheduling and that won’t be available until after I see the radiologist on Friday. 

I do know the process will be quite smooth.  The area of my body will be marked and when I show up I will be taken back, briefly shot with radiation and then be ready to go.  Except for an occasional appointment with a doctor or a blood draw, the drive to and from the clinic will be the longest part of the process.  Hopefully it can be scheduled so that it won’t interfere with the Monday or Friday Mass schedule here. 

Perhaps the most frustrating part of this journey are all the unknowns that lie ahead.  It keeps reminding me of an experience I had while on Sabbatical in 2011, driving through a heavy fog.  For those who may be interested, here’s a reflection I wrote on the experience during the pandemic.  I decided to write down stories that I had used in homilies along the way.  (I haven’t used this one at St. Mark, yet…)


The French Fog
In 2011, I took a sabbatical and spent five weeks of it in Europe.  For two weeks a friend and I traveled through southern Germany.   After dropping him off at the Frankfurt Airport, I drove on to eastern France.  I spent a day in Strasburg and then drove to Taize, the ecumenical monastery of Brother Roger.  A couple of days later, I traveled to Vezelay, which was once celebrated for having the tomb of St. Mary Magdalen. 
From there I traveled west and spent a day at Rheims. 
After a week in France, I set my GPS for a hotel in Brussels where I had a reservation.   That morning there was frost on my windshield and a chill in the air as I set off for Belgium, the homeland of my mother’s grandparents.  The sky was clear as I drove an expressway that took me into the Champagne Region of France. 
My GPS directed me to exit the expressway onto a two-lane road.  I passed a large bottling plant near the expressway.  It had four large stacks with steam pouring out of them.  For reasons a scientist could explain, the huge clouds didn’t rise but rolled across the road in front of the plant and flowed into the fields beyond. 
I drove through the clouds of steam only to enter a dense fog beyond; fog that was as thick as the proverbial “pea soup”.  I could hardly see more than 50 feet ahead, but for a while, I was able to follow the tail lights of a small delivery truck.  Every few miles, I encountered roundabouts which were down right frightening.  I kept following that truck.  I found that I wished my GPS, which warned of an approaching roundabout. would also let me know if it was safe for me to enter it.  Even though I drove at a cautious speed, I could barely see any signs along the road. They seemed to appear and disappear rapidly before I could even read them.
Mile after mile, I drove through the fog, clutching the steering wheel, listening to the GPS and praying myself through roundabouts.  The truck I followed headed off in a different direction and I was alone on that road, or, at least, I hoped I was. 
Finally, after about 25 minutes of driving through the fog, it lifted!  I was in a village in northwestern France.  It was like many of the villages in the French countryside.  The newest buildings in it were probably built a hundred years ago or more. 
What caught my eye at the outskirts of the village was a small building, no bigger than a two-car garage, with a thatched roof.  On the side of it facing me, written in block letters about 2 feet high were the words Do Not Doubt.  As all this registered in my mind, the fog settled around me again and I was suddenly back into ‘white knuckle’ territory.
I never saw the name of the village and, quite frankly, I don’t think I could ever find it again.  Over the years, I have wondered if I really saw those words, especially because the words were written in English in northwestern France!  But years later, I am fairly confident that what I remember was real.  Do Not Doubt.
It was another moment when God spoke to me not about my journey but my life.
My drive through the fog was an apt metaphor for my life at the moment and, probably for most of my life.  I can see where I am going most of the time, but I rarely see too far ahead.  I believe that is true for most people.  Those who are able to see far into the distance are either prophetic or delusional. 
Our journey through life is like driving through a fog.  We are not always sure of where we are headed and most of the time, we do not know what lies ahead.  But I do believe we all have a voice within, a spiritual GPS system, directing us along the way.  All that is asked of us, is that I trust the Spirit who is leading.  Do Not Doubt!

This is one of several articles I wrote during the pandemic as a collection of stories and reflections I call Beer Can Theology.  As I look to the future with so many unknowns, it’s good to recall my time in the French Fog.

The week of May 23

A HEALTH UPDATE

On Thursday last week, I had an early appointment for an echocardiogram and blood work.  Then a meeting with the oncologist.  Before leaving, we set in motion the newest version of treatment.  (I think we are starting plan 3.0.)

In early June, I will see a radiologist at the clinic in Brighton to set up 45 days of radiation.  Between now and then, I will go back to AA to have a port put in.  It will be placed in my right upper chest and allow direct access to a major artery.  It will be used for weekly doses of chemo and to draw blood.  Even though I am having a low dose of chemo, blood counts are still in danger and need to be monitored regularly.  From what I heard the doctor say, a home healthcare nurse will be coming to Burpee Road for the start of the weekly chemo which I will carry with me over the five days I get radiation.  (I guess even chemo gets the weekend off.)

The radiation will be at the Brighton Clinic.  At this point, I am planning on asking for drivers once I know the schedule.

Back in 1996, I drove my mother to AA for 35 days of radiation.  I would drop her off at the door, park the car and come to the waiting room.  Several times by the time I got a cup of coffee and settled down to read my book, she was finished and standing in the doorway.  I suspect that has only improved, so it shouldn’t be a burdensome process.  And hopefully, there won’t be any construction between here and there!!

This week I will see the physical therapist for the last two times.  While I can’t say it’s been a great help, it has pushed me a little more.   I learned back in 2015, when I had my right knee replaced that the only way to get back to normal is to push. 

On Friday, May 19, I was up again at 4:45 am and off to AA by 5:30.  If there are such things as omens, a good one presented itself as we arrived at parking structure P2, as instructed.  The second parking space from the entrance was available and John easily backed into it. 

After checking in and a short wait, I was taken back to Pre-Op to begin the preparations.  Once I had changed into one of those fashionable hospital gowns with the back door air conditioning, a series of nurses and doctors made their way to my bedside.  First an IV was inserted in my left wrist and then an arterial line to monitor my blood pressure and more was inserted into an artery in the right. 

Shortly before the scheduled time, I was wheeled back to a surgical room for the procedure.  Within minutes I was out so I have no recollection of the procedure. I remember looking at the clock at 8:45 as I left pre-op and woke up about 10: 30 in post op.  Both my niece, Kayla and John spoke with the surgeon who was very positive.  The chemo had shrunk the tumor and he thought he removed what remained.  So it looks like I am cancer free!

Next Friday I am scheduled to have a port inserted into an artery in my right upper chest for the weekly low doses of chemo.  The following week I meet with the radiologist.  I suspect radiation will begin the first week in June.  At this point, the purpose of the radiation and low dose chemo will be to kill off whatever microscopic residue may be left of the cancer

A REFLECTION

Once more I am starting down a new path.  With the placement of the port on Friday, I will be ready to see the radiologist to plot out the next seven weeks of my life.  At this point, I am neither pleased or sad.  I just find myself longing for normal.  As I mentioned in last week’s reflection, time seems to move slower for me and I guess it is the same for most people who go through health issues that restrict activity.  More often than not, all that looms ahead on the calendar is another doctor appointment or test or procedure.  None of which is terribly exciting; it’s hardly like looking forward to the next journey some place new or even a gathering of friends.

I am sure this will change once I start back to celebrating Liturgy.  It will provide a genuinely positive activity that will be both normal and uplifting.  Depending on how the surgical procedure goes, I hope to return to week day Liturgies even before I publish this chapter of my journey.

Even writing the last paragraph makes me realize how much I miss the Eucharist.  Growing up, the school day began with Liturgy and it has continued to be a daily part of the last 65 years of my life.  Through 45 years of priesthood I have celebrated Liturgy every day and some days two or even three times depending on the circumstances.  To go for almost three weeks without brings a genuine sense of emptiness.  I am sure life will seem much more normal when Eucharist becomes a regular part of life again.

On Friday, May 19, I went through the procedure to see what remained of the tumor after the chemo and to remove as much of what remained as possible.  Although I prayed, entrusting it all into God’s hands (and asking for some help from Blessed Solanus Casey and the many family members who are already with the Lord), I did go into the procedure with some confidence that good news would result.  I figured if the chemo did to the tumor what it did to the rest of my body, there wouldn’t be much there!  My hunch proved to be correct!  The doctor told John & my niece, Kayla, that he removed all visible evidence of the tumor.

There were several other things I found interesting about the whole procedure.

The first was the amount of phrenetic activity in Pre-Op.  The waiting and check in area were calm and quiet, but once I entered the Pre-Op it was almost chaotic with activity.  It certainly made my previous experiences of Pre-Op at Genesys seem sedate. 
Remember, University Hospital is a medical school, so the whole pre-op was crawling with doctors, residents and students – an army in blue scrubs.  At one point there were several residents (I think) standing in an alcove across from where I was waiting.  I got a laugh out of the nurses when I asked if that was a holding pen for them until they matched up with their doctor.

Another interesting thing was that I never saw my doctor beforehand, but his resident.  She made sure I understood the procedure and its purpose as well as the possible negative possibilities that could result. 

Since the U is a teaching hospital, the arterial line was placed by a team of two residents with a medical student observing. I was not Mary’s first, but she was coached along the way by the other resident who ran the Ultrasound to guide the effort.  While there was slight discomfort with the process, I kept encouraging the resident throughout it.  I am sure it will be routine for her in the months to come.

Most of the time in Pre-Op was taken up with some sort of activity: a doctor, resident or nurse talking to me or doing something on me to get me ready.  The one thing I did remember to do was to thank them.  It’s something I learned from my little sister, who lived with MS for 40 years.  For the first half of those years she was able to do many things for herself; she could parent, drive, cook, etc.  She came to live with me after 4 months in the hospital.  At that point, she was bed ridden and wheel chair bound, which meant she needed help with everything.

When MaryAnna came to live with me, there were more government services offered then.  She had a daily home healthcare worker every morning for four hours and then again late in the afternoon to the early evening.  My nieces and I took care of the in between times and MaryAnna made a number of friends in the parish who came to visit on a regular basis.

Despite the fact that she was always in need and receiving care, she was always upbeat and pleasant.  The most frequent words that came from her mouth were “Thank you!”  It didn’t matter how often or who did it, we were always thanked.  It was an important lesson that wasn’t lost on me.  I am trying to make sure I put that lesson into practice throughout this journey.

Another crazy thought.  Why do I always seem to come home from hospitals with souvenirs?   After a week in “Spa Genesys” I came home with a cold that is almost cleared up now.  My last visit to U of M I came home with a catheter.  I prefer vacations when I get to pick my souvenirs….


The week of May 16
 
A HEALTH UPDATE
 
Not a great deal to report this week, at least so far.  Saw my primary doctor today and added another pill to the stew.  I have never been a fan of taking medicines, now I have several.  All I can hope is that they “play well together”.
 
The new pill should have a short life since it’s to help control my cough.  It was a parting gift I picked up before leaving the hospital – Spa Genesys – as the deacon called it.  I was tested before I left, so I know it’s a common cold, a Rhinovirus.   In any case, it has settled in my lungs and for a while made it very difficult to sleep at night until a week ago. 
 
The visit to the primary was just a follow up to my hospital stay.
 
Thursday I will see my oncologist down in AA.  I have an echocardiogram scheduled beforehand.  I am sure the visit will include another blood draw – I always leave a little bit of myself behind.  Last week’s blood work showed upward improvement, but not by leaps, just slow steady progress.
 
I have seen the physical therapist three times so far.  Much of the therapy is pretty simple.  More importantly, I have kept pushing to increase endurance and stamina.  Sunday I walked to the end of the drive to get the paper.  My nieces and their families came over for Mother’s Day, so there was lots of activity into the evening. 
 
Monday, I did twice as much, even walking over to church to receive Communion.  In fact, I did probably three times what I did Sunday and the same is true for Tuesday, including a session of PT.
 
In the meantime, while I still am struggling with weakness, I am getting stronger.  I am hoping the early mornings to University Hospital and the procedures there will not take too much out of me.  I could use a few more steps forward before having any backsliding.
 
A REFLECTION
 
I continue to be touched by the many people who send me cards, notes and emails.  Periodically the office will get a phone message from someone wishing me well and telling me they are praying for me.  It is certainly a comfort to know I have so many praying for me. 
 
While the cough has not disappeared, it is less and less often now.  It still can be intense but it’s nice to go hours without any difficulty.  Physical therapy continues to progress.  Each day is a little bit more, which is good. 
 
But I find myself being apprehensive about Thursday and Friday this week.  Thursday is an echocardiogram of my heart followed by an appointment with my cardiologist.  Then on Friday, I have another cystoscopy to see exactly what has happened to the tumor. 
 
On one hand, I think that if the chemo did to the tumor what it did to rest of me, it should be gone.  On the other, more realistic hand, I suspect it’s still there but I am certain it’s been diminished.  My reasoning comes from the fact that earlier in this journey I was having difficulty urinating.  Now there are no problems and the bladder seems to empty completely.  In any case, I will know more sometime on Friday.
 
The cystoscopy is an outpatient procedure.  I had one back in October to diagnose the tumor initially.  I was able to go back home and continue my life with little or no difficulty.  But given, what has happened in between, I am not so sure there won’t be a
setback. I’ll deal with whatever comes, but I would really like to keep growing stronger. 
 

The week of May 8

A HEALTH UPDATE

Perhaps the most difficult part of this journey with cancer and heart disease is that every time I think I know where I am going, I don’t.  It is as if I am headed down a hallway at University Hospital and someone grabs my shirt from behind and says, “not that way, go this way.”

Last Thursday I met with both my oncologist and surgeon, thinking surgery was the next stop.  The surgery would remove my bladder and prostrate.  Given the status of my heart and what they think my body can tolerate, I am headed in a different direction.  Next week, I will meet with the oncologist on Thursday and then, on Friday, I will be back at the hospital in AA for a “procedure”. 

Basically, on Friday I will be sedated and the doctor will go into my bladder through the penis and scrape away as much of the tumor as possible.  That will be followed by 45 days of radiation and a constant low dose of another chemo.  That chemo will be injected into my body 24/7 during the radiation therapy.  The doctor explained that it is the standard procedure used in Europe for bladder cancer, while chemo followed by surgical removal of the bladder is more common.  The results are comparable.

That means I will be able to keep my bladder.  But every year, my bladder would be scoped to make sure there is no return of the cancer.  All in all, I think I like the new approach better.

In the meantime, I still struggle with the results of the last session of chemo.  My blood levels are low and so is my energy.  Spending that week in the hospital didn’t do much to help me.  Confined to my room, I didn’t grow stronger and I came home with a cold! The cold has caused some sleeplessness and a lot of coughing, which hasn’t improved anything for me.  Another chest x-ray this week will make sure it’s not something more. 

On the positive side, I started physical therapy twice a week, with “homework” – exercises I need to do every day.  As I was preparing for discharge from the hospital they asked if I would like PT.  My first thought was to say no, but then I realized having someone come “with a whip & a chair” might motivate me to get stronger, faster. 

Back in 2015, I had my right knee replaced and I know the PT made a difference.  So I signed up.  I don’t expect to be running a marathon by the end of the summer but I hope to be well enough to walk far enough to tire out both Rusty and myself!

           
A REFLECTION

The long journey back from the last treatment of chemo has been slow and, to be honest, very discouraging.  Getting the cold hasn’t helped.  Sometimes I cough until I have a headache and even aching sides.  Although I take an over the counter drug to control it, I never know when a coughing fit will start again.  I sometimes cough until I gag and coughing up gunk is not pretty or pleasant, especially if someone is with me.  It also has left me with some restless nights when I will sit up for an hour or more until I think I may be able to sleep again.

The weakness, tiredness, coughing and the rest, is discouraging.  It helps me to understand the many people I have known who decide to give up.  While I am certainly not there, or anywhere near there, I can appreciate their thinking and I respect their decision even more. 

I keep in mind that I have lived 72 years, almost 870 months.  All this has been only six of all those months.  So I pray.  Not so much for me, but for others I know who are going through a variety of hard times.  I pray for the people of St. Mark and other parishes where I have served.  I tell the Lord, I would like my life to get healthier.  But most of all, I pray that all of us will be consoled by the presence of a compassionate God, whose love led that same Gracious One to share our humanity with all its messiness and even its pain.

It is relearning the lesson I learned in my adolescence.  “God did not bring me this far to let me down.”   I am not sure what the plan may be, but I know the Lord will be there to guide me through it….


The week of May 2

A HEALTH UPDATE
I had the first part done before going into the hospital, which happened on Wednesday, April 26.  The day before, the Feast of St. Mark, was not a good day.  I had trouble walking, even short distances and celebrating the feast day left me drained.  The next day I called the oncologist in AA and I was told to go to the clinic to get my blood drawn. 

The nearest U of M Clinic is in Brighton and I asked one of my volunteer drivers to take me there.  Within an hour, I received a phone call urging me to go to the Emergency Room, any ER.  My platelets were at 3,000 – normal range is about 150,000 to 250,000.

So my driver took me to Genesys and within two hours in the ER, I was receiving another unit of platelets.  That was followed by three units of blood over the next 24 hours and a second unit of platelets on the following Monday.

On Friday – and every day until my final release on Tuesday, May 2, my primary doctors talked about my getting out.   Each day there was something of concern to keep me there.

I am now back at the rectory of St. Mark and doing everything slowly.  I did “sign up” for physical therapy, knowing that I have lost a great deal of muscle strength and stamina throughout all the chemo and now the hospitalization.  So I am hoping someone with a whip and chair will help me regain most, if not all I have lost.

Tomorrow is my trip back to the doctors in Ann Arbor to find out what’s next.  Hopefully I will be up to whatever is necessary.

A REFLECTION
Not having my computer with me in the hospital meant there was nothing on which I could write down my reflection.  I am sure I could have gotten pen and paper, but whether I could or not, would I be able to read what I wrote later is a whole different consideration. 

Perhaps the word frustration sums up my stay at the “Club Genesys” as the deacon called it.  In some respects, I guess I was treated like a supreme court justice.  I had a very expensive “vacation” and someone else paid for it!  Everything was taken care of, and I was certainly taken care of by a number of caring people.

But it was frustrating in having doctors suggest that today might be the day I am released only to have another say no.  I even sang to a couple of them from an old country song: “Please, release me, let me go.  For I don’t love you anymore!”  Unfortunately, all of them were tone deaf to my plea.  One of the primary problems is that my body is not producing the platelets that I need.  While the transfusions help raise the level, it’s only for a short time.  Until my body “reopens the manufacturing plant” I will continue to have trouble.

All of that makes me a bit leery of what will happen tomorrow.  If my blood counts are too low again, I will be back in the hospital.  It’s not that I have anything against them, it’s just that they are a nice place to visit, but I really don’t like to stay in them. 

I am very fortunate in that I have very good insurance as part of my retirement.  I have a co-pay, but even that has been affordable for me.  Over these last four months my expenses have gone down.  But it has made me mindful of those who are less fortunate than me. 

The week of April 24

A HEALTH UPDATE
As I mentioned last week, chemo is finished, at least as far as I know.  Now I am waiting.

A CT scan in between the second and third series of chemo showed the tumor had diminished, but was still present.  Since then I have had two more series of chemo (two sessions each time).  The oncologist at University Hospital seemed certain that surgery would still be a part of the treatment, so now I will wait to find out when that might happen.

In the meantime, I have started to pester my cardiologists.  I had a nuclear stress test during Easter Week and need to make sure the results have been sent to both the electrophysiologist and the oncologist.  (I did check with the oncologist this week after making the request, his office had not received anything.) 

All of that is the risk one takes in dealing with different hospital systems.

So far the pattern for chemo seems to be holding true.  For a couple of days, I do reasonably well.  But that is, in part, due to the steroids I am given with the chemo.  Tiredness sets in on the third and fourth days and then things slowly seem to turn around.  Of course, with each session of chemo, the tiredness deepens, so Friday after the last session, I slept for a couple of hours in the morning, afternoon and evening.  And then still went to bed for 7 hours!

The other thing I notice is “my thermostat” isn’t working the way it did before.  Four days after chemo, I tend to get very cold.  I eat and then go to my recliner and cover up with a prayer quilt and a heating pad!  In about half an hour, I finally warm up – and usually sleep for a while.  Fortunately, my mood swings haven’t been nearly as wide as my temperature swings!

A REFLECTION
Over the 45 years of parish ministry, I have journeyed with several people through sickness and death.  My own journey over the last few months have brought many to mind.  In some cases, it has been years since I have consciously considered their journey, in other cases, their experience has been very clearly in my thoughts.

While each person is different and unique, there have been some who “fall into different categories”.  There are those who fight like hell.  They will do anything, endure anything to hang on to life and then there are those who simply accept their illness and patiently wait for it to claim his or her life.  As so many of that spectrum of people march through my mind (and heart), my own experience has given me a better appreciation of how they arrived at their life decisions.

One approach that I have resisted is the more militant one.  People talk about battling cancer, fighting the fight, struggling and many other such images.  As I have said earlier in my reflections, I was not surprised when, on All Souls Day (Nov. 2) the urologist gave me the results of the cystoscopy: “You have bladder cancer.”   As I told my youngest niece, I always expected that diagnosis at some point.  Given our family history, I always thought it was a matter of when not if.

But my older sister, Lynn, was one of those who battled cancer.  She never had surgery, but did chemo & radiation.  She spent 8 of the 18 months of her battle in the hospital, doing whatever necessary to stay alive.  Did she fear death?  I don’t think so.  Over her hospital stay we had plenty of conversations that still inspire me by the depth of her faith and trust in God.  She felt called to make a difference in this world and made every effort to live and fulfill that vocation.

Another group of people I have known and better understand are those who chose to simply let the disease take its course.  Most of these folks were people whose cancer was advanced or had dealt with it once before and chose not to go through exhausting treatments again.

One of those folks was my classmate and best friend, Dave.  We were ordained together.  He developed an untreatable form of cancer and chose not to do any of the experimental treatments that doctors suggested.  He was very open about what was happening and let his friends come and help him in the final weeks of his life.  I often took the night shift so I could leave the parish at night and be back in the morning for the Liturgy. 

In many ways, I view cancer as a teacher rather than an enemy.  Like so many other difficult times in my life, it is an opportunity to grow through, rather than something to fight. There are life lessons to be learned.  Perhaps since the doctor suggests it was caught early, I don’t view it as life-threatening.  In any case I don’t use militant words.  Cancer may be an unwelcome companion on my life’s journey right now, but there are things to be learned that may well help me in the future.

The week of April 17 – Chemo, finita est!

A HEALTH UPDATE

Chemo, finita est!  Chemo is finished!!  Alleluia! 

Not sure why the Latin comes to mind, (and I am not even sure it’s correct) but it was my first thought when the final part of my IV infusion ended with a beep yesterday.  The last words of Jesus on the cross: “It is finished.”   And while I don’t remember a lot of Latin, that is one phrase that came to mind at 5:40 when the last bit of hydration was done.

My drivers got me to the hospital yesterday with a few minutes to spare, which was good.  The entrance to the Rogel Cancer Center is under renovation, so the entrance gets shifted around week to week.  So does the check in for the blood draw.

The phlebotomist took me back and after examining both arms, placed the needle right into the vein.  (Sometimes it can take as many as four pokes and adjusting!)   All I kept thinking was, “please let the counts be acceptable.”

With the drug of Nulasta added at the end of the last series, I was fairly certain the white cell count would be good.  While the hemoglobin has been marginal, I had received a quart of A+, so I was thinking that would be ok.  The question was what would the platelet count be – twice before chemo had been postponed because that count was too low.

On Tuesday, someone told me last week when I expressed some concern about the platelets that pineapple helped increase them.  I had some in the pantry, I began my pineapple diet.  One of our kind parishioners heard me remark on adding canned, chunk pineapple to my diet.  That inspired her to buy, cut up and deliver two fresh pineapples to my door. 

Despite the fact of the danger I might become prickly from all that pineapple, I ate it twice a day in hopes of making sure April 17 was my last chemo.

After the blood draw I went to the next floor and I waited to be checked in – the blood draw was scheduled for 11:30 and the chemo for 1 pm.  You can only check in an hour before the appointment, so I had to wait – patience, patient! 

After checking in at 12:02, I waited to find out if chemo was a go or not.  Patience, patient!

Obviously, I tended to look at my watch a lot as time crept by.  I even tried to be distracted by reading and solitaire.   Patience, patient!

One o’clock came and went.  During my wait, a nurse came out and told another patient her blood counts were too low and chemo would have to be rescheduled.  Patience, patient!

The patient patient watched the time slowly pass until at 1:10 pm, Sonny (same guy as the week before) the medical tech came out and called for David!  He had the chemo bag in his hand.  Chemo was a go!  After a quiet “thank you, Lord!”, the patient patient surprised Sonny by greeting him by name – not realizing I remembered his name from the previous week.  But he was just the person I was hoping to see.

When I was taken back, I was placed in a different cubicle.  This one was completely enclosed.  The nurse came in and after a careful examination of both arms, placed the needle right into the vein!  Another win!  Only four and half hours to go.  Patience, patient!

Every time a new bag is added to the IV pole, a timer is set as the infusion begins.  First the hydration with an anti-nausea drug.  (I had already been to the restroom three times since arriving at the hospital, so I was fairly certain I was hydrated.)   Then comes the first chemo drug, Gemsar, for 30 minutes.  Then more hydration and flushing.  Then the Cisplatin for an hour.  Each segment separated by a welcome beep as it ends.  (Amazingly, I have often been irritated while in a hospital room with a beeping IV.  This time each marked the beginning of another welcome end!)

After an hour of Cisplatin, a beeping signaled a final hydration!  Hurray!

Three more trips to the restroom during the 4.5 hours indicated that the hydration was working at flushing the chemo drugs out of my system. 

Rather than waiting for the final beep, the nurse came in with the Nulasta medication and delivery system to attach it to my stomach.  About 10 minutes after being activated the device’s needle poked my belly, made me jump and switched on the blinking green light to indicate it’s working.

Within minutes, the last and most welcome beep announced the end of 8 sessions of chemo.  Now on to the next part of my journey.

On Tuesday, I called to schedule the long postponed teeth cleaning – it was suggested I wait until chemo was complete.  I also called the oncologist’s office to find out if anything was needed before the May 4 appointment with the oncologist & surgeon.

Patience, patient!  But don’t necessarily wait for the doctors to call!

 
A REFLECTION

Easter Week was busier than I had expected and between Easter Monday’s chemo and the rest of what happened, I was more tired than expected by the weekend.  Saturday I did very little except shower and shave for the Liturgy and rewrite my homily.  Sunday I had much more energy and even did small projects in between naps.  I suspect some of the Sunday energy came from being nervous about Monday.

Monday came and I woke up at 5:45 and had everything ready for another and, hopefully last chemo trip.  The phone and kindle were charged, all the results from previous treatments and doctor visits were in the brief case.  The only thing I had neglected to do was download another book (I can’t do it at the hospital). 

Of course. some anxiety as to whether I would be able to have chemo awakened me in the middle of the night.  So I got up, made some chamomile tea and finished more of my book before going back to bed.  With only a half an hour left to the book, it was finished while waiting to be called back for the infusion.  Which was ok, since I ended up sleeping during some of the chemo time.

Awakening during the middle of the night, is not new.  That’s happened a lot.  But I have rarely had trouble falling back to sleep after answering the call of nature.  Sunday night that wasn’t the case.  Which makes me even more aware that anxiety exists in the subconscious much more than the conscious.  And it’s hard to be in touch with what’s going on at that level.  It was a lesson I learned years ago and am still relearning many years later. 

My first real lesson on the difference between those two levels of consciousness came when I was filling out my application for Sacred Heart Seminary College.  It required a biography – and I was very uncertain what to write.  (Truth be told, I really had a rather boring life so there wasn’t much to tell.  After all, I had seriously considered priesthood since second grade!)

In any case, I had gone down to the local parish to teach CCD and Sr. Ellen asked me if I had sent in my application to SHS.  When asked why I was hesitating I explained I just didn’t know what to write for a biography.  Her response was “you’re just scared, that’s all.”  With some anger I replied I wasn’t. But I stayed mad.  That evening, during study hall (I was in St. Bernard High School Seminary at the time) I finished the application, filled out the envelope, put a stamp on it and walked out the front door to the mail box across Ann Arbor Trail and dropped it in the box.  As the door clanked shut, I realized Sr. Ellen was right!!

It is another lesson in the great truth that even though I may think I am in touch with my emotions, that is not always, perhaps often, true.  I am handling all of this reasonably well, most of the time, but there is always that other level.  While I am not always in touch with it, I need to admit it’s there and can often affect me.  I guess it’s another of the lessons to learn or relearn while on this journey with cancer.

A more recent lesson has been a great gift through all of this journey.  For several years now, going back well before retirement I developed a saying that has served me well throughout this journey.  I am not sure when I started or even if it is a saying I didn’t steal from someone else.  But I find I tend to say often enough.  Yesterday, when the nurse said she hoped her first attempt to place the IV line was successful, I responded by assuring her if it wasn’t successful, that was ok.  My line is: “If that’s the worst that happens today I will be grateful!”

Over 45 years of ministry and 72 years of life, I have witnessed great pain and suffering.  I have no answer to why, but a long list of questions to bring to the Lord at the end of my life.  But having seen so much struggle, I know the many things that often affect me are so much less in comparison.  Every time I have gone for chemo, I am asked if I have any pain.  I never have.  But I do remember my older sister’s struggle with cancer in 1992-3.  Her pain was so great the last days of her life were only pain free if she was so heavily sedated we couldn’t communicate.  Before that there were several bouts of nausea, dehydration and so much more.  Over the 18 months she suffered with cancer, 8 were spent in the hospital.  I have been there only for hours or a couple of days.  In comparison, I have had it very easy.

Comparing my struggle with another doesn’t take anything away from or lessen what I am going through, it only serves as a reality check.  And I have been very fortunate.  At some point I pray that I will have learned enough through all of this journey to be grateful to God.  Not for the cancer (I don’t believe it is from God, or some part of a great plan God may have).  But to be grateful for all that I have learned through the journey.

I am a slow learner.  Unfortunately, I seem to learn the best, most important lessons of life through pain, sorrow and struggle.  I first realized that in adolescence and I have relearned it many times through my life. Years ago, when I found myself in difficult straights, I learned to pray: “Lord, I know I learn best through difficult times.  But I need to tell you that I don’t need any more degrees, I have enough.  I really don’t even need another workshop or seminar.  But if I can’t avoid what lies ahead, help me learn and grow from it.  Amen”

I call it my garden prayer…as in the Garden of Gethsemane.

My Journey with Cancer, Etc.
            In the beginning…
            October 13, I awoke at 1 pm with abdominal pains.  I had them earlier in the day, and even went to ER, but there were several people waiting and the pain went away.  So I went home.  Ten hours later I was back again and mercifully, the waiting room was empty.  Before I could change my mind, I was back in a cubical waiting on the doctor.
            Not much happened for the next couple of hours until about 5 am, I was taken for a CT scan.  Once back in the cubical I waited.  Sometime after 8 am I called Kayla and told her where I was.  By 9 she was at the hospital and all I could think of was to ask her to get Rusty out of the car and take him for a walk.  Sometime after 10, she took Rusty home with her and I waited in my cubical.
            Before the morning was over, I was in a room up on the second floor with a young man who conducted all of his communication with friends and family over speaker phone…which meant I got to listen in.  Unfortunately, he was/is married to a bi-polar wife who had a vocabulary limited primarily to four-letter words.  Much to my dismay and his great distress she called in several times over the next few hours to vent her anger on him for disserting her by going into the hospital.  (While I never heard, I am sure he was hospitalized for stress related illness.)
            In the early afternoon, the nurse settled me in, then figured out why I looked familiar.  I am a part time chaplain at that hospital and she had seen me walking the halls, visiting patients, on several occasions.  Being in the room during one of the tedious diatribes by an unhappy wife, she looked at me and all I could do was simply shrug my shoulder.  The young man, any visitors and me would all be listeners to the woman who believed her husband was simply hiding from her by going to the hospital.  By 5 pm that evening, shortly before she went off work, the nurse came in and announced I was moving to a private room across the hall.  Before my fortunate move, other conversations revealed that my beleaguered would not be going back home once he was released except to retrieve his clothes and tools.
            Three doctors visited me that afternoon: a hospitalist, a vascular resident and a urologist.  The first talked generally about the what the early morning scan had shown, briefly mentioning Diverticulitis and warning that other doctors would follow.  The vascular resident expressed great concern about aortic aneurisms in my groin area.  Evidently, they had grown over the last few years to become a major concern: “They really, really need to be repaired!”  The office of Dr. Paulinsin, a vascular surgeon, would be contacting me after I was released.
            The third doctor brought even more dire news, there was some mass in my bladder and it needed to be biopsied soon.  This was a Thursday afternoon and I was scheduled to leave on a trip to Italy, Sicily and Malta on Monday.  He strongly recommended I rethink my plans.
            Earlier in the afternoon, Fr. Tom Nenneau had stopped by and anointed me.  Later in the early evening, an ultrasound was performed on my kidneys, bladder and urinary tract.  The next morning the urologist was back to find out what I had decided about the trip.  He began by telling me whatever was seen in the CT scan was not visible in the ultrasound.  “Go on your trip, but when you return we’ll do a cystoscopy to find out what’s happening.”  The procedure was set up for the Wednesday after I returned from Europe. 
            The procedure took place as scheduled.  The ultrasound had lied. November 2, All Souls Day, at the follow up visit with the urologist I was given the diagnosis of a cancerous tumor in the bladder.
            The next day, Thursday, I had two more doctor appointments.
            The first was with my cardiologist to follow up on some bad news he had shared with me in September.  My heart, which had a 10 year history of atrial fibrillation was operating at a 35% infraction rate – not good.   In the early fall, he started me on two new medications to strengthen the heart and then ordered a monitor that I was to wear for a week.  The first week in October I had a cardio-conversion to correct my A-fib.  It worked…for about a minute and then went back into what had become my regular rhythm.  (My lack of rhythm helped explain why I can’t dance.)
            My cardiologist suggested seeing an electrophysiologist at Henry Ford for an ablation and promised to set that up.  At that November 3 appointment. we talked about what needed to be done and we agreed, it would be best to tackle the heart first, so that I was better able to deal with the cancer.
            The second doctor appointment that day (the third of the week) introduced me to a new primary doctor located in Goodrich.  Relatively young (remember I am getting to an age when most people look younger) he was a good listener.  He suggested seeing a local oncologist and set me up with a new local urologist.  (Unfortunately, we have since parted ways, since his office refused to take my new insurance.  I suspect his office didn’t want to deal with the paperwork it entailed.)
            Weeks passed and I began to send my cardiologist texts reminding him I had not heard from Henry Ford Hospital.
            That doesn’t mean I didn’t keep the doctors busy.  Before and after Thanksgiving I had two procedures to successfully repair the aneurisms.  Another phone call to the cardiologist finally gained a response from West Bloomfield, and an appointment with the electro-cardiologist was set for January 3.
            Over the month of December, I found myself getting increasingly tired and easily winded.  Poor Rusty was often disappointed that our walks were curtailed more and more.  Before Christmas, I convinced myself that I was in cardiac failure.  Looking back I am wondering if I had Covid?  With only fatigue and breathing difficulties, which are also symptoms of cardiac failure, I am left wondering.
            In any case, fatigued and somewhat breathless, I met the urological oncologist at University Hospital in Ann Arbor.  When I mentioned my heart related difficulties, he suggested my heart was not strong enough for chemo, which is the usual protocol before surgery.  Instead, he suggested we do surgery within the next two months at the latest.  My bladder cancer was stage 2/3 and aggressive.  He suggested removal of the bladder, the prostate and nearby nodes.  A second appointment was set up for January 12, a week after my appointment with the Henry Ford cardiologist.
            During the Octave of Christmas, I did two things. 
            On Thursday, December 29 which would have been my older sister’s birthday, I fulfilled a promise I had made to two parishioners earlier in the fall: we made a pilgrimage to the Shrine of Blessed Solanus Casey down in Detroit.  They prayed I would have a miraculous recovery from my heart and cancer issues.  I prayed that God would give me whatever I needed to use my days and even years ahead productively and fruitfully.  While I would like good health, I really didn’t want to be “Solanus’ second miracle”.  That would bring too much attention and I prefer the quieter life I live at St. Mark, near the Village of Goodrich.
            The second thing I did that week, was write an article in the parish bulletin to inform the parish what was going on.  At that point there was a major surgery looming which meant I would be in the hospital and then off for recovery.  I had told several people what was going on with me, but I wanted to let everyone know.  Most of all I asked for their prayers, but I also came here to share my life with them and this detour through health issues is a part of that journey.  Hopefully, my journey is one made in faith and trust and sharing it with others may prove to be useful and even a blessing for them.
 

The week of Feb 9

A HEALTH UPDATE
This week I was supposed to start another cycle of chemo with a 7 hour infusion – with two drugs; the second week is a two hour infusion with a single drug and the third week there is no treatment. 
But that didn’t happen.  My white and red blood cell counts are very low as are my platelets, which meant I could not receive treatment.
I arrived at the Cancer Center at University Hospital at 8:15 despite the dismal weather.  After a short wait for the blood draw, I checked in for my appointment with Dr. Alva, the medical oncologist on the second floor. 
I never even had time to sit down before I was called back for a quick check of “my vitals” – weight, temp and blood pressure.  And then I was taken back to an exam room to wait, which is what I did for about 30 minutes.
When the doctor arrived, he apologized for the wait but needed to see the results of my blood work first.  My white blood count needed to be 1.5 or better to have chemo and mine was 1.0.  Today’s was cancelled and all my treatments would be pushed back by a week.  (Talk about throwing a calendar out of wack!)
Dr. Alva reassured me that this does not mean the chemo is not working.  It is a normal experience for many who receive chemotherapy.  In the future, I would receive a “booster” after the second week’s infusion to help increase my blood counts.  (There was no way to know it would be needed until this point in process.)
So I left Ann Arbor, and my driver & I went back through the rain and gloom to Goodrich.

A REFLECTION
The weather, it turns out, was an omen foretelling my experience of the day.  It was rainy, foggy and gloomy.  Perfect weather to match the way I felt.
As strange as it may sound, I was deeply disappointed to find out my chemo schedule was pushed back by a week – along with all the appointments previously scheduled.  I guess somehow, my great desire is to just “get this over”…I will do what I need to do, but waiting, postponing, rearranging my calendar is not something I had anticipated at all.  After all, I feel good, I have almost no side effects from previous treatments and people tell me I even look healthy.  How can the blood be oblivious to all those other facts?  I guess I just have bad blood….
Later Thursday afternoon I spoke with a friend who had also gone through chemo a few years before I met her.  She had texted me some words of encouragement, thinking I was in the midst of my 7 hour chemo session. I sent her a short text explaining I was already home and we ended up talking on the phone.  A similar event had happened to her on her cancer journey and she had a very similar reaction.
One of the things I said, was that the news that chemo needed to be postponed was even more disappointing that the original news that I had cancer.  (Even though I had not expected to hear that news when I heard, given my family’s history, I have always expected a doctor do give that diagnosis.)
In any case, I’ll be ok…if this is the worst that happens today, I am very fortunate and blessed. 
I started saying that probably four or five years ago.  It’s been a perspective that has helped to keep me focused, positive and directed.
It’s harder to say today, but that makes it even more important.  Yes, I am disappointed.  But if that’s the worst that happens, I am still fortunate and blessed.

To make matters worse, I received the new schedule for the next appointments.  Although I am trying to be positive, I really don’t feel very positive.  I had expected that I would receive a phone call from the scheduler like I had before.  That’s not what happened this time.  My email account told me several things had been posted on my portal.  When I began to open them up it was a new schedule of appointments.
Quite honestly, I was really ticked.  There was no consultation, just a feeling like “OK sucker, we have you in our system and you’ll have to do our bidding.”
Only one of the new appointments was scheduled for Brighton, the rest for Ann Arbor and just to rub salt into the wound, the next one was scheduled for 7 am in AA.  The second one for Mott’s again and the third for AA.
Not happy, I called scheduling which is never an easy process.  A call gets bounced around before you can finally talk with someone who can actually do something.
Initially, I was not very pleasant.  But I quickly backed down as I reminded myself Garrett (the scheduler) had nothing to do with my complaint and he really didn’t need any grief from me.  I apologized and was able to make some changes, but not many.
The 7 am appointment got moved to 7:30 am.  But more importantly, the Mott’s appointment was shifted to Brighton.  So some change is better than nothing.  And this is only temporary…and another lesson in being a patient.
After the March 16 appointment in Brighton, there will probably be some kind of scan and I will know if the chemo worked and how successful it actually was.  It may lead to more chemo or surgery or both.  Only time will tell.
 

The week of February 16

A HEALTH UPDATE
This week was an early appointment down at the Cancer Center at University Hospital in Ann Arbor.  Although rain and sleet were predicted for later, the only problem was sharing the road with those on their way to work.
 
Rusty and I got picked up at 6 and were driven to my niece’s house.  My great nephew and his dad were sick, so she came out, wearing a mask, to get the dog.  My other driver was waiting and we were off to AA.
 
After the initial check in, I had my blood drawn and then went up to the waiting area.  I was banded and then waited to be called back for my infusion.  While waiting I prayed the Office of Readings and Morning Prayer from the Liturgy of the Hours (the Breviary).  Then I started reading a magazine I had brought along and waited some more.
 
The time for my infusion came and went, and I waited.  Finally, after an hour and 20 minutes of waiting my name was called and I was taken back into an infusion area.  Nothing was said, but after more than a little anxiety on my part, the nurse came to begin the process of finding a vein, placing the needle to begin the infusion.
 
This time it all went smoothly.  Over the seven hours, I was given hydration, an anti-nausea drug (intravenously) and two different chemo drugs with hydration in between and afterward.  During the process I drank about 80 oz of water, juice and ginger ale.  Needless to say, I was grateful the restroom was nearby…and I was a “frequent flyer”.
 
The entire process was over by 4:30 and we made it back to my niece’s place before the rain started…in fact my niece was home before the bad weather kicked in.
 
Before the infusion began I was given another anti-nausea drug and steroids orally.  Both worked fine, so I even went shopping for Rusty and myself on Friday afternoon.
 
More tired on Saturday, but no nausea or other side effects, thankfully.
 
A REFLECTION
 
After the previous week’s experience, I made the trip to AA with more anxiety than I expected.  That anxiety only grew as I waited and waited and waited to hear my name called.  Other patients whom I had seen waiting with me at the blood clinic were called back, and even some who came in as I waited.
 
As it turned out, there was problem at the lab which delayed my results.  The blood counts must have been good enough, because the doctor approved the chemo.  After the short infusion next week, I am supposed to receive a “booster” to improve my blood counts during the following week off.
 
One thing I noticed very early in the clinics and infusion sites.  The staff, which usually wears some sort of blue & maize clothing, were wearing Spartan & MSU shirts or simply a green and white ribbon.  Perhaps it was too early, or perhaps he was in a “chemo-fog”, but a patient commented to one of the staff, “Aren’t you dressed wrong?”
 
As I suspected, it was in solidarity with the students and staff of MSU and, most of all, out of respect for the students who were killed or wounded days before.
 
I found it actually quite touching.  In the end, whether it’s maize & blue or green & white, we all have red blood.  It’s painful when violence causes us to bleed.
 
During the chemo I read, napped and took a few phone calls.
 
Among the phone calls was a return call from the cardiologist at Henry Ford.  (I had called his office twice earlier in the week.)  I had expected the scheduler, but it was the doctor himself.  He asked if I had my bladder surgically removed, which is what the U of M oncologist recommended in late December.  When I saw the HF doctor right after the first of the year, he had put me on a new medication to help my heart regain a regular rhythm and after three weeks or so to try another cardio-conversion to shock my heart back to normal.   He also suggested no surgery until six weeks after the treatment.
 
The U of M oncologist had read his report and that’s a primary reason why he suggested chemo.  I couldn’t let the cancer continue to grow waiting that long for surgery.
 
While the U of M doc read the HF doc’s assessment, the HF doc had not read what the U of M docs were saying.  The HF doc asked how the surgery went.
 
My response was I was receiving chemo even as we were speaking.  It was the second of three, three-week series of chemo.  So he suggested we talk about the cardio-conversion after the chemo is complete March 16.
The cardiologist did call me again on Friday to clarify a few things and to let me know that his office would schedule something after March 16.
 
I did get two more calls before the chemo session was over, both from U of M Health.  The first reminded me of my blood draw next week at 7:30 am at the Brighton Clinic, the second to tell me my next infusion was scheduled for next Thursday at 8:30 am at the same clinic.  That one will be a two hour session.
 
Needless to say, I was pleased to be able to have chemo this past week, as goofy as that might sound.  I know we control very little in our life and my present situation makes that all the more obvious.  I can’t control my disease, I can’t control my blood counts.  I can agree to have treatment but it won’t be necessarily on my terms or on my schedule. 
 
An incident, that in the great scheme of things was really not that important, tapped into a reservoir of anger I buried within.  It was obvious that the anger I was feeling was way out of proportion to the incident.  The focus of my anger was only a convenient target for what has built up within.
 
What is the origin of that reservoir?  Some of it has been there for a long time, residue from my past.  Angers partially dealt with and then buried deep within.  But I suspect that the cancer, the treatment, the lack of control over so much only adds to the reservoir and it doesn’t take much to tap into it.
 
So I am praying about the anger, trying to sort it out and to give up.  Among the prayers I pray are: let it go, let it go, Lord, help me to just let it go.
 
I also am praying the Serenity Prayer: “Lord, help me to accept the things I cannot change, to change those things I can change, and the wisdom to know the difference.  Amen”
Another of life’s lessons made very real to me right now.
 

The week of Feb 23

A HEALTH UPDATE
This week was the beginning of Lent, but in some respects, it started even earlier for me.  I had picked up a nasty cold along the way and by Ash Wednesday, it was in full blossom; runny nose, congestion, coughing, coughing, coughing.  The deacon had volunteered to preach on Monday and by Wednesday I was very grateful.
This week was the short infusion, so Rusty stayed at home.  Frank, my driver, showed up in a snowplow so the ride to my niece’s went smoothly and safely.  My niece was waiting, scraping off the ice and snow that had accumulated on her Jeep.
With the expressway fairly clear, we made it to Brighton only a couple of minutes late, but obviously several early appointments had cancelled.  My blood was drawn shortly after checking in and after moving into the infusion waiting area the wait was only 20 minutes and I was called back to start the infusion.  Obviously, the cold didn’t nor the cold medication had much of an effect on the blood counts.
The infusion area was furnished with a variety of options: some had a gurney and others had chairs.  Mine was a gurney.  After a little bit of a problem finding a vein, the infusion began.  The nurse came in to play a video about a new medication and delivery system that would be a part of this week’s infusion.  Unfortunately, laying on the gurney I really couldn’t see the video but I was able to hear it.
By the time the video was done, so was the infusion and the hydration began. 
As the hydration was finishing up, the nurse came in with the device I would wear home.  It was placed on my belly with adhesive.  Once it was in place, she pushed a button and the gizmo began to blink.  It would remain in place until it had finished its job some 30 hours later.
The device was about 2 inches long and perhaps an inch wide and stood out on my abdomen about .5 of an inch.  Oval shaped, there was a green blinking light on the top and small window near the bottom that held the medication.  About 20 minutes after being placed on my abdomen, I heard it click and a small needle came out of the back side of gizmo and pierced my belly.  Twenty-seven hours later, the medication in the lower part of the device would be injected through the needle into my body.
The new medication would boost my immune system and help me generate more white blood cells.  It is another example of how medicine keeps advancing.  It saved me from having to drive back to the Brighton clinic on Friday and hopefully my body will be ready for the next seven hour in two weeks.
Still no nausea or other side effects, thankfully.  It’s just the cold.  I have never had one like it – lots of coughing -- until my sides hurt.  Not much of a voice either, but Rusty doesn’t seem to mind.

A REFLECTION
I suspect the University Hospital Brighton Clinic was quieter this week than normal due to the weather.  But it was good, in fact the best experience so far as treatments go.  Walked in, got my wrist band, had my blood drawn.  The results were tested and the doctor approved the infusion within 30 minutes of arriving.  No waiting, no anxiety this week, despite the cold.
We were headed back to Goodrich in record time, even with a stop at a drug store to pick up some more over the counter drugs.
The biggest frustration this week is due to my insurance.  In January, the Michigan Catholic Conference which oversees the diocesan priest pension fund and insurance switched all the retired priests to Humana Medicare, a PPO.
Despite the assurance that most doctors take Humana, many in our area do not, including the new primary doctor I started with nearby.  I knew my cold was going to take more than “over the counter” medication, but I had no primary doctor anymore.  A few weeks ago, I had looked up “A Humana Doctor in My Area”.  I called and made an appointment.  The doctor I wanted to see does not practice in Flint area, despite what the websites said, he only sees patients on the eastside of Detroit.
“Did I want to see another doctor?”, I was asked when calling to make an appointment?  When I agreed, I was told, she wasn’t available anytime soon at the Burton Clinic, but I could see her at the clinic on the NW side of Flint in a couple of weeks and then switch to the Burton Clinic for future appointments.  (Wrong!)
As the cold got worse, I decided to wait to see the doctor on Friday rather than go to Urgent Care.  With the chemo and everything else going on, I thought I might as well wait until I start with a new doctor.  (Wrong, again, Bucko!!)
After finding the clinic on Pierson Road, I checked in and waited – coughing and sneezing all the while.  A receptionist brought me a water, and eventually I was called back to get the basic info done.  After waiting some more, I was taken back to an exam room where I was quickly given a Covid 19 test.  (Negative – like the one I had done at home when the cold worsened.)
I didn’t meet my new doctor, instead I was met by a nurse-practitioner.  We talked about my cancer and heart issues.  When I asked about seeing a doctor, I was told it was possible, but they didn’t have one at that clinic and the Burton clinic doctor had no more openings for new patients.  (Wrong, again, Bucko!!)
Fortunately, the NP is able to prescribe medication, so she called in one that would not conflict with my chemo or booster.  I picked it up Friday evening and started it an hour later.
 

The week of March 2
 
A HEALTH UPDATE
 
This week was my week off chemotherapy.  Between the booster shot and antibiotics I downgraded the cold from severe, to bad, to just a nuisance.
 
I am still drinking lots of fluids and making my way to the bathroom on a regular schedule.  But the coughing has subsided, so has the mucus and I have been able to sleep in my bed.  (Probably three or four nights last week, I slept in the recliner because I was coughing so much.)
 
This week was cleaning week.  Hurray!  I have felt so badly over the last month, so tired, that I just didn’t have the energy to clean.  With Rusty shedding, I didn’t have the energy to brush him out and it began to look as if I was growing my own carpets with all the hair flying around the floor.
 
But Gina came this Tuesday for her monthly clean up.  Everything was dusted, floors cleaned, carpets vacuumed.  I apologized for the mess and even paid her a little extra.  But it was nice to have the house clean again.  Most of the time I have been able to clean each week, even if it’s only a little bit at a time, but between the chemo and the cold, there wasn’t much energy to do even that.
 
Hopefully all will go well next week and I will begin round three.
 
I meet with the doctor first and I am sure there will be a discussion about what comes next.  I suspect there will be another CT scan and followed by another meeting with the doctor. 
 
While I am not a doctor, and don’t even play one on TV (as the old commercial disclaimer stated) I suspect it will lead to a decision to continue chemo, if it’s been effective in shrinking the tumor or on to surgery.
 
Having spoken to the electro-physicist cardiologist, after the next round of chemo there will be a meeting with him to determine how we’ll deal with the heart issues.
 
Then came Thursday evening. 
 
About 5 pm or so, I started to have chest pains.  It was like someone was squeezing my heart, letting it go, then squeezing it again.  That was repeated for a minute or two and then stop for several minutes then start again.
 
Knowing the signs of a heart attack, I was certain that wasn’t the problem.  While it was never really diagnosed, the cardiology team at the hospital agreed with after a couple of days in the hospital and another ultrasound of my heart.  I had been drinking close to my daily gallon, but my urine output had diminished and there was too much fluid around the heart.
 
After this went on for several hours, I called an ambulance, packed up some stuff, called Ron Kenney to let him know I probably wouldn’t be there for morning Liturgy, called my nieces to let them know and I waited for the ambulance.
 
I arrived at ER at Genesys about 11:30 and my nieces showed up a little later.  (I had told them I was ok and would call them in the morning, but they came anyway.)
 
An EKG showed there was no heart attack and I was eventually taken back into the ER.  My nieces came to sit with me and I finally sent them home around 2.  (They went to pick up Rusty and then went home.)  around 3:30 am I had another CT scan and waited.  Throughout the morning there was a slew of doctors – mostly residents – who came in to ask many of the same questions over and over. (It was another time “cut & paste” would have been handy!)
 
At 5:30 am they admitted me, but I stayed in ER until 4 pm waiting for a bed in the oncology ward.  Once I got to a room (with its own toilet) I began to urinate more and by 6 pm, I had my last episode of chest pains.  I also had much less to drink over those 18 hours.
 
Blood work showed my white blood cells & hemoglobin were good, but my Platelets were low and continued to drop over the next 24 hours.  Finally, on Saturday evening I was given a transfusion and I was discharged on Sunday, about 2:30.  My Platelets went from 11,000 to 29,000.  So hopefully, chemo will be a go this week.
 
A REFLECTION
 
My week off chemo was not nearly as uneventful as I had hoped.  My only real side effect has been tiredness.  With the antibiotic the effects of the cold began to lessen and I began to look toward the weekend. 
 
Wrong!  As the Irish say, “If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans!”
 
The chest pains of Thursday evening created a real dilemma for me.  I was fairly certain it was not a heart attack (I knew the signs) but as they continued into the evening I realized they weren’t going away.  About 10 pm I began to ask myself: if anyone else told me they were having chest pains, I would be urging them to get to the hospital.  Knowing what I would advise someone else, it became obvious I needed to follow my own advice.
 
Fortunately, I did.  Not because of the chest pains, those disappeared, but the need for Platelets became apparent.  If they had dropped below 10,000 there was a chance of spontaneous internal bleeding.  So, the doctors suspended one heart medication and Eliquis (a blood thinner) until I see the oncologist next week.
 
Monday morning I was up by 7 and able to go over for Liturgy.  The hardest part was trudging through the snow and up the hill – the concrete ramp was taken out last week and is being replaced with steps.  So up the hill and through the snow…
 
This weekend was a setback, but I am at peace with that.  Beside my two sisters and my mom, I have spent time with many other cancer patients.  I know it’s never an easy or simple journey, especially after not being able to get chemo last month.  Fortunately, the chest pains, which weren’t a problem, led to the discovery of low platelets, which could have been a big problem.  I am glad I listened to my own advice….
 
So it goes…the journey is filled with twists and turns, ups and downs.  While it hasn’t been smooth or easy, it’s been blessed and I think even from the discovery of the cancer, I have been blessed and guided.  My October trip to ER led to the repair of life-threatening aneurysms and the diagnosis of cancer.
 
These days I often find myself using a phrase I started using years ago while taking my mom for her radiation treatments.  When asked how I was doing, I said “It’s all great fun!”   Some folks would challenge the absurdity of that statement
 
My response was: “I know all the other words, they go through my head.  And if I were to use them in response to your inquiry as to how I am doing, it would embarrass me and you.  So, I simply use the phrase…It’s all great fun!  …and it means all those other words…
 

The week of March 9

A HEALTH UPDATE

This week I am scheduled to go to Ann Arbor for a doctor’s appointment and a seven hour chemo session.  Given the fact that blood work at the hospital last week showed my hemoglobin, white blood cells and, finally, my platelets were all up, I should be able to begin the next series.

As I write this, it’s Monday evening and only hours after I sent the last update & reflection to be posted on the parish website, I felt it would be helpful to begin this week’s entry – mainly because of my reflection below, but I also have to say how much better I am feeling.  I made it over for Mass this morning and came home to sleep for a while in my chair.  After eating lunch, I went back into the chair.  After a 45 minute nap, I was up and began dealing with tons of email and finishing up my latest edition of my journal for the website.

It’s almost 9 pm and I have more energy than I have had in weeks.  Perhaps I received platelets from the Energizer Bunny…

On Thursday, I went to AA for the long infusion and spent almost an hour with my doctor first.  I had taken paperwork from my weekend at Genesys, and then he contacted my Flint/Genesys oncologist to learn more.  Fortunately, I saw Dr. Kipke at Genesys each day I was hospitalized so he was able to answer many of his questions.

He scolded me for not contacting him first before going to the hospital.  He then offered to end the chemo, if I wanted, because of the heart issue.  He received a quick no from me but he suggested we change the dosage to make it easier on my heart.  As a result, my 7 hour chemo was 4.5 hours with half the regular dosage of both drugs.  Next week will be the same instead of the 2 hour chemo.

I am not a doctor and I don’t play one on TV, but I do think the severe cold I had during the week off had a lot to do with last week’s complication.

After the next infusion, I will have completed 3 of the 4 cycles that are the normal protocol for bladder cancer.  Between now and March 30, I should be getting another CT scan to see how the chemo has affected the cancer.  (I am hoping my prayers through the intercession of Blessed Solanus Casey will tip the scales in my favor…)
 

A REFLECTION

This will probably be a long reflection since I am starting it only hours after sending my last one to Colleen Seymour to post on the parish website.  It’s Monday evening and I have been thinking about my emotional state as of late.

What raised that idea was the realization I was upset and even angry about something that hasn’t even happened.  What made me step back a bit was the amount of anger I felt about something non-existent, which made me recognize this journey has inspired a great deal of emotions within that run the gamut.  So, I thought I should examine them.

What came to mind first, was an incident Sunday morning in the hospital.  Tired, I had crawled back into bed and Jenn, my nurse for a second day in a row, came into check on something.  We began to talk about cancer and the conversation led to my many encounters with it in the lives of others. 

My grandpa died of cancer when I was 16, he was the first.  His death came after a short but difficult time.  Back in those days, he was never told about it, only the “adults” in the family knew before his death.  About 2 months before he died, he took me into his bedroom and showed me the suit, shirt & tie he wanted to be “laid out in” and he wanted his First Communion handkerchief in his pocket.  Although he never was told about his condition, he knew.  Not knowing it, I was very confused by why he told me.
My confusion was soon forgotten by the fact that this man whose name I shared then put his hands on my shoulders, looked me in the eyes and told me, if he had ever hurt me, he was deeply sorry and asked me to forgive him.

It was a lesson in humility, forgiveness and reconciliation I will never forget.

Then there were several other relatives, aunts & uncles, my cousin, and a slew of parishioners with whom I shared their cancer journey over the years.  Along with my older sister who died after 18 months, my mom who died two years later and my younger sister who died of cancer the year before I retired.

As I lay there, I began to share briefly with Jenn, the nurse, just a few of all those people whom I had tried to love into heaven.  Suddenly, the tears that never came at their deaths began to course down my cheeks.  (Even as I type, I have to wipe away the tears.)

I realize the tears were always there, just pushed down for a while because there were funerals to arrange and celebrate and people to take care of.  There is little or nothing I would change of all that personal history.  I have been wonderfully blessed to have been allowed into people’s lives, their journeys and their passing over to the Lord.  They have given and taught me so much.  I am grateful.

I am more aware I am more emotional than I have ever been, so I need to be attentive.  Obviously it won’t take much so I need to be careful about anger, which probably has much more to do with what’s going on in my life, the weakness, the tiredness, the lack of control.  I realize I need to be aware of it and make sure I don’t turn on someone or something or even myself inappropriately.

I also need to be a bit more aware of all those who walked this way before me and let me share the journey with them.

The other thing that really touched my spirit this evening is reading more of the many cards and notes I have received.  All assure me of their prayers and good wishes, which is truly a blessing and comfort.  What amazes me is how many have come from people from whom I not seen or heard from in years.  it made me cry again as I realized how much of my past has come back to bless, comfort and strengthen me.

Another good thing that came from my winter vacation at Club Genesys, was that I now have a new primary doctor.  He’s a resident in Family Practice at the hospital.  I saw him every day there.  He came in, sat down and spent time with me always asking if I had any questions.  Met him today for a follow up at the Genesys Family Practice in NW Burton.  Nice guy – his work gets reviewed by an attending physician, so it’s like a double dose of docs.

One thing that proved true was a warning by a friend from my former parish who recently retired from years in Emergency Room Medicine.  He cautioned me about dealing with too many hospital systems.  That proved to be true this time.  As I mentioned above, my U of M doc was not pleased that I did not call him first before calling for the ambulance.  Doubt that it would have changed the hospitalization or even the location, but it would have kept him “in the loop” from the beginning.  Evidently, the U and Henry Ford operate on the same IT platform while the Ascension system uses another – so there is no access.  Of course, when my U of M doc asked me to access my Ascension/Genesys patient portal, I couldn’t remember my passwords…he was more willing to accept my excuse of being technologically inept as opposed to being in a chemo fog.

As a couple of folks I talked to today told me, I am in a fairly upbeat mood.  Much of it comes from the comments from my doctor at the AA Cancer Center.  He was very direct in his statement that the goal of chemo is cure.  Up to that point, I wouldn’t let my thoughts take me there, I guess because I considered it too much to hope for.  I had viewed chemo as a preparation to surgery.  Now I have hope that it may be the answer to a future that will let me keep my bladder and have a normal life.  (I am still cautious, but my hope level is at 85%.)
 

The week of March 16

A HEALTH UPDATE

This week I was originally scheduled to go to Brighton for a two hour infusion, but that got changed last week.  After my weekend in the hospital, the doctor suggested the recommended dosage of chemo should be split between the two weeks.  So last week I received a 4.5 hour infusion of both chemo drugs with the same this week.

On the day before the scheduled chemo, they called to tell me Brighton didn’t have a 4.5 hour time slot, so I would either have to go to an infusion site somewhere on the west side of AA or the Brighton Clinic on Friday with a 7 am arrival time for blood work and 8 am infusion.  Since my niece is my driver this week, I opted for Friday, which meant I wouldn’t be here for Liturgy.  In any case, this week I will get the steroids, so Saturday will be a good day, with more energy.  I will also get the drug to increase my white blood cell count so that will help as well.  Then I start the week off.

What surprised me more than anything, was how tired I have been since Sunday.  I rarely do the time change well, since I tend to worry about failing to get up in time and coming late for Liturgy, so I keep waking up to check the time.  But Sunday, Monday & Tuesday I was so tired.  I napped each day for 6-8 hours.  It seemed like I did very little except eat, sleep and use the restroom.  It wasn’t until Wednesday that I began to feel a bit normal.  In the morning I kept praying, “Lord, I have no energy.  Give me some of yours!”  (I think Rusty, if he prays, is praying the same prayer!  He would really like a long walk for a change.)

This is my Friday evening contribution to the update.  Happy St. Patrick’s Day to all.  Today I went to the Brighton Clinic for my 4.5 hour infusion.  The nurse asked how I was doing and despite the reality that I am always tired these days, I have found that I am often out of breath when I walk any distance.  It seems to increase when I try to increase my fluid intake before and after chemo especially.  (That means a gallon of hydration, plus the hydration they give me as part of the chemo.  That is 16/8 oz cups.)

As a result of my answer, my nurse decided to call my medical oncologist at the U and suggest that since my hemoglobin was low, perhaps I should also get a blood transfusion to boost the ability of my blood to oxygenate my blood and my body.  By early afternoon, the doctor agreed and a transfusion is now scheduled for Monday morning at the main hospital.

Before leaving today, the nurse applied a similar gizmo to my stomach as was done after the second infusion in the last series.  Within minutes she switched it on and the needle penetrated my belly.  Tomorrow as I begin Liturgy, it will start injecting me with medicine to raise my white blood count even as I am fed with the Word and Eucharist to feed my spirit and soul.

Monday rounded out this week’s health schedule.  The scheduled blood transfusion took place at the Main Hospital in AA on Monday.  (Not very easy to get up early for these appointments!)

Transfusion went well.  No problems finding a vein, but each pint took two hours plus the process was followed by an additional 30 minute hydration.  I was in the Transfusion area of the Taubman Center.  They weren’t very busy, but were absolutely kind and caring. 

A REFLECTION

How does God work?  Most folks think in terms of the dramatic, the Cecil B. Demille’s approach: big, splashy, very showy.  While there have been a couple of times in my 72 years, I have witnessed something I consider a miracle in that sense, most of God’s miraculous work has been much more subtle.  While many people of faith may describe events in dramatic terms, most of the time, I believe God always leaves room for doubt.  We view an event or incident through the eyes of faith and are able to recognize “the hand of God” at work in our lives.  The ancients of the Church, in their wisdom, called these moments of recognition, the Vestigia Dei.  This Latin phrase translates as the vestiges of God’s presence – and a reader of murder mystery I like the phrase: the Fingerprints of God.

All through this cancer journey, I see the fingerprints of God.  There have been way too  many coincidences to be anything else.  A hernia repair in September led to my being informed about a growing problem with heart disease.  A 2 am trip to ER in October, because of an attack of Diverticulitis led to the diagnosis of a life-threatening entryism and bladder cancer.  A problem with too much fluid around my heart led to another trip to ER and the need for a transfusion of platelets.  A chance comment to an infusion nurse led her to contact my oncologist with the suggestion that maybe I needed a blood transfusion to boost my hemoglobin and get me through the final round of chemo before and after Holy Week and Easter.

My dad was once told by a young former paper boy who rescued my dad from attackers early one dark Sunday morning as he was delivering the Sunday edition: “Bob, God takes care of crazy cats and damn fools.  I don’t know which you are?!”  It was a statement my dad repeated to me whenever I seemed to be saved by coincidence.  I don’t know if I am a crazy cat or damn fool – probably both – but I do know God has taken care of me throughout my life I see it more quickly and more assuredly as I have gotten older.

No matter how this cancer journey ends, I am exceedingly grateful that God has been a very real part of it – and sent so many kind, prayerful and supportive people to walk the journey with me.

As I finish this reflection on Tuesday evening, I can’t say the expected boost of energy has “shown up” yet.  Hoping it was only delayed until tomorrow.  I am tired of being tired; tired of being lazy; tired of seeing things that need to be done all around me and not having energy to do it…

Hoping for better tomorrow.
 

The week of March 23

A HEALTH UPDATE

This week was my off week. 

On Monday, I went to Ann Arbor for a transfusion.  I received a quart of blood during a 4.5 hour transfusion.  As I mentioned last week, the staff could not have been any kinder or helpful.

Unfortunately, the two pints did not produce much of an effect.  Over the weekend, I mentioned that I was going for the procedure on Monday, and many people, especially folks who had had transfusion under similar circumstances told me how much more energy I would have afterward.  Although I did improve over the week, there was never the boost Rusty hoped for, poor puppy!  He still was constrained to shorter walks unless some kind soul volunteered to walk him farther – which a couple did.

My energy level did improve as the week progressed.  Wednesday I had lunch with some of the “old priests” of the region and led the Scrutiny experience in the evening.  Thursday I did my bulletin column and then spent about 5 hours writing reflections for the Journey to Easter. 

On Friday morning, I was up at 5:45 and celebrated Liturgy at 8:30, celebrated Penance with a few folks, taped the last three weeks of reflections and met with the deacon to talk about RCIA and Holy Week – certainly much more than I would have been able to do at the start of the week.

Next Thursday, I meet again with the doctor.  Still have not heard about another CT scan on the schedule.  I will need to check that out since my notes say the doctor mentioned another between the third and fourth series of chemo sessions.  The purpose is to see how the chemo has affected the cancer.  Unfortunately, I won’t know the value of the chemo until we actually see what it’s done….

On Friday, I called and left a message about the CT scan and finally received a call back on Tuesday.  The nurse suggested that the earliest openings in Brighton were Saturday, April 8 or Sunday, April 9,  I just started to laugh.  Then I explained to the nurse a couple of things she may not have realized.  First, those days were Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday; secondly, I am a Catholic priest.  “Oh,” she said, “I guess you’ll probably be busy.”

After suggesting that they might be able to squeeze me in, on Thursday, I now have a 7 am CT scan in Ann Arbor, followed by blood work, followed by an appointment with the doctor followed by chemo which may be 4.5 hours or 7 hours, depending on how my blood counts look.

As many of those who get caught up in the medical system as either a patient or a care giver knows, the doctors, nurses and technicians call the shots…

A REFLECTION

Although it’s only five months since the original diagnosis of cancer, I have entered into another dimension, or so it seems.  Time has seemingly slowed down as I move from test to test, infusion to transfusion and wait for all of them to happen.

None of this is helped by the fact that chemotherapy continues to take its toll and I become more and more tired and have less and less energy.  What energy I am able to muster, I have what’s really important to me, which are the few things I still do.  All of them focus on the Sacraments.

An example is last Saturday.  I was pretty much stuck in my chair all morning and afternoon except for eating, then showering and shaving in preparation for the evening Liturgy.  I had time for Penance beforehand, organized the readers for the Gospel and then the Liturgy.  The deacon preached again, but I was still engaged in the prayer.  After greeting folks who came for the Euchre Tournament, I came home, ate and then slept in my chair from 7:30 until 11 pm.  I got up, prayed Evening and Night Prayer and then went to bed until 6 am!

This past week, I have become very aware of the lethargy that has become a constant companion on this journey.  I don’t really have the energy to do much and perhaps, even more honestly, I don’t have the push to make me do even those things that I really could do – but I just don’t.  I think about it, but find I spend way too much time only thinking about it – then I just don’t do it.  Or I finally start beating myself up until I actually force myself to get my rear in gear.

Beside the lethargy, I also find myself brooding over things. 

By brooding I mean over thinking things, tending to see the negative.  It’s not at all helpful or even healthy.  So I am finding it necessary to pray more and, perhaps, think a little less about things, especially from the past. 

So, I am trying to stay more positive.  Even though it seems like time is moving more slowly that will change again.  Even though Lent is 80 days this year instead of the regular 40 and the penances I am going through are not the ones I would have chosen, I have wonderful support, the prayers of so many and the time to be grateful for it all.

Thursday, I will see the doctor – I hope he’s ready – I have started my list of questions…
 

The week of April 10 – Easter Week!

A HEALTH UPDATE

I had chemo yesterday, Easter Monday, beginning the last series.  Haven’t looked at the numbers yet, but I suspect they were all good with 19 days off since the last session.  Hoping the numbers will be good for next Monday – the last session.  Just to be sure, someone told me pineapple will help boost my platelets, I have added Hawaii’s best to my daily menu until next week. 

On one hand, it was really good to be able to postpone chemo until Easter Monday and even better to be able to go in for blood work at 11:30 and infusion at 1 pm (actually they didn’t call me back until 1:15).  This week it took 3 nurses to get the IV in place…somehow, three is not the charm.  While each was very apologetic, I kept saying that if that was the worst that happened today, I was lucky.  I was fortunate to be able to postpone chemo until after Holy Week and fortunate to be able to receive it.  Monday was part of 50/50 split…4.5 hours yesterday, same next Monday, hopefully.

While waiting to be called back for the infusion, I sent a text to my cardiologist.  I am scheduled to have a nuclear stress test on Wednesday afternoon and wanted to make sure there was no conflict having it in the midst of chemo.  Timing is everything.  Got a reply in minutes…”no problem”.

On Thursday, May 4, I will meet with both my oncologist and my surgeon.  I don’t know if there will be another CT scan in between my last chemo and that meeting, but it is a question that I will ask when I go for chemo next week.  I suspect there will be some sort of testing between the last session and surgery.  I don’t think the doctors are planning much of a gap of time between the last chemo and the removal of the bladder.


A REFLECTION

Usually I joke that on Easter Monday, I celebrate Jesus coming out of the tomb and then I crawl in to sleep there!   I did find I was very tired, and during the chemo I did sleep more than I have in the past.   Not too unhappy that I couldn’t download a new book on my Kindle since I wouldn’t have read much anyway.

I am trying to drink a gallon a day and I have been generally successful.  The goal is to “flush” the chemo out of my system.  However, the chemo seems to affect the kidneys, so the flushing part doesn’t happen at the same level as the intake.  So my body retains fluids.  I noticed it especially when they took my “vitals” yesterday.  My weight was up to 245 pounds, which is the most I have ever weighed.  I have also noticed greater swelling in my ankles and wrists.  Sometimes I can even hear a sloshing sound in my stomach.  All of which explains why it’s hard to breathe at times. 

The other truth is that I have been much more prone to eat comfort foods with more carbs and starches.  So my “chemo weight climb” has been over 20 pounds.  Some of which I will eventually get rid of in the normal way.  The rest will only come off the hard way.

When I met with the nurse at the start of my chemo phase of this cancer journey, something was said about weight, which she said should be avoided.  I said, I hoped I would lose weight!  After all, it was you medical people who told me I was obese!  (That’s right, that’s what was on the form!  Little did I realize it would become a self-fulfilling prophecy!)

Last week, I began my reflection by stating I wasn’t unhappy I had to postpone chemo on March 30 nor did the doctor seem bothered by my further postponing it from Holy Thursday until Easter Monday.  It was worth it!  Even though I did less than I have in Holy Weeks past, I was able to do everything necessary and be fully engaged in the prayer.  And I even had the energy I needed to play (lose) at cards later in the afternoon and share Easter dinner with my family.  I set the table and my nieces brought the snacks and dinner.

Everything was cleaned up and everyone was gone by 8 pm.  I prayed Evening Prayer and Night Prayer for Easter Sunday…then headed to the recliner.  After an hour of Irish music and solitaire, my bed was a welcome sight.

In many ways, I was far less involved in Holy Week than most of the last 45 years.  Often spent hours in church with rehearsals, set up, art & environment stuff and extra prayer services.  Fortunately, gratefully, I was able to be fully a part of the most important parts of Holy Week and especially the Triduum.

Many years, one Holy Week/Triduum was like the years past.  Doubt it will be that way this year.  I suspect, it will be among the most memorable…like the Covid Holy Week, which was celebrated with about 15 people present and an unknown number of viewers.

For a number of reasons, I know I “felt” this Holy Week more deeply than any other.  There are other past experiences that stand out in my memory (maybe I will write about some of them next week.)  But with the death of my mother’s last cousin and my own health issues affecting my prayer, I “experienced at a more emotional level” than any other Holy Week up until now.  Since every year builds on the last, I wonder how it will affect next year’s Triduum.

Yes, I am thinking that far ahead – and even farther.  I will accept my doctors’ opinions that, between chemo and surgery, this is curable.  There is light at the end of the tunnel – and it isn’t from a train!