14. MURDER! Or Is It Just Sinister Music?
It is now Chemo Day plus 2 and I do not know what to think. I have not experienced any nausea at all to this point other than a slight queasiness. Has God created my body in such a way as to tolerate this particular type of chemo well? Or has He chosen to walk with me with his hand upon me and his protection surrounding me?
Is it "I am fearfully and wonderfully made, Your works are wonderful, I know that full well" or is it "You hem me in, behind and before. You have laid Your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful, too lofty for me to attain!" Both from Psalm 139
I have been joking with loved ones that waiting for the nausea to strike has been like being in a murder mystery as the victim, just waiting for the deed to be done. You hear the music building and building in the background and you just know it's about to happen. But the music dies back down and the victim is safe. Or is he? Is THIS the time? When viewers relax and suddenly there is a clash of noise, a scream, and our now dying victim takes the next five minutes of the movie dramatically falling, getting up again, staggering over to the phone only to hear it has been disconnected, sliding to the floor, his hand dropping the receiver the last thing you see? But then he has a burst of adrenalin, staggers back to his feet, falls down the stairs and, well, you've seen the movie.
It's like that.
My symptoms to this point have been a mild headache and the beginnings of neuropathy, a pins and needles feeling in my hands. I've slept fairly well although not on schedule. Temperature has maintained normal. I have a metallic flavor in my mouth constantly from the platinum composition of the chemo. Some dizziness. We expect fatigue to set in shortly as my blood count dwindles, a period of nadir arriving in another day or so. We wanted to go to church this morning, but I am not supposed to be around crowds due to the increasing inability of my immune system to fight infection.
Last Summer I was sitting outside on a beautiful day enjoying a good book, when I received a call from my sister Darlene. She revealed to me that she had just been diagnosed with Leiomyosarcoma. As we talked, it became clear that she was going to die and soon. Hers was not to be a five to ten year battle with a well-known and well-funded cancer type. Hers was a losing battle with a rare form of cancer with precious little research support and zero to few treatment options. She told me that chemo was only offered because the medical industry didn't know what else to do. There were no special chemo drugs for her cancer, only drugs they used on other cancers that might or might not make any difference whatsoever. The most likely outcome of accepting chemo treatments for her was simply to make the inevitable more miserable than it already would be. She said "I am a barfer." "I throw up when I get sick and I do not want to go through something that is not likely to help, and will certainly make me sick the whole time."
She was also calling me to ask me to prepare her memorial slide show presentation. I had been responsible for preparing my mother's presentation (The Life of Nina May in Poetry and Pictures) and had put my heart and soul into it to give Mom the honor due her. Darlene knew I would do the same for her, and she wanted to spare her husband Dan the compounded sorrow of trying to manage those details on top of everything else.
The cancer took her away from us before the end of the year.
I concurred with my dear sister on the barfing. Juli says that when I get sick, it starts at my toes and builds to a loud crescendo. I barf when I smell barf. I wasn't looking forward to chemo at all, and I'm pretty sure Juli wasn't either. We even purchased a supply of fancy hospital-style emesis bags in case I experienced a "double whammy" and needed the toilet for two reasons, both mutually demanding and refusing coordinated order of use. (Yikes! I'm not sure that could have been said any more delicately!)
But the MURDER! has yet to take place. The music building in the background might just be theatrical tease. Instead of an ugly, scarred James Cagney with bad breath and a 4 day growth of stubble, the loud crash of music might just announce a Golden Retriever, drooling on the floor, leaving food crumbs, chew toys, and an impressive cloud of shed hair floating behind her.
Maybe that is why we feel such a sweet relief in the presence of God today. An unexpected but welcome physical state. He has laid His hand upon us. We are safe.
Is it "I am fearfully and wonderfully made, Your works are wonderful, I know that full well" or is it "You hem me in, behind and before. You have laid Your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful, too lofty for me to attain!" Both from Psalm 139
I have been joking with loved ones that waiting for the nausea to strike has been like being in a murder mystery as the victim, just waiting for the deed to be done. You hear the music building and building in the background and you just know it's about to happen. But the music dies back down and the victim is safe. Or is he? Is THIS the time? When viewers relax and suddenly there is a clash of noise, a scream, and our now dying victim takes the next five minutes of the movie dramatically falling, getting up again, staggering over to the phone only to hear it has been disconnected, sliding to the floor, his hand dropping the receiver the last thing you see? But then he has a burst of adrenalin, staggers back to his feet, falls down the stairs and, well, you've seen the movie.
It's like that.
My symptoms to this point have been a mild headache and the beginnings of neuropathy, a pins and needles feeling in my hands. I've slept fairly well although not on schedule. Temperature has maintained normal. I have a metallic flavor in my mouth constantly from the platinum composition of the chemo. Some dizziness. We expect fatigue to set in shortly as my blood count dwindles, a period of nadir arriving in another day or so. We wanted to go to church this morning, but I am not supposed to be around crowds due to the increasing inability of my immune system to fight infection.
Last Summer I was sitting outside on a beautiful day enjoying a good book, when I received a call from my sister Darlene. She revealed to me that she had just been diagnosed with Leiomyosarcoma. As we talked, it became clear that she was going to die and soon. Hers was not to be a five to ten year battle with a well-known and well-funded cancer type. Hers was a losing battle with a rare form of cancer with precious little research support and zero to few treatment options. She told me that chemo was only offered because the medical industry didn't know what else to do. There were no special chemo drugs for her cancer, only drugs they used on other cancers that might or might not make any difference whatsoever. The most likely outcome of accepting chemo treatments for her was simply to make the inevitable more miserable than it already would be. She said "I am a barfer." "I throw up when I get sick and I do not want to go through something that is not likely to help, and will certainly make me sick the whole time."
She was also calling me to ask me to prepare her memorial slide show presentation. I had been responsible for preparing my mother's presentation (The Life of Nina May in Poetry and Pictures) and had put my heart and soul into it to give Mom the honor due her. Darlene knew I would do the same for her, and she wanted to spare her husband Dan the compounded sorrow of trying to manage those details on top of everything else.
The cancer took her away from us before the end of the year.
I concurred with my dear sister on the barfing. Juli says that when I get sick, it starts at my toes and builds to a loud crescendo. I barf when I smell barf. I wasn't looking forward to chemo at all, and I'm pretty sure Juli wasn't either. We even purchased a supply of fancy hospital-style emesis bags in case I experienced a "double whammy" and needed the toilet for two reasons, both mutually demanding and refusing coordinated order of use. (Yikes! I'm not sure that could have been said any more delicately!)
But the MURDER! has yet to take place. The music building in the background might just be theatrical tease. Instead of an ugly, scarred James Cagney with bad breath and a 4 day growth of stubble, the loud crash of music might just announce a Golden Retriever, drooling on the floor, leaving food crumbs, chew toys, and an impressive cloud of shed hair floating behind her.
Maybe that is why we feel such a sweet relief in the presence of God today. An unexpected but welcome physical state. He has laid His hand upon us. We are safe.
I am also not a casual puker. Will pray it doesn't happen to you. Do you think Sophie is aware something is wrong?
ReplyDeleteShe’s been pretty gentle with me. She’s always so good though so it is hard to know. She’s never allowed on furniture or the bed, but she gets as close to me as she can and just stares until I scratch her, something I won’t be able to do as nadir sets in here shortly.
DeleteI spent the last hour or more reading your posts. Thank you for your perspectives and for sharing your faith. It is all uplifting.
ReplyDeleteThank you Greg
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