Two Weeks

That's how long it's been since I last posted. It seems like a lot longer. Perhaps that's because I've been through quite a lot since that time. My arm is healing day-by-day, and I'm now typing two handed. What a relief! Although it's still in sling for another 3 weeks. I have more energy than in past, and I can walk unaided again. None of these past trials give motivation for despair. Although upping from bed is a challenge, each day brings a few new things to learn and do. Fortunately I was to be at church again this past Sunday evening after having been absent the past three weeks.

As I get up every morning, I remind myself of many things. Particularly what comes to mind is Psalm 27, the end of which says "Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord."

Misserable

It will be hard to make you feel sorry for me as I tell you about my experience in my hospital room crowded with friends, family, and loved ones for four days straight, but I am going to do my best. As many of you already know, I was rushed to hospital in a dark ambulance early last Friday morning upon my mother's alert dog's notifying my parents of a problem: My body had seized-up in the wee hours of the morning as result of a brain metastasis. This resulted in the fracturing of my left shoulder. I'm told this was quite painful for me, but I have no memory of it.

I don't mean to make light of this difficult situation. I was, and am, in some serious trouble. Hours after arriving, another seizure hit. This was more than a little disturbing to those around. However, my memory begins foggily with the awareness of the presence of Mother, Father, and several friends, and perhaps sister at bedside. I was pleasantly doped-up and highly oxygenated. The comfort levels of the coming days varied, and the bright yellow "Fall Risk" arm band secured to my wrist indicated how I felt upon standing-up during the first few days. The low-lights of a hospital stay do not need to be reinforced!

Saturday I was informed by my niece and nephew that I had several early birthday presents to be delivered immediately. The first was a rubber chicken and four Sharpie pens -- this because I was fitted with a useless soft sling, rather than a hard cast for my hurt shoulder. You guessed it! I needed something upon which to collect signatures of my doctors, nurses, aides, family, and friends. The various delighted responses to my dictate to "Sign that chicken over there. . . " were priceless. Each joyously added a special signature. Doctor B's signature stands distinctly on the belly.

Additionally, my room was maxed-out with balloons, plants, drawings, posters, flowers, sweets. . . I cannot name everything. I wish I could thank you all individually. I would also thank those who brought nothing. You are all valuable to me, not just your gifts.

I'm home now, as are the balloons, etc. My parents are marvelousely taking care of me and stuffing me with more protien and calories than I've ever seen in my life. Unfortunately, I will not be driving for many a month. . .

There is much more to write, and I acknowledge that this report lacks completeness, seriousness, humor, and many other things that require two working hands to include. Unfortunately, I only have one for the time. I will fill in more details in future postings. However, my right hand is tired, and it is now being given a much needed rest.

Studying

My study text of choice for the week, based on the suggestion of a friend, is this:

Yes, and I will rejoice, for I know that through your prayers and the help of the Spirit of Jesus Christ this will turn out for my deliverance, as it is my eager expectation and hope that I will not be at all ashamed, but that with full courage now as always Christ will be honored in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.
Philippians 1:18-21

Distracted from Reality

Distraction is the best momentary cure for pain. I have found the playing with the dog, reading the news, talking with friends over an Indian buffet are all good distractions for the pain. That is all last week's news. This week is different. This week, distractions have been a bad thing. This week, distractions kept me from proclaiming some good news: The pain and aching of the shoulders and neck are nearly gone! Yes! they have been gradually subsiding. I am not sure whether to attribute this to a change in diet, a misunderstanding of the actual cause of the pain, or perhaps some real healing. But it is true nonetheless.

Many of you have prayed for my physical healing. I am not ready to say that any healing of my disease has occurred. But I am certainly experiencing temporary and unexpected relief. I think this in itself is an answer to prayer. If, in this small healing, God has been glorified, then good has come out of my current suffering.

Tools of the Trade

It's hard to be excited about being cut-off from a potentially life-saving drug. At the same time, it's difficult to be devastated about being freed from the grips of a toxic, potentially lethal cocktail. Modern medicine has made for a nearly impossible dilemma: "Accept out potions -- they may help you, but we promise you nothing", or "Reject our therapies, and we can promise you nothing". Or perhaps these decisions are not new to modern medicine. I presume they were faced by every patient over the millennia.

At the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN last Summer, I took an enlightening stroll through the beautiful and historical Mayo Building, in which the Mayo Museum was contained. The museum included biographies of the founders and medical milestones achieved at the Clinic. This being several months after my first surgery, I had already "seen" the scalpel and other tools of the trade although I had never laid eyes on them. But all this experience did not make me ready for what I encountered in the next room of the museum: the "tools of the trade" from days gone by. I was not prepared to be horrified. The scalpel, the drill, the saw, the clamps, the stitching needles. These did not look like the tools to be found in a sterile operating room. Rather, I imagined them scattered on my father's dirty work bench in the dingy basement among metal shavings and wood scraps! I envisioned my kind doctor using such instruments to cut through my flesh.

Needless to say, these horrifying sights changed my perception of medicine. I am not alone when I classify these tools from a century ago as barbaric! I have made a decision not to look at currently used tools, as they come too close to home.

Through the course of my current infirmities, I have experienced many of the tools: chemotherapies, radiation, surgeries, invasive testing. The mechanisms by which each of these is designed to work astounds me. Chemotherapy, although it has come a long way over the years, is designed to kill a wide variety cells -- unhealthy and healthy. Radiation is designed to kill a wide variety of cells -- healthy and unhealthy -- along the way, doing extensive damage to fine DNA. Both of these tools have a nearly infinite list of known risks. Some of the risks include cancer. The list of unknown risks certainly extends much further. Surgery, too, has more risks than I care to think about and has consequences that are often as frustrating as the primary disease.

I write this as I am waiting, once again, for my oncologist to call with the recommended course of action. The reprieve from chemotherapies gives me great joy! I have no notable aches or pains, no skin rash, no digestive disagreements, and no fatigue. Minimal symptoms from the ailment, and no side-effects from the treatments. I am at ease, but not for long. Soon the dilemma will return: disease or poison. I believe that the later term will commonly used by those of later generations looking back as the 21st Centry fades into the next. These plush, high-ceiling radiation therapy rooms in which we place our trust will be museum items that terrify. And descriptions of the barbarous chemotherapies will send shivers down the spines of children. These are the tools laid out in the sterile 21st Century operating room.

Some Real News

As I pack my jeans away in a full drawer, a tinge of pain trickles up my forearm, through the shoulder, and up the lower portion of my neck. If I straighten back up and stand still again, I can't feel it at all. A nice relief.

It started out innocently enough. My right shoulder. It gets used a lot. I throw with it. My right hand wrestles ropes from the Irish Terrier. Frisbee golf, and even some Ultimate are new experiences for it. And besides, I've slept on my shoulder wrong countless times only to wake up with a stiff joint and pain through mid-morning. Certainly there was nothing wrong that a few days rest couldn't take care of. After it heals up, I'll be able to sleep comfortably again.

After about a week of mild discomfort, instead of getting better, the aches moved a little farther toward the neck, then continued to inch up. A little unusual for some overworked muscles. But optimism persists, well, because the patient is on treatment to keep things at bay.

My sense of optimism isn't absolutely unshakable though. It began to fail me a few nights before the upcoming engagement with the doctor. A tinge of worry. Two days later, the family loaded up into the car for the usual trip into town to the clinic. Transposing from reception area to waiting room always involves a journey past the doctors' preparatory area where we noted the doctor staring blankly at a screen, as if not knowing quite what to do with it. Certainly it is hard for doctors to have undesirable news, as it is for patients to receive it.

I hint then, at the coming events, trying not to get ahead of myself. Naturally, the doctor will enter the room. He will bring news. And it will not be good. There are few good ways to tell a patient that the recommended treatment, touted as the very best option, has done nothing for him and will be discontinued. The doctor delivered it in the best way he could. And for that I commend him. He is indeed a good man, if limited in resources.

For the moment, I give you the dry version of the story, which is easy to tell. A later session will highlight other aspects. The lesson here is that my treatments have, for the time being, come to an end. I have one more treatment option which is a drug cocktail similar to what I received as the first line of treatment. This worked well the first time, and I am hopeful that it might work with some success the second time around. But the chances are slight. The other possibility is to submit to the unknown and dive into a promising clinical trial. My doctor is placing phone calls, perhaps as I write, to the various medical clinics around the country to identify potential clinical trials that might be an option for me. I do remain hopeful! A bit of good news, a CT scan shows my brain is still in working order, and no sign of disease there. Other good news is that Rapunzel still floats cheerily in the corner of my room, frozen in a perpetual state of brushing out her flowing locks.

Being Divisive

I'm not sure what it was that inspired me -- the idea of taking my life in my own hands, or the opportunity to roll down the windows, crank up the radio, and jam to Ryan Seacrest in the afternoon. Both are equally exciting. Either way, I decided to jump in the car, head west on 60th Street, and then hang a right on Division Avenue to enjoy the views and take in the latest scenery.

I was debating the value of South Division Avenue as an entity and as a quick and direct route into the heart of downtown with some friends yesterday. The arguments against South Division street were mainly centered around the fact that it was at the center of the big shooting several weeks ago. No one can seem to let go of the fact that several dozen bullet shells were shed at the corner of Division and Fulton, just in front of the Grand Rapids Police Department Headquarters. Among other complaints -- I can't remember any others because there weren't any. I, on the other hand, see many positive aspects of Division. For starters, it is a highly diverse area: racially, economically, culturally, scenery. The last one might not be obvious. But as scenery goes, start in Cutlerville, at 68th Street. Division has been done up real nice there, with new sidewalks, street lighting, and flower pots. Nothing to do, but a nice walk. As you approach 60th Street and north of 60th, you will encounter more used car lots than you can number on fingers and toes. I count these in the scenery because I don't think any do any active selling. I have never seen customers at any of them, but they make for an enchanting scene.

Many significant shops maintain a steady flow of business on South Division. Just south of Kellogg Woods Drive / 54th Street, there is the architecturally significant Sweet Retreat on the West side of the avenue, the steeply slanting roof of which, my adventurous niece has attempted to climb more than once, like Heidi's goats in the Alps. Just passing 44th street, on the same side of the avenue, is the Grand Rapids staple Brann's Steakhouse, and less than 1-1/2 miles beyond that (same side of the street), is the ever-popular Young's Army Navy Surplus Store. For the adventurous, there are at least 3 Asian markets, and for the more timid, there are at least 3 dollar discount stores along the stretch of Division Avenue between 68th Street in Gaines Township, and Wealthy Street in Grand Rapids.

As South Division crosses the Grand Rapids city limits at 28th Street, a newly painted railroad bridge; shiney, squiggly brick wall sign; and a set of five flags greets the visitor. This is Grand Rapids! It does get a little better. Still countless vacant, weed overgrown lots on either side of the road. But the Grand Rapids portion of South Division has many thrift shops and centers for the homeless and down-and-out. The southernmost is Salvation Army -- a favorite of mine because it stocks lots of good furniture, some of which stocked my first apartment located on the far west side of Champaign, IL, just seconds off University Avenue exit of I-57. North of that is St Vincent DePaul. Then countless homeless shelters that serve all sorts of needs. Its mission row from here on up. My favorite of them, Mel Trotter, is just one street over from Division, on Commerce Avenue. In passing, there is lots to be done at all these places if anyone's looking for something to do to pass the time.

Now, after driving from 60th Street, 7.5 miles north to Fulton Street, then on past Michigan Street, I approached the more intriguing and challenging North Divison -- intriguing, in that I rarely get a glance at it, and challenging in that it's a speedy throughway with nowhere to turn off. I took it on foot. I parked at Newberry, took a chance, and trekked up the rugged staircase that leads up to Lookout Park and Fairview Avenue -- a park that does offer a fair view of the city from the Belknap Lookout neighborhood. I then hiked south to the more legitimate and less hazardous staircase at Fairbanks Street. Both the up and down hike were extreme altitude adjustments and dizzying. These are fantastic staircases and should be experienced.

To conclude my trip, I followed North Division by foot to the new medical developments at Michigan Street. My complaint about the new development is that no one considered pedestrian traffic from Division wanting access to Michigan Street. These two roads do now intersect on the same plane. Thus a small stairway should have been built between the two levels to accommodate the growing amount of foot traffic.

Division Avenue, North and South, has a lot to offer as far as exploration goes, if only because it is a street that has been long neglected by most Grand Rapids residents. It's that has-been street. It had it's heyday in the first-half of the 20th Century when it proudly carried the US-131 signage. It's glory days soon faded with the development of the limited access freeway less than a mile to the west carrying all but the most local traffic speedily above the city streets. Division Street remains a practical alternative to the freeway for getting into the city in a reasonable time, but the neighboring lots on either side could use some attention, care, and upkeep.