Stable

... and what is your idea of balance?

Dear Friend,

This is likely to be an abbreviated note, but one I really want to get out there nonetheless.

As this walk continues, it’s sorta interesting to see the origin get further and further into the past, and to notice how some of the scenery is changing. Some of the anxiety of hearing the word cancer and my name in the same sentence beginning to subside as we get further down the trail. And new things are coming into focus.

How is this manifest?

Here is one way: The first few scans were almost unbearable. I am not claustrophobic. But the voices in my head those first few times in the tunnel, my head essentially held motionless by a cage, were loud, relentless, and they undid me. I squeezed the bubble during the second scan without even realizing I was doing it. Now I pray/sleep through scans…usually to either Max Richter or Radiohead, both of which seem exactly right to me, and I’ve recognized that if you hear it above the music, the sound of an MRI machine is easy to mistake for morning birdsong.

No. Really.

At the end of this week’s session, I asked the techs how many people sleep through their scans. (I said “sleep,” but I was thinking “pray” which I think would look the same from the booth). According to them, it’s about half, which is oddly encouraging. Yet I find myself thinking/praying of the half who do not. I don’t want anyone to have to continue getting scanned, of course. But if they must, how desperately I long for them to know peace and contentment in an MRI machine. And it’s possible, it seems.

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This week I had a dear friend tell me that they were getting their first scan as a follow-up to a clinical evaluation.While they may, or may not be far from a definitive diagnosis, cancer is very much a part of the discussion. It’s good to remember what it was like during those first scans. To resist the temptation to convince my friend of anything at all, which would have felt hollow and empty had they tried to convince me everything was going to be just fine seven months ago. Rather, it felt good to simply be there and share lunch and laughs over fried macaroni and cheese bites, and to chat with a kind server from somewhere else, and to hope/believe my friend might sleep/pray during their scan. And to hope they know it’s okay, and not weak or a character flaw if they do not, and even if they squeeze the ball.

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The results of this week’s scan for me? Stable. That is another thing that is changing over the months. I deeply distrusted the word stable when this whole thing began. I am trusting, not the word more, but what it implies.

When Abi was sick, almost every scan came back as mostly stable. Over time, I came to understand what the medical team meant: On the whole, her tumor burden was neither increasing nor decreasing significantly from scan to scan. In her case there was a lot of disease - already everywhere . Mostly steady was never going to do the trick. The cancer was already affecting her organs, and mostly steady did not mean that she could live indefinitely. It was taking a greater toll each day.

I think that’s a little different than what my team is suggesting. Candidly, I’m not sure there is any clear evidence of any active cancer in my brain - aside from a few more open cabinets and lost keys around the house, which might be, and likely are, the residual effects of the original tumor and the treatments - the craniotomy, the radiation, and the chemo. But I don’t think there is anything in the scans the doctor would point to and say, “Well, this is cancer, but it’s not growing. so that is good.” There are places where the scan lights up, but they the same places each scan, and it could be, and likely is, inflammation from treatment, and they don’t seem to be changing much, if at all. So steady means something completely different than what I assumed it meant in the beginning. That is encouraging to me.

Look. The course this disease takes is pretty consistent. It returns and when it does, it tends to defy treatment. In all likelihood, that day is coming. Maybe in a couple of weeks. Maybe in a couple of years. Most likely somewhere in between. But it doesn’t matter all that much to me, anymore. It will arrive when it does and I believe I will not be alone. But right now, that is not the part of the trail we are on, and I really don’t want to miss the views and the vistas of this part. They are spectacular.

I might go on and on about this, but I’ll resist. But perhaps the biggest thing I’m noticing is how the question, which was once:

“How is God making God’s love known to me in this moment?”

is shifting to

“How might God use me to make God’s love known to the person standing/sitting with me in this moment?”*

It’s a dramatically different question than the first, until it isn’t. I’m finding the second question answers the first most of the time.

*Note: this is not/not the same as asking, “What can I do to give God a little assist?” It’s more a question of surrender Of course it is.

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Okay, I want to get to the main thing. A question if you might dare to answer it.

Last year I spent a week kayaking in the wild and scenic section of the Rogue River in Oregon. (And yes, it is both wild and scenic.) The lead guide, whose name was Gnomeo, told us the first day that an empty kayak almost always makes its way through a rapid upright. It’s not until you put a person in the kayak - fighting for balance - that it will capsize. Think of this. (Maybe it’s time to move from trail metaphors to kayaking metaphors…)

Here is the question. It looks like four questions but you can answer any way you want to. Seriously answer it in any way you want. Or not at all (but I hope you will.)

What is balance to you, and how do you recognize when you are balanced?

What things are pulling against each other, or vying to upset your balance?

What is your role in finding/maintaining that balance? (This is the heart of the question.)

What do you think will happen if you don’t get it right? (and if you dare, what has happened before when you did not get it right?)

If you are willing, would you post a response here or send me an email? This idea of balance is getting the best of me right now. I could really use your perspective, friend.

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I hope to hear from you, but whether I do or do not, I’m honored that you have decided to walk with me. It’s good being with, and being with you, in particular.

Oremus,

C