Lymph Journal # 23

1/30/2012

Well it has been a bit of a blah day.  Must be the unpredictable side effects of the chemo coming on a bit later than last time.  Nothing too terrible but I wasn’t a bundle of energy and heartiness.  My blood work came back OK – pleasing.

I’m 54 now.  Until today, since about grade 6 (age 11 or so) I’ve basically kept to the same general hair-style.  Sure, in the 70’s and 80’s it might have averaged an inch or so longer but the part, the proportions, the pesky cowlick – all pretty steady elements of my basic coiffure.  You know I’ve always believed that when you find something that works you just stick with it.  Hence my stable of short-sleeved plaid shirts and my khaki trousers.  Plaids have come and gone and come back again and mine have plowed through all the vagaries of fashion.  Well, same way with he hair.  I mean, once you’ve gotten it basically trained (and many a man my age remembers the gluey training stick of hardish gunk used to train the forepeak of the follicular mass – or at least some Kraines kids do) you might as well go with it.  I just could never get into the idea of re-styling of spending precious time altering the natural flow of things to make your hair look artificially distressed or swept at unlikely angles.  But, to each his own, I will not judge.

But after some 43 years it’s come to this.  I underwent the major chemo re-coiffure.  After a few days of hairy pillows and clogged drains, I’d had it.  Out came the shears and razors and we did the deed.  Strange how the random hairs of middle age (you know those ones that grow out of some swoop or whorl of you ears) stand hard and fast in their roots but the scalp and beard just sort of give up when faced with chemo.  Maybe they’re just more tired after all these years.  Well, here’s the result. 

From certain angles and expressions I remind myself of one of those dollar store drawing toys – you know the ones with the facial outline and spherical noggin that you can move the iron filings around on with your Magic Pencil.  Hey, there are worse looks than that.

Lymph Journal # 22

1/29/2012

OK day today but I think tomorrow’s blood test just might show I’m down a pint or two in the red cell department – we’ll see.

Today’s highlight was watching and listening to a video of my daughter Amanda sing a favorite Chris Rice tune that captures a relationship with Jesus in and finds hope and joy in the circumstances of life.  If you’re Facebook friend we’ve reposted it.  I don’t know how she made it through to the end (I somehow did with another song I sang at her wedding) but we’re honored by it and rejoice to see God at work in the lives of our children.  Here’s the lyrics:

Weak and wounded sinner 

Lost and left to die 

O, raise your head, for love is passing by 

Come to Jesus 

Come to Jesus 

Come to Jesus and live! 

Now your burden's lifted 

And carried far away 

And precious blood has washed away the stain, so 

Sing to Jesus 

Sing to Jesus 

Sing to Jesus and live! 

And like a newborn baby 

Don't be afraid to crawl 

And remember when you walk 

Sometimes we fall...so 

Fall on Jesus 

Fall on Jesus 

Fall on Jesus and live! 

Sometimes the way is lonely 

And steep and filled with pain 

So if your sky is dark and pours the rain, then 

Cry to Jesus 

Cry to Jesus 

Cry to Jesus and live! 

O, and when the love spills over 

And music fills the night 

And when you can't contain your joy inside, then 

Dance for Jesus 

Dance for Jesus 

Dance for Jesus and live! 

And with your final heartbeat 

Kiss the world goodbye 

Then go in peace, and laugh on Glory's side, and 

Fly to Jesus 

Fly to Jesus 

Fly to Jesus and live!

Thank you Amanda.

Lymph Journal # 21

1/28/2012

Woke up feeling good again this morning – amazing.  I did discover, however as I checked email this morning and even as I type this that my keyboard is covered with hair.  Apparently it’s mine as in no longer attached to my scalp as in they said 2-3 weeks and you might lose it.  Well, it’s not like I wasn’t warned.  And, using any excuse for a walk on what was a beautiful morning, Diane and I set off for downtown to visit the outdoor market and take a last hair photo of me on the covered bridge.  There and back it was good to run into a variety of folks we know and could chat with in the security of open-air conversations.  Sure helps ease some of the isolation effect.

 Hair today, gone tomorrow (+fresh spinach from the farmer's market)

Upon arriving home we were greeted by a package from Mark & Cheryl Blumenbaum (hey, way to get mentioned in the blog!) containing a memento of Newport Creamery days gone by.  Some of you know my infamous “Oreo Story” which I tell regarding transition from Germany to the U.S. back in 2003.  (It’s one I generally save for the last day of classes with my Seniors so I’m not going to tell it here.)  The B’s have heard the story and Mark remembered that back in the 1980’s, Newport Creamery was pushing its Oreo Tower Sundae.  They sent along a priceless work of marketing art from those days to cheer our décor.

 But I think he's double-stuffed!

 Anyway, I’m glad we got a good walk in this morning because the rain is rattling the roof windows now.  But it’s a cheery place here.  We are surrounded by the encouragement of so many and enjoying God’s peace which, indeed, surpasses all understanding.  Oops, there’s another hair!

Lymph Journal # 20

1/27/2012

I didn’t think I’d be posting today between the physical and mental funk that accompanied the last chemo treatment.  But today is amazing. I’ve done three loads of laundry (stairs included), walked outside for 45 minutes, cooked Diane and myself breakfast (not necessarily in this order), paid 13 medical bills online, downloaded and largely completed my 2011 U.S. tax forms, and glued a broken toothbrush holder.  Last round I spent this day staring at he walls.  I give God the glory as he has called so many to pray.  I still have no idea how prayer works in this situation but in God’s crazy economy it just does.  Feel like today I’m walking on holy ground.  Thank you all who have and are lifting us up through this.

Lymph Journal # 19

1/26/2012

Boys’ day at the start of chemo this morning.  When I came in the same older gentleman who occupied the corner chair was there again.  I chose a slightly different seat than yesterday, hoping it might be slightly more comfortable, and the guy jokingly pointed to yesterday’s seat surprised I didn’t return to it.  After explaining hat, “Mein Deutsch ist nicht so gut.” We “conversed about the merits of the different chairs and the need for a “kissen” (pillow) to really make it work.  Ah, wrestling with words across the language barrier – well, one thing all this is good for is sharpening my limited German skills.  One of the IV supervisory nurses yesterday was explaining the three quick shots she was introducing to my IV line.  As she explained one was for the “vomitation prevention” – I appreciated that turn of phrase.  She originally was from India and came to Germany 12 years ago and has since learned German and nursing.  I asked which course of study was more difficult and, to no great surprise, she said German was tougher and that she was now trying to walk her beginning school age kids through some of the pitfalls of German grammar.

The conviviality continued with the boys.  One of the guys (by now there were four of us) filled his cup with mineral water (most drink the fizzy stuff here – we usually do as well) and lifted in in a salute and then commented on how it was kein sekt (no champagne).  This was followed up by coffee orders taken by the nurses (you know this is downright civilized).  Oops, we’ve got our first female patient of the day so I guess boy’s day is over.  As you can see, I’m writing this from the room – I decided to try taking the computer today so that what comes to me for this won’t have to go through the longhand stage.

I passed a milestone yesterday when I found the first full page of my treatment passbook filled in.  Yes, in Germany you become a card-carrying cancer patient.  In this case the stereotypical picture of a form-obsessed system seems to work.  The book keeps a record of treatments done, blood work results and future appointments.  It serves as your calling card to the clinic – once it’s in their hands you know that service will not be far behind.  So I’ve left behind any apprehensions about such a passbook, apprehensions built on too many war movie –“May I see your papers?” – sorts of scenes.

 "Vell, ve see sat your papers are in order, you may proceed to the treatment room." (They didn't really say this)

Forty minutes in and four of the phases of this round of R-CHOP therapy are done.  Yesterday was the “R” infusion.  This morning I started the “P” (prednisone) at home and today’s infusion should cover the rest.

Well, on to the second topic that I was focused on during treatment (and beyond) yesterday.  In this situation of cancer and treatment many people have encouraged me to express my fears, my outrage, my despair – mein angst we’d say - in Germany in the middle of all this.  I get this.  I’ve read the despairing thoughts of Qoheleth (Ecclesiastes’ author’s pen name) and I’ve certainly seen in many of the Psalms cries of disbelief, shocks of alarm, and the disappointed hearts and souls of men who recognize their predicaments and their God.

I know it’s OK to “go there”, to allow the cry of my heart to reflect the gravity of the situation I’m now in.  And I do have, every now and then, glimpses of it.  I, and I should say we, usually deal with it through a sense of wry humor we’ve developed over the years amid periods of severe trial.   A few days ago I received the BFA summer plans sheet and was sorely tempted to complete the projected summer schedule with my plan summed up in one word, “SURVIVE”.  I hope they get the joke!

I know I can and might die from this disease or its complications.  It’s not a morbid pre-occupation and it’s not resignation and an unwillingness to fight the good fight.  It’s just recognizing the odds.  Diane and I have had and will continue to have discussions  on the practical matters that come with the prospect of death.

But, and in no way to my credit but to the grace of God I’ve seen play out over my years and the same grace of God embedded in history and in his promises to those who follow him, great waves of despair are yet to roll over me.  Maybe this has much to do with changes I’ve seen in what we call the veil of death or the curtain between now and forever or the Jordan of gospel music that so often signifies the border between life and death.  Right now in my life (and I’m sure this will be challenged from time to time) I’ve got a sense that it’s the dry season in the hills that feed the Jordan’s flow.  When I visited the nation of Jordan a few years ago and traveled to the banks of the Dead Sea you could almost make out the “promised land” on the other side.  It wasn’t until we flew out of Amman for Europe that I could get a clear view of what lay across as we overflew a corner of Israel.  But now my sense is that it’s easier to see across the metaphoric Jordan.  The river seems low and crossing it might just mean a brief, ankle-wetting wade.  Perhaps the rains may come and bar passage for now.  I don’t know, I have no firm convictions either way.  But what I do know, what I can be sure of is God’s goodness and from that knowledge comes peace about the outcome.

For this I am so grateful.  I spent much time in the chair yesterday listening to David Crowder’s music.  One line goes, “From wherever you are to wherever you’ve been, He’s been there, He’s built a monument…”“From wherever you are to wherever you’ve been, He’s been there, He’s built a monument…”.  Just like the twelve stones plucked from the bed of the Jordan as God held back the waters so the nation of Israel could cross to the promised land.  The monument of the stones told the story of God’s continued patience, promise, redemption and grace. 

Well, if you don’t hear from me for a day or two chalk it up to the “chemo brain” phase of chemotherapy.  If it’s like last time they’ll be at least two days where mental activity is about as likely as me running a mile in my present condition.  

Lymph Joural # 18

1/25/2012

Today was one of those days that starts with a baseline dread and ends with a greater measure of blessing.  Looking ahead I saw hours in the therapy room lounge (worked out to be five hours, and no, no Marmalade Lady) and uncertain effects on my system.  The effects may still come (but I ate like a horse upon my return home) but the time flew by (sometimes a bit drowsily due to an antihistamine infusion).  And the time had a focus the object of which was set by two passages in Scripture and a remembrance of past adventure.

The first passage was suggested by my ride in today in the gracious hands of BFCF’s pastor David.  He told me he would be covering me in prayer guided by Psalm 20.  Needless to say it was the first place I went once settled in the lounge.    It begin with:

            May the LORD answer you when you are in distress,

            may the name of the God of Jacob protect you…

It concludes with verses 6&7:

            Now I know that the LORD saves his anointed

            He answers him from his holy heaven with the saving power of his righteous

right hand.

Some trust in chariots and some in horses,

but we will trust in the name f the LORD our God.

A very encouraging Psalm, to say the least, but then I went on to where I’ve been reading of late and that is from the book of the prophet Isaiah, specifically chapters 35-38.  This piece of Isaiah is more narrative than prophecy. It tells the tale of  the Assyrian field commander of Assyria’s, up to this point overwhelmingly triumphant king Sennacherib.  The commander taunts the agent of the godly king in Jerusalem, Hezekiah – a king who has restored right worship and worked to rid the nation of its idols and “high places” of unholy sacrifice.  His taunts include an accusation that he was trusting in the “broken reed” of Egypt for his safety.  He then scoffs that Hezekiah might be trusting in the one known as “the LORD our God” when everyone knows that Hezekiah has torn down the high places (well, I didn’t say the field commander was a good theologian) and everyone also knows that Sennacherib has overthrown every god he’s encountered to this point on his romp through the Near East – no god has delivered anyone.

Hezekiah’s response is prayer (chapter 37)(there are other details but you can read them for yourself).  His prayer starts with praise to God for his creation.  It moves on to a realistic assessment of the situation – he’s knows what he’s up against. It finishes with the request:

            “Now, O LORD our God, deliver us from his hand, so that all kingdoms on earth may know that you alone, O LORD are God.”

In other words – God you cover this and show your name strong.  Pretty close to where I started in Psalm 20.

So, then I got to remembering the craziest English Camp I’ve ever had the privilege and responsibility to direct.  We were way understaffed and everyone was doing double or triple duty.  Very few of the staff knew each other at the start so teambuilding was an on the job affair.  The kids were one of our wilder bunches.  The temperature was hot, hot, hot and the flies were the worst I’d ever experienced at camp (I remember our Bible teacher swatting flies, a weapon in each hand, during morning staff prayer).  Injuries were unusually high staff and campers alike. 

One night during the Bible teaching one of our campers sort of screamed in a terror stricken way and then passed out in her seat.  Well, well – what do you do?  We pulled her into the side room where two of our leg injures people were already laid out.  The doc [Larry P for those who know him] had already been see them and was on his way back with medical supplies – was he surprised to see a third body laid out!  But we knew this case was less medical and more spiritual so we surrounded her with a handful of staff and the hands of the wounded and I told folks to pray out loud whatever they felt they were called to pray.  We all did and what came to my mind to pray was this:  Show your name strong God, show your name strong! 

In all this, show your name strong!  David, when he trusted in God’s name, often saw the God of Jacob deliver him.  Hezekiah, when he trusted in in the name of the LORD our God, saw deliverance.  Our camper as we together called on God’s name saw deliverance from a particular memory that was haunting her. 

I felt a buoyancy within and in leaving the treatment room that I did not have going in.  I’ve heard of people being “uplifted” by the prayers of God’s people.  Now (well, not for the first time but plainly evident today) I’m one of those people.  Diane is another.  Thanks to all who pray and thanks to the name of the LORD our God.

Don’t stop tomorrow for there are toxic chemicals awaiting me.

Lymph Journal # 17

1/24/2012

Well. this is probably the last feel-good day for a few.  Tomorrow starts round 2 of chemo that will include two days of infusions.  Tomorrow’s main ingredient is Rituximab aka Rituxan the chimeric (made in mice)  monoclonal antibody that’s supposed to kill off lymphoma cells especially when the B cells are on the dodgy end of the scale and mine are, they’re “large”.  The next day is when the more toxic chemical blast occurs and, based on the last round, I’ll be back to the state of “chemo brain” as well as chemo body.  All in all, if it’s like the last time and if it works, it’s way worth it.

Lymph Journal # 16

1/23/2012

Good day today – so far – it is one of the two days in the week that I take an antibiotic dose that sort of set me back the first time.  I think I’ve figured out how to better manage the hit to my digestion.

Today has been a day to really appreciate the encouragement many have extended to us.  The email notes, written notes, blog responses, offers to do – well, just about anything, gifts of music or reading material, dinner (tonight thanks to the BFA Personnel Department), the countless folk pledging prayer support – why, it’s all quite overwhelming and I know we’re going to miss thanking some people properly so here’s a general THANKS! right now. 

Today we also had a delightful and encouraging visit from a young couple dear to our hearts, Molly and Nico.  We’ve known Molly since I had her as a student in World History at BFA in the 2001-02 school year.  Molly’s one sharp cookie (from a family of likewise sharpies) and is the one person to accurately and succinctly nail my teaching style in one word (a secret observation gleefully spilled by her missionary Dad later to me).  The word was “pontificate” – bot, did she get that right – I do pontification well and was secretly delighted that she understood that.  Well Molly went on to finish well at BFA then attended a secular university in Boston – not so far from RI – and she flourished there.  When I asked her how she was able to be so successful at not only surviving but thriving in the transition to the U.S. she shared a powerful secret – she went there with a mission/as a missionary.  I had to admire the wisdom in that – she went to shape things rather than be shaped by them because she already knew what was important in life.  Following university she eventually ended up in student/community ministries in Rhone-Alps region of France.  There she met Nico, a young man who came to faith as, well, a young man.  A few summers ago we had the privilege of attending their wedding which was a blend of Asian, Alsatian, and Scottish culture (anyone familiar with the BFA community would not be surprised at this sort of eclecticism).  To fast forward, Molly and Nico now are serving in a major city/university area in central France.  They’re leading investigative Bible studies as outreach, serving in leadership with a church youth group, investing in the lives and discipleship of students.  When this semester wraps up they’ll be moving to a new location and, with another couple, starting up a similar work there.

This was all such an encouragement to me, to us.  Here’s this little half-pint sized young woman who, seemingly yesterday, was a student in my class but in reality, ten years on she’s on the frontline of reaching out to students in a nation not so friendly to the Gospel.  Nico will preach at a baptism this weekend – he says it’s the first time he’ll be preaching to a non-church crowd.  She’s stayed the course – man, that’s encouraging.  He’s grown so much in a few short years.  The girl I used to pontificate over joined with us and her husband to pray together – to pray for us and for what God’s doing here and to pray for them.  It really doesn’t get much better than that.

Lymph Journal # 15

1/22/2012

Well it’s been a quiet, restful, and physically stable weekend.  The appetite’s been good and a few folks have dropped in to catch up.  That’s a careful, sanitize your hands at the door and are you healthy sort of drop in due to the state of my white blood count – low, that is, as expected at this point in therapy.  I do look forward to warmer days when visiting with people could include sitting outside at the Eiscafe (our local ice cream/gelato emporium closed now for the winter) where I can visit in the safety of fresh air and try hard to keep up my weight.  Geez! – “keep up my weight” – who’d have ever imagined me ever having to say such a thing.  Life does have some funny turns.

Today Carl had a friend’s birthday party to attend this afternoon I the next village over the hill from us.  I went along for the drop off ride.  It really felt like I was on release from the rest home for a Sunday drive.  You take your pleasures where you can get them, I guess.

Today our grandson Isaiah is being dedicated at Woodlawn Baptist where our son-in-law Brad works a as Youth Pastor.  Congratulations and our prayers are with you guys.  This morning I was reading in the book of Isaiah – roughly the middle 8 or 9 chapters and much of it was about Israel’s propensity to trust in stuff other than the God of Israel.  Idols – yeah, the power and protection of Egypt – why not, they’re tough customers, but God – not even crossing their minds.  They had forgotten, they had moved on to something that seemed tangibly better than the might God had shown in the past and offered them still.

It had me thinking of the gospel story (one of my favorites) of the demon-possessed man after his encounter with Jesus, after pigs briefly flew.  There he was now “dressed, in his right mind, sitting at the feet of Jesus” and ready to do and be whatever Jesus bid him. 

The contrast between the picture painted in Isaiah and the picture painted in the Gospels got me thinking that our courage has so much to do with the realities we trust in.  I’ll go to chemo this coming week and take all the requisite (and many) pills I’m supposed to swallow but I want my courage and hope to be grounded in a greater reality than just modern medicine.

I hope Isaiah finds that too.

Lymph Journal #14

1/20/2012

Independence Day.  I had a morning appointment for a blood test at the Lörrach clinic and decided to attempt it on my own.  A few readers will recognize the following remark (and it has nothing to do with a former president) “Mission Completion”.  Not only did I drive, park, walk, get blood drawn and return but also hit a grocery store and the local Apotheke (pharmacy).  Much washing of the hands ensued, a habit encouraged by the effects of both the disease and the treatment.  White counts have begun a further drop as predicted.

Independence, interdependence, dependence – guess what the default setting is for a fifty-something male from New England.  I am learning much about all three postures and I’m so thankful for the community that offers help in the last two items on the list.  On a repeat of yesterday‘s walk the line from a Robin Mark anthem (thanks Jenn) played “No not by might, nor even power, but by thy Spirit Lord.  Healer of hearts, binder of wounds, lives that were lost – restored”.  A good place to seek dependence.

No real profound thoughts or bold revelations today.  Diane had the afternoon off of meetings and we had a sweet time together.  I’ll take it.

Lymph Journal #13

1/19/20

Another strong day.  Two good and vigorous (well, that’s a bit of a relative term) walks were undertaken successfully.  The weather has turned a bit gloomy but both walks were completed without employing an umbrella.

When life takes the sort of turn as now you’ve got to rehash all your supposed theological notions about God’s will for your life.  This is not an expression of doubting that God has my best at heart but more about the nuts and bolts of how it all plays out. I find my baseline is predicated on the character of God as the one who redeems.  Certainly the Christian tradition upholds the Redeemer but sometimes I think we forget that redemption goes way beyond the cross and is wrapped up in everything God is working out.  Did God determine cancer, did God allow cancer, does cancer happen to people at random – well, with the Redeemer at the center it doesn’t matter that much to me because I find Him working in it and have great hope that the most redemptive outcome will occur – whatever that might be.

I’ve often argued (but, of course, ignored my own advice) that we ought to cultivate the matrix of redemption in how we live our lives.  We ought to learn to consider ourselves and call on God’s wisdom as well and ask, “At this point, in this place, with this situation – what is the most redemptive thing we can do or say or be?”

But, back to the walking.  This afternoon’s brought me by the local organic farm with all its organic odors that, a few days ago, I couldn’t get near for fear of losing lunch.  Today, no big deal.  My smell sensitivity is a good indicator of how I’m feeling.  I remembered to plug into the iPod today.  On the return leg of the journey two songs played consecutively.  One I first heard years ago when our son Carl faced serious surgery and recovery and I spent 30+ nights with him in Hasbro Children’s Hospital.  Somehow it “spoke” to me then and would encourage me whenever I (pre-iPod days this) got a break and listened to it at home.  Fred Hammond is the artist – he’s been a fave ever since – and Don’t Pass Me By is the song  The second song I heard (in the sense of really being able to listen to it) today and is on my dear friend Danny Plett’s new CD – the song is Always Jesus.

            Be it on the mountain peak

            Or be it down into the deep

            When my dancing turns to weeping

            Or when fear fades into peace

            Always Jesus.  Ever you alone

            Be it ever true, may my longing be for you

Now it will not be my custom to sell stuff here but both these are available on iTunes.  For a total expenditure of $1.98 you’ll more than get your money’s worth!

Lymph Journal #12

1/18/2012

Well you may have noticed there was no blog entry yesterday.  Yesterday was a wipeout.  I just felt plain old crummy.  Sleep was elusive, food was offensive (until late in the day when Diane fulfilled my strange desire for French toast), mental effort verging on the overwhelming- welcome to the roller coaster ride of chemotherapy.  I was able to recall the German for rollercoaster (Achterbahn) when speaking with my doc following the first of this weeks two blood test draws – thanks German 2!  The doc shared more information regarding results of my bone marrow testing – extensive “infiltration” crowding out the good stuff.  These were “sobering” words (which is a more polite way of saying “scary”) on the face of it but the medical theory goes – if the chemo kills the lymphoma then the bone marrow has room to come back and thrive.  Certainly the level of invasion into certain bones explains the earlier (now gone, praise God) excruciating hip pain I was suffering at the time of diagnosis.

Today I’m feeling so much better.  Just got back from a morning walk.  A good night’s rest, keeping well hydrated, and an appetite.  Today’s craving was a fried egg sandwich – yes, with ketchup – and I was feeling good enough to prepare it for myself.  Ate the whole thing and it stayed there!  We also had an early morning call with our daughter Hannah who is attending Azusa Pacific University (studying nursing so she’s quite interested in my condition on the personal and professional level).  Friends of us here are friends of an official at APU and had contacted this guy to keep a watch out for Hannah.  Good thinking – wish we’d thought of that.  One unexpected upshot is that the school has given her additional aid in the light of our circumstances – way cool!

OK, so here’s one aspect of  the roller coaster I’ve never heard or read about before – the world of dreams.  The last few nights I haven’t had much to remember but those first days after the heavy-duty chemo – whoa! 

Night one was one of those dreams that seemed to go on all night (despite the bathroom breaks that come built into a night’s rest on chemo).  I was on an island.  It was a beautiful island – beaches, streams, inviting forests, grottoes and hills – populated by a wide variety of people (no one I knew, however).  But I was trapped there.  There was absolutely no way off.  No boats, no planes, too far to swim – I was stuck and so was everyone else.  They were all occupied with pointless tasks or busy doing dumb things.  One family somehow got hold of a newish car and promptly bashed it into a building on the first drive.  The only “industry” of the island was dismantling a former amusement park.  I woke so absolutely frustrated by this dream.  It probably doesn’t take a psychology degree to make application of it.  The next night I couldn’t help but wonder where my dreams would take me and whether or not they might be a bit more encouraging.

They were.  In this set of dreams I could actually act, effect things, make decisions that resulted in results.  I cracked the remaining secrets of the JFK assassination (I could tell you but then I’d have to….), cared for the child of friends of ours (Micah and Heather – Ezra is a heck of a lot of fun to hang around with), ate oriental style octopus, and (my favorite part) drove my famous brown “87 Toyota 4WD pickup from Point Judith, RI across ten miles of open ocean to Block Island (where I did have to moor it offshore to avoid paying for parking).  Oh the delight, the freedom, the joy of being one who acted rather that the previous night’s role as trapped victim.  Again, you probably don’t need to have that PhD to get it.

To close off.  Feeling OK beats the heck out of feeling crummy.  I’m growing in my sympathies for those in chronic situations of discomfort.  Knowing, really knowing that the love and promises of God are real beats abandonment.  Along with that knowledge, having the partnership of friends, family and a fabulous wife can carry one through so much.

Lymph Journal #11

Another good day today – decent night’s rest, physically feeling s normal as it’s likely to get and a brilliant sunshine.  I’m thankful for living in a very bright cheery top floor apartment with decent views of the surrounding hills and a nightly sunset show.  Of course, this is Germany and this is winter so that show doesn’t always come off but it did today.

Life has definitely taken on a different pace these days.  Carl asked at dinner – and I really appreciated this question because it’s real – “What do you do all day?”  The lad is used to seeing someone with an agenda and now that is sort of by the boards. 

So what do I do all day?  Each day has its pet project.  I got the bed linens in the wash. Check! Then came the big event of the morning – a walk downtown to put some money in the bank (exchange rates are the best in 16 months and we have a few bills on the way).  Over the past few days I’ve made some brief forays onto relatively horizontal routes through our part of town.  Our apartment, however, is on the edge of the city of Kandern’s “bowl” and to reach Hauptstrasse (the German equivalent of Main Street) means downhill about a half mile.  You do the math – that means the return is the uphill equivalent.  In normal circumstances it’s par for the course living here in the southern Black Forest region.  Octogenarian ladies pulling wheeled grocery carts regularly do this trip with well coiffed aplomb.  But they could kick my butt at this point so today was a trial run.  Accompanied by my concerned (rightfully so) bride we set out stopping by Die Post (post office) on the way.  While Diane mailed a card I furtively lurked outside the establishment like some banished smoker without his cigarette (avoiding germs when possible).  Then on to the bank and, along the way, meeting and greeting in the safety of open air sidewalks a few good friends.  Banking accomplished it was time to storm the hill.  Well, we made it and it felt good to know that freedom of movement is available.

Lunch followed – I’ve actually re-acquired a degree of appetite albeit fractional in comparison to Kraines family tradition.  Some reading time, a little lie down, some more reading time, etc. and the afternoon progressed. I made a few calls to family and friends back in the States. I’m finding myself more comfortable with moments of doing absolutely nothing - which is good because I think there are more of those on the way.

And then there’s time with Diane.  Thank you God for her and thank you that we have good chunks of time to talk or pray or just enjoy the relationship that’s been built over the years.  There are some terrifically sweet moments in this.

So, what did you do with your day?

Lymph Journal # 10

A good day today - feeling much less "hammered".  Perhaps this is cluing us in on the pattern of what to expect with the treatments. Just got this note on Facebook in response to our claiming prayer support from continent except South America and Antarctica:

Just read your blog entries for the past week. We wonder if we can fill in the Antarctic encouragement slot seeing as Alec has spent three 6 month periods living in the Antarctic and has stood at the South Pole! We have the photo to prove it. Praying for an encouraging week ahead for you all, despite the challenges you will be facing. With much love.

Come on S.A.!

One more of many blessings this weekend - I found out that the Friday night BFA Boys Varsity basketball game was dedicated to me and the situation.  "3.2.1.Kraines!"  They won!! Thanks so much - you bless my heart and soul.

Lymph Journal #9

1/14/2012

Feeling a bit “hammered” today.  The cumulative effects of surgery and various therapies seem heavy even after a great nine hours sleep last night.  I guess I shouldn’t be surprised and I can’t help but imagine part of the physical process is eliminating dying lymphoma cells. 

I was able to get out for a few short walks – it helps but both physical strength and mental acuity are not anywhere near what I’m used to.  Diane continues to be such an encouragement and help and I can’t effectively express how grateful I am to her.

We received a good old photo encouragement from former colleagues at the Narragansett Pier School – thanks guys for upholding the tradition of offbeat genuine encouragement to members of the gang in challenging times.

Lymph Journal #8

For those of us of a certain age we might remember this educational film.  A 1957 (my birth year) Frank Capra produced science film for a Bell Labs school instructional series.  I remember it well because a few years after it was produced I got to be on the crack Narragansett Junior High Audio-Visual team and it was my responsibility to thread the trusty 16mm projector and sync the film speed and sound bulb so Hemo the Magnificent’s lips appeared to work better than your standard Japanese monster film dialogue of the day.

Hemo was the hero.  Hemo (globin, if you never saw the film) got the oxygen to where it was needed in the body.  Today I got another two units of blood with all its lovely hemoglobin.  I can’t help but be drawn to the biblical assertion that “life is in the blood”, that the blood on which I depended today is a pale shadow of the Blood on which our faith and healing are based.  I remembered, again in the waking moments that seem to set the tone for my days thoughts, of one Communion service when the Pastor (John Goasdone for those who know him) likened the remembrance of the Cup to a sort of “toast”.  Ever since I have lifted my communion glass in remembrance and tribute to the mystery of God’s great love for us.

Before the fill-up this morning I was called into the doc’s office.  Here’s what I updated family with as a result of the conversation:

We're through the heavy-duty part of the first round of chemo - so far so

good.  The doc has indicated that he senses responsiveness through overall

appearance, lack of swelling in lymph nodes (there before) and reduction in

the pain I was experiencing before we started.  I seem to be tolerating the

chemo with no nausea which is a huge relief.

Looks like a course of a total of 6 treatments plus 2 bonus Rituximab blasts.

All this has been affirmed at a meeting of the area "Tumor Board" (how would

you like to be on that committee)? Autologous (self-donated) stem cell

therapy may also come into play to increase effectiveness of the chemo and

rebuild the blood - we're evaluating and playing the experts of Basel,

Switzerland off against the experts in Freiburg.  

All in all to say that the care has been nothing short of excellent and

language has been little to no barrier.  The community here and all over the

world has been supportive, Diane's a wonder and God is faithful.

It’s been a long week and I have to say I’m pretty tired but I think it’s been pretty productive.

Backpack Update from our friend Anne Bach:

Dear Russ (and Diane :) and Carl :)  ),

I just got home from a parent-teacher-conference and read your blog. Since I'm a teacher in the German school system I think I can help you out with your question about rigidly rectangular backpacks :) .
Most German elementary school students have those - they are considered better and more suitable for their backs than a sloppy soft sided backpack. At the latest in 5th grade kids want to have a nice and fancy looking backpack rather than a kiddy hard cover schoolbag though :D .Since they leave the elementary school after 4th grade here in Germany, many parents think they are old enough to have a regular backpack. Hope this helps answering your question ;) .

Lymph Journal #7

1/12/2012

This morning’s thoughts began with a reflection on how certain sicknesses and circumstances exert a force bent on shrinking one’s world.  Don’t take this as a pity party – it’s not meant to be.  The usual routines through which you establish your days get set aside, conversations drift from routine inclusion of the future to more immediate urgencies, favorite foods might now seem unappealing, the geography of life is less expansive – yeah, it happens – it happens to all of us many times in our lives. 

One flip side of this experience for us has been a radical realization of how large our world has become.  We’re still waiting on South America and Antarctica but all the other continents have checked in with people offering encouragement and prayer.  People who share what they’ve been through, people who have shared how their lives have been intersected by ours and the promise of prayer and thought are all such an encouragement.  And, this very day, a dear friend and supporter in the States is undergoing cancer related surgery – our prayers are with her – especially after receiving her card today acknowledging the “same boat” status we’ve attained.  God bless you M.

So, these things shrink your world and they expand your world.

Today was the first dose of the toxic portion of chemotherapy.  Having heard stories both horrible and not I wasn’t sure what to expect.  Things seemed to just go rather routinely.  I was given what the therapy called for over the course of a few hours, finished Josh Harris’ Dug Down Deep (a sort of systematic theology book with a personal bent), listened to some music and watched the drip.  It was a quieter day in the chemo club room – no dissertations on marmalade.  The real bright spot was when, towards the end of my session, a grand older lady came in, IV paraphernalia dangling from her right wrist.  She was on either side of a robust looking age eighty (my best guess).  Regal, whimsically so, in no way proud or haughty.  She was just infectiously, genuinely happy to be there, to be awaiting treatment, to be in a room that she could (sorry for the cliché) light up with her smile.  And, to any of us who were not in a chemical stupor at the moment, she did.  I don’t know her secret but she had the gift!

We’re getting the routine down pretty well with these appointments.  Diane has been terrific – well in every way – but in particular with getting me back and forth for (x)hour long treatments that usual become (x+[?])hour long sessions. She’s learning the ins and outs of the city of Lörrach, we’ve coordinated the drop-off, pick-up points and she can go home in between to work being only about 20-25 minutes away.  Driving in the early morning in a German city is fairly challenging stuff.  We discovered 7:30 is about the worse time on a weekday.  It’s semi-dark.  There’s a bit of ground fogginess about.  The vehicular traffic is heavy and it includes not just cars but mopeds skittering in and out and lots of bicycles.  Then there are hordes of pedestrians at the crosswalks and hitting the Walk buttons at the busier intersections and throwing a logical flow of traffic lights into disarray.  Many of these walkers are the ubiquitous schoolchildren trudging to school in the dark with their rigidly rectangular backpacks that usually are wider that the child. Really, they look like hard colored boxes with shoulder straps – I have yet to figure out when the German schoolchild actually abandons this model and goes with the soft-sided.  I’m sure there must be a rule or custom.

Tomorrow I’m scheduled for a transfusion to pump up the hemoglobin – now that’s something to look forward to – no joke.