Angels in Flannel - or something like that

Well, they say it takes a village. Today half the village of Kohler and several guys from our church came over to paint our porch. Last summer we did A LOT of work on the front of the house, and we painted the front of the porch to make it presentable. We left the side and the back of the porch unpainted, as well as one of the windows on the other side of the house.

When our friends Ken and Biz offered to paint, I pretty much pictured...well, the two of them painting. Boy was I wrong! TEN GUYS showed up to paint today. I almost fell over. It's not that ten of them showed up - it's that ten guys organized to all be in one place that didn't involve poker or football. Just kidding. I was just bowled over by the outpouring of friendship (guy style) and just downright goodness.

So today, eleven guys (eleven counting Jim Sr.) - Ken, Biz, Sandoval, Jay S., George, Brian, Chris, Jay M., Dave, and Mark all showed up to make our porch look respectable. It was like an episode of This Old House. These guys were amazing. Working in unison, eating lots of food (planned and delivered by their lovely wives), and listening to 80s music. They removed all the old screens (damaged from the vines the previous owner had let grow onto them), painted everything, built new screens, fixed the porch door, painted the exterior door on the top of the porch, painted the entire top of the porch including the spindles, and painted the window on the other side of the house. And the window on the other side of the house was no easy feat - second floor, only to be accessed from the right (plus the fact that no one was left-handed) on a very high extension ladder placed on a muddy patch of garden. And when they were done * poof * everything was cleaned up like they'd never been there.

I know I said it today guys, but thank you. Thank you to you and your families, who all gave up a full Saturday to paint our porch and check our biggest task off our list. Angels come in all shapes and sizes. Today they came dressed ready to paint.

Every Little Bit Helps

I'm going to report on the positives in our scenario today.

1. Jim got the OK to stop his daily shots yesterday, since his blood level is back to what Dr. Haid refers to as "theraputic". Jim will continue on with his coumadin (blood thinner), as usual. He goes back in on Friday for another checkup. His leg is still in pain but he's taking painkillers to help control it.

2. Rachel is going out with a little friend after school today, which will give my Mom a break. When I called my girlfriend to set up the playdate, I basically had a mini-meltdown on her answering machine. Um, hello? What happened there? I'm still not sure, but she was totally cool about it. If there's one thing I can say for the people of Kohler, it's that they know how to take things in stride.

3. We've had several visitors over the past couple of days - a friend from our church who beat advanced prostate cancer, a girlfriend from church who gave us inspirational CDs for the drive, and one of the 2K nurses gave us a fun bag FILLED with stuff for the drive - a Van Morrison CD, Diet Coke for me, water for Jim, muffins, sunflower seeds, nuts, cookies...you name it! We were delighted we got a chance to visit with her.

4. Guess what I got?! Six bottles of wine delivered to my door last night, courtesy of Janet's family (Aunt Cheryl, Uncle Bob, Ted and Tonia - thank you!). I thought of cracking into one last night, but thought better of it in light of today's drive. Friday night, here I come!

5. Please keep us in your prayers. We are off to Madison today. I believe that they will have something for us. A study or some suggestions, at the very least. We have heard great things about this doctor and we are hopeful that he's got some good clinical trials for us.

6. We got a call back from Sloan Kettering, although I missed it, so I'll call them today and hopefully they can squeeze us in for an appointment.

It's easy to complain about what's going wrong. Sometimes it's hard to be thankful for the things we do have in the face of troubled times. But we have to remind ourselves (or, more specifically, I have to remind myself) that we have two beautiful, healthy children. We live and attend church in a fabulous community, where people are truly banding together and lifting us up. And we have family that supports us through thick and thin. The one statement we can't add to this is "at least we have our health", BUT, perhaps with all our other blessings, we'll be able to overcome and prevail over a situation that will be a blip on the map of our life.

Tough Day - Emotionally and Physically

Jim had a tough day today. Our church is starting a series on Parenthood, which sounds positive and exciting (and it is), but when you have cancer, it brings up questions like "will I even be here to parent my kids?". Today was the first time I've seen Jim so upset since his diagnosis. It must be hard for him to look at our kids and wonder whether he's going to be able to watch Rachel learn to swim, or whether he's going to get to see Jake play t-ball. Or anything beyond that.

Logically, we know that Jim is way outside the statistics. They really don't even apply to him. After all, the average age for colon cancer diagnosis is 72. Other people whose prognosis were worse than Jim's have bounced back from Stage 4 cancer.

In every day life, we get so caught up in making plans, making treatment choices, going to chemo, going through surgery, getting blood tests, taking medications, visiting the pharmacy, making organic meals, going to tai chi, updating the blog - these are all really just activities that keep us busy and make us feel like we have a sense of control. We tend to get so busy in the process of things that we forget that what we're going through is a ridiculously stressful situation.

Sure, getting chemo is a step in the right direction. It's the right thing to do. But mentally, it's tough to go and receive chemo when he didn't ask for cancer in the first place. I can see where people would get really bitter in a scenario like this. We didn't ask for this. We were just going through life, minding our own business, when the cancer reared it's ugly head. Now we're left with a "challenge" that we basically have to win. The stakes are just so high that I imagine the pressure could really blow some people out of the water.

I guess our flurry of activity is a coping method. After all, if we just sat around every day to dwell on how high the stakes are, we'd both get depressed and have a hard time putting up a fight. At least this way, we feel like we're doing something. We're contributing to his eventual victory.

Jim had a tough day physically, although early in the morning he mentioned to me that he felt it was the first time he was able to get a full breath of air. His core temperature is fluctuating all over the place. He's freezing cold or sweating profusely. It's almost like he's in detox. This is all normal, according to the doctors. And he's stopped taking the vicodin they gave him for pain relief. He's still got a lot of pain in his back, but he's not really crazy about the vicodin. I think part of the issue physically is that he's dealing with so much emotionally. At least I think that's what's going on today.

Did you know that almost 1/4 of cancer patients start getting sick before they get their chemotherapy? The anticipation of what's coming makes them sick. Although I think he's been improving physically, he knows what's coming tomorrow. Tomorrow. The darn chemo again. Sometimes I feel like begging for a break for him, but at the same time...if he takes a break it could set him back, and that's the last thing we want.

When I'm calm and I can maintain my sense of perspective on the situation, I try and tell him that even though this is horrid, when he's done he can go back to being himself. That's something that is really eating at him today. He hasn't been "normal" Jim since September 13, 2006. 7 months of not being yourself. 7 months where your thoughts alternate between "I have cancer" and "Am I going to beat it?". 7 months of "treatments". In the overall scheme of things, this may be a bump in Jim's road of life. Granted, mentally it will always be a pretty BIG bump, but if he beats the cancer, he can go back to being Normal Jim.

Thus far meditation and prayer have helped me remain calm and maintain my sense of perspective on the situation 99% of the time. The 1% typically happens when I'm not at home - when I'm alone, driving somewhere in my car. I know in my heart that Jim can beat it. I know that Jim knows he can beat it. Heaven knows that I've offered him lots of superficial incentives to beat it, including a trip to Hawaii, a pot rack (future blog entry), a lifetime of foot massages (another future blog entry), and a new planer (woodworking tool). All that on top of the obvious incentive for beating the cancer - life.

I guess even the most collected people are entitled to a moment of panic and doubt when the "C" word comes into their lives. I hate cancer. I hate it. I hate it that my Jim isn't Normal Jim. I hate it that he has to deal with stress like this at such a young age. I hate it that he has to worry about things that he shouldn't have to worry about. Blissful ignorance and a sense of immortality should be something he can have, just like the rest of us.

I'm giving him some time. I know he can beat it. When he does, I'm planning to shake my fist at the cancer and scream "GET AWAY FROM US! YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE!" I then plan to do a happy dance in Dr. Haid's office when we hear the words we long to hear most in life: "No evidence of disease."

It's sad how cancer changes your perspective - shouldn't the words we long to hear most in life be "I love you"?

I'm going to go churchy on you...

Okay, for those of you who know my background...don't pass out. I'm about to post something from The Bible.

"I promise that when any two of you on earth agree about something you are praying for, my Father in heaven will do it for you." - Matthew 18:19 (CEV)

Sometimes when we're sitting in church, I swear it seems like Pastor Kirby is looking right at me.

Sometimes I feel nervous (and not a little paranoid) "Is he looking at me? I wasn't that bad this week. I believe in Jesus. Why is he looking at me?";

Sometimes I feel glad "Oh, he watches LOST! Cool!";

Sometimes I feel there's a ray of light beaming on me and Jim "Wow! This applies directly to me. To us. To our lives. To returning Jim to whole health."

Today I got that beam. When I read the bulletin and this quote was in it, we both got the beam. Jim pointed the quote out right away.

Some days there's just something different at church. I can't say what it is. Today was one of those days. After church we had brunch at our friends Amy and Mark's, and something was different there. Jim ate 3 of Amy's delicious scones, so the something different could possibly have been a stomach ache. Kidding.

But it's lead me to wonder if the something different isn't a feeling of connectedness. A feeling that through this church we've become part of something much greater than ourselves. And through that, we have so many people (blog readers included) who have a common prayer. For Jim's complete healing and health. I believe that as we say prayers for Jim, so God will hear them. It seems that we're almost hooked up to an amplifier some days.

So, think of me, next Sunday, sitting in church, wondering why Pastor Kirby is looking at me. Maybe he's like the Mona Lisa...maybe everyone thinks he's looking at them. But in the bigger picture, I'm so glad that what he says applies to me. I'm so glad we have a place in our hearts for prayer and for gratitude. I'm so thankful to be connected with so many people. Your prayers matter to Jim. They matter to me. Thank you for walking this journey with us. Thank you for combining so many voices so that God can hear us, like an amplified prayer, and help Jim heal.

If you're too sick to go to school, then you're too sick to play outside

Or at least that's what our mothers told us. So I have to admit I felt a little guilt when we skipped church today. Not only did we skip church, but we then went out sledding on Kohler's picturesque little sledding hill. We just woke up and it was one of those mornings. We stayed out "late" last night (midnight! We are NUTS!) for a round-robin holiday party. When we got up the snow was falling, and it just seemed like the kind of day to hunker down and be a family. So that's what we did. I know we should have picked it up and been a family at church, but whatever Jim says goes, so we stayed home.

After sledding we saw one of our favorite nurses, Chris, from Jim's stay this fall at Memorial Hospital. She happened to be out sledding with her family. It made my day to see her. Jim was delighted. It's so funny how a solitary event brings you into contact with so many people. If Jim hadn't had cancer, we would have just walked by her on the sledding hill, never knowing that we were walking by a truly special soul. It just happens like that. You walk by people every day and never know what they're about. Of course you can't just stop random people on the street and introduce yourself, lest people think you're a complete loon, but at the same time it makes me wonder how many wonderful people we miss in our daily activities. I certainly would be willing to give up meeting the 2K nurses from the hospital if we could trade in Jim's cancer, but since that isn't an option, it seems like getting to know some of these people makes the pain less painful.

After seeing Chris, we went to our friends' house for hot cocoa. Friends from church. Of course, they made it to church. Oopsies. Well, in any event, we had a lovely afternoon and I got to drink tea with two friends that are very dear people. See above - I don't know that I would have had the opportunity to get so close with these women if we hadn't joined this church...Jim's cancer drove us into the church scenario. When I read articles by cancer survivors that tout the benefits of cancer, I silently wonder if the chemo has driven these people off the deep end. But when I look at the big picture...the big, big, big picture...I realize that indeed, we've been blessed by new relationships, new friendships, a new relationship with God (me - Jim always had it), a deeper appreciation for each other and our kids, and for everything that is so special in everyday life - snow, the sound of a shovel scraping snow, the happy screams as kids fly down the hill on their sleds, chocolate chip cookies, the taste of hot cocoa, and having people with whom to enjoy the cocoa. Cancer sucks, but we are truly lucky people.