Yesterday's Friday Five was about travel. And those who know me know that I love to travel. The furtherest away, the most obscure, the most difficult places to visit are my favorites (when I have time, I'll tell you about my adventures in the Rio Coco, on the eastern side of Nicaragua, on the Honduran border during the Contra era).
Sometime in the last day or so, it occurred to me that I am on another journey, a trip of wonderous proportions. It is not simply what I am choosing to do to my body (out of fear, I suppose. I don't have to do this. I am doing it to lessen the risk of a recurrence. I'd rather do this now than face the higher possiblity of more cancer later. And given that this particular kind of cancer is so hard to find, to screen for, I think I'm opting for safety.)
And so, I am losing my hair. What they don't tell you is that your scalp hurts in the process. That's how I first knew I must be about to lose my hair. My scalp burned like the time I managed to get it sunburned in New Zealand. (The hole in the ozone layer is true.)
And so, I never know how I will feel. I keep hoping I will feel good, but it doesn't seem to happen. Yesterday I climbed a flight of stairs and was exhausted. The woman who a year ago was jogging for an hour (and couldn't understand why I wasn't getting faster).
And I meet incredible people. People who have been battling cancer for years and who are grateful to be alive. People who have chemo month after month, year after year. Nurses and lab technicians who do nothing but minister to people with cancer.
But, this is all new to me. It is like entering a new country with strange customs, strange food, strange tastes, strange sights. And it will (God willing) be a short trip. By the middle of July, it will be over and I will be off to South Korea and Mongolia. To a real adventure. Without my hair, of course.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Friday, May 16, 2008
Friday Five
From RevGalBlogPals
1) Favorite Destination -- someplace you've visited once or often and would gladly go again
Oh, so many. Right now, I think India. I'd like to spend a month there, wandering around, getting to places I didn't get to in my (all too short) first visit: Varanasi, Dharmaslala, Goa, Kerala. I think India is the most spiritual place I've visited. And beautiful. And of course, the Taj Mahal. I was afraid I would be disappointed because my expectations were so high, but it exceeded my highest expectations.
2) Unfavorite Destination -- someplace you wish you had never been (and why)
I can't think of one.
3) Fantasy Destination -- someplace to visit if cost and/or time did not matter
The Maldives. A fantastically expensive place to visit. Hotels run about $500 a night. Yep, a night. The Maldives average about three feet (or less) above sea level. It is hard to get to, but the scuba diving is fantastic.
A second dream: The Silk Road. I'd like to travel from Venice to Istanbul to Damascus through Iran and Uzbekistan and on through China to Suzhou. I've done two parts of the road: Suzhou and Xian: the eastern terminus and I've done parts of the road (it isn't just one road, but a series of interlacing routes) in Central Asia in Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan. I'm hoping to do western China next year. I'd love to do the entire "road" in one trip.
The Moon
An Episcopalian priest from Memphis is traveling though Nepal and India (she had planned on Tibet, but that was cancelled). She hiked the Anapurna circuit (a fairly hike around the bases of some of the world's highest mountains) and then almost to the Everest base camp. Her blog is at www.ardreygonzalez.com (I hope I got that right. It is a frustration to me that blogspots can't just automatically convert a webaddress to a link as other websites seem to be able to happily do. For some reason I can't get it to work for me, even though I check and check to make sure I've put things in right.)
4) Fictional Destination -- someplace from a book or movie or other art or media form you would love to visit, although it exists only in imagination
Shangra-La
5) Funny Destination -- the funniest place name you've ever visited or want to visit
Not a destination, but a trip: Katmadu to Timbutu.
I have been struggling for many years with why I have this need to travel and see the world. The biggest disappointment with my cancer is that I had planned to take a year and travel around the world when I retire. I was planning to sell most of my stuff, put the rest in storage and go. But, because I need frequent checkups, it will be five years before (God willing) I would be able to leave for more than six months. And so, I've been dreaming other dreams: volunteering with the Iona Community for several weeks; teaching English in China for the Amity Foundation; perhaps teaching English in Africa or South America.
On the other hand, if this is the biggest disappointment with my cancer, how wonderful and fortunate am I!
1) Favorite Destination -- someplace you've visited once or often and would gladly go again
Oh, so many. Right now, I think India. I'd like to spend a month there, wandering around, getting to places I didn't get to in my (all too short) first visit: Varanasi, Dharmaslala, Goa, Kerala. I think India is the most spiritual place I've visited. And beautiful. And of course, the Taj Mahal. I was afraid I would be disappointed because my expectations were so high, but it exceeded my highest expectations.
2) Unfavorite Destination -- someplace you wish you had never been (and why)
I can't think of one.
3) Fantasy Destination -- someplace to visit if cost and/or time did not matter
The Maldives. A fantastically expensive place to visit. Hotels run about $500 a night. Yep, a night. The Maldives average about three feet (or less) above sea level. It is hard to get to, but the scuba diving is fantastic.
A second dream: The Silk Road. I'd like to travel from Venice to Istanbul to Damascus through Iran and Uzbekistan and on through China to Suzhou. I've done two parts of the road: Suzhou and Xian: the eastern terminus and I've done parts of the road (it isn't just one road, but a series of interlacing routes) in Central Asia in Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan. I'm hoping to do western China next year. I'd love to do the entire "road" in one trip.
The Moon
An Episcopalian priest from Memphis is traveling though Nepal and India (she had planned on Tibet, but that was cancelled). She hiked the Anapurna circuit (a fairly hike around the bases of some of the world's highest mountains) and then almost to the Everest base camp. Her blog is at www.ardreygonzalez.com (I hope I got that right. It is a frustration to me that blogspots can't just automatically convert a webaddress to a link as other websites seem to be able to happily do. For some reason I can't get it to work for me, even though I check and check to make sure I've put things in right.)
4) Fictional Destination -- someplace from a book or movie or other art or media form you would love to visit, although it exists only in imagination
Shangra-La
5) Funny Destination -- the funniest place name you've ever visited or want to visit
Not a destination, but a trip: Katmadu to Timbutu.
I have been struggling for many years with why I have this need to travel and see the world. The biggest disappointment with my cancer is that I had planned to take a year and travel around the world when I retire. I was planning to sell most of my stuff, put the rest in storage and go. But, because I need frequent checkups, it will be five years before (God willing) I would be able to leave for more than six months. And so, I've been dreaming other dreams: volunteering with the Iona Community for several weeks; teaching English in China for the Amity Foundation; perhaps teaching English in Africa or South America.
On the other hand, if this is the biggest disappointment with my cancer, how wonderful and fortunate am I!
Monday, May 12, 2008
Mothers' Day
Missing from my congregation yesterday: three mothers whose children died in adulthood; two women who never had children. Is this a coincidence?
I never do a Mothers' Day sermon. And it was Pentecost.
I told the Minister of Music that I didn't do Mothers' Day and the reasons. So, she does a sappy anthem about mothers. Ugh. She doesn't have time to meet with me. (And besides, I'm not doing much other than putting together a liturgy and sermon each week.)
I never do a Mothers' Day sermon. And it was Pentecost.
I told the Minister of Music that I didn't do Mothers' Day and the reasons. So, she does a sappy anthem about mothers. Ugh. She doesn't have time to meet with me. (And besides, I'm not doing much other than putting together a liturgy and sermon each week.)
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Entering a new land
I woke up this morning to a beautiful bright blue sky. After I struggled to get my trash and recycling outside (five trips and I was exhausted), I went back to bed.
It occurred to me that I have entered a new land; I have a new baptism. I am no longer a part of the world that was once mine. I am no long invincible; I am no longer immortal. I am no longer so strong that I can do anything I set out to do. I am human, finite, limited, mortal.
Instead of sadness, there is sweetness. The blue sky is somehow bluer, the birds are somehow more melodic, the grass is somehow greener, the azaleas pinker. It is a gift, this life on the otherside.
I have heard folks who have battled cancer, who have come back from the brink of death say that life changes for them. I have listened to their descriptions and have wondered and been, I must admit, a bit jealous. I have tried to live in the present, but often it is in the past or future. For right now, this minute, though I am in the present.
I imagine this newness will become old; that I will get used to life again; that I will find myself not in the present but in the past or future. But for right now, I have been given a gift.
It occurred to me that I have entered a new land; I have a new baptism. I am no longer a part of the world that was once mine. I am no long invincible; I am no longer immortal. I am no longer so strong that I can do anything I set out to do. I am human, finite, limited, mortal.
Instead of sadness, there is sweetness. The blue sky is somehow bluer, the birds are somehow more melodic, the grass is somehow greener, the azaleas pinker. It is a gift, this life on the otherside.
I have heard folks who have battled cancer, who have come back from the brink of death say that life changes for them. I have listened to their descriptions and have wondered and been, I must admit, a bit jealous. I have tried to live in the present, but often it is in the past or future. For right now, this minute, though I am in the present.
I imagine this newness will become old; that I will get used to life again; that I will find myself not in the present but in the past or future. But for right now, I have been given a gift.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Thoughts about intentionally poisoning your body
First day post first chemo. I feel pretty good despite the fact that I have put some pretty strong poisons in my body. I wonder if a couple of hundred years from now people will look back on cancer treatment and say "What were they thinking?" the way we do now when we hear about leaching and bleeding patients to get rid of the bad humours.
We went to quarterly session meetings this year. What a blessing. We have had a number of action items that needed to be decided between session meetings and we met for about half an hour after worship. Now, there is no pressing business to discuss at out next meeting which is Tuesday evening. I am looking forward to an unrushed discussion of where the church is. There haven't been any new members in about 10 years. Older members are not dying off; they are a hardy bunch despite having lived through more tragedy than I can imagine. So many have lost adult children or have battled devestating diseases or in a couple of cases, both. We have a few recovering alcoholics. Last year (my first full year at the church) we planned and developed a vision statement. Amazingly without my presence they have followed through on the piece that most excited them. But, the first step is done and we need to talk about the next step. In addition, I am designated and my contract is done in September of next year. When I first came, I assumed that if all worked out, they would call me and I would stay 5-7 years. Right now, I want to retire, but the earliest I can is in 22months--six months beyond the end of my contract. Of course, I (or probably God) may change my mind.
A few people in the congregation are enthusiastic about outreach. Most are content to come to church, to minister to the older members or be ministered to. The latter spells death. They refuse to consider that death may be iminent or is an option (something I can certainly sympathize with, having been through a long denial of death and then a denial of my diagnosis). There are plans for a new housing/commercial development two blocks away which might bring new life (the land has not yet been cleared; completion is about two years away). Unfortunately, directly across the street is an 1100 member Methodist church. And our folks don't like to do calls. Another new apartment building is going up about four blocks away.
No one seems interested in any sort of small group. There is a Sunday School class attended by the over 75 bunch, primarily. In the summer a smaller group gets together for a walk around the neighborhood and then breakfast and discussion of a book (last year's was a book by Joyce Meyer--not my choice).
In February, I became really sick. I was in bed most days 14-16 hours, mainly sleeping. I went from doctor to doctor looking for a diagnosis. I must have seen my primary care physician every other week. It was my thyroid everyone seemed to think. I was still concerned because I was afraid it was something more serious than low thyroid. I thought I might have chronic fatigue or some other autoimmune disease that many people dismiss as in your head. (I suppose the good news about cancer is that it isn't something people expect you to just get up from and go to work everyday--except maybe my clerk of session, but that's another story and that's an overblown statement) When finally, finally someone took my huge 7 month pregnant belly seriously and did a cat scan and got started on the right road, I was relieved. But, I was in denial that it was cancer even though my surgeon had told me. The pathology report was missing a page and I was told just to wait until I saw my surgeon for follow up. Then when I finally got a hold of the path report myself and saw what it was; I was either in shock or denial.
Stage 1, grade2 ovarian cancer is a very good diagnosis, especially for ovarian cancer where most is caught at stage 3 or higher (which is why the mortality rate for it is so high). I elected to take chemo even though the life expectancy for this stage is the same with or without chemo. The difference is that with chemo, the chance of recurrence is less. Now, this is my personality: I am going to make a quick decision and go with the most aggressive treatment.
But what if it had been stage 4 and I were 90 years old? Would I have chosen a year of life or the possibility of a bit longer life and the agony of extended chemo (I'm only doing 4 to 6 courses). Many older people would choose no chemo.
I think this congregation is more like the latter situation. They are old and have lived long lives and have come though much pain. They don't have the energy to fight death. Death is imminent. But they don't have a diagnosis that they believe. They believe that they will continue as a congegation. And they have heard imminent death before: for at least the last ten years, if not longer.
Circumstances have not been good to them. After a long term minister left, they called a pastor with severe mental health issues (as I understand it). The presbytery where he was, was glad to get rid of him. The congregation wound up giving him a substantial package to leave after about 6 months. Then they called an interim, who teaches Presbyterian polity. The congregation really liked her and she told them that they could call her as an installed pastor. (This is a blatant violation of our polity; there is simply no way to get around the prohibition on calling an interim as installed pastor.) This caused folks to be angry at the presbytery (rather than the lying pastor, pardon my anger at her--she knew better and damaged the church if not consciously and intentionally, then with blatant disregard for the consequences) and many left the church. They then called a woman who stayed for seven years. Unfortunately she was battling many personal problems at the end, including a divorce and depression. At the time the health benefit plan did not cover depression treatment very well and she could not afford to get the help she needed. Her leaving caused disruption. Because they had had such a bad experience with having an interim, they wanted a designated pastor that they could call as installed if it worked out.
I am feeling guilty about wanting to leave at the end of my contract. I think they need a stable pastor for at least 5 years. But, I am losing energy for being a pastor. Of course, this could be merely where I am health wise. I just don't see the energy there for them to die. Is it better to let them die a slow death, gradually and naturally or should I lead them to see that death is inevitable and help them choose a way to die: merge with another church, build a senior living facility on the property (with space for our preschool, after school programs for the community, a way for the residents to interact with the children who come there), or just close the doors. I really like the senior living facility, but it will take lots of leadership and time.
Pray with me.
We went to quarterly session meetings this year. What a blessing. We have had a number of action items that needed to be decided between session meetings and we met for about half an hour after worship. Now, there is no pressing business to discuss at out next meeting which is Tuesday evening. I am looking forward to an unrushed discussion of where the church is. There haven't been any new members in about 10 years. Older members are not dying off; they are a hardy bunch despite having lived through more tragedy than I can imagine. So many have lost adult children or have battled devestating diseases or in a couple of cases, both. We have a few recovering alcoholics. Last year (my first full year at the church) we planned and developed a vision statement. Amazingly without my presence they have followed through on the piece that most excited them. But, the first step is done and we need to talk about the next step. In addition, I am designated and my contract is done in September of next year. When I first came, I assumed that if all worked out, they would call me and I would stay 5-7 years. Right now, I want to retire, but the earliest I can is in 22months--six months beyond the end of my contract. Of course, I (or probably God) may change my mind.
A few people in the congregation are enthusiastic about outreach. Most are content to come to church, to minister to the older members or be ministered to. The latter spells death. They refuse to consider that death may be iminent or is an option (something I can certainly sympathize with, having been through a long denial of death and then a denial of my diagnosis). There are plans for a new housing/commercial development two blocks away which might bring new life (the land has not yet been cleared; completion is about two years away). Unfortunately, directly across the street is an 1100 member Methodist church. And our folks don't like to do calls. Another new apartment building is going up about four blocks away.
No one seems interested in any sort of small group. There is a Sunday School class attended by the over 75 bunch, primarily. In the summer a smaller group gets together for a walk around the neighborhood and then breakfast and discussion of a book (last year's was a book by Joyce Meyer--not my choice).
In February, I became really sick. I was in bed most days 14-16 hours, mainly sleeping. I went from doctor to doctor looking for a diagnosis. I must have seen my primary care physician every other week. It was my thyroid everyone seemed to think. I was still concerned because I was afraid it was something more serious than low thyroid. I thought I might have chronic fatigue or some other autoimmune disease that many people dismiss as in your head. (I suppose the good news about cancer is that it isn't something people expect you to just get up from and go to work everyday--except maybe my clerk of session, but that's another story and that's an overblown statement) When finally, finally someone took my huge 7 month pregnant belly seriously and did a cat scan and got started on the right road, I was relieved. But, I was in denial that it was cancer even though my surgeon had told me. The pathology report was missing a page and I was told just to wait until I saw my surgeon for follow up. Then when I finally got a hold of the path report myself and saw what it was; I was either in shock or denial.
Stage 1, grade2 ovarian cancer is a very good diagnosis, especially for ovarian cancer where most is caught at stage 3 or higher (which is why the mortality rate for it is so high). I elected to take chemo even though the life expectancy for this stage is the same with or without chemo. The difference is that with chemo, the chance of recurrence is less. Now, this is my personality: I am going to make a quick decision and go with the most aggressive treatment.
But what if it had been stage 4 and I were 90 years old? Would I have chosen a year of life or the possibility of a bit longer life and the agony of extended chemo (I'm only doing 4 to 6 courses). Many older people would choose no chemo.
I think this congregation is more like the latter situation. They are old and have lived long lives and have come though much pain. They don't have the energy to fight death. Death is imminent. But they don't have a diagnosis that they believe. They believe that they will continue as a congegation. And they have heard imminent death before: for at least the last ten years, if not longer.
Circumstances have not been good to them. After a long term minister left, they called a pastor with severe mental health issues (as I understand it). The presbytery where he was, was glad to get rid of him. The congregation wound up giving him a substantial package to leave after about 6 months. Then they called an interim, who teaches Presbyterian polity. The congregation really liked her and she told them that they could call her as an installed pastor. (This is a blatant violation of our polity; there is simply no way to get around the prohibition on calling an interim as installed pastor.) This caused folks to be angry at the presbytery (rather than the lying pastor, pardon my anger at her--she knew better and damaged the church if not consciously and intentionally, then with blatant disregard for the consequences) and many left the church. They then called a woman who stayed for seven years. Unfortunately she was battling many personal problems at the end, including a divorce and depression. At the time the health benefit plan did not cover depression treatment very well and she could not afford to get the help she needed. Her leaving caused disruption. Because they had had such a bad experience with having an interim, they wanted a designated pastor that they could call as installed if it worked out.
I am feeling guilty about wanting to leave at the end of my contract. I think they need a stable pastor for at least 5 years. But, I am losing energy for being a pastor. Of course, this could be merely where I am health wise. I just don't see the energy there for them to die. Is it better to let them die a slow death, gradually and naturally or should I lead them to see that death is inevitable and help them choose a way to die: merge with another church, build a senior living facility on the property (with space for our preschool, after school programs for the community, a way for the residents to interact with the children who come there), or just close the doors. I really like the senior living facility, but it will take lots of leadership and time.
Pray with me.
Friday, May 2, 2008
Friday Five
From Sally at RevGalBlogPals
Prayer is a joy to some of us, and a chore to others, waiting likewise can be filled with anticipation or anxiety....
So how do you wait and pray?
1. How do you pray best, alone or with others?
Being an introvert, I pray best alone. I have been doing centering prayer for 25 years, on and off. It is such a calming thing for me. And I do hear things I'd never hear if I were noisy. Centering prayer in a group is interesting, but for me, for the times I've experienced, not really different.
2. Do you enjoy the discipline of waiting, is it a time of anticipation or anxiety?
Waiting, me wait? I don't wait. When I have to wait, it seems to be neither a time of anticipation or anxiety. I'm just impatient. Not anxious. Just want it done. Just about the only time I am anxious is the night before I travel. As much as I do travel, the anxiety is a mystery to me. Centering prayer.
I was anxious last night, I think; I'm not sure. I had a hard time sleeping. It may have been excitement. My first chemo today.
3. Is there a time when you have waited upon God for a specific promise?
I can't think of any. I have asked for signs. I have received signs. I'm more a rear view window person. I see how things have been looking at them after they have happened. I don't tend to see things as they happen. (I think this is related to the question; maybe not.)
4. Do you prefer stillness or action?
Obvious. Except, I do enjoy sitting and journaling and centering prayer. I want to do! I want to sit in silence! Perhaps that's why I find walking a labrinyth (so, I need to learn to spell) so wonderful. Stillness in action!
5. If ( and this is slightly tongue in cheek) you were promised one gift spiritual or otherwise what would you choose to recieve?
World peace and thin thighs!
The ability to see the realm of God embodied here and the gift of leading others to experience the realm here and now. I see, from time to time glimpses of God's realm here as my favorite priest said, "it's as if the veil is lifted and you see a glimpse of the kingdom as it is supposed to be here."
Prayer is a joy to some of us, and a chore to others, waiting likewise can be filled with anticipation or anxiety....
So how do you wait and pray?
1. How do you pray best, alone or with others?
Being an introvert, I pray best alone. I have been doing centering prayer for 25 years, on and off. It is such a calming thing for me. And I do hear things I'd never hear if I were noisy. Centering prayer in a group is interesting, but for me, for the times I've experienced, not really different.
2. Do you enjoy the discipline of waiting, is it a time of anticipation or anxiety?
Waiting, me wait? I don't wait. When I have to wait, it seems to be neither a time of anticipation or anxiety. I'm just impatient. Not anxious. Just want it done. Just about the only time I am anxious is the night before I travel. As much as I do travel, the anxiety is a mystery to me. Centering prayer.
I was anxious last night, I think; I'm not sure. I had a hard time sleeping. It may have been excitement. My first chemo today.
3. Is there a time when you have waited upon God for a specific promise?
I can't think of any. I have asked for signs. I have received signs. I'm more a rear view window person. I see how things have been looking at them after they have happened. I don't tend to see things as they happen. (I think this is related to the question; maybe not.)
4. Do you prefer stillness or action?
Obvious. Except, I do enjoy sitting and journaling and centering prayer. I want to do! I want to sit in silence! Perhaps that's why I find walking a labrinyth (so, I need to learn to spell) so wonderful. Stillness in action!
5. If ( and this is slightly tongue in cheek) you were promised one gift spiritual or otherwise what would you choose to recieve?
World peace and thin thighs!
The ability to see the realm of God embodied here and the gift of leading others to experience the realm here and now. I see, from time to time glimpses of God's realm here as my favorite priest said, "it's as if the veil is lifted and you see a glimpse of the kingdom as it is supposed to be here."
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Health Update
Well, I visited my oncologist today. I have stage 1, class 2 ovarian cancer (or had?). According to my oncologist, my life expectancy is the same as if I hadn't had cancer. I opted for chemo, to lessen the possibility of a recurrence. I'll do two rounds, then take some time off (go to Mongolia) and then take two to four more rounds.
I am out of denial/shock, I think. I'm not sure where I am.
What is interesting is that I am going to preach on biblical interpretation on Sunday, my first Sunday preaching since my surgery. That's what keeps coming to me to preach on. I'm not sure why. Unless I can find an old sermon I feel like preaching. I keep hoping that inspiration to preach something inspirational will come to me, but it hasn't yet. (Those tend to come around 3 am on Sunday morning.)
I am out of denial/shock, I think. I'm not sure where I am.
What is interesting is that I am going to preach on biblical interpretation on Sunday, my first Sunday preaching since my surgery. That's what keeps coming to me to preach on. I'm not sure why. Unless I can find an old sermon I feel like preaching. I keep hoping that inspiration to preach something inspirational will come to me, but it hasn't yet. (Those tend to come around 3 am on Sunday morning.)
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