Trial? Adventure? Obstactle Course? A Story!

Last night my daughter put on a movie called Australia. In it, Hugh Jackman says:

No one owns anything except their story, and I'm trying to live the best one I can.

Something like that, anyway.

If your health is not helping you live (and tell) a better story, then it can be better to be sick.

Leukemia's been an addition to my story. It hasn't taken away from it.

Someone told me the other day that I'm like the Eveready bunny. I just keep going no matter the ups and downs of this disease. That was a wonderful compliment. That's what I hope I'll do to the end.

I want to help you see this adventure in my life from my perspective. Hopefully, it will help you take on the adventures in your life and write a great story.

To me, I'm in the Lord's army. I'm one of those weak, pitiful soldiers raised in American luxury, unfamiliar with suffering, but I've been allowed in because the Lord is merciful. Despite my weakness, I have the same goal as the strong soldiers. We're advancing the kingdom, overthrowing the evil ruler of the darkness of this world, and proclaiming freedom to his captives.

Training to become fit for this purpose involves trials, just as all training involves trials. "No pain, no gain," as they say in the gym. If you want your muscles to become stronger or your skills to improve, you have to attempt things that stress your muscles and your skills.

So now I'm in the middle of an obstacle course. Obstacle courses vary. That's the nature of obstacle courses.

There are spots, like now, where I'm just jogging along in ease, moving towards the next obstacle. There are obstacles well within my skill level, and I climb right over and through those, looking like a trained athlete. There are other obstacles, though, that are really hard. On those, I struggle to get over the wall. I slip and fall; I look silly; and I only succeed after numerous attempts. Even after succeeding, I may wind up on my knees on the path, panting for breath.

So when something else happens, I don't say, "What? Another problem? How could this be?"

I say, "Of course there's another problem. That's the nature of obstacle courses. Someone put that obstacle there on purpose, and I agreed to run this obstacle course. The great Captain of our army knows my strength and skills better than I do, and he has put me on this obstacle course to run to the end."

So I don't want it to stop. I want to get to the end, and I even hope that I'll finish with a good time compared to others that have run this course. That's the nature of obstacle courses; they're competitive.

Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons, public domain

Dodging obstacles ruins the competition. I have to get through or over every one.

Picture this. A U.S. Marine runs an obstacle course, staggers across the finish line, then snaps to attention in front of his sergeant. His sergeant, secretly impressed at the time and performance of this marine, says, "Are you okay, private? You looked pitiful there at the end."

The marine replies in a loud, strong, firm voice, "Sir, I feel great. I'm ready to do it again, sir!"

How do you react? I suspect most of us are not only impressed, but something inside of us steels up and makes us want to be like him.

There's your course, right in front of you; specifically made for you! Don't skip any obstacles; look bad on the hard ones; look great on the easy ones; stagger to the end; and impress us all.

Count it all joy when you fall into various trials, for the trying of your faith produces patience. Let patience have its perfect work, so that you may achieve your goals and be complete, lacking nothing. (James 1:2-4)

Through [the Lord Jesus Christ] we have access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice as we hope of the glory of God. Not only that, but we take pride in trials, too, knowing that trials produce patience, patience produces sterling character, and sterling character produces hope. And our hope does not disappoint because the love of God is poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who is given to us. (Romans 5:2-5)

It's an Adventure! And an Unusual One at That!

Last night someone was praying for me in a prayer meeting. She prayed for God to take care of me through my ...

She paused when she had to come up with a word for what I'm going through. I have to suppose that "disease" was somehow disquieting to her. I debated whether to pipe up in the middle of a twenty-person prayer meeting to finish her sentence: "Adventure!"

Someone else referred to my "trial," or something like that, when grace was being said before a meal today. I wanted to shout, "Adventure! It's an adventure!"

Earlier today, I was riding to WalMart. My daughter, who just turned 16 and only has a permit, not a license, was driving. It dawned on me that on December 24 it will be six months since I was diagnosed.

"It's been a great six months, hasn't it?" I asked.

My daughter was horrified. "No!" she retorted. "It has not been great."

"What?" I asked. "You haven't enjoyed our time in Nashville?"

"Nashville has been great," she replied. "I just don't like wondering whether my dad is going to be sick every day."

We talked some about trusting God. There's a great line in a movie called The Thirteenth Warrior, when Antonia Bandera tells one of the Norse warriors that it would be better to avoid a conflict.

"Hide in a hole if you want," the Norse warrior tells him, "You won't live one second longer."

That line reminds me of the story in the Bible in which an evil king of Israel (Ahaziah?) went to war accompanied by the godly King Jehoshaphat of Judah. A prophet had prophesied that the wicked king would be killed in the battle, yet somehow Jehoshaphat allowed that king to convince him to masquerade as the king of Israel while the real king of Israel disguised himself among his army. (Good grief.)

A random archer shot an arrow into the midst of the Israelite army, it found a chink in the king of Israel's armor, and he bled to death during the course of the battle.

Basically, he hid in a hole, and he didn't live one second longer.

I believe there may be a lot of randomness in the world, but not for the people of God. All things work together for good to those who love God and are called according to his purposes, and the death of the saints is precious in the sight of God. We can trust him.

On the other hand, my daughter's sixteen. I watched Christmas Shoes (I think that's the name of the movie) the other night, and I thought about what it would be like to see my wife dying like the wife dies in the movie. That would be awful! Then I thought, "Gosh, my wife is going through something similar!"

It's a good thing God is giving us grace.

Earlier in the day, my daughter told me that her friends sometimes know what's happening with me before she does because they read my blog, and she can't.

"You can't?" I asked in wonder. "You have a computer."

She then explained to me that my blog is more blunt than she can handle. She prefers the softened, in-person versions from me or from her friends.

Oh.

Well, having said all that, here's the current news!

Current News

I'm back home visiting friends and family for a week.

I did tests on Monday. They checked my bone marrow, my spinal fluid, and did a CT scan of my chest. All were good.

Tuesday, I came down with a head cold.

It's seeming better already today (Thursday), so I guess we'll be good to go. I told the nurse back at Vanderbilt, by email, about it, and she prescribed me an antibiotic, which I picked up locally. She is just ensuring I don't wind up something more severe. Also, I have to get better. She told me we can't start if I'm sick.

Despite the head cold, I did a mile on the treadmill today and ran most of it. That's improvement! I get less than two weeks to continue improving, and then we take a big step backwards again.

I'm back to juicing, and I'm being pretty radical about trying to heal the head cold. I'm eating well, except one cookie after dinner tonight, resting a lot, and getting some exercise.

The Unusual Adventure

This is week old news, but I was remembering this today.

Every now and then I hear the word "unusual" concerning my case. I always wonder how unusual (and I still do).

Last week, I saw the "infectious disease" doctor. Dr. Jagasia, the transplant doctor, wanted me to see him about my rash just to be thorough. I mentioned that in one of the last couple blog posts.

I didn't mention the start of the appointment with him, though.

He walked in and said, "I've been reading your chart." He spoke slowly and very calmly, like nothing is a big deal to him. The whole appointment was rather matter-of-fact. "I've noticed that everything in it seems unusual. You have an unusual form of leukemia. You've had a couple fevers, both of them with the same unusual bacteria. You had an unusual heart episode. Now your liver function is unusual, too."

That word gets used a lot about me at Vanderbilt, but no doctor had used it as much as Dr. Dummer, and I'd just met him.

By the way, that's really his name. I have to admit, I would consider changing it if I were him.

So this is an adventure I'm on, but it appears it is an unusual one. I understand my daughter's worry; I've done my fair share of worrying over things a lot less important than the severe illness of someone close to me. But outside the worry, it's been fun. This really has been a gift, a blessing.

Don't let worry steal the joy that's in front of you.

Don't let guilt steal it, either.

You are where you are. It may or may not have been your fault, but God's on your side if you're willing to get on his side. He's not wasting time blaming you for the situation. He's just waiting for to join him so he can help you out of it. He's waiting to prove to you that "in his presence there is fullness of joy and at his right hand there are pleasures forevermore."

And Finally ...

Some of you read my blogs, and you've never heard me teach. I made a bunch of Youtube videos that I call "The Leukemia Tapes." Here's one (from back when I had hair):

If you see it at Youtube, then you'll see the rest of my videos in the suggested list to the right.

I have longer teachings that are podcasts rather than videos. "Podcast" just means that they're audio files. Most browsers will simply play the podcasts, but you can also download them and put them on mp3 players and smart phones. Those are here.

Riding the Storms of Life

Health News

Vanderbilt did the "heart cath" on Friday. They put dye in the arteries around my heart to check for blockages. I had a 30% blockage, but not in a main artery to the heart. Apparently, that's normal, and it's assumed that most Americans my age have that much blockage.

So that was really good news.

Monday they will check my bone marrow to ensure there's been no relapse, then my spinal fluid one more time, and finally do a PET Scan to do a thorough check for possible infections.

Those are the last tests. Then we go home for a week, and on December 30, they will mark me up in preparation for radiation beginning on January 2.

Riding the Storms of Life

A friend sent me a devotional from the book, Streams in the Desert. I don't know what page or day of the year she got it from. Here are a couple excerpts:

The gospel and the gift of God are structured so wonderfully that the very enemies and forces that are marshaled to fight against us actually help pave our way to the very gates of heaven and into the presence of God. Those forces can be used in the same way an eagle uses the fierce winds of a storm to soar to the sky.

Dear believer, after experiencing the terrible valley of suffering, did you depart with the spoils? When you were struck with an injury and you thought you had lost everything, did you trust in God to the point that you came out richer than you were before?

That's what leukemia has been to me. It's a storm to billow under my wings and lift me higher. It's a route to victory and spoils.

The righteous are bold as a lion (Prov. 28:1). We love a battle.

Some news on Jerry

I've been keeping tabs on Jerry by text. He's had bad back pains that the doctor says are the result of his marrow coming back and creating pressure on the bones.

Even the bad is good. It's pretty exciting.

Heart News

Yesterday's visit to the cardiologist was pretty exciting. However, don't miss the "I'm Blessed" post from earlier this morning if you haven't seen it. This is just news. That one talks about looking at life through God's eyes. I'm still excited about this road I'm on, and I still believe it's God's path for me.

Once again, thank you for your prayers.

The cardiologist came in yesterday and told me, "We may never know exactly what happened to you a month ago."

He's not even willing to call it a heart attack anymore!

He knew from a phone call I made that I'd really prefer not to be taking the heart medicines he's prescribed, and he was initially very cool about the possibility of letting me drop them. He was open, but clearly felt we needed this "heart cath," which I will have tomorrow, before we even think about letting me off my meds.

The "heart cath" is some sort of scan with dye in my arteries so they can check for blockage. He told me the stress test last month showed no blockage, but it's only 90% reliable. I'm getting ready for a stem cell transplant with full intensity chemo and a lot of radiation. Dr. Jagasia, the transplant doctor, wants the cardiologist to be 100% certain, or as close to it as possible.

As he told me all this, the cardiologist said we'd have to consider the idea of putting in a stent, which seems to be a very tiny operation in his eyes. Probably we'd avoid it, he said, but we have to leave the idea open.

Then, while his nurse explained what I needed to know about the heart cath, he went and read my echocardiogram.

The doctor had already perked up a bit when I told him I'd been jogging a little and could run a half mile. That's a tiny distance for the average person, but he raised his eyebrows at that and seemed more positive.

When he came back from reading the echocardiogram, he was positively jubilant. He said, "Let's get that heart cath, and then you can probably just be done with us."

Apparently, my heart completely recuperated from the chemo and fever. One of the things the echocardiogram tells the doctor is how well my heart empties itself of blood on each pump. Normal is 50 to 70%. Last month, after the heart, uh, episode, they measured mine at 46%. The transplant nurse, Nurse Works (I still love her name), had told me they didn't like that number. Previously, she said, I'd been over 50.

Yesterday it was back up to 60%.

I think the doc liked everything about the cardiogram. I'm not kidding; he was positively cheerful after he looked at it.

So tomorrow, I get light sedation, and they'll stick a tube into an artery, probably the femoral artery near the groin, and inject me with dye. The test takes 15 minutes, I think he said, but I have to lay around for two to six hours afterward while they make sure that artery isn't bleeding. There's a big difference between a vein, which oozes blood as it returns from the muscles and organs, and an artery, which gets a straight pump from the heart.

Then I can't drive all weekend, and I can't lift more than ten pounds for seven to ten days.

Do you ever wonder about statements like that? Seven to Ten days? What do I do on day eight and day nine? Apparently, I stick to the ten pound limit because I have no way of knowing if seven days is good enough. So really, it's ten days.

When she told me about the ten pounds, I said, "What about pushups? No pushups?"

I was really just hassling her. She said no, of course.

Sad, though. I'm weak enough as it is. It took days to get back to being able to do a dozen decent pushups.

Merry Christmas, everyone! And thank you again for the prayers!

Speaking of which, I really need that marrow biopsy and lumbar puncture to be negative (leukemia-free) on Monday. I have to repeat the first round of chemo and get the leukemia in remission again if, God forbid, the biopsy is positive. Basically, it would be almost a repeat of what I've already done! It's real unlikely that would happen, but prayers are most welcome.

Thank you again!

Also, for those of you who don't know, here's a public thank you to Michael of Ireland, who emails me almost daily. He had BPDCN (see tab above) and was in the hospital for 191 days straight during his chemo treatments and stem cell transplant. He reads this blog and gives me advice, having rather extensive experience on this route. He's married with two young children. Thanks, Michael!

I'm Blessed!

Okay, we need to straighten some things out here.

I got some comments and emails today that make it clear I haven't been expressing how exceptionally blessed I am, how grateful I am, nor glorified the will of God in my life properly.

I write about the course that God has given me to run for several reasons. One, it's fun to write about. Two, a lot of you love me and are interested. Three, some of you have told me it's inspired you. Those are all good things.

Admittedly, the course God has me running right now is an obstacle course. There are spots that have been really difficult, and I'm guessing there will be a lot more. That's the nature of obstacle courses.

Obstacle courses are also fun.

Please understand, I like doing this. It's an adventure!

If you've ever seen the movie Lord of the Rings, then you may remember the scene where Gimli, the dwarf, is told that their small army is going to assail the gates of Mordor in order to provide a diversion for Frodo, the ring bearer. They have absolutely no chance of winning this battle, but they're going to attack as though they think they do.

Gimli says something to the effect of, "Terrible odds; certain death; what are we waiting for?"

In 1914 an Irish explorer named Ernest Shackleton placed an ad for a crew to accompany him on a trip across Antarctica. The ad said:

MEN WANTED: FOR HAZARDOUS JOURNEY. SMALL WAGES, BITTER COLD, LONG MONTHS OF COMPLETE DARKNESS, CONSTANT DANGER, SAFE RETURN DOUBTFUL. HONOUR AND RECOGNITION IN CASE OF SUCCESS. SIR ERNEST SHACKLETON (ref)

Reports from that era have it that he got 5,000 responses to the ad. (As is my nature, I looked for a good source. My source above is NOVA from PBS, but there's a web site trying to track down the ad, and it appears there never was one, at least not in a newspaper, though there's some decent sources claiming such an ad was used and that there were 5,000 respondents.)

I've never been on an adventure like that.

But I have been on an adventure like leukemia, and I was put on that adventure by God.

I have not only accepted it; I like it.

This is my chance to say, "I've always wanted to fight a battle against incredible odds!"

The odds really aren't incredible. Though the overall survival rate for acute leukemias like mine is only 25%, and acute undifferentiated leukemias are understood to be worse, in my health I had a 50-50 chance from the beginning. It's possible that my chances now are as high as 80%.

Yesterday, the nurse was telling me that one of the risks of the transplant is "veno-oclusive" disease. She said only 10 to 20% of recipients face it. Usually, it resolves on its own.

I asked what happen if it doesn't resolve, and she said, "You don't want that to happen."

She had drawn a graph of what my blood counts would look like and how I would feel on a sheet of paper. The graph had a big valley than represented the twenty days between the transplant and when blood counts recover. She pointed at it and said, "Veno-oclusive disease is one of the ways we lose people in here. Remember, we lose about 20% of our patients during this period."

I knew that. It's still a little stunning to hear it said.

She explained that during that month it's their job to manage pain and keep me alive.

My job, given by God, is to go through this like it's my path to run.

It's not that bad a path. I'm getting six doses of radiation to the brain. Ashimah, a friend of mine back at Rose Creek Village got thirty. Hers weren't whole brain irradiations, but I have a new friend I met at Vanderbilt, and he got twenty doses of whole brain radiation along with his brain surgery. He has a limp that came from the brain surgery.

And beyond all that, I'm a Christian. I'm an amateur historian, too. I have heard hundreds of stories of Christian martyrs who endured incredible tortures by choice.

I don't have a choice. I have to endure this, or I'll die. I heard of one man who was put in a small cell for months, hung by his thumbs from the ceiling. The ceiling was too short for him to stand straight, but it was high enough that he couldn't sit because his thumbs were attached to the ceiling.

His captors got nothing but a bold proclamation of the Gospel of Jesus Christ from him.

My daughter has a web site on the American Revolution. Every time I read about those men, who all had the attitude of "Give me liberty or give me death," I wonder if I could have stood with them. Would I regard the freedom of others as more important than my own life?

Young men and women have given their lives and their limbs in Iraq. Men who are now much older did the same in Vietnam and World War II.

I have nothing at all to complain about.

People have told me they've been inspired by my story. If my minor difficulties can inspire even one or two people, then they are well worth it.

This is my race; my gift from God. I get to practice a little bit of courage and run my obstacle course with lots of company—I have friends, family, and the grace of God.

Hopefully, I won't wimp out at any point, but I've claimed all along that this is a gift! We're Christians. We believe that all things work together for good to those who love God and are called according to his purpose, remember? In our own small way, let's give the world good reason to think we believe that, and God himself will take care of proving it to be true.

If my brain gets a little scrambled from the radiation, and I wind up with the confusion and concentration problems that are a possible side effect, then I'll go through my life that way, and I will glorify God that way, living in joy. Our bodies are not for comfort, ease, or even good health. Our bodies are for the glory of God.

Now, mind you, I don't like losing my comfort any more than any other American does.

But please, for those of you that are Christians, do this with me. Take joy in it. Be glad with me, and pray that I'm faithful to what we believe.

I want you to know one last thing. I keep an open ear to God, should I ever hear him saying he wants to heal me. I believe in divine healing, and I have heard some great stories. Just today Jerry told me about a man who turned down his chemo treatments because the doctors told him that he'd only live a year even with chemo. That was ten years ago, and he's just fine today. This is someone Jerry knows back in Virginia.

There's a guy who blogs two or three times a week about people he's prayed for and who've been healed. Missionary friends in Mexico, in India and around the world have told me story after story after story of incredible healings that have happened through prayer. One of my own nephews was healed of a progressing infection that had blinded one of his eyes after prayer.

I love it when we pray for healing, as long as we keep our ears open for God's answer. We Americans have pitiful faith. We ought to be honest with ourselves about that.

Sometimes, though, it's better to go through what you're going through, and it can be every bit as miraculous.

For example, thank you everyone for your prayers for my friend Jerry. His transplant engrafted sometime over the last couple days, which is a little early. His blood counts are rising, and he's doing great. Today, Hannah (Lorie) and I went to visit him, and we found him on the porch with his wife throwing peanuts to the squirrels. He's had the most incredible easy time, and he's now through half the danger of a transplant.

He's waltzed through this thing so far, and he's as convinced as I am that it's because of prayer. He's got his church praying for me just like I've got y'all praying for him.

Rise up! Believe! Say I'm blessed with me! We all have a race to run, and there is nothing better than the path that God has laid before you.

For you are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which he has prepared in advance for you to do. (Eph. 2:10)

The Holy Spirit witnesses in every city, saying that chains and afflictions await me, but none of these things move me. Nor do I consider my life dear to myself, so that I may finish my course with joy and complete the service which I have received from the Lord, to testify of the Gospel of the grace of God. (Acts 20:23-24)

I consider everything loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Jesus Christ my Lord ... that I may know him, and the power of his resurrection, and the fellowship of his sufferings, being made in the image of his death. (Php. 3:8,10)

I have fought the good fight; I have finished my course; I have kept the faith. Now there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me on that day; and not only to me, but to all those who love his appearing. (2 Tim. 4:8-9)

Let's be like the apostle! Seize the opportunity and glorify the Lord!

It's all good. In fact, nothing at all could be better.