Almost There, Sort of

Posted on 02/19/2012 by Andrew Reynolds

Next week I start my last week of radiation treatments,  which means the closing of this chapter.  I’ll be happy not to have to go to the clinic every day and to have a chance to get my life back.

This does not mean the end to my problems with cancer.  Sadly it is just the first step in a longer process.  Next comes the really hard part:

Waiting.

The radiation doesn’t work all at once – it takes time to do its thing and my first post treatment PSA test is in June.  And that test is only an indicator of how well the treatment has worked.  I’ll have to get regular tests to monitor and the best I can hope for is continued falling numbers.  At some point later in the year, the doctors will hopefully be able to declare that the cancer is gone.

I’d like to be very optimistic here.

But I am not in an optimistic place today.

My body hurts.  My brain hurts. I am tired and my soul is running of out of energy.

and I’ve got a week left to go.  The treatments are taking their toll and today the words are not coming out that easily.  I’ve learned to type as fast as I think and if you were watching me type today it would look something like this:

I   a m   t  y  p  i  n g    v   e    r     y      s    l     o    w     l     y        .

In fact it is possible that I’ve fallen asleep a time or two while writing this.

The treatments have moved to the final test of my endurance.  I have no doubt I’ll make it to the end but don’t be surprised if I collapse just the other side of the finish line.  Perhaps I am just a bit pessimistic today.  Either that or I’ve run out of Red Green episodes to watch.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Oh, sorry nodded off again.

I’ve been doing what I can to keep my spirits up and my body moving.  Friday I took the day off work and Heather took me out to a show, “Finian’s Rainbow,” done by a local theater company (great show and the cast looked like they were having fun) .  Yesterday I mostly sat in a chair in the living room with my graph paper and pencil drawing sketches for my giroaster and a new coffee/game/puzzle table I plan to build for the living room.  Okay – I drew between naps and trips to the bathroom.  Then after a busy day of drawing and napping, Heather and I relaxed by watching TV while working on our 2000 piece puzzle.

Today I managed church and Starbucks.  At church the prayer shawl group gave me a nice knitted shawl (it’s soft, comfy and warm), “to wrap myself in God’s healing love.”  It came with a nice card with the blessing they prayed over it before giving it to me.

It’s now nearly 5:00 and I can’t really account for the afternoon.  Strange.

I’ve forced myself here to write this post so you’ll know what’s up and to reassure myself that I can still do something.  Writing hasn’t been coming easily this week.  I’ve got a number of pieces started but can’t seem to finish them.  A friend recommended a post topic and while I’ve got a draft of that going I can’t seem to fix this paragraph right in the middle of the thing.

I’ve been trying to think why.  So far all that comes up is – I am tired.  Body, mind and soul.  It is likely just the treatments and the endurance contest I find myself in. My body is being damaged slowly and as it diverts energy to healing I find I can do less each day.  Soon that will change and I’ll be able to get back to the other things I want and need to do.

Until I can do more I’ll have to rely on others to help me and I’ll continue to thank God for that great gift of my wife who is standing by and supporting me through this difficult time.

Posted in Prostate Cancer | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Blind Curves

Posted on 02/14/2012 by Andrew Reynolds

Today is a good day to have my wife, Heather do another post for us.  She writes:

Perhaps this is to be my second blog. My husband Andrew started a cancer blog after his biopsy showed cells in his prostate, in mid-December. Some were aggressive and he needed treatment. We both met with the medical team and external beam radiation was the agreed treatment, which began in January. After a few weeks he invited me to write a blog entry from my perspective as his wife. I wrote Blog#1. My usual role is editor, and I get handed the paper and red pen just as I’m about to settle in bed with a good book.

Reading Andrew’s blog’s as I edit, has been very revealing and helpful to me in understanding the process for him.  I’m writing this one because I don’t want my Blog#1 to be my only words on the subject.

In hindsight, the first one took me to a place I needed to go, but it wasn’t the direction I had wanted or even anticipated.  To condense it to a sentence, I’ll just say that it took me through my family’s history of cancer over the past fifty years, threading through six close family members, whose lives were ended prematurely. Two were spouses of my siblings, so I knew some of their caregiving experiences.

Now I’m the caregiver.

These are some of the ways I care for Andrew: I get up at 5:30 am to get his breakfast and lunch packed before he leaves for treatment and goes on to work after his daily treatment at 7 am; I don’t get my first cup of tea until after he leaves as he can’t have caffeine until after treatment; I make sure that his cushiony socks are always clean because those socks comfort him at treatment; I drive him to treatment on Fridays as he now takes Fridays off; and I have taken over many of his household chores.

The name “Caregiver,” brings up visions of support, nurture, comforting (and for me personally – survivor – though intellectually, I know Andrew’s cancer treatment has good success potential).

Intellectually, I thought I knew all the things a good caregiver needs to do.

In reality, our journeys always seem to have blind curves. People are unpredictable and who is to know what will happen when we are faced with cancer? The big “C” has a way of bringing us directly in touch with our mortality. Time suddenly takes on vital importance.

Another of my perceived caregiver responsibilities was to clear my calendar as much as possible to make sure I was available for support, nurture and comfort. OK, we are almost six weeks into this cancer thing and as I have laid activities aside, Andrew has frantically filled his calendar. He spent three out of the four Saturdays in January at Marquetry or woodworking workshops, hours on an online cancer support group, hours on “facebook,” hours on his blog writing and hours puttering in his workshop at home.  These activities have been important healing for his soul, as the radiation is for his body.

I miss Andrew.

I miss the hiking we love to share. I miss the house projects that we play at together.

But I came to the realization this past weekend that my caregiving job at the moment is to be as pro-active about meeting my social needs as my introverted self is capable of; to focus my time on creative projects because that fills my soul, and to keep myself in balance as best I can. When I am able to achieve a level of social success, I feel more normal and less the social “geek” that I really am. I really need to feel “normal” right now. I don’t know why, but I know to listen.

Andrew knows when I’m out of balance. As driven as he presently is about meeting his needs, he has one ear tuned to my reactions. Relationship is like that. He needs to know I’m balanced so that he can have permission to focus on living every minute of every day.

The word “Caregiver,” can have as many meanings as there are people needing care.

Is this a helpful blog?  Do you have a “Caregiver” needing to read this?

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Nothing to Say

Posted on 02/12/2012 by Andrew Reynolds

This hasn’t been an exciting week.  The treatment schedule has faded into a dull routine and the side effects are slightly worse.  The most exciting thing that happened is that I took Friday off work to rest.  Today I find my mental energy low and the words are not flowing freely to the page but yet I am drawn to the computer to key in a few words to give you a bit of a report.

Like the life of anyone touched by disease, I have good days and bad days and days that just melt into other days.

Hum, sounds kind of like normal life…

Today has been a good day because I was able to spend all of it with my wife.  We went to church, to the store to buy a puzzle (we got a 2000 piece one – we’ve never done that  big before), bought groceries and after lunch we went to a movie.  We love to go to movies but often flake out at the last minute and don’t go.  Today we stuck to our plan and saw the film,” Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.”

It’s a good film and you should go see it.  I will warn you that it’s a three hanky film by the end but well worth it.  I won’t go into in detail but it does deal with sudden loss and the emotions around that. The film asked a number of interesting questions but the most important thing to me about the film was being able to share the experience with my wife.

Now I am here, a bit low energy but with a ton of things running through my brain.  There are things I’d like to write about but they aren’t ready yet.  Writing can be a strange process at times.  This might sound odd but most of my writing is done away from the keyboard.  I observe.  I think. I pray. I reflect. I turn my mind off.  I let things percolate.  When the words are ready they come out and hit my screen.  I don’t really know how.  All I do know is that I have to follow them and listen to their energy.

Today there is just life – no energy.  Formless thoughts float through my mind but none have coalesced into a clear picture or keen insight.

Sounds a bit mystical if you ask me.  But then I am a mystic of sorts.  I love a good question more than a solid answer. You’d know all about that if you’ve read my “About page.”

So my view of the week has been a glimpse here and there of things I am working on and a question that my brain is turning over.

The question of the week is something around how do we support each other.  I haven’t found the right question to ask.  It has something to do with why we’re afraid to ask for help.  Why some people’s version of help is just annoying to me and how to get faith communities stop doing cookie cutter support and provide real help, support, encouragement that truly meets the needs of the specific person and situation.

Hate it when I can’t even think of the question.  I wonder if Kermit ever had that problem?

I am working on a post about what books and movies influenced my life.  I’ve got this really cool (at least to me) piece that I am working on about the book “Earth Abides.”

Then Thomas is still on my mind. I got the interpreter’s Bible out the other day and looked that up.  Thomas gets a bum rap. There is more to that but the only words that come to my keyboarding fingers are, “Thomas gets a bum rap.”  Frustrating – I’ve got really good things to say about the dude.  The bits and pieces of that post I can see so far are really inspiring.

And then there is the post in my cancer blog outline on why I was afraid to tell people about my cancer.  Riveting stuff – really.

Sadly all of it is still in that space between my subconscious mind and the keyboard so you don’t get a really good post today.  Just vague mystic weirdness and admission that I’ve got nothing really to say today.

But I do have a 2000 piece jigsaw puzzle to work on.

More later.

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How to Support Your Local Cancer Patient

Posted on 02/08/2012 by Andrew Reynolds

Last week I did the obligatory, “what to say” post and today it is time for the obligatory, “how to support a cancer patient post.”  All the highly rated blogs do it and last week I had over ten people read mine so I figure I’ve got to keep up with the main stream.  Who knows, maybe twelve people will read this blog next week.

So how do you support a cancer patient?  Hum, I don’t like that question.  I do have cancer but I am not a patient. Well not in the sense that I am in a hospital with IV’s in my arm, wires stuck to my chest and an O2 line shoved up my nose.

Let’s try a different question:

How do you support a family member or friend that has cancer?

I like that better.

I’d like to give you the definitive list.  The list that you’ll quote to all your friends.  The list that is so complete that it will be the basis of my best selling book.

If you thought I had that list you clearly don’t know me.  The problem is beyond my brain to solve or even give good advice on. All I do know is that if you act out of a caring heart and a desire to truly be helpful and supporting to your friend you’ll do just fine.

Yeah, but you still want a list, don’t you?  Okay here is my incomplete and possibly missing the whole point list of how to support your family member, friend and/or person you meet in line at the grocery store who has cancer.

  • Understand what support really is.
  • Don’t forget about them.
  • Remember that cancer is not contagious and it’s okay to be in the same room.
  • Call, write, send email, write Facebook messages, whatever you normally do – they’re still the person you’ve always known.
  • Go ahead and make plans to do something – a meal out, a movie, a party – just be flexible in case plans need to change at the last minute.
  • Make something for them.  You know with your own hands. Got a hobby or something you like to do.  Well your friend will like it too.

Not a very good list is it? That’s the problem with this ‘thing’ – there is no one size fits all list.  What you should do depends on a number of factors that are sometimes too complex.  Even harder for me since I’d like to give a detailed list that covers all angles.

So rather than a really good list of what you “should do” I’ll tell you about a few of the things I’ve received.

A friend gave me a Kermit the Fog blanket.  Kermit is my hero and my role model.  My leadership style is based on his life. Now I have his image to warm my feet.

The prayer shawl ministry group at church is knitting me a shawl.  Yup the kind that keeps you warm.  This group knits the shawl and prays for healing for the receiver. It is a strange and good feeling to know that a group of people is actively praying for you.

Game night.  Shortly after I told some close friends about my cancer they asked, “What can we do?”  I replied, “Game night.”  My wife and I get together this other couple and have dinner, talk, and play a board game.  Currently we’re stuck on a game call, “Ticket to Ride.”

Readers of my blog.  Okay I’ll admit that I need an audience. The day after I post something new I check the counter to see how many times it was downloaded.  It may seem small but to know that others take the time to even just click is important to me.

Warm socks.  Nothing better than warm socks which my wife went to REI to buy for me.  Really, socks.  Trust me when you’re walking around the clinic with no pants on – warm socks mean a lot.

My wife.  No man could have better support than my wife.  She’s the best.  Since we learned of this cancer she’s been right there.  Reading the information, going to the appointments, talking to the doctors and buying socks.  When I first learned I needed to travel this road she said, “We’re in this together.”

And we have been and will be.

She’s stepped in to take over things I can’t do at the moment.  She’s adjusted her schedule to be there when I need her.  She is the reason that I can keep doing this treatment and work full time. She lets me do what I can but when I can’t she is ready to take over.  We talk.  We made the decisions together. We’ve had our rough spots but this is a team effort.  When one is weak the other helps.

The list of all she’s done would take several pages.

The one thing I wish I could do is to support her better.  I know that it’s hard on her and that I am not always the easiest person to help.

So what can you do to support a prostate cancer patient?  Find his wife and see what you can do for her.

Posted in Prostate Cancer, Spirit | Tagged , , | 2 Comments