Cancer Can Be a Scary Word

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Cancer caught me off guard, even though it should not have.

In February of 2010,  I had a routine colonoscopy. I call it routine, but, actually, it would have been routine only for those in my situation. I had severe inflammatory bowel disease that had largely gone unchecked for ten years. It was not from a lack of trying to manage it, though. Unfortunately, my condition just did not seem to improve regardless of the medications we threw at it, or my positive lifestyle changes. Thus, because of the regular discovery of polyps and dysplasia, I was having annual colonoscopies.

As one living with inflammatory bowel disease, there were no alarming changes in my bowel habits. There was nothing about the color or consistency of stools to alert me of something more sinister, as would be the case for someone without inflammatory bowel disease. No, for me, the experience of moving my bowels was always the same. It was messy, foul, and contained mucus. Many times, it was tinged with blood. However, remember that this is my “normal.” (I apologize if you find this offensive, but I’m letting you know where I was in regards to my overall health.)

Then, my cell phone rang.

Dr. Jonathan Hansen at UNC Hospital and Chapel Hill, North Carolina, called my cell phone as I was making my way to a wound care appointment, also at UNC Hospital in Chapel Hill. My inflammatory bowel disease often caused extraintestinal manifestations of itself, creating conditions like pyoderma gangrenosum. (WARNING: If you look it up, be prepared for graphic images.) I thought it unusual that Dr. Hansen was calling me so soon after my colonoscopy.

My hunch was correct, of course. He told me that my biopsies had come back showing cancer. My mind immediately went numb. In retrospect, this was bad because I was actually driving my car with the cell phone on speaker. I think I recalled hearing that it had been caught early, but everything was otherwise a blur. The distraction of being on the phone did not last long, though, as Dr. Hansen kept things short and bittersweet. I would see him soon to fully discuss the findings.

I had…cancer?

Initially, I felt as if the news pertained to another person, not me. I focused on the increasing traffic as I got closer to the urban center of Orange County, North Carolina. My appointment went as well as can be expected when one is dealing with the care of severely ulcerated skin. I recall that they complimented me on my wound dressing, stating that I knew exactly what to do without their assistance. (I had been through a pyoderma gangrenosum before. So, as they say, “It wasn’t my first rodeo.”)

This initial reaction of distancing myself from the diagnosis was likely the first of those common experiences Kübler-Ross identified as denial. That is such a strange and messed up place to be. Yet, it is one that many of us do experience with grief. I thought I was fine even though I was experiencing those symptoms I discussed above. Remember, though, that was my normal, thanks to the inflammatory bowel disease I had been fighting from the age of sixteen.

From this point, I entered what I am going to call “cancer limbo.” This is a period of indeterminate length dependent solely upon the interim between a cancer diagnosis and the implementation of treatment. This cancer limbo bordered on hell, since my mind periodically imagined the worst-case scenario of death. However, it was then, just before I made the final descent into hell, that I’d recall that I was not facing a predetermined future. My last chapter had not yet been written, and my positive attitude, as other cancer survivors reminded me, could make a tremendous impact on my prognosis. My cancer limbo lasted from early February until the first of April in 2010.

During this same time, I could be weepy with joy over the smallest overtures of kindness, which buoyed me.  Then, I would be so angry. I’d be angry at the people who tried to give me hope, with God, and myself for not having done something to prevent this, even though I had no idea what that intangible something was.

Trust me, I was not pleasant company when so disposed. I would yell at you and justify it by saying that you weren’t facing reality. I had to be right, because more often than not, I am right. Even with cancer, I was still fundamentally the same person. 😉

Finally, with the help of good doctors, I began beating my cancer.

Dr. Timothy Sadiq performed my cancer surgery. It was not an easy task for him, either. The routine surgery became complex when my colon, as Dr. Sadiq put it, “fell apart” in his hands. As it turns out, the years of “fire” my colon had endured from the inflammation made the tissue very friable. Thus, he was unable to just take out the cancerous portion. A stoma was made from my terminal ileum (i.e. the end of the small intestine), and an ostomy appliance was fitted.

Being one who often is atypical, particularly in matters of health, I should be fairly adept at dealing with surprises. Yet, it was surprising to me that cancer was in the lymph tissue near my descending colon. You see, the cancer itself had barely penetrated the wall of the colon. My cancer was going to be stage one. No, lymph involvement bumped that stage up to three. This meant chemotherapy.

The type of chemotherapy I took was FOLFOX. I was fortunate that I did not have hair loss. Yet, I did not escape treatment completely unscathed. I developed neuropathy, which I still have, despite having concluded chemotherapy eight years ago this upcoming November. One side-effect that has gone away, praise be to God, is the type of neuropathy that inflicts the mouth. If I tried to drink something cold, it felt like I was trying to swallow a bunch of needles. For about 6 months, I had to drink beverages at room temperature, like many routinely do in Europe. That kind of saps the joy out of even drinking water. Bleh.

With chemotherapy completed, I routinely came in for blood tests and CT imaging. My oncologist, Dr. Stephen Bernard, was always upfront with me. Colon cancer has a high rate of recurrence.  So, it was on pins and needles that I awaited my results. I went from monthly visits to visits every three months. Finally, I was able to come in every six months and have only one CT scan a year. Now, I just periodically have a blood test.

I kicked colon cancer in the tush!

As of this post, I have been cancer-free for eight years. I have a much different perspective on life than I did prior to hearing that I had the “Big ‘C’.” In many respects, even though my body has continued falling apart in different ways, I’d say that my life is better. I like who I am, mentally and emotionally, now.

Cancer is a scary word, but not the worst for me to hear. This is true even when I heard that dreaded word spoken to a loved one in April of 2017. As with many other things in life the fear we have of cancer really is the fear of the unknown. Cancer is demystified when our questions are answered, and we have a clearer picture of what we are facing. It may still be a lion, but we know who has, and has never let go of, the whip.

 

I Want to Believe in Alternate Realities

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Have you ever thought about alternate realities?

In an alternate universe, I will celebrate 20 years of wedded bliss on May 23. Yet, this is not an alternate universe, is it? I had always said that I would only marry once and it would be for a lifetime. Yet, marriage is a union of two souls. Unless both have the determination to make it work, it will not last.  I don’t talk about my failed marriage often as my ex-wife and I are cordial to one another and share many of the same friends, both in real life and on social media.

As awkward as that may sometimes be for us, I know it must be much more awkward for those counting us as friends. I feel for them should they ever be put into a position of feeling as if they must choose one of us over the other. Thus, I go out of my way to avoid putting them there. Fortunately, despite their curiosity, none of them have really plumbed those depths, or, at least, not with me.

Yet, I have another reason for keeping my mouth shut. You might say that this reason is not unlike that which kept the United States and the Soviet Union locked in a Cold War for over three decades; that is, the doctrine of mutually assured destruction.

As it pertained to the political powers, they possessed the firepower to destroy one another several times over. That was the point of the arms race. It was a deterrent because each side knew that if one side pushed the button, the other side would retaliate. As the WOPR computer learned in the movie, War Games, the only way you win that game is to never play.

What do these thoughts I’ve expressed have to do with the title I’ve assigned this piece?

There is a theory, which is plausible, that there are multiple realities that exist. No, this was not the brainchild of some zealous Star Trek fan. It is, rather, actually a part of quantum mechanics, a discipline within the field of physics. Essentially, one theory within quantum mechanics suggests that when we make one observation or take one course of action, it creates a whole new universe in which something different happened.

What may surprise some of my readers, especially those having a more intimate knowledge of me, is that I do not think that this idea has to conflict with my Christian faith at all.

The Apostle Peter declared that Christ died once for all (1 Peter 3:18). All is an inclusive word, which, to me, covers every being existent, whenever or wherever they may be. So, if anyone is worried about the salvation of those dwelling in those existences beyond the naked eye, the atoning blood of Christ would be sufficient for them as well, if they are accountable.

Furthermore, Jude declared that the faith was “once for all handed down to the saints” (Jude 3). Therefore, these same people, alternate to myself, the Brents-whom-I-have-not-seen, have the same access to the Word that enables one to know whether or not he has salvation (cf. 1 John 5:13).

And most certainly, a God who can speak the cosmos into existence can surely manage them all, despite having to be googolplexian, if not infinite, in number.

But would you actually teach someone to embrace this idea of alternate realities as you seem to have done?

No, I do not teach this as a matter of doctrine. Therefore, you will never hear me engage in a debate to defend my thoughts in this matter. So, just for today, I ask that you simply read these words of mine and indulge my selfish interests. You see, until such time as I exit this life, I like to think that somewhere out there a couple is celebrating their 20th anniversary soon. I like to think that there is a healthy Brent never touched by the hand of cancer. Somewhere, there is a Brent whose spine is healthy, who grew to be taller than his youngest nephew of over six feet. There is a Brent who breathes without supplemental oxygen. Yes, there is even a Brent who is an accomplished writer or illustrator.

Contrary to what you are thinking, though, thinking of an alternate world is not a depressing thought to me since it is one that ultimately gives me hope. If I can achieve something somewhere, then certainly I can achieve the same thing here. I just have to do so within the parameters placed upon me. It is almost as if I have the hands of an infinite number of my brethren pushing me forward to the one place where our timelines will become blended. At that time, we will lay our collective trophies down, and enter into that singular ecstatic bliss, which is the home of God.

For that moment, then, I will endure all of the consequences of the erroneous steps I have taken in this here and now.

 

Justice is Blind Which is Why I Was Summoned for Jury Duty

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I had my first brush with civic responsibility. 

I had thought, upon becoming disabled, that I certainly would never actually serve on jury duty. I require four liters of oxygen per minute. I also have an ileostomy. Both of those factors would require that I take multiple breaks during the course of proceedings to change O2 tanks (since my insurance will not pay for a portable air concentrator) and empty my ileostomy pouch when necessary. (I find I miss my colon most for its five to six feet of additional waste storage space.)

Yet, what I had failed to into account was the nature of bureaucracy. Naturally, the Enotah Judicial Circuit of Georgia is not exempted from this. They must choose perspective jurors from those who have gotten a driver’s license or received mail at an address in the counties comprising the district. This list of people is provided to them by the State of Georgia. The judge, who proved quite pleasant, in commenting about those not responding when their names were called during roll call *, informed us of this, adding that, on one occasion, they had a fellow listed for jury duty from the nineteenth century!

People are strange when you’re a stranger.

When I arrived at the courthouse and had gone through the security checkpoint, I was ushered into a room big enough to accommodate the pool of people who were also selected for jury duty. It looked like a generic conference room with about a 200-seat capacity. A nicely dressed man in a suit was wearing a badge. He was stationed by the door through which we had entered the room. It looked like he had some kind of list in his hand. Was it the list of the people who were supposed to be present? Obviously, I wouldn’t know.

Now, I happen to be an avid “people watcher.” Some people watch birds or cat videos. I find people to be more entertaining. It is always interesting to see how complete strangers interact. I took a seat on the end of an aisle since my aforementioned health concerns might have necessitated a quick exit.  I pretended to be jotting ideas in my notebook I had brought with me. In reality, I was taking everything in.

Most of the people talking loud enough for me to hear were the Appalachian tribal folk who, in demonstration to those of us lacking the same pedigree, talked in a manner highlighting their permanence in the region, highlighting their familial connections going back to the time when their ancestors drove out the Cherokee. I am exaggerating, of course. They mostly talked about their kids. Or, they talked about “ol’ so-and-so” who was a mutual acquaintance. “Ol’ so-and-so” was also sometimes a mutual acquaintance of one of their kids.

Segregation was likewise alive and well in the juror selection waiting room. No, I don’t mean that those with more melanin were made to sit in the back of the room. People gravitated toward their own demographic. Younger people looked for younger people. Seasoned citizens looked for others in the geriatric set. Those of us middle aged also bunched up in the same general area.  And those poor souls that arrived late? Those tardy perspective jurors were forced to comingle with those with whom they evidently had nothing in common, since they would have likely not chosen to sit by them if given a choice. (Some of those guys looked like they wish they had a can of disinfectant spray? Or was it bug spray that they wanted?)

In all honesty, however, I appear to be in a demographic all of my own. Really, this is true wherever I go, not just courthouses. Never do people volunteer to sit beside me. It might be because I am overweight and have adopted mutton chops as my beard style of choice. I can understand if others think, “This guy is a freak.” The more accurate adjective, though, would be “unique.” Maybe my compatriots thought that my scribbling upon a steno pad meant that I was not to be disturbed. I have to consider, though, that, since I have experienced this so much,  I really may be repugnant. (Is it time to change deodorants?) Regardless of the reason, I just smile at people since that is what my mother taught me to do. Smiling produces endorphins too. And those endorphins keep me from becoming depressed about the unintended cruelty of others.

Just a quick note to the ladies out there. I do want you to have a healthy self-esteem. Really, I do. Even so, I won’t fall madly in love with you if you show me the courtesy of returning my smile or even sitting on the same row as me. Thus, I think you need to realize that just because you are beautiful doesn’t mean that every poor schmo out there is going to hit on you should you offer the milk of human kindness. Just some schmoes will do that. Not me. I promise. Remember that I am the fat guy with mutton chops. So, please, just say, “Hello.”

Being a good citizen can be…intimidating.

Once our wait was over, and the judge entered the room, we all sprang to our feet, nearly in unison, as the bailiff commanded, “All rise.” I think that finally seeing the judge made me realize that what I was a part of was something that was serious. This was not just some “annoying” obligation that one performs as a blessed citizen of this democratic republic. The presence of that judge makes you understand that what follows will potentially change some person’s life. Ideally, the guilty will be punished and the innocent are freed. Victims will receive justice. You seem to intuit this when you see the judge.

The judge stated that we would get the day off to a good start and, then, told us to join him in the pledge of allegiance. I cannot recall the last occasion upon which I said the pledge of allegiance. It was likely when I was in college. (We would say the pledge of allegiance before our devotional service in chapel. I won’t bore you with the details of how many years ago that happened to be.) It is interesting that no one in that room chose to take a knee. I don’t know if that was because there were people in the courthouse with guns or because the national anthem wasn’t playing. I digress. Since the judge instructed us to say the pledge, we knew we should say the pledge.

Ultimately, Lady Justice smiled upon me.

I had been contemplating how I would broach the impact of my medical condition upon the proceedings with the judge. He had to have noticed me. No, I am not referencing my mutton chops again. It is, rather, because I was the only guy sitting next to a rolling metal cylinder with a translucent hose connected to it. The other end of that hose ran up around my ears and was literally sticking in my nose. In looking at all of the sea of faces, I am pretty sure that my round one must have stuck out.

The judge began talking about how the Enotah Judicial Circuit worked. I had an inkling of where he was going. At least, I hoped I was correct. A few words later and I found myself pleased by my prognosticative prowess. As it turns out, some unspoken variable had caused the trial that they had thought would take place that day to be cancelled. The judge thanked us for doing our civic duty and told us that we were freed from service for the quarter. He then said that “the check would be in the mail.”

America…what a country!

Shortly after my initial arrival, I recalled some of the folks complaining about missing work on that day because of jury duty. One said that he did not mind serving on jury duty, but he certainly preferred not to. Thus, he was hoping that only a few of those summoned, presuming they were Georgians living in the twenty-first century, that is, would choose to skip out on jury duty. I suppose that it is a common sentiment. It is likely why jury duty comes with the promise of at least a small sum of cash. Plus, the court knows that they are intruding upon a private citizen’s livelihood when making him or her miss work in order to serve as a juror.

Were it not for man’s dark nature, I imagine people would be crawling over each other in order to be able to do something so important. Where else are you guaranteed a jury of your peers? I have watched cases from countries overseas before. I particularly recall a famous case involving an American that was heard in the Italian judicial system. Please do not misunderstand. I am not trying to be down on the Italians. They have a system that they obviously feel works for them. Even so, it was a tribunal of judges. There was no jury. One commentator remarked that the trial was, in some regards, irrelevant. He (or she–I cannot recall) stated that the judges could have already made up their minds about the defendant’s guilt or innocence before entering room. The trial was simply a formality. Thus ,they could have sat there and picked belly button lint while the defendant’s lawyer vainly tried to prove his client’s innocence.

At least in America, when it is something above the level of a Judge Judy, you have your case evaluated by twelve people living in your own community. Chances are they share your values. They might even like the same music or own a similar plaid shirt. Though true that lawyers for the prosecution and defense get to pick who constitutes that twelve from a pool of 100+ prospective jurors, a plaintiff or defendant can rest assured that the best attempt will be made to find the truth and bring about justice. If nothing else, there is that hope. It is a hope that exists in few other countries. The judge, for all of his authority, is basically just there to referee the lawyers and hand out the final sentence if a guilty verdict is reached. In a sense, then, the jury has the greater authority in determining guilt or innocence.

And that is awesome.

If summoned again, I still do not know if my health would enable me to serve. I do not know if my worldview would be appealing to the lawyer for the defense or persecution. However, I do know that I will not be so nervous about it. I also don’t think that I will complain. I think, rather, I will be filled with a sense of pride. Note that I cannot say that I will not be intimidated. There is just something about standing in the presence of even a congenial person in black. (After all, he can get you thrown in the jail with just a word and strike of his gavel.) I don’t care if that sounds old fashioned or makes me sound like a ‘Murican to some. Just as with the pledge of allegiance, being a juror is something that can certainly invoke civic pride. I am thankful I know this now.

 

*= Dodging jury duty will be punished. That is why the roll is called. Depending on the jurisdiction, a person can expect to be fined or even imprisoned. Essentially, a bench warrant is issued and a policeman will nab the jury dodger in a traffic stop. In Georgia, you might get to spend a night or two in jail for skipping out on jury duty without a valid excuse. As jury pools grow smaller, such punitive measures (as well as the aforementioned promise of a reward) become necessary to incentivize service.

I Take for Granted That God Is

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What do you see when you look at the world around you?

I pride myself on appreciating intelligence over emotion. This is not to say that I am not, myself, an emotional person. It means, rather, that I look at many of the problems within today’s world and firmly believe they could be solved if folks would think critically rather than just emoting.

Thus, when presented with the question pertaining to whether or not God exists, I want to be able to point to something other than a fuzzy feeling or personal experience. Therefore, I have to put aside all of the many times upon which I believe myself to be the recipient of tremendous grace and timely providence. Instead, I have to point to those things which are objective rather than subjective.

Even the Hebrews’ writer states that faith is “evidence” or “conviction” of things unseen (cf. Hebrews 11:1). To serve as evidence or to have the ability to convict a person implies that it is not something baseless. In other words, for it to be “faith” it must likewise have a foundation outside of feeling. Indeed, we note that faith comes from testimony. The persecutor-turned-preacher, Paul, notes that “Faith comes from hearing, and hearing by the word of Christ” (Romans 10:17 NASB). Ultimately, it is a matter of whether a person chooses to believe the testimony provided.

Elsewhere, Paul states that evidence for God exists in our observation of nature (cf. Romans 1:18ff). Indeed, one can ask how we are even here when one considers how many random “accidents” would otherwise had to have occurred in order to enable life here on the earth. For example, our planet is in that coveted Goldilocks-position in relation to our sun. We are not too far away to receive the sun’s warmth, like Mars, or so close, like Venus, as to wither all vegetation. The placement of Earth in its orbit is just right. When one hears about Higgs boson particles or the Big Bang, he must marvel at the mathematical odds that were against our existence. And, yet, by dismissing the intervention of an all-powerful God, he is essentially saying that which observation tells us is impossible must have occurred in the remote past. Nothing once produced something. Chaos brought about order.

What would it take for you to take that extra step?

Allegedly, people like Einstein, though not believing in a “personal God” could concede that the order and harmony of the universe would seem to suggest something greater at work. Essentially, Einstein said that the universe did not have to be this way. Yet, it is. No, I am not suggesting that Einstein was a deist. However, I believe it indicates that he recognized those “invisible attributes” of God to which Paul alluded. He is on record as stating he believed in Dutch philosopher, Baruch Spinoza’s view of God. When asked by Rabbi Goldstein if he believed in God, Einstein responded, “I believe in Spinoza’s God who reveals himself in the orderly harmony of what exists, not in a God who concerns himself with the fates and actions of human beings.”

That is interesting to me. It is also sad. I say I take for granted that God exists. I do so because it seems to require precious little from me to go from Einstein’s conception of God to my own. It becomes merely a matter of accepting that not only is His presence indicative of the order within the cosmos but that He likewise wishes to impart that same order to my life through His communication with me via His word. I think ultimately the reason why such intelligent people like Einstein cannot see this is because they focus too much on the failures in the system.

Neil deGrasse Tyson, who will forever be on my fecal list for helping demote Pluto from planet status, gives the “classical” atheistic reasoning for his disbelief in a God akin to the Judeo-Christian God. He referenced tragedies and simply stated either that God, as believers define the concept, isn’t good or isn’t all-powerful. He further implies that it is simply a matter of time before science steals from God any place He may have left in the universe. Tyson stated this belief while noting that some believers, in their quest to have “science” and “religion” coexist harmoniously, end up relegating God to a place he terms as “the gaps.” In other words, God is relegated to places where science still has no explanation for events or processes. Tyson says that science just doesn’t have those answers yet. He assumes that eventually science will have an explanation and that the believer in the personal God will be left with egg on his face. (Whether he realizes it or not, that seems to suggest that he, too, embraces the idea of a type of day of reckoning, though, perhaps, in reverse from one believing in God.)

How then do I nonchalantly embrace what the more learned reject?

At this point, I am sure that more than one person would feel compelled to accuse me of falling prey to the type of subjective reasoning I prided myself on rejecting at the outset. In other words, I am sure that some would say that my emotions step in where my intellect stops. My emotion, they say, causes me to interject a God where no God is to be found. He exists because I wish Him to, otherwise I cannot bear existing in this cold, barren universe where all is left up to chance.

I never met Louis Chevrolet, co-founder and namesake of the Chevrolet Motor Car Company. Yet, I observe an automobile branded with the name “Chevrolet” today. I even have a 10-year old Chevrolet Malibu. I suppose that my emotion might cause me to color who Louis Chevrolet was. As such, I might interpret him incorrectly. Yet, how could I deny the existence of the one who engineered the first of a long string of automobiles that are on the road today? I do not see a Chevrolet and think that it spontaneously sprung into being. I could not do so even if Chevys were a more simplistic Flintstones-type of car powered by one’s feet. Design demands a designer. Engineering demands an engineer.

In other words, I am saying it becomes a matter, not of book sense, of advanced degrees, but, rather, of what is in pitifully short supply: common sense. Why seek to ignore what nature itself suggests? “I have a Designer.” “I have a Maker.” “I have a Builder.” Though it is not my place to explain, here, why there are those ignoring this testimony, I will briefly say that is has more to do with not liking the content of the testimony that was left by Him who made us.

So, what do you think? Do you take God’s existence for granted? Or do you count yourself among those who cannot be persuaded of His existence?